Emma Campion - A Triple Knot (25 page)

“I knew you’d come.” He called softly to the groom, who led out two saddled palfreys and helped them mount.

“My lord prince?” Earl William stepped in from the yard, shaking the snow from his fur-lined hood before pushing it back. “Joan? What is the meaning of this?” He grasped the bridle of Joan’s palfrey with a leather-gloved hand. “You mean to ride out before dawn in such weather? And with no guard?” He turned his head sharply to consider both of them with his good eye.

“We saw a chance to ride out at dawn in a fresh snowfall,” said Joan. “I pray you, do not spoil our fun.”

“You don’t know the land round Ditton Park.” It was not a royal manor but one recently confiscated from the king’s treasurer, one of those he held responsible for his fiscal humiliation in Ghent.

“My cousin does,” Joan lied.

The earl turned his eye on Ned. “In truth? How so, my lord prince?”

“By riding out it in, my lord earl,” Ned said with a laugh as he brought his horse round so that the two formed a wedge pressing in on either side of Montagu, forcing the earl to let go the bridle and back away. “Why are
you
abroad on such a morning, my lord earl?”

“I am off on a mission for your father the king.”

“Then we should not detain you. We’re off!”

Ned slapped Joan’s horse, startling it into a canter, and took off after her. Through the yard they rode, servants and chickens flying from their path, dogs barking as they took off after them. Joan loved the wildness of it, though she fully expected to be stopped at the gatehouse. But the drawbridge was down, the guards distracted by the earl’s party, who were already mounted and waiting. She laughed at the surprise on their faces as her palfrey carried her under the archway and out onto the wooden
bridge, clattering across as voices now cried out for her to halt. Too late!

She and Ned galloped down the road, snow-blanketed fields on either side, then slowed to a walk as they turned off onto a woodland track. Her hood fell back, her hair escaping to stream behind her. She could not remember the last time she’d felt so free. As they cleared the wood and rode out into a meadow, Ned’s palfrey’s tail sent up a snowy spray, dampening her face. So cold! She nudged her horse into the lead, heading due east toward the brightening dawn glimmering through a high hedge. Riding through, she came to a small clearing bordered by ancient hollies.

She halted, struck by a memory of just such a place, just such a snowy morning. She was eight. Efa had taken the children out into the wood to enjoy the snow, she and John as well as Ned and little Bella, only three at the time, struggling through the snow on her short legs as if it were several feet deep. Joan had rushed on ahead and, finding a treasure trove of snapped holly branches and hazel wands, she’d tucked holly beneath her hood, the deep green leaves and red berries poking out around her face like a garland, albeit a prickly one that left scratches that would take days to heal. Brandishing a hazel wand, she’d stepped out before the others on the path, declaring herself the queen of fairies and demanding that the mortals bow down before her. Bella whined for her own wand. John started to cry that he wanted his sister back.

But Ned had caught the spirit of her play and knelt, imploring the queen of fairies to knight him. Solemnly she had touched both his shoulders with the wand and named him Sir Edward of Fairy. Like this morning’s ride, it was one of the moments that endeared him to her.

Ned dismounted. “Why did you stop?” he asked as he reached up to help her down.

“To enjoy it before it begins to melt in the morning sun.” As soon as she was steady on her booted feet she spun round, arms wide, but there were no more flakes to catch. “The snow’s already stopped!”

Ned grabbed her by the waist and held her facing him.

“I ask for a token from you, a promise that you will be mine when the time comes.”

“Oh, Ned, don’t spoil the morning.”

“I promise that for now I will honor your marriage and be kind to Will, all right? After all, he does me a favor, keeping you safe until we’ve won France. Then there will be no need for me to forge an alliance with my marriage and we can be together.”

“Don’t be an ass. I’ll still be Will’s wife.”

“He will never bed you. I’ll make sure of that. We’ll petition for annulment on the grounds of impotence.”

“And what of Marguerite of Brabant, Ned?”

“I told you, the pope—”

“What if he does, Ned? Or your father’s had you wed someone else?”

“We’ll accuse her of something. Witchcraft. Treason.”

“Ned, don’t say that. As the future king, you must have a care about accusing the innocent.” Her joy in the snowy dawn was beginning to fade.

