Emma Campion - A Triple Knot (21 page)

She’d particularly dreaded seeing Will. In the flesh, he was hardly threatening. In truth, all three of them seemed terribly young to her. Will had shot up several inches since she’d last seen him but was more awkward than ever, ducking his head as he greeted her, then slipping to the far side of her uncle as they left the church.

Ned had been the first to greet her, taking her by the hand to tell her how much he had missed her. She’d averted her eyes, not wanting him to sense her ambivalence. He seemed such a child.

Bella immediately brought up all that Joan wished to forget. “We all said a prayer for Felice. Is it true that Lady Lucienne lost her fingers when your ship burned? You should have waited. Mother sent us home after our victory at Sluys, when the channel was quiet.”

Margaret kindly responded. “I was with Lucienne for several days. Her fingers were badly burned, but they will heal. As for the decision to sail when they did, it was your mother, Her Grace the queen, who made it.”

Joan thought to deflect more questions by asking her own. “Have you any news of your father, Will?”

“I’m told he will be back by Martinmas.” There was a smear of dirt on his freckled cheek, and he should have taken a comb to his hair, which looked a bit like a bird’s nest. Poor Will—the
Montagu hawk nose and full lips looked odd on his round face, with his small, dark, close-set eyes. “We all pray that is so.”

“As do we,” said Joan, despairing as Will looked away, allowing Bella to pipe up with more uncomfortable questions.

“Is it true that you gelded the pirate who found you in the ship’s cabin?”

“Who says they witnessed what I did to the pirate?” Joan demanded. Whoever it was must have been close enough to save Felice. Why had he let her die?

Blind to Joan’s discomfort, Bella shrugged. “It’s common gossip now.”

Meaning Joan was common gossip now. How much did Bella know? Or guess? What had she told her brother?

“We’ve tired you,” said her uncle as he came up behind her, startling Joan.

Her falcon was back on her wrist, and Ned and Bella were now far down the trail. She’d wasted most of the hawking wallowing in her resentment.

“We’ve more than enough fowl for the larder,” said her uncle. “It’s time to head back.”

The Wakes did a better job of crowding Bella out of the conversation at dinner. And Ned entertained them with a lively narrative of a hunting mishap, told with much gesturing and a hilarious assortment of voices. He was a gifted mimic.

“Thea and Cecilia Van Artevelde miss you,” Bella managed to intersperse afterward, “though I think, in truth, it is all the king’s guard who dined with them while you bided there whom they truly miss. Thea dreams of Sir Roland, and Cecilia believes Sir Guy is in love with her, though she thinks Sir Thomas is more handsome.”

“Sir Roland is a
much
better dancer.” Joan distrusted any mention of Thomas in this company.

“Are you going to marry Will?” John whispered.

“So says Mother.” She watched Will, wondering what he
thought of all this, and how Ned had coerced him into coming. She had known him all her life, but they had never been friends. Her brother knew him better. “What does he like?”

“Whatever pleases his father.”

“John!”

“It’s true. He excels in nothing that the earl values. So he tries at least not to excel in what his father despises.”

She tried again to draw Will into conversation, but, as he behaved as if it were a punishment, she gave up, bored with the effort. John was not entirely right—it would have pleased the earl had Will tried to engage her in conversation.

“Why don’t the four of you go out into the garden?” Margaret suggested when the last course was being cleared.

Why don’t you all go home?
Joan silently countered. With a sigh, she rose from the table and with John led their guests out through the kitchen to the garden beyond, and the river. She halted at the low garden wall, as close to the riverbank as she wished to venture at present, still uneasy around water. Bella, Will, and John continued down to the bank to toss pebbles at the passing barges. Ned straddled the wall beside her, taking her hand.

“I saw you watching Will. Do you really think to wed that coward?”

“Might we talk of something else?”

“What about our vows, cousin?”

“Your father warned me away from you.”

“Bella told me about that bastard Albret, how he touched you. He will pay for that.”

“I very much doubt it. Your father needs him.”

“He had no right to touch you like that.” He kissed her hand. “No one does. Not him, not Will. You cannot lie with Will!”

“It would not happen for years. Mother swears. Just as with
you and Marguerite of Brabant. I like Marguerite, Ned. She will make a gracious queen.”

