Infamous

by Virginia Henley

  “I can be ready to leave tomorrow if that is convenient.”

  “So can I. The only supplies we’ll need to take are a few barrels of ale, since neither Windrush nor Flamstead have a brew house. You tell Meg and I’ll inform Mr. Burke.”

  The following day, in the late afternoon, the small cavalcade arrived at Windrush Castle. Meg, who insisted she could ride, had stayed in the saddle for one hour only. She grudgingly journeyed the rest of the way in the baggage cart, pointedly ignoring the I told you so look on Mr. Burke’s face.

  The small castle sat on the bank of a tributary of the River Windrush surrounded by hills dotted with sheep.

  “Oh, it is enchanting! Is it really mine, Guy?”

  “Every woolly sheep and lamb,” he declared solemnly.

  “The flocks belong to Windrush?” she asked with excitement.

  “They do, indeed. You are a woman of wealth, Lady Warwick.”

  Guy took Jory into the castle and asked the steward to assemble the household in the dining hall. When they gathered, Guy held up his hands for silence.

  “I am proud to present my wife, Marjory de Beauchamp. I must also tell you that the Countess of Warwick is the new owner of Windrush. I gifted her with the castle as a wedding present.”

  A great cheer went up from the servants, the castle guards, and many of the shepherds who tended the flocks.

  Guy lifted Jory onto a table. “Say something to your people.”

  At that moment, a territorial growling match broke out between Brutus and some black and white sheep-dogs. Though the wolfhound was outnumbered, he soon had the other dogs on the retreat.

  Jory smiled apologetically. “What can I say? Dominance runs in the family.”

  Everyone howled with laughter at the Earl of Warwick’s expense and she captured their hearts with her first words to them.

  “I smell something good cooking for dinner. Let me guess.” She took an appreciative sniff. “Ahh, pig’s dick and lettuce. His Lordship’s favorite!”

  Warwick joined in the laughter. “What can I say? Lewdness runs in the family.” He lifted her down and kissed her soundly.

  Hand in hand they toured the small castle. “Windrush is in need of refurbishing. Why don’t you do it over to suit your own taste, sweetheart? I think the Warwick coffers will permit me to offer you carte blanche.”

  “Will you teach me to speak French? Words sound so sensual when you say them en Français.”

  “If you become any more sensual, Madame de Beauchamp, I’ll be in a permanent state of arousal.”

  “Are you boasting or complaining, Frenchman?” Jory licked her lips and deliberately brushed against him.

  “Little cock-tease,” he murmured and pinched her bum.

  Jory sensed eyes watching them and turned in time to catch a look of disapproval on her serving woman’s face. “There’s no need to unpack, Meg. We’ll be here only overnight.” She turned back to her husband. “Perhaps it was a mistake to bring her. She is not the least bit sociable and doesn’t mix well with others.”

  “The Windrush Castle’s household is made up of Midlanders. Meg is Welsh. People from Wales are a breed apart.”

  “She’s an odd woman. She told me she was Rickard’s nurse, yet she seemed to purposely avoid him when he visited us.”

  “They clash—after his mother died, Meg tried to take her place but Rickard would have none of it.” He abruptly changed the subject. “Come, I want to show you the river before the sun sets.”

  They went outside and he took her down to a small boathouse where a couple of skiffs were moored. The water of the river was placid and slow moving. Ducks and a pair of swans glided by.

  “I used to have a black marble bathing tub carved in the shape of a swan. I was exceedingly fond of it.”

  “Your words paint a provocative picture that is indelible. I am insanely jealous if it was a gift from a lover, chéri.”

  “Of course it wasn’t,” she denied. “I bought it for myself. Guy, you are the only man who has ever given me presents.”

  Are you telling the truth, or telling me what I want to hear? “That’s good. How about a row on the river before dinner?”

  “You have boundless energy. ’Tis one of the myriad things I find irresistible about you.”

  Guy handed her into the skiff and she reclined against the padded cushions. He removed his doublet and she watched the play of muscles through the fine material of his shirt as he picked up the oars and began to row. Jory trailed her fingers in the water and sighed with bliss. On their wedding day he had pledged that his sole purpose in life was to bring her happiness and, apart from the Arden Forest episode, he’d fulfilled that vow every day.

