Although her sisters and the wives of her brothers spent much time at the castle, serving in the dining hall and plenishing the chambers, Jane spent more time in the stables and the stillroom. She seldom ventured into the stronghold where Comyn’s men-at-arms were garrisoned. Even though they had been there for three years, Jane still felt threatened by the men’s presence. Now, the thought of strange men overrunning Dumfries deeply disturbed her!
The little foal began to struggle and Jane helped it gain its legs. With Keith’s help, she guided it to its mother and watched with tender eyes as the mare accepted it. Jane wet her finger with mare’s milk, then put it to the baby’s mouth. After repeating her action half a dozen times, the little colt began to suckle. As Jane thought over her strange encounter, along with Keith’s prophecy, she knew she would rather face the lynx a thousand times over than
2
“Wigton? That’s on the border of Scotland!” Alice Bolton cried in horror, as she shuddered dramatically.
“I’m not suggesting you be buried alive, I’m suggesting you stay at my castle of Wigton while I go further north,” Lynx de Warenne said dryly to his long-standing mistress.
“’Tis one and the same! I thought when we arrived here on the coast we would soon be sailing to France; I’ve been looking forward to Bordeaux for months.”
“You speak of going to France as if it were a holiday; we go to fight a war,” Lynx reminded her.
“War is your life,” she said impatiently. She had been about to remove a stocking from her long, slim leg, but now threw down her skirts petulantly. “When I think of all the time I spent in the wilds of Wales for your sake, I could scream, yet now you are asking me to endure further hardship in an even more godforsaken place!”
“Chester Castle was hardly the wilds of Wales,” Lynx corrected. “Compared to the barren piles of rock that actually are in the wilds of Wales, Chester is palatial, as is this fortress of Newcastle.”
“But this isn’t Windsor!” she threw back at him. Alicia had been lady-in-waiting to the late Queen Eleanor and had been thoroughly spoiled by living at the lavish royal Plantagenet court.
Lynx shrugged. “Suit yourself, Alice, the choice is yours.”
“My name is Alicia; you call me Alice to purposely annoy me! You don’t care if I come or stay. I’m just a convenience to you—a habit!”
He fixed her with a glacial stare. “A habit that can easily be broken.”
“Oh! You enjoy being cruel to me, and after all I’ve sacrificed for you.”
Lynx surged to his full height of six feet, his patience exhausted. “I’ll tell you what I don’t enjoy—female theatrics. I’ll see you anon, madam.”
“Don’t go, Lynx, please don’t leave,” Alicia begged frantically. There were at least thirty women in the castle who would willingly take Lynx de Warenne to their beds and she was insatiably jealous of every last one of them. She stared at the closed chamber door with narrowed eyes. He hadn’t even slammed it. That proved his indifference to her!
Alicia flew to her polished silver mirror to examine her image. She was as slim as a reed and she was beautiful. What more could a man possibly want? Of course I shall stay in the north, she told herself. How else can I keep some other from sinking her claws into him? He has no idea how predatory some bitches can be!
Alicia moved across her chamber to the wardrobe and took a small flagon from its hiding place. She poured out a measure and sipped it avidly. Alicia had been drinking vinegar for so long, she quite liked its pungent taste. It helped to keep her slim; she would have drunk the horse urine she used to bleach her hair if she thought it would keep off the fat. Queen Eleanor had borne the selfish Edward Plantagenet fifteen children, and nothing quite horrified Alicia as much as the stretched belly and other ravages that childbearing had on a woman’s figure.
Lynx dismissed all thoughts of Alicia the moment he left her presence. He thought most women rather selfish and often shallow to boot, though he usually couldn’t help but view their shortcomings with some amusement. Lynx found the great hall overflowing with men, drinking, dicing, laughing, shouting—the din was raucous, the smoke from the fires and tallow torches was thick and acrid. His glance swept the vast chamber in search of John de Warenne. When he didn’t see his uncle there, Lynx knew he’d find him in the map room.
John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, glanced up quickly when his broad-shouldered nephew entered the chamber, then his eyes returned to the map he had been poring over.
