By the second week of July, Jory was once more alone at Goodrich Castle. She made the best of it, and made plans to refurbish the chambers in the towers. She purchased bolts of vivid velvet to make padded seats and cushions for all the chairs; she bought Turkish carpets, Italian chandeliers, painted screens and polished silver mirrors. She visited warehouses filled with dyes, wines, spices, and perfumed oils, where she selected the things she knew would turn Goodrich into a haven of gracious hospitality.
Marjory entertained guests on a weekly basis, organizing hawking parties, flying the hunting birds that the de Bohuns had brought from Windsor and housed in a newly established mews. Though her days were filled with people and activities, her nights were unbearably lonely, and she sometimes felt the castle walls closing in to stifle her very soul. At these times Jory found the ache deep inside could only be assuaged by soaking in hot water in her lovely black swan bathing tub.
Each and every night she got on her knees. Please God, take away Humphrey’s fear and give him courage. Then, when she slept, she fell into a recurring dream. She was safe and secure in a man’s powerful arms. The way he touched her and kissed her was so sensually passionate and so fulfilling, she knew she loved this man more than life. She whispered his name breathlessly. “Guy, Guy…I’m madly in love with you!” She awoke with a start the moment she realized the man in her bed was not Humphrey. “I must be mad! I don’t love Warwick; I hate him!”
Chapter 14
“Baby Margaret adores you!” Joanna lay upon cushions on Gloucester castle’s lawn, watching her daughter chortle and lift her arms to Jory. “You need a child of your own.”
Jory lifted Margaret and kissed her freckle-strewn nose. “I’d love to have a baby, but how the devil am I supposed to get with child when my husband has been in Wales for more than a year?”
“I can think of a solution,” Joanna said slyly. “You could have any man who looks at you—a husband isn’t necessary.”
Jory flushed and lowered her lashes. Perhaps not necessary for you. I’ve often suspected this could be Humphrey’s child. She glanced up. “Here comes Gilbert. I’m so glad his leg wound has healed.” De Clare had returned home to Gloucester when he was wounded and left his men-at-arms in the capable hands of his first lieutenant, Ralph Monthermer.
“Papa!” Margaret cried gleefully and reached out her arms.
“My little rosebud. I shall miss you when I return to Chester.”
“My lord, if there is any chance you will see Humphrey, will you give him my letter? My anxiety over him never lessens.”
“There is a very good chance. The barons who’ve been on Border patrol for months will rotate with those who’ve been doing battle in Wales. The constable and his sons have done their fair share of heavy fighting and are due to return to patrol the marches. They’ll be housed at Chester Castle, which is palatial.”
“Eleanor de Leyburn tells me it is even larger than this castle,” Joanna added. “Her mother has taken up residence there so she can spend time with her husband.”
Jory’s eyes widened. “Wives are allowed to reside at Chester?”
“Aye. Roger Mortimer’s bride arrived just before I left. The Countess of Chester holds court every night.” Gilbert grinned. “She extends her hospitality to wives and mistresses alike.”
“Then I shall go to Chester!” She searched Gilbert’s face anxiously. “May I travel with you, my lord earl?”
“Of course. I return in two days, unless you need more time.”
“Are you sure you want to leave your own castle where you reign supreme for a few stolen hours with your husband when he returns from night patrol? It’s a big sacrifice, Jory.”
If I can be with Humphrey I will try my utmost to give him comfort and relieve his fear. I’m sure my presence will bolster his confidence and give him courage. If we can be together, even for brief intervals, it will help get him through this dark time.
“I shall go to Chester. I’ve quite made up my mind!”
Jory packed her trunks, said her good-byes to the household staff, and finally spoke with the castle steward. “David, I know I can leave everything in your capable hands. You ran Goodrich Castle long before I came on the scene. The Earl of Hereford has complete faith in your ability and knows he is lucky to have you.”
“You have the courage of a dragon, Lady Marjory.”
