Lynx lay on his back, his arms crossed above his head. Jane Leslie was unbelievably desirable. He was well content with the choice he had made, though he chided himself for letting passion rule the night. He had thought it would be so easy to keep a formal distance between them and not allow his emotions to become involved. He had promised her the handfasting would be a simple business arrangement, but already he had stepped over the bounds. From now on he vowed to have better control over himself.
When he was certain she slept, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head, swung his long legs to the floor, then climbed to his own chambers to sleep in his own bed.
11
In Carlisle, Jory and Robert Bruce did not have the luxury of a bed. The lovers wished to keep their liaison a secret and as a result had to ride out from Carlisle Castle for their tryst. Long hours of keeping their eyes and hands from each other made their desire mount to such a peak, they could think of nothing but making love.
Jory kept her late afternoon appointment with a Carlisle dressmaker, but afterward she did not return to the castle. Instead, she rode out through the gates of the town to a prearranged meeting place with Robert. It was the mystical time of twilight when he spotted her, but he did not draw rein. Instead he galloped by with a wild whoop, challenging her to catch him.
Jory loved a dare, and soon she was neck and neck with him. “Where are we going, you devil?”
His grin flashed. “There’s something I want you to see.”
The long grass covered their horses up to their hocks, while a lone kestrel flew overhead toward his roost for the night. Suddenly they rode over a ridge and there before them stood a stone turret, twenty feet high. Robert reined in, dismounted and came to lift Jory from her saddle.
“What is it?”
“A lookout post built by the Romans one thousand years ago.”
As she came down into his arms, her lovely gilt hair brushed his face, causing him to shudder with longing. He kissed her deeply, tasting her, inhaling her unique scent, groaning as she pressed her breasts close and kissed him back with sensual abandon.
Robert slipped a possessive arm about her and drew her close against his side. His other hand swept out dramatically. “This is Hadrian’s Wall. It was the first thing ever to separate England and Scotland.”
“It was built to separate the civilized English from the barbarian Scots,” Jory teased. “And rightly so, you are still wildmen!”
“Only some of us,” he said, bending low to nip her ear with his teeth. “But you are right, Jory. They built it to guard the boundary between the Civilized World and the Outer Darkness beyond.”
Her eyes swept from the sandstone masonry of the tower to where his finger pointed, and saw the long wall with its dragon back snaking across the landscape.
“Come,” he urged. “Come into my country. I want to make love to you in the land I intend to rule!” Robert Bruce helped Jory climb to the top of the once turreted and castellated wall and dropped to the other side. Then he held up his arms, and without hesitation, Jory sprang down to him. “Look at these things,” he urged.
She peered closely in the twilight and saw the symbols of phalluses carved into the stone. “They come in a glorious variety,” she marveled.
Robert laughed. “Superstition—to fend off the evil eye. You can have your pick of small or large, curved or straight; some are even bewinged, or have bells tied to them.”
“You know which I pick,” Jory mumured, moving against him playfully.
“Did you say prick?” he teased, pressing his hardness into her soft belly.
“Oh, yes please,” she whispered breathlessly.
They slipped up inside the turret where Robert spread his cloak over the ancient stones, then stripped off his clothes. Jory resisted removing her own garments so that they could both indulge in the pleasure of his undressing her. As he uncovered her, inch by delicious inch, his lips worshiped her. Then his tongue licked her from neck to knees until her cries were carried on the wind across the rugged terrain of the wild border country.
It was two full hours before they allowed each other to dress. Both knew they must take what they wanted while they were together. They only had tonight. As they wrapped their cloaks about themselves and untethered their horses, Jory knew a moment of apprehension for him.
“Would you betray King Edward?”
He lifted her chin. “Would he betray me?”
“Without a moment’s hesitation,” she said softly. “I fear for you, Robert.”
