The Blacksmith's Wife (14 page)

‘Master Danby left early on an errand,’ Joanna said. There was no reason Meg needed to know, but Hal had implied the commitment was long standing and she might know where Hal had gone. If she did she was not about to share the information with his wife.

Meg shrugged. ‘Aye, Master Danby is always coming or going. No one knows when to expect him,’ she said, seemingly unconcerned. ‘Shall we go into the village now?’

Joanna reached for her cloak and the two women walked to the centre of the village. It did not take long, no more than two hundred paces, Joanna estimated, until they were standing on common green. Joanna’s heart sank as she surveyed her new home. Wharram Danby had struck her as small, but in comparison to Ravenscrag it seemed as large as York.

* * *

A half-hour was sufficient for Joanna to meet the widow selling ale from her door, the miller, the workers in the fields, the small boy guarding geese on the green and sundry other men and women. Without exception they greeted her with politeness, but their wide eyes and incredulous expressions made it abundantly clear that it was not just Meg who had found her appearance unexpected.

Anger bubbled up inside her. Hal had not told anyone of his intention to marry and now he had slipped away on a business he would not even share with her and left Joanna alone to face her neighbours. She forced a smile to her face and introduced herself, all the while imagining Hal suffering torments untold for his desertion.

When Meg suggested they return to Hal’s home Joanna agreed readily, but as they neared the smithy her eyes drifted to the road that led across the river and to the hills beyond.

‘I want to go that way,’ she said and began walking before Meg had time to answer.

The road climbed steeply upwards, but as it reached the brow of the hill it levelled and split, one path leading to the sea, the other across the moorland. A light gust of wind blew around Joanna’s neck like the breath of a lover. The image was startling and she blinked, wondering how on earth such a comparison had crept into her mind. Hal crept into her mind, his arms slipping around her from behind and his lips teasing her neck. A shiver ran down her spine. She blinked to rid herself of the image, reminding herself that she was too cross with him to even think of such a thing!

She stared at what lay before her, no buildings in any direction for miles but heather and hills that rose and fell.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she exclaimed.

Meg shrugged as though there was nothing astonishing about what they saw. A lone figure was riding towards the village along the inland road. As he drew closer Joanna’s heart began to thump as she recognised the posture of the horseman she had ridden with the day before.

It was Hal.

Meg waved her arms aloft and called his name. They walked to meet Hal, who climbed from the horse and bowed to the women.

‘Good day, mistresses. I was not expecting a welcoming deputation.’

Joanna took a deep breath, intending to scold him for leaving her, but as she looked again at her husband her sarcastic retort died on her lips. His hair was tangled from the wind. He wore no cloak and the neck of his tunic was loosely laced, a dark shadow hinting at the soft hairs that covered his chest. A shiver of exhilaration took her by surprise.

All she could find to say was, ‘I wanted to see beyond the village.’

‘Joanna, you want to learn to ride, why not start now?’ Hal said.

Before she could protest his arms were about her waist and he had lifted her on to the horse. She gasped and clutched her fingers into Valiant’s mane as the animal stood patiently waiting for her direction. Hal put a hand in the small of Joanna’s back to hold her steady, gathered the reins and began to lead the horse steadily towards Ravenscrag, giving instructions she tried to follow.

Meg walked silently alongside Hal. Joanna slid a glance down at her. Was this woman her husband’s bedfellow? Joanna’s instinct in the light of day was that she was not. From Hal’s heated reaction to her hints the previous night he had suspected her thoughts. Whatever circumstance had led to Meg’s employment, Joanna felt that bedding her was not part of it.

Perhaps it was only Meg who harboured feelings for Hal and they were not returned. It would not be surprising—he was extremely handsome, more so when he gave one of the rare smiles when he was genuinely amused that etched lines of laughter on to his face.

He was smiling now, only it was not Meg he was bestowing it on, but Joanna. She smiled back and Hal’s dark eyes filled with intense hunger that set Joanna’s stomach spinning over. She felt a blush begin between her breasts, creep across her chest and rise to her throat and was glad of the warm cloak she wore that hid it from view.

She considered the situation they found themselves in. Meg might want Hal, but if the hunger in his eyes was any indication, Hal wanted Joanna.

