“His Majesty has retired, he requires nothing more.”
“The king sent for me, my lord,” she said breathlessly, surprised at her own daring.
He shook his head. “His Majesty ordered no wench tonight.”
“Did he not?” she challenged silkily. “King Edward likes something sweet when he retires.”
“Don’t we all, sweetheart?” he asked, laughing, then reached for her veil.
“Nay!” Jory took a step backward, then lowered her voice confidentially. “My lord, I am not a wench, I am a lady. The king would be angered if my identity became known.” She had him half convinced and pressed her advantage. “He told me you would be on the door tonight and that you were the most discreet of all his gentlemen of the bedchamber.” While he digested the compliment, Jory scratched on the oaken door and slipped inside.
Edward Plantagenet, wearing a crimson velvet bed-robe, lifted his golden head, sensing, rather than hearing, the intrusion. “Yes, what is it?” he demanded.
She advanced into the chamber and lifted her veil to reveal her face. “Your Majesty, it is Marjory de Warenne.”
His brows drew together. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“Sire, I come from Princess Joanna.”
The expression on the king’s face turned cold. “I’ve had this Monthermer upstart thrown into irons! The ambitious swine has taken advantage of my daughter. Yet she will not be held blameless in this, nor will those about her who urged this disastrous step.” His voice and his eyes were like ice. “They have dishonored the memory of Gilbert de Clare, and his family is greatly insulted. The marriage will be set aside.”
Jory let the veil fall from her hair, then she went down on her knees before him in supplication. “Your Majesty, Joanna sent me to you to beg your forgiveness and your understanding. She wanted you to hear the truth from my lips before the others poisoned your thoughts with their false tales.”
Jory watched Edward’s icy gaze fall upon her lips and hoped he would thaw a little. She saw his gaze lift to her hair and she knew he had noticed her fragrance. As he reached down, taking her hands to raise her, she could see the battle he fought within.
“Say your piece,” he ordered, but not harshly.
Jory took a deep breath and saw his eyes flicker over her rising breasts. “Your Majesty, Joanna knows you honored her by wedding her to your greatest noble, the Earl of Gloucester. She did it for love, but not love for Gilbert de Clare … Joanna did it for love of you.” Jory wondered if he remembered the terrible tantrums the imperious Joanna had thrown before she’d capitulated and married the aging earl. “This time she followed her heart; she wed Ralph de Monthermer because she is deeply in love with him.”
“Monthermer is a lowly squire!”
“Never lowly, Sire. He was Gilbert de Clare’s most valiant warrior. Ralph de Monthermer was de Clare’s right hand. He was the one who won glory in battle for de Clare in his declining years. The Earl of Gloucester trusted him with his life and I believe he made Ralph swear an oath to look after Joanna always.”
Jory, caught up in her own tale, began to embroider it a little more. “It will break Joanna’s heart to see her beloved in chains, Sire. Her deepest wish is for you to know Monthermer and learn his worth. The men of Gloucester and Hertford whom he commands hold him in highest respect. Send for him, Sire. Give him a chance to show you his mettle and his loyalty.”
“You plead his case well. What is it about this Monthermer that has blinded both you and Joanna to your duty?”
Jory was suddenly inspired. “He reminds Joanna of you, Sire. That is the great attraction, I swear it.”
As Edward’s shrewd eyes roamed over her delicate beauty, his face softened a little. “I hope Joanna appreciates your friendship. What is it about the de Warennes that makes their loyalty absolute?”
“You honor us with your trust, Sire. To a de Warenne, that trust is sacred.” Jory hoped God would not strike her dead; ’twas only a slight exaggeration.
Edward took a seat before the fire and indicated that she too might be seated.
“Your Majesty, tomorrow you go to war. For the love you bear Joanna, I beg you not to go into battle without forgiving her. She could not bear it if there was a breach between you. A father’s love is so precious.”
Edward smiled at Marjory de Warenne with compassion. “Do you remember your own father?”
Jory shook her head sadly. “Lynx remembers him well, but I was too young when he died.”
