Книга - The Blacksmith’s Wife

The Blacksmith's Wife
Elisabeth Hobbes


A passion forged from fireRejected by her favoured knight, Joanna Sollers knows she will never love again. Especially when the man she’s now forced to marry is none other than her beloved’s half-brother!For blacksmith Hal Danby, marrying Joanna makes his life-long dream of entering the Smiths’ Guild possible, even if the secrets in his past mean he’ll forever keep his distance. But everything changes with one stolen night, and in the arms of his new bride, Hal wonders if this loveless arrangement could transform into something real…









His voice was hoarse.


‘When you touch me like that it tips me over the edge of madness. I want you so much it hurts beyond endurance. I’m cautioning you—if you carry on touching me that way I’ll take you here and now. I won’t be able to stop.’

Joanna licked her lips and swallowed. She slid her hand down between their bodies, feeling the proof of his words. She brushed her hand against the hardness she felt and lifted her face. Hal was watching her intently. She recognised in his expression the desire that filled her.

‘Then don’t stop,’ she murmured.


Author Note (#ulink_41454f6b-e1a2-5e72-a213-5fd559d7c85a)

This story takes place in and around my home town of York and the North York Moors, an area I consider one of the most beautiful and dramatic in Britain. I’d urge everyone to visit—especially when the heather is in bloom and there is purple in every direction.

All but two of the locations mentioned in the book are real. Around a third of the way through writing I was delighted to find a female blacksmith named Johane on the lists of guild members working from St Andrewgate. Ravenscrag and Wharram Danby are my creations, but owe a lot to the centuries-old villages on the moors, including Wharram Percy which is managed by English Heritage and can be visited.

Sir Terry Pratchett died while I was writing this book, saddening me more than I can articulate here. When Joanna decided to adopt a dog—nothing to do with me…I didn’t know she was going to!—he became my tribute to Gaspode the Wonder Dog. There’s also another of his characters I’ve borrowed. Please let me know if you spot him.

The dog belongs to a friend who agrees with me that dogs with human names are extremely funny, and that Simon is by far the best example. His name was an unplanned but amusing coincidence—I love it when completely unrelated areas of my life collide.

As with all my stories, a particular song acted as a focus for my writing. This time it was Every Day by Stevie Nicks.




The Blacksmith’s

Wife

Elisabeth Hobbes







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ELISABETH HOBBES grew up in York, where she spent most of her teenage years wandering around the city looking for a handsome Roman or Viking to sweep her off her feet. Elisabeth’s hobbies include skiing, Arabic dance and fencing—none of which has made it into a story yet. When she isn’t writing she spends her time reading, and is a pro at cooking while holding a book! Elisabeth lives in Cheshire with her husband, two children, and three cats with ridiculous names.


To Jenni, Paul and Fredi.

Thanks for the entertaining conversation about vellum and parchment. And the accompanying caipirinhas.


Contents

Cover (#u89346056-899c-5520-81a3-1193dbbb6a12)

Introduction (#u040045bb-15dc-5639-b865-ce0f810e2018)

Author Note (#uaa86f772-1ccc-5808-b4fc-20e8b6ae4f75)

Title Page (#uf082112c-4d74-593b-bdef-8817f9701300)

About the Author (#u69d5e653-3fdd-57f0-aa70-3dd78e1f7ec2)

Dedication (#u5e33a1bc-23ce-5922-8246-1636af13d31f)

Chapter One (#u6d3c04cb-6e64-5c8e-81ab-d2f5ece9f90f)

Chapter Two (#ufd287caf-1e3b-59f8-8f1f-f7c343672f3e)

Chapter Three (#u0344b839-716d-5a44-ace1-24626fdffd5c)

Chapter Four (#u9b555376-6dd9-520e-9b1c-4978ff77f0d8)

Chapter Five (#u4a5fbe67-69f9-59c5-857c-e436d198320c)

Chapter Six (#u864153e4-c241-5b2f-a15d-3426e1dcdb09)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_f443fe6f-1398-5ade-8043-6cc8fe8200f6)

Hooves thundered on the ground as the horses charged. Lances met armour, splintering on impact and sending shards of wood cascading across the lists. The riders wheeled their mounts round to face each other once more. The crowd roared, stamping feet, pounding fists against the wooden fences that separated them from the contestants. In the stands the women gasped in alarm, clutching each other’s hands in excitement and suspense. To watch was agonising, but not a watcher, high-or low-born, could bear to tear his or her eyes from the spectacle before them.

None more so than Joanna Sollers.

‘Sir Roger leads. Sir Godfrey must unseat him or deliver a strike to the head to win,’ muttered a man to Joanna’s left.

‘Sir Godfrey will win,’ his companion replied. ‘He has twice the experience of Sir Roger.’

Roger Danby would win the joust; Joanna’s certainty was iron hard. It was true that today’s encounters were between knights untried in battle but Sir Roger was the best and brightest. His skill on horseback was the talk of Yorkshire. He told Joanna so whenever she mentioned her fears for his safety, laughing at her protests as he silenced her with clandestine kisses, more forward and demanding each time they met.

Joanna forced her eyes back to the arena. At either end of the tilt the knights wiped sweat from their brows, as squires brought them fresh lances. Sir Roger’s chestnut stallion pounded the dirt fiercely, tossing its head, as eager to be off as its master.

Trumpets sounded and the knights lowered their visors once more, hefting their lances in readiness for the final encounter. A hush descended as the flag was raised. Joanna bit her lip anxiously. For three years she had known Sir Roger and could not remember him ever becoming unseated. Even so her hands twisted the linen scarf she held in her lap, tightening it around her fist until the blood pooled in her fingers.

The flag dropped and the knights charged, roaring. Sir Godfrey’s lance smashed into Sir Roger’s chest. The younger knight rolled his shoulder back and the lance remained unbroken. At the same time Sir Roger’s weapon caught his opponent square in the chest, shattering on impact. The crowd surged en masse to its feet in a deafening roar. Joanna let out a breath she had not even been aware she was holding.

Sir Roger was victorious, winning a purse of silver and his place in the following day’s competition.

The knights trotted back along the tilt, hands raised in salute to Sir Bartholomew Clifford, Sheriff of York. Sir Roger raised himself in his saddle, his eyes sweeping the crowd. Joanna leaned forward on the low wooden bench, desperate to catch his eye but knowing he was unlikely to spot her at the rear of the stands.

She craned her neck to see the central stand where noble ladies sat, dressed in a dazzling rainbow of silks and velvets and she felt a pang of longing. Perhaps this would be the year Sir Roger finally asked for her hand in marriage. If he continued to win tournaments he would soon have the riches he insisted were all that had prevented him asking so far.

The thought of becoming Lady Danby brought a smile to Joanna’s lips. She could scarcely believe that the niece of a merchant blacksmith had caught the eye of a nobleman. Roger had come to her uncle’s workshop seeking a new helmet and in Simon Vernon’s absence Joanna had taken the order. When her uncle had returned the young knight had been in no hurry to depart, his interest in the seventeen-year-old Joanna abundantly clear. Simon had strutted around St Andrewgate boasting to the other guild members for weeks of his niece’s skill at attracting such a prestigious suitor. For Joanna the matter was clearer. She loved Sir Roger. The months he was absent from York were grey and cheerless. She lived for the day he returned and her life once again was filled with warmth.

Lost in her reverie she almost missed the riders leaving the lists to loud cheers. Joanna sat back, her mind wandering as the next bout took place. Only one man claimed her interest and he would not be competing again until tomorrow. When the sun began to sink below the stands she left, threading her way through the rows of stalls, past trinket sellers, food vendors and entertainers.

Joanna crossed the river, then hesitated. Spread around the walls of the castle were the pavilions where the knights were camped. In her bag was a gift she had meant to leave for Sir Roger, but why not deliver it herself? He would have returned to the camp by now. She would see him at the banquet in the Common Hall that evening but she knew from sad experience they would scarcely get a moment alone. Other knights—and other women—would surround Roger.

Instead of taking the road that led back to the city, Joanna made her way among the throng of people heading towards the mass of brightly coloured tents.

‘What is your business in camp?’

Two guards stood with pikes crossed, admitting some visitors, refusing others. They gazed stony faced as they barred Joanna’s progress but she was prepared for that. She indicated the bulky leather bag tucked under her arm.

‘I have a delivery for Sir Roger Danby.’

‘I bet you do,’ the left guard said with a leer to his companion. ‘It’s a little early in the afternoon for that sort of delivery, isn’t it?’

A blush started prickling around the back of Joanna’s neck. She glared at him. ‘I come from the establishment of Simon Vernon, of the Smiths’ Guild. You dare to suggest...’

The guard held out a hand. ‘I’ll see it gets passed on.’

Joanna raised her chin. ‘I think not! I have promised to deliver it to Sir Roger myself.’

The guards rolled their eyes but let her pass. Their suggestive comments echoed in her ears and her cheeks coloured. She should not have come. Of course there would be women of dubious morals trying to gain access to the camp, but to be considered one of them was mortifying.

As soon as she was out of sight she smoothed her honey-blonde hair back behind her ears, sighing at the unruly single wave that refused to be suppressed by her plaits. She pulled at the sleeves of her thick woollen dress until her wrists were covered and checked the neckline was sufficiently demure so as not to cause comment. It was a surprisingly mild day for late February and she wished she had not worn such a heavy cloak. With a final adjustment of her cloak buckle she was satisfied. The guard’s insinuations had been unfair and unfounded. She looked exactly what she was: a respectable member of a merchant’s household, not some cheap doxy.

Joanna continued on her way, hefting the bag higher under her arm. Her mood lifted and she hid a smile. She hadn’t exactly lied to the guards. She was from Simon Vernon’s establishment; though it was unlikely her uncle would claim knowledge of her presence if he were questioned. And she had promised to deliver the package to Sir Roger’s own hands, even if the promise was only to herself.

Once inside no one paid Joanna any attention. The camp was as busy as the tournament ground had been and everyone was far too busy with their own affairs to notice one more person engaged on an errand. She found Sir Roger’s tent towards the back of the encampment, flying his blue pennant emblazoned with a green boar but it was empty save for Sir Roger’s page, a dull-witted boy of eight who sat in the corner playing jacks.

Joanna made her way to the courtyard where makeshift stables and workshops had been assembled. She had given up hope of finding Sir Roger when, through a sudden parting in the crowd, she saw familiar black curls and glimpsed the line of his jaw just as he turned away.

A thrill of anticipation rippled through Joanna as she eased her way towards him. It had been six months since Sir Roger had last been in York. Despite the urge to run to his arms Joanna stood back and watched in admiration.

Sir Roger was facing away from her, sharpening a sword with slow, sure strokes. He had removed his armour and padded woollen tunic, but instead of the customary fitted doublet of fine wool he favoured, he was dressed in britches and a shapeless tunic drawn in at the waist with a thick belt. As Joanna watched he laid the sword on a trestle table, rolled his head from side to side and stretched his arms high.

Intending to surprise him Joanna crept behind him. She reached on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, her lips close enough to brush against his hair.

‘Greetings, my lord, I’ve been searching for you.’

He stiffened and turned to face her. Joanna found herself gazing up into Sir Roger’s eyes.

In the face of a stranger.

Her mouth fell open and she stumbled backwards away from the man, dropping her bag. Explanations and apologies tumbled unintelligibly from her lips.

‘I didn’t know... I thought you were... I mean... I’m sorry!’

The man folded his arms across his broad chest. His lips curled into an amused smile. Joanna took another step back, her mind whirling with confusion and embarrassment. Her voice tailed off. Her heart was pounding so loudly she would swear it must be audible. She covered her face with her hands in an attempt to conceal the blush that was turning her pale complexion scarlet and peered through her fingers.

