4

Jane Leslie climbed the hills behind Dumfries on her way to the forest to gather herbs. She bent to pick a wild yellow pansy and tucked it behind her ear. Once she entered the shaded forest, Jane began to search for speedwell with its pale green, hairy leaves that trailed upon the ground. Speedwell was good for coughs and consumptions. When she came to a boggy place, she identified an alder bush, just coming into bud. Jane gathered handfuls of leaves, knowing there was nothing better for ridding a chamber of fleas that gathered over the long winter. She folded the leaves into the large cloth bag she carried and walked deeper into the woods.

When she saw a patch of dragon-wort, Jane pulled it up by its black-knobbed root and popped it into the bag. It cured many ailments such as vomiting, bruises, bites or stings, and also stopped the bleeding when a woman began to miscarry.

As she neared the forest pool, she grew tense with anticipation, wondering if she would again encounter the lynx. She felt both fear and fascination for the magnificent predator and slowed her pace so that she moved noiselessly.

Jane became aware of his powerful presence almost before she saw him. Completely hidden behind a canopy of leaves, she watched the lynx dip his magnificent head toward the water to drink. He was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen in her life. She watched mesmerized as he entered the water and began to swim.

Jane longed to form a bond with him as she did with other animals. What a rare privilege it would be if some day she could swim alongside him. Then she remembered her brother Keith’s words about the lynx being an omen of fateful things to come. Cautiously, she moved back through the trees, then when she was a safe distance away, hurried back to the protective walls of Dumfries.

It was lambing season, and Ben and Sim Leslie were the master shepherds of flocks that numbered over a thousand sheep. That afternoon Jane helped her brothers with the ewes that were in labor. “Sim, have you lost any of your flock to wolves lately?”

“Not many, the dogs are well trained tae warn us when a marauder is nigh.”

“That’s good.” Jane hesitated, then asked tentatively, “Have you ever seen a lynx in these parts?”

“Nay.” Sim shook his head. “This is out of their territory. Later, when we take the flocks to graze in the Uplands, we’ll encounter big cats. There’s lots up in the Pentlands and the Lammermuirs.”

Jane lapsed into silence, glad that her lynx was not decimating Dumfries’ flocks.

By the time night fell there were three tiny, motherless lambs who would not survive without Jane’s tender care. Sim carried them to the stone cottage, where Jane laid them before the hearth to keep them warm.

Megotta had water boiling so that Jane could wash away the blood and mucus that covered her from neck to knees. When Jane was clean she moved toward the hearth.

“Nay, ye will eat before ye tend them. Ye must keep up yer strength or yer power will be diminished.”

Jane knew the truth of her grandmother’s words. She would have to work over the black-faced lambs for hours if she hoped to save them. She obediently joined Megotta in a bowl of hearty stew flavored with herbs.

“Kate and Mary didn’t say anything to Father about finding me a husband, did they?”

Though Megotta knew full well the subject had been thoroughly discussed and solutions suggested, she felt she could overrule Jock regarding his youngest daughter. “Jane, I give ye my word that ye won’t be forced tae marry. Put the disturbin’ thought out of yer head. There’s none good enough in these parts tae be husband tae ye. I’ll not see ye sacrificed tae a swineherd or some such lout.”

Reassured, Jane filled a small stone bottle from a pan of ewe’s milk that stood warming by the fire, then she pushed a clean linen wad into the narrow neck and tipped it up until the linen became saturated. Gently, she lifted the smallest lamb and gave it the linen teat. It seemed too small and lifeless to suckle at first, but Jane’s voice and hands began to work their magic.

At the end of half an hour she had managed to get some milk inside the frail creature, and its fleece, now dry and fluffy from Jane’s insistent fingers, made it look as if she held a fuzzy ball of wool. She laid it back on the hearth and picked up the second frail creature. With gentle forbearance, Jane ministered to the tiny trio until the hour was late.

Megotta brought a blanket to the hearth. “Get some rest, child.” Jane smiled her thanks, as she tucked the lambs about her and lay down before the fire. With their little bellies full, she knew they would doze for the next few hours. Her last thought before she slept was of her magnificent lynx.

