13

Berwick Castle began to bulge at the seams from the horde of Scottish nobles pouring in with claims for their land. After the castle filled, the city of Berwick itself became clogged with wealthy men and women vying for elbowroom with the thieves, beggars, and whores.

Edward Plantagenet arrived at Berwick with days to spare, leaving his armies behind him to march south with all speed. John de Warenne accompanied the king, knowing that Percy, Clifford, Ulster, and the rest of his generals would see to their own men.

Lynx de Warenne set an easy pace for his bowmen; a two-hundred-mile trek on foot was no small undertaking. Fitz-Waren, on the other hand, spurred on his light cavalry, arriving in good time to secure rooms in Berwick Castle. Fitz hoped against hope that Jory de Warenne would show up, and if she did, he had a chamber next to his own to offer her.

The lust he felt toward Jory had grown since his fight with her brother, and if she came, he had made up his mind to fuck her. His beautiful cousin was a cock-teasing little bitch who begged for it, so this time he would give it to her. He stretched out on the bed in his chamber, imagining her beneath him. The corner of his mouth lifted; Jory would come, all right. She loved being on the front row of any important gathering.

When Jory arrived at Berwick Castle, her first order of business was locating Edward de Burgh, Earl of Ulster. Although Elizabeth adored her powerful father, she was still young enough to be terrified of his disapproval.

“Elizabeth, darling, do stop trembling; I’ll make sure his wrath does not descend upon you.”

“You don’t know him,” Elizabeth said faintly.

“He’s a man, that’s all I need to know,” Jory assured her with a wink.

Alice Bolton followed them into the bowels of the castle, hoping they would soon be rid of the fourteen-year-old.

Jory’s quick eyes soon picked out a man wearing Ulster’s badge on his sleeve who gave them directions to de Burgh’s chambers.

“What the devil are ye doing here?” he thundered, when his eyes fell upon the dark head of his daughter.

“She came with me, my lord earl,” Jory said, letting her hood fall back as she swept down into a curtsy deep enough to reveal the valley of her breasts to the man who ruled half of Ireland. Jory held out her hand and de Burgh gallantly raised her, kissing her fingers in the process. “Lady Marjory, is Lady Bruce here?”

“Alas, my lord, her husband’s health was such that she took him to England where the clime is kinder. She insisted that Elizabeth accompany her, but I could see the poor lady was already overburdened and so promised to take your lovely daughter under my own wing.”

De Burgh recalled Jory’s state of widowhood. “Thank ye, madam, that was most kind.”

“Not at all, my lord. Elizabeth is delightful company.” When she saw he was at a loss over what to do with his child, Jory offered, “I shall be happy to chaperon her here in Berwick, and her serving women never let her out of their sight.”

“Again, I thank ye. Fortunately, I have sufficient chambers for both of ye.”

Jory knew the earl’s squires and servants would be turfed out immediately, but took it as her due. She glanced questioningly at Alicia, who replied smugly, “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be sharing with Lynx.”

“Of course. Let us go and greet my worthy brother.”

After a long, futile search, Alice Bolton came to the furious conclusion that Lynx de Warenne was not in Berwick. She wanted to slap Jory in the face for dragging her all this way. She had been jostled and gaped at by men whose thick Scottish burr assaulted her ears and now wished heartily that she had accompanied Lady Bruce back to London. One uncouth lout who leered at her was actually wearing a bearskin whose odor made her gag. The sparkling amusement in Jory’s eyes made everything twice as bad. “He’ll pay for this,” Alicia said between clenched teeth.

“Hello, Coz, I never expected to see you here,” Fitz-Waren drawled as his gaze lingered on Jory’s breasts.

Her eyes narrowed. “Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for you, Fitz.”

“Hello, Roger, have you any idea where Lynx might be?” Alicia asked hopefully.

“I’m not his keeper. Were you counting on him to secure rooms for you? You surely must know by now his men come first.” His eyes were drawn back to Jory. “For the small price of a smile you may have this chamber next to mine.”

