The Blacksmith's Wife. Elisabeth Hobbes
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They made their way to the Common Hall where lights blazed in the doorway and windows. The heady scent of herbs and rushes on the floor assailed them as they removed their cloaks and entered the hall. Uncle Simon excused himself and joined the huddle of guildsmen by the table laden with food. Old men with paunched bellies and greasy chins and fingers from the meat they ate. Thomas Gruffydd was among them.
Joanna wrinkled her nose in disgust and stared around the room, searching anxiously for Sir Roger. The knights were grandly dressed in the colours of their houses, walking among the other guests gathering admiring glances. The dancing was already underway and her foot began to tap. She finally spotted him standing in an alcove at the far end of the hall. Her heart sank. He was not alone.
She watched enviously as Sir Roger kissed the hand of a young woman, taller than herself with shining black curls. Their eyes never parted as Sir Roger led her to thread seamlessly into the dance.
‘I hope you don’t intend to spend your evening watching others having fun rather than joining in!’
Joanna jumped as a voice spoke in deep, low tones in her ear. She turned on Henry Danby and glared into his brown eyes, so similar to Sir Roger’s that her heart instinctively skipped a beat.
‘Is it a habit of yours to creep up behind people?’ she snapped, unsettled by her body’s infidelity.
Henry laughed, his dark eyes gleaming wickedly. He took two goblets of wine from a passing servant and handed one to Joanna.
‘You were the first to try that approach if my memory serves me rightly,’ he said, lifting his goblet in salute and drinking deeply.
Icy fingers ran across Joanna’s scalp. Simon’s warning about her reputation rose in her mind. Was that why Sir Roger had taken another partner rather than wait for her arrival?
‘Did you tell your brother what I did?’ she demanded, gripping her goblet tightly.
Henry fixed Joanna with a stare that sent a shiver down her spine.
‘So you didn’t tell Roger yourself. I wondered if you would. Why did you keep it a secret?’ he asked, moving closer to her. ‘What did you fear he would say?’
‘I feared nothing,’ Joanna lied. ‘You interrupted us before we had chance to speak properly.’
Henry smirked. Remembering what he had interrupted, Joanna blushed.
‘Tell me, does he know?’ she insisted.
Henry studied her in silence, eyes narrowed. Whereas with Roger she would have instinctively cast her eyes down modestly, she held Henry’s gaze boldly, refusing to be cowed. With his dark eyes and curls he was handsome in the same way as his brother, but the expression in his eyes was sharper, reminding her of a fox watching its prey.
‘No, he doesn’t,’ he admitted finally with a shrug.
‘Thank you,’ Joanna breathed. She took a mouthful of the warm wine, the sharpness burning her throat. ‘I am in your debt.’
Henry extended his arm towards her. ‘I will relieve you of your obligation if you dance with me now.’
Joanna’s eyes slid to the centre of the room where Sir Roger still danced with the dark-haired woman. Surely he would finish soon and seek her out. He could not have forgotten she would be there.
Hal’s eyes followed hers. ‘Do you fear his disapproval so much that you will not dance with me?’
‘Of course not!’ Joanna said. ‘I just don’t want to dance yet.’
He snorted. ‘I don’t believe you. You were jigging up and down like a fiddle player on a carthorse.’
The image was so comical that despite herself Joanna smiled.
‘I have my reputation to think of.’
Henry raised his goblet to her once more, a gleam in his eye. ‘You would risk your reputation to visit my brother alone but will not chance a dance in public?’ His eyes blazed. ‘A dance means nothing. If anything it will protect your reputation: to refuse other offers and dance with him alone would invite talk, wouldn’t it? Even my brother could not censure you for that.’ He held his arm out again but when Joanna shook her head he did not press the point.
The music came to an end. Joanna attempted to catch Sir Roger’s eye, but to her dismay Sir Bartholomew presented another young lady who curtsied demurely and they returned to the dance immediately. Joanna’s mouth twisted downwards and she gave a small sigh of disappointment.
Henry was watching her closely, an odd mix of pity and scorn on his face. Joanna dropped her head, the expression in his eyes searing her heart.
‘What did you expect to happen?’ he asked archly. ‘This evening is to honour the knights. You aren’t the only woman to have her heart turned by the glamour of the pageant, or intending to catch a husband.’
‘My head hasn’t been turned by glamour!’ Joanna snapped. ‘That isn’t why I love him.’
Henry smirked disbelievingly. ‘Do you mean you would marry my brother if he was penniless and not a knight?’
Joanna gazed at Sir Roger, trying to imagine him as anything other than himself but could not picture him without his armour or velvet robes.
As she watched Roger laughed enthusiastically at something his partner whispered. He led her off the floor in the opposite direction with the vitality he displayed at the tilt. Joanna’s eyes began to burn. No other man of her acquaintance, few as they were, made her heart turn over with a single glance.
‘I would love him whatever he was,’ she insisted.
‘You hesitated though,’ Henry said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Now, are you content to wait all night for Roger to notice you or will you dance with me?’
Joanna tossed her head. ‘I’d rather stand here alone than dance with you. You’ve mocked me and been nothing but rude to me since you joined me. I know why too. I think you’re jealous because you are not a knight yourself.’
She made to turn away but caught the expression on Henry’s face and paused. His eyes were blazing and his jaw thrust forward angrily. When he spoke next his voice was clipped.
‘As it happens you’re wrong. I made my peace with my fate long ago.’
He began to walk away. Shame flooded Joanna. He was a bastard. Of course he could never hope to be a knight.
‘Master Danby,’ she called. ‘Wait!’
He paused. Suspicion flickered across his face though it softened as he returned to her, never letting his eyes slip from hers. Her heart beat oddly in her throat.
‘Call me Hal,’ he said shortly.
‘I didn’t mean to offend you,’ Joanna said, twisting her hands in embarrassment. ‘It must be hard knowing you cannot be what your brother is.’
‘I have no desire to be what he is,’ Hal replied so curtly Joanna stepped back in alarm. His eyes hardened as he waved his hand across the room, shadows flickering across his face as he obliterated the candlelight. ‘What sensible man would want this gaudy pageantry?’
Now it was Joanna’s turn to feel sceptical. ‘How could anyone not wish to be a part of such excitement?’
‘Quite easily. When it’s over what is left of the opulence beyond empty lists? I prefer things that last.’
Joanna considered his words. When the fairs and tournaments were gone York felt empty and she spent her time dreaming of their return.
‘Why are you here if you hold it in such contempt?’ she asked.
Hal’s jaw tightened. ‘I would much rather not be. I have my own reasons for being in York, which will be poorly served by standing with you. If you are determined to wait until my brother notices you I