Half an hour later the two friends stood atop the Round Tower, shielding their eyes from the brilliant autumn sunshine as they watched nobles and their retinues enter through the gates and ride into Windsor’s Lower Ward.
“There!” Joanna flung up her arm and pointed. “I recognize the de Clare chevrons.” She stared hard, trying to pick her future husband from the score of men who rode beneath the banners that displayed the de Clare device. Her eyes focused on their leader. She’d seen Gilbert before while growing up, but paid little heed. “The highest noble in the realm is attired like a common soldier.”
Jory looked where she pointed. The rider removed his helmet, but he was too far away to see if he looked like an old man.
“Ha! Gilbert the red is now Gilbert the gray! I wonder if the fiery temper that goes with red hair has faded?” Joanna glanced triumphantly at her friend. “I shall dazzle and beguile him and have him eating from my hand like a besotted lapdog in no time.”
Jory did not hear one word of Joanna’s vow. Her full attention was riveted on a commanding figure clad in sable breastplate and plumed helm astride a black stallion. A tall black wolfhound stalked beside him, and though his retinue was fewer than a dozen, the other riders in the Lower Ward moved aside to make way for the striking nobleman. His pride of carriage and the power he exuded were obvious, even from this distance. Jory’s legs suddenly felt weak and she grasped the stone battlement to steady herself.
Who is he? Jory’s eyes lifted to his banner, which displayed a golden bear against a field of black, but her thoughts were in such disarray she could not identify the device. Irresistibly her gaze was drawn back to the man as if she thirsted for the sight of him. Her heart began to hammer as she watched him wheel his horse in the direction of Gilbert of Gloucester. The earl’s attendants fell back as he approached, and Jory wondered if it was respect or fear that compelled them. The thought made her quiver and she licked her lips as her mouth suddenly went dry. The two men spoke, then laughed together, and it was obvious to her that the pair were well acquainted.
“Since de Clare’s been traveling for at least three days, the next hours will be taken up with bathing and changing. I won’t meet my lapdog until the banquet tonight, so I’m blessedly free of him for now,” Joanna said blithely.
Jory’s imagination took flight, trying to picture the black knight stark naked as he stepped into a bath of steaming water. Her mind’s eye painted a portrait that was vexingly vague and she felt an overwhelming desire to see him in clear, explicit detail.
Joanna sought escape. “I think I’ll go for a gallop in Windsor Forest…perhaps take a hawk. Will you join me?”
“Your other ladies would jump at the chance. When you favor my company, they feel neglected.” Jory searched for a plausible excuse and found one. “I’ll stay and watch for Lynx’s arrival.”
“Family duty be damned. Keep your eyes open for a tempting young lord who will lure you to dalliance.”
As Joanna left, the corners of Jory’s mouth lifted in a secret smile. She had learned much from the royal princess, not the least of which was how to dissemble, flatter, and manipulate so that she could do exactly as she pleased. She gripped the crenellated wall and gazed downward. She was in time to see the sable-clad noble swing a long, powerful leg across his stallion’s rump and dismount in one lithe movement that kept his back ramrod straight and his head erect. A frisson of desire rippled through her belly as he disappeared from her view. I believe I shall go hunting after all, and I have spotted my quarry!
Jory returned to the imposing rectangular building in the Upper Ward where Princess Joanna and her ladies resided. Their chambers, which took up the entire second floor, were in disarray.
The ladies had hurriedly changed into their riding dresses and dropped the garments they’d been wearing onto their beds, knowing the servants would pick up after them.
Jory entered Joanna’s chamber and swept up the soiled petticoat from last night before the serving women found it. She followed the sound of female voices and found three servants tidying Maud Clifford’s chamber. She gave the women a measuring glance, selected one, and took her into her own room. “Dora, you are about my size. How would you like to have this dress I’m wearing?”
“Oh, my lady, it’s brocade! Do you mean it?”
“There’s a catch. I have need of the plain grey tunic you are wearing. Will you trade with me?”
