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The bout began. Joanna barely noticed as his opponent’s lance splintered against Sir Roger’s chest. As the crowd surged to its feet she slipped out of the stand and made her way to the gate at the end of the field that led to the arena where the knights waited. Head down she collided with someone. Opening her mouth to apologise, she discovered Hal blocking her path. He planted his feet firmly apart, the large knapsack over his shoulder swinging around.
‘Let me past,’ Joanna said, trying to dodge around him.
Hal put his hands on Joanna’s arms. His grip was firm but not painful.
‘Don’t go in there,’ he said gently.
‘I need to speak to Sir Roger,’ Joanna answered. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked furiously.
‘It isn’t a good idea,’ Hal insisted. There was a loud roar from the lists. Joanna turned in the direction of the tilt but could see nothing past Hal’s broad frame.
‘You can’t stop me!’ Joanna struggled against Hal and he loosened his grip. He stood back and raked his fingers through his hair.
‘No, I can’t.’ He sighed, his tone heavy with exasperation. ‘I have an appointment I must keep, but I advise you not to confront Roger today.’
He hitched his burden higher over his shoulder and stepped to one side. Joanna stood motionless, uncertain what to do. She nodded in defeat. Hal smiled in apparent satisfaction and walked away.
Another roar, this time accompanied by cries of astonishment, thundered in Joanna’s ears. In an instant she changed her mind and rushed through the gateway into the field. Sir Roger was on foot and leading his horse away from the tilt. Joanna stared in disbelief. He had been unseated. Her anger forgotten, she rushed towards him.
‘Are you hurt?’ she gasped.
Sir Roger glared at her and she stepped back in alarm.
‘Why are you here?’ he snapped.
He sounded so cold he might have been a stranger in the street. Joanna swallowed nervously, wishing she had followed Hal’s advice and not come. She raised her chin and spoke with as much dignity as she could, but her voice was no more than a whisper.
‘You did not choose my favour.’
Sir Roger’s cheeks turned crimson. He threw his arms out wide. ‘Is that all you can think of at a time like this?’
‘It would have been a sign of our intent to wed...’
Her voice tailed off as Sir Roger’s face reddened further. ‘Marriage? How can you talk of marriage at a time like this?’
A low buzzing filled Joanna’s ears. ‘But what we did last night? The way you touched me!’
Sir Roger gripped her shoulders tightly. Her throat constricted as if he was squeezing it. She tried not to picture him dancing with the dark-haired woman, nor Hal’s observation that she was not the only woman trying to catch a knight.
‘What does last night matter? I lost the bout and the winner’s purse. I have no money to wed! Any money I have must fund my campaigns.’
‘I’m sure you will win future contests,’ Joanna said with a confidence she suddenly did not feel.
Sir Roger’s lip curled and she lapsed into silence. He turned his back on her and took hold of his horse’s reins. ‘The king has planned a tournament for St George’s Day in Windsor. I intend to be there. I shall be leaving York tomorrow.’
‘But you will return to York for the Lammas Day Tournament as always? That’s six months away. Perhaps then...’
‘I have no means to marry now. Nor the intention to do so at this time.’
Sir Roger ran his hands through his hair in a gesture similar to Hal’s.
‘Farewell, Joanna,’ he muttered through clenched teeth. He led his horse out of the courtyard, leaving Joanna standing alone. She covered her face with her hands, her fingers slick with tears. The crowd moved around her and she wiped her hand across her face. She could not stay here at the scene of her humiliation.
She pushed her way out, stumbling towards the city. Her feet led her on a path towards home but she could not go inside. Not yet. Not to admit to her uncle what had happened. She turned and walked through crooked streets of the city until her feet began to ache and her stomach cramped, reminding her she had not eaten all day.
For the first time she took notice of her surroundings. Unconsciously her feet had brought her back to Aldwark, opposite the Smiths’ Guild Hall. She gave a wry smile. She could wait for Simon in the gardens and inform him of her failure when he came out. Better he vent his disappointment there than in front of her aunt and cousins.
A fountain stood in the centre of the gardens. Wearily Joanna trailed her hand in the cool water, scooping up the heavy copper cup and drank. She sat on the step behind the basin and leaned back against the carved stone edge. She drew her knees up and, unwatched by anyone, started to weep in earnest.
* * *
Five guild officials sat at a long, oak table, chains around their necks and well-fed bellies bulging under tunics of fur and velvet, the visible signs of their prosperity. The calluses and scars on hands that now bore ornate gold rings were the only indications that they had once been in Hal’s position: young and untrained, used to the heat of the furnace and the weight of a hammer. Admittance to the guild would set him on the path they had walked.
On the table before them lay Hal’s sword. The Guild Master stood and placed his hands on the table either side of Hal’s work. He affixed Hal with a steely gaze.
‘An interesting choice of subject for your masterwork. You have pretentions to be an armourer? How many knights do you meet in your moorland village?’
