Jory gave her friend an enigmatic smile. “Do you never tire of suggestive innuendoes?”
“No, and I never shall,” Joanna said, still laughing. “Since the queen and her ladies have returned to Windsor, we can behave outrageously.” She turned over another card. “The world. How prophetic. I have the world at my feet and I’ll keep it that way.” Joanna turned over another card. “Three of cups, that refers to my child, the result of one and two. Cups mean love and joy.”
She turned over the next card and her hand froze in midair. It was key thirteen, death. Joanna threw down the cards and pushed them toward Jory. “It’s the bride’s fortune we want to know.”
Jory shuffled the large cards, dropping a few because her hands were small. She gathered them up and chose five. “Two of cups, the beginning of a new romance.” Jory smiled. “So far so good. The wheel of fortune, that means the turn of events in one’s life, from elation to despair to elation. The only constant thing in life is change. That’s true for all of us,” Jory added. She got a two, which was a time card; then she turned over the devil.
Joanna rolled her eyes. “We both know who that is. You had a miraculous escape.”
Suddenly, the fun had gone out of it for Jory. She decided not to turn over the last card, so Joanna did it for her. Her face fell when once more death was revealed.
“It’s all nonsense! I’m not even superstitious,” Joanna declared, making a surreptitious sign of the cross. “Let’s go into the garden. The cold winter wind will be here all too soon.”
Jory was determined to speak of something joyful. “Have you picked any names for the baby yet?”
Joanna slanted a brow. “You mean other than Edward and Gilbert? At one time I rather fancied Roger, but one look at Roger Bigod ruined that for me.”
“What if it’s a girl?” Jory asked.
“God forbid,” Joanna said irreverently. “Actually, I rather like Margaret. It’s close to Marjory.”
Jory smiled her secret smile. Joanna was a good friend.
The hunters were back in time for the evening meal. Sylvia once again was in her glory, catering to her guests. Marjory and Humphrey were seated in the place of honor and when dinner was over, the newlyweds were encouraged to withdraw, amid assurances they would be left in peace tonight. With a show of gallantry, the groom took the bride’s hand and led her from the hall.
When the couple entered the bedchamber, Jory turned the key in the lock. She felt little fear, yet she was apprehensive about the unknown. She and Humphrey were about to become intimate, and she knew that blood and pain were integral parts of the hymeneal rights. “May I pour you some wine, Humphrey?”
“I’ve sworn off the stuff, but let me get you some.” He immediately filled a goblet and brought it to her.
Jory took a few sips and set it down on a bedside table. Humphrey took her left hand and brought it to his mouth. “I can hardly believe how tiny you are, Marjory.” He hesitated, then blurted, “I’m so afraid of hurting you.”
That’s the reason he acts so formal! Jory felt relief. “I’m not the least bit fragile. I promise I won’t break.”
His arms went around her gently and he touched his lips to hers in a tentative kiss. “You smell like flowers.”
“It is a new rose perfume that Sylvia concocted in her stillroom. Scents can be most provocative.” That’s why I’ve stopped using freesia. “Would you help to unfasten me?”
“My hands are so clumsy, and the material of your lovely garments so delicate, Marjory, I’m afraid of ruining them.”
She took his hands and looked at them. “They’re not clumsy. They’re long and shapely. You’re in no danger of ruining aught. Just undo the buttons at the back and I’ll manage the rest.”
He did as she asked, then moved to the other side of the bed and began to remove his own clothes.
Jory was mildly surprised—she thought he would continue to undress her. She took off her tunic and then lifted off her soft underdress. She put on the white silk night rail that she had not worn last night and sat on the edge of the bed to remove her hose. Since Humphrey seemed awkward and shy, she avoided looking at him as she hung her garments in the wardrobe, then went to her dressing table, sat down, and began to brush her hair.
She was well aware that most males found her silvery-gilt hair fascinating, and tonight proved no exception as her young husband was drawn inexorably across the room to touch it.
“You have the prettiest hair I’ve ever seen. In the candlelight it looks like a halo…and you look like an angel.”
