Infamous

by Virginia Henley

  “Ah, Warwick my love, may I present my brother’s squires, Taffy and Thomas? They have always been extremely protective of me.”

  With difficulty, Warwick managed to be civil to the pair. As he led his wife to the dais, she stopped to greet and bestow her smiles on so many of her brother’s men-at-arms that he was grinding his teeth by the time they reached their seats. He made an effort to curb his jealousy and told himself that he had better get used to it—Jory was always at her loveliest when surrounded by admirers. “It appears that every de Warenne male has lost his heart to you, my beauty.”

  “They are just being polite. To a man, I warrant they have transferred their affection to Lynx’s beauteous wife, Jane.”

  He glanced down at Jane, who sat next to him, and said gallantly, “Lady de Warenne, you grace your husband’s hall with your beauty and warmth. He is a very lucky man.”

  Jane’s face glowed. “Jory warned me about your fatal French charm, Lord Warwick.”

  Jory leaned forward. “Don’t tell him that, Jane. His head will swell, not to mention other parts of his anatomy.”

  “Oh, how I’ve missed your saucy lessons.” She smiled at Warwick. “Your wife taught me the art of seduction. She knows everything there is to know about men and how to manipulate them.”

  “Indeed?”

  Jory’s eyes met her husband’s and she tried to hide her dismay. “Jane was unbelievably innocent and unworldly.”

  “Desirable qualities in a bride.”

  Jory’s dismay deepened. Need he point out that she had been neither innocent nor unworldly? She found the courage to answer his words with a jibe. “Warwick’s an expert on brides,” Jory said solemnly and saw the corner of his mouth twitch with amusement.

  Over his wife’s head, Lynx looked at Guy with commiseration. “I don’t envy you the taming of her.”

  Jory smiled serenely. “Warwick wouldn’t want me any other way.”

  Guy captured his wife’s hand under cover of the table. “That’s true, chéri,” he murmured.

  Jane’s hand went to her belly. “Oh, my baby is kicking again.”

  Guy smiled down at her. “Are you hoping for another boy?”

  “I am hoping for a girl this time, my lord.”

  “That is exactly what my wife is hoping for,” he confided.

  “Jory, you are having a baby? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  Jory blushed. “I didn’t want to be the center of attention.”

  Lynx choked on his ale. “You may be able to delude yourself, Minx, but we know better. Congratulations, Warwick. You already have a son, but I despaired of having a child until I met Jane.”

  Jory squeezed her husband’s hand, silently thanking him for making it seem the most natural thing in the world that she was with child. I feel so blessed to have this man. She smiled at Jane. “Now it will be your turn to give me lessons. May I help with the wee lordling’s bath in the morning?”

  “If you can pry him from his nurse. Grace Murray rules the nursery here at Hedingham, as she did at Dumfries.”

  “I’m familiar with Edinburgh and Stirling, but not Dumfries,” Guy remarked casually. “Is Dumfries Castle in the dales?”

  “Yes, it is in Annandale…much wilder countryside than here, but it will always hold a place in my heart,” Jane confided.

  Annandale is Bruce territory. It is no coincidence that Lynx de Warenne garrisoned a castle there.

  Before he retired, Warwick spoke with his knights. “What were you able to learn about the time they spent in Scotland?”

  “Because de Warenne’s uncle was governor, they were called on to fight in the front lines and chase down Baliol until the wily devil was captured. They said de Warenne persuaded the Bruce to fight on the side of the English many times, though he and his men were reluctant. The Bruce brothers often visited Dumfries, the castle de Warenne garrisoned. During the time de Warenne was recovering from his near-fatal wound, the visits increased. They became thick as thieves and even spent last yuletide together.”

  Warwick nodded. “Keep your ears open. Good night.”

  Next morning, Jory was up with the lark. “I’m off for some baby talk with Jane and her ladies. My nephew is the most beautiful child in the world—I can’t wait to see how he’s grown.”

  Guy touched her face with the back of his fingers. “Your cheeks have the soft bloom of rose petals this morning. It does me good to see you so happy.”

