Jeanette was required to take William’s hand, but there was nothing for either of them to say at this stage, and theirguardians spoke for them, agreeing that the marriage would take place five weeks hence at the Royal Palace of Langley.
William squeezed her hand, but not in a kind way, and she responded by digging in her nails, leaving deep half-moon imprints in his skin.
The matter was briskly concluded as just another item of business. Jeanette rejoined the Queen’s ladies and William departed to his tutors, but before he did he leaned in close to murmur in her ear: ‘When we are wed, you will know your place, for I shall teach you to honour me.’
‘Never!’ she hissed, and he sneered at her.
Jeanette bit the inside of her mouth. Surely God would never permit this travesty to happen . . . but then who knew what the will of God truly was.
Many miles away, Thomas watched Raoul de Brienne, a French knight, cast the four ivory dice across the gaming board with a flick of his long fingers and yet again turn up a winning score. Thomas had never known a man so fortunate at games of chance. He himself had won perhaps twice in the ten evenings they had shared supper and companionship while on the road through the forests of Bavaria. Since they were travelling on a holy campaign, fighting for God and seeking remission of their sins, no money was involved, only spills of wood. Had they been playing for coin, Thomas would have been destitute by now.
Puffing out his cheeks in irritation, he tossed the last of his spills to de Brienne. ‘I swear, if I did not know those dice were genuine, I would accuse you of loading them. How do you do it?’
De Brienne’s grin lit up his bright brown eyes. ‘Dame Fortune loves me,’ he said, gathering the spills and returning them to their little box, ‘or at least at the moment she does.’
Thomas and Otto had become good friends with de Brienne during the campaign. On home ground, as a Frenchman, deBrienne would be their enemy, but here in Prussia they were allies, sharing camaraderie round the fire. They had borrowed each other’s equipment at need, watched each other’s back on the march and in battle, and spent companionable evenings mending harnesses, telling stories and gambling together. When they returned home, they would be on opposite sides, but for now they were friends.
De Brienne glanced towards the flapping sides of the campaign tent. ‘The wind’s getting up,’ he said. Leaving the table, he fetched a bag of spare tent pegs from a chest by his bed. ‘We should make all secure. I don’t want my shelter to go flying off in the middle of the night – nor yours – I can feel that it’s going to rain too.’
Together the men set to work to add extra security to de Brienne’s tent, and then did the same for Thomas’s, working companionably side by side with their men and checking that everything was well pinned down. Otto arrived, fastening up his braies, while the laundry woman who had been occupying his camp bed hurried off to her own domicile.
Thomas rolled his eyes, and de Brienne chuckled. Otto picked up a mallet to bang in a peg and swung it with no sign of diminished strength. ‘I’ll go to confession in the morning,’ he said.
‘Doubtless you will have plenty to confess,’ Thomas said drily.
‘Hah, no more than the usual – and she was worth it!’
‘Let’s hope she thought the same about you!’
‘I’ve not had any complaints so far.’
De Brienne hammered in another peg and stood up. ‘What will you and your brother do when our time here is done?’ he asked.
Thomas shrugged. ‘Return to our king suitably shriven and hope to advance ourselves in his service.’ He had said nothing about Jeanette to de Brienne – that remained a secret heldclose to his chest – but he often thought about his beloved bride waiting for him at court. He missed that gut-jolt sensation of being with her – her beauty, her sensuality, her mischief and sharp intelligence – and was often beset by a disturbing sensation that it was all a dream or a story told round an evening fire that would be ashes in the morning.
‘It is not so good that Dame Fortune has made enemies of us at home,’ Raoul said as he put his mallet aside. ‘But I wish you well all the same, and if ever we can be of service to each other as men of honour, I hope we shall remember each other well.’
‘It is more than a hope,’ Thomas answered with grace, ‘it is a certainty.’
As the first heavy spots of rain started to fall, the men clasped hands before hastening to take shelter under their now firmly secured canvas.
Jeanette entered her mother’s chamber, dread welling inside her. Following the marriage agreement, her mother had gone to the family house at Westminster with Jeanette’s uncle, Lord Wake, and the rest of the Kent entourage. Jeanette had been sent from court to stay with her family for the final fortnight before the wedding, and with time running out, her hopes of stopping the marriage were burning down to a stub.
Margaret rose from her chair, greeted Jeanette with a dry kiss, and gave her an exasperated look. ‘The Queen has written to say you are moping about this marriage and that the faces you have been making would curdle milk. Enough is enough, daughter. You will not disgrace your blood, and you will wed William Montagu.’
‘He is a puffed-up boy, and the thought of having him for a husband makes me sick,’ Jeanette said, her lip curling.
‘Hold, my dear.’ Margaret gripped Jeanette’s hand. ‘It matters not what you think. You will comply with what is right for the family – for both our families.’
Jeanette struggled free of her mother’s bony grip. ‘You are forcing me into this for the supposed sake of the family? What has all your striving brought you, mother?’
Margaret’s face whitened. ‘An ungrateful, disobedient daughter, that is what.’
Jeanette drew a deep breath. ‘I shall never marry William Montagu. Even if you force me to the altar, it will be no true marriage – for I am already wedded and bedded.’
Her mother’s gaze shot wide in astonishment. And then she laughed. ‘You expect me to believe you? This is just another of your silly tales. You do not fool me. You shall do as you are told.’
‘But it is true!’ Jeanette stamped the floor so hard that the sole of her foot rang with pain. ‘I am married!’
