Chapter 12

On the day of Queen Eleanor's funeral, the snow stopped, the sun shone brilliantly, and the temperature plummeted. The cortege from Windsor to London's Westminster Abbey plodded with a slow gait along streets filled with mourners. The men attending rode black, plumed horses and were led by Thomas of Lancaster, even though he was furious that the king had not made him regent in his absence. The less hardy mourners huddled in closed carriages.

The queen's flowers had arrived from the Isle of Wight at dawn and were taken directly to the Abbey. The Earl of Gloucester directed all the proceedings, and his wife, Joanna, sat with her brother, Prince Edward, in the front pew reserved for royalty.

Marjory and Humphrey sat with Sylvia and her father, Roger Bigod, Marshal of England. Archbishop Winchelsey began intoning the Burial of the Dead: "I am the resurrection and the life…"

Jory kept her eyes lowered, lest she find herself looking into the purple-black orbs of Warwick. She tried to think reverent thoughts, but each time she caught sight of the candle flames, her mind took flight, reliving Joanna's and her own arranged weddings. Though she tried valiantly to dispel the feeling of Warwick's powerful presence, she failed miserably. I must not linger at Windsor or a meeting between us will be inevitable. She whispered to Humphrey, "Can we return to our castle of Midhurst tomorrow?"

Guy de Beauchamp's attention also wandered during the service. He did not notice the small female until she removed the black fur hood from her silver-gilt hair. Then his attention became riveted. The candlelight of the Abbey seemed to form a halo about Jory's head that held him in thrall. She is no bloody angel, Warwick reminded himself. He glanced at the tall young man beside her and silently cursed Humphrey de Bohun to hellfire.

His mouth set in a grim line. It's your own god-damned fault, Warwick. You gave her dire warning about becoming your wife. He remembered his exact words: Whether it be yes or no, I will honor your resolve. What horseshit! The minute Surrey refused your offer, you should have abducted her and carried her off.

Everyone's attention was drawn back to Eleanor as the queen was interred in a crypt in the Abbey. Soon a bronze sculpture would be cast in her likeness to rest upon her tomb so that future generations could visit and pray for her soul.

After the burial service, Jory followed Joanna from the Abbey.

"We finally had word from Father in Flanders. He is grief-stricken at Mother's passing and has ordered stone crosses be erected between Lincoln and London at places Mother loved best."

"Will you and Gloucester stay here to oversee the work?"

"De Clare has asked Thomas of Lancaster to take on the task. The uprising in Wales is spreading and Gilbert feels he must return to Gloucester before the winter weather worsens."

Jory glanced at Humphrey and saw the blood leave his face at mention of more trouble in Wales. Sylvia de Warenne and her father joined them outside the Abbey. Jory's sister-in-law began to cough and held her handkerchief to her mouth. "Sylvia, you mustn't stand here in this bitter cold. Let us hurry back to Windsor. I'll come and see how you are feeling later."

Princess Joanna moved away from Lady de Warenne and pulled her ermine cape closer about her. "It seems that everyone has a cough. Did you hear all the people hacking inside the Abbey?"

In their carriage on the return to Windsor, Jory watched Humphrey with worried eyes. "I'll pack tonight. I want us to have a week at Midhurst before we make the journey to Hereford."

Jory's plans to travel to Midhurst were thwarted by Sylvia's illness. "Humphrey, I am afraid my sister-in-law has caught a contagion. I told her she should be abed, but she insists she will be better in her own bed at Hedingham Castle. Would you mind if we accompanied her? I'd like to see her safely home, and the sooner the better. I feel I owe it to Lynx."

Humphrey, glad of anything that delayed their journey to the Borders of Wales, capitulated. "Of course I don't mind, Marjory."

"Everything is packed. We'll leave at first light."

Jory felt slightly dismayed as Humphrey's eyes watched her hungrily as she undressed for bed. She was far from desiring a sexual encounter tonight, but hoped and prayed that wasn't because she had seen Warwick again. She pushed the disturbing thought from her mind and slipped into bed.

Humphrey quickly slid his arms about her and she forced herself to respond to him, masking her lack of desire. She was surprised at his enthusiasm after the solemnity of the past days, but was at least glad that for once he did not treat her as if she were too fragile to touch. Vague feelings of pleasure began in the pit of her stomach when he held her breasts, but before the pleasure could intensify, Humphrey spent and rolled onto his back.

"You excite me so much, Marjory. I wish I could draw it out to last longer, but the minute I touch you, I want to explode."

