The Dragon and the Jewel (7 page)

He licked lips gone suddenly very dry. “Little one, you still don’t understand. When a marriage is consummated,” he began slowly, praying for words that would not repel her, “a man joins his body, in love, to his bride’s body. They become intimate.”

She digested this information solemnly for a few moments,
then said, “I don’t think I’m too young for that, my lord. I should like to become intimate with you.”

In spite of his good intentions, William felt the hot blood flood his loins and he was appalled that his manhood was swelling against her soft buttocks. His mouth was now completely dry, and for a second or two he totally lost his train of thought as her words echoed inside his head. “I should like to become intimate with you … I should like to become intimate with you.” Why in the name of heaven and hell had he taken her upon his knee? He knew he should push her off before she felt him rising, but she would interpret it as rejection and he knew instinctively that she would more willingly absorb his gentle explanations while he held her in his arms in this warm, intimate position.

She looked up at him with liquid, trusting eyes, her pink lips parted slightly to catch her breath in her effort to spare him her tears. Lord God, it was exactly like the erotic dream he’d had of her last night. Upon waking it had vanished with the dawn, but now that his senses had been stirred, it came flooding back to him. In the dream he had taken her upon his lap and gently freed her breasts from the confines of her bedgown. Seeing them bared for the first time had been especially thrilling because he was aware that no man had ever done this to her before. He had drawn out his play, stroking and fondling, then cupping and weighing them in his palms, and finally lifting them to his hot mouth to tongue and suck the rosy nipples until they rouched and hardened into rosebuds.

Eleanor shifted her weight slightly in his lap and his shaft began to throb and rear with a will of its own. He came back to his senses when he realized with horror his hands were at the opening of her bedgown. In desperation he reached for a thought that would effectively cool his lust. A picture of his young wife’s mother flashed into his head. Amazingly, Isabella’s image worked its magic for him. In less than ten seconds his shaft shrank back inside its cowl, limp and harmless.

Further explanations were obviously necessary. “Eleanor,” he said gently, “when a man and woman’s bodies join, he plants his seed in her and she has a child.”

A great dawning light came into her face. A mystery had just been solved for her.

William added firmly, “And fifteen is too young to become a mother. I think even you must agree with me, now that I’ve explained it.”

Yes, she really did see that she would have to wait until she was sixteen.

As he brushed away her tears with gentle fingers, she said, “I’m sorry, William, I simply wanted us to spend the night together like Richard and Isabella.”

He put her from his knee. “Wherever did you get such a sinful notion?” he demanded, scandalized. “You must never, ever say things like that. Such a falsehood would create a royal scandal and ruin my sister.”

“It’s all right, William,” she hastily reassured him, “they commit no sin, they love each other.”

“They what?” he ground out, realizing Eleanor had innocently exposed her brother’s attempt at seduction. William flung open the door. “Where is my sister’s chamber?”

Suddenly Eleanor realized she should have kept her mouth shut. William was scandalized and was clearly determined to vent his anger on his poor sister. He strode into the west wing of Odiham and she had to run to keep up with him.

Breathlessly she cried, “My lord, I was mistaken. If it is wrong, then of course they aren’t spending the night together.”

Isabella lay against Richard’s heart. “Beloved, never fear, I will cherish you forever.” His fingers stroked her silken shoulders tenderly, trying to erase the guilt he had forced upon her. Suddenly someone was crashing a shoulder against their chamber door, and with disbelief Richard saw the wood splinter. He sprang from the bed naked and snatched up his sword, thinking Odiham had been attacked. William Marshal charged into the room like an enraged bull. Eleanor followed, her face as white as her velvet bedgown.

“Bones of Christ, what have you been doing to my sister?” William thundered.

“The same thing you’ve been doing to mine,” Richard shouted angrily at the undressed pair who had just invaded his chamber of love.

William advanced, ignoring the sword. “I should kill you for that remark. Unlike you, I know how to keep a check on my lust. My brains aren’t all in my prick!” He turned accusing eyes upon the woman in the bed clutching the covers to her nakedness, looking striken as if she wanted to die. “How could you break your vows … commit adultery?” he asked in outrage.

Richard lowered his weapon. “She had no choice, William. Isabella is blameless. I forced her.”

“You are no better than your filthy father!” William spat, not caring that he blackened John’s memory in front of Eleanor. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to put his hands about Richard’s throat and snuff the life from him. “Your father lost all his continental possessions because he was addicted to having a woman between his legs day and night!”

“Nay!” cried the woman in the bed. “Richard loves me.”

