The Dragon and the Jewel (15 page)

“Before I dismiss Hubert from office, I want William Marshal’s advice,” Henry said, holding firm for once.

The Bishop of Winchester was hard-pressed to lay any fault at the marshal’s door, but his natural cunning made him devious and unscrupulous. “We all admire the marshal, but sometimes, Sire, you overburden the poor man. You’ve left him to clean up the mess de Burgh created in France. Now as soon as he returns you want to lay the problem of de Burgh squarely on his shoulders. Being a king carries grave responsibilities. Sometimes you must do your own dirty work, rather than always expecting the marshal to do it.”

“You are right, of course,” Henry said, ever ready to change his tune when opposed. “I will ask Hubert de Burgh to account for all funds that have passed through his hands. Then when the marshal returns he can weigh the facts fairly.”

Peter des Roches wanted to strike him, but he controlled himself and pressed from another direction. “Very wise. You will then see for yourself the mismanagement in every area. No new sheriffs have been appointed, the stewardship of all royal houses has been used to siphon off thousands of crowns. I suggest you appoint Peter des Rivaux as your first minister in custody of wardships and chief justice of the forests. Bribery and outright fraud are draining the royal coffers of every penny. If we put a stop to it now, you will soon have money to burn, which is only right and proper for a king.”

Henry would give him no arguments there.

Hubert went by barge from the Tower of London, where he resided, to Durham House. The Countess of Pembroke received him graciously. “My lord, William is not yet returned. Henry has sent him off on business to Boulogne.”

Hubert collapsed into a chair like a sack of grain. Eleanor could see something of import was troubling him heavily. “Your nephews are here, Hubert. Can they be of help to you?”
she suggested, and sent a page off with a message for the de Burgh twins.

Sir Michael came from the stables where Marshal’s returning Welsh archers would be housed that night. As soon as he saw Hubert he was concerned. “What’s amiss?”

“Mick, I’ve just received this official document from the treasurer.” He glanced at Eleanor, uneasy before her for the first time in his life.

She stood up immediately. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your business. I’ll send the steward for ale.” But the de Burghs didn’t even hear her. She encountered Rickard coming up the stairs of the family quarters. “Rickard, your uncle is here. He’s in trouble. If he needs you, you have my permission to pledge him your service.”

“Thank you, my lady. Whatever it is, I will inform you fully before I do anything.” She touched his arm. She knew she could count on this man if she was ever in danger. He had pledged to her and he meant it with all his heart.

Mick was trying to calm Hubert, but when Rickard arrived and saw the royal command in writing, bearing the king’s seal, he knew it was the start of the bad times he had foreseen. “This is only one step away from being charged with treason. It won’t blow over, it will get worse,” he stated.

Mick cast him a look that clearly told him to shut his mouth, so Rick gestured for his brother to move off a few steps so they could speak in private.

“It will be horrendous, Mick. I’ve foreseen it. He must be warned.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for long, stretched-out moments, then, convinced, Mick nodded his agreement. They stepped back to Hubert. “Anything of value, deposit with the Knights Templars. We can do it after dark tonight. Don’t be too trusting of those in your employ. I think probably someone is being paid to betray you. I know there is treachery being planned in high places … I feel it. I think Mick should go to Ireland and warn Father—such is the strength of my premonition. I would go myself but I am pledged to keep the Countess of Pembroke safe for William. I know there is danger coming to her too. I see her weeping rivers of tears.”

The ruddy color always present in Hubert’s craggy face had drained away. “Your mother has true visions of the future. I believe you, Rickard, but surely being married to the Princess of Scotland will protect me.”

Rickard shook his head. “They will use it against you.” He did not add that he would be accused of seducing Princess Margaret in hopes of becoming King of Scotland.

Hubert clutched Michael’s doublet. “Go tonight. Tell Falcon to bring his most trusted knights. I command whole armies of men, but have none I can trust implicitly, it seems.”

Sir Rickard sought out Eleanor. He would not unduly alarm her, even though he had promised to inform her fully. “Hubert needs Mick’s services for a few days.”

She searched his face. “Hubert seemed undone over a letter from the treasurer. I believe the Bishop of Winchester holds that office.”

“That is correct, my lady.” He would not lie. “He has been ordered to account for all funds that have passed through his hands.”

“That’s ridiculous, like saying they don’t trust him. Would you like me to speak to Henry about this?”