“You think me reckless, but in this I am a canny Scot. My grandfather, Robert Bruce, did all in his power to become rightful King of Scotland. When he died, unsuccessful, it was my father’s turn. He spent his life trying to accomplish the same goal, and he too was unsuccessful. Now it is my turn. Our motto has become: ‘If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.’ Jory, I shall become King of Scotland, one way or another. Perhaps it will be as simple as outliving Edward Plantagenet. He grows old. His son is a weakling who will never be able to hold this land, even if his father wins it for him.”
Her moment of apprehension passed. If any man could do it, Robert Bruce could. Before they arrived back at the castle, he kissed her good-bye. She clung for one brief second, then bade him Godspeed until they could meet again.
The ladies of Carlisle Castle were gathered in Lady Bruce’s solar when Jory joined them.
“You’ve never been at the dressmakers until this hour,” Alice Bolton accused.
“Nay, afterward I paid a visit to an astrologer to have my future foretold.”
“And what are you going to be when you grow up?” Alicia asked acidly.
“Fair of face, irresistible to men, sweet and kind of nature.”
“You are already that!” Fourteen-year-old Elizabeth de Burgh giggled. She had come from Ireland with her father, the Earl of Ulster, and had been left in the care of Lady Marjory Bruce at Carlisle, with her two Irish serving women, Maggie and Molly, who shadowed her every waking moment. Elizabeth, who found the older and sophisticated Jory absolutely fascinating, had already lost her heart to Robert Bruce and was inordinately homesick for Ireland. Jory had immediately befriended the young girl and they had become allies against Alicia, who had little patience with a child of fourteen.
Lady Bruce poured a goblet of wine for Jory, her goddaughter. “You look frozen. Come and be warm by the fire. Alicia has been entertaining us with the tale of how she met your brother, Lynx.”
“It’s very romantic.” Elizabeth de Burgh sighed.
Jory blinked. Her brother was the least romantic man she knew. “If you like romance, you should hear Lady Marjory’s story.”
“Oh, you don’t want to hear that old tale again,” Lady Marjory demurred.
“Yes we do; let me tell the legend,” Jory insisted. “She was the very beautiful and very young, widowed Countess of Carrick when she encountered the handsome Robert Bruce hunting on her estates. She fell in love with him at a glance and instructed her men to abduct him. They weren’t seen again in public until they were man and wife!”
“Now for the truth,” said Lady Marjory, blushing prettily in spite of her years. “We did fall in love, violently I might add, but I was a ward of King Alexander of Scotland. Robert knew the king wouldn’t allow us to marry, for that would make Robert the Earl of Carrick. So he kidnapped me and forced me to wed him. To save his neck I put the tale about that it was I who abducted him.” Lady Bruce looked at Jory. “The Bruce men have always been wild devils; ’tis folly to underestimate them.”
Jory realized that she and Robert might be fooling the others, but her godmother was far too shrewd to have the wool pulled over her eyes for long. It tore at her heart that Robert was leaving, but it was probably best for the present.
Though Jory was an irresistible lure, she was not the main reason why Robert Bruce had come to Carlisle. He needed to learn where his enemies lay and had decided to set a trap, using as bait a baggage train of s
upplies that he dispatched from Carlisle along the main route of the western marches to Ayr and Glasgow. Galloway was ever a hotbed of unrest, always in need of arms and provisions, and Bruce needed to know just where, along the route, the wagons and packhorses would be raided.
When Jane Leslie awoke she found herself alone and wondered just when Lord de Warenne had quit the bed. She slipped her hand into the neck of the silk jupon and lifted the talisman from where it lay in the valley of her breasts. As she gazed down into the green eyes, much to her surprise she realized that she had enjoyed making love with Lynx and she felt disappointed that he was gone this morning.
Impatiently, she swept back her disheveled hair, feeling angry with herself for getting emotionally involved with him. The only reason he wanted her was for the heir she might produce for him. On top of everything else, he was an Englishman, not a Celt. Images of last night, when their bodies had been one, came flooding back to her. In the cold light of morning she was ashamed at how wantonly she had responded to him. She reminded herself that she did not want to belong to any man, least of all an Englishman!
