Emma Campion - A Triple Knot (23 page)

Margaret hoped to find a moment to speak with him in private, ostensibly to offer Efa’s services as a healer. She also wanted to warn him of the situation with Holland. Though she took a risk in telling him the truth, she could not in good conscience allow him to proceed with the betrothal of his son and heir in ignorance.

E
ARLY THE FOLLOWING MORNING
,
AS SHE APPROACHED THE STABLES
,
Margaret heard an angry shout followed by someone howling in pain. Peering around the opened door, she witnessed William boxing the ears of a young groom with such viciousness that one of his own knights called out, “My lord!” and stepped in front of the lad, protecting him from further blows. William roared something unintelligible, then turned sharply away. Margaret had never known him to be violent to his servants. She ached to see how his elegant clothes hung on his diminished frame, though from the state of the groom it was clear that William was still strong, even though not himself.

“Well met, brother!” Abbess Matilda called out as she stepped past Margaret into the light. “I’m glad to have found you. Would you walk out with me? I should like your opinion on something.” She lightly touched his elbow. He nodded and made to follow her out. “The sisters of Barking have daily prayed for you, dear brother. God be praised that you are home safely.”

“Cur of a groom,” William growled, kicking a chicken out of the path. “Came at me from behind.” He gestured to his left rear.

“You are not wearing your eye patch,” Matilda said. “Perhaps the lad didn’t know not to approach you from that side.”

William growled again, but brightened as he caught sight of Margaret. She held her breath, praying he would not say something that gave them away.

“Out for an early-morning walk, my lady?” He gestured to her to come forward, bowed and made a show of kissing her hand while whispering,
After dinner, the far cottage
.

She smiled. “I thought I should seize the chance for a morning walk, my lord earl. I am so seldom at leisure in the countryside.”

He bowed to her again and moved on, a page and a knight following close behind.

The abbess put an arm around Margaret. “I am sorry you witnessed that. I’ve never seen my brother in such a rage. You know of the injury he suffered at Lille, and then to be forced to ride all the way to Paris. Suffolk, who was with him, says a physician attended him, but something is not right.” She was silent as a servant opened the hall door to them, then paused again just within, her hands on Margaret’s shoulders. “Pray for William, my lady.” She hurried after her brother.

But Catherine and William were already loudly arguing in the hall. Margaret slipped back out to continue her walk. God be thanked. William’s head was not so addled as she had feared. But his attack on the groom troubled her.

A
SOFT RAIN FELL
. J
OAN AND THE
M
ONTAGU GIRLS SHRANK AT THE
discovery and disappeared back into the hall.

Raising her hood, Efa said, “I wondered how we would lose them. God smiles down on you, my lady.”

“Or weeps,” said Margaret. By the time they reached the far cottage, her hem was soaked and she shivered with cold. “Perhaps you should come within right away, Efa.” Their plan
had been that she should wait outside until summoned. Margaret could not predict whether or not William would agree to a Welsh healer. And, perhaps, he would be in an amorous mood. “You will be cold.”

Efa pointed to a bench sheltered by the eaves. “I’ll be dry enough, and I can warn you if anyone approaches.”

“Earl William’s certain to have one of his men with him.”

“Then I shall have a companion.” Efa waved Margaret inside.

Indeed, William’s squire opened the door, bowing to Margaret, then stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

Margaret pushed back her hood and walked into her lover’s arms, relieved to feel them enfolding her. “I did not dare to hope for such time with you,” she said, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, then lingering on his mouth.

He lifted her chin, studying her in his one-eyed, birdlike way. “The time apart has been far kinder to you than to me. You are as beautiful as ever, Maggie.” With a finger he traced the outline of her lips. “We have much to talk about. But first this.” He drew her down onto hides piled close to the fire circle.

That he would risk this with his family so near assured her that he’d missed her as much as she missed him. When they were naked, she kissed the new scars on his chest. Several looked angry. “Efa has unguents—”

He growled. “Not now.”