“The document bore the king’s seal, my lady. I thank you for your concern but prefer to keep you clear of this matter. William would have my b-my brains,” he amended quickly. He smiled at her to banish her worries. “The marshal is on his way home—I know these things.”

“You have the second sight like your mother, Jasmine.” It was a statement, not a question.

“You know of my mother?” he asked in surprise.

She smiled at him wistfully. “Jasmine is my cousin, though she was a woman grown when I was born. Her supernatural gifts and her beauty are legendary. She is an enchantress who stole the hearts of many men: my father, the Earl of Chester, William Marshal. The queen has spitefully thrown her name at me many times, and somehow I was always afraid to ask William because in my heart I believed it could be true.”

“My mother belongs to Falcon de Burgh body and soul. She and Will Marshal are friends, just as you and I are friends.”

Their hands touched in a silent pledge. “Thank you, Rickard.
I sometimes feared she would always stand between William and me like an ethereal specter.”

As soon as dark descended, Eleanor had more unexpected company. Her brother Richard arrived with her husband’s sister Isabella in tow. Isabella was most hesitant, but Richard led her forward with an insistent hand at the small of her back.

Eleanor was tongue-tied for a moment. Should she offer condolences or congratulations? Finally she did both. “Isabella I’m so sorry that Gilbert de Clare died in battle, but I’m happy that you have Richard to share your life now.”

“Eleanor, you won’t mind if Isabella stays with you until our wedding? This way I’ll be close enough to see her in the evenings where she’s well chaperoned. I swear, all she can utter is ‘What will people say?’”

“Oh, Eleanor, he overrules me on every point. I’m supposed to be in mourning, but he has announced our wedding plans to the world! He wouldn’t take no for an answer. So I agreed, thinking it could be a quiet affair, but it’s all getting out of hand,” she wailed.

“We have absolutely nothing to hide. The King and council have approved it and the people of England love royal weddings. Only look at the month-long celebration for Henry and his queen.”

Isabella was trembling. “I’m afraid of what William will say.”

“Damn it, woman, he’ll be pleased as punch to have me for brother-in-law. Besides, Maggot here has him wrapped about her little finger. You’ll smooth our path with William, won’t you, love?” he coaxed his sister.

She blanched, remembering the last time they’d all been under the same roof. “Of course Isabella is welcome to stay at Durham House. We’ll face William together.”

“Oh, Lord, whatever must the de Clares think?” Isabella worried.

“Darling, their mourning for their son will not blind them to the fact that your marriage will link them directly with the royal family. They know their grandson Richard can only benefit from our union. I’ll get Henry to confirm him as Earl of
Gloucester. We can afford to be generous and let the de Clares have him for a year.” Richard embraced her and kissed her upon the mouth to stem any further protest.

Eleanor sighed and gave them the privacy they craved. She was now torn between wishing William would speed his arrival or delay it until after the wedding. Eleanor invited Isabella to share her bedchamber so they could talk.

“Isabella, what is it like to sleep with a man?”

“Oh, Lord, William still hasn’t shared your bed?” Isabella asked with disbelief. “Well, you may find it strange at first after sleeping alone all your life. But I love it. I love the feel of a man in my bed. I love his hairiness; I love to feel the weight of him.”

Eleanor’s eyes were like saucers as she listened to the intimate details.

“I don’t know how we’ve managed all these years. Once you’ve been intimate it’s almost impossible to abstain.”

“You mean the night you spent together at Odiham was not the first time?” Eleanor asked.

Isabella blushed hotly in the dark as she confessed. “It was the night you were wed to William, when you were nine.” She could not bring herself to confess that it was the first time they’d ever laid eyes on each other.

“That’s almost seven years,” said Eleanor, her quick mind drawing conclusions. “Then the child you bore … oh, Isabella, that’s why you named him Richard!”

“Oh, mother in heaven, Eleanor, never breathe a word, I beseech you. Nobody must ever know! Richard and I were irresistibly attracted to each other. Though Gilbert was Earl of Gloucester and we made our home there, he spent most of his time in Ireland on the de Clare estates. I was so much alone, so lonely when I met Richard. You know how strong he can be. I just fell into his arms. I never intended for Richard to find out about the child. I retired from Windsor before I started to show, but Richard came after me and learned of my plight. Gilbert insisted on taking the child to the de Clares to be brought up in Ireland. I didn’t dare refuse lest he become suspicious. To be deprived of my baby seemed like a fitting punishment for the sin I’d committed.”

