Emma Campion - A Triple Knot (53 page)

Her sons arrived later that day, and only then did she tell them all of their father’s death. Maud’s wail began the dirge, Jeannette’s following hard on, though the baby was merely alarmed by her sister’s emotion, could not possibly comprehend her loss. Then Tom’s “No!,” a shout that trembled, then collapsed in a sob. John went running, head lowered, his arms pumping, down the steps from the hall and out along the river. Joan sent two guards to follow at a discreet distance.

“He’s just disappointed his uncle Ned isn’t here to spoil him,” Maud muttered.

“Hush, my love. It is just his way of grieving,” Joan whispered, holding her daughter close.

J
OAN STOOD BESIDE
T
HOMAS
’
S TOMB OF ALABASTER
,
MARBLE
,
AND
iron, her children clustered round her, tearfully watching as Thomas’s brother Robert, Sir Hugh, Sir Roland, and Ned lifted the coffin onto the marble slab. Maud reached for Joan’s hand, no doubt frightened by the grief on the men’s faces. Robert and Hugh came to stand on either side of her, Ned behind, resting a hand on her shoulder. Joan shrugged it off, shaking her head. She sensed Thomas’s presence expanding to surround her and the children, embracing them with love as his soul began to take its leave. This was a private, loving moment that Ned could not share.

L
ADY
B
LANCHE HAD NOTICED THAT SHRUG WITH SATISFACTION
.
But as soon as the ceremony ended Joan turned to the prince, seeming to welcome his arm round her as they exited the church together, and, as they paused outside, she leaned her head against her cousin’s shoulder and he looked down at her with unguarded tenderness. Blanche felt the urge to warn her niece. She disliked how Joan’s children clung to the prince, how they loved him. Any future stepfather must needs compete against the great hero of Poitiers, future king of the realm. That tender moment as they left the church told a troubling tale.

And there was more. Blanche’s lawyers kept coming up against road blocks that only a royal seal could clear, and now the prince’s seal was all over Joan’s properties. By design? She’d heard, as well, of Thomas’s last words, confided by Joan as an explanation for her seeming dependence on the prince and his household. All well and good if his parents agreed to the match, but, considering the queen’s former fear of just such an outcome
of their childhood closeness, Blanche did not see an honorable resolution. So what was the prince’s game? And Joan’s?

W
HILE
B
LANCHE
’
S LAWYERS FOUGHT ON
, J
OAN TOOK REFUGE NEAR
Westminster at the home of her brother’s widow, Elizabeth of Juliers, now remarried despite an ill-advised vow of celibacy. At the naïve age of thirteen, Elizabeth had taken the vow, then several years later fell in love with a Hainaulter in Ned’s entourage, Eustache d’Auberchicourt. In retribution for the broken vow, the archbishop of Canterbury had enjoined the couple to provide charity to six poor people after carnal copulation, and to abstain from the dish of flesh or fish they most hungered for. Once a year, Elizabeth had to journey on foot to the shrine of St. Thomas of Canterbury, and once a week she was to take no food except bread and a mess of potage. She declared it all worth it. All of Woking knew when they’d coupled, and prayed they did it frequently. Elizabeth laughed to tell the tale, though Sir Eustache was notably absent, and had been for months.

Joan enjoyed her sanguine humor, and the freedom of not being beholden to Ned for all her comfort. He had steered her through a difficult time, while tactfully keeping his distance as she grieved with her children, and she was grateful. But now, though she still woke each morning with a prayer that Thomas’s death had been a terrible dream, she was ready to stand on her own two feet. In truth, she missed her own household staff and planned to return to Donington as soon as she was no longer needed here.

Ned, however, was reluctant to let her go. Within a week of
Joan’s move to Woking, he called on her. Elizabeth invited him to dine with them.

“He is wooing you,” Elizabeth teased as they stood in the hall door after the meal, watching Ned ride from the yard. “You most fortunate of women! Prince Edward, the hero of Crécy and Poitiers, our future king. And such a man. Those eyes, those shoulders.” She gave a happy shiver and hugged Joan.

“As a result of one dinner you have him crowning me? You make too much of a cousin’s visit.” Her own hasty denial unsettled Joan.

