“Draig means dragon?” Jory laughed with delight. “I’ve learned my first Welsh word!”
When she finished her breakfast, she toured the vast kitchens, where all the cooks were Welsh. “Make a list of all the utensils they need to make their jobs easier. I myself need a bathing tub. David, where can I buy all the furnishings this castle needs?”
“Merchant ships sail into the Bristol Channel and up the River Severn. They carry goods from many parts of the world, my lady.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I’m receiving an education—apparently civilization does not start and stop with London.”
“Gloucester is a thriving town, as is our own Hereford. They supply most of our needs.”
“I thought the de Bohun castle was in Hereford. I didn’t realize Goodrich was a dozen miles from the town.”
“Goodrich is often referred to as Hereford Castle. It can be confusing to an outsider.”
“I want to be an insider! Why is the castle called Goodrich?”
The steward’s eyes twinkled. “For centuries the Welsh marcher barons have held more power than any other lords in England. The three most powerful families are Mortimer, de Clare, and de Bohun, who’ve been allowed to keep any land they conquered in Wales. The earl owns everything between here and Brecon. Power means wealth, my lady—hence Goodrich Castle.”
“I see.” So I really can spend money without feeling guilt. “Being Welsh, do you not resent these Norman English conquerors?”
“What does resentment profit us? Far more expedient to freely give our allegiance to one of the most powerful and wealthy English barons than to be beaten into submission.”
Jory was aghast. “That’s terrible—”
“It was decided ages ago, not by me and the present de Bohuns. Prince Edward Plantagenet, long before he was king, spent his youth conquering Wales. Trouble is, it won’t stay conquered. Beyond Brecon and the mountains there are wild men who would rather fight and die than join civilization.”
What he said dredged up words that Gloucester and Warwick had exchanged: “We invade France or Wales out of political ambition or revenge, then try to plant our seeds of law and government in some very harsh soil. Cultures can be changed, but it takes years, not months. Look at Wales—how many years?” Warwick had replied, “Most of my life.” Jory shuddered. She prayed the fighting would not last most of Humphrey’s life.
Two days later Jory, accompanied by her steward, David Bridgen, purchased carpets, wardrobes, high-backed padded settles, quarion stands that held square candles, and dozens of cushions. The pièce de résistance, however, was a black marble bathing tub carved in the shape of a swan. Its beak was gold; its eyes were orbs of golden amber. Since the swan was the de Bohun device, Jory could not resist it.
All her purchases were then brought to the castle on their own oxcarts. The first thing she did was ask that water be heated, and she took a long relaxing bath in the exotic tub, which she vowed to keep in her bedchamber.
Before the week was out, she visited Joanna, and the pair went into Gloucester on a shopping spree. Jory bought dozens of Flemish tapestries to cover the bare stone walls of Goodrich and she chose heavy bedcurtains in vivid jewel tones, not only for her own use, but for all the beds of the castle, including those in the guest tower. Joanna bought furnishings for her expected child’s nursery, but refrained from adding a cradle since the de Clare castle already boasted half a dozen. Jory bought the baby a carved rocking horse with silver bells plaited into its mane.
“That’s just like the white palfrey Warwick gave you,” Joanna said, tinkling the tiny bells.
“Really? I had forgotten,” Jory lied.
The following month Jory and Joanna attended the wedding of Roger Mortimer at the castle of Wigmore.
“He is scandalously young,” Jory whispered to Joanna as they sat in the church.
“Ha! Wait until you see his child bride. Mortimer’s uncle of Chirk is extremely ambitious for his nephew. Little Joan de Glenville is an heiress who will bring the town of Ludlow as well as Ludlow Castle to the Mortimers.”
The wedding was attended by many of the important nobles who owned castles in the Welsh Borders. Jory met the parents of two of Joanna’s ladies, Eleanor de Leyburn and Maud Clifford, who lived at Tewksbury and Clifford respectively. There were more females than males at the wedding. Many a noble baroness and countess were wintering alone because their lords were fighting in Wales, and all accepted invitations from Jory to visit her at Goodrich.