Jory curled onto her side, feeling conflicted. She didn't know if she wanted their lovemaking to be longer or shorter. She was acutely aware that their encounters left her dissatisfied. It isn't really lovemaking…It's just a release for Humphrey. She sighed, trying to ignore the deep ache within.

Jory did not fall asleep until long after her husband. Scenes from Westminster Abbey floated through her mind as her eyes finally closed and she began to dream.

She was back in Westminster Abbey, but this time it was not for a funeral, but a wedding. She was garbed in her white silk night rail and inside she was bubbling with excitement. As she floated up the long aisle of the Abbey, she could see Guy de Beauchamp standing at the altar, waiting for her to reach his side. It seemed to take forever, but finally she arrived and gave him a radiant smile. His black eyes devoured her and he took her small hand and squeezed it. She closed her eyes as she felt Warwick's great power flood into her and she heard the words: "I now pronounce you man and wife." Jory opened her eyes and to her great dismay, Warwick had vanished and Humphrey de Bohun had taken his place. "Noooooooo!" she cried.

Humphrey took her by the shoulders. "Marjory, what is amiss?"

She blinked into the darkness. "A nightmare," she said softly.

Once Jory de Bohun and her husband escorted Sylvia de Warenne to Hedingham, another nightmare began to unfold.

"She has coughed the entire thirty miles," Sylvia's tiring woman declared as Jory helped her sister-in-law from her carriage.

"She must go straight to bed. I believe she has a fever."

Alicia Bolton, who had ridden in the de Bohun carriage, approached Jory. "I'll get someone to unload all the baggage while you concentrate on making Lady de Warenne comfortable."

"Thank you, Alicia, but you can leave all that in the capable hands of my husband. As soon as we get Sylvia settled, I'll ask the housekeeper to find you a comfortable chamber in the castle."

Jory helped Sylvia undress and then she tucked her into bed. One maid ran for drinking water, while another brought a bowl of scented water to bathe Sylvia's hands and flushed face. "We will have you better in no time." Jory masked the worry she felt. "I shall ask the steward to brew you a syrup. When I was a child he made an elixir of horehound and liquorice that tasted wonderful and cured me of chest inflammation." Jory knew Lynx had taken his physician to France to tend battle wounds, so they would have to rely on the apothecary skills of Hedingham's steward.

Jory gathered the household servants. "Lady de Warenne has developed inflammation of the chest and she is fevered. With good nursing and medicine we'll soon have her on her way to recovery."

A sennight passed slowly, but Sylvia showed no signs of recovery. Jory had a trundle bed set up in Sylvia's chamber so that she could be with her through the nights, in spite of Humphrey's objections that his wife was exposing herself to the contagion. Sylvia's eyes were now swollen closed and her breathing was so labored and shallow that Jory had begun to fear the unthinkable. She remembered the death card when she had done the Tarot cards and began to feel hopeless.

An hour later, Sylvia de Warenne took her last excruciating breath and her tiring woman burst into sobs. Finally, she said to Jory, "There is nothing more we can do for her, Lady Marjory."

Jory turned glassy green eyes on the woman. "She's sleeping. She will be fine."

Half an hour later, Humphrey came into the chamber and lifted his wife into his arms. "Sylvia has passed. You need to rest."

"Put me down! I cannot leave her! Sylvia must not die! She is the mother of Lynx's future children!"

The letter that Jory wrote to her brother was the most difficult thing she had ever done. She told him about Queen Eleanor's sudden death and explained that Sylvia had caught the contagion while attending the queen's funeral.

My heart is torn asunder, she wrote, and her tear-drops stained the parchment of the letter. Jory did not dwell on Sylvia's illness and suffering, but focused instead on the beautiful spot she had chosen at Hedingham where Lynx's wife was laid to rest.

Sylvia's father, stoic and truculent as ever, bemoaned the fact that he would never have a grandson. He stayed until after his daughter's will was read by the castle steward. She left everything to her husband, Lynx, with the exception of her jewels. These she left to her firstborn, but in the event she died childless, they were to go to Marjory, since the de Warenne emeralds and diamonds had come to her upon her marriage.

Today is my birthday, Jory realized. It is as though Sylvia is giving me a birthday gift. She felt agonized with guilt, especially when she told Alicia Bolton of the bequest.

"Those jewels should go to Lynx de Warenne's wife when he remarries."

"Remarries?" Jory was deeply shocked at her words.

"Your brother is a widower now," Alicia remarked.

Jory froze. "You bitch! Are you licking your lips over him, Alice? D'ye dare fancy yourself the future Countess of Surrey?"