  Before dinner, Jory made a point of mingling with the inhabitants of Windrush, learning their names and asking what duties they performed. Guy spoke with the sheep steward, who assured him the ewes were healthy and the lambs thriving.

  After the meal, two women named Mary and Maggie came forward and presented the countess with a lambswool robe. “Thank you for such a lovely gift. You wove it yourselves; I will treasure it.”

  “Everyone loses their heart to you, sweetheart, and I am no exception.” He rubbed the soft wool between his fingers and murmured intimately, “This will give pleasure to both of us.”

  When they retired, Jory saw that the bed was not nearly so wide as the one at Warwick. “We’ll have to sleep very close tonight.”

  “Sleep wasn’t what I had in mind. The thought of your naked flesh wrapped in lambswool has me randy as a Windrush ram.”

  “Perhaps it was the artichokes we had at dinner. They are rumored to be an aphrodisiac.” She undressed and put on the robe, knowing the sight of her in the soft wool aroused his passion.

  He sat on the side of the bed and pulled her between his naked thighs. “Since this is your castle, and your bed, and you are all-powerful here, why don’t you make love to me tonight?”

  Jory dissolved into laughter. “Warwick, you are deluding yourself if you believe you could take the passive role in anything, especially lovemaking, for longer than thirty seconds. Sex is a mating dance of domination and submission, and I warrant you are incapable of the latter. You are a master of control and you delight in driving me to the limit of my endurance. Your greatest pleasure comes when I yield and cling and shudder.”

  “Guilty as charged.” He opened her robe and trailed his lips down her belly. Then he lifted her so that he could thrust his teasing tongue into her honeyed sheath. His hot, hungry mouth proceeded to devour her until she screamed with excitement.

  In the dining hall the next morning before they continued their journey, Jory held up her hands for silence. “I have fallen in love with Windrush and promise to come back as often as I possibly can. I have quite made up my mind!”

  Two days later the travelers arrived at Flamstead Castle. In the bailey, Meg shunned Mr. Burke’s offer of help and descended from the baggage cart with a face like a thundercloud.

  “Flamstead is just as beautiful as I remember,” Jory told Guy. “I know it doesn’t have soaring towers like Warwick Castle, but it is less intimidating and the graceful horses in the pastures make it feel serene and welcoming. Brutus looks happy; I’m amazed at his stamina. He kept pace with us all the way.”

  Guy lifted her from the saddle. “And I am amazed at your stamina, sweetheart. No one would guess your delicate condition.”

  Jory glanced quickly at Meg but didn’t think she had overheard. “I’ll be able to ride for months yet,” she murmured to Guy.

  “Nevertheless, I’d like you to rest tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough to explore Flamstead’s nooks and crannies. Meg will show you my living quarters and Mr. Burke will bring your luggage. As soon as I’ve stabled the horses, I’ll join you.”

  When they entered the castle, Mr. Burke explained, “The Great Hall is far smaller than the one at Warwick, since Flamstead has no garrison of fighting men. There are guards, of course, and the castle ho
usehold, but the rest of the inhabitants are horsemen, grooms, and stable hands.”

  Guy’s living quarters were up only one flight of stone steps and consisted of two large chambers. Mr. Burke carried Jory’s trunk into the bedroom and Meg lit the candles.

  “Thank you both. I shall do my own unpacking. Go and see to your own needs, Meg.”

  “I shall bring you some hot water, my lady, then leave you to your own devices while I make sure the cooks provide us with a palatable meal.” Mr. Burke held the door for Meg, who swept past him as if he were invisible.

  By the time Jory had hung her clothes in the wardrobe, Guy arrived with his own luggage. After they washed and changed, he took his wife down to the hall for dinner. He led her up onto the low dais and grinned at the assembled household. “It gives me the greatest pleasure in the world to present my beautiful wife, Lady Marjory, Countess of Warwick. I know you will serve her well.”

  All raised tankards, cheered, and chorused, “To Lady Marjory.”