When a low tap came upon the outer door, Jane felt panic rise up. She scrambled from the bed, saw the crimson spots of blood on her night rail, and grabbed Lynx’s black velvet bedrobe from the chair where he’d left it. When she wrapped it about herself, his scent enveloped her, angering yet exciting her at the same time.
It was Taffy with her breakfast, and behind him were servants carrying her bathwater. She was too shy to ask him where Lynx was, but the squire answered her question without knowing it.
“My lord has arranged for the sewing women to make you some new garments. They await your pleasure in the solar, my lady. Lord de Warenne is with the messenger from the king who rode in early and will not be able to take breakfast with you this morning.”
“Thank you, Taffy,” she murmured, then looked up with dismay as her sisters, Mary and Kate, entered her chamber without knocking. When the squire withdrew, her sisters exchanged sly glances. “We came to see if you survived last night,” Mary announced.
“I survived very well, thank you,” Jane asserted.
“I’m surprised ye can even walk this morning,” Kate said avidly.
“Is his appetite as big as his yard?” Mary probed.
When Jane didn’t answer them, Kate scoffed, “There’s no way Plain Jane could satisfy the lord’s appetite. I’ll wager he left her bed in disgust when all he got was tears.”
Mary took a handful of the black velvet Jane held about her. “Is this his robe?” She rubbed the luxurious material between her fingers with envy. When Kate also reached over to feel it, the robe fell away to reveal the white silk marked with the blood of Jane’s virginity.
“Well, well, it looks like he took her cherry good and proper,” Mary said, unable to disguise the envy she felt.
“She’ll be too fine to associate with the likes of us, now,” Kate accused.
“That’s not true!” Jane protested.
“Good, then we’ll join ye for breakfast,” Mary decided, helping herself to the food Taffy had had especially prepared for his lord’s new lady. Kate joined her, pointing out the disadvantages of belonging to de Warenne. “You do realize your life will be completely different from now on? You’ll have no more freedom to run wild about the forest playing with animals. And a Norman will never allow you to dabble in Celtic mysticism. He’ll put a stop to that nonsense immediately!”
Mary added spitefully, “If you do produce an heir for him and he marries you, think of all the wifely obligations you will be burdened with. The rigid formality of being the wife of such an important lord will curb your freedom day and night. I pity you, Jane.”
Jane looked at her breakfast tray and saw that every last tasty morsel had been devoured. “Would you like my bath, too?” she challenged.
“No thanks, it’s gone cold!” Kate said with glee as she and her sister decided they’d lingered long enough where they had no right to be.
As Jane sank down into the tepid water, her sisters’ comments made her wish that Lynx de Warenne would leave Dumfries and never return. Then Taffy’s words took on significance. If a messenger had come from the king, Lynx might be leaving her. She lifted her touchstone. Perhaps if she wished hard enough, he would leave and never come back. As she held the talisman in her hand, his powerful image crystallized and became clear. Suddenly she felt comforted. Lord de Warenne was going to leave Dumfries; she would be free of him soon. But will he return? she wondered wildly.
Lynx de Warenne reread the message incredulously. How was it possible that such chaos had broken out among his Welsh archers when he had scarcely been gone a fortnight? The king’s order was writ plain. He was to return immediately and bring his men under control. His Welsh were actually threatening to join the Scots, and King Edward was in a fine rage.
When Lynx read the missive from his uncle, John de Warenne, he cursed foully and realized he should never have placed his men under the command of his cousin, Fitz-Waren. They had sustained so many losses that they were refusing to obey Fitz-Waren’s orders and had threatened to join the enemy!
Lynx summoned the steward of Dumfries. “I am recalled to the front lines, Jock, and only God or the devil knows how long the fighting will last. I can leave only a token force here to defend Dumfries, but you are close to Lochmaben and must send to the Bruce if danger threatens.”
“Will you return here, Lord de Warenne?”