  “Thanks to you. All my apprehension about revealing my secret has melted away. You have turned what could have been the most difficult time in my life to the happiest. You are my magic man.”

  Guy breakfasted in the Great Hall with Lynx and the de Warenne men-at-arms. Then Lynx took him to the castle’s armory, where the blacksmiths were forging small metal links into chain mail shirts that were much more flexible than breastplates. When Guy admired them, Lynx made him a present of one.

  As Warwick mingled with the de Warenne knights he found himself paying close attention to the names of those who were young and handsome. There was Giles, Bernard, Royce, and Harry, but as far as he could tell, none seemed to be named Robert.

  They emerged from the armory into the bailey and saw a tall knight ride in with his squire.

  “I don’t recognize him,” Lynx remarked to Warwick.

  “I do,” Guy replied. “It’s Ralph Monthermer, who became Earl of Gloucester when he wed Princess Joanna.” Warwick had met his friend Gilbert de Clare’s first lieutenant many times over the years. “He’s a good man.”

  Ralph dismounted and his squire took his horse. Guy greeted him warmly and introduced him to Lynx de Warenne.

  “I have a message from His Majesty for you, Lord de Warenne, but I didn’t know you would be here too, Lord Warwick. I shall kill two crows with one stone since the king’s message is intended for all his premier barons.”

  Guy and Lynx exchanged a knowing glance. The call to arms had come sooner than either had expected.

  “Come into the hall and refresh yourself, Gloucester. Did you ride in from London or Windsor?”

  “Neither. King Edward is at my castle of Hertford. He summoned me to bring a force of fighting men from Gloucester.”

  They took Monthermer to the hall, and the three men were enjoying tankards of ale when Jory arrived on the scene.

  “Ralph! Is that you? Oh, I cannot believe it!” She ran to him and the two friends embraced each other. “Are you at your castle of Hertford? Is Joanna with you?”

  Warwick slanted a dark brow. “Is there no end to your conquests, chéri?”

  Lynx threw him a wry glance. “I’m afraid there isn’t.”

  “Yes, Lady Marjory, Joanna is at Hertford, as is her father,” Ralph Monthermer confirmed.

  “How wonderful! Will you take me to visit her, Guy? Hertford is within spitting distance,” Jory declared.

  Ralph looked from Jory to Guy de Beauchamp with speculation.

  “I’m the Countess of Warwick. I wrote and told Joanna but sent the letter to Gloucester Castle. Oh what fun…I shall be able to tell her in person. Is baby Margaret well?”

  “She is a baby no longer, my lady.” Ralph grinned. “I congratulate you on your marriage, Lord Warwick. You must be the envy of every man in England.”

  Jory gifted him with a radiant smile. “How soon can we go?”

  “Since King Edward has summoned our presence, we had best go today.” Guy looked at Lynx for confirmation. “The sooner we get it over with the better, I warrant.”

  Jory glanced quickly at Guy and then Lynx. Stop worrying. They’ll both refuse the king’s call to arms to fight in Scotland.

  “I shall go up and pack immediately. We can leave after lunch. Do you think Jane would like to come with us, Lynx?”

  “I’ll ask her, but I doubt she would enjoy a visit with the royal Plantagenets.”

  A few hours later, as everyone assembled in the hall for the midday meal, Jane brought her son to show him off to the guests. “He h
as his father’s long legs and has begun to walk by himself,” his mother told Guy proudly.

  The boy staggered a few steps toward Warwick, who bent and picked him up. The laughing child immediately grabbed a fistful of Guy de Beauchamp’s long black hair and chortled with glee.

  “No, Lincoln Robert, that’s naughty,” Jane scolded. “I’m so sorry, Lord Warwick. His father encourages his antics.”

  “He’s a strong, handsome lad.” Guy asked casually, “Named Lincoln after his father, and Robert after a valiant de Warenne knight perhaps?”

  “Nay, my lord. He’s named after his godfather, Robert Bruce.” She took her son from Guy de Beauchamp’s arms and turned to see Jory enter the hall. “Here comes your beautiful godmother.”

