Chapter 1

"Did you really do it? Did you lose your virginity?" Marjory de Warenne's wide green eyes glittered with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as she bolted the bedchamber door and removed Princess Joanna Plantagenet's hooded cloak.

Joanna spun about and stared in amazement at her young friend. Then she began to laugh. "Jory, your innocence staggers me. I lost my virginity more than two years ago, when I was sixteen!"

Jory was visibly shocked. "When you vowed to sow wild oats before your wedding at week's end, I thought as a final act of rebellion you would choose a secret lover for one night…and—"

"You thought that tonight would be the first time I'd go all the way with a man so I could experience carnal knowledge? Bless your sweet na?vete′, Jory! Though I've never been blatant about it, and never before dared take the chance while Father is here at Windsor, I have indulged in the pleasures of the flesh. What the devil do you think I do when I have a secret assignation?"

As Jory unfastened Joanna's gown, her imagination was limited by the daring things she had done with the opposite sex. "Flirt outrageously…perhaps allow him to kiss you?"

Joanna kicked off her shoes, then lay back on the satin bedcover and stretched with sensual abandon. "God in heaven, is that all you've ever done with the male of the species? I thought I had set you a better example than that. The game of seduction goes beyond fluttering your eyelashes and tossing about your silver-gilt tresses. Men's mouths are good for more than kissing and their pricks for more than pissing." Joanna brushed her hand over her mons and moaned with remembered pleasure.

"Do you need a bath?" Jory whispered, as Joanna's words painted a blatant picture of the sins of the flesh.

"Indeed I do." The princess sat up and the corners of her mouth lifted in a self-satisfied smile. "But I won't wash off his male scent or the milky essence of his lust until morning. This was my last night of indulgence. On the morrow my ancient husband-to-be arrives at Windsor."

"Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, is England's premier noble. Your father thinks only to honor you, Joanna."

"By marrying me to a man thirty years my senior? Nay! The king thinks only to honor Gloucester, his greatest warrior, who commands more troops than any other earl. In Edward Plantagenet's world, women mean nothing except as rewards, like castles and titles—not even a daughter," she said bitterly. "My appeals to Mother also fell on deaf ears. The queen has always been more wife than mother. She worships him and would never oppose him."

Princess Joanna, the darkly beautiful, sloe-eyed daughter of King Edward Plantagenet had railed for months against her father's plans to marry her to the aging Earl of Gloucester. Her imperious displays of temper, her point-blank refusals, and her melodramatic threats to kill herself had availed her nothing. Her father was implacable…always. Not only about this, but about everything in life. Once Edward Plantagenet made a decision, it was final.

"I can manipulate any man in the world…any man save Father!"

"That is because you fear him," Jory murmured.

"Aye, I admit it. You should have seen the mad rage he displayed when I objected that Gilbert de Clare was an old man. ‘Old?' Father bellowed. ‘He is five years younger than I am! Gilbert needs an heir. Your son will inherit all Gloucester's English and Welsh lands and castles. Moreover, the ancient de Clare bloodline makes him one of the few nobles fit to mate with a Plantagenet.'

"When I said Gilbert was too old to give me a son, I thought he would strike me. ‘Christ's bones, I'm well into my fifties and I can still sire a son! Do you want me to prove it?' he roared."

Jory sat on the bed beside her. "I'm so sorry, Joanna. I wish with all my heart you could choose your own husband…someone young…someone you love." Jory hesitated. "What is his name?"

Joanna looked at her friend blankly for a moment. "You mean tonight? Henry…Godfrey…or was it Humphrey? Some such name. I don't remember. I'm certainly not in love with him."

Jory was aghast. "You don't remember?"

"Windsor is overflowing with nobles and their sons who are gathering for the royal wedding in five short days. Yesterday when we stood on the ramparts of the Round Tower and watched scores of mounted men ride into the Lower Ward, I selected one of the taller, younger specimens. Since I capitulated and agreed to wed Gloucester, I decided I had earned a reward."

Jory's sense of the ridiculous bubbled to the surface. "Well, by the sound of you, it was certainly rewarding."

"We'll go again tomorrow. This time it will be your turn. Perhaps you will see someone you fancy. Your uncle, John de Warenne, and your brother, Lynx, will soon be arranging your marriage. You'll have no say in the matter, so you might as well indulge in a little dalliance with someone who stirs your blood before they bludgeon you into submission and turn you into a dutiful wife."

"Uncle John and Lynx would never do anything to make me unhappy. I have them wrapped around my finger and they indulge my every whim. Didn't they allow me to become one of your court ladies here at Windsor two years ago?"