“Newcastle is bursting at the seams and more are arriving each day. My Welsh archers are camped outside the castle walls, and when the Earl of Ulster’s men arrive from Ireland, they’ll have to do likewise,” Lynx said.
“They won’t be here for a few days; their ships haven’t yet reached Carlisle. I’ve ordered Percy to accompany the king north to Berwick. That will give us a bit more room when Clifford and his men arrive.” John de Warenne was head general of all of King Edward’s armies. He had learned his fighting skills under Simon de Montfort, the greatest warrior England had ever known. “It is sheer folly to underestimate Edward Plantagenet, as the Scots will learn to their sorrow.”
“A show of force will likely bring King Baliol with his tail between his legs to swear fealty once more for Scotland and provide Edward with troops to help fight the French. Baliol would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to realize Edward set him up as a puppet king,” Lynx remarked.
“What he doesn’t seem to realize is that Edward Plantagenet can pluck him off his throne as quickly as he set him upon it. If Baliol’s henchman John Comyn, Earl of Buchan, is urging rebellion because we are occupied with our plans for France, his brains must be up his arse! Edward could use the army he’s gathered to invade Scotland before we sail to France, effectively killing two birds with one stone.”
“The irony is that if the Scots nobility united against us they’d be almost impossible to defeat.”
De Warenne gave a short, mirthless laugh. “There will be two moons in the sky before they join forces under one banner. The insufferable pride of the clan chiefs prevents them from taking orders from one commander. They would rather fight each other than fight the English.”
“Robert Bruce should have been named king, not Baliol, even though he can claim Celtic blood only through his mother. There are few Scots nobles with pure Celtic blood. Most, like the Bruces, are Norman by descent and hold land in both England and Scotland. Scots nobles change sides as often as they remarry.” Lynx poured his uncle a horn of ale and handed it to him; only then did the flinty general turn his back on the maps and seem to dismiss all thought of the army for a while.
He sat down before the fire, his glance roaming over Lynx’s powerful frame. “Speaking of remarriage, when are you going to take another wife? You grow no younger. I don’t want you to end up like me, without a son.”
Lynx knew it was his duty to remarry. He held a barony, owned lands in Wales, Essex, and Northumberland, and was heir to John de Warenne’s earldom of Surrey with its vast acres and numerous castles. He needed strong sons to hold fast all that belonged to him. If he died without issue, Edward Plantagenet would swallow all the de Warenne holdings.
More than anything on earth, Lynx wanted a son. If he could not be blessed by a son, he would gladly settle for a daughter. He was close to thirty and as far as he knew, his seed had never taken root. Such a deficiency was an embarrassment in a country where large families were both encouraged and expected. King Edward had set the fashion and sired fifteen children on Queen Eleanor, and now that he was widowed, it was rumored that he was looking for another queen so he could begin to sow a second crop.
Lynx had been wed for five years before his wife had died, but the union had produced no children, and deep down he feared that the deficiency was his. None of the de Warennes were prolific breeders; Lynx was his uncle’s heir because John had no legitimate children of his own.
“You have Fitz-Waren, which proves you are capable o
f siring sons,” Lynx reminded him.
John quaffed his ale, remaining silent for a few minutes, then shook his head in denial. “Fitz isn’t my bastard. His drooping eyelid told me before he was two years old that he belonged to my best friend, who was killed in battle. We often shared our wenches … When the young lass came to me in tears and confessed she was in trouble, I acknowledged the child.”
Lynx now understood why John had never legitimized Fitz-Waren, and in truth his cousin bore no physical resemblance to the de Warennes.
For the hundredth time Lynx thought about taking another wife. Though his first marriage had been arranged, Lady Sylvia Bigod had been everything a man could want in a wife. As well as bringing him wealth, she had been highborn, beautiful, and cultured, and though she was slightly spoiled from living at the lavish Plantegenet court, they had never exchanged an angry word. When Sylvia died from an inflammation of the lungs, Lynx had been steeped in guilt, thinking he had spent too little time with her. Since then, he had been too busy fighting wars and accumulating land holdings to remarry. His thoughts turned to Alicia. Strange that in the two years she had been his mistress, she had never ripened with child. Lynx wanted a family so desperately, he suspected that he would capitulate and wed Alicia if she ever proved fertile. He glanced over at John and promised, “I will look about me for a suitable lady.”
