before you rose?’ His thumb brushed over my knuckles.
So! I took a breath. ‘Sir John?’
‘Madam Countess?’
Since this was a level of familiarity even beyond myimproved experience, I felt hot blood rise in my cheeks, but I held his stare. ‘Of course, alone.’
‘Is your husband not present?’ he asked, all gentle malice.
‘He is here. He is in my father’s retinue.’ Jonty had come for the wedding, as was fitting.
John Holland showed his teeth in a smile. ‘Poor Elizabeth!’
I knew his sly reference to my half-wed state. Enough of this, I thought. ‘I would not be such a poor thing if you would find a cup of wine for me.’
‘Your wish will be my command, my lady.’
He led me to one of the cushioned stools placed against the wall, far enough from the crowd to allow us a little privacy, where he bowed me to take my seat and disappeared in search of sustenance. I watched him go, without making it too obvious, my heart still beating harder than my sitting at a court reception would engender.
John Holland, I mused, was all I remembered him to be, and all I had recently discovered. A man of hidden depths, a bold companion, but probably a dangerous enemy. But ambition and ability in the tilting field was not what intrigued me. Apart from the sheer force of his presence whenever he entered a room, what fascinated me was that John Holland had been enveloped in rumour and scandal since the day of his birth. Or more accurately, the scandal that was of Princess Joan’s making.
As we all knew the salacious details of it—how Philippa and I had enjoyed dissecting these early years of the Fair Maid of Kent’s life! Princess Joan was first married when very young to Sir Thomas Holland, something of a clandestineevent but certainly legal. But Sir Thomas went off on Crusade, leaving Joan behind to be forced—in her own words—into a second marriage with the Earl of Salisbury. When Sir Thomas returned, it was to discover his wife wed to the Earl in an undoubtedly bigamous union. And Sir Thomas, from some strange motivation, took up a position as steward in their household.
Such a delicious
ménage à trois
!
But Sir Thomas wanted his wife back, and got her when he appealed to the Pope that Joan had promised herself to him and shared his bed. Did Joan prefer Sir Thomas to the hapless Earl of Salisbury? Who was to know? She and Sir Thomas had five children together before Sir Thomas died, leaving Joan a widow and free to wed again to Prince Edward. It might have been against the wishes of King Edward and Queen Philippa, for Joan was no innocent virgin, but she had achieved her heart’s desire, and here was her royal son Richard, wearing the crown.
And here, working his path through the crowd was John Holland, her youngest child by that first marriage, now a Knight of the Garter, thirty years old, darkly beautiful to my mind with none of the fairness of Richard. A man who was creating his own glamour, his own scandals. He was unlike any other man I knew.
I watched him make his way in leisurely fashion, a smile here, a comment there, a pause as some acquaintance exchanged an opinion or a jibe, an appropriate inclination of his head towards one of the dowagers. He had all the poise, all the courtly aplomb in the world, and, as the King’s brother, no one would be unwise enough to rebuffhim. When he finally approached me again, he smiled, and, unable to prevent myself, I discovered that I was smiling back.
You are playing with fire,
a voice of common sense warned, disconcertingly in the tones of Dame Katherine who was no longer one of our number. After the debacle of the Great Rising, my father had dedicated himself to a life of sinless morality to achieve God’s blessing on England.
But how pleasant to be a little singed,
I replied, wishing that she were here.
What right have you to advise me on such matters?
As my father’s mistress, dubbed a whore by Walsingham for leading my father into sin, I thought
So! I took a breath. ‘Sir John?’
‘Madam Countess?’
Since this was a level of familiarity even beyond myimproved experience, I felt hot blood rise in my cheeks, but I held his stare. ‘Of course, alone.’
‘Is your husband not present?’ he asked, all gentle malice.
‘He is here. He is in my father’s retinue.’ Jonty had come for the wedding, as was fitting.
John Holland showed his teeth in a smile. ‘Poor Elizabeth!’
I knew his sly reference to my half-wed state. Enough of this, I thought. ‘I would not be such a poor thing if you would find a cup of wine for me.’
‘Your wish will be my command, my lady.’
He led me to one of the cushioned stools placed against the wall, far enough from the crowd to allow us a little privacy, where he bowed me to take my seat and disappeared in search of sustenance. I watched him go, without making it too obvious, my heart still beating harder than my sitting at a court reception would engender.
John Holland, I mused, was all I remembered him to be, and all I had recently discovered. A man of hidden depths, a bold companion, but probably a dangerous enemy. But ambition and ability in the tilting field was not what intrigued me. Apart from the sheer force of his presence whenever he entered a room, what fascinated me was that John Holland had been enveloped in rumour and scandal since the day of his birth. Or more accurately, the scandal that was of Princess Joan’s making.
As we all knew the salacious details of it—how Philippa and I had enjoyed dissecting these early years of the Fair Maid of Kent’s life! Princess Joan was first married when very young to Sir Thomas Holland, something of a clandestineevent but certainly legal. But Sir Thomas went off on Crusade, leaving Joan behind to be forced—in her own words—into a second marriage with the Earl of Salisbury. When Sir Thomas returned, it was to discover his wife wed to the Earl in an undoubtedly bigamous union. And Sir Thomas, from some strange motivation, took up a position as steward in their household.
Such a delicious
ménage à trois
!
But Sir Thomas wanted his wife back, and got her when he appealed to the Pope that Joan had promised herself to him and shared his bed. Did Joan prefer Sir Thomas to the hapless Earl of Salisbury? Who was to know? She and Sir Thomas had five children together before Sir Thomas died, leaving Joan a widow and free to wed again to Prince Edward. It might have been against the wishes of King Edward and Queen Philippa, for Joan was no innocent virgin, but she had achieved her heart’s desire, and here was her royal son Richard, wearing the crown.
And here, working his path through the crowd was John Holland, her youngest child by that first marriage, now a Knight of the Garter, thirty years old, darkly beautiful to my mind with none of the fairness of Richard. A man who was creating his own glamour, his own scandals. He was unlike any other man I knew.
I watched him make his way in leisurely fashion, a smile here, a comment there, a pause as some acquaintance exchanged an opinion or a jibe, an appropriate inclination of his head towards one of the dowagers. He had all the poise, all the courtly aplomb in the world, and, as the King’s brother, no one would be unwise enough to rebuffhim. When he finally approached me again, he smiled, and, unable to prevent myself, I discovered that I was smiling back.
You are playing with fire,
a voice of common sense warned, disconcertingly in the tones of Dame Katherine who was no longer one of our number. After the debacle of the Great Rising, my father had dedicated himself to a life of sinless morality to achieve God’s blessing on England.
But how pleasant to be a little singed,
I replied, wishing that she were here.
What right have you to advise me on such matters?
As my father’s mistress, dubbed a whore by Walsingham for leading my father into sin, I thought
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