The Dragon and the Jewel (47 page)

He threw her across his knee, intending to administer half a dozen ringing slaps to her bottom, but after one slap, she screamed and he could not bear to mar her lovely flesh. He held her facedown while he hesitated about what punishment he should dole out. Though he was furious with her, he could not allow his violence to inflict pain upon her.

She wriggled angrily in his lap fully intending to bite him and sink her teeth into him, but his leathers prevented her. “Faugh! You stink of horse and sweat.”

He ignored her insult. He shoved her roughly from his knee. “You will now explain to me why you closed the gates upon the lord and master of this demesne.”

She threw up her chin, with tears glittering in her jeweled eyes, more defiant than ever. “Kenilworth is mine; every stone. You gave it to me.”

“Aye, more fool me. You might own Kenilworth’s stones and mortar, but I am lord and master of every man and woman who dwells here, down to the lowliest pot-boy,” he ground out.

She drew herself up proudly. “You might be my lord, but you are not my master. In fact, you won’t even be my lord much longer. I am going to ask Henry to declare my marriage invalid. The king and the Archbishop of Canterbury will take my part in this.”

“You willful little bitch! I paid dearly for this marriage, and neither God nor the devil will take it from me. I bribed your brother, even bribed the bloody Pope, faced down a whole nation set against my having you, even endured exile for you. I coerced the king into giving me Kenilworth, then gifted you with the only thing I ever had of any great value. So rest assured, Eleanor, I consider you bought and paid for.”

She wanted to feel her power over him. She knew a need to provoke his lust. She wanted him to take her then and there begrimed from his travels. She wanted to blot out forever his memory of other women. “I shall never share that bed with you again!” she taunted.

His eyes narrowed, his brows were blacker than she ever remembered. A feeling of panic assailed her. By now he should have swept her into his arms and branded her as his woman. “So be it!” he said coldly. “But know this, wench. You will adorn yourself as befits the Countess of Leicester and will dine with me in the hall before all our people. Your words to me will be sweeter than honey. Your lashes will be downcast to cover the challenging light in your eyes, and you will demonstrate before all that you know your woman’s place.” He picked up her riding whip and tucked it into his belt. Quietly he added, “I will have obedience from you, Eleanor.”

“Dream on, Frenchman,” she hissed, but she waited until he had departed to bathe. She was too impatient to summon her
tiring women. She decided she would astound him with her beauty, which must be offset by an exquisite gown. Impatiently she flung the garments about in her wardrobe until she drew forth the one she wanted. It was made from material she had brought from the East. When the light struck it one way it glittered green, then when she moved and the light changed it glowed a deep peacock blue. The neckline formed a vee low enough to display her breasts, which thrust forward as impudently as they dared. She fastened a gold girdle about her waist, crisscrossed it in the back, brought it to the front across her hips, and fastened the tassels so they rested provocatively upon her mons. It was a whore’s trick she had picked up at court, but an effective one for luring a man’s eyes.

She opened her jewel case and took out the Persian sapphire necklace William Marshal had given her. If it pricked de Montfort’s pride that he had given her no jewels, so much the better. Instead of fastening the necklace about her throat, she wore it on her forehead, anchoring the ends into her black silken hair.

The moment she was dressed she left their bedchamber in the Caesar Tower and awaited him in the nursery. There was no way she was going to remain alone with him when he came to dress after his bath. Her eyes upon his body would reveal to him her weakness.

When he joined her in the nursery, his face was set so that it was impossible for her to read his thoughts. How magnificent she was and what sons she had given him, he thought with satisfaction.

Her heart turned over in her breast when she saw again how like his father her firstborn son was. He was talking a mile a minute, and Kate just managed to scoop him from his mother’s arms before he grabbed the jewels that adorned her forehead.

“I see he has some of your grasping qualities,” Simon said mockingly.

A scathing reply sprang to her lips, but de Montfort’s look prevented her from uttering it. She swept her lashes to her cheeks in mock subjugation and moved past him out of the nursery. With quick steps she walked just ahead of him and could feel his eyes riveted upon her pretty, undulating bottom.

For a man who usually dressed in black or some other somber shade, he looked unusually elegant tonight in a blue velvet doublet and hose. No lingering trace of horse or sweat remained; he smelled distinctly of sandalwood. Before they entered the hall he placed her hand upon his arm and she submitted meekly.

By now the room was filled to overflowing, and its occupants openly cheered the return of their lord. Eleanor bristled. No cheers had rung about the room when she had returned, but then de Montfort had the common touch, even knowing the names of the servitors. When they arrived at their places he courteously held her chair for her to be seated. With deliberation she stepped down upon his foot, making sure the high heel of her slipper came sharply down upon his soft suede boot. Her lashes fluttered up prettily. “Ah, forgive me, my lord,” she breathed softly.

