* *
On her wedding day Joanna woke with dry eyes, having spent all her tears the night before. She had hoped for rain or a black sky, something better suited to symbolising her mood, but the sun broke through wispy clouds. Mary eased herself into the room, panting gently. She handed Joanna a cup of warm milk, easing herself on to the end of the bed. Joanna stared at her aunt’s swelling belly, which seemed to grow more each day. She had borne five children, four of whom had lived, and now a sixth was expected already.
Mary saw her looking, rubbing her hands over the bulge. ‘It gets easier each time,’ she said. ‘You’re wide in the hip, you won’t have any problems when it’s your turn.’
Joanna blushed. ‘It isn’t bearing the children that worries me,’ she admitted in a whisper. Mary drew her into an embrace.
‘That is bearable too. Not at first, but you learn to tolerate it. Some women even find pleasure in it.’ Her lips narrowed disapprovingly. ‘Or so I’m told!’
Joanna gripped the cup in her hands. A sob welled up in her throat and Mary patted her briskly.
‘Come now, there’s no use in fretting over what you can’t change. Your new husband is handsome enough. I’m sure you’ll find you’re as happy as any woman can expect to be.’
Joanna bit her lip. She was devoted to Sir Roger with all her heart but even his touch had left her skin crawling. She remembered the last time they had kissed; Sir Roger’s hands on her body, fingers nipping and twisting, digging into her flesh while his tongue forced its way between her lips. How could any woman endure, much less enjoy, such a thing? If it was like that with a man she loved, what would it be like with one she didn’t?
Dressed in a pale-blue kirtle laced tightly beneath a darker-blue, sleeveless cotehardie, it was a source of amazement to Joanna that she managed to walk to the church without fainting. She stopped abruptly at the gate, every fibre of her body urging her to run, but Simon tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her through.
Hal was facing the church door, which gave Joanna plenty of time to observe him as she walked up the path. How ironic that this angle had been her first glimpse of him too. Whenever they had met Hal had always worn plain clothes, but today he was dressed in a dark-green jerkin with gold embroidery at the sleeves and collar over a black tunic. A wide belt pulled his waist in in a manner that accentuated the broadness of his shoulders and back and his close-fitting hose revealed well-formed legs. His hair had been drawn back into a neat cord at the nape of his neck, but dark curls were already beginning to break free, as unruly as ever. He turned as she approached and his eyes widened in obvious appreciation. Joanna smiled nervously at him and for a moment she allowed herself to believe things might turn out well. Hal’s eyes slid to his brooch pinned over Joanna’s heart. She raised her hand to it.
‘Thank you.’
He broke into a wide smile full of pleasure. As reluctant as she was to become his wife, Joanna had to admit she was marrying a handsome man. If only it was his brother her happiness would be complete. She stifled a sob as Simon pushed her forward to stand beside Hal. The priest began intoning words that washed over Joanna’s head and the ceremony began.
When she was later asked to describe her wedding, Joanna had no recollection. She did not weep and was proud of that. She spoke the required words in a clear voice, made and received promises. They must have exchanged rings—the plain narrow band that felt as heavy as a manacle on her finger was evidence of that. Throughout it all she kept her eyes downcast as a modest maiden should. No one would expect more, or censure her for her reticence.
There was stillness and the churchyard filled with an expectant hush. Finally Joanna raised her eyes to meet those of her husband.
‘I believe a kiss is customary,’ Hal said quietly.
‘Oh! Of course.’ Joanna obediently raised her face.
Hal hesitated before stepping towards her. He put his hands at either side of Joanna’s face. They were warm and rough. The hands of a craftsman, not a noble. His fingers spread wide so that his thumbs caressed her cheeks and the little fingers brushed against the base of her skull. He leaned down, closing his eyes as he moved towards her. Much gentler than Joanna had expected he brushed his lips across hers.
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