Jane’s eyes swam with tears. ‘Thank you. You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.’ She saw his eyes darken with passion as he bent his head to her and she reached up on her toes to place her lips on his to begin convincing him. She kissed him with all the love and yearning in her soul, her heart giving a wild leap when he returned her kiss.
It was Guy who broke the kiss and, placing his hands on her upper arms, held her from him, finding it a strain to keep his hands from her, to resist the pleasure of caressing the cherished curves and hollows of the slender, voluptuous body that haunted his dreams.
‘You will prove it to me later. I will be in dire need of some female companionship.’
‘You will not be disappointed.’
He cupped her warm cheek with his palm and looked deep into her eyes, as if everything he ever needed or wanted to know was to be found in her gentle eyes. For a moment he did not trust himself to speak around the swelling in his throat. ‘I have never been disappointed with your response to me so far,’ he said softly. ‘I love you too, Jane. Very much.’
Jane tried to smile at him, but Guy saw the tears glistening in her eyes. Cradling her face between both his hands, he gazed at her misty green eyes, at the tears suspended between her thick lashes. ‘Why the tears, my love?’
‘Because until now, I was certain you would never say that to me,’ she whispered brokenly.
‘Do you think I would have gone to so much trouble to make you my wife if I did not love you? I have loved you honourably as a knight and as passionately as a man might love a woman.’
Jane felt as if she had become as golden warm as she could be. She could feel herself smiling, glowing, at these words. At once she knew that he was telling the truth—that he loved her, that he had always loved her. No matter what he had done, he had done to protect her, to keep her safe. And she was in love with him.
‘I think I have loved you from the first moment I saw you that day in the forest,’ he murmured. ‘You cast your spell on me even then—indeed, I think I already loved you when you called me a conniving, black-hearted scoundrel.’
Her eyes twinkled and she smiled. ‘I meant it then.’
‘Have you changed your mind?’
‘You’re none of those things. I know that now. Are you happy, my lord?’
He laughed and kissed her swiftly and then enfolded her in his arms once more. ‘Happy?’ Aye, my love, you’ve made me that.’
‘Then go and get ready for the tournament before the king comes looking for his errant knight.’
When the knights had sworn fealty to the king, the tournament was preceded by jousting matches. The colourful, exciting pageant was a venue for knights to practise various forms of combat to the delight of the crowds. It kept the knights in excellent condition for the role they needed to play in warfare—skill with weapons and supreme strength and fitness were necessary to knights.
Across a sea of banners of every colour and description, Jane was completely lost in the excitement of it all. Her heart did a somersault as she watched a tall knight she recognised as her husband ride on to the field with his opponent. He was magnificent in full tournament regalia. Mounted on his powerful warhorse decked out with a silver bridle with red-and-gold tassels, and silks and velvets that displayed his coat of arms, his brightly polished full armour gleamed like silver. Bare headed, his dark hair shone in the sun’s rays and his face was so incredibly handsome that just looking at it made Jane’s heart cry out for him.
Guy saw Jane poised, provocative and glowing with colour the minute he rode on to the field. She sat with the queen and her sumptuously garbed chattering ladies in the royal enclosure beneath a gold canopy.
Each knight approached their respective lady for a favour. Jane felt a pleasant warmth as Guy rode towards her. All the special feelings she held in her heart for this man were revealed as though it were something that was impossible to hide. They looked at each other, their eyes locked.
Guy halted his mount just below where she sat and held out his lance. He looked directly at her and smiled lazily.
‘Jane,’ he said, bowing his dark head, ‘will you honour your husband by allowing him to wear your colours?’
Jane’s heart swelled with pride. He looked devilishly handsome, his dark hair tousled and a roguish gleam in his vivid blue eyes, which gazed only at her. She turned scarlet at being singled out so publicly, knowing all eyes were focused on her.
‘Come, Jane,’ he urged. ‘A token is all I ask. That fetching scarf around your neck will do nicely,’ he suggested.