“He was my dearest friend. ’Twas he who plotted my escape when Simon de Montfort held me captive.”
“I know, Sire. I’ve heard the tale recounted many times.”
“His loyalty to me was absolute, as yours appears to be toward my wayward daughter.”
Now that the conversation had returned to Princess Joanna, Marjory opened her mouth to entreat the king again. When Edward put up his hand, Jory held her tongue.
“I shall send for this Ralph de Monthermer and judge for myself.”
“Thank you, Sire.” Jory dipped her knee, knowing she had done all she could and hoped she had tipped the scales in the princess’s favor. She picked up her veil. “Godspeed, Your Majesty.”
As she hurried from the tower, Jory was confident that all within Newcastle would be asleep at this hour. She almost made it back to her own chamber when suddenly a powerful arm reached out and pulled her into a shadowed recess. Jory was about to scream when she realized it was her cousin, Fitz-Waren, who lifted her veil aside.
“How about a kiss?”
“Damn you for a knave, Fitz, you frightened the wits from me.” When he pushed her against the wall and pinned her there, Marjory did not experience any fear, only anger. “Let me go at once.”
Fitz-Waren took hold of her chin and brought his mouth down on hers. She pulled away, disgusted. “You’ve been drinking!”
“Think yourself too good for me after playing whore to the king? I wager it’s something you wouldn’t want my father or your brother to learn.” His hand cupped her breast suggestively.
“Lynx will kill you if he learns of this.”
“Lynx is busy with his own whore.”
Jory knew she must get away from him, but realized if she screamed, she would rouse the castle. She contemplated shouting for Thomas, but could see the passageway was empty and he was no longer outside her door. In a heartbeat Marjory knew she must rely upon herself to escape her cousin’s lust. She gripped his leather jack in her fists and brought her knee up sharply into Fitz-Waren’s groin.
He doubled over in agony and sank to the stone floor. “You’ll pay for that, you vain bitch!” he swore between gritted teeth.
4
Jane Leslie climbed the hills behind Dumfries on her way to the forest to gather herbs. She bent to pick a wild yellow pansy and tucked it behind her ear. Once she entered the shaded forest, Jane began to search for speedwell with its pale green, hairy leaves that trailed upon the ground. Speedwell was good for coughs and consumptions. When she came to a boggy place, she identified an alder bush, just coming into bud. Jane gathered handfuls of leaves, knowing there was nothing better for ridding a chamber of fleas that gathered over the long winter. She folded the leaves into the large cloth bag she carried and walked deeper into the woods.
When she saw a patch of dragon-wort, Jane pulled it up by its black-knobbed root and popped it into the bag. It cured many ailments such as vomiting, bruises, bites or stings, and also stopped the bleeding when a woman began to miscarry.
As she neared the forest pool, she grew tense with anticipation, wondering if she would again encounter the lynx. She felt both fear and fascination for the magnificent predator and slowed her pace so that she moved noiselessly.
Jane became aware of his powerful presence almost before she saw him. Completely hidden behind a canopy of leaves, she watched the lynx dip his magnificent head toward the water to drink. He was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen in her life. She
watched mesmerized as he entered the water and began to swim.
Jane longed to form a bond with him as she did with other animals. What a rare privilege it would be if some day she could swim alongside him. Then she remembered her brother Keith’s words about the lynx being an omen of fateful things to come. Cautiously, she moved back through the trees, then when she was a safe distance away, hurried back to the protective walls of Dumfries.
It was lambing season, and Ben and Sim Leslie were the master shepherds of flocks that numbered over a thousand sheep. That afternoon Jane helped her brothers with the ewes that were in labor. “Sim, have you lost any of your flock to wolves lately?”
“Not many, the dogs are well trained tae warn us when a marauder is nigh.”
“That’s good.” Jane hesitated, then asked tentatively, “Have you ever seen a lynx in these parts?”
“Nay.” Sim shook his head. “This is out of their territory. Later, when we take the flocks to graze in the Uplands, we’ll encounter big cats. There’s lots up in the Pentlands and the Lammermuirs.”