It was little wonder she had mistaken the man for Sir Roger. From behind they shared the same build and unruly curls. Facing her there was still a resemblance. She noticed for the first time that what she had taken for a belt was a long leather apron tied about his waist. Whoever he was, the stranger was no knight.

‘I beg your forgiveness!’ Joanna said, wincing with embarrassment.

The man ran a hand through the tangle of black curls that fell to just below his ears. He eyed Joanna with an open interest that made her heart thump.

‘No forgiveness needed. I thought Lady Fortune was finally smiling on me but alas it seems not,’ he said with an exaggerated note of regret. ‘It’s been so long since I have had such a greeting that I believe I should be thanking you for the experience! Perhaps I will do as a companion?’ he suggested.

The guards’ earlier comments flooded back. Another flush of shame heated Joanna’s cheeks, spreading across her chest to a neckline that suddenly felt much lower than before. Did this man also take her for a whore? Given her immodest greeting it would not be unlikely he had come to such a conclusion. ‘I don’t know what sort of woman you think I am but I can assure you that you are mistaken,’ she said stiffly, folding her arms defensively across her breasts. ‘I was looking for someone in particular.’

‘I gathered that. Now, I wonder who you’re searching for,’ the man mused, running a thumb across the stubble that peppered his jaw. His voice was deep, with a slight trace of accent, though Joanna could not say where it was from. ‘Would you care to wager a cup of wine that I can guess the identity of your quarry?’

‘I would not!’ Joanna said firmly. With as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances she dropped a brief curtsy. ‘Once again I beg your pardon. Good day.’ She picked up her bag and spun on her heel before her heart pushed itself from her chest.

‘Try the alehouse,’ the man called after her as she fled. ‘Jousting gives a man more than one kind of thirst after all.’

Joanna wrinkled her nose in annoyance. She ran back through the camp, past Sir Roger’s tent towards the gate. She paid no attention to her direction and collided roughly with someone. Hands gripped her shoulders and she gave a cry of alarm, twisting to free herself.

‘Joanna?’

She jerked her head upwards to look at her captor and found herself looking into Sir Roger’s face. She let out a sigh of relief.

Sir Roger frowned.

‘What are you doing in the camp? I did not expect to see you until tonight at the earliest.’ His face relaxed into a smile as he drew her arm under his and led her back towards his tent, regaling her with an account of the tournament she had just witnessed. She pushed her thoughts of the stranger to the back of her mind.

Sir Roger pushed back the curtain covering his tent doorway and ushered Joanna inside. He tossed his page a coin.

‘Go buy yourself some sweetmeats.’

The boy ambled off, leaving them alone. Sir Roger pulled Joanna to him, his hands at either side of her waist.

‘I’m surprised at you coming here alone.’ His voice was stern but the glint in his eye told Joanna he was far from disapproving. His eyes took on a hungry expression. ‘You’re usually so modest, too.’

Joanna glanced at the doorway but Sir Roger did not appear to notice her uneasiness. He lunged to kiss her. His lips scraped against hers and his hands began to slide from her waist downwards to spread across her hips. Joanna stiffened. This was the first time they had been completely alone and Sir Roger’s behaviour was more forceful than she had expected. The guards’ mocking words whispered in Joanna’s mind.

She wriggled from Sir Roger’s arms.

‘I brought you a gift,’ she said hastily to hide her unease. She rummaged into her bag until she produced a cloth-wrapped bundle. Sir Roger unwrapped it eagerly, revealing an ornately decorated belt buckle.

‘Your uncle made this?’ he asked, holding it to the light.

Joanna nodded and rubbed her fingers lovingly over the incised leaves. ‘Though I chased the pattern myself.’

Sir Roger took her hands and drew her close. ‘It’s beautiful. You’ll be a worthy heir to your uncle’s business.’

Joanna blushed with pleasure at the compliment but laughed. ‘His heir? Not I. He has a son now. But of course, it’s been months since you were in York. You wouldn’t know my aunt’s child was a boy.’

‘What good fortune for your uncle,’ Roger said.

‘Perhaps you might congratulate him in person tonight and speak to him about other matters,’ Joanna began shyly.

‘That could be time I spend in your company instead,’ Sir Roger murmured. ‘There’s no rush, is there?’ His hands began moving over her body, one down towards her buttocks, the other sliding towards her breast. He kissed her, his tongue attempting to part her lips. Joanna’s brow wrinkled. This was the very limit of acceptable behaviour before they were married. She began to shift away from his reach, turning so she stood between him and the doorway.

A cold draught blew around her neck and a deep, familiar voice spoke.

‘Roger, it strikes me...’

Sir Roger released her abruptly and stepped back. Joanna turned slowly around to face the speaker, heart sinking as she saw who stood behind her.

The man she had met before stood in the doorway, his hands outstretched in apology. ‘I’m sorry. I saw your boy wandering off. I didn’t know you would have company.’

He did not sound contrite in the least. When his eyes fell on Joanna they held her gaze and his lips twitched. Sir Roger gave a long sigh of annoyance. Joanna’s eyes flickered from man to man.

‘Mistress Sollers, permit me to introduce my brother, Henry Danby,’ Sir Roger said in a clipped tone.

Joanna’s jaw dropped. ‘You never told me you had a brother!’ she said.

‘Half-brother,’ the man said curtly, glancing at Sir Roger.

‘Did I never mention Hal?’ Roger said carelessly. ‘I suppose not. He’s been travelling around the country. Our paths have barely crossed in the past three years,’

Joanna stared in wonder from Sir Roger to his brother and back again. Conscious she was staring at the new arrival, Joanna curtsied. ‘Good day to you, Sir Henry.’

‘Just Hal if you please. I’m no sir.’

‘Hal and I share the same father but we have different mothers,’ Sir Roger explained.

Half-brothers. That made sense. They were too close in age to make any other explanation possible.

‘What Roger means is I’m a bastard,’ Henry added with a humourless smile. He lifted his jaw and crossed his arms, as though daring Joanna to confront him. ‘Though my father did me the kindness of acknowledging me as his. Many would not.’

Taken aback at the harshness of his voice, Joanna stared at him. When they had met before he had seemed good-humoured, for all his mocking words, but his sudden fierceness was unnerving. His brow was knotted and his eyes dark. For a moment silence hung awkwardly between them as all three stood motionless saying nothing.

Side by side the brothers were not so alike after all. They were of equal height and stature and both had hair the colour of a crow’s wing but Sir Roger’s was swept back and tied neatly at his nape. He wore a short, neatly trimmed beard while his brother’s hair fell forward in careless tangles to a jaw rough with stubble.

The resemblance was strongest about the eyes: deep brown, flecked with green and ringed with long lashes set into faces tanned from a life spent outside, but the expressions in them were markedly different. Sir Roger gazed on Joanna with fondness but Henry appraised her with a dark humour, seemingly enjoying her discomposure.

‘I have to go. I am expected home,’ Joanna mumbled, reaching for her bag. She smiled at Sir Roger, hoping he would offer to escort her through the camp but he merely smiled stiffly and bade her farewell. Hiding her disappointment, Joanna held her hand out for him to kiss, nodded towards Henry and fled from the tent. She reached the gateway in a rush but stopped as she neared the guards.

One of them smirked at her, his eyes roving up and down her body.

‘Finished your delivery quickly, didn’t you? Is your load lighter now?’

‘I’ll bet someone’s is,’ the other sniggered, nudging his companion in the ribs.

Joanna’s eyes prickled with shame. She took a deep breath, determined to walk past with dignity.

‘If you don’t keep your mouths civil in the presence of women I’ll have a word in the right ear and you’ll be guarding the middens until the tournament ends!’

Joanna spun round to find Henry Danby striding towards her.

‘Mistress Sollers, allow me to escort you back to the city.’ He held out an arm for her. Surprised, she took it and let him lead her through the gateway.

‘If you are as virtuous as you claim to be you shouldn’t visit the camp again,’ he muttered as they passed by the guards. ‘Those oafs won’t be the only ones casting slights on you.’

‘What do you mean claim?’ Joanna pulled her arm free and rounded on him angrily. ‘My reputation is no concern of yours and I have done nothing to incite gossip.’ She flushed slightly as she thought of the kisses she had permitted Sir Roger to take that were far from fitting for an unmarried woman. ‘Sir Roger and I were doing nothing wrong,’ she said indignantly. She stopped short. If she had spoken in such a tone to Sir Roger he would have been angry or turned cold but Master Danby simply laughed.

‘What you and my brother do in private is none of my business, but I wasn’t referring to that. He leaned closer and murmured in her ear. ‘When we meet next you can buy me some wine.’

‘Why?’ Joanna asked in confusion.

‘Because I was right in guessing who you were searching for when you whispered so temptingly in my ear.’

Joanna snorted angrily. ‘Goodbye, Master Danby. I can make my own way back,’ she said. She turned and walked away, his soft laughter ringing in her ears.


Chapter Two (#ulink_623fea22-0c84-5036-903d-f915bc1346bd)

By the time Joanna passed through the gate into the city her face was no longer red though she still shook with indignation whenever she thought of the guards’ words.

Visiting the camp had been a mistake and her indiscretions with Sir Roger had been the biggest error of all. His kisses had been more intense than ever before and the way he had touched her more than a little alarming. Such intimacies should wait for their wedding night. Little wonder Henry Danby had cast doubts on her virtue after he had found them together.

Horror flooded through Joanna and she stopped abruptly as his laughing face flashed before her eyes. What if he told Sir Roger of their earlier encounter? How would the knight view such behaviour? She could try finding Master Danby again and pleading for him to keep her secret, but she could not face the trial of talking her way past the guards again, or the scathing expression she was sure she would see in Master Danby’s eyes. Whatever happened she would have to deal with it.

She returned home and pushed the front door open cautiously. Even her short interlude had made her later than she would be expected. With luck Uncle Simon would still be at his foundry or the Guild Hall and she could slip in unnoticed. Two girls aged seven and four hurled themselves towards her, squealing with delight. Their older sister, ten and too dignified to show such affection, nodded from the corner and returned to her sewing.

Joanna hugged her cousins, answering the questions that tumbled from them. Yes, she had seen the jousting. Yes, Sir Roger won. No, she did not know which knight had triumphed in the mêlée.

‘Joanna, come in here!’

The laughter ceased at the sound of the gruff voice. Joanna walked through to the kitchen, her stomach fluttering.

‘You’re late.’ Simon Vernon folded his burly arms across his chest and frowned at his niece. ‘Where have you been? Watching the tournament while I work to feed you all?’

Joanna forced herself to look contrite.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she said. ‘I delivered the buckle to Sir Roger in person.’

Simon’s brows knotted. ‘You visited him unchaperoned! Do you care nothing for your reputation? Or mine?’

‘I do care.’ She pushed away the insinuations of the guards and Henry Danby’s similar warning. ‘Sir Roger sends his thanks for your gift.’

A thin smile cracked Simon’s stern face. ‘So, you pleased him?’

Joanna blushed, remembering his caresses. ‘I hope he will speak to you tonight.’

Simon pushed himself from his stool, towering above Joanna. ‘He had better. Even the most charitable uncle is not obliged to keep you forever. For three years I’ve waited for you to catch him as your husband. The hours I’ve spent entertaining him have cost me dearly but he still delays. I’m beginning to doubt his feelings for you are as strong as they first appeared to be.’

‘Sir Roger will marry me,’ Joanna insisted. Of course he must love her, to be so direct and forceful with his embraces.

‘I hope so,’ Simon growled. ‘You will be twenty-one before the summer is over. You should have been married long before this. I have enough mouths of my own to feed, with all the expense that entails.’

