‘Tush!’ Jeanette snapped. ‘I have done nothing wrong.’
Joan shook her head. ‘I cannot stop you, but be careful.’ She squeezed Jeanette’s arm. ‘Please.’
‘Of course I will,’ Jeanette replied, with barely concealed irritation. ‘You are such a worry-wart, Jo. Nothing is going to happen, I promise.’
Joan still didn’t look convinced, but some jugglers had just somersaulted into the room with a little dog wearing jester’s bells, and Jeanette tugged her friend away to watch the entertainment, happy now that she had spoken to Thomas, and eagerly anticipating tomorrow’s hunt.
Thomas eyed Walter Manny. ‘England?’ he said.
The knight leaned back on the bench and picked up his cup. He was Thomas’s senior commander in the field and Thomas liked and respected him. Broad-chested and powerful with a sprinkling of early grey in his bronze curls, his eyes were shrewd and hard. ‘Not for you and your men,’ Manny said. ‘The King is going to England to raise funds, gather supplies, and muster more troops for our campaign, but the Queen is staying here. She is close to her time for travail and must be protected. She will also stand surety to the Flemish for the King’s swift return. Your task is to safeguard her and her household until further orders.’
Thomas dipped his head. He would have liked to return to England to see his mother and sister, but orders were orders and it was not a demotion by any means. Remaining to guard the Queen meant less jostling for position and an opportunity for his star to rise. Plus, the King’s delectable cousin Jeanette would be among the Queen’s ladies so at least there were some entertaining diversions in prospect.
Walter Manny smiled. ‘The Queen likes your pretty face and your good manners in the hall, so you get the lap of luxury while we have to put up with living in tents and fighting over lodgings. Don’t let looking after women dull your edge and turn you soft while we are gone.’
‘Oh, I doubt for a moment he’ll be soft!’ someone quipped from the back of the gathering.
Thomas flushed but took the ribbing in good part; he would have trusted any of these men with his life. Manny’s remark was ironically amusing too – in another life before promotion, he had been the Queen’s squire and walker of her hounds.
‘I will ensure the Queen is kept safe and untroubled during her confinement,’ Thomas said, once the joshing had died down. ‘My life is hers.’
‘I know you will do a fine job,’ Manny said. ‘We have a few weeks yet, but you should begin preparations. The Queen is to spend her confinement in the convent of St Bavo, and you will need to organise the supplies, the guard rota, and liaise with the other captains. I leave it in your capable hands.’
The meeting broke up. Returning to the hall, Thomas found it empty. The revellers had gone and the fire had been covered. A few lamps still burned where people were bedding down for the night. He took an apple from a bowl on a table that was yet to be cleared, and eating it, sought his own bed.
In the clear early winter morning, the court prepared to hunt. Dogs circled the courtyard, panting, yodelling, yapping, tangling their leashes and tripping the less experienced handlers. Horseshoes rang on the cobbles and occasional sparks shot from striking hooves as the grooms fetched coursers and palfreys to their masters. Jeanette’s black mare, Ebony, snorted and pawed, eager for the chase, silver bells ringing on her red leather breastband.
A young attendant waited to boost Jeanette into the saddle, but having observed Thomas Holland among the gathering, not yet mounted, she called to him. She had heard while dressing that he was not going to England with the King, but remaining to protect the Queen’s household, and she was full of anticipationat the prospect of so many delicious opportunities ripening on the tree.
He walked over to her, the wind ruffling the pheasant feathers in his green felt cap. ‘Demoiselle, how may I be of service?’
She sensed a degree of impatience in his delivery even though it was perfectly polite. ‘I require your assistance to help me into the saddle,’ she said imperiously. Turning her back, she lifted her foot to the stirrup. She was riding astride today, rather than using a formal chair seat.
‘Of course, demoiselle,’ he answered neutrally. ‘Nothing would give me more pleasure.’
He cupped his hand beneath her shoe and she felt his strength as he boosted her up. Once she was mounted, she raised her skirt slightly. ‘Is my foot secure? I would not want to take a fall.’
