Eleanor caught her breath as his hot mouth took her ruching nipple and her whole areola inside and his tongue curled about the peak, sending a streak of molten fire along every vein. His lovemaking had been so gentle since the baby, but clearly gentleness was the last thing on his mind tonight. He was making love as if it were the first time, or the last.
Her lips pressed against the strong column of his throat and traced a path to his ear. “Why hurry?” she purred.
“We only have ’til dawn,” he said hoarsely, telling her that after one night of passion he would be gone the moment she closed her eyes in exhausted sleep. He had deliberately awakened her desire before he had told her he was planning to leave. Her woman’s cleft was all slippery from the bath and he had already managed to slip the head of his huge shaft inside her and was urging her to wrap her legs about him so he could bury himself to the hilt.
She moved, forcing him out of her. “You leave at dawn? That means you have been preparing for days and said nothing to me!”
His hands pulled her thighs apart and he forced himself back into her. “I love to thrust up into you while we’re standing.” She loved it too and moved her hips so that she took him whole. She gasped at the sheer fullness of him. When she was able to speak again she said, “I have a hundred questions. Will you answer them?”
He thrust into her, hard. “No.”
She withdrew her sheath. “Yes!”
His powerful hands cupped her bottom and pulled her downward so that he impaled her. “No questions. Just trust me.”
Again she lifted her body so that he was all the way out of her. “No!” she cried.
He pulled her down and at the same time thrust up into her. “Yes!” His word was final. This was why she had been born. This was what her body had been made for. She could no longer speak or even think, she could only taste and smell and feel.
Between lovemaking when he cradled her in his arms and whispered love words that made her very bones melt, she tried to probe for information. He put his fingers to her lips to silence her questions. “Dearest love, once and for all time will you not trust me to do what is best, what is right?”
She sighed and kissed his fingertips, tasting herself upon them. She supposed that he was right. It was best that he return to being governor of Palestine so that their finances would no longer be a burden to them. De Montfort now had two sons to worry about, and she knew how extravagant she was. A smile curved her mouth as she remembered the hundreds of copper kitchen utensils she had ordered for Kenilworth.
He kissed the corners of her mouth. “Did a wicked thought just cross your mind?”
“My smile is one of guilt for all the things I buy myself,” she confessed.
“Never feel guilty, my sweetheart. ’tis good you buy the things you want, for the presents I buy you are few and far between,” he said ruefully, fingering the gold bracelet with which he’d gifted her after the first time they had made love.
She blushed, remembering. “Splendor of God, Sim, when I first saw you naked with that black leather contraption sheathing your prick, it’s a wonder I didn’t expire.”
He whispered, “So that’s what tempted you to fornicate. I thought it was the exhilaration of the wild ponies.”
“I confess it was a combination. You were so like a wild stallion—big, dark, powerful, savage. I knew I must experience you or regret it for the rest of my life.”
After a moment’s silence he asked softly, “Do you have any regrets, Eleanor?”
“Only one. I regret that it wasn’t you I wed when I was nine. How different our lives might have been. No shameful scandals; no exile.” She was thinking again and Simon had the cure for that. He lifted her over him and crushed her soft breasts against the hard muscles of his chest. She opened her thighs to his questing manroot and gave herself up to him.
“Ah, love, you trust your body to me so completely, will you not trust your life to me?” he beseeched.
“Sim, Sim, I trust, I yield to your will, your decisions, whatever they may be.”
He kissed her deeply then. He heard her clearly promise him everything he had ever wanted from her, but he knew she was in the throes of sensuality, and he was jaded just enough to wonder if she would take back her promise in the cold light of day.
Her lips were love-swollen, her breasts ached from hardening and softening so many times, her rosebud tingled with unbearable sensitivity, yet as the night hours galloped toward morning she clung to him desperately.
