once when I was small and then...’ she shrugged. ‘We did not go again.’
And still she limped. ‘Why do you think this time will be different?’
She flinched, his blunt words a blow. ‘I do not. But Lady Joan always believes that all will be...
‘...as it must.’ He spoke the words with her.
She smiled. He didn’t.
‘Yes, exactly.’
So now, Lady Joan, with a woman’s disregard for any needs but her own, had tossed the burden of Anne’s hope to him, expecting him to catch and juggle it without dropping responsibility for her own happiness.
And if he did not walk away this minute, he would say something he’d regret. ‘I must see to the horses and supplies.’ He had no time to waste arguing. He would lay the matter before Edward, tell him it was impossible to take Anne, and let the man handle his own wife. ‘And find the Prince.’
He turned on his heel without another word.
‘I think,’ she said, words floating over his shoulder, ‘that the Prince may surprise you.’
He did not look back. It was Anne of Stamford who would be surprised.
* * *
Nicholas found the Prince at dice, collecting from a winning throw, in a better mood than he had feared.
The Prince and his lady were sleeping separately now, as the Pope had ordered, and Edward was counting the days until they could be wed again. He would brook no delay in getting official approval, even if Anne believed otherwise.
‘My lord, we leave at dawn.’
Smiling, Edward clasped Nicholas on the shoulder. ‘Godspeed, my friend. Safe and speedy travels.’
‘But you are joining me.’
He shook his head. ‘You need no help from me. Joan and I will look forward to seeing you back again soon.’
A trip well planned unravelling before it had begun. Was it faith in Nicholas or fear of the pestilence that held him back? No, the explanation was probably simpler. What had Anne called it? Want. The undoing of many men, including his father.
‘My travels will not be as swift as I had planned. One of Lady Joan’s ladies thinks to travel with me.’
He was gratified to see the Prince look surprised. ‘Who? Why?’
‘Anne.’ He put an upward lilt at the end of her name, as if he were unsure of it. ‘Hoping for a cure for her leg. She said Lady Joan suggested it.’
Edward met Nicholas’s frown with a smile. ‘How kind my wife is. Always thinking of others.’
This was not going as he had hoped. Did love make all men such fools? ‘Do you want her to go to the shrine or do you want your answer quickly?’
Edward’s frown was brief. ‘If Joan wants her to go, then go she shall. I have every faith that you can handle one lame woman as well as the Archbishop. It can be no more difficult than the four hogsheads of Gascon wine you had to smuggle out of the priests’ quarters in St Thierry.’
He wished, for a moment, that the Prince had less faith in him. Here was where Nicholas’s pride had led. He made it look so easy, so Edward did not understand the difficulties.
Or did not admit that he did.
While he was still marshalling arguments for the Prince, he found himself, by force of habit, revising travel plans, recalculating the number of days on the road.
‘I can take her there and bring her back,’ he said, ‘but whether she limps or runs afterwards is in God’s hands, not mine.’
Edward shook his head. ‘Poor maid. Joan took her on when others would not and keeps her ever close. What a treasure is my wife. How kind and gentle...’
Nicholas let the Prince ramble. Kind to this lame woman beyond what he would expect of any mortal. Well, everyone seemed to love the Lady Joan.
Joan took her on... And Anne had never answered when he asked how long she had been in her service. Would she know something of this marriage tangle he’d been given to unravel?
‘How long?’ he asked, cutting off the Prince in mid-sentence. ‘How long have they been together?’
Edward shrugged. ‘At least fifteen years. Her mother served Joan before her.’
‘So when Joan was still married to Salisbury?’
That brought a frown. The Prince did not care to be reminded that he would be the third man to share his wife’s marital bed. ‘It is of no importance to your duty to take her there and back.’
No, he thought, but it was curious. It was a long, long time. ‘And her father?’
‘Died with honour in France. But why do you ask? These questions will not get you to Canterbury and back any faster.’
And that, of course, was all that concerned the Prince.
Nicholas bowed and left the room. If Anne had been with her lady so long, she had been there not only for their wedding, but also when Holland had appeared to reclaim his wife.
Strange, that Anne had never mentioned that.
Nicholas watched, wary, as Anne appeared promptly the next morning, garbed and prepared for travel. Did he see a sly glance? A wistful sigh? Any sign that she expected to return from this journey with a husband instead of a cure?
‘You understand,’ he began, in his sternest tone, ‘that we do not have time for you to walk to Canterbury.’
Cruel words. Chosen to keep her safely distant.
That hard edge in her eyes again. ‘I am lame. I am not an idiot.’
Hardly words to entice a man’s sensual imaginings.
He gritted his teeth. She had that habit. Each time a wave of guilt seemed about to crash over him, she would say something pointed and sharp enough to prick him with anger instead of pity.
For that, he was thankful. It kept him from thinking of her in other ways.
‘Nor,’ he continued, ‘have we time for you to make your will, or give away your worldly goods, or be blessed at mass, or any of the rest of it.’
A proper pilgrimage was near as ritualised as the mass or the stag hunt. There was a long list of things God demanded before he would bestow his mercy.
‘If you are warning me not to blame you if the saint does not cure me, do not worry. My prayers, and my mother’s, have been ignored up to this time. I don’t think one more blessing will make a difference to St Thomas one way