Joanna glanced around. Richly embroidered tapestries hung from every wall. Heavy oak chests stood either side of the door and half-a-dozen hams hung above the large fireplace. Simon Vernon was not approaching poverty by any means. In the nine years since the Great Pestilence had claimed her family, Joanna had worked hard to ensure Simon had not regretted taking in his sister’s only surviving child, however grudgingly the act of charity had been committed. She closed her eyes to prevent her uncle seeing the grief in them.

Simon came behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘If my family is connected to the nobility imagine the doors that will open for me,’ he said hungrily.

‘I had better go prepare for tonight,’ Joanna said frostily.

‘Mind your tongue,’ Simon growled. ‘Remember Sir Roger is used to obedient, well-brought-up ladies. You won’t catch a husband of any sort if you can’t keep your thoughts to yourself.’

Joanna climbed the stairs to the attic room she shared with the serving girl. She removed her grey dress and sponged herself down with cold water from the jug by the window. Clad in her shift, she shivered as the cold February air whipped around her bare flesh. She changed into a dress of red linen and began to lace the threads of her bodice. She closed her eyes, imagining it was Sir Roger’s hands that were deftly working at the cloth, but Henry’s sardonic eyes flashed in Joanna’s mind and a shudder rippled through her body. She finished lacing her dress and brushed her hair until it fell in a cascade down her back, affixed a fine veil to her hair and wound her finest silk scarf around her neck.

Tonight she must be her most beautiful if she had any hope of winning Sir Roger’s hand. And if she failed to do that, well, she didn’t want to think about her uncle’s reaction.

When Joanna descended the staircase Aunt Mary glanced up and gave her a smile before returning her attention to the infant she was nursing. Little Elizabeth squealed with delight and even Uncle Simon nodded with approval.

* * *

‘Thomas Gruffydd’s wife died birthing her latest boy,’ Simon remarked as they walked through the city. ‘He returns to Montgomery soon and I know he’d gladly take a new wife with him.’

Joanna’s stomach clenched. ‘He’s more than twice my age.’

‘What does that matter?’ Simon scoffed. ‘I’d rather you brought better connections but if Sir Roger does not ask for your hand a man with the land Gruffydd owns would do just as well. I expect you to consider him.’

They made their way to the Common Hall where lights blazed in the doorway and windows. The heady scent of herbs and rushes on the floor assailed them as they removed their cloaks and entered the hall. Uncle Simon excused himself and joined the huddle of guildsmen by the table laden with food. Old men with paunched bellies and greasy chins and fingers from the meat they ate. Thomas Gruffydd was among them.

Joanna wrinkled her nose in disgust and stared around the room, searching anxiously for Sir Roger. The knights were grandly dressed in the colours of their houses, walking among the other guests gathering admiring glances. The dancing was already underway and her foot began to tap. She finally spotted him standing in an alcove at the far end of the hall. Her heart sank. He was not alone.

She watched enviously as Sir Roger kissed the hand of a young woman, taller than herself with shining black curls. Their eyes never parted as Sir Roger led her to thread seamlessly into the dance.

‘I hope you don’t intend to spend your evening watching others having fun rather than joining in!’

Joanna jumped as a voice spoke in deep, low tones in her ear. She turned on Henry Danby and glared into his brown eyes, so similar to Sir Roger’s that her heart instinctively skipped a beat.

‘Is it a habit of yours to creep up behind people?’ she snapped, unsettled by her body’s infidelity.

Henry laughed, his dark eyes gleaming wickedly. He took two goblets of wine from a passing servant and handed one to Joanna.

‘You were the first to try that approach if my memory serves me rightly,’ he said, lifting his goblet in salute and drinking deeply.

Icy fingers ran across Joanna’s scalp. Simon’s warning about her reputation rose in her mind. Was that why Sir Roger had taken another partner rather than wait for her arrival?

‘Did you tell your brother what I did?’ she demanded, gripping her goblet tightly.

Henry fixed Joanna with a stare that sent a shiver down her spine.

‘So you didn’t tell Roger yourself. I wondered if you would. Why did you keep it a secret?’ he asked, moving closer to her. ‘What did you fear he would say?’

‘I feared nothing,’ Joanna lied. ‘You interrupted us before we had chance to speak properly.’

Henry smirked. Remembering what he had interrupted, Joanna blushed.

‘Tell me, does he know?’ she insisted.

Henry studied her in silence, eyes narrowed. Whereas with Roger she would have instinctively cast her eyes down modestly, she held Henry’s gaze boldly, refusing to be cowed. With his dark eyes and curls he was handsome in the same way as his brother, but the expression in his eyes was sharper, reminding her of a fox watching its prey.

‘No, he doesn’t,’ he admitted finally with a shrug.

‘Thank you,’ Joanna breathed. She took a mouthful of the warm wine, the sharpness burning her throat. ‘I am in your debt.’

Henry extended his arm towards her. ‘I will relieve you of your obligation if you dance with me now.’

Joanna’s eyes slid to the centre of the room where Sir Roger still danced with the dark-haired woman. Surely he would finish soon and seek her out. He could not have forgotten she would be there.

Hal’s eyes followed hers. ‘Do you fear his disapproval so much that you will not dance with me?’

‘Of course not!’ Joanna said. ‘I just don’t want to dance yet.’

He snorted. ‘I don’t believe you. You were jigging up and down like a fiddle player on a carthorse.’

The image was so comical that despite herself Joanna smiled.

‘I have my reputation to think of.’

Henry raised his goblet to her once more, a gleam in his eye. ‘You would risk your reputation to visit my brother alone but will not chance a dance in public?’ His eyes blazed. ‘A dance means nothing. If anything it will protect your reputation: to refuse other offers and dance with him alone would invite talk, wouldn’t it? Even my brother could not censure you for that.’ He held his arm out again but when Joanna shook her head he did not press the point.

The music came to an end. Joanna attempted to catch Sir Roger’s eye, but to her dismay Sir Bartholomew presented another young lady who curtsied demurely and they returned to the dance immediately. Joanna’s mouth twisted downwards and she gave a small sigh of disappointment.

Henry was watching her closely, an odd mix of pity and scorn on his face. Joanna dropped her head, the expression in his eyes searing her heart.

‘What did you expect to happen?’ he asked archly. ‘This evening is to honour the knights. You aren’t the only woman to have her heart turned by the glamour of the pageant, or intending to catch a husband.’

‘My head hasn’t been turned by glamour!’ Joanna snapped. ‘That isn’t why I love him.’

Henry smirked disbelievingly. ‘Do you mean you would marry my brother if he was penniless and not a knight?’

Joanna gazed at Sir Roger, trying to imagine him as anything other than himself but could not picture him without his armour or velvet robes.

As she watched Roger laughed enthusiastically at something his partner whispered. He led her off the floor in the opposite direction with the vitality he displayed at the tilt. Joanna’s eyes began to burn. No other man of her acquaintance, few as they were, made her heart turn over with a single glance.

‘I would love him whatever he was,’ she insisted.

‘You hesitated though,’ Henry said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Now, are you content to wait all night for Roger to notice you or will you dance with me?’

Joanna tossed her head. ‘I’d rather stand here alone than dance with you. You’ve mocked me and been nothing but rude to me since you joined me. I know why too. I think you’re jealous because you are not a knight yourself.’

She made to turn away but caught the expression on Henry’s face and paused. His eyes were blazing and his jaw thrust forward angrily. When he spoke next his voice was clipped.

‘As it happens you’re wrong. I made my peace with my fate long ago.’

He began to walk away. Shame flooded Joanna. He was a bastard. Of course he could never hope to be a knight.

‘Master Danby,’ she called. ‘Wait!’

He paused. Suspicion flickered across his face though it softened as he returned to her, never letting his eyes slip from hers. Her heart beat oddly in her throat.

‘Call me Hal,’ he said shortly.

‘I didn’t mean to offend you,’ Joanna said, twisting her hands in embarrassment. ‘It must be hard knowing you cannot be what your brother is.’

‘I have no desire to be what he is,’ Hal replied so curtly Joanna stepped back in alarm. His eyes hardened as he waved his hand across the room, shadows flickering across his face as he obliterated the candlelight. ‘What sensible man would want this gaudy pageantry?’

Now it was Joanna’s turn to feel sceptical. ‘How could anyone not wish to be a part of such excitement?’

‘Quite easily. When it’s over what is left of the opulence beyond empty lists? I prefer things that last.’

Joanna considered his words. When the fairs and tournaments were gone York felt empty and she spent her time dreaming of their return.

‘Why are you here if you hold it in such contempt?’ she asked.

Hal’s jaw tightened. ‘I would much rather not be. I have my own reasons for being in York, which will be poorly served by standing with you. If you are determined to wait until my brother notices you I shall leave you to your solitude. Good evening.’

He bowed briefly and strode past her, skirting around the edge of the room towards the entrance hall. Impulsively Joanna turned after Hal to follow after him but at that point the music ceased. She glanced to the dancers and saw Sir Roger dancing with yet another woman. As he bowed to his partner he turned and saw Joanna. She beamed at him, her heart beginning to race.

Sir Roger sauntered to where she stood. He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘I had given up hope of you coming,’ he said.

Joanna’s stomach fluttered with satisfaction. Of course he had not seen her or he would have come sooner. He held out an arm and she slipped hers into it. She moved towards the centre of the room but Sir Roger tightened his grip and tugged her in the opposite direction.

‘I’ve been dancing long enough,’ he muttered.

Sighing with regret, Joanna allowed him to lead her outside. She shivered, wishing she had brought her cloak. ‘It’s cold,’ she protested.

Sir Roger pulled her around the side of the building and backed her against the wall. ‘I can warm you up.’ He grinned and kissed her. For a while all thoughts were obliterated, but as Sir Roger’s hand once more began to stray towards her breasts a knot of anxiety formed in her stomach.

‘We should go back inside. This isn’t seemly.’

Sir Roger rolled his eyes. ‘We are hardly alone.’ True enough there were others who had taken the opportunities afforded to them by the shadowy corners and archways of the Common Hall. ‘I have been away for months. You would not deny us this chance to get reacquainted?’

‘No...only...when will you speak to my uncle?’ Joanna asked shyly. ‘He spoke of other husbands, of men he knows would want me.’

Sir Roger’s jaw tightened. ‘And you would prefer one of these other men, is that what you are trying to tell me?’

Joanna reached hastily for his hands. ‘No, I love only you, I swear!’

Sir Roger’s mouth turned down petulantly. ‘Good. I hate the thought of you belonging to someone else. You say you love me but how can I believe you when your kisses are so cold and chaste? You may as well be my aunt or sister! Give me some token of your affection so I can believe you,’ he breathed.

Joanna smiled and began to unwind the scarf from her neck but Sir Roger caught her wrist. ‘Not that sort of token,’ he said. ‘Save that for the lists.’

‘Then what?’ Joanna asked.

‘I don’t believe it was my conversation you craved when you came to my tent. Show me how much I mean to you. That you want to be my wife.’

He tugged her closer until his mouth covered hers, tongue forcing her lips apart. His hips ground against hers, one leg pushing between her thighs. She felt his hand slip from her hair and begin to travel across her body. His teeth grazed her lips and Joanna winced. She tried not to cry out as Sir Roger’s fingers groped and dug into the soft flesh of her breast. Without warning he pinched her nipple hard.

Waves of unpleasant heat spread through her torso. She was dimly aware of what took place between a man and woman, but feeling these sensations bordering on pain the low cries that issued in the night from her aunt’s bedchamber began to make sense.

Were women supposed to like this show of male affection? Perhaps in time she would learn to, but at that moment Joanna would have given up all prospects of marriage to make it stop. She closed her eyes, reminding herself that this was the price for getting what she craved. A life of excitement with the man who made her heart pound. Not a bleak existence in a damp Welsh village with old Thomas Gruffydd. No longer an unwanted inconvenience in Simon’s household. Sir Roger would be satisfied soon and it would not happen again until after they were married.