"That happened the year after your brother wed Sylvia Bigod, the queen's lady-in-waiting. The Marshal of England's daughter is attractive, but not nearly as exquisitely lovely as you, Jory. Two beautiful females living at de Warenne's magnificent Hedingham Castle, vying for attention, must have given her pause. Sylvia likely got rid of you when you turned sixteen because she didn't want the competition."

Jory fell silent as Joanna stripped off her garments and slid nude beneath the covers. Though on the surface Jory had a sparkling personality and an infectious laugh, underneath, she had a vulnerability that she kept hidden. She did not remember her parents and had never had a home of her own. Her mother had died giving birth to her, and the guilt she carried lay buried deep within. Some months later, her father, Lincoln de Warenne, had died in battle, giving victory to Edward Plantagenet.

Her older brother had inherited their father's castles and lands in Essex, and they had been taken to live with their father's brother John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, until Lynx came of age. Though her uncle and brother were indulgent guardians who made her feel loved, she had always harbored the belief she was an obligation and a burden that had been thrust upon them, and a secret fear of rejection added to her vulnerability.

Did Sylvia get rid of me by sending me to Windsor to be companion to Princess Joanna? Jory picked up the discarded gown, hung it in the wardrobe and walked slowly toward the connecting door that led to her own chamber. "Good night, Your Highness."

Joanna sat up. "Come back here! Don't you dare be formal with me. I have dozens of court ladies who bow and scrape and call me Highness, but I have only one true friend."

Jory turned and walked slowly back. "I never dreamed Sylvia wanted to be rid of me."

"She wanted no such thing, Jory, though she should have if she had any brains. I asked for you especially because I wanted a lively companion whose wit and grace outshone every other noble lady I had ever met. And since I'm confessing the truth, I also chose you for your incandescent beauty. Your shining silver-gilt hair and pale green eyes make a perfect foil for the sultry dark coloring I inherited from my mother's Castilian ancestors."

Jory's smile returned as Joanna's words banished her apprehension and restored her confidence. "When we are together, we do draw every eye."

"We do indeed. Men gape and women stare with envy. Lord God, Jory, I predict that once you lose your innocence you will exude a sensuality that will be irresistible." Joanna sighed. "Tonight, you look angelic, as if you've never even glimpsed a naked man."

"I haven't! Wherever would I see men who are naked?"

"Surely you jest? I sneaked into the bathhouse when I was about twelve. You had an opportunity last year when we traveled to the Bruce estates in Essex for the ceremony where Bruce passed the Earldom of Carrick to his eldest son. All five Bruce brothers swam naked in the river every day."

Lady Marjory Bruce was Jory's namesake and godmother. "The Bruce brothers are rough boys. Their land runs with ours, so I've known them all my life. Robert Bruce is a wild devil who teased me unmercifully with a ferret and threatened to throw me in the water. I stayed away from the river."

"Ooh, I warrant his ferret was furry!"

Jory dissolved into giggles. "I missed my chance to find out."

"That's better. Now go to bed, and don't wake me before nine."

Princess Joanna stood impatiently for the last fitting of her wedding dress. She was surrounded by the queen's sewing women and the ladies-in-waiting of her own household while the Plantagenet-blue-and-gold gown was adjusted. "I shall scream if you keep me standing here a moment longer. Get me out of the damn thing!"

One intrepid matron protested, "It still needs—"

Jory saw the fury on Joanna's face that preceded an explosion of royal temper and she smoothly intervened. "It is perfect! Even you cannot improve on perfection, madam." She helped Joanna from the yards of rustling blue samite interwoven with glistening gold threads and handed the garment to the head seamstress.

Half an hour later the two friends stood atop the Round Tower, shielding their eyes from the brilliant autumn sunshine as they watched nobles and their retinues enter through the gates and ride into Windsor's Lower Ward.

"There!" Joanna flung up her arm and pointed. "I recognize the de Clare chevrons." She stared hard, trying to pick her future husband from the score of men who rode beneath the banners that displayed the de Clare device. Her eyes focused on their leader. She'd seen Gilbert before while growing up, but paid little heed. "The highest noble in the realm is attired like a common soldier."

Jory looked where she pointed. The rider removed his helmet, but he was too far away to see if he looked like an old man.

"Ha! Gilbert the red is now Gilbert the gray! I wonder if the fiery temper that goes with red hair has faded?" Joanna glanced triumphantly at her friend. "I shall dazzle and beguile him and have him eating from my hand like a besotted lapdog in no time."

Jory did not hear one word of Joanna's vow. Her full attention was riveted on a commanding figure clad in sable breastplate and plumed helm astride a black stallion. A tall black wolfhound stalked beside him, and though his retinue was fewer than a dozen, the other riders in the Lower Ward moved aside to make way for the striking nobleman. His pride of carriage and the power he exuded were obvious, even from this distance. Jory's legs suddenly felt weak and she grasped the stone battlement to steady herself.