"Such remarks are unseemly and unfounded, Lady Marjory."

"Forgive me my trespasses and I will try to forgive you yours." Jory sought her husband and found him in the stables.

Humphrey put a proprietary arm about her shoulders. "There is little more we can do here. Let's go to Midhurst."

"How can I do that? I want to be here when Lynx returns. He will need me to comfort him in his devastating loss."

"Lynx de Warenne won't return from France until Gascony is irrefutably in English hands. The death of a wife cannot be placed before duty to King and Crown."

"Damn the King and Crown, and to lowest hell with all wars!"

Humphrey sighed. "I agree. War will be the death of us all."

Jory's eyes flooded with tears. "Please don't say that."

He wiped a tear from her cheek. "Let's go home. When Lynx returns from France, you may come back and visit with him."

Jory packed their belongings. She unlocked the jewel casket and looked at the precious emeralds. "I never saw you wear these gems, Sylvia. Why did you keep them locked away? For some special occasion that never arrived?" In that moment, Jory resolved to wear them often. Jewels are meant to be displayed, and display them I shall. I have quite made up my mind!

After dark that same night a courier arrived from Gilbert de Clare. The rider was cold and mud-stained as he gave the message to de Bohun. Humphrey opened the letter and read:

The Welsh uprising is greater than anticipated and I am preparing to leave immediately for Gloucester. If we are to travel together, as arranged between our wives, there can be no delay. I await your reply.

Gilbert de Clare

Jory saw the color leave his face and his freckles stood out sharply on his pale skin. She took the paper and read it.

"Joanna told me of the trouble in Wales and suggested we travel together. Our plans changed when Sylvia took poorly and I didn't want to upset you further. What will you do?"

"I have no choice, Marjory. Gloucester is not only England's most powerful earl, he is now the king's son-in-law. We will journey to Gloucester together and then go on to Hereford. I am sorry. Your honeymoon was marred by two deaths and now you are to be deprived of your stay at our Castle of Midhurst."

"Don't worry about me, Humphrey. All is packed and ready."

That night when they retired, Humphrey was eager for a sexual encounter. Try as he might, he could not maintain an erection. Frustration roiled his temper and he flung from the bed and sought to drown his sorrows with whiskey. Finally, he slept deeply.

Jory lay awake. She realized that her husband's behavior fell into a pattern. Fear aroused his need to couple, but it also made him impotent. She herself was in mourning and had neither desire nor inclination for bed sport. I warrant we are a sorry pair.

The huge party that traveled west numbered almost one hundred, since Gilbert de Clare was taking his fighting men from Clerkenwell and his castle of Hertford. Jory shared Joanna's coach. "As soon as we arrive, our men will go into Wales."

"Men are always away somewhere fighting their wars and there is nothing we can say or do to stop them. My father is a warrior, as is my husband, and though both are advanced in years, they will remain warriors until they draw their last breath."

Jory thought of Humphrey. "Not all men enjoy fighting."

"My brother hates martial arts. He is expected to follow in Father's footsteps, but he will never make a military leader."

"Perhaps when Edward becomes king, there will be no more wars."

Joanna began to laugh. She placed her hands on her belly in a protective gesture. "Not only will my princely brother make a lousy warrior, he will make a piss-poor king. The thought fills me with mirth. Some males are not man enough to fight battles."

"I like your husband, Gilbert, very much." Jory bent close so she could speak confidentially. "Does he ever have trouble…does he ever have difficulties…in bed?"

"It happened only once, the night of my mother's funeral. Actually, he's a far better lover than any young noble I've lain with, so save your pity."

Not for the first time Jory wondered if Joanna had lain with Humphrey. And if she had, was it not possible that he was the father of the child she was carrying? Don't go down that path, her inner voice warned. That way lies anguish and misery.

Jory shivered in spite of her fur-lined cloak and the wolfskin throws. "Tomorrow I intend to ride to keep myself warm."

"The least you can do is get Blanche, Maud, and Eleanor to take your place. Their collective body heat will help warm me."

The following day, Jory was transformed from a shivering, pale wraith into a laughing nymph with pink cheeks and windblown hair. Though the winter solstice was upon them, the Cotswold Hills were beautiful, dotted with herds of sheep and bubbling streams not yet frozen. When the River Severn came into view the travelers heaved a collective sigh of relief because Gloucester lay on its banks.

Joanna toured the castle with Jory at her side. She marveled at its size and the vast number of de Clare fighting men. She stood warming herself at a massive slate fireplace that rose up to touch the beams. "This is quite an eye-opener. I imagined it to be the back of beyond, but I believe I'll be quite happy here."