The sound of someone whistling floated around the corner, a familiar tune that had been playing while she had talked with Hal. Sir Roger’s hand dropped from Joanna’s breast. He smiled down at her, his eyes still hungry. She returned his smile faintly, glad that she had pleased him.

The whistling stopped. For the second time that day Hal interrupted them but now Joanna found herself glad to see him. He sauntered across to where they stood, his eyes flickering knowingly from Sir Roger to Joanna.

‘I had barely crossed the room to find you and you were gone, Roger. I thought you might be out here.’

Had he followed them deliberately? His face was grim. Joanna looked away shamefaced. Clearly his opinion of her virtue, or lack of, had been confirmed afresh.

‘Joanna, go back inside. I’ll find you later,’ Sir Roger commanded. She nodded obediently and left, turning back briefly at the corner to glance at the two brothers. They mirrored each other, arms folded, legs apart and identical expressions of anger on their faces. Sir Roger’s was easy to understand but why Hal should have seemed so furious was a mystery.

* * *

‘Who is she?’ Hal asked curiously.

Joanna was different from the women Roger usually favoured, preferring them slender with chestnut hair and flashing eyes, not small and shapely with the air of a startled cat when surprised.

Roger gave the satisfied grin that never failed to set Hal’s teeth on edge. ‘You were talking to her while I danced. Did you discover nothing yourself?’

‘Only that she adores you and believes you feel the same,’ Hal snapped. ‘Do you?’

A guilty expression flitted across Roger’s face. ‘I’m fond of her I suppose. She amuses me and she’s so devoted. So biddable. She’s more innocent than I prefer but one can get tired of the same wine. White can provide a pleasant alternative to red occasionally.’

Hal wrinkled his nose. The description of Joanna struck him as apt. For all her indiscreet behaviour at the camp she had been modestly dressed. Her unhappiness when her virtue had been called into question had been real enough and her discomfort just now as she had submitted to Roger’s clumsy caresses was genuine.

‘You were doing your best to relieve her of any innocence she still possessed,’ he said darkly. ‘Is that fair? Or wise?’

Roger leered. ‘If she’s willing to play I’m not going to object.’

‘Do you intend to marry her?’ Hal asked.

‘I did consider it for a while,’ Roger said candidly. ‘Though sadly I’ve discovered this vintage turns out not to be as rich as I first hoped it might be.’

‘Stop jesting.’ Hal glowered. ‘Mistress Sollers is not the first woman you have deceived. If you do not intend to marry her make it clear and take no more liberties or I will inform Father of your behaviour. I don’t have to tell you what that might do in his current state of health.’

He strode away and was swallowed up by the city.


Chapter Three (#ulink_bfff5125-0f2b-5afe-8cb3-175e430f04a7)

‘Are you coming to the tournament today?’

They were the first words Roger had spoken to Hal since the previous night. Both had returned to the camp separately and Roger had stamped around the tent, reminding Hal of when they were both children.

‘I wasn’t intending to,’ Hal answered, earning a petulant scowl from Roger who took the cup of warm milk Hal offered.

‘I’m allowing you to share my tent so the least you could do is help me prepare. You know my armour better than my squire,’ Roger grumbled. ‘You’d have made a better squire too if you hadn’t been so proud.’

Hal ignored the jibe. ‘You know I have matters of my own to attend to.’

‘Your work is all you think of. I’m on the lists before midday,’ Roger wheedled. ‘You’ll have plenty of time.’

Hal took a cloth-wrapped package from the chest at the end of his bed, laid it carefully on the table and unfolded it to reveal the sword he had crafted. The edge gleamed in the light as he drew it from the scabbard and weighed it in his hand.

Roger whistled in genuine appreciation. ‘I don’t know why you want to enter the guild. You’re a good blacksmith already.’

Hal laid it carefully back on the cloth and ran his fingers over the wide, flat blade.

‘Would you be content to stay aiming at wooden targets?’

Roger snorted. ‘Of course not!’

‘I don’t want to spend my life shoeing horses and hammering plough blades. There are other skills and other metals.’

‘Do you have plans for the weapon after you’ve presented it?’ Roger asked hopefully. ‘Something so fine deserves to be wielded by a knight.’ He couldn’t hide the note of longing in his voice and Hal’s throat tightened in annoyance.

‘I’m keeping it. Whatever you think, you are not entitled to lay claim to everything I possess,’ he said archly.

Roger snapped his fingers to summon his page. Hal drank his milk, feeling his stomach beginning to settle. He had not intended to drink so much the previous night, but after leaving the feast he had stalked around the city until he found a tavern where he could mull over what he had witnessed between Roger and Joanna. No doubt she would be at the joust. Anyone could see the foolish girl was blinded by the thrill of the tournament and her dreams of winning his brother’s heart.

‘When you spoke to Joanna last night did you mention your task today?’ Roger asked.

Hal started as the name he was thinking was spoken aloud. ‘Why would I tell her about that?’

Roger smirked. ‘I thought you might have told her about your sword, that’s all.’

‘I doubt your lady would care about my sword. I think her interest lies entirely in the jousting,’ Hal said.

Now Roger had introduced the subject Hal felt entitled to continue. Joanna was not the first woman Roger had caused to become infatuated and certainly would not be the last. If she was foolish enough to believe the sweet words that spun from Roger’s lips it was no concern of Hal’s, but her eyes brimming with sadness as Roger repeatedly ignored her presence had pricked Hal’s heart. Moreover she intrigued him. He’d seen energy in her when she bickered with him that she hid from Roger, to whom she had submitted meekly.

Which was the real woman? He’d like to find out. A worm of guilt wriggled in his belly as he remembered trying to persuade his brother’s woman to dance.

‘Did you speak to her last night as I told you to?’ he asked.

‘No, she left early and I was caught up with other matters. I’ll speak to her today,’ Roger said with a careless wave of his hand. ‘Now, for the final time, will you come help me this morning? If you’re seen with me it will increase your standing in the eyes of the Guild members.’

Hal doubted how much influence a young knight of middling wealth from the North York Moors might have, but to say so would be churlish. Roger would not stop until he had the answer he wanted and it was better to be busy than wait here until he had to present his work. ‘Very well. I’ll spare an hour, no more. I cannot be late to the Guild Hall.’

‘Good.’ Roger swung his legs to the floor. ‘I’m not entering the mêlée, but I could use a bout of swordplay to wake my senses. How about you pit your weapon against mine?’

Hal ran his fingers reverentially over the pommel and cross guard of the falchion. However much he craved it, Roger would not get this weapon.

‘I’ll spar with you, but not with this.’ He slid it back into its sheath and folded the cloth around it. ‘I’m not doing anything that might risk my chances of admittance to the Guild.’

* * *

Joanna could scarcely draw breath; her chest was tight with excitement. Last night Simon had secured admission from Sir Bartholomew’s steward to one of the most prominent stands at the tournament ground. This morning a messenger had called him away, leaving Joanna seated alone amid guests of the castle.

She did not care that her dress was of linen, not silk, and the band drawing back her hair was embroidered with flax, not spun gold. She was closer than she had ever been to the knights and Sir Roger would not fail to notice her today.

Trumpets sounded and the knights processed in. They paraded around the field, each with his entourage of pages and squires. Joanna craned her neck to find Sir Roger and spotted two heads of black curls walking side by side. She gave a small cry of surprise, causing the woman next to her to glance round.

The procession reached Joanna’s stand. She leaned forward once more, smiling and cheering along with the crowd. She waved at Sir Roger, but he did not see her. Beside him Hal turned and his eyes met Joanna’s, lingering on her in a manner that sent an unexpected shudder rippling through her. Unsettled, she raised an eyebrow haughtily. He stared at her unsmiling, a small frown knotting his brow, then carried on walking. Dressed in a dark wool tunic, Hal was out of place among the procession of squires who wore their masters’ colours proudly. From his bearing he could easily be a knight himself.

The knights took their places. Hal muttered something to his brother and both men stared in Joanna’s direction. She raised a hand and Sir Roger inclined his head ever so slightly towards her. He turned away to talk to the knight who stood beside him. Joanna lowered her hand slowly, her smile feeling suddenly tighter and forced. Hal patted the horse, his gaze still on Joanna. She dropped her eyes, unnerved by his gaze.

* * *

The first three bouts passed in a blur, Joanna barely watching until it was Sir Roger’s turn. He mounted his horse and trotted to where Sir Bartholomew sat. This was the moment Joanna had been waiting for, when each knight would choose a lady to present him with a favour to wear as he rode. Sir Roger turned his horse in Joanna’s direction and paused in front of her stand. She slipped the silk scarf from around her neck, her heart beating rapidly.

‘Will you give me a favour to wear, my lady?’

Sir Roger’s voice sounded loud across the tiltyard. Joanna’s heart stopped. He was not speaking to her. Slowly she felt the blood drain from her face.

Further along the stand a woman slipped a scarf of vibrant green over the tip of Sir Roger’s lance. Through swimming eyes Joanna recognised the dark curls of the woman Sir Roger had danced with the previous night. The crowd cheered. Oblivious to what followed, Joanna slumped back on to the bench. She gazed at the wisp of pale-yellow silk that lay across her lap.

What had gone wrong? She had not been able to speak to Sir Roger since she had submitted to his touch in such an indiscreet manner the night before. He had seemed pleased with her then, so why now was he so cold?

She raised her eyes. Across the field Hal was watching her still, his frown deepening. Joanna narrowed her eyes as she stared back. In response Hal’s lips twisted into a sneer. Unable to bear the knowledge that he was watching her humiliation, Joanna dropped her gaze. She bundled the scarf tightly in her hand, digging her fingernails in her palms until a series of red half-moons marred the pale flesh. When she glanced up again Hal had gone.

The bout began. Joanna barely noticed as his opponent’s lance splintered against Sir Roger’s chest. As the crowd surged to its feet she slipped out of the stand and made her way to the gate at the end of the field that led to the arena where the knights waited. Head down she collided with someone. Opening her mouth to apologise, she discovered Hal blocking her path. He planted his feet firmly apart, the large knapsack over his shoulder swinging around.

‘Let me past,’ Joanna said, trying to dodge around him.

Hal put his hands on Joanna’s arms. His grip was firm but not painful.

‘Don’t go in there,’ he said gently.

‘I need to speak to Sir Roger,’ Joanna answered. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked furiously.

‘It isn’t a good idea,’ Hal insisted. There was a loud roar from the lists. Joanna turned in the direction of the tilt but could see nothing past Hal’s broad frame.

‘You can’t stop me!’ Joanna struggled against Hal and he loosened his grip. He stood back and raked his fingers through his hair.

‘No, I can’t.’ He sighed, his tone heavy with exasperation. ‘I have an appointment I must keep, but I advise you not to confront Roger today.’

He hitched his burden higher over his shoulder and stepped to one side. Joanna stood motionless, uncertain what to do. She nodded in defeat. Hal smiled in apparent satisfaction and walked away.

Another roar, this time accompanied by cries of astonishment, thundered in Joanna’s ears. In an instant she changed her mind and rushed through the gateway into the field. Sir Roger was on foot and leading his horse away from the tilt. Joanna stared in disbelief. He had been unseated. Her anger forgotten, she rushed towards him.

‘Are you hurt?’ she gasped.

Sir Roger glared at her and she stepped back in alarm.

‘Why are you here?’ he snapped.

He sounded so cold he might have been a stranger in the street. Joanna swallowed nervously, wishing she had followed Hal’s advice and not come. She raised her chin and spoke with as much dignity as she could, but her voice was no more than a whisper.