“A man will say anything so a woman will let him fuck her,” shouted William, who had never used such language before a woman in his life. He glared at Richard. “You are the governor of Gascony, the only corner of France that remains to us. ’tis time you departed for that country and began governing!”

Richard was stung, yet he could not deny the truth of the marshal’s words. “William, I do love her. I want to marry her.” His voice was solemn and sincere.

“You’ve both conveniently forgotten de Clare. ’tis a Plantagenet habit to steal other men’s wives.”

Richard stood his ground in the face of William Marshal’s rage. He said quietly, “We’ve been in love for five long years and controlled our need all that time. Tonight’s romantic atmosphere pushed us over the edge. I beg your pardon, William, I have abused your hospitality and brought dishonor to the woman I love. I shall relieve you of my odious presence within the hour. Gascony is where I should be. An ocean between us will keep me from temptation, but I charge you to lay no blame upon my sweet Isabella.”

After Richard quit the chamber, William turned accusing eyes upon his sister. “You were supposed to be a moral example for Eleanor. By God, if you’ve tainted her with your carnality …”

“Stop!” Eleanor cried. “Isabella is the gentlest, most respectable
lady I’ve ever known. If it is a sin to love, then I commit it every day of my life, for I love you beyond reason, William. I can understand her need for Richard’s strong arms for I have the same need. You may think it wicked, but I would give anything to share your bed. However, for better or for worse, I am yours and I will obey you in everything. Good night, my lord earl!” She swept regally from the room.

William ran his hand through his hair and said in a more subdued tone, “I seem to be the villain of the piece. I’m sorry, Bella, I never knew your marriage to young de Clare was a loveless match.” He laughed shortly, but there was little amusement in it. “These Plantagenets are the very devil. Their passion borders on madness.”

The knights and servants had the great hall to themselves the next morning for the king’s brother had taken himself off in the middle of the night and the Earl and Countess of Pembroke kept to their apartments—separately, to everyone’s astonishment.

Brenda had slept late but had awakened with a healthy appetite. She strolled into the hall in time to see the handsome de Burgh swallow the last mouthful of his breakfast. He smiled at her with his lazy grin, amused to see her slip down on the bench beside him almost purring like a contented cat.

“Good morning, Mick,” she drawled languidly, her eyes half closed with sensual memories of her satisfying night.

“Rick,” he corrected solemnly.

Brenda looked slightly confused. She stretched her arms above her head languorously and said, “I could have sworn on the ride from Windsor yesterday you told me your name was Mick de Burgh.”

“Do I hear someone taking my name in vain?” drawled a tall knight as he folded his legs beneath the trestle table beside her. She turned at the familiar voice and her eyes widened in recognition. Then her eyes flew back to the other knight who was grinning from ear to ear. “Allow me to present my twin, Sir Rickard de Burgh.”

Rick winked at her wickedly. “Oh, I’ve already had the pleasure.”

As realization dawned on her, her hand flew to her mouth. Then when she saw the devilish looks on the young knights’ faces, she began to giggle.

When the Countess of Pembroke walked into the hall, she was greeted by roars of laughter.

“I fail to see what’s causing such a fit of hysterics, unless it’s because I received no bath or breakfast tray this morning.”

Her husband’s knights were on their feet immediately in respect for the beautiful princess.

“Forgive me, my lady, I thought the Odiham maids were looking after your needs.” Brenda slipped from the hall, almost running into William, Earl of Pembroke, as he arrived to break his fast. As he glanced down the room he felt a seering jealousy that his wife was flanked by the devastatingly handsome sons of Falcon de Burgh. William crushed down his jealousy. It was an emotion he could not afford to indulge. Jealousy led to lust, and he had sworn to keep himself in check for at least another year. Richard’s behavior with his sister was clouding his judgment. The de Burghs were knights of honor in whom he had every faith. They would protect his wife’s virtue as diligently as he himself would.

The moment she saw William. Eleanor came down the room to meet him. She could not let the events of the night spoil things between them. She loved him with all her heart, and he must be most fond of her to have generously deeded Odiham manor house to her. He would not allow her to curtsy to him, and when she raised her dark lashes he saw there would be no awkwardness between them.

“You haven’t forgotten your promise to teach me how to hold court, my lord?”

He smiled down at her. “It is a pleasure to have such an eager and intelligent pupil. I pledge that I shall never forget a promise to you.”

Eleanor’s heart soared. She was the luckiest lady in the world to have William Marshal for husband.