Later, when they lay quite still, his head on her chest, she said, “Something happened in Ghent that you must know, William—”

“Joan and Holland. Edward told me.” He smiled up at her. “I wondered whether you would tell me. I am glad you did.”

Edward told him, the king. “Does Philippa know as well?”

“Van Artevelde bragged of his part in it to her. Threatened to make it public if she or the king tried to leave without paying their debts. Edward had already departed, and Philippa’s
household were ready to slip away as soon as she rid herself of Van Artevelde.” William laughed.

It was no laughing matter to Margaret. “My poor Joan, caught in the claws of such creatures as those Flemings.”

“Or was it Holland who was snared? Joan is not gowned as she was there. Holland was not the only one who could not keep his eyes off the sweet young flesh on display.”

Margaret rolled away and sat up, covering herself with a hide. “Her gowns were provocative?”

“Very.”

She felt sick. “I had not heard this. Was this the cause of it all, Philippa so eager to please Albret that she made a strumpet of my daughter?”

“Who chose the cut of her gowns I do not know, but she was not unwilling, Maggie.”

“She was a child, William, twelve years old!”

William tugged at the hide. “Let it be, Maggie. She’s under my protection now, and Catherine’s strict rule.”

Margaret held tight to the hide while she struggled with her anger at the implication that Joan had been at fault, that she needed discipline. If Catherine knew about Thomas, she might make Joan’s life a hell on earth, scolding moralizer that she was. “Does Catherine know about Holland?”

“No. And it’s best that she does not hear of it.”

“Does the king know she is not to be told?”

“He knows. Now let us not talk of Catherine.” He plucked at the costly hides. “This is their love nest.”

She’d had eyes only for him when she entered the cottage. Now Margaret noticed the quality of the furnishings, smelled the apple wood burning in the brazier. Catherine and the king. She’d heard whispers but had not known whether to believe them. William had always pretended indifference. He’d come to Margaret’s bed long before Catherine declared her duty finished, five healthy children being sufficient. Theirs had never
been an affectionate marriage, William having no patience for his wife’s erratic humors. He’d sworn to Margaret all along that Catherine did not know about them, but her choice of lover, William’s lord and good friend, seemed to her a carefully chosen arrow with a poisoned tip.

“If she ever discovers us, do you think she would turn on Joan?”

“Has she said something?”

She’d said as little as possible to Margaret since she arrived. “No.”

“Do you now doubt our course? Too late, Maggie. I’ve worked too long for this.” He reached past her for a cup of wine but suddenly sank back, pressing his temples. “Christ on the cross.”

Margaret rose and fetched Efa. The squire took the opportunity to warn his lord that it grew late.

“Escort me to the hall,” said Margaret. “Then return for your lord and Efa.”

“My lord?”

“Do as she says,” William growled.

It had gone better than she’d hoped, but as she followed the young man out into the gentle rain, her eyes fixed on the bobbing light from the lantern he carried, she felt sick with doubt. How could William blame Joan? Why had she thought her lover’s family a safe place for her daughter? For so long she’d been intent on Joan’s marrying into the Montagu family, it had not occurred to her to consider Thomas Holland’s interest. She’d never thought to approach his family.

He is a knight in the king’s service, not a future earl but a respectable suitor
, Efa had said, wondering at Margaret’s refusal to at least hear him out.

You forget your place
, she’d snapped.

Forgive me, my lady
.

Efa’s outspokenness was both a blessing and a curse. At the
moment, Margaret silently cursed her for watering the doubts already seeded.

Robert Holland said nothing about the prior vow. Surely he would have said something had the family been told of it
.

How did he know of the planned betrothal, my lady? Who told the Hollands? Does Sir Thomas know his family has not approached you?

It is done, Efa. Do not dare give my daughter false hope
.

I am your servant, my lady
.

God was her witness, Margaret wanted only what was best for her daughter. Why, after all this time, was this such a bitter victory?