“The pope will never agree to that marriage. But he would to ours. It would not threaten Philip of Valois.”

“The pope might agree, but not your parents.”

He turned her hand palm down and touched the stone on her ring. “Who gave you this? Albret?”

“I kept nothing of his. You should know I would not.”

He kissed her cheek. “I will avenge your honor, Joan. I swear.”

“Ned, please—let’s talk of something else.”

“I would do so to any man who dared touch you.” He nodded at Will. “He knows that.”

“Ned, stop it.”

“Who
did
give you the ring? Bella says you returned from the Van Arteveldes with it.”

“I bought it at a fair.”

“You? Or Thomas Holland?”

That Ned would mention him—she felt breathless but forced herself to say with a laugh, “Why him? Why not Sir Guy, Sir Roland, Sir Piet—all were guests at the Van Artevelde dinners while I abided there. All were pleasant to me. Unlike you—” She tried to withdraw her hand.

“Such a paltry thing.” He grabbed her finger and tugged.

“Ned, don’t! You’re hurting me!” It stung as he forced it past her knuckle.

He tossed it out onto the muddy riverbank. “I’ll give you something more suitable to your station.”

“I don’t want your ring, I want mine. Why are you so hateful?” She started toward the spot where it was sinking, but the tarry smell from the river gagged her, too like the smell of the ship, intensified as it burned. She covered her mouth and stumbled back toward the hall.

“Joan!” Ned reached for her hand as she passed him. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“No, you aren’t. You’re sorry I’m walking away from you.” She picked up her skirts and ran, not stopping until she arrived, breathless, in her bedchamber. She threw herself down on the bed, shaking with anger and grief. Her ring, the beautiful ring Thomas had given her, lost in the mud. “May God smite you, Edward of Woodstock. Smite you for your pride and your cruelty!” She pressed her face into the feather bed, imagining Ned’s shock at being disciplined by the Almighty himself, the lightning bolt shooting toward him.…

“May I enter?” Bella asked from the doorway.

And how would God punish Bella for her intemperate mouth? Joan rolled over and sat up, wiping her eyes. Strike her speechless—that would be appropriate. The entire court would breathe a sigh of relief. “What did you tell Ned about my ring?”

Bella shrugged as she crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed with a dramatic sigh. “You are so tetchy today. I told him only what Thea Van Artevelde told me—that you wore it the first morning you joined them in the hall for sewing, and when she asked about it her mother told her not to be rude. And, since I’d never seen it, we guessed Sir Thomas might have given it to you.”

What else might they have guessed, those two master gossips? “Why did you even mention it?”

“I just did.”

“Why would Sir Thomas give me such a thing?”

“It’s no secret that you like him, and he likes you. Mary said you often shared a bench in the abbey garden, breaking your fast together.”

Of course Bella would quiz Mary. “What else did she say?”

“She grumbled about being left behind when you went to bide with the Van Arteveldes.”

Joan pointed to a pretty ring on Bella’s finger. “You owe me a ring. I like that one.”

Bella covered her hand. “I didn’t take it from you, Ned did. Let
him
give you a ring.”

“You taunted him with it, didn’t you? Do you have nothing better to do than gossip about me?”

“I’m sorry.” Bella slipped off the ring and held it out to Joan.

“I don’t want it. Go away. And stop telling tales about me. You don’t know anything.”

G
OD IN HEAVEN
,
WHAT NOW?
M
ARGARET HAD WONDERED AS
J
OAN
rushed by, her hair flying, shaking her head at her mother’s exclamations of concern and stumbling up the steps to the solar, seemingly half blinded by tears. Soon her companions returned, quiet, avoiding adult eyes, the prince and the princess signaling to their servants that they were ready to depart.

Ned asked Margaret to convey his apologies to Joan, his tone more resentful than apologetic. She might have known it was he who upset her daughter. Bella kissed Margaret on the cheek and asked permission to go after Joan. She reluctantly agreed. As the prince went over to bid goodbye to the Wakes, Will slipped something into Margaret’s hand.

“I tried to clean it with my sleeve, my lady,” he said in a voice meant for her ears only.

Joan’s ring. “What happened, Will?”

“He would not believe she bought it for herself and he threw it away. I pray you, do not let him see it.”