“Now who’s spoiling this moment? We
will
be together, Joan. It
will
be so. Give me a token.”

The magic had gone from the morning. “You are being silly. I’m cold. I’m going back.” She reached for her palfrey’s bridle, but Ned grabbed her hand.

“Give me the white hart emblem, the one I rescued for you.”

“I lost it with all my clothes in the fire on board ship.” Not true, Thomas still had it. Or she hoped he did.

“The little ring, then.”

Her heart pounded. Did he know that Thomas had the silk,
and the significance of the ring? But how could he? “You called it a paltry thing. Why would you want it?”

“Because you cherish it.” He pulled her close and kissed her. “Are Will’s kisses as sweet?”

“Stop this!” She pushed him away, and in that moment, as his face darkened with anger, she heard several horsemen crashing through the wood just behind them. God bless their timing. “Someone’s coming. Help me mount.”

“Remember the holly circle? Where you declared yourself queen of fairies and knighted me? You put a spell on me that day.”

So this place reminded him of that morning long ago as well. Too late. “This is silly. I was eight years old, Ned, and we were playing. Help me mount.”

For a few breaths he stared into her eyes, and for a moment she feared him. Then, suddenly, he let go of her shoulders. “You’re right. We wouldn’t get far.” He helped her mount, then hooked his booted foot into a stirrup and mounted as well.

Her palfrey danced beneath her, sensing her agitation. She leaned forward to calm the horse as Earl William’s guards rode into the clearing.

O
NCE INSIDE THE GATEHOUSE
J
OAN WAS WHISKED AWAY BY HER
mother, who informed her that the queen was furious, blaming her, and Countess Catherine was moving Joan’s things into her bedchamber.

“I hope it was worth it to you.”

“For a moment, it was so glorious. Then Ned ruined it.”

They had stopped near the hall door. Margaret gathered Joan’s hair and tucked it into her hood. “It is ever so, daughter. You take flight with his fancies and then wonder how it all went so wrong.”

“I won’t again.”

“As you said when he threw your ring into the mud.”

This time was different. He’d frightened her. For the rest of the Christmas and New Year’s festivities, Ned treated Will with good cheer and Joan kept her distance as much as possible. She distrusted the peace. As did Efa.

“He is accustomed to having his way and, for whatever reason—it cannot be passion at his age—he wants you to be his queen. Let us pray that the pope blesses the prince’s marriage to Brabant’s daughter. Though, God help her, she will be miserable with him.”

“You’ve no spell to dampen his ardor?” Joan asked.

“I don’t dare, little one. He will rule this land one day, and we want him to be whole.”

I
n the soaring grace of St. Stephen’s in Westminster Abbey the guests milled about, the jewels and buttons on their silks and velvets twinkling in the light of the candles and torches, rivaling the beauty of the sun shining through the stained-glass windows. In a short while, Margaret’s dream for her daughter would be realized.
Bless their union, my Lord
, Margaret silently prayed. She stood to one side with Blanche, who gave off such waves of animosity that no one dared join them. Before Christmas, Margaret’s brother Thomas had briefly been imprisoned in the Tower with several others in the home administration for failing to raise sufficient funds for the king’s war, and though he been released quickly, without further punishment, Blanche still bristled at the insult to her husband in the presence of the royal couple. Thomas Wake, for his part, chose to wait out on the porch with Edward Montagu to avoid conversation with the king. Queen Philippa and her ladies flocked round Countess Catherine, whispering behind gloved hands as they cast glances at the young couple, while the ladies’ husbands quietly talked to King Edward and Earl William. The young Montagus and royals surrounded Joan and Will, trying in vain to make them laugh. Even Joan’s brother was making an effort. John’s father would be proud of him, Margaret thought. But she did not like
the prince’s behavior, how often he touched Joan—her arm, her hand, her hair—as if he had a claim to her. Will did not seem to notice. Indeed, he seemed to have eyes only for the prince, smiling when Ned smiled, laughing loudly at his japes, straightening with pride when the prince looked his way.

William’s brother Simon, Bishop of Ely, who would perform the ceremony, had been deep in conversation with Blanche’s brother Henry, Earl of Derby, but now turned to face the gathering, motioning for the young couple to join him.

