Infamous

by Virginia Henley

  “It means you are a spoiled little courtesan—a cock-teasing little bitch. I hope he can stomach a highbred noblewoman who amused herself before she wed by trying to lose her virginity to the infamous Earl of Warwick.”

  Jory was stunned. She also was furious at the brutal insults he hurled at her. Determined to match him in cruel barbs, she gave him a brilliant smile and swept a graceful hand to encompass their surroundings. “Flamstead is magnificent. Acquired through one of your late wives, I understand? A gullible young woman you found easy to manipulate and then rid yourself of, I warrant.”

  Warwick took a threatening step toward her, but Mr. Burke approached with a stirrup cup of ale.

  Jory wanted to fling the contents in Warwick’s dark face, but thought better of it. I’ll be damned if I’ll give him the satisfaction. She smiled her thanks at the steward, raised the cup to her lips, and drained the ale without pausing for breath. With a regality she had learned from Princess Joanna she walked over to her horse, took the reins from the groom, and mounted with fluid grace. “I bid you adieu, until we meet again, Frenchman.”

  “Haughty little bitch!” he muttered between his teeth. He spoke to the groom. “Saddle up and give the lady safe escort until she is back on de Warenne land.”

  PART TWO

  Devoted Wife

  Chapter 10

  Jory stood before the altar in Hedingham’s chapel arrayed in the de Warenne colors of azure and gold. She had not been able to bring herself to wear the exquisite green gown she had planned to wear when she wed Guy de Beauchamp. The flames of the tall thin tapers mesmerized her as she remembered other weddings that had gone before. She wondered if all brides felt as she did on their wedding day: uncertain, apprehensive, and poignantly vulnerable.

  When she vowed before God to obey Humphrey de Bohun, to serve him, love, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health, a wave of guilt washed over her. I do not love Humphrey, but I promise to try. She closed her eyes. What about the rest of it, Jory? I have forsaken all others! she assured herself adamantly.

  Jory was distracted from her distressing thoughts when the priest asked, “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

  “I do.” The Earl of Surrey placed her hand in Humphrey’s.

  Jory felt her hand tremble slightly and she wondered wildly if this was the mistake of a lifetime. By sheer dint of will, she stilled her hand and stiffened her resolve.

  The reception began in the early afternoon. It was the last time the de Warenne men-at-arms and Lynx’s Welsh archers could indulge themselves before they left for France. Trestle tables had been set up outside to accommodate the castle’s fighting men plus the household staff.

  The newlyweds stopped at every table to join in a toast and accept congratulations before going inside to the hall where their noble guests awaited them. Jory, already merry with wine, decided it was a very good way to keep a smile on her face.

  Joanna said. “You are the second-most beautiful bride England has ever known. Even Gloucester here is half in love with you.”

  Gilbert grinned. “I’ve learned to never contradict a woman who is breeding. Promise you’ll save me a dance, Lady Marjory?”

  “It will be my pleasure and a great honor, my lord earl.”

  Jory’s godmother embraced her warmly. “My dear, I am so proud of you today. I hope you will be very happy.”

  “Thank you, Lady de Bruce. I hear your men are in Scotland.”

  “His Majesty appointed the Bruces as Governors of Carlisle as a sop. All know Bruce should have been appointed king, rather than our enemy Baliol. By pitting one against the other Edward thinks to keep them in line.” Marjory Bruce winked. “The king is getting six for the price of one,” she said, referring to her husband and five sons. “They went a fortnight ago and left me lumbered with the baggage train. Typical selfish male behavior. Anything that puts them within spitting distance of their Scottish lands suits them down to the bloody ground.” She turned to John de Bohun. “You’re all alike. You’ll be off to Wales to quell uprisings and leave this lovely young bride to her own devices.”

  Jory glanced at Humphrey and saw that his face looked grim. “Is something wrong?” she murmured.

  He quickly shook his head. “Talk of war is out of place at a wedding celebration. I don’t want you filled with apprehension.”

  Jory squeezed his hand. “Sylvia is signaling us to take our places so she can give the order to serve the food.”