Entering into the spirit of things, laughing happily, Jane removed the scarf. Standing up, she felt so fragile as she pressed the flimsy material to her satiny lips and fastened it to his lance.
The gesture held so much promise, it melted Guy. He gazed at her, half-forgetting where he was, what day it was, all of life’s tiresome practicalities. But when she flashed her saucy smile as though amused by his wistful stare, he snapped out of it and spurred his steed on.
Jane held her breath and watched as he tucked her favour into a joint in his helmet, where it waved jauntily when he moved his head. The sun glanced off his armour and sent blinding flashes off his wheeling lance. His regal physique was inspiring. She sat motionless, awed by the sheer magnificence of the man, and by the beauty of his deadly skill. Riveted, she watched him deliver blows of massive power with his lance, swift, precise and ruthless, as he successfully unseated his opponent.
It was mid-afternoon when the noise of the crowd of peasants, servants and villeins was drowned out as the guards raised their trumpets and blew an ear-splitting blast on their clarions, a sign for the general tournament mêlée to begin. Preceded by heralds, sixty opposing knights thundered on to the field. The sun bounced off their armour and lances, and Jane squinted her eyes as tabards and shields emblazoned with coats of arms passed below her. The marshals had rapped out the rules, which was a sign for the combat to begin.
Jane had not witnessed a tournament before and appreciated each point of ceremony and honour. When combat was underway, she realised that it took great skill and good horsemanship to avoid being thrown by a blow from the opponent’s lance or sword. With interest and unconsciously holding her breath, she watched as some of the knights were unhorsed, more losing their helmets, and two opponents thundered towards each other at breakneck speed, lances poised and aimed at the opposing shields.
‘Oh goodness!’ she gasped, hardly able to watch as the field became a mass of threshing, whinnying horses, shields and broken lances. ‘They’ll kill each other.’
Ann laughed at her ignorance understandingly. ‘No, they won’t. The mêlée is but a mock battle—the lances are culled and the swords blunted by lead foils—but there is always danger that one of them might be injured when he’s knocked off his horse. But see, your husband is still mounted.’
And so he was, to Jane’s relief. Mounted on his huge steed, cool headed, lean and powerful after all his chivalrous training and one of the most accomplished knights at court, he went on to unseat two more knights. Jane held her breath when he wheeled his horse at the end of the field and rode towards another opponent. All of a sudden Jane’s excitement fled and fear rushed in. Anxious that it might be Guy’s turn to be knocked from his horse, she sprang to her feet.
Through his visor slit, his eyes half-blinded with sweat, Guy saw his opponent bearing down on him, when to his left his attention was caught by a flash of turquoise. Momentarily distracted, he did something he had never done before—he took his eye off the target. His opponent’s lance glanced off the shield and with a resounding thud lodged in the joint of the iron roundel which protected his shoulder. The crash of wood on metal was deafening and sparks flew from his armour. Guy grimaced as a tide of pain washed over him. Much as he struggled to resist the assault, he was prised from the saddled and lost his grip on consciousness before he hit the ground.
A gasp went up from the crowd followed b
y an eerie silence and then thundering applause for the winning knight, for it was a coup indeed to topple the king’s favourite.
Already on her feet, Jane stared at the scene below her, seeing Guy’s opponent raise his visor and grin triumphantly at the royal enclosure before an opposing knight raised his sword and knocked him to the ground. But Jane could only stare at Guy’s inert body, her pulse beginning to race like a maddened thing. Why didn’t he get to his feet? Why didn’t he move? Please God, don’t let him be trampled under the hooves of those massive, dancing beasts. For one anxious, fear-filled moment she waited for him to rise, but he lay motionless. Cedric ran on to the field with an attendant and she watched as they picked him up and carried him off to one of the tents.
‘He must be hurt. I must go to him,’ she said when Ann anxiously turned to her.
‘Yes—yes, but I think you will find he is merely stunned.’
‘Oh, Ann, I hope so.’
