The Blacksmith's Wife

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

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.