And Joanna wanted Roger.

Didn’t she?

With Hal holding her on Valiant with such care for her safety, his dark curls lifting in the wind and his hand firm against her back, she could not truthfully say at that moment that she did.

Chapter Fourteen

H
al rose before daybreak, slipped from beneath the covers and began moving silently around the bedchamber in the grey half-light, pulling on his braies and breeches. Joanna watched him from the bed, woken by the unwelcome gust of cold air that curled around her replacing the warmth of Hal’s arms where she had once again found herself in the night.

‘Are you going away again today?’ she asked sleepily.

‘No. Today I can get back to work. I’ll be spending the day in the forge.’ Hal sounded relieved and Joanna wondered if the destination of his secret journey had been entirely voluntary. She hid a smile of glee that at least he would be gone to the forge and she would have the house to herself again.

Hal walked to the window and dipped his hands in the ewer of water on the chest. Joanna watched him through half-closed eyes as he ran them across his face and through his hair. She wriggled sleepily down into the cosy hollow Hal’s body had left. He had been warm beside her and she almost wished he had stayed there.

‘Will you begin work on your masterwork today?’ she asked.

‘If I have the time. I have too many orders I need to fulfil that have had to wait,’ Hal said.

‘What are you intending to make?’ Joanna asked curiously.

Hal frowned as he glanced quickly over his shoulder at her. ‘That remains to be seen.’

The muscles in his broad back rolled as he lifted his arms high to pull a rough woollen tunic over his breeches and shadows caressed the curve of his neck. He shook his hair out of his eyes and faced Joanna. She tore her gaze from her husband’s body just a beat too slowly and a knowing grin played around Hal’s lips. An expression of such desire crossed his face that shivers raced the length of Joanna’s spine.

She tried unsuccessfully to slow the beating of her heart that raced to double speed. From the glint in Hal’s eyes now she suspected that all it would take to make him return to the bed was a single word. She dared not give it, but she recognised the way her stomach leapt to her throat, then plummeted back to her core.

Embarrassed he had caught her so openly staring at him, Joanna threw the covers back and climbed from the bed. The room was chilly—this part of Yorkshire felt colder than the Vale of York itself, and a violent shiver shot through her as her feet touched the bare stone floor. She exhaled loudly.

Hal picked his surcoat from the chest.

‘Here, I don’t want you catching a chill,’ he said and wrapped it around Joanna’s shoulders with a flourish. His fingers lingered on the neck of her shift and Joanna wondered if he could feel the pulse in her neck hammering beneath her skin.

The scent of more than the wool itself caught her attention—a heady mix of wood smoke and beneath that a trace of saltiness and musk that was uniquely Hal—and she pulled the surcoat closer around her. Hal was watching her keenly.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, swallowing. She took a step back from him and opened the shutter to let the morning into the room. The oiled linen covering the window frame rattled in the wind and shadows of clouds raced over the cloth.

‘Is it always this cold here?’

‘The wind’s blowing from the sea today,’ Hal said, coming to stand beside her. ‘You’ll get used to the weather soon, though it isn’t unheard of to have snow into April.’

Joanna winced. By late March York would be warm enough to walk around with only a light cloak. A pang of homesickness struck her. It must have shown on her face because Hal’s lips twisted.

He moved away from her again to sit on the edge of the bed where he pulled on his boots. ‘What will you do with your day?’ he asked.

Joanna stared around the room. Cobwebs caught in the dawn light. ‘Begin putting your house in order,’ she said teasingly.

‘Our house,’ Hal remarked.

‘Of course,’ Joanna agreed. She wrapped the thick surcoat around her body, holding it close with her arms defensively about her chest. ‘Our house.’ The words felt strange on her tongue.

‘I’ll bid you good day for now in that case,’ Hal said. He crossed back to her and took her face between his hands and Joanna’s heart began to thump with anticipation. Instead of kissing her he gently brushed her forehead with his lips.

He dropped his hands and the door was banging shut behind him before Joanna had time to register that the emotion assailing her was disappointment. She began to brush and twist her hair into a plait, the scent of Hal’s surcoat lingering on her skin long after he had left.

