by Anne O'Brien
‘I must thank you for your forbearance if I seemed less than amenable.’
‘I have to say, Madam Elizabeth,’ he responded promptly, ‘that it is not only your appearance that has undergone a transformation. Today your tongue is touched with honey.’
I knew my eyes sparkled. I would not rise to that bait, like a salmon snatching at a mayfly, only to be dragged to land by an enterprising fisherman. Instead I cast my own bait on the choppy waters.
What an enjoyable conversation this was becoming.
‘I am astonished,’ I observed, ‘that Richard agreed to receive you at court, Sir John, if what I hear is true.’
With alacrity the bait was snapped up. Would nothing disconcert him? ‘Admirable! You have reverted to your acerbic mood, I note. And at my expense. Take care, Madam Elizabeth. Would you do battle with me?’
‘Yes, when you avoid my question.’
‘You did not ask a question. You made an observation. Which is patently untrue. My brother is always pleased to have me close.’
‘Even with the recent scandal? Causing waves to unsettle the whole family?’
‘I see no waves.’ Straightening, he swept a wide gesture to encompass the chattering throng. Indeed there were none, everyone present intent on nothing but enjoyment, but I pursued my quarry, since he was proving to be a willing combatant.
‘My father the Duke was most displeased.’
‘Are you sure, Countess? The Duke has been nothing but grateful for my recent services in his expedition to besiege St Malo. Even if it was destined to failure.’
A fast lunge and parry. A rapid cut and thrust. How exhilarating it was to talk with a man in this fashion. Would I ever have such conversation with Jonty? I knew that I never would.
‘As for waves …’ I mused. ‘Perhaps they are only invisible because the lady in question is not here to stir them into life.’ I too looked around the vast chamber, feigning astonished interest at the absence of the woman in question. ‘But I expect she will announce herself very soon, and then we will see …’
‘Do you spend all your days listening to gossip?’ he interrupted, those dark eyes wide with innocence, unless one looked too closely and was tempted to fall into their depths. Quickly I looked away, taking another sip of wine.
‘Yes. What else is there for me to do? I fear your reputation has sunk you in the mire, Sir John.’
‘You shouldn’t believe all you hear, Madam Elizabeth.’
‘Is it not true, then? The court has been awash with it.’
‘I’ll not tell you.’
‘I see.’ I looked at him through my lashes as once more I took a sip of wine. ‘Are you already suffering remorse, perhaps? Intending to confess your sins and mend your ways?’ I leaned a little towards him. ‘You can tell me, you know. I can be most discreet.’
‘When is a young woman ever discreet? And I don’t believe I’ve ever suffered a moment’s remorse in all my life.’ He laughed again, a rich attractive sound that drew eyes. ‘I’ll not tell you my thoughts, because you’re too young for such salacious gossip.’
‘What would I not know? I am nineteen years old. And wed.’
‘To a husband who does not share your bed. Thus making you a charmingly innocent virgin wife. And,’ he added, with no warning at all, ‘I would like nothing better than to rob you of that innocence.’
Which effectively silenced me. Even more when, before I could prevent it, he had snatched up my free hand in his and raised it to press his lips to my fingers. This was far more outspoken, more particular, than I had expected, but had I not goaded him? I had asked for this riposte. Casting a hasty glance over our courtly companions, it was a relief to see that his attentions were unobserved, but a ripple of awareness, and not a little fear, ran over my nape as my hand was not released.
‘You must not, sir. Do you wish to make me the subject of similar gossip?’
Upon which John Holland’s smile vanished like the sun behind a particularly virulent storm cloud, and he became broodingly brisk and businesslike, defying me to follow his moods.
‘Don’t worry, Countess. I’ve not impugned your honour. It’s only a kiss between family. Your father would have my skin nailed to the flag-pole at Kenilworth if he thought I had shown you any disrespect, and I can’t afford to antagonise Lancaster, can I? I’m in receipt of his livery. It was my mistake to single you out in such a manner. As for you, Cousin, if you are going to wield a weapon, you must do so against someone of your own weight. Otherwise you will be wounded.’