Who is he? Jory's eyes lifted to his banner, which displayed a golden bear against a field of black, but her thoughts were in such disarray she could not identify the device. Irresistibly her gaze was drawn back to the man as if she thirsted for the sight of him. Her heart began to hammer as she watched him wheel his horse in the direction of Gilbert of Gloucester. The earl's attendants fell back as he approached, and Jory wondered if it was respect or fear that compelled them. The thought made her quiver and she licked her lips as her mouth suddenly went dry. The two men spoke, then laughed together, and it was obvious to her that the pair were well acquainted.

"Since de Clare's been traveling for at least three days, the next hours will be taken up with bathing and changing. I won't meet my lapdog until the banquet tonight, so I'm blessedly free of him for now," Joanna said blithely.

Jory's imagination took flight, trying to picture the black knight stark naked as he stepped into a bath of steaming water. Her mind's eye painted a portrait that was vexingly vague and she felt an overwhelming desire to see him in clear, explicit detail.

Joanna sought escape. "I think I'll go for a gallop in Windsor Forest…perhaps take a hawk. Will you join me?"

"Your other ladies would jump at the chance. When you favor my company, they feel neglected." Jory searched for a plausible excuse and found one. "I'll stay and watch for Lynx's arrival."

"Family duty be damned. Keep your eyes open for a tempting young lord who will lure you to dalliance."

As Joanna left, the corners of Jory's mouth lifted in a secret smile. She had learned much from the royal princess, not the least of which was how to dissemble, flatter, and manipulate so that she could do exactly as she pleased. She gripped the crenellated wall and gazed downward. She was in time to see the sable-clad noble swing a long, powerful leg across his stallion's rump and dismount in one lithe movement that kept his back ramrod straight and his head erect. A frisson of desire rippled through her belly as he disappeared from her view. I believe I shall go hunting after all, and I have spotted my quarry!

Jory returned to the imposing rectangular building in the Upper Ward where Princess Joanna and her ladies resided. Their chambers, which took up the entire second floor, were in disarray.

The ladies had hurriedly changed into their riding dresses and dropped the garments they'd been wearing onto their beds, knowing the servants would pick up after them.

Jory entered Joanna's chamber and swept up the soiled petticoat from last night before the serving women found it. She followed the sound of female voices and found three servants tidying Maud Clifford's chamber. She gave the women a measuring glance, selected one, and took her into her own room. "Dora, you are about my size. How would you like to have this dress I'm wearing?"

"Oh, my lady, it's brocade! Do you mean it?"

"There's a catch. I have need of the plain grey tunic you are wearing. Will you trade with me?"

"Indeed I will, Lady Marjory. I have half a dozen like this."

Jory unfastened her gown and stepped out of it as Dora hurriedly removed her tunic. Then she lifted her gown over the servant's head and fastened the buttons that ran down the back. "Go and look in the mirror at how lovely you are." Jory thanked Dora, hung the grey tunic in her wardrobe, and donned another gown.

She picked up Joanna's petticoat, bundled it with one of her own that needed washing, and made her way to the castle laundry. It was a cavernous place beneath the vast kitchens, where dozens of washerwomen toiled daily over a mountain of soiled clothing and household linen. Boiling water, soap, lye, and starch branded them with red chapped hands, the telltale mark of their trade. The laundry also encompassed drying chambers, pressing rooms, and folding and storage areas for the clean linen.

The head laundress bobbed a curtsy, while her young helpers at their scrubbing boards gaped. "How may I serve ye, m'lady?"

Jory's smile encompassed all. "You do such excellent work and I'm here to thank each one of you. Maud Clifford is responsible for Princess Joanna's personal laundry, but I have a shrewd idea that she passes it off to one of you."

"Mary's the one wi' the gentle hands," the laundress confirmed.

Jory dropped the petticoats into Mary's washtub and smiled her thanks. "I'd love to look around. The vast scale of your operation is astounding. Would you be kind enough to show me?"

The head laundress swallowed the bait and gestured for Mary to accommodate the princess's lady-in-waiting. Jory took the lead immediately and maneuvered her way to the linen press, where the clean garments for all the castle servants were stored. As they walked between the rows of shelves, her eyes searched for things that would serve her purpose. She saw a pile of white linen headdresses and helped herself.

"I've always wondered what the bathhouse women wear when they scrub the noblemen who visit Windsor. They must get soaking wet."

"I'll show you, m'lady." Mary led the way down another aisle. "They wear these cotton smocks that dry quickly."

