The Dragon and the Jewel

by Virginia Henley

  Eleanor’s eyes were soft and shining and the ache in her throat equaled the one in her breast and that in her belly. This man of hers was full of surprises. She knew his strength, knew his passion, but until now she had never known he had the soul of a poet. His magnetism wove a magic spell around her until she sighed and writhed beneath his questing hand. His lips played about her shell-like ear, sending a flood of shivers up and down her sun-warmed limbs. She forgot they lay outside, forgot they floated upon the mere, forgot their bed was a boat, their mattress soft cushions. Their bare limbs entangled, their black hair tossed wildly about them as he rolled with her until she was imprisoned beneath him.

  “Now, my water sprite, my temptress, I’ve caught you. Will you love me until I am mindless? Will you let me drown in the deep-blue pools of your eyes? I am like a moth who returns again and again to your flame until I am destroyed.”

  Eleanor smiled her secret smile. “Moth indeed! You are like a great rutting stag who tosses me upon my back to take your pleasure. Or better yet, like a rampant stallion who won’t be denied until you have mounted me and reduced me to a yielding, quivering female animal who longs to be mated.”

  “Nay, love, I am just a man with a man’s lust, but it is tempered and mingled with a deep abiding love for you.” His mouth took hers in a deep, consuming kiss, his tongue plunging and tasting as if he had been starving for her.

  The fire inside her ran molten gold along every vein like burning rivers all rushing to her woman’s center. She gasped against his fierce mouth. “Sim, take me, take me now.” They did not even see the flash of lightning or the crash of thunder. The storm of passion they created deafened and blinded them to the elements. Their bodies were so heated, he felt scalded as he plunged within her. His sword of fire sheathed itself in her molten liquid until he cried out hoarsely to the storm gods. Their fused bodies smoldered, then like glowing coals burst into flame to consume them. Her climax was so sensual she almost spun away into darkness. He buried his face in her hair, savoring the fragrance, the taste, and the feel of her all in the same earth-shattering moment.

  They seemed to awaken to the world about them at the same moment. Large cool splashes of rain were falling upon them from the heavens, and as they looked into each other’s eyes they suddenly began to laugh. Eleanor became aware that their bodies were still joined. Each spasm of Simon’s laughter caused a delicious friction deep within her that caused her to arch her back and thrust her mons until his semiarousal built and filled to its full, hard length again almost immediately. She wrapped her legs high about his broad back to keep the great treasure within her secret cave and they laughed harder, unable to control their mirth or the raw sexuality they aroused in each other. The boat rocked wildly as if it had caught their reckless, abandoned mood and would join them in their tempestuous love play. Her need grew so intense she was laughing and crying, the raindrops mingling with her tears. Simon’s needs were warring within him until all pretense at gentleness was washed away, replaced wholly by savage hunger. His movements became so violent the little boat decided it had had enough and tipped the coupling lovers beneath the waters.

  It was enough to cool their ardor temporarily. Eleanor came up gasping and Simon reached out to aid her, remembering her admission that she did not swim well. Only when his strong arms clasped her and she felt safe and secure clinging to his powerful torso did she trust herself to speak. “You beast, you did it on purpose,” she accused.

  “Me?” he asked incredulously, unable to keep the laughter from his voice as the silken cushions bobbed all about them. “It was the gyrations of your pretty bottom that landed us in the drink.”

  “How can you say such a thing?” she demanded as she pulled a fistful of his wet, black hair. “Anyone who is six-and-a-half-feet long shouldn’t even be in a little boat like mine.”

  He threatened to duck her beneath the water again and she squealed with alarm. “The only way to settle whose fault it was is to ask them at the castle … someone will have been watching us,” he teased.

  “You brute!” She gasped, unable to keep from blushing. “Simon, my gown!” she suddenly cried in alarm. “Oh, no. It’s gone. I’m naked! I’ll have to stay out here until after dark, until everyone’s gone to bed.”

