Emma Campion - A Triple Knot (13 page)

“My fair cousin.” Edward reached for her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “You will dance with me later, Joan. I have not had the pleasure for many a day.” He looked down at her with shining eyes. “What a beauty you’re becoming. I do hope Albret’s son proves worthy of you.”

She caught her breath. “I pray that I am never so cursed as to know, Your Grace.”

Though he still smiled, one side of his mouth twitched, and he moved his gaze to the top of her head. “My son tells me you are clever and see the truth of people. But I trust you also weigh their importance to the good of the realm. We must never lose sight of our duties as the royal family, must we, cousin?” He awaited her answer.

“Have I ever disappointed you in any way, Your Grace?”

“No, dear cousin, you have not. But in our great endeavor to win back our birthright—yes, I fight Valois for all our family—we might be called upon for greater sacrifices than in times of peace. I meant only to spur you to our cause.” He paused to look her in the eye, serious now. “You’ve made no promises, you and my son, have you? You are not holding yourself for him?”

Joan forced herself not to look away. “What a question, Your Grace. Has Ned said so?”

“Perhaps I misunderstood.”

“We are the best of friends, as you know.” She smiled. “But we were yet children when we parted.”

“Children. Indeed. Though my son thinks he knows his mind.” He bowed to her. “I will not permit any harm to come to you, sweet cousin.”

An impossible promise to keep, Joan thought as she bowed to him, her pearl-encrusted sleeves brushing the tiled floor. “Your Grace, I will be honored to dance with you.” She did not gift him with a smile.

At the high table, she was relieved to be seated between one of the queen’s Hainaulter cousins, an affable man, and Dame Katarina, who was proving a good friend. Indeed, she’d been true to her word, keeping Albret’s man Olivier away from their house. Joan had perforce tolerated him at a few of the queen’s dinners, but in the company of the Van Arteveldes she breathed freely, confident that he would not appear. And, so far,
he seemed absent at this feast, an appropriate concession she’d counted on.

Katarina commented on Joan’s entrance. “The Earl of Salisbury, Her Grace, King Edward—you are considered an important guest, Lady Joan.”

“I chose to speak to Earl William and was interrupted by Her Grace, whose page took me to His Grace. Not important but potentially troublesome, Dame Katarina.”

“Troublesome? Would they be right?”

“I cannot predict what I might do should they continue to favor my marriage to Albret’s son. What think you of Helena’s handiwork?” She raised her arms so that the pearl-encrusted sleeves caught the candlelight.

“Beautiful! I thought you would be just the young woman to appreciate her gifts.”

Katarina was describing some of the work Helena had done for her when King Edward interrupted them with a hand on Joan’s shoulder, claiming his dance. Looking up, up—he was so tall he loomed above her, she felt a shiver of dread at what she might suffer from him should she choose to disobey. But she took his proffered hand with a smile.

He led her into a slow dance in which the partners approached, withdrew, joined and turned, hands touching, palms touching, then apart, eyes meeting, then turning away. The king’s body seemed to hum with power, and Joan felt herself warming to him, relaxing into his lead, enjoying the dance. It was over too soon.

As the king led Joan back to her seat, she asked him about his fascination with King Arthur.

He smiled down on her and pressed her hand, which she’d lightly rested on his forearm as they walked. She felt his warmth through the purple sleeve encrusted with gems.

“Do you not enjoy the tales of King Arthur’s court?” he asked. “Do you not hope to live on in song and legend as he has?”

“I do enjoy the tales, Your Grace. But, as for living on in songs, I give that little thought. I should be content to be remembered by those who loved me, judged on how I lived my life, not on my status.”

“That will never be so for you, cousin. You are not simply a beautiful young woman, you are of royal blood, close cousin to a king, with all the duties and honors that entails. As to your question, I set such themes in costume to remind us of who we are. All the court. Indeed, I’ve considered establishing a Round Table to inspire my barons and knights, a reminder of our higher purpose.”

“Alas, Your Grace, you shall be too busy with your war to see to such fine endeavors.”

“Ah, but it will be the perfect vehicle through which to unite the nobles of both kingdoms.” He bowed to her with a victor’s self-satisfied smile, and handed her over to her next partner, Count William of Hainault. A few more partners brought her back to William Montagu.

