Chapter 2

"I don't wish to wear that head veil." Joanna waved a dismissive hand at her lady as she studied her reflection in the polished silver mirror. "My hair is too lovely to cover." She had already refused to wear the virginal white roses the queen had provided.

Jory stepped forward. "You could wear a jeweled circlet."

"Yes, bring the one that's tiered like a crown. It won't hurt to remind Gloucester that a royal princess stands above an earl."

Jory brought it and stood on tiptoe to fit it into place, as amusement danced in her eyes. "Would you like your ermine cape?"

"I shall save that for the wedding." Joanna's laughter trailed away as her glance swept over Jory. "Why aren't you dressed?"

Jory lowered her voice. "Tonight I have a secret mission."

Joanna slanted a knowing eyebrow. "An assignation?"

"First I must stalk and identify my quarry."

"Happy hunting! Your prey doesn't stand a chance."

Jory waited until the princess and her ladies-in-waiting departed for the banquet. Joanna's chamber was in such disarray that she tidied the room and hung up all the garments that had been strewn about. Jory had a fine appreciation of beautiful clothes and because she'd had the talented services of the royal dressmakers for the past two years, she had developed an elegant fashion sense. She had learned which styles flattered her petite figure and which shades best set off her delicate coloring.

When the room was restored to order, Jory returned to her own chamber and donned the plain grey tunic and white linen headdress. Excitement bubbled inside her as she surveyed her appearance in the mirror to make sure she could pass as a castle servant. She tucked an errant tendril behind her ear and said a quick prayer.

Windsor's Great Hall was packed to overflowing. The earls and barons had come to see and be seen. Those in attendance were obviously in favor with King Edward at the moment. It was a rare chance for the nobles to gather in one place at one time to converse, exchange ideas, air differences, protest taxes, plot intrigues, forge alliances, negotiate deals, and make advantageous matrimonial matches for their sons and daughters.

The attendants who comprised the nobles' retinues were primarily interested in eating, drinking, gambling, and indulging any other vices that slaked their appetites.

By the time Jory arrived, the banquet was well under way. She had stopped in the kitchen and helped herself to some roast fowl and a quince tart. Then she picked up a jug of ale and entered the hall. She put a safe distance between herself and the royal dais, where the Plantagenets, their guest of honor, Gilbert of Gloucester, and the nobles who held high office were seated.

From a dimly lit alcove, her gaze swept the long table. The queen sat on King Edward's left, his son and heir, on his right. Though the youthful Prince Edward was younger than Joanna, there was a strict pecking order. The Earl of Gloucester was seated next to the princess, and Jory smiled, knowing that Joanna thought herself magnanimous to even acknowledge his presence. Gilbert de Clare didn't seem to mind. John de Bohun, the Earl of Hereford and Constable of England, was seated on his other side and the two military men were deep in conversation.

Thomas of Lancaster, the king's nephew and high steward, was seated next to the queen, and then came Roger Bigod, the Earl of Norfolk and Marshal of England. Jory's eyes widened as they fell on her own uncle, John de Warenne. Though he was the Earl of Surrey, she'd had no idea King Edward held him in such high esteem.

Jory had not been aware of her uncle's arrival, and she now realized her brother, Lynx, and his wife, Sylvia, would be here too. They must not see me playing the role of serving wench or there will be merry hell to pay! She cautioned herself to watch out for them and keep a safe distance.

The Great Hall was filled with rows of trestle tables and benches to accommodate the throng of nobles and their attendants. Huge platters of fish, eels, roast fowl, haunches of beef, and whole piglets were placed on every table so the guests could serve themselves, and as Jory glanced around she saw that the dishes were now empty and the bones picked clean. The nobles sat with their own people to eat, but once the tables were cleared, they would be eager to walk about and seek out their friends and allies.

She set off with her jug of ale, ignoring the many tankards thrust at her to be filled. As she nimbly dodged the male hands that reached out to pat her bottom or touch other parts of her anatomy, she scrutinized the badges on the men's tunics. She saw every device and animal imaginable as she searched for a golden bear on a field of jet. She had traversed the entire length of the hall, yet still the badge that she sought eluded her.

A deep male voice echoed in her ear. "Demoiselle, my throat is as dry as an Arabian desert. Will you take pity on one who thirsts?"