She threw him a mischievous smile. “I hope you won’t be disappointed, my lord husband, but I’m not angelic in the least.”
Though he was wearing his robe, she saw in the mirror that he was aroused and guessed it was the result of touching her hair. She set the brush down, stood up, and went into his arms. Though he held her very gently, she could feel his hard erection against her soft flesh. He snuffed all the candles save one, took her hand, and led her to their bed. When she slipped in, he went around the other side, removed his robe, and joined her.
He began to caress her breasts through the slippery silk material of her night rail and was soon groaning with arousal. “Marjory—I’m going to have to—Marjory, please?”
“It’s all right,” she murmured.
He loomed above her, pulled up her gown, and lowered his body to hers. “Open for me,” he urged.
Jory knew she was not ready for him, yet she did as he bade her. When he thrust into her quickly, she gasped from the sharp pain. Humphrey didn’t seem to notice as he moved in and out with a rapid rhythm. She clutched a handful of sheet and was about to ask him to move more slowly when he collapsed upon her with a long moan, and she felt wetness between her legs. She feared it was a gush of blood, but as he withdrew and rolled over she saw in the dim light that the wetness was only lightly streaked with blood.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you. I feel like such a brute. You were so small and tight—are you all right, Marjory?”
“I…yes, I warrant I am,” she said shakily.
“Thank God!” He kissed her temple. “Good night, little bride.”
Jory lay quietly, assessing exactly what had just happened. She heard Humphrey’s breathing slow and was shocked at how quickly he had fallen asleep. She felt a bit sore, but that is not what disturbed her. She had not felt the least bit aroused or sensual in any way, and yet, and yet, the encounter had left her yearning, longing, desiring something—she knew not what. It was too ephemeral to put a name to the feeling. She sat up in the bed, picked up her goblet, and began to sip slowly. Mayhap the wine will ease the craving deep within me.
Chapter 11
When Jory awoke, she was alone. She slipped her robe over her stained night rail, removed the soiled bed sheets, and remade it with the clean linen Sylvia had provided. She ordered her bath, and as she lay in the fragrant water, she forced her thoughts away from last night and instead focused on what she would wear today.
Humphrey strode into the room and when he allowed the door to bang close, Jory knew he was agitated about something. He paced to the window and paid scant attention to the fact that his bride was sitting naked in her slipper bath.
“What is it, Humphrey? What has upset you?”
“Gloucester made a promise to his wife that they would remain at Hertford for a month, so de Clare has asked Father to take our men-at-arms to Wales in an effort to nip the uprising in the bud. Naturally, the constable agreed immediately.”
Her husband was so upset he was cursing. She dried herself quickly, slipped on her robe, and closed the distance between them. She slid her arms around him, hoping she could assuage his anger. “If it means we must travel to Hereford immediately, don’t worry about me, Humphrey. I will be ready.”
He stroked her hair. “You are an angel—it’s so unfair!” Suddenly he gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the bed; he fumbled with his chausses, then with feverish hands he opened her robe, lifted
her nightgown, and lay between her legs.
Jory braced herself to accommodate his sexual needs. She felt him press into her, but he did not penetrate her as she expected. She held her breath as he muttered a frustrated curse and her hand came up to caress his sex. Humphrey was flaccid, his cock limp.
He rolled off her. “I can’t…Marjory, I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, Humphrey.” Jory was at a loss.
“I’m not afraid!” he asserted.
Afraid of what…afraid to make love? Suddenly, Jory understood. He’s afraid of war! “Of course you’re not afraid. You are thinking only of me. I was so looking forward to our spending time at your lovely Midhurst Castle and refurbishing it.” She leaned over him and kissed him. “You are very gallant.”
She went to the wardrobe and pretended that choosing a gown was important. Perhaps it is for what I have in mind. “What do you think—the red or the blue?”
“You look exquisite no matter what you wear, but the pale blue is very pretty, Marjory.” He stood and straightened his garments.