“The price is too high,” Jory said sweetly. “The Earl of Ulster has offered me his hospitality, but my friend here is in sore need. Smile at the man, Alicia.”

As the pair watched Marjory de Warenne depart, Alicia said, “I don’t know what ails her; one minute she is all smiles, the next, her tongue could clip tin.”

“I know what ails her; she needs a good bedding!” He stared after her, hating her, lusting for her, then hating himself for it.

Alicia giggled. “I never thought of that. Widowhood must be very trying.”

Suddenly, Fitz-Waren’s eyes filled with speculation as an unexpected opportunity presented itself to him. De Warenne’s mistress must also be suffering from nighttime starvation and Fitz-Waren decided that tupping his cousin’s strumpet would bring him a great deal of satisfaction.

Alicia’s sharp eyes saw the look and it gave her ideas of her own. The fact that he was Lynx’s cousin would make her revenge all the sweeter!

    When Jory returned to the chambers where Ulster was housed, she found him conversing with Robert Bruce as young Elizabeth sat listening, entranced.

“Lady Marjory, do ye know the Bruce?” Ulster asked.

In the biblical sense, Jory thought wickedly, but with an impersonal smile, said, “Aye, my lord, he is a friend of my brother.”

“Is Lynx here?” Bruce inquired.

“I’m afraid he hasn’t yet arrived.”

“When he does, he can find me in the east tower,” Bruce said smoothly.

“I shall remember, my lord,” Jory promised. “Please excuse me, gentlemen, I must find our baggage before some knave makes off with it.”

Elizabeth reluctantly followed her from the room. “I wish you had asked Robert Bruce to dine with us,” she said dreamily. “Men can’t resist you, Jory. You even have my father eating out of your hand.”

“Then I hope you are taking notes,” Jory teased.

“Oh, I am,” young Elizabeth de Burgh replied earnestly.

    It was after midnight before Jory unobtrusively slipped up to the east tower disguised as a page. Robert’s eyes brimmed with amusement as he twirled her about, viewing her from every angle. “Cock’s bones, you make a comely lad, but even a blind man wouldn’t be deceived.”

“And why not, pray tell?”

He pulled her toward him, caressing her breasts. “Because boys don’t have lovely titties, like these.” His hands moved lower. “Nor a round bum like this one.”

Jory lifted her mouth to his. “I missed you fiercely, you rogue, though I shouldn’t admit it.”

“And I, you, my love.” He pulled off her cap and lifted a handful of her pretty hair to his lips.

“Robert, I’ve been thinking about how we can be together for a while. Why don’t you invite Lynx to visit your great castle at Lochmaben?”

“You underestimate your brother’s intelligence.”

“Nay, I’m well aware I cannot manipulate him,” Jory sighed.

“You won’t need to,” Robert said with a grin. “He will be asking for lordship of Dumfries Castle, only eight miles from Lochmaben.”

Jory’s eyes widened. “I see your fine hand in this.” Then her eyes widened farther. “And feel your fine hand, too, you devil!”

“Feel this,” he invited wickedly.

Jory complied. She had a few demands of her own she couldn’t wait to issue.

“Cock’s bones, I never undressed a lad before. It has a hint of the forbidden about it,” he teased, stripping off the tight hose of a page boy.

She lifted her mouth to his. “I didn’t know what forbidden was until you took me in hand.” She teased him with her tongue. “Turnabout is fair play, Robert. Now I want to take you in hand … and mouth.”

“Do whatever you fancy, sweetheart,” he murmured huskily, lifting her and carrying her to the bed.

Jory came over him in the dominant position. “Tonight I intend to make love to you … at least the first time.” She took the greatest delight in removing the clothes from his powerful body, then her mouth began its hot, wet trail down his naked torso toward the goal she desired.

    In Fitz-Waren’s chamber, Alice Bolton sipped the third cup of dry red wine he had poured for them. She rather liked the taste; it reminded her of vinegar. Her inhibitions were at low ebb as she allowed Fitz-Waren to make free with her slim body. She experienced a moment of power; Lynx wasn’t the only member of the de Warenne family she could attract.