“Nay, it is the men who do the fighting who have the courage. I am eager to be at Chester. I cannot wait to spend time with Humphrey and I know the earl will welcome me. I’ll also get to see my brother and my uncle. It will be a joyful reunion.”
With Gilbert de Clare and a dozen fighting men as escort, Jory rode through the beautiful, lush Border country with its abundance of wildlife. She was amazed at the multitude of game birds and felt a thrill of delight each time she spotted a herd of deer. The travelers made overnight stops at the Mortimer strongholds of Ludlow and Chirk and finally saw the spires of magnificent Chester Cathedral long before the castle came into view.
The Countess of Chester made Jory welcome. “I shall put you in the chamber just vacated by Lady Joan Mortimer. She returned home when Roger went back into Wales. It’s a constant juggling act to provide private accommodation for the nobles fortunate enough to have their ladies visit them. I have a dozen in residence at the moment, so you won’t lack for company.”
“Thank you, my lady. I deeply appreciate your kind generosity.”
Jory unpacked and took special pains to look her best. She chose a lavender underdress and surcoat edged in silver. She brushed out her hair and threaded ribbon through her curls before she went down to the castle’s Great Hall for dinner.
The place was thronged with men, and as Jory moved among them searching for a familiar face, they openly stared at her, and the babble of their voices momentarily ceased until she passed by. Her glance traveled along the far wall and she let out a little scream. The tawny head was unmistakable. “Lynx!”
As she hurried to her brother’s side, the crowd parted to ease her way. When Lynx saw her, he opened his arms and she went into them. Tears flooded her eyes and she pressed her face against his heart. “I feel overwhelming relief you are back in England, though it was a sad homecoming. I am so sorry about Sylvia.”
“When I got your letter, I was in shock and covered with guilt because I couldn’t be there. In the months since, I’ve slowly come to terms with it. I know you did all you could, Jory.” He lifted her chin and gazed down at her intently. “You look extremely elegant. Your husband is a lucky man.”
“Where is Humphrey? I can’t seem to find him.”
“He’s not here yet. Tomorrow, John and I take the de Warenne men-at-arms into Wales to relieve the de Bohuns. Humphrey will ride hell-for-leather when he learns you are here.” He took her hand. “Come, you’ll dine with us. Uncle John will be surprised.”
As Lynx led her toward a long trestle table, Jory stopped in her tracks. “Alice Bolton! What the devil is she doing here?”
“I brought her—she’s here with me.”
“My God, I knew she fancied being the next Lady de Warenne, but never thought you gullible enough to fall into her marriage trap!”
“Don’t worry your head about Alice. She’s attractive and amenable, but marriage is the last thing I have in mind.”
She’s your mistress! Jory was momentarily shocked. Joanna is right—men are all alike. “Then I shall stop worrying,” she said faintly and went to greet her uncle John.
“Minx! What a delightful surprise. You grow lovelier each time I see you. Marriage has made you thrive.” He made a place for her beside him and slipped his arm about her fondly.
“Hello, Marjory.” Alice Bolton’s eyes narrowed. She was unsure of Jory’s acceptance and expected an unkind remark. She was ready to unsheathe her claws at the least sign of a snub.
“Hello, Alicia.” Jory smiled warmly. “We meet again under happier circumstances.” Poor lady, constant husband hunting has give
n her a lean, predatory look.
Jory enjoyed her evening in the rare company of her family. They would leave at dawn, and she had no idea when she would see them again. The Countess of Chester was a comfortable hostess, providing good plain food and encouraging the men to enjoy themselves with a full tankard and a game of dice or gambling while the women indulged in gossip until they retired to bed.
Two days later, Jory stood atop the ramparts of Chester Castle eagerly watching for the first glimpse of the de Bohun banners. She had decided to wear her lovely azure and gold wedding gown and she couldn’t wait to see the look on Humphrey’s face when he saw her. As the breeze played with her hair, tossing it about her shoulders, she was aglow with anticipation. The wait will be worth it. This time it will happen. I feel it in my bones. The time is ripe for me to have a child.
