Sword of Justice (White Knight Series) by Jude Chapman Read Free Book Online Page A

Poitiers?”
    His eyes surveyed the overhang. He reached up and traced initials scratched into the chalky stone: a delicate J and a snaking D. “When Richard fought with his father over the Aquitaine, and we built the warming fire that nearly burnt down the wayside hut with us inside in a state of disrobe.”
    “Last year?” Jenna asked.
    “When we spent Eastertide with Queen Eleanor at Winchester Castle.” Richard had been very busy that year, waging war on many fronts. He put down a revolt launched by the rebellious counts of Aquitaine, launched a massive attack on Toulouse, and beat back King Philippe of France, all in prelude to inheriting the crown. “Again in the aerie. Bluebells lay like a carpet at our toes.” Drake added, “Our wet and very naked toes.”
    Preoccupied with thought, she stared in the distance. Her stormy eyes were troubled. “Have you heard? Prince John is to marry in a sennight.”
    “Isabelle of Gloucester was promised to him when he was a boy of nine.”
    He let his fingers explore forbidden reaches. She nudged his hand away and restored her skirts. “How can it be sanctioned? They’re cousins.” 
    “Third cousins.” 
    “Second, one generation removed, but still ….”
    “When your brother is king of England, anything can be sanctioned.” He found a honeyed corner of her lips. “Now he will have Gloucester and a new title to content him.”
    On a tide of anger, she sat up and glared down at Drake over a hair-draped shoulder. “To keep the peace between him and Richard, John will need more than Gloucester.”
    “Aye, knowing John. But I don’t wish to speak of the future earl of Gloucester.”
    He embraced Jenna and lowered her beneath him. In a ceremony as old as time, he unbraided her hair and splayed the silken gold into a crowning circle. Her face glistened with perspiration. She flung her arms to either side, the half-seamed sleeves falling away from milky flesh. Her mouth parted; she licked them moist.
    Drake made love to her. He was not gentle since this stolen night might well be the last he would spend with Jenna, perhaps forever and a day.
    Guilt having nothing to do with the crimes he was accused of committing, Drake fitzAlan had been made into an outlaw. As an outlaw, he must forsake Winchester and England. It behooved him to do so. But he had lied Jenna. He did know where he was going, to the day and the hour. Drake fitzAlan was to be so much cargo on the king’s ship Esnecca , coming out of Portsmouth to Barfleur, with armed escort arranged from there to Chinon. At the castle, the elder son of William fitzAlan was to be put under close watch, knowing William and Richard, under lock and key until word was sent of his proven innocence, if word was sent of his proven innocence. And so, while one fitzAlan brother had comparative freedom to come and go as he pleased, the other was to become a virtual prisoner in a foreign land, his future given over to others.
    But Stephen was the one sailing for Normandy, posing as Drake. And Drake was staying behind, answering to the name of Stephen, free to investigate his many crimes punishable by death. Poor Stephen. Poor Drake. For though he was to remain in Winchester, he would be cut off from Jenna as surely as if he were that cargo bound for the continent. But worse, if he were unable to prove his innocence, he faced exile from home, country, and everything else he held dear, not for a week or a month but for a lifetime.
    Sensing the truth though unaware of the particulars, Jenna did not want him to be gentle. They took what comfort they could, little enough as it was. “Oh, Drake, Drake,” she whispered. “How can I bear being parted from you?” She ran her fingers through his hair. Wrapped her hands around his neck. Pulled his head against her rosy breasts. Moaned with pleasure as he drank of her flesh. And with the guile of a maiden who was a maiden no more, guided his hand into golden reaches and let him take her