Joanna (5 page)

Obviously, what was necessary was to speak to Joanna himselfand it must be before the betrothal. Once that agreement was signed, he would be bound by it. Before the terms were agreed, however, he might make conditions, might ask that Joanna have some advisor accustomed to dealing with money and supplies in large quantities. Perhaps Ela would lend Joanna one of her men. What was more, he must speak to Joanna alone. For him to appear to test her in Ian’s or Alinor’s presence would serve no purpose. Ian would either get angry or would give her hints, and Joanna was always subdued in Alinor’s presence and would wait for her mother to speak. However, to get Joanna   alone would not be so easy. She would be very busy, especially if guests were to be invited. Besides, once he showed his face in Roselynde keep, Ian would probably have much to tell him and would expect to be accompanied by him if he rode out.

A week after Joanna had been informed that she was to marry Geoffrey, she came down the steps from the women’s quarters wrapped in a cloak. She moved furtively, not because there was any reason to conceal what she was doing but because she was ashamed of herself. It had seemed to Joanna when she left her mother’s bedchamber with Brian that day that nothing important had happened. After all, she had known Geoffrey almost all her life. He had often spent long periods at Roselynde. So he would return and they would share a bed instead of parting at night. The physical side of marriage was neither shocking nor frightening to Joanna.

Still, as the days passed, she had grown increasingly restless and uneasy. She took herself to task irritably, assuring herself that betrothal would make no difference in her life. She would not even leave Roselynde at firstat least, she would leave it only in the way she always had, to go on progress to the other estates that were her mother’s. Even when Ian and her mother returned from Ireland and perhaps she would go to live most of the time on Geoffrey’s lands, the change would hardly be noticeable. It was common for Joanna to remain for months in other keeps. She was fond of Roselynde, of course. It was hers! But marriage would not change that either. She would always spend part of her time on her mother’s lands so that the people would be familiar with her. And in time she would return to her own.

Reason, however, had little effect on her emotions, Joanna found. She could not concentrate on her usual pursuits or common conversation. She had an irresistible urge to be alone, and to think the matter through. Only thinking did not seem to clarify anything. Often, Joanna found, she had sought quiet to think but thought of nothing. She simply   sat or walked or rode with a mind completely blank. However, all efforts to resist the urge for seclusion failed. It made her so cross that maids and men alike had begun to shrink from her. Moreover, alternately, Joanna wished to kiss and kill her mother who remained obdurately “blind” to her daughter’s distress.

The urge had again become overwhelming. Seizing upon the excuse that the light was failing, Joanna set aside her embroideryupon which she had accomplished very littleand went for her cloak. The worst of February cold was over, but evenings in March were still very chilly even in the sheltered spice garden where Joanna intended to walk. It was a favorite spot and a place peculiarly her own. Alinor was too good a housewife to neglect the spice garden. It was very necessary to lend a few amenities to the harsh life of the keep, but Alinor tended it as a duty. Her nature was too impatient to appreciate plants fully. They answered so slowly to care. They did not wag their tails in happy greeting or nuzzle you with soft muzzles, or look at you with worshipping eyes and murmur thanks for kindness.

It was Joanna, as soon as she was old enough to understand, who had taken over the care of the garden. She loved everything about it, from the rich odor of earth and manure in the early spring to the sweet, heady scent of the flowers in summer. Even the bare stubble of winter was dear to her with its promise of new life. She never tired of walking through the garden, looking attentively for signs of trouble in the growing season, planning for the spring in winter, and choosing what must be harvested in the autumn.

At the gate, Joanna turned and said firmly, “Stay!” Brian whined, but he dropped obediently to the ground. Having fastened the gate carefullyBrian was not above testing it and “forgetting” he had been told to stayJoanna walked slowly down the central path. Her eyes were bent upon the plant beds, but the light was going and she could see very little. A rustle off to the right drew her attention. Joanna uttered an exclamation of irritation and hurried down   a side path in that direction. Inside the keep walls the number of pests a gardener had to contend with was limited. Hares, marmots, and moles were excluded, but cats and rats, too, liked to chew the tender, aromatic new growth. Joanna’s step was soundless on the turf path. A cat could be driven away; if it was a rat, traps would have to be set. Her eyes swept the neatly dug rows seeking the telltale flattening or disruption of the earth that would mark the pest’s presence. Nothing.