“Oh, Isabella darling, how can you think of yourself as sinful?
If I know Richard he’ll get the boy from the de Clares and he’ll give you another baby to make up for your loneliness.”

“I can’t believe in less than a fortnight we’ll be married. I keep thinking something will happen to spoil it.”

“Hush. In ten days you will marry a prince, then you will become the mother of a prince and you will live happily ever after. William is on his way home and we too will live happily ever after.” Eleanor hesitated for a few moments, then she took courage and whispered, “Isabella, how can I make William take me to his bed?” He had seemed on the verge of doing so many times, but it had never happened. “How can I make him give me a child?”

“Eleanor, I promised William I would let him teach you these things. He likes the idea of your being innocent.”

“I’m not just innocent, I’m ignorant!” Eleanor protested.

“Well, men are visually stimulated. If you let him see you in a state of undress, nature will inevitably take its course and that control on which he prides himself will melt like snow in summer.”

“And when nature takes its course, as you so delicately put it, what does it feel like?”

“I-I-I think it depends upon the man. I hated it with Gilbert, but with Richard it is so overwhelming, I can’t describe it. But I think it is all connected to a man’s strength. If he’s strong enough, dominant enough, you can give up your control to him. A woman can let herself go completely, give herself to him utterly, and he will take you to Paradise. Your senses are heightened. Together you go higher and higher until you experience ‘the little death.’”

“It sounds almost mystical,” Eleanor said wistfully.

“Oh, it is, but not at first, darling. The first time it hurts terribly and you bleed a little.”

Eleanor giggled nervously. “Pain … blood … little death … I can hardly wait! No wonder William has been trying to protect me.”

“Oh, darling, everything will be wonderful for you. Just trust William and he’ll make it an experience you’ll never forget.”

T
wo days later Eleanor and Isabella were in the solar with a dozen seamstresses and maids. The entire room was strewn with material and gowns, coifs and wimples, nightrails and bedgowns, all for Isabella’s trousseau.

“Your wedding gown must have a train, Isabella. ’tis the latest fashion, and just think what a delightful picture it would create to have two little flower girls holding it up as you walk down the aisle at Westminster.”

“Perhaps two of Richard’s pages would be better. Boys are better trained,” suggested Isabella, now totally caught up in the preparations.

“Perhaps you’re right. I know when I was a little girl, I would have made a disaster of it. I created a fiasco at my own wedding.”

“I remember it well,” said a man’s voice from the doorway.

“William!” Eleanor cried, dropping the bolt of peach silk she was holding and rushing into his arms, unmindful of the roomful of women.

He laughed, pleased with her response, but gave her only a chaste kiss upon her forehead. “Durham House has been like a
bachelor’s residence for so long, I thought I was in the wrong place,” he teased, his eyes devouring her.

For a moment she panicked as she realized he had caught them red-handed preparing for a wedding to which he hadn’t yet consented. She placed her hands upon his chest in supplication and, looking up at him, said, “Let me explain. Your sister is staying with us until … until …” She struggled with her explanation, then her eyes widened as Richard stepped into the solar.

“I thought I’d save you from a beating,” he teased, his eyes going to Isabella.

She came forward on knees weak as water. “He knows, then?”

“I’m not such a scurvy lout I don’t know my duty, you know. I formally asked for your hand the moment William stepped off his ship.”

“You’re not angry?” Eleanor asked anxiously.

“I would have been damned angry if he
hadn’t
declared himself, now that Isabella is free.”

Eleanor leaned against her husband, weak with relief.

“Sweet, I need a bath, I came directly from the ship.”

“Oh, my lord, forgive me, you must be starving,”

He looked at her hungrily. “As soon as I’m bathed and changed I must go straight to court. I haven’t reported to the king yet.”

“I’ll fetch you a tray. Henry can wait,” Eleanor said, disappointed that he would leave her so quickly.

“Why don’t I take you two beautiful ladies to court with me?” William suggested.

“Oh, lovely!” Eleanor agreed instantly. “I’ll wear my new jeweled girdle with my dagger stuck in. It will make the queen sea green with envy.”

At Westminster William closeted himself with the king for a couple of hours, bringing him up to date on affairs in the various regions of France and the continent. He had borne the heavy cost of victualing the vessels for the men and horses and knew he stood little chance of being reimbursed. He had also reached into his own pocket to pay the soldiers’ wages but
didn’t burden Henry with the problem. He’d present an accounting to the treasury and wait patiently for his money.