Jane drifted into a dream where she found herself back in the forest. She was in a state of agitation because she knew that eyes watched her. The urge to flee came upon her, but she could not move. When she looked down at her ankles, they were entwined in long vines of bistort that held her fast. Jane could feel the eyes upon her, silently watching every move. Then she knew he was moving closer through the canopy of leaves.

As she opened her mouth to scream, a lynx glided through the trees. She was so relieved that the creature who watched her was not a man, she sank to the forest floor to catch her breath and still her pulses. Then a terrifying thing happened. Just when she thought she was safe, the lynx began to stalk her!

Slowly, it placed one great padded foot before the other, its green eyes fixed upon her intently. Then it crouched back on its haunches, ready to spring. Again, she opened her mouth to scream as the lynx launched itself at her. When he fell upon her she expected to be torn limb from limb, but what happened was just as horrific to Jane: The lynx transformed himself into a man! Her fear was mingled with awe; never had she seen a man of such size and beauty. Atop powerful shoulders was a mane of tawny hair and brilliant green eyes that could see into her very soul.

He held her fast in powerful hands. She sensed for the first time that he would be gentle with her. With tremendous relief Jane somehow knew he would not harm her. He inhaled the fragrance of her hair, then incredibly his lips touched her cheek. She watched mesmerized as his tongue came out to lick up and down her throat and over her collarbone.

Jane became acutely aware of her nakedness as he began to slowly lick her breasts. As his tongue curled about a nipple, its rough texture sent delicious sensations running through her body. Fear melted as it was replaced by intense pleasure and a strange excitement began to build deep inside her.

The man’s beautiful mouth moved down over her rib cage until she felt wet, warm swirls upon her bare belly. The pleasurable feeling this aroused was so intense, it made Jane close her eyes and low moans escaped her lips. He was in total command of her and that was the way she wanted it!

Jane awoke with a start and blushed at the wanton behavior she had enjoyed in her dream. She pushed all thoughts of the man out of her mind, but the image of the lynx was so powerful it remained with her. She felt compelled to paint herself a new touchstone talisman to protect her and keep her safe.

Her imagination conjured the different goddesses and symbols she might use such as fish, serpents, dragons, and stags, but she rejected all of them, settling instead on the image of the lynx. It was certainly the most powerful creature she had ever encountered. It was also majestic, its beauty proud and awesome. The lynx would be a source of power and energy for her as well as a sacred guardian.

    Lynx de Warenne and the other commanders rode north and joined the army the Bishop of Durham had gathered at Norham. From their camp Lynx rode out with the king, John de Warenne, and the other leaders to view the fortified city of Berwick. It was well protected by the sea and also by a deep channel cut by the river Tweed. Berwick Castle was perched on the north bank behind a stockade that was surrounded by a ditch.

“Who commands the garrison?” Edward Plantagenet demanded.

“William Douglas, Your Majesty, reputed to be a stout fighting man,” John de Warenne supplied.

“Demand the surrender of the castle,” Edward ordered.

John de Warenne chose Lynx to parley with the garrison’s commander, while the king and the other leaders retired back to camp. Lynx de Warenne was a fierce warrior who had cut his teeth on subduing Wales. Nevertheless, he abhorred unnecessary bloodshed.

With his squires flanking him, carrying white flags of truce, Lynx de Warenne rode into Berwick Castle and spent a full twenty hours at the negotiating table with William Douglas. Finally, in the small hours of the morning, he saw defeat writ on William Douglas’s face. Then and only then did de Warenne allow him a sop to his pride. “I will permit you to ride out with all honor and your men may march out flying your banner and the flag of Scotland.”

*   *   *

Edward Plantagenet, along with all of his commanders, rode up to Berwick’s gates to accept the surrender. Hundreds of men lined the top of the stockade to witness the proceedings. When Douglas rode out from the castle, the citizens of Berwick began to jeer at the English, brandishing weapons and chanting taunts and insults. Above the din, one invective could be heard clearly and Edward Plantagenet knew the ridicule was for him alone.