Will and Joan stepped forward, he moving woodenly in his elegant new jacket and high boots, she graceful and assured in crimson satin and cloth of gold, her fair hair tumbling down her back in riotous curls as if enjoying one last performance before being swept up into the coif of a married woman. The church grew so quiet that the whisper of their silk attire and their fine leather shoes on the tiles echoed in the stones overheard. No one would guess, seeing Joan now, that she had emptied out her stomach before dressing, sick with fear that God would strike her down for betraying her pledge to Thomas. As Will fumbled for Joan’s hand, she gave him an encouraging smile. Margaret relaxed a little. The boy’s voice cracked as he vowed to keep and protect Joan, but he managed to slip the ring on her finger without mishap. Joan’s voice, in response, was low, almost a whisper. Will pecked her on the hand when the bishop finished his little sermon on the sanctity of marriage, and then the guests bore down on them. Margaret watched as Joan searched the crowd and, finding the prince, smiled shyly. Ned repaid her with an angry thrust of his chin, then turned on his heel and hurried down the nave, pushing past Margaret’s brother and another man standing just inside the door.

“What’s a Holland doing here?” Blanche hissed.

“A Holland?” Margaret squinted, trying to see the man more clearly, but he stood with the light behind him, his face in
shadow. “You know them so well that you recognize one from this distance, in this light?”

“Know thine enemies,” her sister-in-law muttered.

“How did he come to be here, Blanche?”

“Anyone might have told him.” Blanche gave her head a little shake, the emeralds in her crispinette darkly glimmering. “Let us go and congratulate the sweet couple.” She moved away, stopping to share a word and a laugh with the queen, at whom she’d glared only moments before.

Margaret had known there was more to the story of her brother’s encounter with Lord Robert, but she’d brushed aside the thought, wanting peace.
God help me, have I been hoodwinked by my brother’s wife? Have I been so blind? Did Blanche frighten the Hollands away?

A
S
W
ILL SPOKE HIS VOWS
, J
OAN REMEMBERED
T
HOMAS AS HE
looked that night in the Van Arteveldes’ guestroom, pledging his troth. She heard his dear voice, then her own rise in answer. She felt the lightness, the joy. And then Bishop Simon was prompting her.
This
was real—the awkward boy slipping the ring on her finger, her dry throat, the heaviness of her limbs. She’d whispered the vows in anguish, fighting back tears.

And now, watching Ned storm out, pushing past a man at the door.
Thomas?
Had she conjured him? She caught the eye of the man in the doorway and her heart soared. Thomas had come for her! But no. No, though he was very like, he was not her Thomas. The mouth, the jaw, his heft, they were all wrong, yet, overall, the resemblance was there. A brother, perhaps, and, considering the narrowed eyes, the set mouth, she guessed he despised her. For betraying Thomas, or for attempting to entrap him? Either way, he condemned her. She wondered how he had come to be there.

“Where’s Ned going?” Will loosened his hold of Joan’s hand. “He can’t be angry. He knew what this was.”

“You know his temper. We were the center of attention. He was forgotten. Come, let’s bring him back.” She grasped Will’s hand and tugged him toward the door.

“Such a sweet couple!” her aunt Blanche cried as she stepped in front of them, enfolding them both in a velvet embrace. “May God bless your union with joy and abundance.”

Joan managed to wriggle out, rushing to the door, but the man was gone, replaced by her uncle, uncharacteristically grim-faced.

“Was that one of Thomas Holland’s brothers?” she asked.

“Return to your guests, Joan. You are a married woman now, the future Countess of Salisbury. It is a great honor for our family. Do not disgrace us.”

“I’ve done all you asked of me, Uncle. Did you see him?” When he remained stone-faced she pushed past him, running out into the bright January morning.

Clusters of squires and pages stood on the steps, cheering as she appeared. She’d almost forgotten that she and Will were the occasion for this gathering. Smiling, she waved to them while scanning the crowd.

“There’s Ned, across the square,” Will said, catching up to her. He pointed over her shoulder to where Ned stood with several of the young nobles from his household.

“Let’s go!” The Holland was rounding a corner just beyond.