The sound of horses coupled with the first glimpse of a banner took her breath away. “Humphrey!” She picked up her skirts and ran lightly down four flights of stone steps until she reached the ground floor of the castle.
The Countess of Chester cautioned her. “Don’t go rushing out, my dear. The sight of the wounded can be most upsetting.”
“I’ll stay on the castle steps overlooking the courtyard,” she promised and hurried outside to watch the cavalcade arrive. The Welsh bowmen marched in first; then the Earl of Hereford rode in at the head of his mounted men-at-arms. Jory’s heart swelled with pride at the brave figure he made.
Her glance traveled over to the man riding abreast of him and her heart lifted as she recognized Henry de Bohun. Her eyes moved to the left, seeking out the tall figure of Humphrey. When she didn’t see him, her glance traveled slowly and carefully over the men who rode in the vanguard. Then she saw that some of the horses were pulling litters and realized these were the wounded men. Jory’s hand flew to her throat. “My God, Humphrey has been wounded!” Her feet moved of their own volition as she ran down the steps and out across the wide courtyard.
John de Bohun raised his arm toward his son. “Keep her back!”
Henry was out of his saddle in a flash. He grabbed Jory and held her tightly to keep her from reaching the litter.
She fought him with fingers and nails. “Humphrey’s been wounded! He needs me! Let me tend him, damn you!”
“Nothing more can be done, Marjory. My brother is dead.”
She stared into Henry’s eyes as if his words were incomprehensible. “You are lying! Let me see him!”
“No! His body bears fatal wounds, unfit for your eyes.”
“He is my husband!” She wrenched herself from his arms and fell to her knees beside the litter. With a determined hand she lifted off the deerskin. Three arrows pierced his chest. The feathers had been broken off, but the thick shafts were still embedded in the wounds. As well, his skull was caved in.
When Henry saw that she had begun to tremble all over, he picked her up, carried her to the castle steps, and sat her down gently. He knelt down and clasped her hands. “Humphrey is a hero. It was a surprise attack and we were badly outnumbered. He held them at bay so that Father and I could escape. We fled until we ran into the de Warennes. They took their men in and annihilated them. Your brother brought Humphrey’s body out.”
“I must see to his wounds.” Her lips were bloodless.
“His men will tend his body—it is their right. Then you can take your husband home for burial.”
The Countess of Chester came out and helped the young widow to her chamber. She knew there were no words to ease her suffering.
Jory went through the motions of removing her wedding gown and hanging it in the wardrobe. Then, clad in her shift, she sat numb, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. Detached and unaware of her surroundings, she had withdrawn to a safe place within. An insistent knock on her chamber door roused her from her trance. It was full dark and she wondered where the day had gone. She lit the candles and turned to the door as it opened.
John de Bohun slowly advanced into the room. His armor and weapons were gone. He wore a leather tunic and boots. The earl looked lost, stunned, disoriented, and weary enough to drop.
Jory’s heart immediately went out to him. Here was someone who needed her ministrations. Helping him tonight would fully occupy her and blot out the horror of her own loss.
He raised dazed eyes. “My son, Humphrey—”
“My dearest lord, you are exhausted.” She sat him on the bed and knelt to remove his boots. De Bohun stared at her. “I have come to—” He lost track of his words.
Jory sat down beside him and took his hand. His eyes flooded with tears and he began to sob. Her arms went around him and she held him tightly as he choked out his sorrow. She pressed his head to her bosom and rocked him back and forth, like a mother with her child. She encouraged him to pour out his anguish and his grief and, though her own emotions were still rigidly locked away, her face became wet with tears of commiseration.
When his sobs turned to dry heaves, Jory eased him back onto the bed, and then she lay down beside him and enfolded him in her arms once more. It was the only way she knew how to show him that he was not alone.
Eventually the bereaved father sank into blessed sleep. Jory did not remove her arms from John, but kept him anchored to her. She closed her eyes and lay quietly. She did not dare to sleep for fear that her nightmares would consume her.