"It is a kingdom of its own and Gilbert its ruler."

"You are right, Jory, and I shall be queen of the castle!"

Humphrey and Marjory were given a spacious chamber with a curtained bed to stave off the drafts. He removed his hauberk, rubbed the back of his neck, and groaned. "The damn thing has goaded me all day. My muscles are sore down my entire left side."

"Let me help you, Humphrey. Lie down on the bed and I will rub it for you." Jory took a flacon of perfumed oil and warmed it over the brazier while her husband stripped off his clothes.

Jory came to the bed and removed her velvet surcoat. Wearing only her fine underdress, she climbed onto the bed and poured the warm oil into her palm. Starting at Humphrey's neck, she drew her hands down across his muscles with long, slow strokes.

"Christus, that feels so good, Marjory. Your hands are magic."

Pleased that she was able to help, Jory massaged the knotted muscles in his neck and back until he groaned with pleasure. Her touch aroused him and his cock stood up like a ramrod. Suddenly, he arched his back and ejaculated like a fountain.

He laughed, slightly shame-faced. "Your touch always has that effect on me. It makes me lose control."

Jory had no idea if he was complimenting her or blaming her. She moved away from the bed and sat down to brush her hair. She knew she had very little carnal knowledge and limited experience with men. She had only ever been alone with Humphrey, other than her encounters with Guy de Beauchamp.

Always when she thought of Warwick, she quickly pushed that thought away. Tonight she did not. Tonight she explored the feelings he had provoked in her. She remembered how hearing his name quickened her heartbeat. Just a glimpse of his dark face excited her. His slightest touch physically aroused her, compelling her to respond to him eagerly, wantonly.

Guy, what made you reject me? Why did you change your mind about offering for me? The answer was clear: I was not woman enough for you, and you thought me too young to be a mother to your son. Jory lifted her chin in defiance. I will learn to be a woman in every way and vow to be the best mother who ever lived.

She picked up the scented oil and moved toward the bed. "Humphrey, would you like to return the favor and massage away my aches? I warrant my bottom would benefit from a good rub."

Jory removed her underdress and lay facedown on the bed.

Humphrey poured oil into his palms and gingerly rubbed his wife's back. Her skin seemed so delicate, he was afraid of marring it. When he touched her buttocks, he felt his cock stir and hoped he would become aroused again. When he couldn't achieve another erection, he cursed under his breath in frustration.

When Jory felt warm hands caressing her buttocks she thought of Guy de Beauchamp and a frisson of desire rippled up her spine. Then she heard Humphrey's murmured curse as he moved away. She wished she hadn't asked her husband to perform the intimate favor, for now she was left once again with a yearning for fulfillment.

"I can hardly credit it, but Gloucester's army is ready to march tomorrow," Humphrey told his wife. "His second in command, Ralph Monthermer, keeps the fighting men of Gloucester ready for battle at all times. They will ride with us to Goodrich Castle; then I will cross into Wales alongside them to join my father."

That will be much safer for you, I hope. Jory had more good sense than to voice her apprehension for her husband's safety. "Will Gilbert leave a force here to guard Princess Joanna?"

"Aye, his troops number in the thousands. He has a standing guard of de Clares to protect his castle."

"Do the de Bohuns have a standing guard at Goodrich Castle?"

"We do, Marjory. Have no fear; it is a secure fortalice."

She searched his face and saw how vulnerable he looked. He also looked impossibly young to be heading into battle. I wish with all my heart that I could take away your fear, Humphrey.

The following day when Goodrich Castle came into view Jory could not believe her eyes. It was massive and ancient, with a twin-towered gatehouse. As well, it had three imposing round towers with spur buttresses. It was protected by a thick curtain wall and a rock-cut moat filled with water from the River Wye.

Humphrey had grown progressively more silent as they approached Goodrich, and Jory took pains to include him in their conversation. "I didn't realize the castle was built on the River Wye."

It was Gilbert who replied. "The Wye is the ancient dividing line between England and Wales."

Jory glanced at her husband and saw his mouth tighten at the mention of Wales. "The vista of mountains fills me with awe, as does this ancient fortalice. When was it built, Humphrey?"

"In the eleventh century," he said shortly.

"The Normans are such magnificent builders. It has stood for two centuries and will likely be here for many more," she said.

The skin around Gilbert's eyes crinkled in a smile. "It will be here long after we are gone, I warrant."

Oh dear, another reminder for Humphrey of his mortality.