She soon discovered that Roger was not the lover Lynx was. In fact, some of the things he demanded of her were demeaning, but her pleasure was not derived from the sex acts she performed; her pleasure came from the satisfaction of knowing she deceived Lynx with his own cousin. When Lynx arrived, Alicia knew she would forgive him for bringing her north and even for his neglect; what she could never forgive was his indifference.

    The next morning Edward Plantagenet sat in the great hall of Berwick, receiving every landholder from Galloway to Caithness. William Ormsby, an English High Court justiciary, sat on the king’s right, while a dozen clerks recorded the names of those who had come forward to get their landholdings reconfirmed and pledge their allegiance to Edward. During the next month he would receive the submissions of over two thousand men, including all of the Scottish clergy. The list of names filled thirty-five skins of parchment, and the arrogant English nobles looking on dubbed it the “Ragman Roll.”

As Edward performed his kingly duties with great satisfaction, Lynx de Warenne and his squire Thomas shouldered their way up to the castle. Lynx couldn’t believe the crush of humanity that had squeezed into the Port of Berwick. Even the graveyards were packed, with tombstones serving as beds. He had no choice but to order his men to set up their tents in hayfields outside the city.

John de Warenne spotted Lynx’s tawny head above the crowd in the great hall and the two men embraced warmly, relieved to find each other unscathed from the recent fighting. Lynx could see that John was bursting with news.

“I have reason to believe Edward is going to appoint me Governor of Scotland!”

“Congratulations, John. You won the country for him, so it’s only right you govern it. I want lordship of Dumfries; I’m delighted you’ll be in a position to give it to me.”

“Don’t you want to go to France with Edward?”

“I do not. I’ve handfasted the daughter of Dumfries’ steward. If she quickens with child during the year of the handfasting, I’ll wed her.”

“Then I should congratulate you; but, Lynx, surely you know you could look to the highest ladies in the land?”

“It is the child that matters to me, John, not the wife; and Jane Leslie comes from a family of prolific breeders.”

“Ah,” John said, as understanding dawned, “so that’s the attraction.”

“By the look of this horde, we’ll be here a month of bloody Sundays. By the time I get back to Dumfries, I may have been gone six months; half my year will be gone.”

John laughed and thumped Lynx on the back. “Then you’ll have to double your efforts to make up for lost time.”

Thomas approached the de Warennes with a frown furrowing his forehead. “There’s not a cubbyhole left, my lord; even the bedbugs have been displaced.”

“Pitch my tent with the men.”

“Oh, I haven’t given up yet, my lord.” Thomas took a pair of dice from his doublet. “Never underestimate the luck of the Irish.”

“It might be politic for us to head toward the dining hall, or we won’t be fed either,” Lynx suggested.

When they arrived in the crowded room, Lynx de Warenne came face-to-face with Alice Bolton. He stared at her in disbelief. “How dare you come to Berwick without my permission, madam?”

“My lord … Lynx … Lady Bruce returned to England. Would you rather I had gone with her?” she asked archly.

Lynx suddenly realized that wouldn’t have displeased him in the least, then cursed himself for a coward. He knew he was tiring of her, but she had given him two years of her life and deserved better of him.

Fitz-Waren strolled up to John de Warenne. “What a crush; everyone and his whore are here.”

Alicia flushed furiously, and Lynx gave Fitz-Waren such a malevolent look, he stepped back.

“Excuse us,” Lynx said curtly, steering Alicia away from the others. “You should not be here. This parliament has been called to conduct important business of the realm. You should have stayed put until I sent for you.”

“It was Jory’s idea that we come! She insisted; I had little choice in the matter.”

Lynx’s grim expression softened somewhat. “Speak of the devil,” he murmured as Jory and Elizabeth de Burgh emerged through the crowd of men.

Jory stood on tiptoe to kiss her brother. “Don’t be fierce with me for coming, Lynx, history is being made here in Berwick.”

His laugh rang out. “As if you give a tinker’s damn for history. ’Twas the victory celebrations you couldn’t resist, flaunting your beauty before the Scots nobles and dancing until dawn every night.” When it became known her uncle was to be Governor of Scotland, Lynx realized she would be coveted by every last one.