“Indeed I will, Lady Marjory. I have half a dozen like this.”
Jory unfastened her gown and stepped out of it as Dora hurriedly removed her tunic. Then she lifted her gown over the servant’s head and fastened the buttons that ran down the back. “Go and look in the mirror at how lovely you are.” Jory thanked Dora, hung the grey tunic in her wardrobe, and donned another gown.
She picked up Joanna’s petticoat, bundled it with one of her own that needed washing, and made her way to the castle laundry. It was a cavernous place beneath the vast kitchens, where dozens of washerwomen toiled daily over a mountain of soiled clothing and household linen. Boiling water, soap, lye, and starch branded them with red chapped hands, the telltale mark of their trade. The laundry also encompassed drying chambers, pressing rooms, and folding and storage areas for the clean linen.
The head laundress bobbed a curtsy, while her young helpers at their scrubbing boards gaped. “How may I serve ye, m’lady?”
Jory’s smile encompassed all. “You do such excellent work and I’m here to thank each one of you. Maud Clifford is responsible for Princess Joanna’s personal laundry, but I have a shrewd idea that she passes it off to one of you.”
“Mary’s the one wi’ the gentle hands,” the laundress confirmed.
Jory dropped the petticoats into Mary’s washtub and smiled her thanks. “I’d love to look around. The vast scale of your operation is astounding. Would you be kind enough to show me?”
The head laundress swallowed the bait and gestured for Mary to accommodate the princess’s lady-in-waiting. Jory took the lead immediately and maneuvered her way to the linen press, where the clean garments for all the castle servants were stored. As they walked between the rows of shelves, her eyes searched for things that would serve her purpose. She saw a pile of white linen headdresses and helped herself.
“I’ve always wondered what the bathhouse women wear when they scrub the noblemen who visit Windsor. They must get soaking wet.”
“I’ll show you, m’lady.” Mary led the way down another aisle. “They wear these cotton smocks that dry quickly.”
Jory fingered the material. “Fascinating…I’ll take one.” She lowered her voice to a confidential tone. “When Princess Joanna is wed, she will first move to a splendid country manor house in Clerkenwell, near the Tower. The Earl of Gloucester has more castles and residences than any other noble. If you would like to be part of her household, I will recommend you, Mary.”
“Oh, thank you, my lady. I would love to serve the princess.”
Jory tucked the garments she’d pilfered under her arm and winked at Mary. “Consider it done.”
It wasn’t a great distance from the washhouse to Windsor’s bathhouse, which was located on the ground floor above the dungeons. The stone edifice was part of the outer wall on the Thames side, where water from the river was piped in and heated. The plan was copied from a system the ancient Romans had built in Britain centuries before.
No lady ever ventured near this strictly male bastion where kings, princes, earls, barons, high-ranking clergy, and the men who held royal office had made their ablutions for over a century. Jory did not dare hesitate about what she intended or her courage would fail her. She had come this far and would not stop now. As she reached the arched entranceway, a cacophony of raised male voices, shouting, cursing, and laughing made her heart pound. She covered her hair with the linen headdress and slipped the cotton smock over her gown. It was such a voluminous garment that it almost drowned her. She gathered its folds about her and stepped inside. When she s
aw the size of the strapping bathhouse women, she understood why the smocks were so enormous.
She peered through the veil of steam cautiously, realizing that many of the partly obscured figures were unclad males. A matron slapped a wooden tub of soft soap into her hands and pointed. “This is for Gloucester. Make haste!”
She took one step and the woman bawled, “Take the salt.” Jory gripped the block of salt the woman thrust at her. “Salt?”
“For the earl’s teeth, ye gormless wench.”
On what felt like stiff wooden legs, Jory staggered in the direction the matron had indicated and was relieved when a young squire with a Gloucester badge on his tunic took the items from her and passed them to a muscular female. When the squire stepped aside to fill a bucket with water, Jory was presented with an unimpeded view of the naked bridegroom lying full length in a white marble tub. The bathing wench slathered a handful of soft soap onto his chest and reached beneath the water, groping toward his private parts.
