The Blacksmith's Wife (15 page)

For all that they spent their nights in the same bed Joanna had seldom seen her husband other than by candlelight or in shadows. In broad daylight the water trickling down his muscles, droplets glistening in the downy thatch that covered his chest, and the hose clinging to his lower half, sent her thoughts spiralling down untravelled paths. She wished she had a river of her own to hurl herself into. Maybe that would quench the fires that the sight of Hal’s body had caused to ignite within her.

When Hal returned to the house Joanna was stirring a pot on the hearth and did not raise her head as he entered the kitchen. He stomped into the bedroom, removed his wet hose and braies and pulled on fresh clothes. He took the ones he had discarded into the kitchen and hung them to dry on the hook above the fire.

Joanna said nothing, but walked into the pantry and returned with a cup of ale. Hal took it gratefully and downed it. A knot of tension speared the back of his neck. In need of something stronger, he went to the pantry and found a bottle of wine. The pantry was tidier than he remembered. He emerged and looked around with interest.

Joanna had transformed his house into somewhere welcoming and he hadn’t even noticed. He wondered if he should compliment her on the changes. He had told her she was not a servant, but nevertheless that was how she seemed to spend her days. He wondered what else she did, but to ask would be to intrude into her thoughts. Better to wait until a time when she might choose to share the information.

He brought a second cup and gave one to Joanna. She accepted it quietly, staring at him with wide, wary eyes that tore into Hal’s heart. She blinked rapidly as his fingers touched hers.

Hal suppressed a sigh of irritation. From her reaction when she came across him by the river Hal felt as if she had expected him to throw her to the ground and violate her against her will. Joanna had lived with him for long enough that she should have lost some of her fear by now. He did not expect passion, but hoped for more than indifference. She received his attentions without shrinking from his touch as she had the first time, but afterwards they seldom spoke. He never asked what or who she was thinking of and she never volunteered the information.

He pulled a chair closer to the fire and watched as she cooked, his mouth watering at the rich odour of stew that wafted from the pot. His stomach growled. Since the first day when Joanna had brought him her offering of bread Hal had hoped she would return to the forge. He found himself timing his tasks so they could be put down if she arrived, but she never came. He was not about to insist she bore his company more than she wanted, but the disappointment gnawed at him.

The stew was excellent and he ate ravenously. He held his bowl out for more and Joanna showed the first sign of pleasure he had seen that day. He was pleased to see she devoured her own share equally heartily.

He stared into the glowing coals of the hearth. The hearthstone was covered in marks. After an afternoon spent attempting to create the pommel and cross guard of a sword it looked to Hal’s imagination as though someone had done the same here. He wiped them away, irritated at himself for seeing things where they clearly weren’t.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, digging his fingers into the sore muscles of his shoulders. He was unprepared to feel Joanna slip her fingers between his. He sat rigid and the already tight muscles hardened.

‘I’m sorry!’

Joanna whipped her hands away as though he had stabbed her, but Hal captured them and brought them back.

‘Don’t stop, you surprised me, that’s all,’ he said. Her fingers were still for what felt like eternity, then she began moving them slowly in circles across his shoulders.

A smile crossed Hal’s lips. Her fingers were slender and cool, yet surprisingly strong. He settled back, enjoying the unfamiliar sensations as Joanna worked on easing the aches from his body. He imagined her hands moving downwards across his back, slipping sinuously round his chest to become a more intimate exploration of his body.

When she touched him in this way he could almost convince himself she was fond of him. He did not expect her affection, much less her love, but he found himself increasingly caring that she did not.

Chapter Fifteen

J
oanna stood upright and put her hands in the small of her back, pushing her spine forward. She was glad of the rushing water that played around her legs as she stood knee-deep and barefoot in the river and let out a sigh. Beside her Meg did the same. The two women exchanged a look of weary understanding. Washing was backbreaking work.