He pretended he had not felt a thing and took his place at her side. When the first few dishes were presented, he politely waited for her, then when she took nothing he helped himself. When the meat came and she made no move, he said, “You will eat.”

She looked helplessly from the venison to the kid to the beef. “You will have to chose for me, my lord, the decision is too great for my
woman’s
mind,” she said sweetly.

Simon held his temper easily, recognizing the male/female game she was initiating. He piled her plate with a variety of succulent meat and watched as she picked up an elegant, two-pronged Italian fork and lifted a piece to her lovely pink mouth. “Tell me why the decision to return to England without my knowledge or permission was not too great for your woman’s mind.”

“You swine! I thought you’d returned to Palestine.”

His hand shot out and squeezed hers painfully. “Softly, wench, I am warning you.”

Her lashes swept to her cheeks and she said in a sweet whisper, “When I learned you had returned home to England, my lord, I thought my
woman’s
place should be beside you … as a dutiful wife.”

Simon held up his cup for ale. “Thank you, Thomas. Will you be good enough to serve the countess with wine?”

“Oh, thank you, my lord, you are too kind,” she said prettily.

He drank off his ale quickly, then watched as Eleanor took a small sip of wine. Suddenly her goblet slipped through her fingers and its contents splashed across de Montfort’s blue velvet. The dark-red wine looked for all the world like bloodstains. Simon’s control slipped a notch.

“My dearest lord, do forgive me,” she beseeched contritely. Her eyes flicked over the red stain. “I trust you were not wounded in the late disastrous war that you lost?” she inquired solicitously.

Simon gritted his teeth. “I pledged myself to the untrustworthy Plantagenets. I should have known better”

She smiled cruelly.

“The next war will see me on the other side,” he vowed, and had the satisfaction of seeing the smile wiped from her face.

She took a deep breath and said sarcastically, yet in honeyed tones, “Ah, please, milord, do not involve me in decisions of import, it taxes my
woman’s
brain too much.” Her small hand came to rest upon his thigh. “My
woman’s
place is in the kitchen.”

“The bedchamber,” he corrected lustfully.

The corners of her mouth went up in a secret smile of triumph, and she lifted her fork to her lips and provocatively nibbled a rare morsel of beef. “Ah, my dearest lord, I am indisposed tonight.” She smiled apologetically. “My
woman’s
time, you understand?”

He knew she deliberately goaded him. She played the game well, yet he was no slouch and decided that two could play. Though he did not need or want or had ever used a whore since he had been with Eleanor, he shrugged a huge, careless shoulder and lied, “I’ll take another for a few days.” “Whoreson!” She jabbed the Italian fork down to impale the back of his hand. He shot up from the table, sending his chair flying. “That’s it!” He did not trust himself to lay hands upon her. “Guard!” Two knights on duty in the hall came forward instantly, more than willing to do de Montfort’s bidding. Each
knew if she had been his wife she would have had the insolence beaten out of her years since. “You have always said the name Eleanor cursed you. You are wrong—it cursed me. We will try the same medicine that was used on your grandmother.” He turned to his guards. “Imprison her in the North Tower. A week on bread and water should draw her sting.”

Eleanor was aghast. This wasn’t supposed to be his reaction. He was supposed to carry her from the hall to their oversized bed to play out the game of domination and submission to its natural conclusion. He must have his blond slave-whore close at hand. She would never forgive him for this humiliation.

E
ach day brought an earl or a baron to Kenilworth to show his support for Leicester. Gloucester came, then Bigod, the newly appointed Marshal and Earl of Norfolk. The next day brought de Lacy and the Earl of Lincoln, and close on their heels came the Bishop of Ely and John de Vescy of Alnwick Castle in Northumberland.

They laid their plans for the parliament they would attend and swore a pact to stand together in opposition to the king who had allowed his wife’s relatives and his own half brothers to divy up England among themselves. At the end of the week Rickard de Burgh rode in with signed bonds from his uncle Hubert, John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, and Roger de Leyburn, England’s steward.

Simon and Rickard were walking in the courtyard as dusk descended. De Montfort’s conscience was pricking him over the harsh treatment he had given his wife. Now he must confess his actions to de Burgh who was ever her champion.

Simon bit his lip. “Eleanor is here,” he said tentatively.

De Burgh looked at him keenly, knowing he had not sent for her in the face of the trouble that was sure to come. “She came without your permission,” said Rickard, knowing her so well.

“She’s lodged up yonder in the North Tower under lock and key,” Simon said grimly.

Rickard de Burgh stiffened. “You did not incarcerate her?” he asked with disbelief.

“By Christ, I’ll tame her yet! She’s got a maggot in her brain about dissolving the marriage.”

