Emma Campion - A Triple Knot (10 page)

The girl inhaled sharply. “I will
never
consent to wedding his son. Never!” Turning on her heel, she stormed from the chamber.

Philippa cursed her mother-in-law for so poisoning Edward with her ambition that he would yet consider a liaison with a man who had so insulted his family. “Go after her, Lucienne. Assure her that you know me well, and you are certain I will prevent any such betrothal.” She herself promised nothing, but the assurance from Lucienne might calm the girl, prevent her from doing anything rash.

“I understand, Your Grace.” Lucienne bobbed her head and swept from the room.

S
unrise lit the lion of England, rampant on the standards and banners fluttering above the king’s company gathered in the yard of Antwerp Castle. Joan stood on the battlements between Lady Lucienne and Lady Angmar. Since the attack, one or the other was ever beside her, except when she slept, and then it was Felice who sat up whenever Joan moved. Fearing that Albret might have only pretended to depart Antwerp in order to catch them all off guard, Joan appreciated their watchfulness, but it had prevented her from seeking out Sir Thomas to thank him properly.

Now she searched the crowd below for familiar faces, but the sun was not quite high enough. And then she heard his laugh. Following the sound she picked him out of the crowd and rushed down the steps to go to him. But, once on the level of the troops, she lost him.

“Lady Joan?” Earl William came up behind her. “You’re in danger of being trampled. We’re too many for this space. The horses are restive.”

“Have you see Sir Thomas Holland?”

“Holland, is it? Where’s your Gascon shadow?”

“My Gascon shadow departed with the tide days ago, Earl William, God be thanked.”

“Good. I did not like how he looked at you. I wrote to Countess Margaret of my concern.”

Heartening news! “I am grateful to you, my lord earl. God bless you.
Have
you seen Sir Thomas?”

He gave her a questioning look, but gestured to her to follow him. “I’ll guide you through the horse dung.”

Sir Roland punched Thomas in the arm as Joan approached, saying, “Sly knave.” Thomas looked from her to the earl, puzzled.

“Lady Joan wishes to bid you farewell, Holland.” The earl patted Joan’s hand. “Let his squire escort you back to the wall when you’re ready, child.”

“You’ve come to see me off, Lady Joan?” Thomas drew her away from his friends. “Are you recovered?” He searched her eyes.

“He is gone, and I pray I never see him again.” She pulled the silk square from her sleeve. “Would you do me the honor of carrying my colors, Sir Thomas?”

The dimples appeared. “I am honored, my lady.” He reached for the silk, but seeing the white hart he shook his head. “Not this, my lady. Your father’s emblem?”

“Yes, this, Sir Thomas. You have proved yourself a most worthy champion. All they’ll see is a bit of silk. It will be our secret.”

He bowed, then kissed her hand. It was nothing like Lord Bernardo’s kisses. Chaste, sweeter by far.

“Is he truly gone?”

“The king and queen promise me that he is. And tomorrow we move to Ghent, a city controlled by a man Albret despises. I trust I shall be safe from him there.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss one dimple, then the other. “May God bless you and keep you, my champion.”

He gently touched her cheek with the back of his hand, looking down on her in a way that made her heart race. “May God bless you and keep you, my lady.”

W
ILLIAM
M
ONTAGU LOOKED UP AT
L
UCIENNE ON THE BATTLEMENTS
after delivering Lady Joan to Thomas. Good. Lucienne had feared that he might not see her in the crowd. He glanced back at the two, then nodded, indicating that he understood this was precisely the sort of thing Lucienne had warned him of. She had spoken of Joan’s vulnerability, the danger that she might form an attachment to Thomas, her rescuer, and how that would inconvenience Montagu, who counted on him as one of his best captains.
I come to you, the king’s most trusted adviser and friend, asking you to convince His Grace that a marriage connection with Albret is beneath him. For the girl’s sake, my lord earl. She is so very frightened. You’d meant her for your brother, but that did not happen. Have you not another Montagu to suggest?

Lucienne had worked on him over an intimate supper the previous night. She’d confided to him how, when she’d been but a year older than Joan, a fox like Albret had robbed her of her innocence. Even so many years later, she could still taste the suffocating fear, the despair of knowing the worst of men, the dark side of their desire. Smiles and teasing words that had once made her feel pretty and loved, then made her ill. To dance or to sing had been to invite dangerous attention. In one heinous act, her cursed uncle had sucked the joy from her life. She had suffered in silence, telling no one of the deed, believing her uncle’s threat to kill her if she accused him. Only in marrying the elderly Lord Townley had she finally felt safe, protected by his love, his wealth, his power.
You can do this for Lady Joan
.

Lucienne did not blame Joan. She understood her pain and her need for the reassurance of a champion. Just not Thomas. He was Lucienne’s. Her husband was failing, he would soon die, and she would be free to marry Thomas.

But at the moment Joan appeared to own him, heart and soul, damn her. What man could resist the adoring gratitude of
such a beautiful young girl? The image of her golden hair curling so alluringly as she lifted her wide blue eyes to him, offering her favor, her light step as she was led away by the squire—all this would be fresh in Thomas’s mind as he rode out to war. He would turn it over and over on the long ride south, contrasting it with his memory of the girl weeping and frightened on the morning of the attack.

She saw now how Thomas caressed Joan’s cheek.
Sweet Mother in Heaven, watch out for my Thomas
. He was on a collision course with the king’s intentions for his pretty cousin, and that could only end in Thomas’s disgrace, and that of his family, who had put their hope in him as the one to restore their honorable standing. His eldest brother, Robert, was now Lord Holland, but he was focused on keeping his lands rather than on serving the king. The second of the four living Holland sons, Thomas had distinguished himself in the king’s service. He meant to build on that, even going so far as vowing to join the Teutonic Knights’ crusade against the Lithuanians as soon as King Edward could spare him. Lady Joan was a dangerous distraction. Lucienne could save him.