Standing gate duty at the castle, Fitz-Waren watched keenly as a hundred horses clattered into the bailey. It was almost dark and Clifford’s men were not expected until the morrow. Then Fitz-Waren recognized the de Bohun device on a shield and knew the Earl of Hereford, Constable of England, had arrived.
Suddenly his blood began to surge as he saw a crimson hood thrown back to reveal silvery-gilt tresses, the color of moonlight. Marjory de Warenne! Her very name quickened his pulses. Fitz-Waren jumped down from his watch-tower and forced his way through the throng of sweating horses until he had a firm grip on the young widow’s bridle.
Jory looked down and gave him a dazzling smile. “Fitz! I’m on the brink of exhaustion, keeping up with these rough louts.” Her lashes swept her cheeks. “Be a darling and stable my horse?”
Looking up into the beautiful, fragile face, Fitz knew men would jump to do her bidding even if she had said, “Fall on your sword” or “Drink this cup of hemlock.” He cursed himself for a besotted fool and helped her from the saddle, all the while telling himself she was naught but a vain bitch.
Marjory’s father-in-law, the Earl of Hereford, elbowed Fitz-Waren aside. Though she was the widow of his eldest son, Humphrey, John de Bohun now wanted her for his second son, Henry.
“It’s all right, my lord, Fitz-Waren is my dear cousin. I know you will both excuse me; I want to surprise Lynx.” Jory ran toward the castle as lightly as she would traverse the dance floor, despite having spent twelve hours in the saddle with only two short rest stops.
Lynx de Warenne stared in disbelief as his sister swept into the great hall. “Splendor of God, did you just ride in? Who is your escort?” he demanded.
Jory wrinkled her nose. “Unfortunately, it was Hereford. He watches me like a dog with a bone.” She reached up on tiptoe to kiss her brother. “Are you growing or am I shrinking?” she teased.
“Don’t think to divert me. What the hell are you doing here, Jory?”
She sighed solemnly. “I am in utter disgrace. I will tell you all the grisly details when we are private.”
“Come up to my chamber.” Lynx signaled his two squires. “Taffy, ask the steward to plenish a chamber for my sister; tell him I don’t care who he has to turf out on his ear. Thomas, fetch some ale.”
“Ale?” the Irish squire asked doubtfully. No respectable lady drank aught but wine.
Lynx said dryly, “My sister has the appetite of three men-at-arms. It provides the energy for her mayhem.”
Jory gave the Irish squire a wink that did peculiar things to his insides. He jumped to do Lynx’s bidding, but not before he returned the lady’s wink.
When they were alone, Jory threw herself into one of the carved chairs before the fire and lifted her foot in the air. “Help me off with these damned boots.”
Lynx turned his back to her, drew her foot through his legs and tugged. The first boot popped off easily, but the second was more difficult to dislodge. Jory placed her stockinged foot against his backside and pushed hard. “You make a lovely maid.”
Lynx flung the boots onto the hearth to dry. “You don’t need a maid, you need a bloody squire.”
“Mmm, what a novel idea. May I have your Irishman?”
“Can you not behave yourself?” he asked repressively.
“No,” she replied cheerfully, lifting her skirts to warm her legs. “Have you found a special lady yet worthy of your affection?”
“No, I have not.” awful mistress of yours. When your heart’s desire is to have a child, why do you waste your time with Alicia?”
“We are not discussing my shortcomings, we are discussing yours.” When silence stretched between them, Lynx said sharply, “I’m waiting.”
“And you do it with such charm,” she teased. Then, knowing she must confess all, she started at the beginning, picking and choosing her words in order to put herself in the best light.
“When Humphrey was killed in Wales, I grieved so deeply I thought I would go mad, as did others.” She paused as the inevitable lump of sorrow rose up in her throat. She swallowed hard before she could continue. “Finally my dearest friend, Princess Joanna, took pity on me and invited me to stay with her in Gloucester. Hereford and Gloucester are only twenty-five miles apart and we had visited often.” Marjory paused for breath.