What Marjory had expected to be long lonely months turned out to be anything but. Guests arrived on a regular basis, and Jory enjoyed entertaining them, relishing her role as chatelaine. She discovered the rich musical talent of the Welsh members of her household. Their singing voices were beyond compare, and she encouraged them to play their Welsh harps for her guests.
Jory grew confident of her abilities. She became adept at discouraging overtures from lusty males who found her irresistible. She set the fashion with her beautiful clothes and jewels. She took an interest in everything and could converse on many diverse subjects, and she was also learning Gaelic.
Spring weather arrived in April, yet still there was no sign of the de Bohuns’ return from Wales. Joanna’s baby was due in May and Jory worried that Gilbert de Clare would miss the great event. When May was half over, Jory packed her trunk and was about to depart for Gloucester when she suddenly heard a great rumble of thunder. She ran to the window, and only when she saw that the sky was clear, did she realize the sound was hoofbeats.
She hurried up to the castle ramparts and her heart lifted with joy as she saw the brave pennants fluttering in the breeze and the sun glinting off the men’s breastplates. She saw chevrons belonging to Gilbert de Clare’s army. Then she saw the de Bohun swan device and knew that the Earl of Hereford had come home.
“Humphrey…Humphrey.” Jory stopped breathing as her eyes searched frantically among the mounted men. Then she saw him and her legs went weak with relief. “Lord God Almighty—he is safe after all!” She took time to compose herself before she went down to the bailey. He must never know I doubted.
Jory waited quietly beneath the twin towers of the gatehouse. John de Bohun was the first to see her and he strode to her side.
“Ye are a vision of loveliness. To be welcomed home by our very own lady warms the cockles of my heart.”
“My lord earl, I thank God for your safe return.”
John winked. “God had nothing to do with it!”
Suddenly she was picked up and swung around, and to her surprise realized it was Henry who was kissing her. Humphrey shouted his protest and his brother set her down before her husband.
She slipped her hand into Humphrey’s and they moved away from the others for a private greeting. She smiled into his eyes and murmured, “I told you that you would be safe.”
He squeezed her hand and gazed down at her with gratitude. “You are my talisman, Marjory…my lucky, magic touchstone.”
“Nay, it was your own courage that brought you through.”
Gilbert de Clare rode up to them. “I won’t dismount, Lady Marjory. I’m eager to get home. Has my wife been well?”
Jory was shocked at how tired he looked. “Joanna is blooming with health, though impatient to get the birthing over and done. She will be happy you returned in time for her accouchement.”
The concern on his face eased as he bade them a hasty farewell.
Suddenly Goodrich Castle was no longer a quiet haven. It was immediately transformed into a noisy beehive of activity. Men, animals, and wagons were everywhere. Weapons, campaign tents, and supplies were unloaded; horses were unsaddled and put to pasture. The men-at-arms waded into the River Wye to cleanse away the sweat of travel, while the three de Bohun men made use of the bathhouse.
When the de Bohuns saw all the improvements Jory had made to the castle’s comfort, she was showered with praise. She basked in their approval, happy that her father-in-law was not th
e least concerned with what she had spent.
At dinner Lady Marjory sat in the place of honor between the Earl of Hereford and her husband, Humphrey. She wore a violet velvet gown and Humphrey’s wedding gift, the diamond swan brooch. She left her hair uncovered because she knew it was her most arresting feature. The Great Hall was full tonight, and every male’s gaze was riveted upon the castle’s prize possession, the exquisite Marjory de Bohun.
When the singers arrived, accompanied by a harpist, her father-in-law’s jaw dropped. He elbowed Henry and said, “Did ye ever think to see such refinements in a de Bohun castle?”
Henry jested, “Have a care or Lady Marjory will civilize you.”
When everyone laughed, Jory reached for Humphrey’s hand. He reacted as if he had been burned. “Don’t touch me,” he whispered urgently. “You must know how you affect me.”
When the music was finished, Marjory arose. “I bid you good night, gentlemen, so you will be free to talk without a lady’s presence to inhibit you.”