For the past five days the temperature had risen steadily and the opportunity for washing sheets was too good to pass up. All along the riverbank women and girls from the village were engaged in the same task. Some sang or chatted, others were silent with exertion, and some obviously hoped to catch the eye of one of the men who stopped by the bank to watch.

The women dragged clothes and sheets from the river, twisted and wrung them before spreading them out to dry over the bushes. Small boys, including Watt who had been temporarily released from his bellows duty, raced back and forth scaring away the large gulls that watched proceedings with interest.

Task accomplished, the women sat on the grass to pull on their stockings and boots, in no rush to move. Joanna had tucked her skirts and shift into her girdle at the waist, doubling the layers, and the thick woollen kirtle was becoming uncomfortably warm. The wind that blew from the moors and had chilled her to the bone since her arrival now came as a welcome breeze, cooling her neck as it lifted the damp hair that escaped from beneath her cap. She noticed Meg had replaced her wool under-tunic with a second one of linen, lower at the neck and with loose sleeves. Joanna watched with envy, fanning herself with the back of her hand.

‘I need to make another shift,’ she said. ‘Something lighter.’

‘Ask Master Danby to take you to the market in Pickering. You haven’t left the village since you arrived.’

Joanna glanced towards the smithy where even in the heat the door remained closed to provide constant dimness. She thought of Hal, returning to the house later each day, barely concealed frustration simmering in his eyes.

‘I doubt he will agree. He’s barely left the forge for days now.’

‘It’s the feast of St George next week,’ Meg said. ‘There’s always a market. He’ll go to that.’

A jolt like lightning shot through Joanna. Sir Roger’s face rose in her mind for the first time in days and she reeled, starting forward abruptly.

Meg put a hand on her arm. ‘Are you ill?’ she asked in concern. ‘You’ve gone pale.’

Joanna wiped her brow. She counted up the weeks since her marriage, wondering how they had gone without her spending every day grieving for the life she had lost.

‘I’m just surprised that it could it be St George’s Day so soon. I had not realised how quickly the time had passed. You reminded me that there is a tournament at Windsor due to take place in a matter of days. Someone I once knew will be competing.’

‘Someone you cared for?’ Meg asked.

Joanna bit her lip thoughtfully. A month ago she could have described Sir Roger in the smallest detail, but now his features were indistinct and the laughing brown eyes that came to mind were Hal’s. Without even realising when it had begun to happen, she had ceased thinking of him so often.

She wondered if he ever thought of her as he travelled down the country. Did he regret leaving her behind as much as she had regretted it? If he made good his losses as he had hoped, would he return to York only to find she was nowhere to be found? Once the thought had pained her physically. Now it had lessened into a dull ache and she could think of him without wanting to curl into a ball and sob.

‘I thought he was,’ she said slowly.

‘I’ve never been to a tournament,’ Meg said. ‘Not really. There will be a tiltyard at Pickering, but I don’t imagine it will be the same.’

Joanna drew her knees up and hugged them. ‘York during a tournament is the most exciting place to be. There’s nothing to compare with it. The colours of the banners and costumes, the roaring of the crowds as the knights fight, the scent of food, the feel of the crowds pushing to get to the front of the stands.’

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, recalling the smell of hot spicy rissoles and the splintering of wood on armour. A lump filled her throat at the idea of missing such fun that even the thought of Roger had not managed to conjure. She looked back towards the village at the handful of houses that made up her world now and loneliness descended on her, chilling her to the core despite the warmth of the morning sun.

‘I miss the excitement,’ she said quietly.

A yellow-beaked gull landed near them. It inspected the sheets with malevolent intent in its beady eye. Meg hurled a stone at it and it flew off, screeching angrily. The sound and movement roused Joanna from her reverie. She pushed herself to her feet and brushed her skirts down briskly.

As Meg stood and smoothed her skirt Joanna saw something she had not before noticed. Perhaps it was that Meg was no longer concealed beneath bulky wool. It was barely visible, and only years of living with Mary Vernon meant Joanna recognised the telltale swelling, but it was there nevertheless.

‘You’re pregnant!’ she exclaimed.