“We were speaking of my mother’s thoughts regarding the Sire d’Albret, my lord.”

“Forgive me, but Her Grace has asked that I not poison your mind against the man. Still, I will inform Countess Margaret of my continued concern. It is not right that she should not be told of this proposed match.”

“And the plan you spoke of?”

“I leave it to Countess Margaret to tell you, if she approves.”

Joan saw by the set of his jaw that she must be satisfied with that for the present.

She danced with other lords and merchants, growing pleasantly tired.

“Who was your favorite partner?” Dame Katarina asked when Joan returned to her seat.

“All of them,” she said, laughing. But her mood soured as
she caught sight of Lady Lucienne, smiling up at Sir Thomas as they danced.

Dame Katarina noticed. “Watch how Sir Thomas glances your way, and then turns on her his most dazzling smile. You have nothing to fear from Lucienne.”

Joan felt herself blushing. “Don’t be silly. He’s nothing to me.” Since his return a fortnight ago he had said little to her, seeming to go out of his way to avoid conversation.

Katarina smiled, clearly seeing through Joan’s protest. “Prudence is wise, particularly when your heart is set on someone other than the man whom your guardians have chosen.”

“I have no intention of following my heart. I must uphold my family’s honor.”

“Now you have made me sad. You’d sounded so fiery earlier, threatening trouble if they persisted in pushing you toward Albret’s son.” Katarina put her arm round Joan and gave her a squeeze of affection. “God has given you beauty, grace, and courage. For what? Have you asked yourself that question?”

Joan had not noticed until now, as she studied Dame Katarina, that the seed pearls powdering her sea-green silk gown suggested fish scales, and that the flowing feathers in her headpiece imitated the motion of seaweed, or a woman’s long hair underwater.

“Are you a Siren?” Joan asked.

“A simple mermaid.”

“I do not believe there is anything simple about you, Dame Katarina.”

“No?” She smiled dreamily as she watched the dancers. “Would it not be a welcome change if the woman might ask the man to dance? Why should we always be the ones to sit here, yearning? Why should they always be the ones to choose?”

Joan sighed. “Why indeed?”

“There is one who does not wait. I was watching when
Lucienne strolled by Thomas Holland and brushed his arm, tilting her head toward the dancers when he looked round, a sly smile, a slow blink, as if reminding him of the pleasure of moving together to the music. She may be a strumpet, but she lures him with such art I find I quite admire her.”

“She has earned the right to please herself,” said Joan. “She married an elderly lord, immensely wealthy, and bore him sufficient sons to ensure his legacy. But I—one misstep and I’m for the convent.”

“Truly? Are women of the royal blood deemed so untrustworthy that they may not choose with whom to dance? One dance? My father was quite stern about his daughters’ reputations, but even he would not deny us a dance with a handsome knight.”

Perhaps Joan might tease Thomas into a dance, but she wanted more. Before the campaign he had watched over her, lovingly, she’d thought, and he had accepted her favor, worn it on his return, smiled at her once in the hall, and then—nothing. She wanted to know what had happened. She wanted him back.

Joan turned to the queen’s cousin, engaging him in a few moments of chatter. But when she saw Thomas part with Lucienne and move toward the door to the yard she excused herself and followed. Outside, the air enlivened her—fresh, crisp, and though the sun was low in the sky it was not so chilly as to make her regret having no cloak. Men stood about in clusters, knights and barons mixing with the wealthy citizens of the city. The king would be pleased. The only women Joan saw were the wife of one of the captains, coming from the privy with her personal maid, and a few maidservants pouring ale and wine. Joan searched for Thomas, at last sighting him walking near the chapel. She hurried after, skipping ahead of him so that she might block his escape.

“Sir Thomas!”

“My lady, you should not be out here alone, and without a cloak. I pray you, fetch your maidservant.” He made as if to move past her.

Joan reached for his hand, turning it palm up. It was calloused and chapped, but the lines were clear. “I wonder which of these might have warned me of your discourtesy?” With a finger she traced the longest line, pausing in the middle. “Might it be here, where it suddenly divides?”

“Discourtesy?” His voice had softened considerably, and his expression was one of surprise as he met her gaze.