“Speaking of Scots nobles, Robert Bruce was asking for you. He’s in the east tower.”

Lynx saw Elizabeth de Burgh blush prettily at the mere mention of the Brace’s name. She was no more than a child, yet her head was filled with romantic notions. Females were all alike, he decided cynically.

    Since his dice were loaded, Thomas had no difficulty securing a decent chamber for Lord de Warenne, and Lynx soon came to appreciate the comfort of a room over his campaign tent, when the parliament dragged on for a fourth then a fifth week. It seemed that Alicia had learned her lesson and waited for Lynx to send for her. He was in no hurry to see her, however.

Finally, when he was private with his sister, Lynx told her about the handfasting.

Jory exclaimed with delight, “At last, you are in love!”

“Splendor of God, of course I’m not in love. Jane Leslie and I hardly know each other. Two days after the ceremony, the king recalled me to the army, and by the time I return to Dumfries I’ll have been away six months.”

“You must be highly attracted to her; why else would you take a steward’s daughter to your bed?”

“To get her with child, of course. If she conceives, I intend to wed her.”

“There is something in de Warenne blood that makes us enjoy flaunting convention,” Jory said lightly.

“What the devil have you done now?” he demanded.

“Me? Tis you who will raise eyebrows, wedding beneath your station!”

“When I told Robert Bruce and John, their eyebrows stayed in place; as for the rest, I don’t give a damn. It’s my life.”

“And when you told Alicia?”

The muscles in his jaw clenched. “It has nothing whatsoever to do with her; she’s my mistress, for God’s sake.”

Marjory momentarily closed her eyes in prayer. I ask only one thing: please let me be there when Alice Bolton finds out!

    The month of September and half of October passed before the last name was recorded on the Ragman Roll and it was time for Edward Plantagenet to announce those who had been chosen to rule Scotland in his name. A hush fell over the crowded hall as the king named the three key officials he had appointed. John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, was named governor, and William Ormsby, the English High Court official, was named chief justiciar.

The murmurs of approval abruptly died when the third name was announced. The king appointed Hugh de Cressingham as treasurer. Both English and Scots despised this self-serving political upstart. Rumors were already flying that he had appropriated the money for rebuilding Berwick to his own use.

That evening, John de Warenne’s chambers were thronged with well-wishers as well as those who wished to curry favor with him. Fitz-Waren suddenly found himself being fawned upon now that his father was the Governor of Scotland, and his natural cupidity sprang to the fore. Fitz quickly realized that he could make himself a fortune. The idea of becoming filthy rich appealed to his greed, but not quite as much as did the power he would wield. He stroked the brow over his drooping eyelid and contemplated just what post he would request from his all-powerful father.

Lynx de Warenne drank a toast to his uncle’s appointment as governor and to Robert Bruce’s lordship of Annandale.

“Christ, you could have heard a cockroach fart in the hush that fell when Cressingham’s name was announced,” Bruce said.

“Making him treasurer was a grave mistake. Edward should have appointed at least one Scottish noble as viceroy. Mark my words, his choice will come back to haunt him,” Lynx predicted.

“He thinks Scotland crushed, but by ramming home his power, he arouses a determination to rise and fight.” Robert winked to temper his words. “Well, at least in me he does.”

“God’s teeth, cease this talk of fighting. Let us enjoy our castles in peace, at least through the winter.”

“Let’s see, it’s mid-October—five months to the end of winter. I’ll lay ye odds the Scots can’t keep the peace that long!”

“I’ll take that wager, but only because most Scots nobles will be out of the country. Edward has offered freedom to some of the men captured at Dunbar if they take up arms for England in the invasion of France.”

“Just so long as he keeps my enemy Comyn locked up, I’ll be happy.”

When the chambers emptied and the Bruce sought his east-tower room, John de Warenne had a nightcap with his nephew. “As governor, I willingly grant you lordship of Dumfries, Lynx, but there is a small string attached. It goes without saying you will keep an eye on our friend Robert’s activities.”