Sanity returned out of dire necessity. Turning to the steps, she hurried down them as her trembling hands lifted her skirts, then flew blindly to where they had taken her husband, sweeping into the tent without pausing. Cedric was bending over Guy, who lay on a bed. His helmet had been removed and Cedric was in the process of doing the same to his armour. He looked up when Jane came rushing in. Oblivious to those around her, she only had eyes for Guy. She stifled a gasp when she was close enough to see his face. His skin was moist and dark shadows smudged his eyes. There was a calmness to his features she was not used to seeing.
Panic threatened, but she steeled herself against it, knowing it would do him no good if she broke beneath the lashing fear that assailed her. ‘Is he badly injured?’ she asked Cedric.
With the confidence born of being at Guy St Edmond’s right hand since he began to fight, Cedric glanced at her. ‘He suffered worse at Towton. He’ll live,’ he told her. ‘He’s got nothing more serious than a broken arm and a knock on the head and—when he comes to—a savage blow to his pride. It’s a first for him to be unseated in a mêlée by a knight inferior to him in strength and experience.’
Jane was so relieved to know Guy’s injury wasn’t serious that the tears she had valiantly held back flowed freely. ‘His pride is the least of my worry, Cedric, but a broken arm will take time to heal and will require the kind of patience that will drive Guy to frustration.’ She glanced at Cedric. ‘Guy was wounded at Towton?’
He nodded. ‘Broke a leg when he was knocked from his horse. It was a long time before he was back on his feet.’
‘And were you there?’
‘Throughout the battle. The worst I’ve seen.’
‘We heard that the Lancastrians suffered very badly. You know my brother was killed at Towton—when he was taken prisoner.’
He nodded. ‘Before the fighting started, both sides issued orders that there was to be no quarter. It wasn’t given. On the rout from the battlefield, your brother was just one of thousands heading north across the Wharfe. Guy recognised him and saw him try to cross. He was hit by an archer and dragged down by the current and drowned. There was nothing he could do—nothing anyone could do for those wretched souls.’
Jane stared at him in disbelief. ‘But—I thought Andrew was taken prisoner … that he was executed.’
Cedric shook his head. ‘No. It was as I told you. He was killed trying to escape.’
‘And Guy knew this?’ He nodded. ‘Then why didn’t he tell me?’
Cedric looked up at her. ‘I suppose he had his reasons.’
‘Oh, see,’ she said on seeing Guy’s eyelids flutter. ‘I think he stirs.’
With the return of consciousness came the pain in his upper arm. Cool fingers were against his neck, and a strange wetness fell on his face. He thought he heard his name called from afar. Slowly he opened his eyes. The noise from outside the tent told him the mêlée was still underway. Cedric was busy removing the armour from his legs. Turning his head, in a bright halo of light from the sun shining through the opening in the tent, he saw Jane hovering over him.
She saw him open his eyes and her own blurred with tears and so much tenderness in their depths that her lips broke into a joyous smile. ‘Welcome back, my lord. You had us all worried for a time.’
She drew back a lock of hair on his forehead. Guy sighed. Her fingers were gentle, her smile that of an angel. ‘Jane? Is it really you, or has my dream befuddled my sight?’ His fingers closed lightly around her wrist and brought it against his lips. Kissing her soft skin, he murmured, ‘No maiden of my dreams could taste as sweet. Kiss me,’ he commanded. ‘I would know if this is a dream or more heady stuff.’
His eyes grew lambent, sending Jane’s senses reeling. She bent low to press her trembling mouth against his, clinging with a leisurely sweetness that held still the very moments of time. ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ she whispered when she lifted her lips from his. The choice of whether or not to dare to love him had nearly been taken out of her hands.
He laid his good arm about her nape and kissed her again. She smiled against his lips. ‘What?’ he asked.
‘Your kiss speaks much more of passion than of pain.’
‘What pain is that, my love?’
‘You have a broken arm.’
He winced. ‘Is that what it is?’ Then he smiled, cupping her cheek. ‘It’s not worth bothering about. It will heal given time.’
‘And it needs strapping,’ Cedric’s voice boomed out. Having removed the last of his armour, he reaching for the bindings to secure Guy’s arm.