  Jory stood and lifted her goblet in a salute to the assembly. The six knights who had accompanied them, along with Mr. Burke, were seated at the first table below the dais. Beyond them were the castle servants and the horsemen, some of whom had wives. “Thank you for your warm welcome. Flamstead feels like home.”

  Later, when they retired, Jory put on her nightgown and knelt on the wide bed. “Guy, I need to discuss something with you.”

  “About which side of the bed you want to sleep on?” he teased.

  “I want to sleep on your side, of course. No, be serious for a moment. When people learn I’m having a baby, my family for instance, everyone will congratulate you about becoming a father again and…it could make you feel awkward.”

  “My love, I shall be a father again. Their good wishes won’t make me feel awkward in the least. I promise the baby won’t be a problem, Jory. Stop worrying.”

  “Oh, Guy, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “You’ll never be without me.”

  During the week that followed, Jory and Guy spent every day together. Her interest and love of horses was almost as great as his and, like a sponge, she soaked up all the details of breeding and bloodlines that he taught her.

  “This week has been heavenly. I was absolutely fascinated last night when I watched you deliver the foal. At first I was glad it was a filly rather than a colt, but when it managed to stand up and stagger toward its mother, all that really mattered was that it was strong and healthy.”

  “You discerned its sex, but can you guess its lineage?”

  “Yes,” she said with confidence. “It’s a crossbred Anglo-Arab: delicate head, deep chest, short back, high tail, and long slender legs. They are reputedly spirited and intelligent.”

  “Rather like you. I believe I’ll call her Jory.”

  She laughed, pleased at the name. “Do you christen them all?”

  “I do. They have names from mythology, the galaxy, and upon occasion I resort to the names of plants and such.”

  “You mean like buttercup and daisy?”

  “Good God, no! See that large grey stallion? I named him Phallus Impudicus, which is Latin for stinkhorn fungus.”

  Jory threw back her head and laughed with glee. “And for very obvious reasons. You have a wicked humor, Warwick.”

  “Do you consider that a virtue or a vice?”

  “You have virtues?” she teased.

  “Not many,” he admitted. “Why don’t we ride down to the river and I’ll teach you to swim?”

  “I know how to swim, but you can teach me a vice or two, my lord Phallus Impudicus.”

  They dismounted on the riverbank and tethered their horses where they could crop the sweet grass. Guy began to strip immediately and, not to be out-done, Jory followed suit.

  “I feel like a pagan!”

  His glance swept her naked beauty from head to foot. “Nay, pagans are swarthy-skinned, black-haired heathen devils, like me. You look more like an ethereal water sprite.”

  “But don’t both indulge in sensual pleasures?”

  “Let’s find out.” He picked her up and carried her into the tall wildflowers that bloomed in profusion at the river’s edge. He stretched out and pulled her down on top of him in the dominant position. “Let me teach you the art of frottage.”

  “Oh yes, please,” Jory said breathlessly. “That is a delightfully sinful-sounding French word.”

  “You have no idea, English.”

  Toward month’s end, Jory saw that her waist had thickened, but as she packed her stylish gowns for the visit to Hedingham she knew they would conceal her condition for the present. Even though it was not absolutely necessary to reveal to Lynx and Jane that she was with child, and she was slightly apprehensive about doing so, she felt a need to get it out in the open.

  “Would you like to pick out a palfrey for Jane? I think that would make a splendid gift for your brother’s wife.”

  “That is so generous of you, Guy! Jane has a mystical affinity for animals. She’ll be thrilled with a palfrey from Flamstead.”

  That afternoon he showed her two dozen year-lings and allowed her to make the choice. Remembering that Jane had ridden a white horse in Scotland, Jory chose a filly that was the same color. “Since Meg has trouble in the saddle these days, I see no need to drag her to Hedingham; the castle boasts a dozen tiring women.”

  “Perhaps you can lure one away from your sister-in-law. Meg is woefully inadequate for a lady with your elegance and style.”

  Jory rolled her eyes. “Don’t let her hear you, Warwick!”