Meg smiled faintly, her hands moving to caress her belly.

Only...

Meg’s husband had been hanged two years since. Joanna struggled to dismiss the treacherous images that rose in her mind, remembering her suspicions about Meg and Hal on first meeting. Her eyes darted towards the forge.

Meg pursed her lips. She turned abruptly and walked to the house, head down. Joanna chased after her.

‘Meg, I’m sorry,’ she said.

Meg’s face was grey. Joanna motioned her to the chair by the door where the breeze cooled the room and fetched a cup of milk.

‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘It’s none of my business.’

‘I’m not ashamed,’ Meg said bullishly. She sipped the milk. The colour returned to her cheeks. ‘It’s three months or so by my reckoning,’ she offered. She chewed a fingernail. ‘It isn’t
his
. Master Danby’s, I mean,’ she said.

‘I didn’t say it was,’ Joanna protested, but Meg waved a hand to silence her.

‘But you thought it, didn’t you? I saw how you first looked at me. Don’t you know me better than that now? Don’t you know Hal?’

Joanna hung her head. ‘Forgive me, please. It was unjust of me to ever think it.’

Meg smiled. ‘The father is John Coates, the miller’s son. He’s kind to me. We’ll marry after the harvest.’

‘And do you love him?’ Joanna asked.

Meg shrugged. ‘I like him enough that it makes no difference. A woman needs a man to provide for her and it would have been foolish to grow old pining for what I could never have.’

Joanna nodded. Meg had reached the conclusion with much better grace than she had done.

Meg’s eyes drifted to an unseen past. ‘My husband was a brute. I don’t regret his passing. When Master Danby first brought me here he said it was to make amends for his part in the affair. I hoped he had a purpose other than employing me, but he never so much as looked at me in that way. I’ve never seen him cast any sort of look at any woman, before you.’

Joanna smiled faintly, unsure what to say to the woman who admitted her desire for Hal so frankly. She stored the ‘before you’ in her mind. A glowing coal to dwell on later.

‘I’m going to go ask Hal to take me to market.’ She poured a mug of ale. ‘This should sweeten his mood.’

Joanna made her way to the forge, deep in thought. Meg’s tale had been disconcertingly similar to her own story in which Hal appeared again in the role of saviour of an abandoned woman. Though in Meg’s case he had done it to soften his own feelings of guilt.

Hal did not answer when she knocked on the door. She thumped again and when there was still no response she cautiously lifted the latch and entered. The heat was stifling. Hal was standing with his back to the door. He had removed his tunic and sweat ran in rivulets down his back, his shirt clinging to his body. He worked silently, unaware of her presence, tapping the bar of glowing metal, flattening and turning it as it lengthened into a sword blade.

As she stood, back to the door watching in fascination, Hal swore. He began to hammer harder, turning the blade over and over until, with a roar of frustration, he lifted the hammer high and brought it down hard on the anvil beside the blade.

Joanna gasped at the sudden ferocity.

Hal stiffened and turned.

‘How long have you been watching?’ he asked furiously.

‘Not long...’ Joanna faltered. She reached for the door latch. ‘I’ll go.’

‘No, don’t. I’ve lost my way with this piece.’ Hal lowered his hammer and rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘Why are you here?’

Joanna held out the ale. ‘It’s hot today. I thought you might be thirsty.’

He stared at the mug uncertainly before taking it. He raised it to his lips, but paused and his eyes filled with suspicion. ‘You haven’t visited me here since your first day. Why now?’

‘I have a request to ask you,’ Joanna admitted. ‘I want you to take me to the market next week. There are things I need.’

Hal’s mouth turned down. ‘I should have guessed it was not my company you craved.’ He drained the mug and put it on the anvil beside the blade that was now dulling from glowing yellow to reddish orange. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t spare the time now.’

Joanna’s heart sank. ‘Not even a morning?’ she asked.