  The meal was a credit to Lady de Warenne. There were six courses, each with its own selection of vin de marque. Jory did not have much of an appetite, but she forced herself to eat a little so she would not become flown with wine. The wedding cake was decorated with swans to represent the de Bohun device and it was cut with Humphrey’s sword. Finally, the tables were cleared and moved back for dancing. Jory danced every dance, first with her new husband, then with her brother and her uncle. Young Henry who was already on the road to intoxication danced with her numerous times, then moved on to Joanna. This gave Gilbert de Clare the opportunity to claim his dance with the bride.

  “Are you happy, Marjory?” he murmured.

  “But of course,” she said quickly, then glanced into his eyes.

  “He did not answer your letter,” he guessed, omitting a name.

  “No, he didn’t offer for me.” She forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I shan’t hold it against you that you are his friend.”

  He smiled back. “I have a fool for a friend.”

  The music and dancing, the laughter and drinking went on into the night. Jory was enjoying herself and didn’t care if it went on until morning. Joanna had other ideas, of course.

  “Darling, I think you should escape while you have the chance. Maud, Blanche, and Eleanor are ready to go up with you.”

  “Why do I need them?” Jory asked owlishly.

  “Because there’s to be a bedding—go while the going is good.”

  “For the love of Christ, Joanna, how could you?”

  Eleanor de Leyburn took Jory’s hand and urged her to run. She gathered up the voluminous folds of her wedding gown and as her steps quickened, she realized that Maud and Blanche followed.

  “Joanna didn’t have to suffer the indignity of a bedding!” Jory remembered that Sylvia and Lynx had been subjected to a bedding, though Jory had been forbidden to join in because she was too young. But she had attended other beddings when Court ladies had wed, so she knew more or less what to expect.

  Jory ran to her own bedchamber, since this was where she and Humphrey were to spend their wedding night. Eleanor picked up her white silk night rail and robe, while Maud and Blanche began to remove the azure wedding gown edged with embroidered gold leaves. Joanna and Sylvia rushed in and firmly closed the bedchamber door. Sylvia took the robe from Eleanor, and Joanna said, “Hurry…I can hear them coming!”

  As Jory stood nude and vulnerable, Sylvia said, “There’s no time for the night rail, slip on the robe.”

  Joanna poured her a goblet of wine and thrust it into her hand.

  Jory had taken only one gulp of wine when over the rim she saw the door fly open and half a dozen males stumble into the chamber carrying the naked bridegroom. Behind them their noble guests, at least those still able to climb stairs, crowded into the room.

  Sylvia, with amazing sleight of hand, wafted the silk robe open and closed, allowing everyone a moment’s glimpse of one naked arm, leg and part of her back. The ancient custom was observed to show that the bride came to her marriage bed unblemished. Jory was thankful the wine had blurred the edges of the ordeal for her.

  Humphrey was tossed naked onto the bed amid shouts of drunken laughter and much lewd advice, accompanied by graphic gestures. His brother, Henry, the ringleader, began a bawdy song, and many of their guests, both male and female, joined in the chorus. Jory, clutching her robe, was pushed into bed by the women, who then crowded round to ogle the groom. Amid raucous laughter the males filled the chamber pot with
wine and handed it to Humphrey. “Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!” they chorused.

  Jory, feeling helpless, glanced about the room looking for Lynx, her uncle, or any authority figure to whom she could appeal. Then she saw John de Bohun elbow the others aside.

  One glimpse of his new daughter-in-law’s face was all he needed to galvanize him into action. “Out! The lot of you! The little bride is a gentle-born lady, delicate as a flower!” He brought his hamlike fist down on Henry’s skull, then took him by the scruff of the neck and bodily removed him from the chamber. The others slowly and with much reluctance followed.

  Weak with relief, Jory sprang from the bed, took an iron key from a chest drawer, and firmly locked the door. She rested her head against its oaken panel and took some deep breaths to expel the dizziness the wine had produced. One nightmare was behind her, and she said a quick prayer that another was not before her.