A
S THE DAY OF THE BETROTHAL CEREMONY DAWNED
, M
ARGARET
was beside herself with worry over the absence of her brother and his wife, who had promised Joan a generous dowry. But the Wakes arrived at last, just hours before the ceremony was to begin. Their party included her son, John, who had at the last moment demanded to be present. Margaret now interrupted his fond reunion with his sister so that Joan might dress. As she sat with the Montagu girls, tearfully watching the transformation, Margaret tried not to imagine the low-cut gowns the beautiful young woman before her had worn in Antwerp and Ghent. Joan had blushed when Margaret asked about them.
I did not like how they made me feel
, she’d admitted.

As Joan entered the hall in her modest gown of azure-and-crimson silk, pearls and amethysts entwined in her pale hair, she drew all eyes to her. She moved toward young Will with a natural grace, straight-backed and serene, an unfortunate contrast with the boy, who fidgeted beside her. His short padded jacket rode too high, emphasizing his fleshiness, his round head. A beauty on the verge of womanhood and an awkward boy. Margaret was sick with doubt. Joan’s account of her night
with Holland haunted her. The king had assured her that they needed no papal dispensation for this betrothal, that Holland had been in the wrong. But what if
they
were wrong?

A hush fell over the hall as the canon signaled for the couple to come forward. Taking Joan’s hand, Will haltingly pledged her his troth, his voice reedy and tense. Head bowed, Joan moved her lips, but it was clear from the puzzled looks from the canon and Will that they could not hear her. The hall grew so quiet that Margaret heard Joan apparently whispering prayers. Asking God’s forgiveness? Or Holland’s? A dog barked far away, an owl answered. As the silence lengthened, Margaret held her breath. Then, at long last, Joan lifted her eyes to Will and softly repeated the pledge. Margaret shivered. It was done. God grant them joy and abundance.

As the guests began to move about, William strode up to Joan and loudly welcomed her into the family, briefly embracing her. Margaret was gratified to see that, after only two days in Efa’s care, he showed signs of improvement in the balance of his facial features and his posture. She smiled as she watched Joan bow to him and quietly respond. Will had already disappeared, as if he could not escape his betrothed fast enough.

“May no harm come to them,” murmured Blanche, suddenly beside Margaret and nudging her forward. “Find the lad and congratulate him, Margaret. The children have done what you wished. Now they need your support.”

Children. Of course. That was what Efa had forgotten; Joan was far too young to choose for herself. Thomas was an opportunist, and Margaret had foiled him at his course. She straightened up and went in search of young Will.

J
OAN HAD PRAYED FOR
G
OD
’
S FORBEARANCE BEFORE WHISPERING
the pledge, then waited to be struck down for her sacrilege. She was already wed to Thomas. He had her heart, her body, her
soul. How could she bear this? Afterward, Earl William strode forward, roaring his welcome to the family as he enfolded her in an embrace.
To this pledge you will be true. I will see to it
, he said in her ear, with a coolness that made it clear that his welcome held no affection, that his pretense of fatherly concern had been a sham. To him she was merely a vessel of royal blood with which to ennoble his family line. She was no less his pawn than she had been Van Artevelde’s, who used her to prove his power over King Edward, or the king, who saw her as bait.

She wished she had the freedom to spit in his face. Where had he been when she needed protection in Ghent? While he turned around, arms held wide, inviting everyone to the feast in celebration of the happy event, she sought an escape. But people crowded round, wishing her joy. She moved through the following feast mouthing the words people wished to hear, fighting with her impulse to rush out of the hall and find somewhere to hide. The earl’s threat frightened her. Was Thomas in danger? Her mother watched her with relief mixed with something else—was she still unsatisfied? After all this? Bess, Sybil, and Pippa declared her their new sister and lavished her with gifts of ribbons, buttons, and bouquets of the last beautiful leaves of autumn. Will gave her a pretty gold hand fasting pin, two hands clasped over a heart, and a falcon. She dutifully presented him with a linen shirt that her mother had embroidered with their initials, and her uncle Thomas announced that he was adding three thousand pounds to her dowry, Aunt Blanche beaming at the expressions of surprise. Joan wondered whether it was meant as compensation for spoiled goods. Will kissed her chastely on the hand as she withdrew to her bedchamber with her mother and the Montagu girls. It was done.