L
lewellyn, self-styled King of Wales, looked down from the lofty heights of his impenetrable stronghold on Mount Snowden and saw that Hubert de Burgh was building a formidable fortress at Montgomery. He knew how the de Burghs’ had conquered half of Ireland, and he swore the avaricious Norman bastards wouldn’t do the same to Wales. Hubert de Burgh already had more castles than flies on a dog turd and Montgomery stuck in Llewellyn’s craw. He was damned if he would swallow the insult.

He began to incite his people to rebellion. The men who ruled England began immediate preparations for war. King Henry couldn’t wait to get his first taste of battle. His wedding plans were pushed to the back of his mind in his excitement to take up arms and teach the uncivilized Welsh a lesson.

Richard came home from Gascony bringing his fighting men. The Gascons had proved impossible to control; the counts and viscounts of each region were bitterly contentious. They burned towns and ravaged the countryside, and Richard’s meager resources were not strong enough to keep the rampaging nobles in order. Richard had fought beside Hubert de Burgh before and relished the idea of a full-scale war. As well, it
would keep him from the temptation of Isabella Marshal de Clare.

Thoughts of Eleanor were erased from William’s mind as well. This is what men were born for, to fight, to kill, to hold what was theirs. The importance of women was insignificant when compared to that of glorious war. A few barons who held castles in Wales joined the fray, but a great many of them, envious of Hubert de Burgh’s power and wealth, refused to spend their money or risk their men.

The aging Earl of Chester owned lands not only in Wales but also in so many counties of England that he could quickly gather a great army of men. He finally came forward to pay the enormous fee for confirmation of his lands and titles, and Henry welcomed him with open arms.

On the eve of his departure for Wales, Rickard de Burgh took quill in hand and wrote to his parents in Ireland.

The devastator of England swept down from his fastness with fire and sword, his battle helmet crested with a fierce wolf. It took all the armies of King Henry, William Marshal, Hubert de Burgh, and Ranulf of Chester three long months of hard fighting to quell the uprising that had spread like wildfire. William Marshal’s vast storehouses from Chepstowe to Pembroke
were emptied to victual the entire army before Llewellyn was brought low enough to beg for terms.

Richard of Cornwall and the marshal were thrown together in battle frequently. At first they were not on speaking terms, but grudgingly William was forced to admit that Richard was a brilliant strategist as well as a brave and valiant knight. He took his hand in a renewed pledge of friendship and hoped that Fate would arrange the future to someday make them brothers-in-law.

All had conspired to keep young King Henry out of the fray, but when it came time to negotiate terms of peace, Henry insisted upon riding out with the Marshal of England. William was appalled at how easily the crafty Llewellyn manipulated his young monarch, but he kept a wise silence. In exchange for a yearly gift of goshawks, falcons, and Welsh bowmen, Henry agreed to make Hubert de Burgh raze his castle at Montgomery.

When King Henry arrived back at Westminster, the business of England, neglected for three months, threatened to overwhelm him. He ignored the scores of petitioners and complainants clogging the halls, declaring that the only important matter he would attend to was his wedding. He made one exception, however. Simon de Montfort, younger son of the Sovereign Prince of Southern France, demanded an audience. The de Montfort men were reputed to be the greatest warriors on the whole continent. They were war lords who had fought on Crusades, conquered the country of Toulouse, and were a continual threat to Louis of France.

Henry was closeted in his office behind the exchequer, issuing orders to his chamberlain in charge of ceremonial matters. “I want the streets of London cleaned up, aye, and its moral tone. Get rid of the whores, stop the drinking and loose living. Forbid games in the churchyards. I want cressets of oil placed at every street corner for illumination.”

The chamberlain was nodding, but he wondered where he would get the money for all this. Richard of Cornwall walked into the office to interrupt them.

“Henry, are you aware that Simon de Montfort has been cooling his heels for two days, waiting to see you?”

“The war lord?” asked Henry, not able to conceal the awe the very name de Montfort inspired. He turned to the chancellor. “Find him and usher him in immediately.”

“Nay, Henry,” Richard protested, “let’s not receive him in this dark cubbyhole you call an office. He’s descended from the great Robert of Leicester. He has more Anglo-Norman blood than we have, for Christ’s sake.”

“The throne room?” Henry suggested.

Richard shook his head decisively. “Invite him to your private apartment. He’s kin to us. We want to extend the hand of friendship … he would make a deadly enemy.” Richard instructed the chamberlain and added, “See that the steward attends us to offer hospitality and provide refreshment.”