Just ahead were the rose trellises enclosing a bench on which one could sit. Joanna hesitated. There was nothing there to attract an animal. Still, it might have taken refuge among the canes or behind them. It was nearly full dark now and useless, really, to pursue the creature further, but Joanna circled, determined to stamp and shout and at least give the invader a fright.

She never had a chance to make a sound. Before she came quite around, a hard hand closed her mouth and a strong arm encircled her waist. “Hush, Joanna, do not cry out. It is I, Geoffrey.” The body tensed to resist, relaxed. Geoffrey’s grip loosened, a little reluctantly. It had been a very sweet-smelling, well-curved armful he had held. “I hope I did not frighten you.”

“You startled me, certainly,” she replied, but in a perfectly calm voice. “What are you doing here like a thief in the night, Geoffrey? How did you get in?”

His teeth flashed in the dusk, waking warm memories in Joanna of many mischievous pranks planned and executed. “Getting in was no trouble. The men all know me. I only had to say I wished to surprise you. They all know alsoGod knows howof our proposed betrothal. JoannaJoanna, I mustI had to speak to you.”

For a moment she did not reply, straining her eyes in the very last of the light to see his face. The features were barely visible, but she could not determine his expression. “Speak to me about what?” she asked slowly.

All during his ride from Hemel, Geoffrey had been framing logical speeches and clever questions that would explain   his presence and expose Joanna’s knowledgeor lack of knowledgeof the gathering and dispatch of war supplies. What he said, however, was, “Are you willing? Really, Joanna?”

She gazed at him steadily, looking only slightly upward because they were much of a height. “I have no objection,” she replied, a bit tentatively.

“Your mother did not overawe you?” Geoffrey asked.

Joanna blinked. “I am not afraid of my mother,” she said, and Geoffrey stared at her at the tone of voice.

“But you are always so obedient,” he protested.

Now she smiled. “Not
always
. But, Geoffrey, why should I not be obedient? My mother and I think alike on most everything. Do you suggest I should thwart her, against my own common sense and agreement, just for spite? Besides, I do not like to quarrel. There are very few things important enough to quarrel about.”

For a moment, he was speechless with surprise. Then he said sharply, “Marriage is not important enough to quarrel about?”

“Be reasonable, Geoffrey,” Joanna said patiently. “I must marry someone.” Then it was her turn to stare, but she could see nothing except a pale blur where Geoffrey’s face was; his features had become indistinguishable. “Oh, I see. It is you who are unwilling.”

Her voice was neutral, as if the matter had no great significance for her. In fact, although Joanna’s self-control was considerable, she would not have replied so indifferently had not so many violently opposed emotions caught at her simultaneously that she could express none. First came a strong and, to her, incomprehensible shock of disappointment. Her pride was hurt and to salve it, contempt came to her support. It was Geoffrey who was afraid of his father and who wished to place upon her the burden of repudiating the arrangement. That brought anger and, curiously, a sorrowful sense of relief, as if she was about to escape some great, unknown, but desirable, danger.

“You fool! No!” Geoffrey exclaimed violently, seizing her arms.   He looked down at his own hands, pale against the dull color of Joanna’s everyday working garb, equally surprised at his words and his violence. He did not know what he had expected from Joanna, but it was neither the passionless rationality of her first statement nor the flat indifference of her second. She must marry someone, must she? And any turd on the ground was as good as any other. Doubtless there was no man she would consider her equal.

“Do you think I am an idiot?” he continued sarcastically. “Where could I find an equal offer? You are very beautiful and very richand very virtuous also, Joanna. I only wished to be sure I was notnot swallowing an unwilling sacrificial victim whole. But I see you know what you are about.”