The other men urged Humphrey to retire with his wife and, needing no further encouragement, he arose from the table and accompanied her to their tower. He was in a fever to get his wife undressed and Jory, understanding his need, helped in their disrobing. Humphrey had no time for foreplay and once he got her inside the curtained bed, he mounted her and began to thrust like a man obsessed. He was carried along on a great surging wave that nothing on earth could hold back. He arched his neck and cried out as his release came; then he collapsed onto her, spent.
Jory lay still, clenching her teeth. She had been unprepared for the onslaught, yet knew she should have known better—she should have expected it. “Humphrey…”
When he heard his name, he rolled his weight off her. “Sorry.”
Things cannot go on this way, Jory thought desperately. I must say something…do something to make him aware.
She touched his arm to soften her words. “Humphrey, when you rush through making love to me, it leaves me feeling…I need more time…I need you to go more slowly…I need…”
“You don’t understand how it works for a man. A delay can make a male lose his erection. It is better when I am in a fever of need. Downstairs tonight I became aroused just looking at you. When you touched me, I almost came out of my skin.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “Marjory, my love, you have made me feel sated, completely satisfied. Now do you understand?”
After he slept, Jory got out of bed and poured wine into her favorite goblet. As she sipped, she had to push away the memory of Guy de Beauchamp. Lingering thoughts of Warwick haunted her constantly. Jory moved slowly about the chamber admiring the stags and the leopards displayed in the beautiful tapestries that hung on the walls. It calmed her restless spirit and helped her to focus on Humphrey and devise a plan that would overcome their sexual incompatibility.
A week after her husband’s return to Gloucester, Joanna was safely delivered of a beautiful daughter. There was no prouder father in all England than Gilbert de Clare, who promised his wife that he would make their daughter, Margaret Eleanor, his heiress, if they failed to produce an heir.
All the de Clares, the de Bohuns, and the other nobles who lived in the Welsh marches gathered at Gloucester for the christening celebration. Joanna proudly showed her daughter to Jory.
“You need a child of your own; then we can be mothers together. Now that Humphrey is home again, you have no excuse.”
“I would love a baby of my own. I am green with envy.”
After the toasts the men’s talk turned to the Welsh campaign.
“When we first arrived, we won every battle,” John de Bohun told the Earl of Tewksbury. “Then the wily devils became elusive and most of our time was spent searching for them.”
Gloucester took up the tale. “They withdrew into their mountain hideaways and set traps for us, hoping we’d follow. Then the snows came and blocked every passage. Yet still they came like phantoms in the night to steal our supplies.”
“When the thaw came, the skirmishes started again,” de Bohun continued. “The numbers of Welsh fighters dropped off steadily as they fled north. We tracked them until our supplies ran out; then we came home. At least we quelled the uprising in the south.”
Gilbert de Clare warned, “We all know they will raid the northern marches from their mountain strongholds this summer.”
Young Roger Mortimer spoke up. “It has already begun. Last week my uncle of Chirk was raided of sheep and cattle.”
As Jory listened, she realized with dismay that it had not been a decisive victory. All too soon the men would be returning to Wales. Her time with Humphrey might last for only weeks. If she wanted a child, she must carry out her plan.
The de Bohuns returned home, and the next night, when Humphrey came up to their tower, Jory had her plan laid. He is an immature boy. I must take the leading role and fashion him to my liking. If I am clever enough, he will be malleable clay in my hands. She awaited him in a silk night rail with scented oils set out by the bed. When she tried to undress him, he stayed her hands.
“You know what happens when you touch me.”
“Of course I know.” She kissed him. “You need immediate release, and I intend to see that you get it. Once you have spent, I will massage you with oil until you spend a second time.”
Eager for his beautiful wife’s ministrations, Humphrey allowed her to help with his disrobing. “You excite me to madness, Marjory, but once I ejaculate I fall into a heavy sleep.”
“I promise you won’t fall asleep tonight, Humphrey.” She allowed her gaze to play over his naked limbs. “You have the muscles of a warrior. Stretch out on the bed for me.”