She donned the delicate underdress and pulled on a short, midnight blue tunic, embroidered with silver moon and stars. She pulled on stockings and matching slippers, then brushed her hair and threaded a pale blue ribbon through her curls.
Downstairs, the first person they encountered was Henry. Humphrey’s brother could not hide his excitement. “Did he tell you, Marjory? We’re off to fight in Wales!”
“Of course he told me. We share everything.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “More than once, by the time of day you finally manage to come down,” he teased.
“Have you seen Lynx anywhere?” she asked.
“He’s readying his men to leave tomorrow. He and Father are in the armory. Your brother gave me a chain mail chainse with flexible links. Wait till you see it, Hump. You’ll die of envy.”
“My godmother, Lady de Bruce, is leaving today. I must go and say my good-byes to her.” Jory headed toward the solar, then made a detour outside to search out her own brother and de Bohun. She noticed that the wind had turned cold and was glad of the warmth from the braziers when she entered the armory. She paid no attention to the de Warenne men-at-arms who stared at her.
“You shouldn’t be here, Minx, among all these rough men, especially in such a costly gown,” Lynx admonished.
John de Bohun beamed at her. “You are such an ethereal beauty. They will think you the moon goddess descended from on high.”
Lynx gave a mock groan. “Don’t encourage her, Hereford. The she-devil will wrap you around her little finger.”
She gave the earl a dazzling smile. “As if I could.” Jory tucked her arm beneath her father-in-law’s and sent Lynx a signal that she wished to be alone with de Bohun.
Brother and sister could communicate without words. “You two go ahead. I want a word with my sword smith.” Lynx turned back.
“My lord earl, do you know what a honeymoon is?”
He laughed aloud. “It’s so long since I had one, I’ve forgotten. What is a honeymoon, my dear?”
“It is a period of one month following a marriage, set aside so that the newlywed couple can establish harmony and share love.”
He nodded. “Yes. It’s a romantic idyll.”
Jory sighed. “Mine is to be cut short because of war.”
“My dear, we hope to stop the unrest before it grows into war.”
“But still, if I could have a wish, it would be that Humphrey and I could go to Midhurst for our honeymoon month, and then we could hasten to Goodrich Castle in Hereford and Humphrey could then join you in Wales to help stop the insurgency.”
“Well, my dear, I don’t see any reason why you cannot have your wish. A bride as lovely as you should be indulged.” He squeezed her hand. “Never let it be said I stood in the way of harmony and love. You shall have your romantic idyll, Lady Marjory.”
“I thank you with all my heart, John.” She used his first name deliberately to show that she thought of him as a man first, then a father-in-law. Jory knew she had manipulated the earl, but did not feel much guilt because she had done it on Humphrey’s behalf.
She sought out her godmother and found Marjory Bruce packing her clothes. “May I ask you something personal? Was your first marriage arranged or was it a love match?”
“Arranged by King Alexander of Scotland. He wed me to the Earl of Carrick, who owned vast estates in England and Scotland.”
“Did you grow to love him?” Jory asked anxiously.
Lady Bruce smiled sadly. “There was hardly time. I became a widow almost before I had a chance to become a real wife.”
“Please tell me that your second marriage was a love match.”
Marjory Bruce’s smile turned radiant. “Yes indeed! Robert de Bruce was a wild young devil. I encountered him hunting on my estates and our attraction was immediate. Since he had no title, we knew the king would not give his consent to my marriage, for that would make Robert the new Earl of Carrick.”
“You wed without the king’s consent?”
“Robert kidnapped me and forced me to wed him. He swept me off my feet; I was ready to do aught he asked. He took me into hiding and when we emerged as man and wife, I told the king that I had instructed my men to abduct the Bruce. So, yes, my second marriage was definitely a love match.” Lady Bruce bent close and lowered her voice. “Now that I am older and wiser I often suspect that the shrewd devil set a marriage trap for me to gain the earldom and the vast lands. Yet I don’t regret a day of it.”
“That’s the most romantic story I’ve ever heard,” Jory said with a sigh. “I shall miss you. Go with God, my lady.”