“You will send for me as soon as may be? As soon as Simon is old enough to travel? I don’t feel safe without you. I don’t feel whole or alive without you.” Was she debasing herself to tell him he meant more than life to her?
His lovemaking should have exhausted her hours ago, yet suddenly she knew a need to devour him. Her love-swollen lips moved down his body greedily seeking his male center, which never ever failed her. She bathed it with her tears then licked them off, feeling the onleaping as muscle turned to marble, filling her mouth with the full splendor of him.
“My love, my torment.” He groaned, and she felt satisfied, not realizing that he had promised her nothing.
When Eleanor opened her eyes a faint half light could be discerned from the window. She was filled with the languor of too much lovemaking. She stretched, naked in the bed, and curved her body toward her lover. With a shock she realized he was gone. Already she yearned for him. Love madness filled her with the urge to run to him in the courtyard and fling herself naked into his arms. She longed to press her soft breasts and thighs into his rigid armor, which was not much harder than his magnificent body that lay beneath that armor.
She ran to the window and flung aside the curtain. She opened her mouth to cry his beloved name and then she saw her. She emitted a silent scream for there mounted upon a milk-white steed beside de Montfort was the golden-haired beauty Eleanor had forgotten. She saw him raise the hood of the girl’s pale-blue cloak before they rode from the courtyard side by side. The hooves of his fighting men’s warhorses pounded after him interminably until she feared her eardrums would burst.
They had spent the entire night in each other’s arms. He had exhorted her to trust him and blindly she had pledged that trust. Now he had betrayed her! All the hours he had lain within her, he was planning his deception. For a few moments the sight of the woman blotted out all coherent thought, then slowly she perceived that something was odd. Surely if they were returning to Palestine they would sail from Brindisi, not travel overland.
She threw on a robe and with bare feet and hair flying she ran from her chamber and down the long flight of stone steps to the balustrade, then out to the courtyard. The last of the baggage train was rumbling through the gates. Wild-eyed she shouted to the driver to halt. “What is your destination?” she cried, suddenly knowing without being told.
The driver slowed, gave her a blissful grin and rejoiced, “We’re going home!”
Eleanor staggered as if she had been struck. Its impact knocked her outside of herself so that she could see and hear and watch herself as if from a short distance away. The cry torn from her throat was like that of a wounded she-wolf. She thought of her cub and felt she had been abandoned by her mate. She saw herself run back to her chamber, heard herself swearing and raving and raining curses upon the head of de Montfort. She rent her robe to ribbons, then started upon the bed linen on which they had coupled. Finally she threw herself upon the floor to sob out her heart.
It must have been hours later when a cool, mocking voice asked, “Are you done?” It was her own voice. “Put your childish histrionics aside, Eleanor, and plot your revenge.” When she dissected her feelings she knew she could have borne his going home without her if only he had shared the decision with her. He was no better than Selim had been, using a woman for only one purpose, negating her intelligence. She was honest enough to admit she could even have accepted that for now. In the near future she had intended to let him know that unless he treated
her as his equal, their relationship would be a stormy affair. The thing that stuck in her craw was the blond slave girl. Eleanor knew she consumed him when they were together, that no other woman satisfied his needs as she did. She knew her power over him and did not fear his taking a casual whore to satisfy his body’s needs. But the fact that he had taken the girl to England instead of her demanded retribution.
45
The king welcomed Simon back to the fold with the same rejoicing as the biblical father who killed the fatted calf. The barons had been adamant in their refusal to fight in Poitou, for as usual Henry was penniless and the barons knew he would try to squeeze them for the money for this war.
Henry knew de Montfort was his only chance and made it plain to the Savoys and his Lusignan brothers, who hated Simon, that they had better be cordial to the war lord who now sat with them in council. Simon convinced Henry that he never had any money because it was being mishandled.
