silence, slipping the thick wool tunic over his shirt as he stifled the yawns that resulted from a long night lying awake. Still angry, he avoided eye contact with Roger who was equally engrossed in dressing, ordering his young page back and forth with clothing of fine linen and silks. Once there was nothing left to do the brothers faced each other, their angry words lay between them, a barrier as real as stone and mortar.
Hal unbent first, clasping his hand on to Roger’s shoulder. ‘I wish you good fortune in the tournaments. Bring honour on our name.’
‘Have you made your mind up about Joanna?’ Roger asked gruffly, ignoring Hal’s words.
Hal squared his shoulders, thinking he would rather stick his hand into his own furnace than reveal his intentions to Roger.
‘You showed no interest last night. Why now? Unless you have reconsidered?’
‘I haven’t.’ Roger said belligerently. ‘In fact, I only asked out of courtesy. Whether you marry her or not is no concern of mine.’ He clicked his fingers to the page, turned on his heel and sauntered out of the tent.
Hal hefted a bag across his shoulder, dragged his trunk to the waiting cart, then walked into the city.
* * *
Simon Vernon was not at home when he called. Sounds of family life drifted to Hal: children quarrelling, the clattering of cookware, a small dog yapping. Mistress Vernon peered at him through the partially closed door. Her gaze was suspicious rather than hostile and Hal wondered what Joanna had told her aunt of the previous night’s events. He craned his neck to try to catch a glimpse of Joanna, but she was nowhere in sight.
Mistress Vernon informed Hal that her husband was most likely at his foundry. Hal retraced his steps to the Guild Hall along the alleys Joanna had taken him through the previous night. He suppressed a smile as he remembered her wide eyes full of innocence as she had led him in circles throughout the streets.
Even without instruction he could not have missed his destination. St Andrewgate was home to all York’s metalworkers. The narrow street was lined on both sides with open-fronted workshops making and selling all manner of wares and the heat from the furnaces and heady stench of smoke meeting the drizzle greeted Hal like an old friend.
Master Vernon’s foundry was located in an excellent position on the corner with two sides open to the street. Hal paused outside, aware of a clamminess creeping around his back. It was not too late; he could turn and walk away and no one would know. Except for him. He contemplated Simon Vernon’s establishment, larger and grander by far than his own forge in Ravenscrag. One day he would be master of such a place and today, for all his reservations, he was setting his foot most decisively on that path.
Simon Vernon was standing with his back to Hal, barking orders at a pair of young apprentices. A figure was seated at a table in the corner. Hal stared in surprise as he recognised Joanna, head bent over a wax tablet with a stylus in her hand. No one had noticed his arrival so for a moment he stood drinking in the sight of her. She wore a dark-blue dress, high necked and tight sleeved beneath a sombre grey surcoat, belted tight beneath her breasts. Her hair was braided and held back from her face with a linen band. In such a setting she appeared as delicate and out of place as a wren in a nest of crows. The impression was such a contrast to the gaily dressed, flighty girl he had encountered at the camp that Hal was transfixed.
She was not beautiful, at least not in the way he preferred his women to be, but engrossed in her task Joanna’s face was alight with enthusiasm, lending her cheeks a blush of rose. Her figure he already knew from having examined her the previous night. A slight stirring of excitement made him grin. Whatever other reservations he might have about marriage to Joanna, the physical aspects were not among them. He would enjoy getting to know his wife once they
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