Jane lapsed into silence, glad that her lynx was not decimating Dumfries’ flocks.
By the time night fell there were three tiny, motherless lambs who would not survive without Jane’s tender care. Sim carried them to the stone cottage, where Jane laid them before the hearth to keep them warm.
Megotta had water boiling so that Jane could wash away the blood and mucus that covered her from neck to knees. When Jane was clean she moved toward the hearth.
“Nay, ye will eat before ye tend them. Ye must keep up yer strength or yer power will be diminished.”
Jane knew the truth of her grandmother’s words. She would have to work over the black-faced lambs for hours if she hoped to save them. She obediently joined Megotta in a bowl of hearty stew flavored with herbs.
“Kate and Mary didn’t say anything to Father about finding me a husband, did they?”
Though Megotta knew full well the subject had been thoroughly discussed and solutions suggested, she felt she could overrule Jock regarding his youngest daughter. “Jane, I give ye my word that ye won’t be forced tae marry. Put the disturbin’ thought out of yer head. There’s none good enough in these parts tae be husband tae ye. I’ll not see ye sacrificed tae a swineherd or some such lout.”
Reassured, Jane filled a small stone bottle from a pan of ewe’s milk that stood warming by the fire, then she pushed a clean linen wad into the narrow neck and tipped it up until the linen became saturated. Gently, she lifted the smallest lamb and gave it the linen teat. It seemed too small and lifeless to suckle at first, but Jane’s voice and hands began to work their magic.
At the end of half an hour she had managed to get some milk inside the frail creature, and its fleece, now dry and fluffy from Jane’s insistent fingers, made it look as if she held a fuzzy ball of wool. She laid it back on the hearth and picked up the second frail creature. With gentle forbearance, Jane ministered to the tiny trio until the hour was late.
Megotta brought a blanket to the hearth. “Get some rest, child.” Jane smiled her thanks, as she tucked the lambs about her and lay down before the fire. With their little bellies full, she knew they would doze for the next few hours. Her last thought before she slept was of her magnificent lynx.
Jane drifted into a dream where she found herself back in the forest. She was in a state of agitation because she knew that eyes watched her. The urge to flee came upon her, but she could not move. When she looked down at her ankles, they were entwined in long vines of bistort that held her fast. Jane could feel the eyes upon her, silently watching every move. Then she knew he was moving closer through the canopy of leaves.
As she opened her mouth to scream, a lynx glided through the trees. She was so relieved that the creature who watched her was not a man, she sank to the forest floor to catch her breath and still her pulses. Then a terrifying thing happened. Just when she thought she was safe, the lynx began to stalk her!
Slowly, it placed one great padded foot before the other, its green eyes fixed upon her intently. Then it crouched back on its haunches, ready to spring. Again, she opened her mouth to scream as the lynx launched itself at her. When he fell upon her she expected to be torn limb from limb, but what happened was just as horrific to Jane: The lynx transformed himself into a man! Her fear was mingled with awe; never had she seen a man of such size and beauty. Atop powerful shoulders was a mane of tawny hair and brilliant green eyes that could see into her very soul.
He held her fast in powerful hands. She sensed for the first time that he would be gentle with her. With tremendous relief Jane somehow knew he would not harm her. He inhaled the fragrance of her hair, then incredibly his lips touched her cheek. She watched mesmerized as his tongue came out to lick up and down her throat and over her collarbone.
Jane became acutely aware of her nakedness as he began to slowly lick her breasts. As his tongue curled about a nipple, its rough texture sent delicious sensations running through her body. Fear melted as it was replaced by intense pleasure and a strange excitement began to build deep inside her.
The man’s beautiful mouth moved down over her rib cage until she felt wet, warm swirls upon her bare belly. The pleasurable feeling this aroused was so intense, it made Jane close her eyes and low moans escaped her lips. He was in total command of her and that was the way she wanted it!