Jane smiled at him. ‘I will leave my husband in your capable hands, Cedric.’ She kissed Guy one more time and, with her lips on his, whispered, ‘I will come to you later.’
The hour was late when Jane at last left her duties and sought Guy out in his chamber. To her shock she found him in bed and sleeping the deep sleep of the exhausted, his injured arm bound close to his chest.
With a smile of a doting, adoring wife, after blowing out the candles and leaving only the fire in the hearth, she removed her clothes and crawled into bed. He rolled on to his side. He was as naked as she and, drawing the quilts over them both, she curled against him, her thighs against his, her arm around his waist, and soon felt into a deep and peaceful sleep.
Guy woke before dawn to a luxurious warmth, then he realised he was not alone. His wife’s curving form was against his side. Opening his eyes, he found her head pillowed on his shoulder, her long hair spread over the pillows, her dark eyes blinking open.
‘Jane? I’m sorry I was not awake to welcome you, my love, but Cedric gave me some draught for the pain and it damned well knocked me out.’
‘Shush,’ she murmured softly, leaning over him, her mouth taking his. ‘You’re awake now, although we must take your injury into consideration if I am to do as I said and prove my love.’
Her hands explored his chest and Guy groaned and with his good arm gathered her against him.
‘I want you, Jane,’ he murmured between deep kisses.
‘And I you,’ She put her hands on either side of his handsome face. ‘More than you will ever realise.’
He grinned and rolled to press her into the mattress, grimacing when the movement jolted his arm. But not to be deterred, his free hand wandered boldly, his purpose clear and arousing. He kissed every part of her as if relearning her body, setting her limbs atremble, and when he came to take her, she gasped at the very rightness of his possession. It was a merging, a blending, a coming together, wonder turning to rapture, bodies straining, two beings wrapped in the pure bliss of their union, giving all to the other and in return finding everything and more.
‘Come, Jane,’ murmured a deep, playful voice, beguiling her to wake. ‘My lady’s breakfast is served.’
Reality pirouetted into Jane’s dreams. The morning light shone, filtering through her eyelashes.
The husky whisper came again. ‘There’s freshly cooked slices of ham—and warm bread.’
Jane’s stomach growled to the lov
ely aroma of ham. By the soft, gold, rosy light of morning, she opened her eyes to find the terror of the king’s fighting force was watching her with a tender, slightly doting smile on his ruggedly handsome face.
‘Only if you will join me.’
Chuckling softly, he gathered her against him, his good arm draped around her bare shoulders. ‘Not yet, my sweet,’ he said between kisses. ‘Lay back. I’m starved for you.’
‘And I for you, my love—my husband,’ she whispered, the word delicious on her tongue. She smiled into his eyes. ‘You cannot know how good it feels to freely admit it.’
‘You cannot know how good it is to hear it. Nearly as good, in fact, as …’ His hands wandered boldly, his purpose clear. When she laughed and playfully rolled away from him, he grasped her wrist and drew her back into his embrace. ‘Trust me.’
‘I do,’ she whispered.
He let out a grateful sigh. ‘At last. It does my heart good to hear you say it. Thank you.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’ She brushed a lock of his dark hair from his brow, her hand straying in a lingering caress. ‘Why did you not tell me what really happened to Andrew at Towton, Guy? Why did you let me think you gave the order for his execution?’
‘Who told you?’
‘Cedric. I asked him. After the battle, when news reached us of Andrew’s death, we were told he was just one of multiple prisoners put to death by you. Cedric told me a different story, that Andrew was killed by an archer while attempting to cross the River Wharfe—that you saw him.’
Guy sighed and lay back. ‘I did, but I was wounded. I’d also been issued with the unenviable task of rounding up prisoners. I’m not proud of what I did that day, Jane, but Towton was like hell on earth. It was intense and fearful, the noise like nothing you’ve ever heard—so many bodies.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me go on believing ill off you?’
‘Because had he not been shot by that archer, I might very well have issued the order for his execution. There would not have been a thing I could have done about it.’
The Devil Claims a Wife Page 22