Although my face was afire, I could not prevent an arch response. ‘I am no cousin of yours. There is no blood connection.’
‘So you are not, Lady of Pembroke, but near enough. Accept this as a cousinly salute.’
And there was pressure of his mouth on my knuckles again, trivial enough but startling by the implied intimacy so that I stiffened, and he must have caught a sense of it.
‘What is it? Have I seriously unsettled you? I had thought you to be more worldly wise, mistress. I was wrong. You must forgive me.’
The timbre of his voice was suddenly dry enough to warn me that he had abandoned his previous trifling, and lurking at the edge of his disclaimer was the undoubted provocation. You can trust me or not, as you wish. I don’t care. Nor did he, but I would not allow him to discomfit me. I recovered fast to display condescension when he half rose to leave. I did not want him to go. Not yet, and assuredly not on his terms where he had presumed me to be naïve.
‘I am not wounded. Did you think you drew blood?’ I asked, tugging my hand free but replying with a show of serenity as I spread my arms wide. ‘See. I am unharmed. The Earl of Pembroke does not share my bed until he is of age. It is no secret. And it is not in your power to rob me of my innocence.’
Settling back on the stool, he perused me, much like a well-fed hawk would watch a mouse in the long grass, undecided whether to make the effort to pounce or abandon it for more worthy prey. Something in my expression, or perhaps in my picking up on his outrageous threat, made him observe: ‘I doubt the situation satisfies you, whatever you say. How old is he?’
‘Jonty has reached his tenth year.’
He lifted a shoulder in a little shrug. ‘So you have decided to wait to enjoy the pleasures of the bedchamber under the auspices of holy matrimony …’
This unnerved me all over again but I was improving in smart retaliation. ‘Of course I will wait. I make no complaint. Now you it seems do not need a wife at all. Unless it’s someone else’s.’
‘I see you have not been imbued with politesse, Madam Elizabeth.’
‘My social graces are excellent, Sir John.’
‘You have wit and charm, certainly.’
To my satisfaction, he had begun to smile again. ‘Is that all, Sir John?’
‘Are you perhaps fishing for compliments, Madam Elizabeth?’
‘No, indeed. I have no need to do so. I receive many compliments.’
‘I expect you do. How could you not with your illustrious parentage? Some of us are not so fortunate, and must work harder for it …’ His mouth acquired a derisive twist, even a hint of temper, that caught my interest. Then, with smooth transition, so that I might have thought I imagined the whole: ‘Do you stay at court long, madam?’
A superlatively rapid volte face. So he had no wish to stir the mud in that particular pond of his troubled parentage, but he had given me an insight I had not expected. I let it go for now, and followed his direction into calmer waters.
‘Yes. That is, I hope so. And what of you?’
‘My plans are fluid.’
‘Perhaps our paths will cross again.’
‘Would you wish them to?’
‘I might.’
‘It may be that I go to Ireland in August as the newly appointed Lord Lieutenant.’
‘Oh’. It was not what I had hoped to hear, certainly.
‘Would you miss me now, if I were absent from court?’
Oh, I
had his measure. ‘How would I? Do you fight tomorrow in the tournament?’
‘I will if you will be there to watch me win against all comers.’
‘Such self-deprecation, Sir John. I will be there to wager on your losing.’
‘You would lose, so don’t risk wagering that exceptional ring you are wearing. How could I resist displaying my skills before so critical an audience? If you lost that jewel I might feel compelled to buy you another.’
‘I doubt you could afford one of this value. It was a gift from my father.’ And I spread the fingers of my right hand so that the ruby glowed blood-red in its heart, as red as the tunic that flattered John Holland’s colouring so perfectly.
‘I would willingly spend all I have to make you smile at me. As I will fight to win your praises.’
I was flattered, of course, as he intended. Except that I knew he had no intention of spending all he had, and would participate in the tournament whether I was there or not. And would probably win.