  Jory turned, and as she approached the bed she stared in disbelief. There lay Humphrey in all his youthful, naked splendor with the empty chamber pot balanced on his belly. The bridegroom was in a deep sleep, dead to the world.

  Cautiously, she lifted the china pot and set it on the floor. Satisfied that he was not about to waken up, Jory stared curiously at Humphrey de Bohun’s body. He was tall and could be described only as slim, in spite of his youthfully smooth muscles. His chest was covered with fine golden hairs and his shoulders were dotted with freckles that matched the ones on the bridge of his nose. Her gaze moved lower to the apex of his long legs. His pale cock lay limp; his sac was nestled amidst a thatch of silken hair, somewhat darker than the sun-bleached hair on his head.

  Jory’s eyes moved up to his face, completely relaxed in slumber. She could hardly credit how impossibly young he looked. He’s just a boy! There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of.

  Jory snuffed all the candles and slipped into bed. Even as she was wondering how she would ever be able to sleep with another person taking up half the sleeping space, she began to yawn. Morpheus claimed her the moment her lashes touched her cheeks.

  When Jory awakened in the morning, she found Humphrey sitting on the side of the bed with his head in his hands. When he heard the covers rustle, he turned to face her with an abject apology.

  “Marjory…please forgive my disgraceful behavior last night. I imbibed too much and remember naught after being carried in here.”

  “It is no wonder you don’t remember. They made you drink a chamber pot full of wine.” She smiled her understanding. “I’m sure you don’t do that every night, Humphrey.”

  “If the throbbing pain in my head remains, I shall never drink again.” He winced. “I didn’t assault you, did I?”

  “Of course not!” She rubbed her temple. “I too have a headache.”

  He glanced worriedly at the door. “What the devil will we do if they come barging in here demanding evidence of—” He flushed. “You know what I mean.”

  “I locked the door as soon as everyone left last night.”

  Humphrey sagged with relief. “Would you mind if…that is, would it be all right if…we wait until tonight?”

  “I thank you with all my heart for your consideration.” Jory was quite willing to take the blame for the delayed consummation of their union. “No one needs to know.”

  Humphrey groaned his thanks.

  “Would you like to go back to sleep for a while? I’ll make sure we’re not disturbed.”

  He nodded bleakly and lay back down.

  Jory slipped from the bed and went to look out the window. The purple foxgloves were already going to seed. The flowers will be gone with the first touch of frost, she thought sadly. That’s not the end; they’ll be back next year more beautiful than ever.

  She heard a low knock, glanced over at the bed, saw that Humphrey was asleep, then ran lightly to the door. “Who is it?”

  “Your breakfast, Lady de Bohun.”

  “Leave it outside the door please. We are not ready yet.” She heard the dishes rattle as the tray was set on the floor. “In an hour’s time, I would be most grateful if you would order my slipper bath and plenty of hot water. Thank you.”

  She waited a few minutes, then brought the tray inside and relocked the door. She set the tray in the stone recess of the window and left the silver covers over the hot food. She spooned blackberry preserves onto a fresh scone and poured herself a cup of honeyed mead that the thoughtful cook had put on the tray.

  Lady de Bohun, she mused. My name is now Marjory de Bohun. It sounded strange; she had never anticipated such a name. Marjory de Beauchamp, how often my thoughts whispered that name. Life is filled with surprises, twists and turns that I never dreamed of. Gilbert de Clare’s question came back to her: Are you happy, Marjory? She thought about it as she sipped her mead.

  You shouldn’t rely on another for happiness, she realized. The people surrounding you could certainly add to your joy, or to your misery, but the ultimate responsibility was yours. Jory saw clearly that marriage had placed her at a crossroads. Her common sense told her to take the path that offered hope rather than despair. I shall choose happiness—I have quite made up my mind!

  When the servants arrived with the bath, she let them in and as they were pouring in the steaming water, Sylvia slipped into the chamber carrying clean sheets and towels. Jory knew a moment of panic. She quickly touched her finger to her lips and pointed to her sleeping husband. “The bed is still occupied. We are not done with it yet.” She gave her sister-in-law a coy look. “When we are quite finished, I’ll put the fresh linen on myself.”