At first light, John de Bohun roused and sat on the edge of the bed, dry-eyed. He looked at his daughter-in-law for long minutes, noting her wraithlike appearance. She looked fragile as a delicate cobweb that could be destroyed with a touch, ethereal as a ghost that would vanish like a puff of smoke at a harsh word. She had been his bastion last night. Now he must be strong for her. He spoke softly so he would not startle her.
“Let’s take our lad home.”
Jory nodded, blessedly relieved that he could function enough to make decisions. For of a certainty, she knew that she could not. Not yet.
They buried Humphrey next to his mother, beneath a magnificent copper beech. The funeral was attended by the entire household of Goodrich Castle and the townspeople of Hereford. All genuinely mourned the loss of the constable’s firstborn son and heir.
Jory looked at the dark-haired Celts who paid their respects with tears in their eyes. How strange that the Welsh mourn him, yet it was the Welsh who murdered him.
The earl spoke with his daughter-in-law after the ceremony. “I left Henry in charge of our men-at-arms. In all fairness I must return and share the burden of night patrol of the marches. I warrant you are still in shock, my dear. You will mourn in your own time and your own way. In the peace and tranquility of Goodrich, the floodgates will open. Good-bye, Marjory. I love you like a daughter.”
Jory walked about in a trance, not allowing herself to think or feel anything. She knew it was the only way to keep pain at bay. About certain things her mind was a complete blank. She could not remember anything about the journey from Chester when she and John de Bohun had brought Humphrey home to be buried.
Goodrich Castle and its people were in deep mourning. Everyone followed Lady Marjory’s lead, walking softly and speaking in whispers. It was obvious that she wished to be left alone. A letter came from Joanna, inviting her to Gloucester and assuring her that a visit would help to dispel her sadness. Jory sent no reply and when another letter arrived, she left it unread.
Slowly, gradually, her grief and guilt ate their corroding way through the iron carapace that Jory had built to protect and deaden her emotions. Finally, the introspective thoughts began.
It’s my fault. Humphrey thought I was his talisman, his lucky touchstone, and I could keep him safe. But I failed to protect him. I encouraged him to think foolish thoughts by telling him that my love would surround him and protect him until he came back to me.
Jory felt so much guilt that she could not bring herself to visit Humphrey’s grave. She picked flowers for him every day, but asked David Bridgen to take them to the hallowed place beneath the copper beech tree.<
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She began to ride out alone through the lush Borders on a sure-footed Welsh pony. She suspected that a groom followed her, but if he did she was thankful that he kept enough distance between them to give her privacy.
“Why did I continually urge him to be courageous?” she asked the trees. “He acted the hero because I insisted upon it. It’s my fault that he was killed!”
That night, Jory awoke with a start after her recurring dream about Guy de Beauchamp, the infamous Earl of Warwick. She jumped from bed and lit the candles to dispel the darkness. Resolutely she faced the demon that had been devouring her for months.
“I didn’t love him enough!”
A tear rolled down her face, and then another. Soon she was sobbing uncontrollably and it went on and on throughout the long night and into the next day. Jory castigated herself, holding nothing back, confessing all her shortcomings and admitting to all her faults. When she had cried herself out and her tears finally stopped, she felt chastened. She knew there was only one thing left to do. She must go to Humphrey and beg his forgiveness.
Jory bathed her swollen eyes, brushed her hair until it fell into silken waves, and pinned on her diamond swan brooch. With firm, purposeful steps she left the castle bailey and made her way to the giant copper beech. When she came to the wooden cross, she went down on her knees and gazed at his name. As she knelt in silence, a profound feeling of peace filled her heart, and finally truth dawned, pure and simple. It was a revelation.
“Humphrey, I did love you! Oh, not at first. When we married, neither one of us was in love. But we comforted each other and grew to care deeply even though we were apart for much of our married life. In the end I was ready to make any sacrifice if it would help stave off your fear and bring you comfort.”