  “Mr. Burke won’t be going either. I will leave him in charge here. Hedingham’s not far; an escort of two should be adequate.”

  “If we’re leaving in the morning, I should finish my packing.”

  Guy sought out two of the knights who had accompanied him from Warwick. “We will be leaving for Hedingham in the morning and staying at Lynx de Warenne’s castle for a few days. Learn all you can from his men about the two years they spent in Scotland.”

  Chapter 23

  “Jory, you look radiant.” Jane, who had been standing beside Lynx to welcome the Earl and Countess of Warwick to Hedingham, ran down the castle steps in her eagerness to greet her dearest friend. “’Tis obvious that marriage agrees with you.” Jane watched avidly as Guy de Beauchamp lifted his wife from the saddle. Pride and love were etched in his face and, Jane also discerned, more than a touch of possessiveness.

  The women embraced each other. “Jane, you are absolutely blooming. We brought you a gift.” She took the reins of the white palfrey and led it forward. “It was Warwick’s idea.”

  “Oh, she is a rare beauty. I thank you both with all my heart.” Jane fondled the animal’s nose and whispered something in her ear. “There isn’t a chance in the world that Lynx will allow me to ride her now that I am starting my seventh month, but that will give us time to form an inseparable bond with each other.”

  Lynx joined them and shook hands with Guy. “Welcome to Hedingham. The gift for my wife is most generous of you.” He took the palfrey’s reins. “Come, I’ll show you where you can stable your mounts. Then it will be the dinner hour. My wife is eager to show off her newly acquired skills as chatelaine, and we dare not be late for the meal.” He winked. “You know how fiery redheads can be.” Lynx beckoned a squire and asked him to show the Warwick knights to their sleeping quarters.

  When the two men were alone, Guy asked, “How is John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, faring?”

  “Thank you for your concern. His health is much improved.”

  When Lynx offered nothing more, Warwick abandoned subtlety. “Surrey turned his forces over to Pembroke and now the king has made the earl head general of the army.”

  “Since Pembroke now commands the most fighting men, John and I expected him to be made head general.”

  “Did you also expect the king to order the army north?”

  “Wha
t you are really asking is: Did I know that the Bruce intended to seize the Crown of Scotland?”

  “Did you?” Warwick asked bluntly.

  “Bruce, Earl of Carrick, is the rightful King of Scotland.”

  “Your answer tells me that you were expecting it.”

  “I was, though it came as a shock to Edward Plantagenet. He thought he had conquered the Scots and all he had left to do was appoint English administrators to run the country. As well as fighting in Scotland, I garrisoned a castle for over two years and know the Scots will never bend the knee to Edward Plantagenet. What he did to Wallace will only make them more determined.”

  “When Edward calls his barons to war, as he assuredly will, I would like to know who will answer the call and who will refuse before I make my own decision,” Warwick declared.

  “Well, I can tell you flatly that Roger Bigod, Earl of Norfolk, will refuse. When my first wife, Sylvia, died leaving him without heirs, the king declared that the Crown would claim the marshal’s landholdings upon his death. On the other hand, I warrant that John de Bohun, Earl of Hereford, and his son, Henry, will answer the king’s call to war. He takes his post as England’s constable seriously and wants to pass it down to his son and heir.”

  Warwick nodded. “Will you answer Edward’s call to arms?”

  “Like you, I would prefer to know what the other barons will do before I make my decision. I am inclined to refuse, since I know it’s a losing proposition, but His Majesty can be vindictive and I have a wife, a son, and another child on the way. In the end I will do what is expedient, as I am sure you will, Warwick.”

  “You may depend upon it. Shall we join the ladies?”

  In Hedingham’s Great Hall Warwick saw that Jory had changed her riding outfit for a gown of deep violet with a low-cut décolletage to show off her jewels. Her head was uncovered and her silver-gilt hair whispered about her shoulders in a most enticing way. His wife looked dazzling and he saw that he wasn’t the only one to notice. He watched closely as she kissed one knight on the cheek and moved into the embrace of another handsome young devil. He strode over so that she would introduce her admirers. His gut knotted. If one of these swines is Robert, he’s a dead man!