“I am aware of the traveling distance between the two cities; get to the heart of the matter.”
Jory sighed. “My father-in-law objected. When it dawned on me that de Bohun wanted me for his son Henry, I was appalled. I suspect he’s already sent for the dispensation. Lynx, I could never marry my husband’s brother!”
Lynx frowned. “You are in disgrace because you refused him? I’ll have a word with Hereford.”
“No, no, I haven’t got to that part yet. I’m perfectly capable of handling Hereford, for God’s sake.”
Lynx made a visible effort to control his impatience. “Jory, cut to the bloody chase.”
“Well, I suppose you could call it Providence that I went to Joanna, for within weeks her aging husband took to his bed and died.”
The king had married his daughter Joanna to the greatest noble in the realm. Gilbert de Clare had been Earl of Gloucester and Hertford, as well as having owned part of Ireland and Wales, but he had been a good deal older than the Plantagenet princess.
“I’m glad you could be with her. The king and all of England mourned the passing of Gilbert de Clare.”
“Oh, it wasn’t a love match; de Clare was ancient. Joanna was madly in love with Gilbert’s squire, Ralph de Monthermer.”
Lynx was shocked. Surely Princess Joanna had not been unfaithful to the powerful Earl of Gloucester? “You aided and abetted the princess to commit adultery!” Lynx accused.
“You are as bad as the rest! All are blaming me as if I pushed them into bed and undressed them.”
“The truth, Marjory,” Lynx thundered.
“Wellll, perhaps I undid the buttons on her night rail,” she admitted, winking saucily. “You know I am cursed with impulsiveness.”
“And encouraged Princess Joanna to act impulsively too. No wonder the de Clares are outraged, with the earl not yet cold in his grave. You are usually such a clever little she-devil, how did they find out?”
“We tried our utmost to keep the marriage secret, but the priest must have blabbed.”
Lynx de Warenne stared at his sister in horror. “Bones of Christ, lying with him and marrying him are worlds apart! What could you have been thinking? Monthermer is a bloody squire, for God’s sake!”
“Squire no longer; he is nothing less than the Earl of Gloucester and Hertford,” she
whispered through dry lips.
“Splendor of God, you are absolutely right!” Lynx gasped, quickly realizing the repercussions of Joanna’s hasty marriage.
“The de Clares sent a messenger hotfoot to the king and packed me off, back to my ogre of a father-in-law. I promised Joanna I’d ride to the king here at Newcastle and explain everything to him.”
“Explain to Edward Plantagenet that his most powerful earldom of Gloucester has been bestowed upon a squire? You must be queer in the head!”
“It runs in the family.” Jory’s attempt at humor fell on unappreciative ears. She thought Lynx’s face looked more grim than she had ever seen it. “You think of Edward Plantagenet as a king; I think of him as a man. There isn’t a male breathing who cannot be manip—” Jory saw the warning look on her brother’s face and did not dare finish her sentence.
“You and Princess Joanna are like two bloody peas in a pod! The pair of you are far too willful with a high conceit of yourselves.”
“That’s why we are such good friends.”
“The king would be incensed with you. I forbid you to seek him out tonight. Edward has enough on his mind at the moment; this Scottish situation has put him in a towering rage.”
The look of defeat on Marjory’s face suddenly touched Lynx with compassion. She had undertaken a hundred-and-fifty-mile journey for friendship’s sake. He saw the mauve shadows beneath her beautiful eyes, saw the droop of her slim shoulders. “Take my chamber; try to rest. I’ll come back and escort you to dinner.” Then he went in search of his Welsh squire, Taffy, who had been given an impossible task. There would be no empty chambers in Newcastle this night.
When Marjory entered the hall on the arm of her brother, she had a physical impact on every male lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her. Her pale green gown matched her eyes; her jewels were chosen to draw attention to her feminine curves. From a heavy gold chain dangled a cabochon emerald that swung in the valley between her upthrust breasts, separating, emphasizing, and irresistibly drawing the eye. Its only competition was another gold chain that went round her waist and held a second emerald that rested upon her high mons.