When Simon de Montfort entered Henry’s apartment, the king’s mouth literally gaped open. The war lord was the largest man he had ever seen. His actual height was six feet four inches, but when anyone described him they invariably said he was six-and-a-half-feet tall. His torso was so well muscled his clothes could do naught to disguise his magnificent physique. He had the dark beauty of the Southern French and his eyes were a magnetic, jet black.

Richard’s eyes held only admiration, while Henry’s flickered with fear. The war lord had come armed into the king’s presence because none had had courage enough to ask for his weapons. It was only when Simon de Montfort smiled and held out a massive arm that they realized he was a young man, not much older than the king.

His voice was deep-timbered as it rumbled up from his massive chest. “Congratulations, sire, I hear you are just returned from a successful campaign in Wales.” Simon had shrewdly guessed the weaker of the two brothers was the king.

Henry laughed nervously, flattered to receive a compliment from the champion warrior. “If I’d had a sword like yours, my lord, I might have vanquished the foe sooner.”

Simon immediately unbuckled the double-edged weapon and presented it to Henry. Not wishing to slight the Duke of Cornwall, he untied the knife strapped to his thigh. It was no jewel-encrusted showpiece, but a deadly dagger, ten inches in length, its handle lovingly bound in leather so that when gripped by a
strong palm it became an extension of the hand that wielded it. As they drew the weapons from their sheaths, all three men shared a moment of zeal that only glorious battle could generate. They tasted bloodlust on their tongues and experienced such a rush in their veins they all three became sexually aroused. The young men laughed because they knew their momentary reaction was mutually shared.

Simon did not wait for the king to address him. “I am here to offer you my services.”

“You would swear fealty to me?” Henry asked in disbelief.

“What do you seek in return?” a more astute Richard asked.

“Only that which is mine by right,” Simon said in an implacable voice. “My family came with the Norman conquerors and fought at Hastings. My grandsire wed an English heiress and became the Earl of Leicester. When your father lost Normandy to France, it became necessary for my father to choose which king and country to serve. When he elected to serve France, King John confiscated all his lands and honors in England and put these estates and the earldom of Leicester in the hands of Ranulf of Chester to be held in trust for us. You have just reconfirmed Chester with my earldom, and I am here to formally protest it.”

Richard was well versed in the ancestry of the Norman nobility. “I agree the earldom of Leicester belongs to Simon de Montfort, but that is your father, I believe.”

“My father was killed in battle wiping out the Albigenses from Toulouse. My elder brother has just been appointed Constable of France. Since I do not wish to spend the rest of my life at my brother’s throat, we came to an agreement. I renounced all claim to the continental possessions of the family in exchange for whatever I could salvage in England.”

The Plantagenets could only admire his blunt honesty. He did not dissemble, but asked outright for what he wanted.

“And if you do not get what you want by asking?” Richard inquired.

A wolfish grin spread across Simon’s face. Henry interpreted. “You take it.”

“I am a soldier of fortune. I stand before you without money,
land, or title. What I do have is ambition—and I am in a hurry,” he added with a disarming smile.

The steward came in accompanied by two servants laboring under trays of food. Richard was thankful the man had sense enough to order something substantial, for their guest must surely have an enormous appetite. Simon accepted their hospitality and the three were seated at a table laden with meat and game, accompanied by fresh baked loaves and tankards of good English ale.

“If it was in my power I would restore your earldom today, but it is not so simple,” explained the king. “Chester wields enormous power. I cannot offend him by demanding back your lands and title, at least not yet. But Ranulf of Chester is no longer a young man. When he dies, I will see that what is yours reverts to you. I’m sorry it seems so hopeless.”

Simon quaffed his ale, seemingly unperturbed.

“Why do you prefer England to France?” Richard asked baldly.

“I always felt my father chose the wrong country and I am obsessed with the notion of regaining all that he lost.” He looked into the eyes of both men. “You must be obsessed by a similar curse.”

All their lives they had been ashamed of what their father had lost, and in that moment the secret ambition to regain Normandy and Aquitaine burst into flame. Their victory in Wales had made Henry turn his eyes upon France, but Hubert de Burgh and the Marshal of England were totally against war.

Simon confessed, “Your grandsire, Henry II, served as my role model. He was a mere count, but his ambition rode him relentlessly until he became not only King of England, but ruler of Normandy, the Angevin provinces, and the fair Aquitaine. Although I admire the way he took whatever he wanted, his real genius lay in ruling. He was the great lawmaker. His vision was crystal clear. He transformed the whole judicial system from the superstition and corruption of the dark ages.” He paused, then laughed. “Forgive me, when I get on the subject of Henry II I get carried away.”