Winchester and de Montfort had faced off in front of the king, and Simon had drawn steel threatening to rid England of those who sucked her dry. Henry had no choice but to order an investigation of the bishop. The king asked Peter des Roches for an accounting of all funds that passed through his hands in the multiple offices he held. Winchester knew this would be his downfall. Even if only a part of his machinations came to light, he would be accused of treason.
Winchester appealed desperately to the council. “Why do you allow this man’s will to dominate? If I am investigated, who will be next?” he cried.
Simon de Montfort fixed every member of the council with his smoldering black eyes and gave them Winchester’s own words. “There are two groups of people, the pitiful and the pitiless. I have no doubt to which group you belong.” At long last he had decided that since Henry was a puppet king, from now on it would be Simon de Montfort who pulled the strings.
Accounting for monies was not Winchester’s only worry. Rickard de Burgh had made a quick trip to Ireland and secured a copy of the incriminating letter ordering the latest marshal’s demise. Realizing he could be blamed, and ever a coward, Henry pointed to the man who had use of his privy seal. By the time an order was signed for Winchester’s arrest, he had fled the country, but his son Peter des Rivaux was seized and thrown into the Tower.
Simon de Montfort knew it was time to press for Hubert de Burgh’s reinstatement. England’s barons and citizens were outraged at the injustice done to the noble English leaders by the foreigners Henry had clasped to his bosom. Simon was loath to use blackmail and instead persuaded the king that if he pardoned Hubert, the fighting men of the Cinque Ports might be amenable to fighting in France.
Simon could not believe how much he had accomplished in such a short time. The elements hostile to Henry had turned to him for leadership. They seemed to revere his ability and soldierly gifts. Here was a man who was not afraid to stand up to the king. He was ever willing to take heavy risks in the name of justice, and more and more rallied about him. With seeming ease he had assumed the leadership.
Eleanor resolved to return to England within the month. She fed her lusty son Simon whenever he showed the least signs of hunger, outraging his nurses. She rode every morning and walked on the beach each afternoon until she was positively glowing with health. Without hesitation she asked her brother-in-law Frederick for a ship to transport her. She met with its captain and pored over maps and charts with him until she was satisfied he would sail the quickest route, taking her all the way up the Bristol Channel into the River Severn, only fifty short miles from her beloved Kenilworth.
Her days were overfull, but her nights provided long, lonely hours that she filled with plots of revenge. Her imagination worked overtime, picturing de Montfort and his slave girl. She swore that if she found the nameless creature at Kenilworth, she would kill her, then she would turn her knife upon de Montfort! Nay, better yet, she reasoned, since he had wed her only for ambition, for her royal Plantagenet connection, she would get her marriage set aside. Half of England believed her marriage was invalid anyway. She would have no trouble bending Henry to her will if she was determined enough. Had not de Montfort gifted her with Kenilworth? She smiled cruelly. If he set foot in the place she would have the guards turn him out. She would set the dogs upon him!
Eleanor whipped her thoughts to the boiling point so she could get through the unbearable dark hour from three to four in the morning when she often thought she would die if she did not soon feel his strong arms about her.
Grudgingly the barons and the lesser nobility committed to fighting in France, but they told de Montfort bluntly their allegiance was to him and not to Henry and the half brothers the wanton Queen Isabella had spawned. Most were reluctant to squander the lives of their knights and men-at-arms on French soil and offered only a token number. To make up for it however, they pledged money.
Tirelessly Simon visited every county, even traveling to Ireland and Wales to muster sufficient men and money for the king’s latest cause. He had committed himself to Henry in exchange for a voice on the council and a position of leadership in the country. His staunch loyalty made him keep his end of the bargain since the king had kept his.
Roger Bigod was confirmed as the new Marshal of England and added his weight to Simon’s efforts. In all the king spent over a hundred thousand crowns to outfit the army his mother had asked for, half of which had to be paid to buy mercenaries because the barons would not commit more than a fraction of their men.