Jory whirled around and stared into a pair of eyes so dark they looked purplish black. He was the most handsome man she had ever gazed upon, and pride was stamped in every line of his face. Displaying inbred manners, he arose gallantly and waited for her to fill his tankard. She had to raise her chin and tilt her head back to look up at him, now that he had risen to his full height.

As her avid gaze traveled up his broad chest she saw the golden bear emblazoned on his black velvet doublet and as their eyes met, her brain clicked with recognition and she identified the device. Warwick! God's blood, the man is the infamous Earl of Warwick! The one they call the Wolfhound. Jory stood motionless, staring wide-eyed, like a doe poised for flight. Warning bells sounded in her head. She thrust the jug of ale at him and fled.

His attention obviously engaged, the earl set the jug on the table, detached himself from his men, and followed the maid.

Jory's feet did not stop moving until she was outside. She took several deep breaths, filling her lungs with fresh night air.

"Pardon, demoiselle. If you desire some company, you need look no farther. I am Guy de Beauchamp, at your service."

She turned and looked up at him. "Warwick?"

With some amusement he acknowledged, "Aye, I am Warwick." He held out his hand to her.

She tore her gaze from his face and looked at his hand. It was large, calloused, with long shapely fingers, and it was compelling beyond measure. How can I refuse him? He possesses an invisible force that draws me. Her impulsive nature willfully banished her trepidation. She placed her hand in his and he curled his fingers about it. She felt his warmth seep into her, and something far more potent: She felt his power.

"What shall I call you, little maid?"

"My name is Mar—" She stopped, appalled that she had almost blurted her true identity. She watched his mouth curve and thought it beautiful.

"Margret? Will you walk with me, Margret?"

"Where, my lord?"

"Wherever you will."

His voice was so deep and lyrical, it insinuated itself inside her. She was acutely aware that Guy de Beauchamp had an innate French charm and gallantry that set her pulses racing madly.

She thought of walking by the river, then with great daring, changed her mind. "I should like to walk in the garden."

His fingers tightened about her hand. "I shall follow wherever you lead, demoiselle."

She knew he was telling her what she wanted to hear. He wasn't blatantly lying, merely blurring the truth. For she knew down to her bones that he would do the leading. And she would let him.

Hand in hand they entered the Upper Ward and walked along the terrace that took them past the State Apartments. They went through a stone archway that led to the formal garden. The royal garden was walled and private, but Jory was familiar with a hidden entrance. She slipped her hand from his and with nimble fingers unlatched the gate.

Once they were inside, Warwick did not recapture her hand; instead he slid his arm about her shoulders. His closeness coupled with her own daring sent shivery excitement spiraling inside her, and her senses became drenched with the intoxicating perfume of night-blooming flowers and his potent male scent.

Their footsteps slowed as they came upon an inviting garden seat tucked beneath the cascading branches of a willow tree. The moonlight bathed them in haunting silver and dark shadows. Jory gasped as his powerful hands encircled her waist and lifted her to stand on the bench, eliminating their difference in height.

His dark eyes studied her heart-shaped face with great intensity. "You are exceedingly young, ma petite."

"I am eighteen!" she protested.

His mouth curved. "A delightful age of innocence."

"Yes…no! Perhaps," she added provocatively.

"An innocence that thirsts for a deeper knowledge and hungers for a wider experience…perhaps?"

"Yes, indeed, my lord," she murmured breathlessly.

His long fingers cupped her face, holding her captive. His mouth hovered above hers for a full tantalizing minute before his lips touched hers. She closed her eyes and swayed, intoxicated by the taste of his kiss.

His arms swept about her to steady her; then he lifted her and held her against his hard body. This time he took full possession of her mouth, easily persuading her to open her lips to his questing tongue. He thrust inside the velvet cave of her mouth, tasting her honeyed sweetness. He allowed her body to slowly slide down his until her feet once more touched the bench. Then his hands caressed her back with long, drugging strokes that moved ever lower until he had captured her bottom cheeks.

Held against his powerful body, Jory pictured him naked and was lost, lost in a sea of desire. She was aware of his hard arousal brushing against her soft thighs and felt her mons tingle in response. She gripped his muscular shoulders and arched against him, but because of their disparate size, her woman's center rubbed against his belly. She moaned softly with frustration.

He lowered himself to the bench, pulled her into his lap, and took possession of her lips. Long, lingering kisses progressed to deeply sensual persuasive ones, and then his mouth became demanding as he ravished her with his tongue.