Eleanor looked down upon the two men. A week in the tower had only hardened her resolve. She scribbled a note, wrapped it about a brass paperweight, and hurled it down into the courtyard. Simon bent to retrieve it, hope filling his heart that she was contrite. The words he read smote him between the eyes. She punned:

“Blood of God,” de Montfort swore. He thrust the note at de Burgh. “Have you two been lovers?” he demanded. He felt as if a knife had been plunged into his heart.

“Nay, Simon, surely you do not need to ask such a thing,” Rickard de Burgh said calmly. He shook his head and said half to himself, “I suppose a woman somehow knows when a man loves her.”

Simon de Montfort had always known that Sir Rickard loved Eleanor. Her conquests were legion. Half the men in England lusted for her, and he admitted he was among their number. “Excuse me, friend, there is a matter that needs my attention.” Simon had had the key to the North Tower about him for seven days in hope that she would yield. Suddenly he realized she would never yield, and that was why he worshipped her. He wanted no milk-and-water wench who would do his bidding without question. He needed a woman with the fire of passion in her blood. He valued her intelligence. ’Twas only a game of the sexes they played wherein he demanded she keep her woman’s place.

He ran up the cold stone steps of the North Tower and turned the iron key in the lock. She stood ready to fly at him. He laughed. She was no bigger than a piss-ant. “For shame,
Eleanor, ’Twas a scurvy thing to do to the lad when you know he loves you.”

How dare he stand there laughing and chiding her after imprisoning her for a week! “You may have hysterics, de Montfort, but I am not amused,” she spat.

He had learned more this week than she had. Putting her under lock and key had only hardened her resolve against him. He laughed triumphantly, relishing the thought of winning her over with his touch, his nearness. He reached out strong arms and took what he wanted. He lifted her off the floor. “I am the luckiest man alive. Your anger not only makes you beautiful, it arouses your passion.” His arms tightened and he allowed her body to slide down his deliciously.

She had vowed to herself that this time she would make him beg and plead for her forgiveness, but damn him to hellfire, he was the great war lord, he would never beg. He would take what he wanted, whenever he wanted it. His bare-faced flattery about her passion was already having its effect upon her. He wanted a kiss, so he took one, turning it into the most blatant act of seduction with his demanding mouth and damnably attractive hands. Eleanor knew that at any moment he would melt her like molten lava, and her anger grew hotter because of his devastating effect upon her. Before he made love to her again she must have it out with him about the woman.

She pulled from his arms and ran away from him to put distance between them so she could think coherently. The bed loomed between them. “What about her?” she demanded angrily.

“Her?” he asked, at a total loss. “Your fair-haired whore!”

Simon never used whores. In fact, he had never been unfaithful to her, even in thought. After Eleanor’s explosive passion, any other would have been totally unsatisfactory. “Be plain with me, Eleanor. To whom do you refer?”

“Damn you, are there so many then?” Her eyes glittered with unshed tears.

“My little love, there are none,” he swore.

“You lie! When you left me in Brindisi, with my own eyes I saw you ride out with the woman from Selim’s harem.”

Suddenly Simon threw back his head and his deep laughter rolled about the tower room. “Are you jealous? Is that what this has all been about, jealousy?”

“You need not look so inordinately pleased with yourself,” she said through gritted teeth.

He took a step toward her and she retreated, refusing to let him come close. “I sent her to Brindisi because I learned that Italy was her home.”

Eleanor’s eyes flashed. “You expect me to believe that? Italian women have black hair!”

He was both amused and pleased that she felt so jealously possessive of him. “Not all, Eleanor. In northern Italy there are many fair-haired people. When you saw us leave Brindisi together I was escorting her home.”

She went weak with relief, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook. She glanced about the inhospitable chamber. “I have taken a fancy to this North Tower. It overlooks the hills instead of the causeway. Mayhap I won’t return to the Caesar Tower.”

He was around the bed in a flash, scooping her up possessively. “You shall … and immediately.”

“Put me down. Damn your eyes! What is it about big men that makes them want to carry women about? I have two legs.”

“I know,” he retorted with a leer. “I’ve seen them.”

“If you think I will return to the Caesar Tower just so you can look at my legs, you can think again. For a man who is obsessed with justice for the common man,
and woman
,” she emphasized, “you acted out of character to incarcerate me without a trial.”

“I’ll try you now,” he offered, nipping her earlobe. “You would be the first to argue that there is nothing common about you.” His hand was already beneath her skirt, sliding up her leg as if he owned every inch of her.

“Flattery will gain you naught,” she said, squeezing her legs together to prevent him reaching his goal without resistance. “If you have come for a truce, I am willing to listen to your concessions. Mark me well—I don’t set foot outside this chamber until I have your solemn promise I shall have my own way about everything.”

“You
shall
have your own way. Since you don’t want to set a
foot outside this chamber, I shall make love to you here.” His hands had already removed her stockings and garters.