“Longshanks! Longshanks! Longshanks!” they taunted.

The infamous Plantagenet temper exploded like a volcanic eruption. King Edward unsheathed his sword and raised it in the air. “Attack! Attack!”

John de Warenne ordered the light cavalry to the king’s side, then quickly organized a battalion of foot soldiers to follow them. Edward, on his great stallion Bayard, leaped over the ditch and galloped to the stockade, flanked by his nephew, Richard of Cornwall, and Fitz-Waren. Their horses sailed over the low stockade, then Fitz-Waren ordered that its timbers be set aflame. The defenders atop it scattered in panic and the English foot soldiers flooded into Berwick like a tidal wave.

Suddenly, one arrow found its mark and entered the eye-slit of Richard of Cornwall’s helmet. Edward watched in horror as his nephew fell dead from his horse. His ice-blue eyes sought John de Warenne’s as he issued the dreaded order, “No quarter! Put every man of Berwick to the sword!”

Lynx de Warenne knew nothing of the disastrous events taking place outside the castle. Flanked by his squires, he waited at the rear of the long column of surrendering troops. When he finally emerged from Berwick Castle into the sunlight, a bloody battle was being waged in the streets of the city.

“Why are we not taking prisoners?” Lynx demanded grimly when he finally found his uncle.

“Richard of Cornwall was killed; Edward ordered no quarter!” John told him bluntly.

Lynx jammed his helmet back on his head and turned his destrier around. He and his squires rode through the streets back toward the castle with weapons drawn, but few approached the three great warhorses whose murderous hooves could trample them dead. Without hesitation Lynx de Warenne strode into the great hall of Berwick Castle, which Edward Plantagenet now occupied. “Berwick Castle is ours and the city of Berwick is ours also,” he announced. “Further slaughter is unnecessary, Your Majesty.”

The blue Plantagenet eyes glittered dangerously. “I ordered every man of Berwick put to the sword!”

“Sire, some of these men are not soldiers, they are citizens, burghers, craftsmen.”

“These burghers sank our ships and killed Richard of Cornwall! Do you presume to question my orders, de Warenne?”

“I do, Sire. There is no honor in this carnage. When the pages of history are writ, do you wish to be immortalized as England’s greatest king and lawmaker or as the butcher of Berwick?”

The king’s eyes narrowed. “You argue as passionately as your sister. All the de Warennes are damned presumptuous!”

“I dare speak my mind only because my loyalty is absolute. If you do not call a halt, the hatred between Scots and English will deepen so that it will be impossible to ever unite the two countries. What I witnessed outside covers me with shame, but worse, it covers you with shame, Sire. There are women and children being slaughtered out there.”

“Nay, my order was to kill only the men. Call a halt!”

Lynx de Warenne did not linger. He had what he had come for. Now he must get the word out to an army drunk with bloodlust.

    Jory de Warenne could not remember a journey she had enjoyed more than the one from Newcastle to Wigton. Both she and Robert Bruce had indulged in an outrageous flirtation that lasted the entire ride. They were exceedingly formal within earshot of others, but the moment they knew they could not be overheard, they teased and toyed with each other in a shockingly intimate fashion. It was a game they enjoyed, made doubly delicious because it was a secret they alone shared.

Jory stood atop Wigton Castle gazing off in the direction of Carlisle, only eight miles away. The Bruce had brought her up to the ramparts knowing it was a place where they could be alone together. Robert stood so close to her, their bodies almost touched. Jory had to lean her head back to look up at him. His dark eyes licked over her like a candle flame. “I know Wigton intimately. It was one of the castles we seized when Baliol came to the throne and we were at odds with the English.”

Jory gazed up at him. “I can see you now, breaching her defenses, forcing her to your will, making her yield.”

He lifted a tress of silver-gilt hair that was being ruffled by the breeze. “Conquest is in my blood.”

As Jory looked up at him she pictured a conqueror, his claymore and battle-ax dripping blood. He wore a breastplate over his massive chest, but his arms and shoulders were naked, travel-stained with dirt and sweat.