Jory lay down beside him and firmly took his hard cock in her hand. “You are bigger everywhere, it seems.” Humphrey could not wait for her to move her fingers. He began to thrust his erection in and out and within a minute he was arching his body up off the bed and crying out as his orgasm exploded. She pumped him until he was completely finished, then gently wiped it all away.
“There, now we have got that out of the way, I will attempt to arouse you again.” She poured a small amount of oil into her palms and starting at his feet, stroked up his long legs.
His member lay flaccid. “It’s soft. It won’t happen again.”
Jory smiled her secret smile. “Not only will it happen again, but your cock will be twice as hard.” Slowly, she bent over him and allowed her hair to trail across his nakedness, teasing his groin until it became sensitive and alive. Then she removed her night rail and straddled him. Starting at his rib cage, she stroked her perfumed palms down across his belly; then she cupped his sac and watched with sparkling eyes as his cock stood up like a ramrod. She felt the first stirrings of her own desire, and knew it was nothing her husband had done—she had aroused herself.
She licked her lips. “I want a baby, Humphrey,” she whispered sensually. “Make a baby in me.”
He rolled her beneath him and buried himself in her tight sheath. Feverishly, he surged in and out, driving frantically to reach his goal. His hands clutched her roughly and much to Jory’s surprise and chagrin he again spent quickly and collapsed on her.
Humphrey was asleep in no time. As she lay beside him, fighting her disappointment, she cautioned herself to exercise patience. Perhaps with practice, Humphrey could learn to slow his ejaculation until she became aroused. The thought of practice daunted her. I’m so small. Perhaps it will always hurt. Jory curled over onto her side and escaped into a dream where she was held secure in Guy de Beauchamp’s powerful arms.
Within a month, all the de Bohun weaponry and armor was repaired and their supplies replenished. Hunts were organized to fill the castle’s larders and just as it seemed that Goodrich was back to normal, the powerful Earl of Chester arrived.
Jory spoke with the steward to arrange a lavish meal. She asked the Welsh harpers to entertain at dinner and even planned for a dramatic recitation of the epic Beowulf. Garbed in an ele
gant gown of primrose silk that set off her emerald and diamond jewels, she curtsied to Chester and gave him a radiant smile.
Chester kissed her hand. He took his seat beside John de Bohun. “Heaven sent you a treasure when Lady Marjory consented to wed your son Humphrey.”
The Earl of Hereford beamed. “We are indeed blessed. She is our prize possession.”
Jory’s heart lurched as their guest explained what brought him.
“The Earl of Warwick has gone to Gloucester to recruit his friend Gilbert de Clare while I have come to beg aid from you. Our northern marches are being raided every night by hundreds of wild heathens. They are burning and pillaging entire villages and we must mount a force large enough to ride into Wales and beat them into submission. We also intend to post a patrol along the entire Border from Chirk to Chester to protect our landholdings.”
“As Constable of England, I am sworn to protect the marches, but patrolling the entire Border will take a great number of men. The devils know our armies are fighting in France.”
“The Earl of Surrey is returned. His army has succeeded in wresting Gascony back from Philip of France.”
A joyful cry erupted from Jory’s throat. “I had no idea my brother was back in England!”
“The de Warennes are on their way to Chester. The Welsh bowmen they command will prove invaluable to us.”
“Any word of the king’s progress in Flanders?” the earl asked.
“Aye. His Majesty plans all-out war with France. He is returning to recruit the largest army England has ever known. We’ll hammer the Welsh; then we’ll put the French to the sword.”
Jory glanced at her husband and saw that he was deathly pale. Her heart went out to him. That night she turned all her attention to Humphrey, who once again plunged into anger and depression brought on by his deep-seated fear of fighting. His behavior fell into the old pattern. His physical need for her became insatiable, while his fear of war made him impotent.
All Jory could do during the nights that were left to them was hold him secure and bolster his courage with words that were strengthening. Dear God, I would do anything to take away your fear and dread. “I am your talisman, Humphrey. My love will surround you and protect you until you come back to me.”