  Warwick stood rooted to the spot. Holy Christ, is it possible her lover was Robert Bruce? He felt as if a boulder had smashed into his solar plexus. He stared at his wife. In the azure riding dress with her lovely hair billowing about her shoulders, she was exquisitely tempting. No man could see her and not want her. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Robert Bruce was the whoreson who had seduced her. How could I have been so fucking blind and obtuse? He closed his eyes and saw a sea of dark crimson red. Warwick knew it was bloodlust.

  The ride to Hertford Castle took little more than an hour. Jory rode beside Ralph Monthermer, who answered all her questions about Joanna and Margaret. She was completely unaware that Warwick, flanked by his two knights, rode in aloof silence totally immersed in his own private torment.

  Raging jealousy almost consumed him. Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, was in his prime, no more than twenty-three years old, the exact same age as Jory. Moreover, he was now a king no less; apparently an exceedingly virile king, who had planted his seed without thought, then abandoned the lady shamelessly because of his driving ambition for a crown. I’ll kill the whoreson!

  They arrived at the castle, and Ralph helped Lady Marjory from the saddle. Filled with excitement, she lifted the hem of her riding dress and rushed inside to surprise Joanna. A servant directed her to a private walled garden, and as she stood on the steps that led out to a green lawn with a splashing fountain, she saw four ladies playing ball with a little girl, who could only be Margaret of Gloucester. The ball rolled toward her and she scooped it up and tossed it back to them.

  “Jory?” Joanna shaded her eyes. “Yes, it is Jory!” She hurried across the lawn with open arms. “I thought you had dropped off the face of the earth.” She embraced her friend, then stepped back to observe her from head to toe. “My God, I once predicted that someday you would exude sensuality and, lo and behold, that day has arrived.”

  “Oh, Joanna, it’s so good to see you again and know that you still say exactly what you think.”

  “I warrant such a transformation must be the result of exploring and indulging your sexuality to the fullest. I cannot wait to hear all the details. Eleanor de Leyburn and Maud Clifford will be grass green with envy.”

  “Eleanor, Maud, how wonderful it is to see you both again.”

  “Jory, you look radiant,” Eleanor declared.

  “How do you always manage to look so elegant?” Maud asked.

  The little girl ran up to her. “Are you an angel?”

  Joanna hooted. “She does have angel tresses, but the resemblance stops there, poppet!” She took her daughter’s hand. “It’s been so long, I don’t think Margaret remembers you, Jory.”

  “I remember you, Margaret. How could I forget the prettiest girl in the world?” She still has the dear little freckles.

  Joanna turned and motioned for the other female in their group to come forward. “This is Catherine, youngest sister of Roger Mortimer, whom I’m sure you must remember.”

  “Of course I remember. We attended his wedding at Wigmore. I’m delighted to meet you, Catherine.” Her dark beauty is entrancing. She is so young and vividly lovely, I’m surprised Joanna doesn’t resent her.

  “I remember you from the wedding, Lady Marjory. I was only ten at the time and completely in awe of you.”

  “Out with it, Jory de Warenne, you are fairly bursting to tell us your news,” Joanna guessed shrewdly.

  “My name is no longer de Warenne, nor de Bohun. I happen to be Marjory de Beauchamp!”

  Joanna’s jaw dropped. “Well, I’ll be damned. I warrant the infamous Earl of Warwick is the source of your ripe sensuality.”

  Jory smiled. “If I look ripe, it is because I’m with child.”

  “At long last, you are getting your heart’s desire for a child of your own. Marjory, I am so happy for you.”

  Catherine gazed at Jory with disbelief, and then she blushed profusely and lowered her lashes. “Is the Earl of Warwick with you today, my lady?”

  Jory was slightly puzzled. The young lady looked lovestruck. “Do you know my husband, Catherine?”

  “Oh no…I know his son, Sir Rickard de Beauchamp,” she said breathlessly. “I met him at Westminster when he was being knighted along with my brother Roger and Prince Edward.”

  “Ah, you must guard your heart, Catherine. The de Beauchamp men have a fatal French charm that make them irresistible.”

  “Come, I have just the tower chamber to accommodate the Earl and Countess of Warwick,” Joanna declared. “I warrant you have a mountain of luggage and I want to see every elegant garment. Catherine, gather some of those fragrant damask roses for milady’s chamber.”