Jane awoke with a start and blushed at the wanton behavior she had enjoyed in her dream. She pushed all thoughts of the man out of her mind, but the image of the lynx was so powerful it remained with her. She felt compelled to paint herself a new touchstone talisman to protect her and keep her safe.
Her imagination conjured the different goddesses and symbols she might use such as fish, serpents, dragons, and stags, but she rejected all of them, settling instead on the image of the lynx. It was certainly the most powerful creature she had ever encountered. It was also majestic, its beauty proud and awesome. The lynx would be a source of power and energy for her as well as a sacred guardian.
Lynx de Warenne and the other commanders rode north and joined the army the Bishop of Durham had gathered at Norham. From their camp Lynx rode out with the king, John de Warenne, and the other leaders to view the fortified city of Berwick. It was well protected by the sea and also by a deep channel cut by the river Tweed. Berwick Castle was perched on the north bank behind a stockade that was surrounded by a ditch.
“Who commands the garrison?” Edward Plantagenet demanded.
“William Douglas, Your Majesty, reputed to be a stout fighting man,” John de Warenne supplied.
“Demand the surrender of the castle,” Edward ordered.
John de Warenne chose Lynx to parley with the garrison’s commander, while the king and the other leaders retired back to camp. Lynx de Warenne was a fierce warrior who had cut his teeth on subduing Wales. Nevertheless, he abhorred unnecessary bloodshed.
With his squires flanking him, carrying white flags of truce, Lynx de Warenne rode into Berwick Castle and spent a full twenty hours at the negotiating table with William Douglas. Finally, in the small hours of the morning, he saw defeat writ on William Douglas’s face. Then and only then did de Warenne allow him a sop to his pride. “I will permit you to ride out with all honor and your men may march out flying your banner and the flag of Scotland.”
* * *
Edward Plantagenet, along with all of his commanders, rode up to Berwick’s gates to accept the surrender. Hundreds of men lined the top of the stockade to witness the proceedings. When Douglas rode out from the castle, the citizens of Berwick began to jeer at the English, brandishing weapons and chanting taunts and insults. Above the din, one invective could be heard clearly and Edward Plantagenet knew the ridicule was for him alone.
“Longshanks! Longshanks! Longshanks!” they taunted.
The infamous Plantagenet temper exploded like a volcanic eruption. King Edward unsheathed his sword and raised it in the air. “Attack! Attack!”
John de Warenne ordered the light cavalry to the king’s side, then quickly organized a battalion of foot soldiers to follow them. Edward, on his great stallion Bayard, leaped over the ditch and galloped to the stockade, flanked by his nephew, Richard of Cornwall, and Fitz-Waren. Their horses sailed over the low stockade, then Fitz-Waren ordered that its timbers be set aflame. The defenders atop it scattered in panic and the English foot soldiers flooded into Berwick like a tidal wave.
Suddenly, one arrow found its mark and entered the eye-slit of Richard of Cornwall’s helmet. Edward watched in horror as his nephew fell dead from his horse. His ice-blue eyes sought John de Warenne’s as he issued the dreaded order, “No quarter! Put every man of Berwick to the sword!”
Lynx de Warenne knew nothing of the disastrous events taking place outside the castle. Flanked by his squires, he waited at the rear of the long column of surrendering troops. When he finally emerged from Berwick Castle into the sunlight, a bloody battle was being waged in the streets of the city.
“Why are we not taking prisoners?” Lynx demanded grimly when he finally found his uncle.
“Richard of Cornwall was killed; Edward ordered no quarter!” John told him bluntly.
Lynx jammed his helmet back on his head and turned his destrier around. He and his squires rode through the streets back toward the castle with weapons drawn, but few approached the three great warhorses whose murderous hooves could trample them dead. Without hesitation Lynx de Warenne strode into the great hall of Berwick Castle, which Edward Plantagenet now occupied. “Berwick Castle is ours and the city of Berwick is ours also,” he announced. “Further slaughter is unnecessary, Your Majesty.”
The blue Plantagenet eyes glittered dangerously. “I ordered every man of Berwick put to the sword!”