* * *

It wasn’t until her limbs were burning with effort that Joanna stopped cleaning. She paused on her way back from the river, bucket in hand, and looked upwards, noting with surprise that the sun was over halfway across the sky. She had eaten nothing all day and the hollow feeling in her stomach was becoming harder to ignore.

She left the bucket by the door, rinsed her hands and beat the dust from her skirts, then returned to the kitchen and surveyed the results of the morning’s work: freshly scrubbed walls and a cobweb-free ceiling. The house would soon be clean and ordered to her satisfaction.

She looked outside, but the forge door was closed. There had been no sign of Hal since he had walked out of their bedchamber that morning. He would surely be in before long as he, too, had eaten nothing. Joanna cut bread and cheese and sat at the table, drumming her fingers and waiting for his return. When Hal still did not appear Joanna wrapped the food in a cloth, poured a mug of ale and carried it down to the forge. The door was closed. The only signs that the building was occupied were the sound of rhythmic hammering and singing that accompanied it.

Joanna blushed as she recognised the song describing a flirtation with the miller’s daughter and how the singer intended to barter for his bread. She glanced down at the slice in her hand and felt her cheeks flush as she remembered what they had done the night before. This time there had been no pain as Hal had slipped inside her. He had held her tenderly, his kisses slow, his hands gentle as they caressed her, guiding her hands around his body. She smiled to herself and knocked timidly. There was no response so she bunched her fist and hammered louder.

The door swung open and Hal peered out, blinking in the sunlight. He wore an air of concentration, but his face creased into surprise replaced by pleasure as he recognised Joanna.

Hal came outside, wiping the sweat and grime from his face with his bare arm, leaving streaks of black across his tanned face. Joanna held the cloth-wrapped food and mug towards him.

‘You brought me food?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Here. It’s nothing of consequence.’ Feeling foolish, Joanna shoved her offering into his hand. She turned to go, but Hal caught her by the hand.

‘Don’t go!’ he said. ‘Thank you, it was a kind thought. I don’t normally eat until I finish for the day, but I’ll gladly accept this.’

He unwound the vast leather apron from around his waist and sat leaning against the wall.

‘Sit with me,’ he said, patting the grass beside him.

Joanna lowered herself beside him, conscious of the way her flesh tingled as their legs brushed. Hal divided the bread into two and passed her half. They ate in companionable silence. The wind had dropped and the sun provided enough warmth that Joanna did not miss her cloak as she leaned against Hal.

‘Has your work gone well?’ she asked.

Hal gave a half-smile. ‘Fair. Watt had let the fire die so I couldn’t cast anything new. Fortunately I had some finishing to pass the time.’

‘Is Watt your apprentice?’ Joanna asked. Another new name and person. She wondered how many more she would meet.

‘He’s Meg’s son. He tends the forge for me when I’m absent,’ Hal said. He stood and held out a hand to pull Joanna to her feet. He led her inside the smithy. A red-headed child of five or six sat on a stool, alternately pumping on a bellows and wiping his nose on a trailing sleeve. As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness Joanna realised that the disorder of Hal’s house did not extend to his workplace. Tools were precisely laid out, fuel stored tidily and work in progress methodically stacked or hanging from large hooks set into the walls. The heat from the furnace hit her and she inhaled deeply, allowing the smoky warmth to fill her lungs.

Hal was watching her as she stared around, his arms folded and his head on one side. Amusement lined his face.

‘You seem more at home here than in the house,’ he said.

Joanna ran her finger along the edge of the anvil where Hal’s hammer lay beside a neat stack of doornails he had been crafting.

‘When my aunt did not need my help I used to spend most of my time in the smithy on St Andrewgate,’ she explained. A sudden impulse struck her. ‘Perhaps I could help you in your work?’

Hal laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges with genuine amusement, but his voice was kind.

‘I’m sure Watt would gladly let you take his place, but I cannot afford an apprentice at the moment, nor am I permitted one until I become a master. I doubt you have the strength to hammer a plough blade anyway.’

Joanna felt her cheeks go as red as Watt’s. For Simon she had designed ornamentation for everything from swords to sconces and etched the fine patterns into belt buckles and gauntlets, but of course Hal would not know that. She smiled frostily, thinking of the sheaf of papers covered in her designs that even now lay in her clothes chest.