Elizabeth ignored it. “The way to know your heart is to lie with him. That is how I chose Eustache.” She smiled at the memory. “Not so beautiful as your brother, but experienced.”

Ned returned the following day, and the next, bringing presents, smoothing out the legal wrangles, leaving after dinner.

As Efa massaged her shoulders one night, Joan asked what she thought.

“That he loves you I’ve no doubt, my lady. Fiercely.”

“Fierce love? I don’t know how I like that, except in the act.” Joan smiled, but looking over her shoulder she saw that Efa did not find it humorous. “I have felt so close to him since Thomas’s death. He’s been gentle, attentive. I almost wish—Efa, I’ve thought how safe my family would be if Ned were to me what Earl William was to Mother, my lover and protector.”

“And you know what he wants. That you should be his queen.”

“Impossible.”

“Perhaps. But whatever you do, my lady, do not tease him. The prince, for all his tenderness for you, is not a man to trifle with.”

Was she trifling with Ned?

To put some distance between them and have a chance to breathe, Joan accepted an invitation to spend a fortnight with
Queen Philippa at Windsor. The queen had been seriously injured a few years earlier in a fall while riding and seldom traveled about her kingdom now, so she entertained often. Joan was shocked to see her halting gait and how carefully her clothes were cut to compensate for her twisted posture. This cleverness was the work of a new lady of the chamber, Alice Perrers, an elegant young widow of whom the queen seemed very fond despite her merchant background. The king, too. Philippa was eager to introduce Joan to the young widow, suggesting they might comfort each other in their mourning.

“Perhaps she would be more comfortable among her own people while in mourning,” Joan suggested to Philippa.

The queen dismissed the idea. “She is precisely where she needs to be, my dear Joan. As are you. I understand Ned has a small army of lawyers untangling your affairs. I am sorry that Edward kept Thomas so often away. Of course you had no one to oversee your stewards in your absence. You are quite alone now. Please consider us your family, my dear.”

Joan found herself enfolded in a warm embrace. She’d been about to remind Philippa that she’d had advisors overseeing her stewards, advisors she herself had recommended. But instead she found herself blinking back tears. Joan had come to Windsor to cleanse her heart of Ned, but being there summoned memories of him at every turn. And Philippa’s affectionate welcome disarmed her.

O
N THE DAY THAT
N
ED CAME TO
W
OKING TO ANNOUNCE THAT ALL
was resolved and she might go where she pleased, instead of relief Joan was struck by a wave of sadness. Wishing to cover her confusion while she regained her composure, she suggested a walk in the winter garden. It had begun to snow, fat flakes lazily floating down.

The path led through a high hedge. Once out of sight of the
house, Ned turned to her, tipping up her chin. “Tears, cousin? Are you not pleased to be free of me?” He bent to kiss her, a long, searching kiss that left her breathless and trembling with the passion of her response. “I pray you, Joan, tell me your heart.”

She’d not been sure of the wisdom of Thomas’s last words until the kiss, uncertain whether she wanted Ned as a lover. But she did. She could not bear to walk away. With shaking hands she removed one of Ned’s gloves and kissed his palm. “Come to me tonight.”

He cupped her face. “But what do you mean by this?”

“For now, I would lie with you. What comes after I can’t say.”

“Just that?”

“For now, Ned.” When he began to protest, she put a finger to his lips. “Come to me?”

He took her hand, kissed it, and bowed. “Look for me at midnight.”

N
ED BROUGHT INTO HER CHAMBER THE SCENT OF SNOW
. J
OAN
slipped from the bed, barefoot and wearing only a silk chemise.

“You are wet.”

“I walked the yard a hundred times, waiting for the time to depart. I cannot believe I’m here, in your chamber.”

She helped him undress, feeling shy with him, never having known him in this way, in this different intimacy. As she moved about him he stole kisses, ran his hands over her breasts, her hips, finally lifting the chemise over her head so that they stood naked, face to face. Her flesh burned under his gaze, and she saw that he, too, was aroused. But he stayed her, lifting up a mazer of spiced wine.

“Let us drink to our union, speak our intention.”