Jory stared in amazement. Gilbert de Clare’s limbs displayed a few scars and his muscles were ropey and knotted from years of use, but he did not have the body of an old man. The hair on both his chest and head was sparse and grizzled, yet the features of his face were strong. Joanna, Gloucester is no lapdog!
“Rinse!” The order from the bath wench brought the bucket of water that the squire held pouring down upon the earl.
De Clare gave a bark of laughter. “You’ll need more water than that to drown me, lad.”
The strapping woman hauled up Gloucester’s leg and examined his foot. She looked at Jory and ordered, “Pumice stone.”
A canvas curtain that hung beside the bathtub was drawn aside. A naked man rose up and stepped from his own marble tub. He handed the bath woman his pumice. “Take mine—I’m done.”
Jory stood rooted to the spot and gaped. The male who stood resplendent before her was tall and powerfully built. His broad chest was covered by a pelt of wet black hair and his impossibly wide shoulders rippled with smooth, glistening muscle. Jory did not dare raise her eyes to his face, but looked her fill at the rest of his body. Water droplets trickled down his flat belly and narrow hips. Her gaze followed them as they ran down his long flanks, which bulged with saddle muscles. Her attention shifted to the forbidden place between his legs. His cock and balls were nestled among a heavy thatch of wet black curls that in no way obscured their size. She was shocked at the amplitude of his sex, yet amazed that the male groin could hold her in thrall to such a degree that she was mesmerized.
The spell was broken when the man picked up a towel and slung it about his hips. The object of her fascination was now covered, enabling her to think more clearly, and it forcefully struck her that she should not be here doing this scandalous thing. Jory backed away slowly, desperately trying to avoid drawing attention to herself, but the two men began conversing and she might have been a block of salt for all the notice they paid her.
As she made her way back to the Upper Ward, she walked as if she were in a trance. Her thoughts were all centered on the powerful naked body she had just witnessed. She had no doubt that it belonged to the compelling noble who had riveted her attention when he rode in this morning, yet his identity was still a mystery. The commanding figure in the sable armor had enthralled her, and now that she had seen him nude, she was completely entranced. Though she hadn’t the vaguest notion who he was, she felt his strong magnetic power, which held her in thrall.
Who are you? Who the devil are you? She was bemused that the word devil came to mind, yet she knew the reason. He was dark and powerful, sinfully enticing, and he had an aura of forbidden danger about him. Jory sensed all this before she had even seen his face.
She was filled with a driving need to find out who he was. Tonight she would search until she found him. Tonight she would see his face and look into his eyes. Would his visage attract her or repel her? Jory shivered with anticipation.
Chapter 2
“I don’t wish to wear that head veil.” Joanna waved a dismissive hand at her lady as she studied her reflection in the polished silver mirror. “My hair is too lovely to cover.” She had already refused to wear the virginal white roses the queen had provided.
Jory stepped forward. “You could wear a jeweled circlet.”
“Yes, bring the one that’s tiered like a crown. It won’t hurt to remind Gloucester that a royal princess stands above an earl.”
Jory brought it and stood on tiptoe to fit it into place, as amusement danced in her eyes. “Would you like your ermine cape?”
“I shall save that for the wedding.” Joanna’s laughter trailed away as her glance swept over Jory. “Why aren’t you dressed?”
Jory lowered her voice. “Tonight I have a secret mission.”
Joanna slanted a knowing eyebrow. “An assignation?”
“First I must stalk and identify my quarry.”
“Happy hunting! Your prey doesn’t stand a chance.”
Jory waited until the princess and her ladies-in-waiting departed for the banquet. Joanna’s chamber was in such disarray that she tidied the room and hung up all the garments that had been strewn about. Jory had a fine appreciation of beautiful clothes and because she’d had the talented services of the royal dressmakers for the past two years, she had developed an elegant fashion sense. She had learned which styles flattered her petite figure and which shades best set off her delicate coloring.
