Chapter 22

My darling, you looked so incredibly handsome and kingly later that morning as you marched into the Great Hall with me following an obedient half-step behind. But before recounting the events of the morning, I think it’s only fair that I first respond to some points you raised in your most recent communication.

First, I did not lie to Horace. My cooking ability — such as it is — is a product of three things. The first is endless coaching from the tireless Ellie. (Were I in her position, I would have given up on me long ago!) The second was our arrangement for our honeymoon. Had I not learned how to cook we would have died of starvation sometime during the first month. The third thing, I reluctantly confess, is my incredible degree of love for you, my darling husband and master. For some inexplicable reason my love for you causes me to want to serve you in every way it’s possible for a woman to serve a man. Cooking is just one of those ways. Happy now?

With respect to asking Leila how she made out, I must agree with you: It wasn’t the best possible phrasing of the question I had in mind. As for the heartfelt applause I gave for your speech regarding sexual harassment ... I just don’t know about you, my darling. Me? Applaud ironically? Moi? Surely, you jest. After all, why would I not applaud your defense of sexual harassment? Did you ever harass me? You forced me to fight the dogs for scraps of food that very first night, of course. You forced me to present my naked body in all its detail for your inspection within moments of laying eyes on me. You fucked my ass off within hours of our first meeting.

“But harassment? You? Never! (And if you believe these words, dear heart, I can offer you a marvelous deal on a bridge they’re going to build in a place to be called Brooklyn in just a few hundred years. But right now you can get in on the ground floor... !)

Finally, my darling husband, my last remarks — as you well know — were nothing but the simple truth. If you wanted to fuck me in my eye socket, I would cheerfully gouge out my eye to open a hole for your cock. If you wished to fuck me through my belly button, I would cut a hole for you through to my back. If you wished one of my tits for your breakfast, my only question would be how you would like it prepared. Bill, my darling, I love you with my whole heart and soul!

But now to the events of the day.

Unlike yesterday, today, as soon as we were both seated, Leila marched in escorted by two officers of the Queen’s Own, Bill Morrison and a young ensign. Immediately following was Mike being pushed in his wheelchair by his orderly. Today Leila was wearing a simple light gray gown in a color that complemented her gorgeous eyes. Her hair glistens under the lights in all its incredible glory. (After all the time I spent brushing it— joyfully — it should gleam!) For the first time in months she even has shoes on her feet: lovely black slippers. (That woman has the loveliest hands and daintiest feet I’ve ever seen on a woman. But nonetheless, she is incredibly strong — and I don’t mean for a woman her size. I mean strong!)

It was utterly wonderful to see Bill hand her down to her seat on the stool and then kiss her fingertips. The junior officer did the same thing while Leila graciously thanked them for their escort. (I sincerely believe it was a greater pleasure for them than it was for her.) Betty Murphy, Julia, and Susan followed the group and took their seats behind her. Mike’s wheelchair was beside her stool and he just held her hand in his.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the kingdom,” you began, “this has been an utterly extraordinary trial from its outset. After all, how many capital cases have there ever been in which the defendant is also the principal accuser?” You paused and then added, “And in this case, the only accuser.”

Again you paused for effect and then continued, “Yesterday, we here in the courtroom all heard that Leila Jones’ dereliction of duty consisted of virtually bleeding her own body dry to save the life of our ward, Susan Hastings, Duchess of the North.” After another pause you continued, “This incredible act of self-sacrifice does not meet any definition of dereliction of duty I could possibly conceive of.

“Rather it was an act of incredible personal heroism. Susan said it best: ‘Greater love hath no man than he who gives up his life for a friend.’ Well, change ‘man’ to ‘woman’ and ‘friend’ to ‘daughter’, and you have this situation. Finally, I can tell you that to Susan Hastings, Leila Jones is her mother. When those two kiss — as you all saw here yesterday — enough electricity is generated to power this whole kingdom for at least a year.”

After another dramatic pause (you really do it so beautifully, my darling!) you continued, “As I said a few moments ago, this has been a very odd case. At any rate, we continued the hearing in our apartments yesterday afternoon and evening.” You held up your hands to quell the murmur of outrage from the assembly and added, “Queen Kate and I were just catching up with you people. What we heard was the story of the siege that we missed, but which you all lived through.

“But what did we learn? We learned that Leila Jones offered her body to all of the single men of our garrison at a time when their morale was through the floor. Because they had waged a fighting retreat, we hadn’t lost a man, and yet they felt defeated. And remember, it was upon these men that our very lives depended. She made love with every one of them. This is the public fornication of which she stands accused.”

You paused for a moment and looked out over the crowd. And it was a crowd. Fortunately I had alerted the chief engineer to the possibility, so I could feel the high-powered blowers exhausting the heat produced by hundreds of closely-packed bodies and could feel the chilled air coming in as the air-conditioning system got its first real test. I don’t believe a single additional person could have squeezed in behind the railing. As you looked over the people, I could see they were hanging on your every word.

You continued, “I cannot believe that offering her body to recharge my troops could possibly be considered fornication as the offense is described in our criminal code. Does anyone here disagree with my finding?” As you carefully looked around the hall, it became so silent one could literally hear a pin drop. There was not a single sound.

Finally you said, “Thank you. Accordingly, that charge is dismissed, also. This brings us to the most serious charge Miss Jones has leveled against herself: High Treason. Specifically, she charges herself with treasonably consorting with the enemy — and doing so during a battle. My dictionary defines consorting as ‘keeping company with.’ Well, what exactly did Miss Jones do?

“Before considering that question, there are a couple of other matters she neglected to mention yesterday. First, the matter of saving the life of our garrison commander, Major Michael Fletcher, Earl of Huntington, and in line to be Duke of Westmoreland.”

At this point you paused, shook your head and grinned. “Wow!” you exclaimed. “That was close! Had we lost Mike, I’m afraid the Duke would have gone to war against us, allied with the barbarians. For some strange reason, he seems to love his only son quite dearly. But how did Leila Jones save the Earl’s life? In a fashion similar to what you heard described by the Duchess of the North: She gave him virtually all of her blood.