She could feel his hard shaft beneath her, and shifted her bum to better accommodate his great size. He lifted the hem of her tunic and slid his fingers around her slim ankle. His bold hand moved up her shapely calf, fondled her knee, and then moved beyond her garter to the expanse of bare thigh above her hose. When he began to stroke her naked flesh with his calloused palm, she wanted to scream with excitement.

He nuzzled her ear with his lips. "Open for me, chéri."

Jory's eyes flew open as if she had just come out of a trance. She closed her legs tightly, trapping his seeking fingers. "You must stop! This is wrong…I should not be here like this."

His dark eyes searched her face. "I will stop, though you cannot deny you invited my advances." His voice held regret. "I have no need to force a woman."

"I did invite your kisses…They held me spellbound," she confessed breathlessly. Her breasts rose and fell with agitation over her dilemma. She craved his touch. She desired this man with every fiber of her being, yet at the same time she cursed herself for behaving like a whore. She feared the great Warwick would neither respect nor value a woman who was wanton.

She eased the vice grip of her thighs and felt his palm slide down her leg. When his hand emerged from beneath her skirt, she was shocked to see that his cunning fingers had stolen her garter.

He cocked a black eyebrow. "Just as I suspected. You are no serving wench. Confess the truth and shame the devil!"

Jory was aghast. "How did you know, my lord?"

"Serving wenches are coarse. You are made of finer stuff. I suspect you are a gently bred tiring woman to a noble lady." He grinned. "Does she know you have pilfered her garters?"

Relief flooded over her. Thank heaven he thinks I'm a servant!

"No wonder you asked me to stop. You deserve better than a quick tumble in the grass. Will you come to my chamber?"

Jory licked her lips and tasted his kisses. Desire flared up in her for the wicked Warwick, and she knew she must escape before the dangerous devil mesmerized her completely. She slid from his knee. "It's late…I must go…I have duties…"

"My invitation is open." He held her with his dark eyes. "Will you come to my chamber tomorrow night?"

She gazed at him with longing. He possesses an invisible force that draws me. How can I refuse him?

His mouth curved. "I know you will not refuse me, demoiselle."

Jory backed away, breaking the spell. Then she turned and ran.

Warwick returned to the hall. He was relieved that the dais was now empty. The queen had retired and the bride-to-be had obviously made her escape. He saw half a dozen earls conversing with the king and decided to join them. He took a tankard of ale from a server's tray and drained it. By the time he had walked the length of the great chamber, he had received three blatant invitations and two that were more subtle from noble ladies who had accompanied their husbands to Windsor for the royal wedding. Guy de Beauchamp was accustomed to female attention. His dark, predatory looks coupled with his reputation as a fierce warrior on the battlefield, were tempting enough. When the dangerous rumors of his dealings with women were added, the more daring matrons were eager to risk playing with fire for the chance to be scorched by Warwick's smoldering passion. He kept walking and ignored the invitations. Over the years he'd had a bellyful of spoiled, highborn noble ladies.

"Why did you not join us on the dais?" King Edward demanded.

"I didn't wish to ruin the celebration of Gloucester's upcoming nuptials by voicing my opposition to the taxes you are about to ask for in Parliament, Your Majesty."

"Damn you, Warwick. What makes you think I'll call Parliament?"

"Since Windsor is so close to Westminster, I warrant you will seize the opportunity while we are all gathered for the wedding."

"And so I shall. Decisions have to be made. My negotiations with Philip of France have come to naught. Hostilities are raging out of control between the sailors of the Cinque Ports and the fishermen of Normandy who sail our waters illegally. I have reports the wily, ambitious Philip will use this as a pretext to seize Gascony, the last of our French possessions."

"Are you contemplating waging war with France, Your Majesty?" John de Warenne asked bluntly.

"I am. I plan to lead an army into Flanders and fight it out. I'll send another army to recover Gascony if he dares touch it."

"Wars cost money, Your Majesty. I am opposed to having my taxes raised," Warwick repeated.

Roger Bigod, Earl of Norfolk, stepped forward. "Now that the subject has been broached, Your Majesty, I also disfavor your calling Parliament. I am in full agreement with Warwick."

"I need money badly, and whether you like it or not, I must take emergency measures to raise it," Edward said emphatically.