“Unless I am killed in battle, I pledge to you that I shall return. Likely it will not be until we have captured Baliol and the Scots acknowledge Edward Plantagenet as king.”
“Well, let’s hope ye get the job done before winter sets in,” Jock said optimistically. “The season is so fierce and cruel, fighting would be nigh impossible.”
“I will leave you money to buy more herds. I have total trust in you to run Dumfries in my absence.”
* * *
At the noon meal in the hall, Lynx informed his men that they were rejoining the army at Jedburgh, a distance of only fifty miles away. “Four knights will remain here at Dumfries, along with a dozen Welsh archers.” His eyes sought Sir Giles, whose burns were still healing. “Bernard and Eltham, you will remain here along with Royce and Caverley; the rest of you pack up your gear and be prepared to depart before nightfall.” Lynx was aware that Sir Giles and Sir Harry would think they were now paying the price for their juvenile behavior, but the truth was they were his youngest knights and he felt a grave responsibility to preserve their lives.
When the meal was done, Lynx was surprised by the arrival of Robert Bruce at the head of a large baggage train.
“I’m testing the route through the western marches. It’s the surest and fastest way I know of to locate where trouble lies in wait.” Robert grinned.
“I’m rejoining the army,” Lynx said shortly.
“Trouble?” Robert inquired.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Lynx replied grimly. “Will you keep an eye on Dumfries while I’m gone? I’d like to find the castle still standing when I return.”
The Bruce grinned. “I told you Annandale would seep into your blood.”
Lynx’s green eyes held those of his longtime friend. “I’ve handfasted my steward’s daughter.”
The Brace’s grin widened. “You lusty dog! That was quick, or was the fruit so ripe it fell into your hand?”
Lynx grinned back. “Believe me, lust had nothing to do with it. She comes from a prolific family of ten. The simple truth is I want a child, but now that too will have to wait”
Robert winked. “There’s always tonight.” Lynx laughed. The Brace’s arrival would postpone his departure until the morrow.
Robert Bruce was consumed by curiosity to see the woman who had taken the fancy of Lynx de Warenne. Since she was not noble, he reasoned that she must truly be a temptress. He did not get a chance to meet her until the evening meal, when he was taken completely aback. It was the beauty with th
e glorious red hair who had deliberately spilled the soup on his friend. No doubt that had been her provocative way of gaining Lynx de Warenne’s attention.
She had announced she was a Celt, and as Robert appraised her, he knew it was true. Her almond-shaped eyes and slanting cheekbones proclaimed her heritage. She seemed as delicate as a fawn, and Robert, who had been ready to tease her unmercifully, quickly changed his mind. Jane Leslie was as ethereal as Jory, perhaps not quite as naughty as his own beloved, at least not yet. But if he was not mistaken, Jane had something else. She had a mystical quality that set her apart from other women.
Robert glanced at Lynx. On the surface they seemed a mismatched couple; a lynx and a lamb waiting to be devoured, yet no one really knew the secret, intimate currents that enswathed a pair who mated. The Bruce noticed the thong about her neck. “You wear a Celtic touchstone?”
Jane’s gold-tipped lashes lifted as Robert produced his own. “Mine is the Celtic horse.”
“The emblem of power and sovereignty,” Jane said softly.
“May I see yours?”
The beauty of the lynx took his breath away. “Who painted this?” “I did, my lord.”
“You have a rare gift.” He’d warrant she had others. Robert was aware of Lynx’s scrutiny, though he remained silent. The Bruce raised his eyes to meet his friend’s and smiled his approval.
When Lynx saw how much Robert seemed to like Jane, he suddenly felt possessive of her. They shared a Celtic heritage and would have much in common. The ease with which they spoke together made him feel like an outsider.
“I understand you have many brothers and sisters?” Robert asked with interest.
“Yes, we are a big family.” Jane knew how enamored her sisters and her brothers’ wives were of Robert Bruce. She knew just how delighted the young women would be to meet him. “Come, my lord, I will introduce my family to you. It will be such an honor for them.”
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