solid-looking fortress built on the highest ground. Beneath it Baldwin could see the great mass of St Peter’s, the Cathedral, with its pair of tall spires marking the two towers of the crossing.
Away from the city were a few sparse settlements which stood out in this smoothly rolling countryside. There were any number of church spires and towers: to the north lay St David’s, ahead of him, over beyond the South Gate was the small leper hospital of St Magdalen, while he knew that St Thomas’s was almost dead ahead on the Cowick Street, not that the church could be seen from here. There were too many trees blocking the view.
Still, Sir Baldwin confessed to himself that it was a pretty enough little city; not so busy and hectic as London or Paris, not so scruffy as York, nor so unbearably humid and noisome as Limassol. It lay sheltered above a great sweep of the River Exe, quiet and serene in the clear wintry light.
The trouble was, he had another reason to wish to be at home. He did not want to travel all the way to Exeter for Christmas – especially not with his wife.
‘Well, you may remain as gloomy as you wish; I for one intend to enjoy myself,’ Jeanne said tartly.
He grinned at her. Jeanne and he had been married only since the springtime and he had never known such happiness. Even now, with her face betraying her truculence, he adored her. Never shrewish, usually calm and contented, she was a source of pleasure. Right now she was unhappy, rolling in the coach with each jolt as the wheels thundered over the rough roadway, registering her displeasure at every jarring crash, yet he could only see her beauty. Lady Jeanne was a tall, slender woman with red-gold hair and the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen. Her face was regular, if a little round; her nose short, perhaps too small; her mouth over-wide with a full upper lip that gave her a stubborn appearance; her forehead was maybe too broad – but to Baldwin she was perfection.
Except her temper had fluctuated recently since she had learned that she was pregnant.
It wasn’t that she was temperamental – Baldwin would hesitate to use such a perjorative term to describe his wife – but she had become a little more peppery since becoming pregnant. She responded badly to his well-intentioned suggestions designed to ensure her comfort. This was Baldwin’s first child and he intended guaranteeing that his wife remained healthy and that their unborn baby was cosseted and protected. Riding all the way to Exeter in the middle of winter did not strike him as the best way to protect either Jeanne or her baby, which was why, against her wishes, he had insisted that she should ride in comfort in the wagon.
‘Not too far now, my Lady,’ he said encouragingly.
In answer she gave a snort of disgust. ‘Good. Oh, this damned road!’
He grinned and she lifted her chin in haughty contempt, but his bellowed laughter made her give a fleeting smirk. Feigning annoyance, she turned from him and pulled her furs more tightly about her. It was hard not to giggle with him when he relaxed in this way. Just then a triple hammering jerk almost knocked her sideways, and she swore viciously under her breath.
She adored her husband. He was considerate, kind, intelligent and serious. She loved his dark complexion, his almost-black eyes, his grizzled hair which contrasted so strongly with his black beard and eyebrows, as if his head had been caught in a heavy frost. Even the scar which ran from his temple almost to his jaw was, to her, an endearing mark, a proof of his martial past, evidence of his chivalry – but that didn’t change the fact that he was being too overprotective because she was pregnant.
After many years of wanting children and not being able to conceive with her first husband, she had fallen with Baldwin very soon after the summer – a profound relief, because she had wondered whether she was barren as her first husband had told her – yet Baldwin’s constant
Away from the city were a few sparse settlements which stood out in this smoothly rolling countryside. There were any number of church spires and towers: to the north lay St David’s, ahead of him, over beyond the South Gate was the small leper hospital of St Magdalen, while he knew that St Thomas’s was almost dead ahead on the Cowick Street, not that the church could be seen from here. There were too many trees blocking the view.
Still, Sir Baldwin confessed to himself that it was a pretty enough little city; not so busy and hectic as London or Paris, not so scruffy as York, nor so unbearably humid and noisome as Limassol. It lay sheltered above a great sweep of the River Exe, quiet and serene in the clear wintry light.
The trouble was, he had another reason to wish to be at home. He did not want to travel all the way to Exeter for Christmas – especially not with his wife.
‘Well, you may remain as gloomy as you wish; I for one intend to enjoy myself,’ Jeanne said tartly.
He grinned at her. Jeanne and he had been married only since the springtime and he had never known such happiness. Even now, with her face betraying her truculence, he adored her. Never shrewish, usually calm and contented, she was a source of pleasure. Right now she was unhappy, rolling in the coach with each jolt as the wheels thundered over the rough roadway, registering her displeasure at every jarring crash, yet he could only see her beauty. Lady Jeanne was a tall, slender woman with red-gold hair and the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen. Her face was regular, if a little round; her nose short, perhaps too small; her mouth over-wide with a full upper lip that gave her a stubborn appearance; her forehead was maybe too broad – but to Baldwin she was perfection.
Except her temper had fluctuated recently since she had learned that she was pregnant.
It wasn’t that she was temperamental – Baldwin would hesitate to use such a perjorative term to describe his wife – but she had become a little more peppery since becoming pregnant. She responded badly to his well-intentioned suggestions designed to ensure her comfort. This was Baldwin’s first child and he intended guaranteeing that his wife remained healthy and that their unborn baby was cosseted and protected. Riding all the way to Exeter in the middle of winter did not strike him as the best way to protect either Jeanne or her baby, which was why, against her wishes, he had insisted that she should ride in comfort in the wagon.
‘Not too far now, my Lady,’ he said encouragingly.
In answer she gave a snort of disgust. ‘Good. Oh, this damned road!’
He grinned and she lifted her chin in haughty contempt, but his bellowed laughter made her give a fleeting smirk. Feigning annoyance, she turned from him and pulled her furs more tightly about her. It was hard not to giggle with him when he relaxed in this way. Just then a triple hammering jerk almost knocked her sideways, and she swore viciously under her breath.
She adored her husband. He was considerate, kind, intelligent and serious. She loved his dark complexion, his almost-black eyes, his grizzled hair which contrasted so strongly with his black beard and eyebrows, as if his head had been caught in a heavy frost. Even the scar which ran from his temple almost to his jaw was, to her, an endearing mark, a proof of his martial past, evidence of his chivalry – but that didn’t change the fact that he was being too overprotective because she was pregnant.
After many years of wanting children and not being able to conceive with her first husband, she had fallen with Baldwin very soon after the summer – a profound relief, because she had wondered whether she was barren as her first husband had told her – yet Baldwin’s constant
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