‘Perhaps you will ask me to dance again afterwards?’ I suggested.
‘I might.’
‘And I might accept.’
‘I doubt if you could refuse me.’
‘I will have many offers.’
He stood and offered his hand to bring me to my feet.
‘You will not refuse, Elizabeth, because you see the danger in accepting my offer. How could you resist the desire that sparkles through your blood even now? I can see it as clearly as if written on velum with a monkish pen.’
This time I was the one who frowned. Did I wish to acknowledge this uncannily accurate reading of my response to him? Again he had pushed ahead far too quickly and into unknown territory.
‘I could resist,’ I said. ‘I have amazing willpower.’
‘Then perhaps we will put it to the test.’
He bowed, took my empty cup, only to abandon it on the floor. Seizing my wrist, he turned back the edging of my oversleeve, and stopped, fingers stilled, assessing the immediate problem.
‘I can get no further with this,’ he remarked.
‘And why would you wish to?’
The sleeve of my undergown was tightly buttoned almost to my knuckles.
‘To see if your wrist was scarred by the rebel’s knife.’ The words were curt, the consonants bitten off. ‘I regretted that.’
Uncertain of this brief emergence of irritation when it seemed unnecessary, I misunderstood. ‘But it was not your fault, sir.’
He was not smiling, and his clasp was firmer than the occasion warranted. ‘It should not have happened. I should have been there sooner to ensure your safety. Your brother was unharmed, but you suffered. You are too beautiful to carry any blemish. I would not have it so.’
And my heart tripped a little, because I thought, of all the words we had exchanged that day, his contrition was genuine, and he had phrased it so neatly with the artistry of any troubadour. But my flattering knight bowed abruptly, released me and turned to walk away as if he had received a royal summons that demanded urgent action.
‘Sir John …’ I called, disconcerted. ‘There is no scar.’
He halted, and returned abruptly so that we were face to face.
‘How could I forget you?’ he asked, as if I had only just that minute asked him the question, as if it were the one thought uppermost in his mind that angered him beyond measure. ‘I swear you are the most compelling woman I have ever met. I wish it were not so, but you have inveigled your way into my thoughts from that first day I noticed you.’ Clearly he was not pleased with the prospect. ‘Since then I have found it impossible to remove you. You’re like a burr caught in a saddlecloth, lethal to horse and rider.’
‘You bundled me into a barge with your mother,’ I retaliated, recalling the occasion all too vividly. ‘And that was after you told me to stop shrieking in your ear because it would draw attention to us. I don’t think you realised how terrified I was …’
‘Of course I did.’
I became haughty. ‘You were lacking in compassion, sir.’
‘My compassion, as you put it, was directed at getting you and your brother out of a situation that could have been certain death for all of us. What would you have had me do? Stay to bandy words of admiration and dalliance?’ He made an economic gesture of acceptance. And then there was the slow smile as his breathing eased. ‘Before God, I did admire you, Elizabeth. You were bold and brave and deliciously unforgettable. Never doubt it, you are a jewel of incomparable value. Am I not a connoisseur of women?’ The smile became imbued with warm malice. ‘Married or otherwise.’
Then he was striding off through the gathering, leaving me feeling alive and vibrant and vividly aware of my surroundings. I was as breathless as if I had been riding hard after the hunt. What a play of emotions in this mercurial royal brother, and how my own had responded to his. It seemed that I had won his regard and his admiration, as he surely had mine.
Did I enjoy flirting with danger?
There was no danger here, I asserted. Merely an exchange of opinion with an uncommonly quick-witted man. Not one of which my late lamented mother would have approved, but why not? He had taken my eye, appealing to my curiosity, and that exchange had been harmlessly teasing rather than dangerous. He had called me cousin. There was nothing here but the closeness of family.
Did I believe my simplistic dissection of our lively exchange, when every one of my senses had leaped and danced? If I did not, if I knew we had enjoyed far more than a courtly conversation over a cup of wine, I was not prepared to confess it, even to myself.