Marjory felt her legs grow weak and her body begin to tremble uncontrollably as she watched his fierce gaze sweep over her. Her breath stopped in her throat. “Robert!” She felt herself sway.

He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her toward the stairs. How did he know her own legs were too weak to carry her to her chamber? Jory could not tear her eyes from him. He glistened with sweat and dirt, and the hard metal that covered his chest was hurting her breast that was pressed tightly against him. She welcomed the hurt! With each step he took the world and everyone in it receded farther away.

An ache began deep in her belly, then spread up through her heart and into her throat. Her very skin became sensitized as the wool of her gown touching her body made her want to scream. His arms were so powerful and made her feel so secure, she wanted them about her forever.

Jory was lost, utterly lost. She was limp no longer, and neither was he. He filled her with energy, he filled her with hunger, he filled her with lust! She had no previous experience of the pure animal need. Her swift arousal staggered her. She knew he was experiencing an arousal of his own. No! It wasn’t a separate thing at all. They shared the same arousal. Equally. It bound them together inextricably with its chains.

Jory flung an arm in the direction of her chamber and he understood the gesture without need of words. He carried her inside, kicked the door closed, then set her feet to the rug while he unbuckled his breastplate. She clung to him to keep from falling, wondering at the madness that gripped her to possess him, and to be possessed.

He had the broadest chest she had ever seen in her life. She couldn’t tear her gaze from it. He looked as if he’d been sculpted from bronze; he felt as hard as metal too. Her hands came up to glide over the superb musculature. “Robert!”

His mouth came down to taste his name on her lips. There was nothing tentative about the kiss. It was hard and savage and selfish. Jory realized at this moment that he was uncivilized, and heaven be praised, so was she. Together they tore off her gown and stripped the Bruce naked. Before the last garment fell away, Jory was climbing him as if he were an oak tree. Always before, when she had been intimate with her husband, she had been bathed and scented in the bedchamber. Now she smelled like nothing but a woman. He smelled like a man ripe with lust.

Robert grasped her buttocks, anchoring her as he impaled her on his upthrust shaft. Both cried out with the glory of it. Jory was panting with need, moaning and clawing and crying like a feline in heat. Fused together, they fell to the bed, his weight crushing her. He infused her with so much sexual energy she arched beneath him, lifting his magnificent body for the pure sensual bliss of feeling him plunge ever deeper.

It was as if he were storming her defenses with a battering ram. Jory threw back her head and laughed wildly. Her defenses had come down before he’d ever touched her. Robert’s own laughter rolled over her as he pounded his body into hers. It was rough and elemental and like nothing she’d ever experienced in her marriage.

Jory became so frenzied she began to bite him. It turned the tide instantly for both of them. One minute she was drowning in need, the next she was soaring on the crest of a wave of pleasure, her body dissolving in liquid tremors, sheathing his scalding, marble-hard manroot as it burst, spurting his male essence up inside her like molten sparks of fire.

When they were both fully spent, he rolled on his back and took her with him. Jory’s eyes gazed down into his, devouring him. The cataclysmic mating had shaken her, changed her. She had always known she was sensual and feminine. Now she realized sensuality paled beside what she experienced with this man. He could do anything to her and she would welcome it, crave it. Her heart soared with her newfound knowledge. He was the magnificent Robert Bruce and she was a perfect match for him!

His eyes traveled up her body as if he owned it, then came to rest on her heart-shaped face. His nostrils flared at the mingled scent of their bodies. She was so fragile, ethereal almost, he marveled that he had not shattered her. He had wanted her beneath him since he’d seen her at Newcastle. Nay, he’d wanted her sheathing his cock five years ago when she was seventeen. “I’m sorry, lass.”

Jory’s eyes clouded momentarily, then a smile lit up her face. “You lying bastard!”

He laughed then. “Nay, I’m not sorry, I am triumphant.”

She touched her lips to his heart, licking the sweat glistening there.

He lifted her off his body and laid her on her back beside him. Then he came up on his knees, straddling her, his eyes smoldering as his fingers began to explore the prize he had taken.

