The Blacksmith's Wife

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

‘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.