‘You did not choose my favour.’

Sir Roger’s cheeks turned crimson. He threw his arms out wide. ‘Is that all you can think of at a time like this?’

‘It would have been a sign of our intent to wed...’

Her voice tailed off as Sir Roger’s face reddened further. ‘Marriage? How can you talk of marriage at a time like this?’

A low buzzing filled Joanna’s ears. ‘But what we did last night? The way you touched me!’

Sir Roger gripped her shoulders tightly. Her throat constricted as if he was squeezing it. She tried not to picture him dancing with the dark-haired woman, nor Hal’s observation that she was not the only woman trying to catch a knight.

‘What does last night matter? I lost the bout and the winner’s purse. I have no money to wed! Any money I have must fund my campaigns.’

‘I’m sure you will win future contests,’ Joanna said with a confidence she suddenly did not feel.

Sir Roger’s lip curled and she lapsed into silence. He turned his back on her and took hold of his horse’s reins. ‘The king has planned a tournament for St George’s Day in Windsor. I intend to be there. I shall be leaving York tomorrow.’

‘But you will return to York for the Lammas Day Tournament as always? That’s six months away. Perhaps then...’

‘I have no means to marry now. Nor the intention to do so at this time.’

Sir Roger ran his hands through his hair in a gesture similar to Hal’s.

‘Farewell, Joanna,’ he muttered through clenched teeth. He led his horse out of the courtyard, leaving Joanna standing alone. She covered her face with her hands, her fingers slick with tears. The crowd moved around her and she wiped her hand across her face. She could not stay here at the scene of her humiliation.

She pushed her way out, stumbling towards the city. Her feet led her on a path towards home but she could not go inside. Not yet. Not to admit to her uncle what had happened. She turned and walked through crooked streets of the city until her feet began to ache and her stomach cramped, reminding her she had not eaten all day.

For the first time she took notice of her surroundings. Unconsciously her feet had brought her back to Aldwark, opposite the Smiths’ Guild Hall. She gave a wry smile. She could wait for Simon in the gardens and inform him of her failure when he came out. Better he vent his disappointment there than in front of her aunt and cousins.

A fountain stood in the centre of the gardens. Wearily Joanna trailed her hand in the cool water, scooping up the heavy copper cup and drank. She sat on the step behind the basin and leaned back against the carved stone edge. She drew her knees up and, unwatched by anyone, started to weep in earnest.

* * *

Five guild officials sat at a long, oak table, chains around their necks and well-fed bellies bulging under tunics of fur and velvet, the visible signs of their prosperity. The calluses and scars on hands that now bore ornate gold rings were the only indications that they had once been in Hal’s position: young and untrained, used to the heat of the furnace and the weight of a hammer. Admittance to the guild would set him on the path they had walked.

On the table before them lay Hal’s sword. The Guild Master stood and placed his hands on the table either side of Hal’s work. He affixed Hal with a steely gaze.

‘An interesting choice of subject for your masterwork. You have pretentions to be an armourer? How many knights do you meet in your moorland village?’

A ripple of laughter ran around the room. Hal did his best to smile at the feeble jest. The Guild Master picked the weapon up, scrutinised it, then passed it on. Hal held his breath as each man examined it before it was returned to the centre of the table.

‘Wait outside,’ the Master commanded.

Hal walked to the outer chamber as the men turned to each other, muttering in low voices. He struggled to discern anything from their tone or expressions. Lulled by the heat of the fire on what had developed into another mild day his mind began to wander.

What had the roars from the tiltyard meant? Had Roger won or lost? He hoped Joanna had had the sense to heed his warning and save her confrontation. The shock on her face when Roger had chosen another woman’s favour had caused Hal’s heart to throb unexpectedly. Perhaps now she would understand how fickle Roger’s affection was.

He realised his name was being called and snapped his attention back to the present. He re-entered the chamber and the Guild Master beckoned him forward, gazing down his crooked nose.

‘You are young,’ the Guild Master stated. ‘Eight months out of being a journeyman, you said?’

Hal nodded slowly, locking eyes with the Guild Master.

‘Your work lacks finesse,’ the Guild Master announced stiffly. ‘The blade is good, but the work on the quillon lacks technique.’ There were murmurs of agreement from around the room.

‘No subtlety in the ornamentation,’ another man interjected. There was a familiarity about the man. Hal couldn’t place the resemblance but something in the straw-coloured hair and pale eyes clawed at his memory.

‘Your ambitions outstrip your skill at this time,’ a third added.

A burning ache began to grow in the pit of Hal’s stomach as he took in the meaning of their words. He had failed.

‘Go back to your village, young man,’ the second man said with a stiff smile. Once more the turn of the man’s lips reminded Hal of someone, though now he did not care about remembering who it was.

The Guild Master stood. ‘Practise your trade. Take a wife and increase your standing. Perhaps in a few years you will have acquired the necessary skills to see beyond the bare form of the metal.’ He gestured at the weapon on the table.

Hal stepped forward and wrapped it in the cloth, casting his eyes over the twisted knots of the cross guard.

‘Thank you, sirs,’ he said as politely as his disappointment would allow. He walked out, head high. It was only when the door had closed quietly behind his back that he allowed his frustration full vent.

With a growl he turned and kicked the gate. It was childish but it relieved some of his disappointment. A greasy-haired man standing at the street corner with a tray of pies gave him a suspicious stare. Hal glared back and took a breath that rasped in his throat. He needed a drink. Water first to quench his thirst, then something more potent to numb the disappointment.

He strode to the fountain in the gardens and lifted the chained cup to his lips, drinking deeply. The lion’s head grinned at him, its sightless iron eyes mocking. Irritated, Hal flung the cup back into the basin sending water slopping over the edge.

A cry of annoyance made him start. He had not noticed the figure sitting on the step at the other side of the fountain, but now a woman stood and rounded on him furiously.

‘Watch what you’re doing, you great oaf!’

Joanna stood before him. She seemed to register who she was speaking to for the first time.

‘You!’ She wiped her hands over her damp dress. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Did your brother send you to find me?’

‘Do you take me for his lackey?’ Hal said bitterly. ‘I have better things to do than traipse around the city on errands for him!’

‘Then why are you here?’

Joanna folded her arms across her chest with indignation.

‘Don’t annoy me, woman,’ Hal growled. ‘I have no idea what brought you to this part of the city, but I am here on my own business and I am most definitely not in the mood to listen to your accusations.’

Joanna’s eyes glinted brightly and she gave a sob. Her eyes were red and swollen.

‘You ignored my advice, I take it.’ Hal sighed.

She bit her lip and nodded guiltily as if expecting recriminations while somehow still contriving to scowl at Hal from beneath long lashes. Being glared at by Joanna was like being scolded by a kitten.

‘He said he cannot marry me. He chose another’s favour.’

Remorse stabbed Hal’s guts. He had been instrumental in bringing her to this state. He had told Roger to make his intentions clear but the girl had not deserved such public rejection. He mentally cursed his brother’s unthinking cruelty. Assuming it was unthinking, of course.

His craving for a cup of wine increased but he could not leave the blasted woman here. Already they had attracted the attention of the pie seller who was eyeing Joanna with open interest. Recklessly he reached for her hand.

‘What are you doing?’ Joanna demanded, pulling against him.

‘You’re not the only one to have suffered a disappointment this afternoon,’ Hal said firmly. ‘I’m going to find a drink. I don’t want to leave you somewhere this isolated alone so I’m taking you with me!’


Chapter Four (#ulink_57768516-1821-5336-9f92-1b8b72154202)

Her chin resting in her hands, Joanna stared moodily at the cup before her.

‘Drink,’ Hal instructed.

Joanna opened her mouth to refuse, but Hal’s watchful expression made her think twice. She took a small sip. As the sharp, cheap wine hit her tongue she realised how thirsty she was and how dry her throat, no doubt the result of the weeping she had done. She took a deeper swig, then another until she had all but drained the cup. She slammed it on to the table and glared at Hal defiantly.

Hal raised his cup in salute to her and drained it in one. He leaned back against the wall, his shoulders brushing hers, and stared at the cup, rubbing his finger across the rim.

‘Now can we leave?’ Joanna asked.

Hal did not appear to hear her. Joanna stared about the room. The customers were quiet, serious men dressed in rough work clothing, nothing like the company her uncle kept. It wasn’t the sort of place she imagined a nobleman’s son would choose to drink in.

Hal refilled their cups and turned his attention to the long, cloth-wrapped bundle that he had propped against the bench between them. He affixed it with such hatred that Joanna burned to know what it contained. She glanced sideways at her companion—this dark figure, so like Roger in appearance, yet so different from the carefree, easy-tongued young noble. Joanna shifted in her seat.

‘If you’re planning to keep me as hostage all evening, I’d rather know sooner than later,’ she said archly.

The anger that had not left Hal’s eyes since their unintentional meeting began to ebb and the crease between his brows smoothed. His lips flickered in what might have been amusement.

‘Hostage? You do have a knack for overstatement.’

Joanna scowled. ‘What else would you call it? I didn’t ask to accompany you. You half-dragged me through the streets, despite my protests, barely speaking to me along the way. You barricade me into the corner and now give me no indication how long you intend to keep me here!’

Hal spread his hands wide and leaned back against the wall. ‘You are free to leave whenever you like.’

Squashed into the corner by the fireplace, she had no way of leaving without crawling under the table or climbing across his lap. Her chest tightened at the idea of such closeness and she hurriedly took another drink. ‘I’ll stay...for now.’

Hal gave a brief, empty smile. ‘Good. No one should drink alone when they’re sad.’

Joanna’s eyes pricked at the reminder of how distraught she had been when they had met. She realised that her distress had vanished, replaced by anger and curiosity at Hal’s odd behaviour. Now the memory of Sir Roger’s callous words reared up once more and a lump formed in her throat. Her lip trembled and Hal’s expression became sympathetic.

‘We have established that I was not searching for you,’ Hal said, ‘but tell me why you were skulking alone in a square?’

Joanna shrugged. It was none of his business.

‘I was waiting for someone.’

Hal’s eyes lit with interest. ‘Who? Have you finished grieving for my brother so quickly?’

‘Don’t mock me! How can you suggest such a thing? Why do you seem to enjoy wounding me?’ Joanna slammed her cup on to the table, causing the men at the next table to regard them curiously. ‘I will never forget your brother. My heart is in pieces and my hopes are...my hopes...’

She broke off as the lump in her throat expanded to the size of a fist. Hal refilled their cups and held one out to her, a small gesture of apology. She took it and tossed the wine back.

‘I have no hopes,’ she muttered, self-pity enveloping her. ‘I love him and it is for nothing.’

Hal picked up his cup and took a long, slow drink. ‘I cautioned you not to approach him today but you didn’t listen to me. If things are not going his way, his temper can be short. Surely you know this about him, though?’ Hal’s lip curled into a grimace. His face was so like Sir Roger’s that it could be the knight himself mocking her.

‘My brother only comes to York twice a year for the tournaments. In three years you can only have been in his company seven or eight weeks at most,’ Hal said kindly. ‘Has he ever asked for your hand?’

Joanna’s stomach twisted. ‘Never directly. He said he had to wait until he had enough money. He’s suffered losses in other years, but now he says he can never marry me. What can have caused him to change his heart so quickly?’ she asked.

She swallowed and buried her face in her hands, while the sadness flooded over her. She turned her face miserably to the corner until she had mastered her emotions. Hal said nothing, but when she finally raised her head he had moved her cup closer to her reach. She gave him a thin smile of gratitude and wiped her eyes on the end of the yellow scarf she had hoped Roger would take as her favour. She twisted it tightly between her fingers.

‘How can you be so certain you love Roger?’ Hal asked softly.

