It served her right for chasing after rumors.
Whatever Raymond’s distractions, Richard had foes enough and should simply be glad the Toulousain was quiet. After celebrating Christmas with his troops, Richard finally returned to Poitiers in February. His mood was edgy, and Joan avoided him as assiduously as he ignored her. Nevertheless, she was present in the great hall one evening when a knight arrived from Quercy.
“What word?” Richard said, jumping to his feet. The table jiggled, upsetting several of the chess pieces on the board in spite of his adversary’s attempt to catch them. “Has Count Raymond dared—”
“No, sire. He’s a careful one. I’ve come to tell you he no longer has a quarrel with the viscount of Carcassonne. The old man died. The new viscount is just a boy.”
“And the boy is Raymond’s nephew,” Eleanor put in. She was seated ten feet away, nose buried in correspondence, but she had not missed a word. Neither had Joan, beside her.
Richard pulled on his beard. “Damn him. He’s either exceedingly clever or completely oblivious. Has he a rival left in the south?”
The messenger shook his head. “Only you, sire. He’s pacified all his borders, made friends with all his father’s enemies. But have you heard about his wife? The annulment for barrenness?”
“Huh. What about it?”
“Apparently in Toulouse barren means ‘caught in bed with the chamberlain.’”
“Is that so?” Richard threw back his head and laughed.
Joan felt a sick mixture of satisfaction and embarrassment. It was no more than Raymond deserved, and yet…
“So,” Richard said. “The girl goes to a nunnery? I can’t think of anyone less suited to the life. And the chamberlain?”
“They say the count was loath to punish him. It would only prove the rumors, of course, but more, he was fond of the man.”
Eleanor made a disgusted noise with her tongue. Richard laughed again.
“He sounds weak,” Eleanor said. “Richard, you should forget about waiting for him to attack Quercy. Take your men to Toulouse.”
“Perhaps I should. Philip may have given him time to set his house in order, but he’s still vassal to France. He’ll be more than ready to join the campaign in the spring.”
“Not only vassal, but also Philip’s cousin. He’s plotting something, you can be sure.”
THE KING CAMPAIGNED NEXT IN BRITTANY, RETURNING TO Poitiers after Easter, but spent only two days at court before vanishing for three days of hunting. Joan sat with Berry in the chamber they shared, trying to convince her that Richard was not avoiding her.
At the door, three raps sounded, then a pause, then three more. “Lady?”
“Come in.”
Charisse looked disheveled, as if she’d been running. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes wide. “Men at the gate,” she said, panting. “From Toulouse.”
“An attack?” Berry gasped.
“Don’t be silly, Berry. An army would never have made it so far north without warning.”
“An envoy,” Charisse continued, slowly catching her breath. “Queen Eleanor had to receive them, but they wouldn’t state their purpose to anyone but the king.”
Joan cursed the location of the women’s apartments—high in the west tower of the castle. It was impossible to see the entrance gates from their window. They were always the last to know when anything happened.
“Your mother lodged them in the knights’ tower. I’m to ask if you have any idea why they’re here.”
“Me? Why would I know?” Joan chewed her lip. “I haven’t even a guess. But if Richard isn’t back, I’ll try to speak with them in the morning.”
Charisse nodded and left. Joan and Berry stared at each other.
“Do you think,” Berry asked, “he wants to make peace with Richard?”
“It would be a terribly strange way to wage war. What on earth…?”
Berry rose to wash her face. At least her mind was no longer on her own troubles. “You know, I don’t really blame him for Theodora,” she murmured, drying her face with a towel. “It was his father’s fault.”
Joan scowled. “His father didn’t lift her skirts. That was his choice.”
“Was it?” Berry asked, her voice strange. “It seemed a conspiracy to me. I pitied him.”
Joan didn’t have to try to arrange a conversation with the emissaries. Her summons came at daybreak. Although Richard must have returned late the night before, his formal blue mantle and jeweled tunic made it obvious that he’d already met with the Toulousain envoy.
In the chill council chamber, Richard, leaning lazily against a small desk, couldn’t have appeared more intimidating if he’d sat on a throne. He gestured for Joan to take a stool before him, then folded his arms. Their mother sat on a bench of dark wood to his right, her back flat against the wall.
Joan waited for Richard to speak.
He shook his head. “Well, sister mine. You never cease to surprise me.”
“Enlighten me, my lord. What have I done?”