“Gascony shouldn’t be left without a ruler, Henry. They are so like the Welsh and Irish it is uncanny. They are contentious to a man. Order should be established there once and for all. The petty nobles are at each other’s throats, raiding each other and stirring up so much shit the very air is foul.”

“Would you consider being senechal of Gascony, William?”

“To be frank Henry, I don’t want it. My men are on their way back to Ireland and Wales. Give it to somebody who’s ambitious, but for God’s sake let it be a man who can rule with an iron hand. Some of your nobles hanging about the court these days are too limp-wristed to masturbate!”

“Simon de Montfort!” Henry declared.

“An excellent choice, but he’ll need more than the four hundred a year you allow him. He has a hundred men to support. Which brings me to the matter of Mahaut of Boulogne. The countess was most eager for the union, but unfortunately she is a friend of King Louis’s mother, Blanche of Castile. They forbid Mahaut to hand over her estates to a man in the service of the English king.”

“Damn their interference. De Montfort is desperate. He goes deeper into debt each week.”

“I took the liberty, Sire, of sounding out Joan, Countess of Flanders. Her late husband left her great stretches of land and castles topping Flanders’s ridges. Her parks are stocked with deer and her baileys are filled with blooded stock. She is older than Simon to be sure, but not so old as Mahaut.”

“Good work, William. I’ll appoint him senechal of Gascony and let him do his own wooing.” Henry dismissed the problem from his mind. “So, in a week’s time marriage relates us again. Let us join our wives and I’ll tell you of the great feast we have planned. There will be over ten thousand dishes to choose from.”

William groaned and wondered whose purse would bear such extravagance. He knew it would not be Henry’s.

On the short boat ride from Westminster to Durham House, William slipped his arm about Eleanor’s waist and drew her close. “You grow more beautiful with each day,” he murmured.

“I missed you so much, William. I thought you’d never return. Whenever the loneliness became too much to bear, I relived the happy times we spent in the mountains of Wales.”

He kissed her temple. “I’ll take you back there,” he promised.

She was sorry the ride ended so quickly, but she kept her hand firmly clasped in William’s as they left the barge at the water steps and walked slowly up to Durham House. Almost as soon as they entered the foyer Isabella bade them good night and disappeared up the stairs. William caught Eleanor in his arms and drew her close. “Why the devil did you invite my sister to stay here? I was looking forward to being private with you.”

She took his hand and led him through the darkened house to the cozy salon where a low fire still burned upon the hearth.

“It’s very late,” reminded William, as he took a chair before the glowing embers.

“Are you going to send me to bed like a little girl?” she asked, crawling into his lap, “Or are you going to start treating me like a woman?”

“I’d like to keep you ’til dawn, if you’re willing.”

“I’m willing,” she said, low. “Tell me all about France and the battles you fought. I think Henry learned his lesson about jumping into war.”

“If you think I’m going to waste our precious time together discussing war, you are grievously mistaken. And speaking of lessons, it is time you taught me how you like to be kissed.”

She laughed happily. “I know nothing of kisses, ’tis you who’ll have to do the teaching.”

He began by gently pressing his lips to her eyelids and the tip of her nose. Then he moved to the corners of her mouth and felt them go up in a smile of pleasure. He cupped her face in strong hands and lifted it as if receiving a sacrament. As her breath mingled with his, a shudder of desire rippled along his spine, and he cautioned himself to go slowly and not frighten her. He kissed her for an hour—gentle kisses, soft kisses, short quick kisses, and long, slow, melting kisses. Never once did he try to part her lips with his tongue and intrude into her soft, exciting mouth.

Eleanor realized just how much she had been missing. She liked to be kissed excessively! She loved his closeness and the delicious warmth of his body. His gentle lovemaking in no way threatened her, rather it tempted her to boldness. She reached out to undo the buttons of his doublet, then she slipped her arms inside to caress his naked chest. He gasped with pure pleasure as she rested her soft cheek against his bare flesh. His manhood was so swollen he longed to free himself from the confines of the tight material, but knew it was too soon. Considerably more foreplay would be necessary to arouse Eleanor’s virgin body.

William’s fingers found their way to the neckline of her gown, then very slowly he began to undo enough tiny buttons to allow him to slip his hand inside her bodice. His large hand cupped the rounded fullness of one delicious breast and she sighed with pleasure. “Though it is Isabella’s wedding, it is I who feel like the bride,” she whispered breathlessly.