Simon de Montfort warned Henry of France’s might. He had spent over half his life fighting there and never underestimated Louis of France. He gave the king his best advice, which was to postpone sailing until they had recruited more men. Henry, however, was adamant. He insisted they were only aiding his mother in Poitou. Her husband, the Count of La Marche, had united the provinces of the south and west and all the Gascony barons were committed to the rebellion. Henry insisted that England was not expected to win this war single-handed.
The campaign proved a disastrous failure. When Hugh La Marche found himself confronted by the superior French army, he became convinced it was a lost cause and began negotiating a peace treaty. King Henry found himself in the uncomfortable position of having to return home with absolutely nothing to show for the hundred thousand he had wasted. The wrath of the half brothers he had failed was nothing compared to the dangerous mood of the barons. They had had enough. A parliament was called for the following month and a rallying cry went up. “We already have an army, we already have a leader; let us utilize both!”
Simon de Montfort knew what lay ahead. He was determined to visit his beloved Kenilworth to arm and fortify it before the serious trouble began. He took with him twenty of his knights who were married and whose wives now resided at Kenilworth. They took only two days to cover the ground between London and the River Avon.
It was springtime and the beauty of the countryside made him wish fervently that Eleanor could see every hillside dotted with lambs, could smell the heavily laden hawthorne blossoms, could taste the salt of the seabreezes that swept inland up every valley, and could feel the raindrops of a fresh spring shower. He had a deep and abiding love for England and Englishmen. He felt good because he knew what he did was right. The short term might well be horrendous and he was glad that Eleanor was safely out of it, but in the long run he would be instrumental in restoring England to the English. He would bring justice and good government back to the people. He smiled to himself, knowing he had become almost fanatical in his devotion to the cause of better government.
In the late afternoon the Earl of Leicester and his men were silhouetted against the sky as they approached the causeway to Kenilworth. A great cry went up from the walls the moment the earl was recognized. As soon as Eleanor heard the clamor, the hair on the nape of her neck stood on end. The joyous cries could only be for one man, Simon de Montfort.
She had ridden out to inspect the spring planting and was wearing her scarlet woolen cloak from Wales. She took a fi
rm grip upon her riding whip and ran as fast as she could toward Kenilworth’s two-story gatehouse, her cloak and her hair flying about her wildly. She flew up the stairs of the gatehouse and breathlessly faced the guard on the portcullis. “Do not raise it!” she commanded.
“’tis himself, the war lord,” the guard explained, his grin splitting his face.
“I know damn well who it is. Have I not eyes in my head? I forbid you to allow him entrance here!”
The guard gaped. “Lady … I dare not deny the master entry to his own castle.”
She brandished her whip in his face. “I am master here … I, Eleanor Plantagenet!”
The riders had drawn rein and stood below looking up to the gatehouse. The earl’s deep voice rang out. “Eleanor, Splendor of God, what are you doing here?” he demanded.
The breeze whipped her scarlet cloak and her black hair about her as if it wanted to play its part in this delicious confrontation. “Defending my castle against a traitorous, lecherous Frenchman!” she threw down at him.
Simon shaded his eyes to learn the identity of the man who worked the portcullis. “Jock, raise the grate, man, we’ve just ridden a hundred miles,” he ordered impatiently.
As Jock’s hands reached for the wheel, Eleanor lashed out with her whip. “You will obey my orders under penalty of death,” she vowed.
As Simon glared up at her she stood proudly like a wild young animal, as unattainable as the moon. De Montfort swore an oath, which she heard clearly. His deep voice always aroused a queer little shiver in her. She focused all her will in her eyes as she looked down upon him. “Be gone from this place.”
What madness possessed her? “This time—this time I really shall beat you, Eleanor,” he threatened.
“Guards, to me!” she cried, summoning the soldiers who walked the crenellated outer walls of the ward. They came, not daring to disobey Eleanor Plantagenet. “Ready your longbows,” she ordered. Again, yet more slowly, they obeyed and notched their arrows.