She tucked it into her girdle. “Thank you. I will tell her it was you who retrieved it.” She kissed his forehead and restrained herself from wiping the smudge off his cheek.

Will bobbed his head, giving her an endearingly crooked smile, then hurried to catch up with the prince and the princess
as Bella returned from the solar, red-faced and muttering about Joan’s foul temper.

Margaret turned back to her brother and sister-in-law with relief after the three young visitors had ridden from the yard. Sitting down beside Blanche, she took up her needlework, enjoying a moment of peace.

But her brother Thomas was curious about the exchange with Will. “Might I see the ring?” Holding it up to the light, he exclaimed, “Holland gave her this?”

“That man!” Blanche hissed.

Thomas ignored her. “It is no cheap trinket but a fine stone, Margaret. Had you noticed?”

She confessed she had not.

“What is your point, husband?” Blanche demanded.

“A gift of such quality from a knight bachelor suggests that he was in earnest. He is an honorable man, much admired for his martial skills and his leadership in the field.” When his wife protested, he reminded her that her uncle had been a scoundrel and a traitor to his king. She herself had called her father’s campaign to have his brother declared a saint rubbish. “The man was a devil, and the elder Holland did a great service to the realm when he betrayed his lord.”

“So you would have your sister encourage him?” Blanche asked.

“After his brother has already congratulated me on my niece’s betrothal to Salisbury’s heir? Of course not.”

“What is this? When did you speak with his brother?” Margaret asked.

“Did you not tell her, wife?” Thomas asked. “It was days ago I encountered Lord Holland.”

“Of course I did. Margaret, you remember. The vintner’s shop?” Blanche tried to look bemused, but in truth she looked uneasy.

“No,” said Margaret. “Tell me, brother.”

Thomas was now regarding his wife as if she’d just begun to caw like a raven. “Robert, Lord Holland, strolled into the vintner shop I frequent, it must be a week past, now. I cannot believe you missed the chance to tell this, Blanche.”

“Thomas, tell me what happened,” Margaret implored.

“He congratulated me on my niece’s betrothal to young Will Montagu, that is all. A trivial thing, except that his brother had hoped to wed her. The family must have decided it was not in their interest. Which, of course, it is not. To go against the king’s intentions for his cousin would ruin Holland. I, for one, am grateful they made him see reason. Sir Thomas is a captain we cannot afford to lose as we face war with France. He has many friends among his peers in the Low Countries, and his men trust him.” He handed Margaret the ring. “You might advise Joan not to wear that in the presence of the prince. Too valuable to lose.” He shook his head. “I pity young Montagu. Anyone marrying Joan will need to stand up to Prince Edward, and I do not yet see much backbone in Will.”

So the Hollands had decided the matter for them. Margaret should be relieved, but it hurt to think how betrayed her daughter would feel, and she had a nasty taste in her mouth about Blanche’s part in this. When she finally went to Joan, who was curled up in a window seat, staring at herself in a small mirror that she held before her, Margaret felt a stab of pain for her lovely child. Helena moved a chair near the window for her, then withdrew.

“Will retrieved your ring.” Margaret held it out to Joan.

The mirror was quickly set aside, Joan’s eyes shining with tears as she slipped the ring back on her finger. “Bless him. Ned will make him pay for this kindness.”

Margaret told Joan what her brother had said about its worth. “He suggested that you not wear it in the prince’s company.” She kissed her daughter’s forehead. “You had forgotten how unpleasant he could be.”

“Hateful. He cannot let me be. He threatens anyone I care for.”

“He may be the crown prince, but he’s still just a boy of ten.”

“Remember when he broke John’s nose for laughing at him in the practice yard?”

How could Margaret forget? She had removed her son from the prince’s household after that, sending him to be fostered with Blanche’s brother Henry of Grosmont, Earl of Derby.

“And what of my dog Bruno?”

“We do not know that that was the prince’s work. But, for the sake of the realm he will one day rule, I do pray that Ned grows beyond his bullying ways.” She kissed Joan’s forehead again, smoothed back her curls. “As for the Hollands …” Margaret told Joan of her brother’s chance meeting with Lord Holland, her heart aching as Joan’s tears gathered and her shoulders slumped.