Her protests would gain her absolutely naught, and because of it a deep thrill ran up her spine. His playfulness was infectious, and she was almost giddy with relief that the girl from Selim’s harem was safely in Italy.

Simon had had a great deal of trouble keeping away from her for a whole week, knowing all he had to do was climb to the tower and unlock the door. Now he would make up for the abstinence she had forced upon him. He finished undressing her with impatient hands and lay her down upon the bed. He reached out to spread her mass of silken hair across the pillows, just exactly the way he loved to see her best.

“Since I am allowing you your own way about absolutely everything, you had better tell me exactly what it is you want, Kathe.”

“Sim, Sim, you are a devil,” she accused, laughing up at him, but if he thought her too shy to demand what she wanted, and in graphic terms, he was in for the shock of his life.

When he had acceded to all her demands, he made some of his own just to be scrupulously fair about their equality. She lay clinging to him in wonder. Their mating in this high North Tower had been cataclysmic, and she knew Simon agreed when he whispered, “Kenilworth has over a hundred chambers and I’ve decided to make love to you in every one of them, beginning tonight in our own Caesar Tower.”

She slapped him. “You are insatiable. I intend to spend the rest of the evening with the children whom you have kept me from for a whole week.” She sat up and reached for her gown.

He knelt behind her and dipped his head to touch his lips to the nape of her neck. He knew what he had to tell her would exasperate her beyond measure and kept his hands upon her to gentle her. “You’ll have to hurry your time with the children tonight. Half the earls and barons of England are here at Kenilworth. If you will dine with me tonight, I promise it won’t deteriorate into open warfare again.”

“Oh, bugger! Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, thumping him soundly. “What must they think of me as a chatelaine? Have you shown off the library; the books of Aristotle
I acquired? Did the cooks use saffron in the rice? I pray to God you have not served them that iron-flavored domestic wine.”

Simon lost no time carrying her to their own Caesar Tower now that he had diverted her. Suddenly she stopped her incessant questions and went very still. Her eyes widened as realization dawned. “Simon, what’s going on? Why are they here?” Her voice had gone husky with apprehension.

He touched his lips to hers. “Don’t worry your pretty head about such things.”

“Simon, don’t do this. Don’t patronize me. I want to be your partner, not just your plaything.”

He looked down at her lovely face. Their eyes met and held. Finally he nodded. “I will tell you all … in bed tonight.” He set her feet to the rug. “Have the servants build us a fire up here. There are promises I made myself that I intend to keep.”

She shuddered as a curl of desire spiraled from deep within her belly up to her breasts. As he left she heard him chuckle. “Jealous, begod!”

She stared at the doorway long after he had gone. He was the most physically magnificent man she had ever laid eyes upon. She was willing to bet that every female who had ever seen him had longed to know what it would feel like to be made love to by the war god. It was nothing so tame as jealousy she had experienced. It was like being consumed by the burning fires of hell.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and was appalled. She summoned her women and began issuing orders like a general, then she sent for the children so she could enjoy giving them their nightly bath before she took her own. The moment she was dressed she descended upon the kitchens and the buttery, giving her household clear and concise instructions about the food and wine. She spoke with the housekeeper in charge of linens to assure herself the guest chambers were plenished each day with fresh linens, candles, and refreshments. She ordered her Welsh minstrels to play at dinner and even selected the ballads that were to be sung. She sent half a dozen pages scurrying with messages: one to Jack at the bathhouse telling him to keep hot water available around the clock. She advised
Hicke the tailor that their guests might need his services for small repairs to their wardrobes. She sent a note to the chapel informing the priest that the doors must not be locked after compline. She supposed Simon had spoken with the stable grooms about keeping mounts ready for hunting, but just in case she sent a squire with a reminder, then bade him go above to the mews to tell the falconer his birds of prey must be put on half rations to make them hungry for the kill. She stood absolutely still for a moment and counted off on her fingers the items that she thought needed her attention, then just to be on the safe side, she sent word to her breweress to double her order for ale this week.

Seemingly without effort she managed to be in the dining hall to greet each visiting noble as he arrived for dinner. She looked deliciously feminine in pale peach velvet trimmed with delicate swansdown. Eleanor knew the power of color. When she wanted to steal the limelight from other women, she wore red or another brilliant jewel tone; when she wanted to assert her authority, she wore black or something equally dark. Tonight she wished to make men’s hearts melt; hence the pastel gown.

Simon de Montfort’s heart filled with pride as he joined his exquisite wife to greet their guests. She had a way of running her eyes over a man’s frame that made him feel all male. She aroused the wish to protect her in a man, so that he envied de Montfort his role. She dazzled each man with her smile, which seemed for him alone, and her whispered inquiries about his comfort and needs emphasized his importance in her eyes.

She moved graciously from group to group and if any there were not in de Montfort’s pocket when they entered the hall, they were by the time they retired to bed.