“I said I want to lie with you. Then we shall see.”

“I want you as my queen.”

“Your parents—”

“They dare not cross me. Tomorrow I will bring a priest, and witnesses.”

“Ned, you are dreaming. Come, let us first make love. Then we can talk.”

“No! If I beget a child on you, I want to keep it. Our perfect child …”

“I am in mourning, Ned. Until Thomas’s year, mind, I cannot commit to anything.”

“But what if you’re with child?”

She heard his determination.
Do not trifle with him
, Efa had warned. Heaven help her, she wanted him. “Say the words, then. But we tell no one until we must.” And then he would see she was right, the king would find a way to nullify their vows.

Once more Ned lifted up the mazer, and now he spoke his intention. His vow curled round her, an incantatory spell, binding her to him. She heard herself answering him, her words like a gentle breeze chilling her, drawing her to him for warmth.

Waking at dawn, alone in the great bed, Joan waited for the rush of grief that had met her waking for months. But this morning her body tingled, and the memory of their lovemaking brought a smile. God help her, she actually prayed they might prevail.

“Are you awake, my lady?” Efa bent over the brazier, stirring something in a little pot. “You must drink this first thing.”

The herbs to prevent conception. Joan pushed them away. “We pledged our troth. He is returning this morning with a priest.”

The frown flitted across Efa’s brow so quickly that Joan almost missed it. “And how long will you need to conceal your marriage, my lady? His sons’ legitimacy must never be questioned.”

“Swear to me that he will never know.”

“Never, my lady.”

Joan drank down the bitter brew.

“He pleased you?”

Joan tried a little smile. “Fiercely.”

Efa relaxed. “Then it is well done.”

Ned returned in the afternoon, with a priest and his brother John to join Elizabeth as witness.

As Joan waited to pledge her troth to Ned, she felt Thomas near, his warmth at her back, encouraging her to move forward into this new life. For a heartbeat she hesitated, wanted to sink backward into Thomas’s arms.

“Joan?” Ned whispered.

All eyes were upon her, and Thomas’s breath was on her neck, coaching her to speak the words that would ensure their children the prince’s protection. She spoke the words, embraced Ned, feeling his love, his devotion. It was well done.

T
he pestilence was stirring again, taking in late winter Henry, Duke of Lancaster, Blanche’s brother. The seemingly invincible Henry of Grosmont, King Edward’s most trusted commander. Joan accompanied her aunt to Leicester for the state funeral, both of them bowed beneath memories of the summer they had lost Thomas Wake and Margaret.

Ned, accompanying the king and queen, honored Joan’s wish that they give each other a wide berth. But they both found it difficult, catching glimpses, smiles, finding excuses to pass closely.

Though she was deep in mourning, Blanche noticed, and reminded Joan how closely Philippa had always watched her in the presence of her eldest son. On the journey back to Donington, Joan confessed. Blanche’s exclamation set her horse dancing and she called the company to a halt, dismounting to take Joan aside.

“You are not so naïve, niece! You know how they twist our lives.”

“I love him, Aunt. I want to be with him.
Thomas
wanted this, to protect our children.”

“He feared for your safety, I know. But this is not the answer,
Joan. Philippa and Edward will never agree. You risk all that you have fought for.”

Joan was no longer so sure of that. Someone had made a casual remark at the funeral feast that now Ned’s brother John, who had married Henry’s daughter, was certain to be named Duke of Lancaster, enriching himself immensely. Philippa had smiled proudly. “Lionel and John married wealth and power, Ulster and Lancaster. Now my eldest must needs wed a queen to best them.” She had looked straight at Joan.

“Have you someone in mind?” Bella had asked, clearly goading her mother. Philippa had waved her hand as if to say she was not ready to comment, but her smile taunted Joan, and she remembered the embrace at Windsor.

“Ned will protect us, Aunt, whether I am his wife or his mistress. And I do love him.”

Blanche gave her a long, searching look. “Not as you did Thomas.”

It was true. Ned did not steady her as Thomas had, nor was he as selflessly kind. “It is different. I know him better than I did Thomas. I hardly remember a time Ned was not in my life.”

“And the incident with Bruno?”