  “Darling, I intend to finish in our chamber what we began in the boat and I am in no mood to wait more than a few minutes,” he informed her. He immediately stroked out strongly for the causeway that led to the drawbridge and carried her with him, kicking and protesting all the way. He teased her unmercifully. “It’s all right, sweetheart, I’ll be naked too. Half of them will be looking at me.”

  “Simon, stop, I’ll die of embarrassment and shame.”

  “Where’s the shame? We’re married, aren’t we? We have a paper from the bloody Pope telling the world our lovemaking is lawful!”

  Her blushes had spread all the way down to her saucy breasts by the time he deposited her on the bank of the mere. With a wicked grin he reached down for the clothes he had discarded earlier. He wrapped his shirt about her and slipped into his pants, then he took her hand and literally had to pull her along over the drawbridge and under the portcullis. “My legs are bare,” she whispered furiously.

  “Then you take the pants and I’ll take the shirt,” he offered, grinning.

  “Simon!”

  “Oh. Stop fussing. It covers your titties and your pretty bum, much to the sorrow of the guards up on the wall.”

  She glanced up in horror, but the men of Kenilworth all seemed to be gazing into the distance with faces like stone. Simon took pity on her and led the way to the pentice, which wound about the outside of the massive Caesar Tower, rather than taking her through the castle. She heaved a sigh of relief when they had climbed halfway without encountering too many gaping faces. She turned to address him over her shoulder. “You really are a barbarian. You come home from court without even a gift for me … all I get is a dirty shirt,” she scolded, tossing her damp curls.

  With a firm hand he snatched the shirt from her. “If it offends you, I’ll have it back.” He laughed wickedly.

  She screeched and flew up the rest of the stairs, but before she reached the privacy of their bedchamber she heard him shout graphically exactly what gift he was going to give her.

  37

  The momentous news arrived at Kenilworth that King Henry III and Queen Eleanor had produced a son and heir, born on the twentieth day of June in the year of our Lord 1239. He was to be named Edward, and the christening and the queen’s churching were to be celebrated with all pomp and ceremony.

  It was hoped that the people of London would set aside their hatreds and predjudices for the royal court now that they had a royal prince who had been born on English soil. Londoners were known to be fickle and nothing diverted the mob like a celebration, which was always an excuse to eat, drink and be merry, to overspend and overindulge. In doing so perhaps they would overlook their monarchs’ shortcomings.

  Henry’s arrogance had grown apace with that of the Provençals and Savoyards. He personally inspected the gifts for the newborn prince as they began to arrive from all over the country. If he thought the gift inferior, he refused to accept it and returned it to its owner suggesting something more costly and lavish. Even the court jester said, “God has given us this child, but the king sells him to us!”

  For the baby prince Simon de Montfort bought a breeding pair of miniature horses that had been bred in Coventry. He had never seen the breed before and he knew the king had a passion for animals to show off in his zoo. Without consulting her husband, Eleanor had ordered a beaten silver christening chalice adorned by her favorite blue sapphires. Since her brother had a passion for anything green, she ordered the Litchfield silversmith mount uncut emeralds upon the foot of the chalice.

  Sir Rickard de Burgh had been chosen to carry the gifts to court by both the earl and countess, unknown to each other of course. Suddenly the household staff became invisible. The tempestuo
us months of the Leicesters, marriage had trained them to recognize when a storm was about to rage. The cook threw her wooden spoon down in disgust as she heard Simon raise his voice and thump the table. She had labored hours over the meal and knew when de Montfort’s temper was aroused he always found fault with the meat. The serving wenches changed their aprons and caps because when the countess was annoyed she was overcritical of their cleanliness.

  “Splendor of God, Eleanor, your extravagance is beyond the beyond. Why do you always take the initiative without consulting my wishes or the state of Kenilworth’s coffers?” he demanded.

  “Why do you always choose mealtime to vent your temper … and must you wear that leather tunic to the table? ’tis more fitting for the stable.”