“I offered you my favor, my father’s emblem, and you accepted with such a beautiful smile, I thought you understood. Yet since then you have kept me at a distance. Did my gift mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it did. I hold you—” He withdrew his hand, balling it into a fist, and looked away.

They stood just outside the chapel. “Come within.” She took his arm and led him through the door, slipping onto a bench just inside. A few candles fluttered on the altar, the sacristy lamp softly illuminated the painted walls, but here, near the door, only a small lantern lit the entrance. And they were quite alone. “Something has caused a rift between us, Thomas, and I would know the cause.”

He sank down with elbows on thighs, forehead in hands.

“Thomas?” She touched his shoulder. “What have I done to push you away? I counted you as my friend, my champion.”

“I am confused about Albret’s costly gift. What the queen intends by having you accept it.”

“You know of that.” She felt herself blush. “I don’t wonder. I did not want the palfrey, but Her Grace insisted that I accept it as a formal apology. To do so does not bind us, she assured me. But His Grace has set his sights on Albret, warning me to remember my duty.”

He straightened. “I feared as much.”

“I will not obey them in this, Thomas, I will not.” Her voice broke. Mother in heaven, not now. She must not cry now.

“Sweet Joan, forgive me. I’m a witless gudgeon.” He brushed a tear from her cheek.

She leaned close, looking into his eyes, then kissed him on the lips. Her heart pounded at her boldness. “I think I love you, Thomas.”

His large, warm hands were on her shoulders. “You’re just a child, Joan. A child. What can you know of love?”

“I am not a child, Thomas. I am nearly a woman. Albret certainly noticed. So have you, and the king.” She slipped her arms around him, pulling him close, and kissed him again. He tasted of sweet wine and spices. His breath caressed her cheek as his arms came round her waist. She kissed his cheek, then his mouth again—

They jumped apart at a sound, then laughed to realize it was a candle settling in its sconce.

“Heaven help me,” Thomas groaned, and rubbed his face as if to wake himself. “I need air.”

Joan caught his arm as he rose and moved toward the door. “Can you not say it? Do you not love me?”

He pressed his forehead against the wood. “God’s blood, Joan, do you need to ask? I have loved you since that night on the ship.”

She stood on tiptoe and pulled his head toward her, kissing him once more. “I will tarry here a little while. When I return to the hall, ask me to dance. I
will
have a dance with you this Martinmas Eve.” She stepped away. “Now go!”

Before following him she knelt at the altar, praying to the Blessed Virgin to watch over and protect her, protect Thomas. She jumped as the door creaked open behind her, letting in a chill draft.

Helena stepped in, holding out Joan’s fur-lined cloak. “My lady, I thought you might need this.”

“It is most welcome. But how did you find me?”

“Dame Katarina told me you’d gone out, and when I saw Sir Thomas leaving the chapel I thought I might find you here. Princess Isabella and Her Grace have both asked after you, my lady. We might slip round the chapel to the privy, then enter through the far door.”

They stepped out into a biting wind that presaged a cold rain.

B
LINKING IN THE SUDDEN BRIGHTNESS OF THE GAILY LIT HALL
,
Thomas stood in the doorway of the screens passage and considered his next step. He must not seem to be waiting for Joan to appear. Nearby, Jacob Van Artevelde spoke with William and Edward Montagu. They would be a poor choice of companions from whom to break away to claim a dance with Joan.

“Before you engage in conversation, you might check your clothes for pearls, like this one on your shoulder,” Lucienne whispered, so close behind him that he felt her breath on his neck. She plucked a sliver of mother-of-pearl from his jacket. “So she wrapped her arms round you?”

“Who? I see a number of gowns with pearl decorations.”

Lucienne laughed and joined the Montagus and Van Artevelde, and soon Sir Edward was leading her out to join the dancers.

Of all the dangers Thomas and Joan faced, Lucienne was the most immediate, her jealousy a warning. He went in search of a mazer of wine, but changed direction when he spied Joan at the far end of the hall, handing over her cloak to her lady’s maid. As she moved, the mother-of-pearl on her arms shimmered, drawing eyes to her, and before he reached her she’d accepted the hand of one of the captains of the city. Thomas must wait his turn, sipping some wine, letting it warm him. When the music slowed, he moved to claim his dance.