Joanna raised her eyes to meet Hal’s defiantly. ‘Anyone who knows him would love him. He’s a great knight—or will be when his fortunes change. No one else has ever made me feel so desired.’

‘Are you sure it isn’t simply the idea of what he does that attracts you?’ He sounded so scathing that the blood rose in Joanna’s cheeks. Her head spun from the wine. She pointed an accusing finger at him.

‘What he does is wonderful. Why should I be ashamed of loving him for that? You’re bitter because he has what you’ll never have,’ she spat.

‘And I’ve told you I have no wish for his position. I’m happy in mine,’ Hal answered with a glare, his voice rising. Again, the men at the next table glanced over. ‘Or I was!’ he finished bitterly, lowering his voice. His eyes fell on the mysterious bundle once more and sorrow crossed his face.

‘What is that?’ Joanna asked quietly. ‘You haven’t told me what put you into such a dark mood. It’s to do with that, isn’t it?’ she said.

Wordlessly Hal lifted the bundle and laid it on the table in front of him. He unfolded the cloth. A thick-bladed sword lay before Joanna.

‘Is that Roger’s?’ she asked.

‘It’s mine.’ Hal raised his chin and fixed Joanna with an intense stare. ‘I made it. I’m a blacksmith,’ he said with dignity.

Hal’s presence in Bedern made sense now.

‘You were at the guild,’ Joanna said. She was about to admit her connection but Hal gave an angry sigh.

‘For the little good it did me. I have finished my time as a journeyman and crafted this as my masterwork. I thought it was fine enough but I was wrong,’ Hal said shortly. ‘A pack of overfed, overgilded men who sit in judgement on overstuffed chairs!’

He continued to rant and Joanna sat back to listen, hiding a smile at the description of her uncle and his fellow guildsmen. Hal’s voice was heavy with disappointment and she did not want him to think he was the cause of her amusement. Instead she nudged his cup of wine towards him with her own and turned her attention to the sword.

Years of living and working with Simon Vernon told her at a glance why the guild had rejected it. The weapon was well proportioned, but the design was crude with too much clamouring for attention. With a scrap of parchment and ink she could have designed better herself. She merely nodded, suspecting Hal would not appreciate any further criticism.

Hal clearly misinterpreted her silence as a lack of opinion. He sniffed, giving her a condescending smile.

‘Of course a woman wouldn’t appreciate the work involved in crafting something of even this standard.’

‘Of course,’ Joanna agreed icily. She traced the tip of her finger across the heavy knotwork of the pommel and turned to face him with a cold smile. ‘You should put this away or it may attract the attention of someone capable of wielding it.’

That blow hit home with alarming results. Hal’s face hardened.

‘I know how to use it,’ he said. ‘My father—and brother—intended me to be Roger’s squire. I received all the training my brother did. I can fight as well as he can.’

He pushed the table back and stood. ‘Now we have both succeeded in insulting the other I think our business here is done.’

‘I agree,’ Joanna said. ‘Farewell, Master Danby.’ She stood and brushed past him, affecting to make as little contact as possible, and stalked towards the door. She had barely taken ten steps into the street before footsteps pounded behind her and a hand seized her arm. She gasped in alarm.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ Hal asked.

‘Going home!’ Joanna answered, trying and failing to shake free of his grip.

‘Not alone,’ Hal said. He gestured at the darkening sky. ‘It’s growing late and a woman should not be roaming the streets alone.’

‘These are my streets, I know them better than you and I don’t need your protection,’ Joanna said. She wrenched herself free and folded both arms tightly across her chest, staring moodily at Hal. ‘Besides, I thought we agreed we had offended each other enough to merit parting company.’

‘Offended or not, I insist,’ Hal said calmly. ‘You are here at my whim and therefore you are my responsibility. I would not see you come to harm.’

‘My hopes are dashed and my heart is broken. What further harm could befall me?’ Joanna sniffed.

‘Do you really want me to list the ways?’ Hal asked darkly.

Joanna scuffed her foot and pretended to consider her answer. He was right; the city was no place to be walking alone, however much she wished to be rid of his company.

‘Are you going to stop behaving like a foolish child or shall I throw you over my shoulder and take you anyway?’

‘You wouldn’t dare!’

The skin at the corner of Hal’s eyes crinkled with amusement. Against her will Joanna smiled.

‘Very well, as you give me no choice,’ she said.

‘You will have to direct me as I don’t know where you live,’ Hal reminded her.

As she slipped her arm through his Joanna suppressed an involuntary smile. Uncle Simon would have long since finished his business and she took great pleasure in anticipating the surprise in Hal’s arrogant eyes when he discovered whose house he had arrived at.

* * *

‘Where are you leading me?’ Hal grumbled as Joanna turned down yet another snicket. ‘We could have walked to Whitby by now.’

‘You are free to leave me any time you wish,’ Joanna replied curtly.

They were the first words she had spoken, the first acknowledgement she had given that he existed at all since reluctantly submitting to Hal’s demand to accompany her. Occasionally what might have been a sob escaped but was quickly stifled. Hal could not pretend to be anything other than relieved that she was keeping her emotions in check.

Presumably she would give vent to her feelings once more when she was home, wherever that might be. Hal stared down the narrow street leading off into a warren of alleyways and grimaced.

‘I swear we have passed this way three times already,’ he said. ‘These alleys are no place to be walking at night.’

Joanna stopped walking abruptly, causing Hal to bump into her. She finally met his eyes. ‘You can defend us with your fine sword, can’t you?’ she said. The faintest trace of a smile curved about her lips, challenging rather than amused. ‘Are you worried you’ll get lost?’

‘I don’t like cities and this is the least welcoming I’ve been in for a long time,’ he answered. Though it could equally be the company influencing my mood, he thought darkly.

‘You’ll recognise where we are soon enough,’ Joanna replied. She motioned to carry on walking.

Her head barely came to Hal’s shoulders. If she had not been holding herself stiffly at arm’s length she would nestle in the crook of his arm quite satisfactorily. Hal glanced down at Joanna’s bowed head. He preferred his women to be tall and willowy, but he decided Joanna’s curves would be a pleasure to bundle up against in an evening that was rapidly becoming chilly. Perhaps he should have made good his threat to throw her over his shoulder after all.

Lost in thoughts he knew should be forbidden, Hal barely registered when Joanna stopped again. He found himself in the square where they had first met opposite the Guild Hall.

‘So you were leading me in circles,’ he said irritably. ‘Why?’

‘Because I had no wish to return home so soon,’ Joanna said. ‘I said you were in no danger of losing your way.’ She dropped his arm and stalked past the hall, rounded a corner and stopped in front of an imposing house on the end of a row.

‘You live here?’

She nodded.

‘Yet you were sitting alone in the square?’

Another nod, this time accompanied by a loud bang as she lifted the ornate iron doorknocker and released it.

‘I told you I was waiting for someone and I was.’ Her eyes were wide and innocent, but the full lips were curved once more into a smile as the door flew open and light flooded the street to reveal the figure of a man.

‘Where have you been so late?’ demanded an irate voice that was sickeningly familiar to Hal. It was the man who had sat at the Guild Master’s right hand.

‘I believe you have met,’ Joanna said sweetly. ‘This is my uncle, Master Simon Vernon.’

Hal cursed to himself as he bowed, realising now what Joanna’s half-secret smiles had meant. He turned to go but Master Vernon spoke.

‘What are you doing with my niece? Is it your doing that she’s so late back?’

‘Master Danby kindly brought me home, Uncle,’ Joanna said. ‘For which I thank him and shall say farewell.’

‘I know your face,’ Master Vernon said. It sounded like half an accusation, half a threat.

Hal bowed again. ‘I had the honour of presenting my work to you this afternoon.’

‘Honour nothing!’ Master Vernon snorted. ‘You’d better come in and explain what has happened to keep her out so late.’

Joanna stiffened. Clearly this had not been part of her scheme. Now she was in the light Hal saw her eyes were once again red rimmed. For all her bravado she had been weeping as they walked. Hal stifled his sympathy, reminding himself that Joanna had led him intentionally to meet the man he had disparaged in such strong terms.

‘Gladly, Master Vernon,’ he said, and walked inside.

‘You let me say all those things and did nothing to stop me,’ he muttered to Joanna as Master Vernon walked into the back room calling for wine.

‘Yes, though I don’t intend to share what you told me. If you had not insisted on accompanying me you would have been none the wiser.’ Joanna glanced to the door her uncle had gone through. ‘I didn’t intend you to come in, but if you think you can turn this meeting to your advantage, then do so. If not, drink your wine, go quickly and leave me in peace.’

Master Vernon returned, followed by a woman with a baby on her hip who settled herself by the fireplace. Joanna rushed to the woman, who must be her aunt, dropped to her knees and began to sob loudly while the woman patted her shoulder and made soothing sounds.

‘What is this?’ Master Vernon barked. He glared at Hal. ‘Joanna, has this man played you ill?’

Joanna winced. ‘No. Master Danby has done nothing wrong. Sir Roger told me he cannot marry me.’ She stood and wiped a hand across her face.

‘You swore he would ask,’ Simon cried.

‘Sir Roger will be back in August. He’ll ask me then, I’m sure,’ Joanna insisted. Hal frowned, hearing the desperation in her voice. What had Roger told her that she had pinned her hopes on him so deeply?

‘Now what am I to do with you?’ Simon thundered. ‘I must find you a husband myself as you seem incapable, though I doubt I’ll find anyone willing to take you off my hands if you go traipsing around the city with strangers like a common tavern wench!’

He rounded on Joanna. ‘Is it not enough that you go chasing after one man but you have to go wantonly flinging yourself into the company of another?’

Joanna paled. Her eyes lit with the fire Hal had been on the receiving end of, but surprisingly she bowed her head and folded her hands meekly.

‘I asked Mistress Sollers to accompany me. She deserves no censure,’ Hal said swiftly.

Master Vernon gave an angry snort. ‘Go to bed, Joanna. We’ll discuss this in the morning.’

Joanna curtsied to her uncle. She seemed younger and suddenly weary as she left the room with her aunt. Hal’s heart lurched and he vowed to have a forceful talk with his brother as soon as he returned to the camp.

Master Vernon seemed to notice Hal for the first time. He walked close to Hal and pursed his lips. ‘Master Danby, is it? You bear the same name as the wretch who has disappointed my silly niece. I assume it is not a coincidence that you brought her here?’

Hal took a deep breath. ‘Sir Roger is my half-brother. My father is Robert, Baron of Danby and Westerdale, who holds land from William of Pickering.’

‘A nobleman with a blacksmith for a son?’

‘My mother was not of noble birth. I followed her father’s path in life.’ Hal’s answers were clipped. Questions he’d been asked a hundred times before. Justifications he would have to make forever.

‘Do you believe your brother intends to marry my niece?’ Master Vernon demanded.

‘No,’ Hal replied honestly. ‘I have tried to tell her as much, though as she will not believe the words from his lips she is unlikely to believe them from mine.’

Master Vernon crossed the room and poured two glasses of wine. He passed one to Hal and scowled. ‘I am not an unfeeling man,’ he declared, despite all evidence indicating otherwise to Hal. ‘But I have fed and kept Joanna for a decade. I cannot afford to keep her forever. I have my own family to consider. She must find a husband soon.’

The reason for her desperation was becoming clearer now. Instead of insisting Roger did not marry Joanna, Hal should have persuaded him to commit to her. He’d caused this with his blunder.

‘Bringing Joanna safely home was a kindness. I think you have a good heart,’ Master Vernon said. ‘Better than your brother’s at least. Perhaps you are the sort of man the Guild needs—or could be in time.’