  Lady de Warenne looked disappointed that she had been deprived of her chatelaine’s morning-after prerogative, but she handed over the linen. “You have a newfound confidence and authority, Marjory, so I will allow you your privacy.” She ushered the servants from the chamber and closed the door after her.

  Jory carefully relocked the door, set the linen down, and glanced over at the still sleeping Humphrey. She quickly slipped off the white silk robe, stepped into the tub, and slid down into the deliciously hot water. She picked up the lavender-scented soap that Sylvia had made and sniffed with appreciation. It is the little things in life that give us pleasure. She vowed to live in the moment, without dwelling on the past or anticipating the future. Why borrow trouble from tomorrow?

  As she bathed, she contemplated what she would wear today. She glanced over at the bed and was surprised. Humphrey was awake, his blue eyes watching her intently. She smiled tentatively.

  “Forgive me, Marjory. I didn’t mean to stare at you.”

  “Humphrey, there is no need to keep apologizing to me. If you stare at me, I won’t melt into a pool of mortification. There is food over on the window ledge, if you can face it.”

  He looked green around the gills. “I can’t, but my throat is dry as—”

  An Arabian desert. Jory heard the echo of the first words she had ever heard Warwick utter, and she was horrified.

  “Dust,” Humphrey finished.

  “There is ale and honeyed mead. Help yourself.”

  “I—I’m naked.”

  “Me too. I warrant we will have to get used to each other.”

  “I don’t wish to offend you, Marjory.”

  It doesn’t offend me—I’ve already had a good look at it. Jory couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud. He’s treating me like a gently bred lady…like a virgin bride, which indeed I am; yet I’m no innocent babe who is shocked by the naked state.

  “I believe a robe and some of your garments were brought to the chamber yesterday.” She pointed to the wardrobe and then modestly averted her eyes to give him a chance.

  Humphrey sprinted from the bed, grabbed his robe, and donned it quickly. He poured himself ale and drank thirstily. “We will be expected downstairs.” The idea made him look miserable.

  “Lynx has organized a hunt for the men. It will fill Hedingham’s larders before they leave for France. You won’t be expected to join them. It will be taken for granted
a bridegroom will remain with his bride on the first day of their marriage.”

  “You are right.” The knowledge didn’t lessen his misery.

  “Why don’t I dress and go downstairs to brave the inquisitive females. That will allow you to bathe and dress in private.”

  He looked so relieved, Jory had to mask her amusement. She stood up and reached for a thirsty towel. Humphrey’s gaze was drawn to her as she stepped from the slipper bath, and she hoped he wouldn’t start apologizing again. He followed her every movement as she selected stockings, a peach-colored underdress, and an amber surcoat decorated with golden pheasants to go over it. She sat to draw on her hose and saw that his look was devoid of lust, or even a healthy male appreciation. He looks dismayed—daunted really.

  When she was dressed she walked to the opposite side of the bed from where he was sitting. “Help me make the bed, Humphrey. That way, no curious eyes will be able to examine our sheets.”

  He glanced down. “I must have spilled some wine last night.”

  “That’s all right. I’m sure it’s dry by now.” There’ll be more than wine spilled on them tonight. Stop it, Jory. Your young husband would be scandalized if he could hear your thoughts.

  Humphrey’s hand emerged from the pocket of his robe. “I forgot to give you my wedding gift,” he said with dismay. He held out his palm to offer her a jeweled brooch.

  “Oh, it’s a diamond swan! Thank you. It is exquisite.” She waited for him to pin it onto her gown and was relieved when he made no move to do so. She was reminded of other fingers that had pinned on another brooch. She quickly fastened it herself. “I shall wear it downstairs. The ladies will be green with envy.”

  Joanna and her ladies, who were amusing themselves with Tarot cards, greeted Jory. She held up the lovers, a card from the major arcana. “I suppose your husband served you with the traditional morning-after breakfast of sausage and eggs?”