A ripple of laughter ran around the room. Hal did his best to smile at the feeble jest. The Guild Master picked the weapon up, scrutinised it, then passed it on. Hal held his breath as each man examined it before it was returned to the centre of the table.
‘Wait outside,’ the Master commanded.
Hal walked to the outer chamber as the men turned to each other, muttering in low voices. He struggled to discern anything from their tone or expressions. Lulled by the heat of the fire on what had developed into another mild day his mind began to wander.
What had the roars from the tiltyard meant? Had Roger won or lost? He hoped Joanna had had the sense to heed his warning and save her confrontation. The shock on her face when Roger had chosen another woman’s favour had caused Hal’s heart to throb unexpectedly. Perhaps now she would understand how fickle Roger’s affection was.
He realised his name was being called and snapped his attention back to the present. He re-entered the chamber and the Guild Master beckoned him forward, gazing down his crooked nose.
‘You are young,’ the Guild Master stated. ‘Eight months out of being a journeyman, you said?’
Hal nodded slowly, locking eyes with the Guild Master.
‘Your work lacks finesse,’ the Guild Master announced stiffly. ‘The blade is good, but the work on the quillon lacks technique.’ There were murmurs of agreement from around the room.
‘No subtlety in the ornamentation,’ another man interjected. There was a familiarity about the man. Hal couldn’t place the resemblance but something in the straw-coloured hair and pale eyes clawed at his memory.
‘Your ambitions outstrip your skill at this time,’ a third added.
A burning ache began to grow in the pit of Hal’s stomach as he took in the meaning of their words. He had failed.
‘Go back to your village, young man,’ the second man said with a stiff smile. Once more the turn of the man’s lips reminded Hal of someone, though now he did not care about remembering who it was.
The Guild Master stood. ‘Practise your trade. Take a wife and increase your standing. Perhaps in a few years you will have acquired the necessary skills to see beyond the bare form of the metal.’ He gestured at the weapon on the table.
Hal stepped forward and wrapped it in the cloth, casting his eyes over the twisted knots of the cross guard.
‘Thank you, sirs,’ he said as politely as his disappointment would allow. He walked out, head high. It was only when the door had closed quietly behind his back that he allowed his frustration full vent.
With a growl he turned and kicked the gate. It was childish but it relieved some of his disappointment. A greasy-haired man standing at the street corner with a tray of pies gave him a suspicious stare. Hal glared back and took a breath that rasped in his throat. He needed a drink. Water first to quench his thirst, then something more potent to numb the disappointment.
He strode to the fountain in the gardens and lifted the chained cup to his lips, drinking deeply. The lion’s head grinned at him, its sightless iron eyes mocking. Irritated, Hal flung the cup back into the basin sending water slopping over the edge.
A cry of annoyance made him start. He had not noticed the figure sitting on the step at the other side of the fountain, but now a woman stood and rounded on him furiously.
‘Watch what you’re doing, you great oaf!’
Joanna stood before him. She seemed to register who she was speaking to for the first time.
‘You!’ She wiped her hands over her damp dress. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Did your brother send you to find me?’
‘Do you take me for his lackey?’ Hal said bitterly. ‘I have better things to do than traipse around the city on errands for him!’
‘Then why are you here?’
Joanna folded her arms across her chest with indignation.
‘Don’t annoy me, woman,’ Hal growled. ‘I have no idea what brought you to this part of the city, but I am here on my own business and I am most definitely not in the mood to listen to your accusations.’
Joanna’s eyes glinted brightly and she gave a sob. Her eyes were red and swollen.
‘You ignored my advice, I take it.’ Hal sighed.
She bit her lip and nodded guiltily as if expecting recriminations while somehow still contriving to scowl at Hal from beneath long lashes. Being glared at by Joanna was like being scolded by a kitten.
‘He said he cannot marry me. He chose another’s favour.’
Remorse stabbed Hal’s guts. He had been instrumental in bringing her to this state. He had told Roger to make his intentions clear but the girl had not deserved such public rejection. He mentally cursed his brother’s unthinking cruelty. Assuming it was unthinking, of course.
His craving for a cup of wine increased but he could not leave the blasted woman here. Already they had attracted the attention of the pie seller who was eyeing Joanna with open interest. Recklessly he reached for her hand.
‘What are you doing?’ Joanna demanded, pulling against him.
‘You’re not the only one to have suffered a disappointment this afternoon,’ Hal said firmly. ‘I’m going to find a drink. I don’t want to leave you somewhere this isolated alone so I’m taking you with me!’
Chapter Four (#ulink_57768516-1821-5336-9f92-1b8b72154202)
Her chin resting in her hands, Joanna stared moodily at the cup before her.
‘Drink,’ Hal instructed.
Joanna opened her mouth to refuse, but Hal’s watchful expression made her think twice. She took a small sip. As the sharp, cheap wine hit her tongue she realised how thirsty she was and how dry her throat, no doubt the result of the weeping she had done. She took a deeper swig, then another until she had all but drained the cup. She slammed it on to the table and glared at Hal defiantly.