The sarcasm came a few heartbeats too late, fortunately. Joanna was aware of little beyond the passionate repudiation of her accusation. Pleasure flooded her, to be checked by the vague sense of some awful dangera danger she knew she must flee and yet desired to examine more closely. Safety lay in immediate practicalities; perhaps from behind that bulwark, one could peer out and see the face of what really threatened.

“You mean you thought my mother would sacrifice me to Ian’s need?” There was only the faintest quiver of uncertainty in Joanna’s voice. “I do not think so,” she went on hastily, not wishing to examine that subject. “And, in any case, the question did not ariseat least, not in connection with you. Really, Geoffrey, I was very well pleased when you were suggested to me. I know you long and well. It seemed to me most suitable.”

“I am scarcely your match,” he offered stiffly, infuriated by all this calm reasoning, wanting to strike some spark, any spark, from her.

“How can you say that?” Joanna urged, again missing the taunt and intent on practical, rather than emotional, things. “You are of good blood on both sides. You are well endowed with landsor will beas I am. You are the son of an earl and close to the throne. And you must be of merit in battle or Ian would not trust our men in your hands.”   For one instant, Geoffrey had a wild desire to push Joanna away, to shout that he was not willing, to ride back to Salisbury and tell his father the agreement must be withdrawn, that he could not bear to be married to Joanna. How could he endure to look upon that perfection, kiss it, caress it, bed it, as aa what? A suitable stallion for breeding young? A suitable substitute war leader? A suitable political pawn? The memory of endless kindness, enormous obligation checked the impulse. Whatever his relationship with Joanna cost him, Geoffrey knew he could not disappoint Ian to whom he owed so much.

“If you are sure you are content, Joanna, then I am also content,” he said softly. “Let us sit down, if you are not too cold. I have some other matters to discuss with you.”  
p.

Even in the late afternoon, the great hall of Roselynde keep was rather dark. The light that flooded in through the western windows was lost in the great space, softening to a dim radiance. One could see well enough, but everything was soft, without hard edges or brilliance. Servants moved without hurry, clearing the remains of dinner from the tables. The best of the leftovers went into baskets to be handed out to beggars at the gates; the small or mangled scraps were scraped onto the floors where the cats and dogs and mice and rats would snatch them out of the rushes.

There was some noise as the trestle tables were lifted from their stands and piled against the walls, but not much. In fact, the servants were making an effort to be quiet because they wished to listen. Lord Geoffrey was playing and singing, and he was as skilled, many said more skilled, than any minstrel. The clear notes of voice and instrument, although they were not loud, seemed invested with a life of their own and traveled easily, filling the space.

Geoffrey FitzWilliam looked out into the hall as if he could follow the path of his notes with his eyes.

Of one that is so fayr and bryght
velud maris stella
__]Bryghter than the dayis lyght
parens et puella
__]I crie to thee, thou saie to me
Leuedy, preye thy sone for me
tam pia
__]That I mote come to thee
Maria
  The repetition of the first verse, having rounded off the song, the last note trembled into silence.

‘‘I did not know you could sing in English.”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Geoffrey turned his eyes from the dim hall to the bright vignette of Joanna seated at the window. It was an exceptionally warm May. The shutters stood wide and the sun, blazing in at an angle, lit sparkles in the fine beading of perspiration on Joanna’s upper lip and turned her thick braids into rivers of fire. Geoffrey should not be looking at those braids. They should have been decently coiled and concealed under a modest wimple, but Joanna had said flatly after they had returned from a session of sitting in justice that she was through with melting in the cause of propriety. Off had come the wimple; out had come the golden pins; down had tumbled the braids.

Geoffrey had watched at first with unabashed pleasure. Joanna was usually a pattern of propriety, but when she decided to act outside of the common norm, she did so with such assurance that the unusual seemed to become the only reasonable or rational thing possible. Certainly there was nothing at all provocative in her manner then. Geoffrey was wearing a good deal less than Joanna, having stripped right down to shirt and chausses as soon as he could rid himself of his armor. Cooled wine had slaked one thirst, but now it seemed to be raising another. All the time he was singing, Geoffrey was as aware of Joanna’s presence as if she were pressing herself against him.