  When they entered the castle, Joanna dispatched a servant to locate the Warwicks’ trunks and deliver them to the guest tower.

  As they climbed the tower stairs Jory and Joanna each took one of Margaret’s hands to help the four-year-old and all three took delight in counting the steps. “One two, buckle my shoe.”

  At the top of the steps, Joanna ordered, “Close your eyes.” She glanced at Jory to make sure she complied. “Now…open!”

  “Oh, my beautiful black swan bathing tub! You brought it from Gloucester Castle just for me.”

  “Well, not exactly. I had every intention of stealing it for my own use, but with my black hair and dark skin it made me look like a hideous Medusa.”

  The marble swan sat in a corner of the tower room beside a stone fireplace. The wide bed had royal purple curtains and the walls were covered with rich tapestries that depicted naked nymphs in various wooded settings. “This chamber is rather sybaritic—ideal for you and that dark virile earl you wed, I warrant.”

  Catherine put the damask roses in a vase beside the bed and their fragrant scent filled the air.

  “I shall bathe in my decadent black swan tonight before I retire with the infamous devil. I’ve quite made up my mind!”

  Chapter 24

  “Come, we will dine in my private chambers tonight, rather than the hall. I can hardly bear to be in Father’s presence, so I’m not about to expose you to His Majesty’s murderous mood. Since he learned that the Bruce was crowned King of Scotland, he’s been like a warhorse with a hot poker up its arse,” Joanna warned.

  “Robert Bruce is the rightful King of Scotland,” Jory declared.

  Eleanor and Maud gasped. Joanna’s eyes narrowed. “Just because Marjory Bruce is your godmother, doesn’t mean you owe your loyalty to a traitor. There isn’t a man breathing who has turned his coat more than Robert Bloody Bruce!” Joanna beckoned her daughter’s nurse and the woman led Margaret away.

  “It is a fait accompli,” Jory said flatly. “Why doesn’t King Edward accept it and enjoy his declining years instead of calling his barons to fight another bloody, never-ending war?”

  Joanna laughed. “It’s a male thing. You know one male cannot bear another to have something he claims belongs to him…whether it’s a country, a castle, a woman, or even a hunting bitch.”

  Jory went icy cold. Dear God, never let Warwick know Robert Bruce was my lover.

  They arrived at Joanna’s chambers and she informed a serving woman that the ladies would like dinner brought up.

  “Joanna, your br
other Edward is nominal head of the army and is already at the Border. Aren’t you afraid for his life?”

  Joanna laughed even harder. “My brother won’t go into battle. He doesn’t have the balls to fight. He’s like a girl. I should have been the boy—I’d make a far better king and Edward would make a far better queen!” She laughed at her own jest.

  “He may not fight, but he’ll order others to do the killing and bloodletting for him—my brother, Catherine’s brother, my husband, and your husband too, Joanna.”

  “King Edward Plantagenet did not fight all these years to conquer Scotland, then sit back and let the Bruce become king.”

  “Yes,” Jory declared passionately. “He fought all those years to conquer Scotland so he could pass it on to his son. Once your brother is king, he will lose everything your father has won, and all the bloodshed will have been for naught.”

  Joanna sobered. “You’re right, of course. Father realizes the only way my brother can hang on to any of our French possessions is to wed him to King Philip of France’s daughter.”

  “Poor lady,” Jory murmured.

  “Isabella is only thirteen, little more than a child.”

  “Then my heart truly bleeds for her,” Jory whispered.

  “Let us talk of something more pleasant. I hope you realize you will become as big as a pig full of figs, my beauteous friend,” Joanna said with unconcealed glee. “Ah, here is dinner. I cannot wait to see you gorge yourself, Jory. Before you’re done, your hump will be as big as a camel’s, I warrant!”

  Jory went pale.

  “Curse my tongue! I forgot your mother died in childbirth, darling. I’m jealous that you are so tiny—pay no heed to me.”

  Why is it Joanna cannot resist saying cruel things? Jory pondered. It’s in her Plantagenet blood, I suppose.