Hal raised his cup in salute to her and drained it in one. He leaned back against the wall, his shoulders brushing hers, and stared at the cup, rubbing his finger across the rim.
‘Now can we leave?’ Joanna asked.
Hal did not appear to hear her. Joanna stared about the room. The customers were quiet, serious men dressed in rough work clothing, nothing like the company her uncle kept. It wasn’t the sort of place she imagined a nobleman’s son would choose to drink in.
Hal refilled their cups and turned his attention to the long, cloth-wrapped bundle that he had propped against the bench between them. He affixed it with such hatred that Joanna burned to know what it contained. She glanced sideways at her companion—this dark figure, so like Roger in appearance, yet so different from the carefree, easy-tongued young noble. Joanna shifted in her seat.
‘If you’re planning to keep me as hostage all evening, I’d rather know sooner than later,’ she said archly.
The anger that had not left Hal’s eyes since their unintentional meeting began to ebb and the crease between his brows smoothed. His lips flickered in what might have been amusement.
‘Hostage? You do have a knack for overstatement.’
Joanna scowled. ‘What else would you call it? I didn’t ask to accompany you. You half-dragged me through the streets, despite my protests, barely speaking to me along the way. You barricade me into the corner and now give me no indication how long you intend to keep me here!’
Hal spread his hands wide and leaned back against the wall. ‘You are free to leave whenever you like.’
Squashed into the corner by the fireplace, she had no way of leaving without crawling under the table or climbing across his lap. Her chest tightened at the idea of such closeness and she hurriedly took another drink. ‘I’ll stay...for now.’
Hal gave a brief, empty smile. ‘Good. No one should drink alone when they’re sad.’
Joanna’s eyes pricked at the reminder of how distraught she had been when they had met. She realised that her distress had vanished, replaced by anger and curiosity at Hal’s odd behaviour. Now the memory of Sir Roger’s callous words reared up once more and a lump formed in her throat. Her lip trembled and Hal’s expression became sympathetic.
‘We have established that I was not searching for you,’ Hal said, ‘but tell me why you were skulking alone in a square?’
Joanna shrugged. It was none of his business.
‘I was waiting for someone.’
Hal’s eyes lit with interest. ‘Who? Have you finished grieving for my brother so quickly?’
‘Don’t mock me! How can you suggest such a thing? Why do you seem to enjoy wounding me?’ Joanna slammed her cup on to the table, causing the men at the next table to regard them curiously. ‘I will never forget your brother. My heart is in pieces and my hopes are...my hopes...’
She broke off as the lump in her throat expanded to the size of a fist. Hal refilled their cups and held one out to her, a small gesture of apology. She took it and tossed the wine back.
‘I have no hopes,’ she muttered, self-pity enveloping her. ‘I love him and it is for nothing.’
Hal picked up his cup and took a long, slow drink. ‘I cautioned you not to approach him today but you didn’t listen to me. If things are not going his way, his temper can be short. Surely you know this about him, though?’ Hal’s lip curled into a grimace. His face was so like Sir Roger’s that it could be the knight himself mocking her.
‘My brother only comes to York twice a year for the tournaments. In three years you can only have been in his company seven or eight weeks at most,’ Hal said kindly. ‘Has he ever asked for your hand?’
Joanna’s stomach twisted. ‘Never directly. He said he had to wait until he had enough money. He’s suffered losses in other years, but now he says he can never marry me. What can have caused him to change his heart so quickly?’ she asked.
She swallowed and buried her face in her hands, while the sadness flooded over her. She turned her face miserably to the corner until she had mastered her emotions. Hal said nothing, but when she finally raised her head he had moved her cup closer to her reach. She gave him a thin smile of gratitude and wiped her eyes on the end of the yellow scarf she had hoped Roger would take as her favour. She twisted it tightly between her fingers.
‘How can you be so certain you love Roger?’ Hal asked softly.
Joanna raised her eyes to meet Hal’s defiantly. ‘Anyone who knows him would love him. He’s a great knight—or will be when his fortunes change. No one else has ever made me feel so desired.’
‘Are you sure it isn’t simply the idea of what he does that attracts you?’ He sounded so scathing that the blood rose in Joanna’s cheeks. Her head spun from the wine. She pointed an accusing finger at him.
‘What he does is wonderful. Why should I be ashamed of loving him for that? You’re bitter because he has what you’ll never have,’ she spat.
‘And I’ve told you I have no wish for his position. I’m happy in mine,’ Hal answered with a glare, his voice rising. Again, the men at the next table glanced over. ‘Or I was!’ he finished bitterly, lowering his voice. His eyes fell on the mysterious bundle once more and sorrow crossed his face.
‘What is that?’ Joanna asked quietly. ‘You haven’t told me what put you into such a dark mood. It’s to do with that, isn’t it?’ she said.