He shot her a look that she returned with fierce daring. He grasped her foot and the stirrup in his hands and stroked his thumb over her ankle. ‘In my opinion, you are safe to ride as far – and as hard – as you desire.’
She stared down at him. Usually, he would be standing above her, and their reversed positions made her feel alluring and powerful. ‘Thank you, sire, be assured I shall do so.’ She gathered her reins, dug in her heels and flapped her skirt back into position over her foot so rapidly that he had to step back in haste. Thomas watched her ride off, and shaking his head, turned to his courser. His cheek stung where she had flicked him. He should take Otto’s advice and leave well alone, for he knew he was licking honey off thorns. But when the honey was this tempting, it was difficult to resist.
He set his foot in the stirrup, mounted his iron-grey courser, Charbon, and trotted to join her. ‘Be careful you are not unseated,’ he said.
‘Be assured that will not happen,’ she replied with a flirtatious sidelong look. ‘And if I was, I would trust you to help me. I can trust you, can I not, Messire Holland?’
‘With your life – and mine should I need to protect and defend you, but that is not the sole part of trustworthiness,’ Thomas said, his voice no longer smooth. ‘Let me give you a word of advice. Those who tease sleeping lions are likely to be mauled.’ He touched his hat feathers in salute, and rode off, judging that he had made reparations to his pride. Jeanette swallowed. A thrill ran through her body, part fear, and part response to his challenge. ‘I will show you, my fine lord,’ she said softly.
The falconers had brought the hawks from the mews on their cadges, including Jeanette’s beloved Athena. Taking the bird on her gloved wrist, she gently stroked the mottled breast. The silver bells on her jesses jingled and her hood was plumed with blue jay feathers. Most of the nobles sported much larger birds. The King had a magnificent white gyrfalcon. Thomas’s hunting bird was a strong female goshawk. Watching him gentle her and make soft kissing sounds, she imagined his fingers upon her in the same wise, and shivered.
They rode out into the countryside, and despite the sharp winter cold, everyone was exhilarated. Jeanette did not forget about Thomas, but her emotions became less febrile as she lost herself in the pleasure of the ride in the fresh air and the joy of flying Athena. She always imagined that she was airborne with her, and free to soar instead of being bound to the earth and convention.
The King was in fine spirits, especially when his gyrfalcon brought down a crane to loud acclaim, for while cranes were a common prey of the great birds, they were no victims and could kill in their own right with vicious stabs of their sword-like beaks. Athena, fierce and experienced, took two pigeonsand made a creditable showing. She behaved impeccably on Jeanette’s fist, unlike some that bated and shrieked, and one that flew off and refused to return to its owner’s glove. Thomas Holland’s goshawk made several kills, and then took time for a leisurely preen on her master’s glove, alert but relaxed.
There was talk of the white stag that had been seen, but the King was not in a mood to chase deer, and the event was set aside for another time. Talk was one thing, locating the creature – if it existed – quite another.
They rode home in the late afternoon with dusk encroaching and a mist rising from the land in grey wraith-fingers. In the courtyard, a groom assisted Jeanette to dismount, for Thomas Holland had given his courser to his squire, his falcon to one of his staff, and was nowhere to be seen. Her mood dampened like the fog as she wondered if he had deliberately made himself scarce.
The Queen, burdened by her pregnancy, did not wish to eat in the great hall. Jeanette changed from her hunting attire into softer garments, and sat down in Philippa’s apartments to dine with the other ladies. She was aware of the Queen observing her with thoughtful eyes, and as the attendants were clearing away, Philippa leaned towards her. ‘My dear, the King wishes to speak with you, and I said I would send you to him once we had eaten.’ She summoned one of her chamber attendants, Paen de Roet, and bade him to escort Jeanette to the King. ‘Don’t look so alarmed,’ she added, smiling. ‘You are not in trouble. Indeed, I think you will find what the King has to say very interesting.’