Hal smiled and drank his wine. Joanna had told him to turn events to his advantage and they seemed to be doing so of their own accord. He spoke rapidly of his ambitions, the forge at Ravenscrag, and his work for the abbey at Rievaulx and the villages on the moors. Master Vernon nodded approvingly.

‘I told you this afternoon to go back to your home and make a life for yourself,’ Master Vernon said. ‘I mentioned marriage.’

Hal’s smile froze. He had a sickening feeling he knew where Master Vernon was leading and the man’s next words confirmed his fears.

‘I have a proposal that could work to both our advantages, Master Danby. I want you to marry my niece.’


Chapter Five (#ulink_0c676e2c-ef91-5fd3-99b2-abf34564cc3e)

How Hal found his way to the camp he couldn’t say. His feet must have traced the path of their own accord because his brain played no part. He located Roger in the castle hall, drowning his sorrows in wine, and dragged him back to their tent.

‘Tell me what happened between you and Joanna,’ Hal demanded.

Roger threw himself on to his cot with his wine jug. ‘I did as you asked. I told her I could not marry her. I dare say she will grieve for a while, but that can’t be helped.’

‘How forceful was your rejection?’

Roger stared at Hal through bleary, wine-reddened eyes. ‘Completely,’ he answered petulantly. ‘I told her I cannot afford marriage and that I’m leaving York.’

Hal sat on his bed and rested his elbows on his knees. He closed his eyes wearily and wished he hadn’t. Visions of Joanna’s eyes, all the bluer for the red rims surrounding them, filled his mind.

‘You have to change your mind,’ he said.

Roger spat out an oath. ‘Why would I do that?’

Hal fixed his brother with a stare. ‘Because her uncle wants me to take your place.’

Roger stumbled unsteadily to his feet and pointed an accusing finger at his brother. ‘This must be a jest. On your part or his?’

Hal scowled. His first instinct too had been to laugh at the suggestion until he had seen the earnest expression on Simon Vernon’s face.

‘Master Vernon was furious that Joanna had failed to win your hand. He all but offered me membership of the guild as a bribe for taking her,’ Hal said, his bile rising at the memory.

The Guild might think more favourably of a man with the responsibility for a wife and family, Master Vernon had said, which Hal translated as a man who rids me of my troublesome niece! The man had shown little regard for Joanna’s distress, thinking only of his own pocket. No wonder she had been reluctant to return home, knowing the reception that awaited her failure.

Roger gave a high-pitched guffaw. ‘This is rich fun. My honourable brother finds himself ensnared. The lady’s methods are more effective than I suspected!’

Joanna’s face flashed before Hal’s eyes once more, still clinging on to hopes of Roger, despite all signs to the contrary.

‘She had nothing to do with it. She was not present at the time and I imagine the idea will be as unwelcome to her as it is to me.’

‘Are you not tempted to accept the offer?’ Roger asked slyly.

‘No!’ Hal exclaimed. ‘When I enter the guild—and I will—I want to know it is because of my merit, not as a reward for ridding Simon Vernon of an inconvenience.’

Roger took another swig and let out a loud belch. ‘Stop being so high-minded. You failed to get membership of the guild today. This would ease your admittance and Master Vernon would be a more useful connection to you than he ever would to me.’

Hal swung himself to his feet, ignoring the seductive voice that whispered in his ear of the sense of this. He crossed to Roger’s cot and stared down at his brother. ‘You are fond of Joanna, you said so yourself. Why not marry her?’

‘Sadly, as you discovered, she is merely the niece of a guild member. He has a son now and she will inherit nothing. Her marriage portion will be small,’ Roger sneered.

Hal set his jaw. ‘I’ll ask for the last time: will you reconsider your intentions towards her?’

Roger took a maddeningly slow drink from the jug. Hal’s palm itched to slap it from his hand. Roger finally looked up.

‘No. Sir Robin De Monsort has a daughter who comes of age in the next month. I intend to make sure I am her choice and am leaving with him in the morning.’

‘Won’t you care at all to see Joanna given to another man?’

‘If she’d been richer I would have grieved more, but I care very little about it if I’m truly honest.’

Hal bunched his fists, his heart thudding with anger at the careless way his brother spoke. Roger swung himself unsteadily to his feet, wobbled and fell back on his cot.

‘This morning you wanted me to bid farewell to Joanna forever. Now you want me to marry her after all. This has nothing to do with her feelings and everything to do with your wanting to escape from the situation. Just marry her and be done with it. She deserves a husband who at least has a passing interest in her.’

‘And what makes you think I do?’ Hal asked in surprise.

‘The fact that you’re even trying to persuade me,’ Roger explained with the slow logic of the drunk. ‘If you cared nothing for her you wouldn’t worry who she married.’

Hal grimaced. He barely knew the girl, but his ire rose whenever he witnessed the dismissive way Joanna’s uncle or Roger spoke of her or to her. Joanna’s distress had touched him and he felt at least partly responsible for having caused the situation by insisting Roger make a decision. Blame lay at his feet, but surely not enough to require such a foolhardy step as penance?

‘She’s sweet-natured enough to keep you happy and has connections for you that no other woman does. If you won’t have her Simon Vernon will find someone who will. I’m sure she’d prefer you to a fifty-year-old with stale breath,’ Roger continued. He leered suggestively. ‘You and I are enough alike. Maybe you’ll please her in the night after all.’

Hal wrinkled his nose. ‘You disgust me sometimes. If we weren’t brothers I’d want nothing to do with you.’

‘But we are and the choice is not yours.’

Roger laughed to himself, gave another great belch, closed his eyes and began snoring. Hal ran his hands through his hair and gave an exasperated sigh. His eye fell on the wine jug still clasped in Roger’s hand. He tugged it free and poured the remains into a cup before lying back on his cot, racked with indecision.

* * *

The morning brought rain, and with it a resolution. Hal packed his belongings and dressed in silence, slipping the thick wool tunic over his shirt as he stifled the yawns that resulted from a long night lying awake. Still angry, he avoided eye contact with Roger who was equally engrossed in dressing, ordering his young page back and forth with clothing of fine linen and silks. Once there was nothing left to do the brothers faced each other, their angry words lay between them, a barrier as real as stone and mortar.

Hal unbent first, clasping his hand on to Roger’s shoulder. ‘I wish you good fortune in the tournaments. Bring honour on our name.’

‘Have you made your mind up about Joanna?’ Roger asked gruffly, ignoring Hal’s words.

Hal squared his shoulders, thinking he would rather stick his hand into his own furnace than reveal his intentions to Roger.

‘You showed no interest last night. Why now? Unless you have reconsidered?’

‘I haven’t.’ Roger said belligerently. ‘In fact, I only asked out of courtesy. Whether you marry her or not is no concern of mine.’ He clicked his fingers to the page, turned on his heel and sauntered out of the tent.

Hal hefted a bag across his shoulder, dragged his trunk to the waiting cart, then walked into the city.

* * *

Simon Vernon was not at home when he called. Sounds of family life drifted to Hal: children quarrelling, the clattering of cookware, a small dog yapping. Mistress Vernon peered at him through the partially closed door. Her gaze was suspicious rather than hostile and Hal wondered what Joanna had told her aunt of the previous night’s events. He craned his neck to try to catch a glimpse of Joanna, but she was nowhere in sight.

Mistress Vernon informed Hal that her husband was most likely at his foundry. Hal retraced his steps to the Guild Hall along the alleys Joanna had taken him through the previous night. He suppressed a smile as he remembered her wide eyes full of innocence as she had led him in circles throughout the streets.

Even without instruction he could not have missed his destination. St Andrewgate was home to all York’s metalworkers. The narrow street was lined on both sides with open-fronted workshops making and selling all manner of wares and the heat from the furnaces and heady stench of smoke meeting the drizzle greeted Hal like an old friend.

Master Vernon’s foundry was located in an excellent position on the corner with two sides open to the street. Hal paused outside, aware of a clamminess creeping around his back. It was not too late; he could turn and walk away and no one would know. Except for him. He contemplated Simon Vernon’s establishment, larger and grander by far than his own forge in Ravenscrag. One day he would be master of such a place and today, for all his reservations, he was setting his foot most decisively on that path.

Simon Vernon was standing with his back to Hal, barking orders at a pair of young apprentices. A figure was seated at a table in the corner. Hal stared in surprise as he recognised Joanna, head bent over a wax tablet with a stylus in her hand. No one had noticed his arrival so for a moment he stood drinking in the sight of her. She wore a dark-blue dress, high necked and tight sleeved beneath a sombre grey surcoat, belted tight beneath her breasts. Her hair was braided and held back from her face with a linen band. In such a setting she appeared as delicate and out of place as a wren in a nest of crows. The impression was such a contrast to the gaily dressed, flighty girl he had encountered at the camp that Hal was transfixed.

She was not beautiful, at least not in the way he preferred his women to be, but engrossed in her task Joanna’s face was alight with enthusiasm, lending her cheeks a blush of rose. Her figure he already knew from having examined her the previous night. A slight stirring of excitement made him grin. Whatever other reservations he might have about marriage to Joanna, the physical aspects were not among them. He would enjoy getting to know his wife once they were wed.

Joanna muttered to herself, made a swift stroke with a quill and looked up. Too late to glance away her eyes trapped Hal’s. She frowned, a small furrow appearing between her eyes before she broke into a wide smile. She jumped from her chair and crossed the room to him.

‘Master Danby, what brings you here?’ she asked warmly. ‘Do you have a message for me?’ Her voice was hopeful, leaving Hal in no doubt whose word she craved.

He ignored the faint stab of jealousy that pricked his chest, deciding that whatever else occurred, Joanna would never discover Roger’s indifference from him. ‘I’m here to see your uncle.’

Simon Vernon finally noticed him. He strode to Hal, an eager expression on his face. ‘You again. Should I assume you are here because of our conversation last night?’

Hal bowed. ‘Good morning, Master Vernon. I am indeed here to discuss your proposal.’ He glanced at Joanna who was still standing beside her uncle, her eyes bright with suspicion. Master Vernon followed his gaze.

‘Joanna, go fetch ale for us. Make haste, girl!’ he exclaimed, pushing her shoulder.

Hal’s teeth gritted. If he had needed confirmation that he was making the right choice, the man’s manner towards his niece was enough. Joanna left the building.

Simon Vernon watched her go, then turned to Hal. ‘You’re here to ask for her hand?’

Hal took a deep breath. ‘I am.’

Now the words were out the weight of anxiety lifted from his shoulders.

‘Last night I was certain you would refuse,’ Simon said. ‘What changed your mind? Was the promise of my good favour too much to resist?’

Hal smiled politely. ‘Naturally.’

Simon Vernon held out a hand. ‘Then the matter is settled. Now let’s discuss terms.’

* * *

Joanna tapped her foot impatiently as the serving girl filled an earthenware jug with maddening slowness, all the while wondering what her uncle and Hal had been discussing. When she first saw him her heart had leapt, believing for one blissful moment that Sir Roger had changed his mind and sent his brother as messenger. Of course that had been foolish. From what she was learning of Hal he was too proud to consent to carry out such a task. This was not merely a visit for courtesy, however. From the way her uncle had dismissed her she knew there was more to Hal’s appearance and she was determined to find out what it was.

* * *

She arrived back at the foundry with heels skidding in the mud. The two men were facing each other, arms folded and legs set wide, consciously or unconsciously mirroring each other’s stance. They were both talking and smiling, but when Joanna entered Hal’s face became serious.

‘Bring the ale quickly, Joanna,’ her uncle instructed. ‘We have something to drink to.’

Obediently Joanna walked to the table at the back of the room and filled two cups. She picked them up and turned to find Hal standing close behind her.

‘Let me help,’ he said, taking the cups from her hand. He stared down at Joanna with an intensity that sent warm shivers running across her scalp.