Jory fingered the material. "Fascinating…I'll take one." She lowered her voice to a confidential tone. "When Princess Joanna is wed, she will first move to a splendid country manor house in Clerkenwell, near the Tower. The Earl of Gloucester has more castles and residences than any other noble. If you would like to be part of her household, I will recommend you, Mary."

"Oh, thank you, my lady. I would love to serve the princess."

Jory tucked the garments she'd pilfered under her arm and winked at Mary. "Consider it done."

It wasn't a great distance from the washhouse to Windsor's bathhouse, which was located on the ground floor above the dungeons. The stone edifice was part of the outer wall on the Thames side, where water from the river was piped in and heated. The plan was copied from a system the ancient Romans had built in Britain centuries before.

No lady ever ventured near this strictly male bastion where kings, princes, earls, barons, high-ranking clergy, and the men who held royal office had made their ablutions for over a century. Jory did not dare hesitate about what she intended or her courage would fail her. She had come this far and would not stop now. As she reached the arched entranceway, a cacophony of raised male voices, shouting, cursing, and laughing made her heart pound. She covered her hair with the linen headdress and slipped the cotton smock over her gown. It was such a voluminous garment that it almost drowned her. She gathered its folds about her and stepped inside. When she saw the size of the strapping bathhouse women, she understood why the smocks were so enormous.

She peered through the veil of steam cautiously, realizing that many of the partly obscured figures were unclad males. A matron slapped a wooden tub of soft soap into her hands and pointed. "This is for Gloucester. Make haste!"

She took one step and the woman bawled, "Take the salt." Jory gripped the block of salt the woman thrust at her. "Salt?"

"For the earl's teeth, ye gormless wench."

On what felt like stiff wooden legs, Jory staggered in the direction the matron had indicated and was relieved when a young squire with a Gloucester badge on his tunic took the items from her and passed them to a muscular female. When the squire stepped aside to fill a bucket with water, Jory was presented with an unimpeded view of the naked bridegroom lying full length in a white marble tub. The bathing wench slathered a handful of soft soap onto his chest and reached beneath the water, groping toward his private parts.

Jory stared in amazement. Gilbert de Clare's limbs displayed a few scars and his muscles were ropey and knotted from years of use, but he did not have the body of an old man. The hair on both his chest and head was sparse and grizzled, yet the features of his face were strong. Joanna, Gloucester is no lapdog!

"Rinse!" The order from the bath wench brought the bucket of water that the squire held pouring down upon the earl.

De Clare gave a bark of laughter. "You'll need more water than that to drown me, lad."

The strapping woman hauled up Gloucester's leg and examined his foot. She looked at Jory and ordered, "Pumice stone."

A canvas curtain that hung beside the bathtub was drawn aside. A naked man rose up and stepped from his own marble tub. He handed the bath woman his pumice. "Take mine—I'm done."

Jory stood rooted to the spot and gaped. The male who stood resplendent before her was tall and powerfully built. His broad chest was covered by a pelt of wet black hair and his impossibly wide shoulders rippled with smooth, glistening muscle. Jory did not dare raise her eyes to his face, but looked her fill at the rest of his body. Water droplets trickled down his flat belly and narrow hips. Her gaze followed them as they ran down his long flanks, which bulged with saddle muscles. Her attention shifted to the forbidden place between his legs. His cock and balls were nestled among a heavy thatch of wet black curls that in no way obscured their size. She was shocked at the amplitude of his sex, yet amazed that the male groin could hold her in thrall to such a degree that she was mesmerized.

The spell was broken when the man picked up a towel and slung it about his hips. The object of her fascination was now covered, enabling her to think more clearly, and it forcefully struck her that she should not be here doing this scandalous thing. Jory backed away slowly, desperately trying to avoid drawing attention to herself, but the two men began conversing and she might have been a block of salt for all the notice they paid her.

As she made her way back to the Upper Ward, she walked as if she were in a trance. Her thoughts were all centered on the powerful naked body she had just witnessed. She had no doubt that it belonged to the compelling noble who had riveted her attention when he rode in this morning, yet his identity was still a mystery. The commanding figure in the sable armor had enthralled her, and now that she had seen him nude, she was completely entranced. Though she hadn't the vaguest notion who he was, she felt his strong magnetic power, which held her in thrall.

Who are you? Who the devil are you? She was bemused that the word devil came to mind, yet she knew the reason. He was dark and powerful, sinfully enticing, and he had an aura of forbidden danger about him. Jory sensed all this before she had even seen his face.

She was filled with a driving need to find out who he was. Tonight she would search until she found him. Tonight she would see his face and look into his eyes. Would his visage attract her or repel her? Jory shivered with anticipation.