‘I said no!’ Hal folded his arms and glared at the anvil. His dark hair flamed in the glow of the furnace. ‘If I don’t work we don’t eat and I have barely enough time for my own undertaking as it is. You must understand that! I’m afraid your errands will have to wait.’

His jaw was set. Even as he spoke his eyes drifted back to the discarded blade. It was clear where his attention laid. She realised as she thought it that she was missing Hal’s company more after a few days than Roger’s after weeks.

‘I’ve barely seen you for days,’ Joanna said softly.

Hal gestured angrily to the anvil. ‘Don’t you see what I’m trying to do here? I spend every waking moment working and every sleeping moment dreaming of what to create, but everything I do falls short of what I want.’

Joanna reached a hand out to his arm, acutely aware of the firm muscles beneath her fingers. ‘You have months before you have to be back in York. You’ll succeed before then.’

‘And if I don’t?’ Hal twisted away and Joanna whipped her hand back. ‘If I’m not accepted into the guild everything I’ve done over the past months has been for nothing.’

‘Everything?’ Joanna lifted her chin. Her cheeks began to burn, not from the heat of the furnace alone. She took a step towards him. ‘You said I only came here today because I wanted something and pretended your pride was wounded. That may be the case, but I’m only here at all because you wanted the advantages I bring.’

A moment before she had considered caressing him to ease his worries. Now she wanted to do nothing more than slap him. Maybe then she would break through his indifference.

‘Forgive my intrusion, I shall not disturb you further,’ she muttered.

She wrenched the door open and stumbled out into the brightness.

‘I didn’t mean it that way,’ Hal shouted from the doorway.

She marched back to the house, ignoring the voice that repeatedly called her name. She had no inclination to let him see the effect his words had on her. The wind gusted around her, stinging her eyes where tears sprung.

Hal had dashed her hopes of having one day that was different from usual, but worse than that had been his casual dismissal of their marriage. Even after weeks of living together, sharing bed and body, her only value to Hal was her usefulness. She had known when she married him that his work was his priority, but she felt a sudden loneliness. Her eyes filled again as she realised the tragedy of her situation. Here was another man who she meant nothing to and she had the distressing suspicion that was beginning to matter far too much.

She wiped her hand across her face and stared towards the hills. If she could not have the diversion of a market to look forward to, she would have the solitude of the moors. Back in the house Meg was waiting.

‘He said no,’ Joanna said, angry at the way her voice betrayed her feelings. She ran to the bedroom, snatched up her bag and returned. ‘I want to be alone for a while. I’ll be back soon.’

She left before Meg could reply, heading out of the village along the road that led to the moors and walked until her legs were protesting, each step calming her mood. A pile of rocks stood a little way from the road so she crossed the spongy ground and sat down, leaning back against one. She removed her cap and shook out her hair. There was no one here to see her after all.

She pulled the scraps of parchment from her bag and spread them before her. She had intended to complete a sketch, but now they brought her no joy. The sun was warm even on the exposed moor and Joanna yawned. She should set off back soon, but it was peaceful and there was little to tempt her home. She rolled the parchments again. She was so drowsy and the scent of the endless heather was calming. She’d just close her eyes for a short while...

* * *

Hal’s second attempt to forge the sword blade had been met with more success. He had followed that by completing the ornamentation on two decorative locks and keys for the abbot of Rievaulx who would pay well and promptly. If he could only ensure the rest of his weapon was as fine as those his place in the guild would be almost ensured.

He had been unable to stop reliving his conversation with Joanna and though the afternoon was not spent he had lost the inclination to continue. His heart had clenched with pleasure when he’d seen her, coupled with an unsettling self-consciousness. To discover that she had only visited because she wanted a favour had been bitterly disheartening. His frustration was not her fault and her angry accusation had hit the target with the accuracy of a lance striking his breastplate.

He tidied his tools and left the forge, glancing towards the riverbank as he walked back to the house, but she wasn’t there. The kitchen was empty and no food was cooking. He strolled into the bedroom, smiling to himself in anticipation of making amends for his earlier thoughtless words with a kiss.