I made my way towards the group containing Philippa and Henry, turning over the content of the past minutes, discovering one thing to ponder. John Holland’s sharp retreat from any discussion of his own parentage. The instability of his background was well known, even the sly accusations of illegitimacy, product of Princess Joan’s disgracefully bigamous ownership of two husbands before her royal marriage. Was he sensitive to that? I did not think so, for it was generally agreed that there was no truth in it, and I suspected that Sir John was not sensitive to anything but his own desires. What was as clear as glass to me was that he had ambitions to make his own name, not simply as the King’s brother. It was impossible not to recognise in him an appetite, a ruthlessness to savour every dish in the banquet and drink life dry. He might be aware of the shadows, perhaps resenting them, but would be inexorable in sweeping them aside if they stood in his path. Already he was acquiring land to match his enhanced status as a prestigious Knight of the Garter, at Richard’s creation.
For the past ten minutes he had made me the object of his potent, exhilarating, undivided attention, and I had gloried in it.
‘Flexing your talons?’ Philippa observed, a critical observer who made no attempt to hide her dismay. ‘As long as you don’t get hurt.’
‘I will not. Nor will I hurt others. And, before you level the accusation, dearest sister, I will certainly not harm Jonty.’
I could barely wait for the tournament to begin.
Chapter Three
Before such fanfare and panoply, the court was called upon to welcome Princess Joan herself, and what an appearance she made as a majestic plumed palanquin, complete with outriders, an army of servants and a half dozen pack animals, all deemed necessary for a lengthy stay, made its ponderous way into the inner courtyard where it lurched to a halt. It was not necessary to draw back the curtains for the occupant to be recognisable, or for her importance to be appreciated. Heraldic achievements aflutter and pinned to every minion’s breast, here was Joan, Fair Maid of Kent, Dowager Princess of Wales, King’s Mother.
The lady was handed out by two of her women, enabling her to stand and survey the hastily assembled welcoming party, irritation written in every line of her body. Positioned as I was behind a little knot of courtiers, I could barely see her short figure, only the wide padded role of the chaplet that concealed every lock of her hair and supported an all-enveloping veil, but I could hear
her explosion of anger.
‘God’s Blood! Where is my son?’
Sensibly Richard had made himself available, with as many members of his court as he could muster when the Princess’s proximity was announced. Now he emerged from the royal apartments, walking in stately fashion down the steps, only to be seized in the Princess’s arms and dragged into a close embrace as if he were still a small boy, while I slid my way between shoulders and overlapping skirts until it was easy for me to see the strange pair they made in this reunion. Richard, young and angelically fair, had grown tall in recent months, over-reaching his mother who had become so stout that even climbing the steps at his side made her catch her breath. Once, before my birth in the reign of the old King, Joan had been acknowledged as the most beautiful woman in England, and led a scandal-ridden life that made the most of her undoubted charms. Now her broad features and less than svelte figure proclaimed a woman who was a shadow of that former beauty.
But her eyes, although they might be swathed in little mounds of flesh, were still keen and beautifully sharp, and the timbre of her voice was mellifluous even though it could cut like a knife. As it did.
‘Holy Virgin! That journey was a nightmare from start to finish. The state of the roads between here and Wallingford is a disgrace, Richard. You must do something about it. And the riff-raff that use them. I have come to meet the bride. I should have been here yesterday.’
‘I would have sent my own escort, Madam,’ Richard said, not pleased at being taken to task.
‘That would hardly shorten my journey.’
‘You appear to have travelled in comfort,’ Richard observed with an eye to the equipage being led away.
The Princess waved this irrelevance aside but her complaint ground to a halt as, noticing them in the crowd, she graciously extended her hand for her two sons by her first marriage to Thomas Holland, Earl of Kent, to kiss. Which I noticed they did with alacrity, yet much affection, even if they were now grown men and royal counsellors.
‘Thomas …’ she said. ‘And John …’
‘My wife is within,’ Richard announced, intent on reclaiming his mother’s attention.