  “Ah, the Countess of Leicester has vanished and we have the pleasure of Princess Eleanor Katherine Plantagenet tonight.”

  There was a hidden devil in each of them that set off sparks. She turned her back upon him. “You are mistaken. You will have the pleasure of neither of us.” She began to march from the hall.

  “Come back here,” thundered Simon. “Did you hear me? I told you to come back, madame!”

  She ignored him totally. He strode after her, not caring a whit that half the room was filled with his knights and the other half with those who sat below the salt—priests, merchants, squires, troubadors, and ladies without rank.

  She had gained the stairs and when she reached the fourth step she turned and faced him on eye level. “I do not take orders kindly, Frenchman.”

  His dark eyes swept over her angrily, then opened wide as he took in the low-cut gown that exposed over half of her breasts. “Who is this unseemly display for, pray?”

  “This is one of the new gowns I’m having fitted for court, if you must know. I cannot go to London looking like a country milkmaid.”

  “What in Christ’s name put the idea into your head that you are going to London?” he bellowed.

  “We received an engraved, formal invitation today to attend the christening and the queen’s churching at the Abbey. Of course we are going to London!”

  “I am always stunned at the convenient way you forget I am the master here at Kenilworth. I shall make the decision of whether or not we go to London.”

  “Dream on, Frenchman!” she said impudently.

  “Seek your room … now!”

  She had been doing exactly that when he had waylaid her; now perversely it was the last thing she wanted to do. However, she knew she had goaded him too far. She tossed her curls and stamped her foot defiantly, but she did as he bade her. She heard her son’s lusty cry before Bette carried him in to her. Her woman spoke to her with the familiarity of one whose position was secure. “You may not be hungry, but the prince of Kenilworth here is demanding his dinner.” Eleanor took him into her arms, adoration replacing the anger on her face. She took inordinate pride in her son’s size and beauty. “He is his father’s son … he thinks he rules heaven and earth, but tonight he’s in for the shock of his life.” She turned to the young nursemaid who trailed after Bette and the baby with an armful of clean breachclouts.

  “Emma, fetch some fresh milk from the stillroom. We are going to start weaning him.”

  Bette said doubtfully, “Do you think that’s wise? So long as you’re feeding him you cannot get pregnant again.”

  “That is an old wives’ tale,” Eleanor scoffed. “I am going to London in August, so I must start to wean him.” Eleanor gave Bette an amused glance. “I see all your disapproval has vanished now that you think you will have him to yourself soon.”

  Bette said anxiously, “You won’t take him to London, will you?”

  Eleanor laughed. “Splendor of God, I would not dare suggest taking him from the stronghold of Kenilworth. Simon would run mad. However, I am another matter entirely.” She smiled her secret smile. She would persuade her husband to let her have her own way … she always did.

  As soon as Simon had eaten, he saw Sir Rickard off on his journey to London. He was to stop the night at Coventry to pick up the miniature horses. At the last minute Simon relented and had Eleanor’s silver chalice packed carefully and gave it into de Burgh’s hands for safekeeping. When he came into the family quarters of the Caesar Tower, he saw four women pitting their wits against one very determined baby. From the looks of things, the baby was winning.

  Simon relieved the women of their burden and jerked his head in the direction of the door. Bette and her young assistants departed in haste; they had no desire to stand in the line of fire between the master and mistress of Kenilworth. In Simon’s secure arms the baby quietened immediately, but his face was still a fiery red from temper.

  “I was trying to wean him,” Eleanor said defensively.

  “I know what you were trying to do, I’m not blind,” Simon said quietly. His black eyes took in the new green silk gown with its fashionable but impractical trailing sleeves. It was edged in sable, which had no doubt been imported from Siberia and sold to her by a merchant at an exorbitant cost. He sighed inwardly. It made her look infinitely lovely. She was all woman and he would have her no other way. “Feed him,” Simon directed quietly.