They clattered across the drawbridge and into the open bailey, and the hooves of the mounted men who followed them made such a thunderous noise that conversation was no longer possible.

De Clare and Monthermer had their hands full billeting their scores of fighting men for the night, but Humphrey assisted his wife from the saddle and took her inside the fortalice to introduce her to the servants and castellans.

When they had all gathered in the ancient Great Hall, Humphrey took her hand. "It is a great honor for me to present my bride, Lady Marjory. This castle has not had a chatelaine for many years, and I hope you will make her welcome and grow to love her as the de Bohuns do. Tomorrow, I go to join my father in Wales, so it will be up to you to make her feel at home and watch over her."

The steward, David Bridgen, came forward and made his bow. He carried a great ring of iron keys that he offered up to her.

Jory smiled. "I would appreciate it if you would keep them for me, Master Bridgen."

"I would be honored, my lady."

He had a lilting Welsh accent and Jory took a closer look at the dark servants who were assembled and realized a large number were probably from Wales. He presented the only two female servants, Morganna and Rowena, who were dark as Gypsies. They stared at Jory's silver-gilt hair before they made their curtsies.

"I shall have your baggage brought up to your tower, my lord."

Humphrey took Jory's hand and led her toward the tower that he and his brother occupied. "Don't mind them staring at you. They likely imagine you've just stepped down from a cloud."

"I've only just realized a lot of the people here are Welsh."

"They are hard workers and loyal too. A great many of the de Bohun fighting men are also Welsh. They are amazing archers."

Jory gazed about her. "Well, they certainly keep everything clean and well polished. All the fires are lit and the bed linen is spotless." She refrained from criticizing the threadbare furnishings. "Did your father mean what he said about hoping I would refurbish the castle and that money was no object?"

"I know it's asking a lot of you, Marjory, but it will be deeply appreciated if you make the place inviting and comfortable. Spare no expense; the de Bohun coffers overflow, I assure you."

"Then it will be my pleasure. Acquiring beautiful things is one of the tasks that make a lady happy."

Humphrey's face settled in grim, determined lines. "You'll have to excuse me, Marjory. I have to see that the men I am taking with me on the morrow are prepared. My father will also expect a fresh supply of mounts and plenty of fodder."

"Oh, please don't worry about me, Humphrey. I know you must have a score of things to do before darkness falls."

When the steward and his helpers brought up the baggage, Jory realized there were no wardrobes; the de Bohun men kept their garments in trunks. Also, there was no bathing tub anywhere in the tower. Master Bridgen informed her that the stone bathhouse in the bailey was no fit place for a lady. She accepted the bowl and jug of water with a gracious smile.

When darkness fell, the steward brought her dinner on a tray, explaining that Lord Humphrey and the Earl of Gloucester would eat with their men in the great hall tonight. David, as Master Bridgen asked her to call him, brought her a flagon of honeyed mead and a jewel-encrusted goblet of Welsh gold. She had plenty of time to sip it and reflect before the fire; then she undressed and got into bed. Humphrey did not join her for three hours.

He set a stone jug of whiskey on the mantel and then without a word he removed his clothes and climbed into bed. When he reached for her, Jory went into his arms willingly. She knew it would be their last night together for some time. He was eager to mount her and couple, but after a number of frustrating, futile attempts, he flung himself from the bed and reached for the whiskey.

"Humphrey, don't!" Jory cried.

He stared at her with cold blue eyes that were icy with fear.

"Whiskey won't help." She held out her arms. "Come to me."

His legs seemed to move of their own accord, drawn back to the bed by the intangible feminine allure she possessed in abundance.

He climbed in beside her and she enfolded him in her arms and held him tightly. "You need warmth and comfort. Let me help you, Humphrey. Together we will banish the darklings."

He clung to her like a man drowning and buried his face in her perfumed hair. "You have no notion what it is like."

"I do!" she insisted, conjuring up Warwick's words. "War is bloody, brutal; the enemy is vicious. It is not cowardice to fear it. You go to your duty in spite of your misgivings and to me that is courageous beyond measure."

She stroked his back and nuzzled her lips against his throat offering him strengthening words and holding him secure in warm, loving arms. Jory had no idea what war was like, but she knew exactly what it was to feel vulnerable. Being held was a sure antidote. She wanted his fear to melt away like snow in summer.

Humphrey's grip on her was so tight, she had difficulty taking a deep breath, but gradually his arms slackened, and finally he drifted into blessed, peaceful sleep.

Jory smiled into the darkness. She did not ache tonight. By fulfilling her husband's needs, she herself was fulfilled.