When the room was restored to order, Jory returned to her own chamber and donned the plain grey tunic and white linen headdress. Excitement bubbled inside her as she surveyed her appearance in the mirror to make sure she could pass as a castle servant. She tucked an errant tendril behind her ear and said a quick prayer.
Windsor’s Great Hall was packed to overflowing. The earls and barons had come to see and be seen. Those in attendance were obviously in favor with King Edward at the moment. It was a rare chance for the nobles to gather in one place at one time to converse, exchange ideas, air differences, protest taxes, plot intrigues, forge alliances, negotiate deals, and make advantageous matrimonial matches for their sons and daughters.
The attendants who comprised the nobles’ retinues were primarily interested in eating, drinking, gambling, and indulging any other vices that slaked their appetites.
By the time Jory arrived, the banquet was well under way. She had stopped in the kitchen and helped herself to some roast fowl and a quince tart. Then she picked up a jug of ale and entered the hall. She put a safe distance between herself and the royal dais, where the Plantagenets, their guest of honor, Gilbert of Gloucester, and the nobles who held high office were seated.
From a dimly lit alcove, her gaze swept the long table. The queen sat on King Edward’s left, his son and heir, on his right. Though the youthful Prince Edward was younger than Joanna, there was a strict pecking order. The Earl of Gloucester was seated next to the princess, and Jory smiled, knowing that Joanna thought herself magnanimous to even acknowledge his presence. Gilbert de Clare didn’t seem to mind. John de Bohun, the Earl of Hereford and Constable of England, was seated on his other side and the two military men were deep in conversation.
Thomas of Lancaster, the king’s nephew and high steward, was seated next to the queen, and then came Roger Bigod, the Earl of Norfolk and Marshal of England. Jory’s eyes widened as they fell on her own uncle, John de Warenne. Though he was the Earl of Surrey, she’d had no idea King Edward held him in such high esteem.
Jory had not been aware of her uncle’s arrival, and she now realized her brother, Lynx, and his wife, Sylvia, would be here too. They must not see me playing the role of serving wench or there will be merry hell to pay! She cautioned herself to watch out for them and keep a safe distance.
The Great Hall was filled with rows of trestle tables and benches to accommodate the throng of nobles and their attendants. Huge platters of fish, eels, roast fowl, haunches of beef, and whole piglets were placed on every table so the guests could serve thems
elves, and as Jory glanced around she saw that the dishes were now empty and the bones picked clean. The nobles sat with their own people to eat, but once the tables were cleared, they would be eager to walk about and seek out their friends and allies.
She set off with her jug of ale, ignoring the many tankards thrust at her to be filled. As she nimbly dodged the male hands that reached out to pat her bottom or touch other parts of her anatomy, she scrutinized the badges on the men’s tunics. She saw every device and animal imaginable as she searched for a golden bear on a field of jet. She had traversed the entire length of the hall, yet still the badge that she sought eluded her.
A deep male voice echoed in her ear. “Demoiselle, my throat is as dry as an Arabian desert. Will you take pity on one who thirsts?”
Jory whirled around and stared into a pair of eyes so dark they looked purplish black. He was the most handsome man she had ever gazed upon, and pride was stamped in every line of his face. Displaying inbred manners, he arose gallantly and waited for her to fill his tankard. She had to raise her chin and tilt her head back to look up at him, now that he had risen to his full height.
As her avid gaze traveled up his broad chest she saw the golden bear emblazoned on his black velvet doublet and as their eyes met, her brain clicked with recognition and she identified the device. Warwick! God’s blood, the man is the infamous Earl of Warwick! The one they call the Wolfhound. Jory stood motionless, staring wide-eyed, like a doe poised for flight. Warning bells sounded in her head. She thrust the jug of ale at him and fled.
His attention obviously engaged, the earl set the jug on the table, detached himself from his men, and followed the maid.
Jory’s feet did not stop moving until she was outside. She took several deep breaths, filling her lungs with fresh night air.
Infamous Page 2