“Robert, not again!” she gasped.

“Jory, we only fucked. Now I’m going to make love to you.”

She felt as if her very bones would melt.

The lovers looked like complete opposites, one so strong, the other fragile; one so big, the other petite; one dark and swarthy, the other so unearthly fair. But under the skin they were perfectly matched, not only sexually, but temperamentally.

The Bruce’s lovemaking was slow, unhurried, and completely thorough, but the moment their appetites were slaked and they were both satisfied, he was off the bed and dressing.

“Carry me off to Carlisle,” she whispered.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Temptation is in my blood.” For the space of a heartbeat, she thought he would take her, then the truth of the situation dawned on her. “You won’t be staying at Carlisle, will you, Robert?” she asked wistfully.

He scooped her from the bed and enfolded her against him with massive arms. “Soon I go to topple a king from his throne and to take back my castles, then Annandale.”

Robert Brace’s resolve and ambition were so powerful Jory almost felt awed by them. “And then take Scotland?” she asked breathlessly.

He searched her face with his dark brilliant eyes. “You’ve seen inside my heart and read its secrets.” He kissed her swiftly, then spun her about and slapped her bottom. “I’m a bloody fool to let a woman come that close. Hurry and dress.”

    A week later, Jory knew she could stay indoors no longer. The hills and dales were dotted with lambs, an early spring had brought everything into bloom, and the game was plentiful. She decided to go riding, mayhap even organize a hunt. She picked up her skirts and went to seek Alicia, thinking she must be just as ready for diversion as Jory herself was.

Alicia had chosen beautiful rooms in the front wing overlooking the Cumbrian Mountains. The magnificent Skiddaw, whose peak disappeared into the clouds, seemed close enough to touch from her chamber windows. Marjory tapped lightly on her door and waited. When no one answered her knock, she assumed Alicia must be downstairs. Then she heard a low moan.

Jory moved closer to the door and called Alicia’s name softly. Again, she heard a moan of distress and immediately turned the knob. There were times when Jory found Alicia Bolton extremely tiresome, but she was filled with concern the moment she saw Alicia doubled over with pain.

“Oh my dear, whatever is it?” Jory asked, rushing to her side.

“It’s nothing. Leave me alone!”

“Nothing? But you are in agony—have you been poisoned?” Jory picked up a goblet with dark liquid in the bottom and sniffed it.

“Stop spying on me!” Alicia screamed, holding her belly as if she were in the throes of labor.

Then Jory saw the girl’s skirts were soaked with blood. “My God, you’re hemorrhaging—let me help you!”

Alicia burst into tears. “Don’t tell Lynx, promise me you won’t tell him?”

Marjory de Warenne’s eyes widened as comprehension dawned. Alicia Bolton was aborting a child! The brownish liquid in the goblet was pennyroyal, a strong abortifacient whose aromatic smell was quite distinctive.

Jory ran to the bed, pulled off a sheet, and tore it into squares of linen. “We have to get this bleeding stopped!” Her heartbeat was drumming inside her ears. God’s tears, didn’t the woman realize she could die?

“It will stop,” Alicia assured her through gritted teeth. “The pain is terrible, but with pennyroyal there is no vomiting or purging of the bowel.”

“You’ve done this before?” Jory asked, horrified. She was shocked at what Alicia had been doing. It was a revelation to discover that her brother was perfectly capable of siring children. How selfish Alicia had been to deny Lynx his heart’s desire; he so desperately wanted a child.

“Come, let me help you to bed,” Jory said to Alicia, thinking the woman was her own worst enemy. Didn’t she realize that Lynx would marry her in a minute if she bore him a child? Jory was on the verge of telling her this, when she reconsidered. She’s not good enough for him!

“Jory, please, swear you won’t betray me?” Alicia begged frantically. “This is punishment enough!”

Though Jory was repulsed by what Alice Bolton had done, she felt compassion for the suffering woman. “I won’t betray you, Alicia, but I strongly advise you to confess all to my brother.”