Later that day, Gilbert de Clare and Joanna were supposed to depart for their castle at Hertford, but a courier brought a message from Windsor that the queen had been taken ill with a congestion of the chest. Since Eleanor’s health had not been robust for some time, Gilbert persuaded his wife to return to Windsor until her mother recovered.
Joanna embraced Jory. “Why don’t you manipulate Humphrey to stay at your castle of Midhurst for a month instead of rushing to the godforsaken Borders of Wales? Then we can travel together.”
“I wouldn’t dream of manipulating my husband.”
Joanna’s eyes sparkled. “You little hussy. You are one step ahead of me, as usual.”
“Nay, I simply follow your lead,” Jory assured her.
That night, when she and Humphrey retired to their bedchamber, he was elated. “Marjory, you won’t believe it. Father says it wouldn’t be right to deprive a bride of her honeymoon. We are to have a month at our castle of Midhurst before we go to Hereford.”
“I am indeed fortunate to have wed into such a kind and thoughtful family. I am proud to be a de Bohun.”
Humphrey had no trouble becoming aroused, yet as Jory tried to prolong the preliminaries, hoping to kindle her own desire, she almost ruined things. Her husband became so excited when they fondled each other that he barely had time to glove himself in her tight sheath before he spent. He groaned with frustration.
“It was almost over before I began. Next time you mustn’t tease me, Marjory. I want to stay inside you longer.”
When her husband slept, Jory lay staring into the darkness. She knew the feeling she was experiencing was akin to hunger.
The next day the de Bohuns and their men-at-arms departed, and two hours later the de Warennes were ready to leave for the coast, where ships would take them across the Channel.
Jory was determined that her farewell with her brother and uncle would not be a tearful one. Though she was terrified at their going to fight a war in France, she was resolved not to show her fear. She snuggled into her fur cloak. “Good-bye, Lynx. I hope Gascony will be warmer than England when you arrive.”
Lynx enfolded her in his arms. “Take care of yourself, Minx.”
She kissed John de Warenne’s cheek. “I know the king chose the right man to win back his English possessions. I am confide
nt the de Warennes will emerge victorious and win many honors.”
During the next two days Jory directed the packing of her and Humphrey’s personal things as well as the many wedding gifts they had received for their household of Midhurst. The master bedchamber was to be refurbished with the couple’s new bed and bedcurtains and the walls hung with Jory’s own tapestries.
Finally, the beautiful linens she had received from Sylvia were lovingly packed and sent downstairs to be loaded on the wagons. Jory descended the stairs and, for the last time, she looked about Hedingham, fighting the tears that suddenly threatened.
Don’t be a coward, Jory. Face your future with courage!
She and Sylvia went outside to the courtyard, where Humphrey was waiting to help her into the saddle. A messenger bearing Gloucester livery rode up and handed Humphrey de Bohun a letter. “It’s addressed to you, Marjory. It’s from Joanna.”
Jory smiled. “She’s probably wishing us bon voyage.” She opened it and scanned the note. Her smile faded and she raised sad, incredulous eyes to Humphrey. “Queen Eleanor is dead!”
The nobles who were still in England gathered at Windsor for Queen Eleanor’s funeral. Humphrey escorted his bride to the Royal Castle, where Jory immediately sought out Princess Joanna.
“You must be in shock. How are you holding up?”
Joanna allowed Jory to take her hands. “I’m so glad you came. Gilbert has been like a rock for me. With Father away fighting in France, I didn’t know what to do.”
“Do you feel well? Is the baby all right?” Jory asked.
Joanna nodded. “My husband has made me rest each day. Mother’s ladies-in-waiting have done all that needs to be done.”
“We brought my sister-in-law with us. Sylvia is devastated. Lynx had already left for France when we received your letter. I don’t know how she will cope without him.”
“Her father arrived at Windsor this morning.”
“I’m glad Sylvia will have her father’s strong arm to support her. Your brother must be desolate over the death of his mother, especially with his father being absent.”
Infamous Page 13