‘Come here, girl!’ Simon called. As she joined them his jowly face split into a smile. ‘I said last night I would find you a husband if you could not find your own. Master Danby here has asked for your hand and I have agreed.’

The room spun and grew hotter. Joanna looked at the furnace to check if it had flamed suddenly, but it burned as steadily as always.

‘You must have misunderstood,’ she said. ‘Surely he means on behalf of Sir Roger.’

Simon snorted contemptuously. ‘Of course he doesn’t. You can forget any dreams of Sir Roger asking you. I know I have. The sooner you get him out of your head the happier you’ll be.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ Her voice echoed in her ears.

‘Believe it, you silly chit,’ Simon snapped. ‘Master Danby has excellent prospects and will make a good husband. What possible objections could you have?’

‘I don’t know him!’

‘You were happy enough to go flitting about the city with him yesterday like a common wench with no regard for your name!’ Simon barked.

‘He’s a bastard!’ Joanna faltered. Hal’s head whipped up as though she had struck him physically. His eyes bored into her, the pupils large and black, pinning her to the spot with their intensity. ‘I’m sorry...’ she began.

‘I bear my father’s name and I hold land on his estate,’ Hal said curtly. ‘My status does not shame me.’

‘Master Danby is right. What does that matter?’ Simon asked. ‘He is a lord’s son by birth and his children will be legitimate.’

Children. Joanna’s stomach heaved at the thought of children and what creating them would entail. The thought of anyone touching her in the way Roger had made her want to scream.

Simon gripped Joanna by the arm and pulled her to the back of the room out of Hal’s hearing. His face was stern.

‘It is good fortune you happened upon someone who did not take advantage and make you completely unmarriageable, but enough is enough,’ he growled. ‘I have wasted three years while you waited for his brother and I’m not prepared to wait any longer. Master Danby has clearly seen the advantages such a match will bring. I suggest you do the same. This man or Thomas Gruffydd, but no more waiting.’

He dropped her arm and stormed out, leaving Joanna in no doubt that he intended to be obeyed. Hal was watching closely, his mouth a thin line.

‘What advantages does he mean?’ Joanna asked as soon as Simon was out of earshot. She closed her eyes as the answer struck her with sudden clarity.

‘No, I understand. It’s guild business, isn’t it? How did you manage to coerce him?’

‘The idea was not mine. Your uncle suggested it.’ Hal frowned. ‘Why do you assume I want the marriage any more than you do?’

A feeling of nausea told her he was speaking the truth. Hadn’t Simon threatened to find her a husband only last night?

‘So you’re buying me?’ Joanna said, her voice shaking. ‘Do you gain admittance to the guild as a reward?’

‘Actually, I don’t!’ Hal said. ‘I’m not buying you. I gain nothing at this time other than a wife and the promise that I can petition for membership sooner than the customary year is up if I feel able. I’m not sure I get the best out of the deal.’

Hal stepped closer and put a hand gently on her shoulder. Joanna shrugged it off again violently.

‘I don’t love you,’ she said coldly.

Hal raised an eyebrow. ‘Nor I you. It would be rare if we did after such a short time knowing each other. I don’t expect you to feel for me what you did my brother, but perhaps in time we will become fond of each other.’

Joanna crossed her arms, the mention of her adored knight sending waves of misery through her. ‘If Sir Roger knew he would never let this happen. I need to speak to him.’

Hal’s expression became blank.

‘My brother has already left the city.’

Joanna’s shoulders sagged and she stifled a sob.

‘In truth, I have no real desire to marry you, knowing you are in love with him,’ Hal said. ‘However, as your uncle said, there are advantages for me. For both of us.’

‘What is the advantage for me?’ Joanna asked quietly.

‘Perhaps nothing,’ Hal admitted. ‘If you would prefer to wait and see which alternative husband your uncle can find for you I will not stand in your way.’

Those words were all it took. He was right; Simon Vernon would find her a husband and, being anxious to be rid of her, would take less care than he did over choosing his belt. Thomas Gruffydd’s face swam before her eyes and she shivered.

Joanna walked to the front of the workshop where the breeze cooled her cheeks and she could think more freely. Hal did not follow, though she could feel his dark eyes on her. She examined him out of the corner of her eye: a tall figure, handsome when he stopped frowning, but so like Roger that the sight of him tore her to shreds inside. Simon thought him honourable. Perhaps he was right. Hal had come to her aid in the camp when the guards had made their lewd comments and last night he had insisted on accompanying her home. For some reason known only to himself he had set himself as her protector.

Uncle Simon came back inside. ‘You’ve had enough time to think, so what is it to be? Make your choice, girl.’

Joanna swallowed, summoning the courage to speak. ‘I do not wish to marry this man, but you leave me no choice.’ Simon grunted his agreement. Joanna bunched her fists to stop her hands trembling and forced a smile she did not feel in the slightest.

‘Master Danby, I will be your wife.’


Chapter Six (#ulink_23968189-3768-53f6-aa63-d7d8650f5f88)

The wedding was arranged with indecent haste, being only fifteen days in preparation rather than the customary forty. Lent was fast approaching and, perhaps fearing Joanna would change her mind, Simon Vernon was insistent that the ceremony took place before rather than afterwards.

Hal had returned home to speak to his father the same afternoon as their betrothal had taken place and had not returned to the city. In vain Joanna hoped that his petition would be refused, but six days later a messenger hammered on the door of the house, bearing a letter for Simon agreeing to the proposed date and asking him to acquire lodgings for Hal and Joanna for the nights following the ceremony.

To Joanna the speed with which matters were put into place was the final seal on her hopes of escaping the betrothal.

‘I agreed too rashly,’ she muttered, pacing the floor of Simon Vernon’s house as the day drew closer. ‘I should have asked for more time to consider, or delayed somehow.’

Mary Vernon ceased her sewing and frowned. ‘What good would waiting have done?’

‘Sir Roger loves me,’ Joanna said. ‘He will never let the marriage take place. When he knows what I am being forced into he will come back for me, but the sooner the wedding, the less chance he will receive my letter in time.’

‘You’ve written to him?’ Mary frowned. ‘If my husband finds out he’ll be furious!’

‘He won’t find out. You won’t tell him, will you?’ Joanna pleaded. She stared into the fire where she had cast letter after letter before finally deciding on the words to explain her plight. She had sent the letter ahead to Windsor the day Hal had left York and nine days later there had still been no reply.

‘Windsor is a long way,’ Joanna said firmly. ‘It will take time.’

No answer came, but three days before the wedding Simon Vernon returned home and tossed a bulky leather pouch to Joanna. With a thumping heart she opened it and tipped the unexpectedly heavy contents into her hand.

It was a brooch. Joanna’s stomach plummeted as the meaning of the gift became clear and she could no longer deny what was happening. Hal must have made it and this was his marriage gift to her. The brooch was small, made of three strands of iron twisted around each other to form them into a ring. It was unadorned with gems or other ornament. It was neatly finished but a workmanlike piece. A marriage brooch suitable indeed for a match without passion. Joanna closed her hand over it, but Simon demanded to see what she had been sent.

He held it up to the candlelight. ‘Your husband-to-be may be skilled with plough blades and horseshoes, but he’ll need to improve his fine work if he wants to achieve the status of a master.’ Simon laughed.

‘Perhaps you should tell him how far away he is and he may decide to end this betrothal,’ Joanna suggested.

Simon laughed. ‘Don’t be foolish, nothing is going to prevent this marriage.’

Joanna held a hand out. ‘May I have my brooch back, please?’ she asked coldly. He placed it in her hand and she excused herself and climbed wearily to her room. She took the brooch out again and noticed something else in the pouch. She opened it and in surprise found a letter from Hal.

Please accept this as a token of my fidelity to you. Although I am not the husband of your choice I hope in time we can be happy. Henry Danby.

The script was neat and precise. The author’s hand was sure and bore signs of an education, but of course Hal was a nobleman’s son.

Joanna smiled wryly to herself. In all the time she had known Roger he had never written to her. Now she began to suspect that he never would, or that if he did the message would come too late to save her.

* * *

On her wedding day Joanna woke with dry eyes, having spent all her tears the night before. She had hoped for rain or a black sky, something better suited to symbolising her mood, but the sun broke through wispy clouds. Mary eased herself into the room, panting gently. She handed Joanna a cup of warm milk, easing herself on to the end of the bed. Joanna stared at her aunt’s swelling belly, which seemed to grow more each day. She had borne five children, four of whom had lived, and now a sixth was expected already.

Mary saw her looking, rubbing her hands over the bulge. ‘It gets easier each time,’ she said. ‘You’re wide in the hip, you won’t have any problems when it’s your turn.’

Joanna blushed. ‘It isn’t bearing the children that worries me,’ she admitted in a whisper. Mary drew her into an embrace.

‘That is bearable too. Not at first, but you learn to tolerate it. Some women even find pleasure in it.’ Her lips narrowed disapprovingly. ‘Or so I’m told!’

Joanna gripped the cup in her hands. A sob welled up in her throat and Mary patted her briskly.

‘Come now, there’s no use in fretting over what you can’t change. Your new husband is handsome enough. I’m sure you’ll find you’re as happy as any woman can expect to be.’

Joanna bit her lip. She was devoted to Sir Roger with all her heart but even his touch had left her skin crawling. She remembered the last time they had kissed; Sir Roger’s hands on her body, fingers nipping and twisting, digging into her flesh while his tongue forced its way between her lips. How could any woman endure, much less enjoy, such a thing? If it was like that with a man she loved, what would it be like with one she didn’t?

Dressed in a pale-blue kirtle laced tightly beneath a darker-blue, sleeveless cotehardie, it was a source of amazement to Joanna that she managed to walk to the church without fainting. She stopped abruptly at the gate, every fibre of her body urging her to run, but Simon tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her through.

Hal was facing the church door, which gave Joanna plenty of time to observe him as she walked up the path. How ironic that this angle had been her first glimpse of him too. Whenever they had met Hal had always worn plain clothes, but today he was dressed in a dark-green jerkin with gold embroidery at the sleeves and collar over a black tunic. A wide belt pulled his waist in in a manner that accentuated the broadness of his shoulders and back and his close-fitting hose revealed well-formed legs. His hair had been drawn back into a neat cord at the nape of his neck, but dark curls were already beginning to break free, as unruly as ever. He turned as she approached and his eyes widened in obvious appreciation. Joanna smiled nervously at him and for a moment she allowed herself to believe things might turn out well. Hal’s eyes slid to his brooch pinned over Joanna’s heart. She raised her hand to it.

‘Thank you.’

He broke into a wide smile full of pleasure. As reluctant as she was to become his wife, Joanna had to admit she was marrying a handsome man. If only it was his brother her happiness would be complete. She stifled a sob as Simon pushed her forward to stand beside Hal. The priest began intoning words that washed over Joanna’s head and the ceremony began.

When she was later asked to describe her wedding, Joanna had no recollection. She did not weep and was proud of that. She spoke the required words in a clear voice, made and received promises. They must have exchanged rings—the plain narrow band that felt as heavy as a manacle on her finger was evidence of that. Throughout it all she kept her eyes downcast as a modest maiden should. No one would expect more, or censure her for her reticence.

There was stillness and the churchyard filled with an expectant hush. Finally Joanna raised her eyes to meet those of her husband.

‘I believe a kiss is customary,’ Hal said quietly.

‘Oh! Of course.’ Joanna obediently raised her face.

Hal hesitated before stepping towards her. He put his hands at either side of Joanna’s face. They were warm and rough. The hands of a craftsman, not a noble. His fingers spread wide so that his thumbs caressed her cheeks and the little fingers brushed against the base of her skull. He leaned down, closing his eyes as he moved towards her. Much gentler than Joanna had expected he brushed his lips across hers.





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