“Sweet, sweet, and so you shall be the bride. When the archbishop says the words over them, we’ll renew our vows to each other.”

“How lovely,” she said dreamily. “I don’t remember our vows, I only remember touching your bare chest.”

His thumb caressed her nipple and it ruched into a tight little bud. “Oh, don’t.” She gasped, so he stilled his fingers and contented himself to simply hold her breast in his hand. She yawned and relaxed against his hard body. She murmured drowsily, “I’d like to sleep with you holding me all night.”

William was in an agony of need. His erection brushed against her firm young buttock until its sensitivity pulsed with every heartbeat. He allowed himself to hope. Perhaps now was a good time to initiate her deeper into the mysteries of love-making. She was so relaxed, so warm and responsive, the opportunity was heaven-sent.

Still tenderly cupping her breast, he slipped his other hand beneath her thighs and stood up from the chair. His doublet fell open to the waist and he lifted her against his heart. Her arms glided up about his neck and she murmured, “Where are you taking me?”

“To bed,” he said huskily. A chair simply wouldn’t suffice
for what he had in mind. His mouth was dry with the anticipation of undressing her and seeing her completely naked for the first time. He ascended the stairs slowly, savoring every moment, brushing her soft mouth with his.

His shaft was rigid and its pulsing tip rubbed against her bottom on every step of the staircase. His imagination took fire. He would light the candles so he could see her loveliness. He wanted to watch every expression on her face as his fingers stroked the uninitiated cleft between her legs. The ritual taking of the hymen could happen only once in her lifetime, and he wanted her to see him worship her with his eyes, his lips, his whole body.

In her chamber he lay her upon the bed and removed his doublet. Then his fingers located the candelabra on the bedside chest. Soon the soft glow of candlelight illuminated her in a pool of beauty. His hands stole to the bodice of her gown. He opened it and slipped it from her shoulders. As her breasts were exposed to his fevered gaze, he bent to kiss the swell of each delicately tinted globe. Her scent made him reel with desire. Suddenly a sleepy voice inquired, “William, whatever are you doing?” His eyes flew to the other bed where he realized to his great dismay his sister was sleeping.

“Peste!”
he swore, and Eleanor put her fingers to his lips to silence him.

“William, go away.” Isabella yawned her protest. “Surely you haven’t come at four o’clock in the morning expecting Eleanor to satisfy your needs.”

“Of course not,” he said stiffly, “I was just tucking her into bed. Go back to sleep, Isabella.”

At breakfast Eleanor came in and touched her husband’s shoulder as he sat at table. “My lord, can you ever forgive me?” The look on her face was so penitent, he burst out laughing and gathered her onto his knee. She kissed him. “You weren’t amused last night.”

His lips nuzzled her neck. “When we rid ourselves of our uninvited guest, I’ll keep you abed for a week.”

“Promise?” she teased, her eyes changing color to a deeper blue.

His hand sought her breast through the material of her pretty gown. “’tis better this way. After the wedding, after we renew our vows at Westminster, we’ll have our honeymoon. No groom was ever more in love or eager than I.” His hands tightened on her body and he crushed his mouth down on hers.

“William!” protested Isabella, coming into the breakfast room. “Your continual demands will exhaust the child.” Her face was pink with embarrassment. “I swear, you’re acting like an untried boy.”

“That’s exactly how I feel when I touch Eleanor.” He winked outrageously at his wife and she laughed happily.

“You’ll have to excuse me, love, I’ve business to attend to,” he said, pushing his chair back from the table.

“William, you never rest. You had to dash off to see Henry the same day you arrived home, and I know you took no rest last night. Now your duty is again beckoning.”

“Are you hinting that I’m getting old, that I’m overtaxing my strength? Surely you don’t want me to sit in the chimney corner in house slippers, do you?”

“Of course not,” she protested indignantly. “It’s just that I thought you might get fitted for new clothes for the wedding. The fashions have changed dramatically since the Provençals swarmed over the court. The very latest thing is a particolored cotte.”

“I will do many things for you, my darling, but dressing like a court jester isn’t one of them. Weil let the Savoys imitate peacocks and bantam cocks, while the Marshals remain soberly out of fashion.”

“Speak for yourself, sir! Isabella is having a six-foot train on her wedding dress while my gown is a state secret to prevent copying.”

“Sweet, you always make other women look dowdy. The Countess of Pembroke is famous for being the best-dressed lady in England.”

She went up on tiptoe to kiss him. “That’s because of your money and my good taste.”