  She opened her mouth to protest, saw the determination harden in her husband’s face, and changed her mind.

  “You may take off the pretty gown first, but then you must feed him. Tomorrow will be soon enough to start his lessons.” Simon averted his eyes from her to make it easier for her to disrobe. He gave his son his little finger to suckle for a few minutes. “I’ll have a word with one of the shepherd’s wives. She fashions little teats to suckle the motherless lambs.”

  Wearing only her shift, Eleanor sat on the bed and held out her arms for her son. Grudgingly she said, “Thank you for being reasonable for once.”

  “I am always reasonable,” he asserted as he came to the bed and laid the child in her arms.

  “Not so! ’tis unreasonable to ask me to return the christening cup to the silversmith of Litchfield.”

  He said quietly, “De Burgh is on his way to London with the cup.”

  She lifted her lashes to assess her husband’s face. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “One of these days you may very well be. You are guilty of being a disobedient wife every day of your life,” he pointed out.

  Her child’s sucking calmed her. Blood of God, she would miss this as much as her son would. She saw Simon remove his doublet and her flesh responded with goosebumps that soon he would be naked in the bed with her. She pulled her nipple from the babe’s mouth and changed arms so he could suckle on the other breast. “Simon, I am not disobedient, I simply take the initiative to do things on my own.”

  “I see no difference. I am used to being in command. There is only one way to run things whether it is a castle or an entire army. One person gives the orders and everyone else obeys.”

  “I see,” she said, stiffening.

  “Not yet you don’t, Eleanor, but you will,” he promised. “Take him to Bette, then come straight back to bed,” he ordered.

  She rose from the bed and took her son to his nursemaid. She did not, however, return to her husband’s bed. He waited a full quarter of an hour, assuring himself that surely he was the most reasonable man alive. He knew her so well, he knew exactly where to find her. She had retired to what she thought of as “her” room, “her” bed.

  He threw open the chamber door and strode in naked. He did not trust himself to speak, but jerked his thumb in the direction of their bedchamber. When he watched her face set in stubborn lines, he whipped back the covers and pulled her from the bed most ungently. Then he cupped her shoulders with his massive hands and shook her like a rag doll.

  She screamed in fear. Surely he wouldn’t be deliberately brutal to her? He gave her a violent shove toward the door. When he saw her dig in her heels to deliberately defy him, he reached down and gave her a resounding slap across her arse. The thin material of her shift did nothing to protect her from the stinging p
ain his large palm inflicted and she felt so miserably sorry for herself, tears sprang to her eyes, but she was motivated to flee to their chamber. He crashed the door closed and they stood glaring at each other for long moments. Eleanor did not dare speak first.

  Finally Simon said, “I was not angry that you took the initiative to order a gift for Prince Edward. I have come to recognize that you are an independent woman and I quite like it. I couldn’t bear a simpering, useless wench. What angered me was the cost. Your extravagance is beyond anything I have ever known. You are aware how deeply in debt I am. I still owe the Pope money for the dispensation. I mortgaged all of Leicester to pay for your brother’s stupid war games on the continent. Everything I inherited from Chester was debt-ridden. Kenilworth is the only holding that pays for itself. If this fief is managed well and its profits husbanded rather than squandered, both we and all our people will be reasonably well off and can live comfortably. Eleanor, I am not unreasonable. I overlook your extravagance in regard to your clothes. I know a woman needs pretty things, especially a princess of the realm, but I bloody well draw the line at sending your idiot brother silver cups dripping emeralds!”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but his words drowned out hers. “If you think Prince Edward will ever own that cup, you are deluding yourself. Henry will hock it the minute he gets his hands on it and laugh at us for being fools enough to send it.”

  “How dare you malign and blacken my brother’s character to me?” She gasped.

  “He needs no help from me to mar his character, he’s capable of doing it himself. I’m afraid I have always protected you from his character flaws, but God Almighty they are obvious enough for a blindman to see.”