‘I know my numbers and letters and I have a good hand,’ she declared indignantly.

‘My own hand is good. I’m not uneducated,’ Hal said coolly.

Joanna’s jaw tightened. ‘If you want my assistance I’ll give it gladly. The choice to accept it or not is yours. For now I shall return to the house. Goodbye.’

She lifted her chin and tugged the mug from Hal’s hand. She ducked under the low doorframe and stalked back to the house where she flung herself on to a stool and sat with her chin in her hands, staring moodily into the fire.

Despite marrying her for her connections to the guild Hal clearly did not want her involved in his work. She could have told him of her drawings and convinced him to let her join him, but the condescending manner in which he had dismissed her offer set her blood boiling.

Very well, her designs would remain her secret for now. A wife should not keep secrets, but neither should a husband. Hal had still not told her where he had gone before and each day she was discovering more about his life that he had neglected to tell her.

Mary Vernon’s whole purpose was to warm Simon’s bed, bear his children and keep his house. Sir Roger would doubtless have expected the same. Why should Joanna expect more from Hal? She let out a sigh of exasperation. It was her own doing, of course. She had told Hal that her thoughts were hers alone and could hardly hold it against him if he decided to pay her with the same coin!

* * *

The days blurred seamlessly into one another, each much the same as the one before. Only the heather blossoming into deep purple flowers gave any indication that time was passing. Ravenscrag was a small village and alone would not have provided work enough for a blacksmith, but customers came from far afield with commissions.

Hal started work early and finished late, the same each day. He emerged to speak with the customers who called or briefly escape the heat of the furnace. Other than that Joanna rarely saw him. Wryly she remembered how she had once hoped he would be frequently away. Only the absence or otherwise of the songs accompanying the hammering gave Joanna any indication of whether he was content or dissatisfied with his labours.

By day she threw herself into the task of putting Hal’s house in order and before long it was settled to Joanna’s satisfaction. If Hal noticed the change in his house he made no mention of it, but he was so absorbed in his work Joanna doubted he noticed what day it was.

Some nights he did nothing more than throw himself on to the bed, others he strode around the room barely noticing her presence. He did not speak of his work, but lying in his arms Joanna did her best to ease his frustration. She knew he lay awake long after she slept, her head on his chest listening to the steady drumming of his heart.

Hal did not claim his rights every night, but when he did Joanna no longer dreaded what was to come. He was gentle, never causing the pain that Roger had. Joanna slowly became familiar with his reactions. How Hal’s breath caught in his throat when she kissed the hollow of his neck and how her fingernails grazing his lower back would drive him deeper inside her. Sometimes she felt the hint of sensations that alarmed her with their intensity, but nothing that ever left her as exhausted and content as the act seemed to leave Hal.

After his rejection of her help Joanna vowed she would never again cross the threshold into Hal’s domain, though she frequently found reasons to pass by in case he emerged. It was a warm evening when she was at the bank of the river, filling a bucket on bended knees, when Hal appeared from the forge.

He strode down to the bank a little further along from where Joanna was, pulling off the tunic that clung to his chest and back in patches. She stopped in curiosity to watch what Hal was doing. He did not appear to notice her as he tugged off his hose and boots and threw himself headfirst into the cold water, disappearing beneath the surface. He emerged moments later, arching his back and stretching his arms wide before he began to scrub the sweat and grime from his body and hair.

Joanna watched open-mouthed, her task forgotten. She noticed too late that she had let go of the handle and the bucket had begun to drift downstream. She cried out in annoyance, lunging after it, but stopped short as it floated out of reach towards Hal.

At the sound of her voice Hal’s head snapped round. His eyes widened.

‘Is the sight of me so alarming it makes you cry in shock?’ he asked archly. ‘I should warn the goatherd to keep his flock away in case I curdle the milk.’

Joanna pointed dumbly towards the bucket. He could not really believe he was so hideous as to alarm the livestock, but she had no words to answer his jest that would not cause her to die of embarrassment.

Hal retrieved the bucket. He splashed through the river and handed it to her. Joanna could barely mumble her thanks. She gathered her skirts and blundered up the bank and back to the house with cheeks flaming. When she reached the refuge of the kitchen she leant back against the table and closed her eyes, running her hands through her damp hair.