"And we are expected to dance to the royal tune." Warwick always had the balls to speak his mind, but tonight he knew the king was on dangerous ground because this means of raising money broke the stipulations of the Great Charter.

John de Bohun, Earl of Hereford, intervened. "Gentlemen, let us keep the peace among us at least until Gloucester here is wed; then we can hammer out our differences at Westminster."

Edward, eager to postpone the inevitable battle of wills until after the nuptials had been performed, called for wine all around. "A toast to the bridegroom." He hoisted his goblet and his earls followed suit. "Gilbert of Gloucester—here's to many fine sons!"

A son and heir was the cherished hope of every noble. Though King Edward had sired four sons, three had died before they reached maturity and only one remained. De Warenne had no legitimate son, and Bigod had only a daughter. All envied de Bohun, the constable, who had two grown sons.

Warwick clapped his friend Gloucester on the back. His dark eyes brimmed with amusement. "The king believes that once you are his son-in-law you will support him in all things."

"Then he is delusional," Gilbert said with a wink.

"I would be hard-pressed to choose which of you has the hotter temper. The Plantagenet rage is formidable to behold, but I've seen yours explode and scorch the earth."

Gilbert stared at him in disbelief. "Your own temper borders on madness—Warwick's reputation is legendary."

"Only when provoked. I have learned to keep the wolfhound in me tightly leashed. It is a matter of pride."

Edward came up behind Gilbert and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I've arranged a hunt tomorrow in your honor. I vow there's nothing better than venison for a wedding feast."

Irony danced in Warwick's eyes as he put his hand on Gilbert's other shoulder. "It's an eat-what-you-kill world, my friend."

Jory drew back the princess's curtains to let in the pale morning sunshine. "It is a beautiful day, Joanna. I hope the banquet met your expectations last night."

"Don't try to be subtle. You mean, did Gloucester meet my expectations?" She threw back the covers. "Actually, he turned out better than I thought. When I ignored him, he didn't take offense. He didn't put on any airs and graces; nor did he try to flatter me. Gloucester's still old enough to be my father, but at least he's no toady." Joanna slid her feet into her slippers and donned her bed-gown.

"It was what happened after the banquet that bored me to tears and drove me to the edge of insanity. The queen, herding a gaggle of noble ladies, expected me to show them all the wedding gifts on display in the Long Gallery. What should have been accomplished in ten minutes, stretched to two hours. They took an inordinate interest in every gold cup and silver fork until I contemplated picking one up and stabbing myself for the sheer fun of it."

Jory laughed. "Viewing the costly gifts is one of the great pleasures of attending a royal wedding."

"Your sister-in-law, Sylvia, kept making pointed queries regarding your whereabouts and complaining that you hadn't presented yourself to them yet. I'm adept at avoiding unwanted questions, but now it's your turn to answer a few." Joanna gave Jory back her own words. "Did you really do it? Did you lose your virginity?"

Jory smiled her secret smile. "I too am adept at avoiding unwanted questions. I learned the trick from a royal princess."

"You did indulge in dalliance! At least tell me his name."

"Gervais…Giles…or was it Guy? I don't remember."

"Oh, you little hussy, he is French!"

Jory rolled her eyes. "He is indeed."

"Do you have another rendezvous planned for tonight?"

"He did invite me," Jory confessed, "but I have no intention of keeping the assignation. I have quite made up my mind. In any case, I shall be far too busy attending the events that Queen Eleanor has arranged in your honor."

"Ah, yes, an al fresco luncheon served in the formal gardens, followed by a sightseeing tour along the Thames from Windsor to London aboard the royal barge. Father has arranged for the men to go on an all-day hunt. Lucky devils!"

"You love going out on the river," Jory protested.

"Yes, I do enjoy it in the company of my own ladies, but certainly not with the queen's uppity attendants, who look down their long, disapproving noses at me. As well, Mother will expect me to remember the name and title of every earl and baron's wife. I cannot tell Countess Cowclap from Baroness Horseface."

"You only pretend you can't tell them apart to amuse yourself."

"You know me so well, Jory."

"Maude Clifford and Blanche Bedford will be attending you this morning, Your Highness. I must go and present myself to Lynx and Sylvia, and my uncle, John de Warenne."

"Don't try to change the subject. The royal barge will be back by nightfall and so will the hunters. That leaves plenty of time for dalliance between sunset and sunrise."

"I shall resist temptation today—I've quite made up my mind."