Now Montagu pressed his heart and bowed to her. Lucienne threw him a kiss. God grant him success. He was her best hope.

P
rincess Isabella spun round and round, admiring how the flower border on her hem added a richness to her favorite gown. “Is such elegance wasted on our hosts?”

“No, not wasted,” said Sandrine. “Jacob Van Artevelde is a very wealthy broker with a home fit for a king’s dwelling, or so I’m told. And his wife, Katarina, is quite elegant.”

Joan was at last to meet the man so detested by Albret and Brabant. Van Artevelde’s notoriety among the nobles of the Low Countries was due to his having shrewdly taken advantage of an armed rebellion against Louis of Nevers, Count of Flanders, to rise to power. Though he was officially but one of five captains governing the city, everyone knew that he held the power in Ghent and had influence in the great merchant cities of Bruges and Ypres as well. With his small, well-trained army, he’d put down rebellions in those cities, making it clear that he was not to be crossed. He was said to be a persuasive speaker, inspiring loyalty, and for those who did not fall under his spell he engaged personal guards who were skilled assassins. Joan had lain abed the past few nights imagining those assassins surrounding Bernardo Ezi and first hacking off the offending hands, then …

Felice was suddenly behind Joan, fussing with her hair.
She had an impatient way with a comb, nothing like Sandrine’s gentle ministrations. Joan looped her arm though Bella’s and swept her away to the hall, joining the cluster of ladies awaiting the queen.

She enjoyed this moment before an event, everyone aflutter with anticipation, the whisper of silk, the excited voices. The queen’s ladies wore bright-colored gowns glittering with gems, their hair finished with feathers and crispinettes of gold and silver wire.

“I’ve never been to the house of a commoner,” Joan said. “Will we dance?”

Lady Lucienne laughed. “This is not so grand an occasion, nor are the Van Arteveldes, for all their airs. At best, we might have an opportunity to stroll about their house and gardens.”

Now the household knights arrived, the few King Edward had not taken with him on campaign, and the women’s voices rose to greet them. But the chatter ceased abruptly as the queen entered the hall, regal in red brocade, with a gold surcoat powdered with precious stones. It was one of the formal robes that she kept fresh and elegant, despite their financial straits, to signal her superior rank. Joan was surprised that she’d chosen to wear it for this occasion.

But when they arrived at the Van Artevelde home and she saw the handsomely liveried guards and well-trained servants, she understood. The large, imposing hall was crowded with elegant strangers shouting to be heard above the others talking loudly in many languages. The effect was dizzying, and Joan was glad of Philippa’s strong grip on her arm. Her second surprise of the day was the queen’s downward pressure on her forearm, indicating that she was to bow to Jacob and Katarina Van Artevelde—she, of royal blood, bowing to commoners.

A trumpet called the guests to attention, and all eyes were upon the five. Jacob Van Artevelde led the procession to the high table, escorting Queen Philippa. He had a plain but open
face and a slender frame, a man perhaps in his fifth decade, with a quiet refinement. His wife escorted Joan and Bella. She was taller and much younger than her husband, and darkly beautiful. Her green velvet gown was bordered with gold silk, her crispinette aglow with emeralds that caught the light of the candles and torches. Joan focused on not showing her surprise at the unexpected elegance.

She was seated between her hostess and her eldest daughter, Thea, a plump, impishly smiling young woman who immediately barraged Joan with questions about England and Antwerp, and life at a royal court. As she answered, Joan watched the spectacle, the high table allowing her a clear view of most of those seated at the other tables in the hall. The cacophony of voices had risen as soon as those at the high table had been seated, forcing her to lean close to Thea at times. It was a relief not to worry that Albret might suddenly appear by her side. Even so, he was the subject of one of her companion’s questions.
Is it true that he is the handsomest man alive?
Joan had assured her that, in her opinion, that crown went to her cousin King Edward.

Hoping that any moment Thea and her siblings would spirit her away from the high table for some fun, Joan asked what they did for entertainment—hawking, riding, chess, musical instruments, singing, dancing? Thea’s responses were disheartening. It seemed they had little time for “idle pleasures,” so busy were they assisting their mother in running the household when they were not at their lessons, or accompanying her on visits and errands.

Joan must have looked a little disgruntled, for Dame Katarina kindly asked whether there was any food she particularly favored.

“I am not of a delicate appetite,” said Joan.

“But there must be dishes you particularly enjoy, my lady. Perhaps venison?”

Joan smiled.

“Ah! I thought so. What of fish? What would most delight you?”

Curious as to the limits of her host’s hospitality, Joan said, “Sturgeon.”

“And honeyed sweets, I would dare to guess. Yes, I see by your ever-brightening smile that it is so.”

Within moments, a servant arrived with a platter of sturgeon. Joan slipped some onto her side of the plate she shared with Thea. Wine was offered, and she asked that it be watered a bit.

“You are a sensible young woman,” said Dame Katarina. “My daughters complain when I water their wine.”

“I am more curious than sensible, Dame Katarina. I’ll see nothing if I fall asleep.”

They were interrupted by a servant. Katarina excused herself. “I am called away to see to a matter of some urgency in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen? But you are the lady of the household.”

“I am the
mistress
of my household, Lady Joan. My servants receive their orders from
me
.” She bowed. “If it please you, it might be kind to rescue Princess Isabella from Thea. I believe she’s just gone to interrogate her.”

Joan gladly rose to see how Bella was faring. Crossing behind the high table, she overheard a snippet of conversation as she passed the queen and Jacob Van Artevelde.

“You challenge his honor?” the queen snapped.