“The question is what will you do?”
“Richard, amusing as this is for you, we’d all be better served by forthrightness.” Eleanor sounded tired.
“Fine.” Richard straightened. “The count of Toulouse wishes to marry you.”
Joan gripped the sides of her stool, afraid of falling as the floor spun away.
“Imagine that.” His smile was dark with contempt, and he spat his next words at her. “Do you know what dowry he suggests? That I reinstate Quercy. You should be insulted, Joan. Surely you’re worth more than a few battered castles.”
Did he suppose she had anything to do with this? Colluding with the enemy? God help her, what next? “Richard—”
“Be quiet. Listen while I tell you why you should wed him.”
Wed him? She cast a pleading glance at her mother, but Eleanor’s eyes were fixed on her son.
“Because it will deprive Philip of an ally.” He took two steps forward so he towered over her. “Because he needs an heir, which you cannot provide. Because when he tires of you—and he will—he’ll learn that it is not so easy to cast aside the sister of the king of England.”
She’d known her brother had not truly forgiven her, but she had not thought even Richard capable of this—wielding her own inadequacies against her as a weapon. And Mama allowed it. Tears wet her cheeks. How could Raymond make such an error?
Crowing with laughter, Richard continued, “Guy was a sage compared to this suitor. El-Adil had not so many wives. You might imagine how well I relish this moment.” He brought his face to within an inch of hers. Malice shone in his eyes as he crooned, “Will you marry Count Raymond, sister mine?”
THEY GATHERED IN ROUEN FOR THE CEREMONY. HER MOTHER insisted she wear a gown of good English wool. Just as well—the wool was warmer than silk, and the gown, dyed as blue as her eyes, suited her better than the ornate dresses she’d worn in younger days.
Peering at herself in Queen Eleanor’s mirror, Joan could not escape the conclusion that she’d grown old.
How long until Raymond lost interest?
Time came to pack into a wain bound for Rouen’s cathedral. During the subdued journey, Berry held her hand limply. With the other hand, she rhythmically wiped away tears. Poor girl. She was fading away before Joan’s eyes; soon Richard would cease to see her altogether.
The wain clunked to a halt. Groomsmen helped the women climb out. Joan smoothed her dress and gulped in the cold air of a Normandy October. The sky was overcast, and dampness permeated everything. At least Toulouse would be warm.
She mounted the steps of the cathedral at her mother’s heels. At the tall entrance doors they stopped. Her mother turned.
“Jeanne.” She pushed back a few tendrils that had slipped from Joan’s braids then laid the back of her hand against Joan’s cheek. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she said, surprised.
“He’ll be pleased. Use it while you can.
Remember Richard needs Toulouse’s soldiers.”
Joan swallowed the sharp lump in her throat, jerking her head angrily away. She waited in silence for the summons. To get through this she need only say the words, hold Raymond’s hand, eat the food, drink the wine, lie beneath him. The queen’s daughter knew what was expected of her.
Music started, and her mother pushed her forward. Joan stepped inside the inner doors and met Raymond. She’d known he’d be in scarlet. She knew they’d look fine walking down the aisle. Thank God he was taller than she, if only by an inch.
She nearly stumbled over a wrinkle in the carpet, but Raymond’s hand went automatically to her elbow and he turned his head toward her with an easy smile. A few more steps, and they stood before the altar.
The bishop’s voice had a monotonous, withered quality. His words landed on her ears but didn’t penetrate. She found it unusually difficult to breathe, requiring conscious effort. Giving her responses by rote, she wondered if Raymond ever tired of repeating the same vows so many times.
She must draw a breath again, yet her chest was so tight air moved in and out of her nose but never reached her lungs.
The bishop’s voice stopped, and Raymond kissed her lightly on the forehead. They walked back down the aisle, but now his grip was firm on her upper arm.
“Hold fast,” he said into her ear. “It’s almost done.”
The church seemed to darken as they sped along the nave, a narrow gorge lined by cliffs of blank faces. She could see only a few flickering candles near the door. Her feet felt like boulders. Raymond caught her around the waist and dragged her outside.
The air cooled her cheeks. She sucked it in greedily. Gradually, she grew aware she was leaning heavily against Raymond’s chest, one of her feet atop one of his.
“Pardon,” she murmured, shuffling her foot.
“Take your time,” he said. “You’re all right.” His hands still gripped her arms.
“Yes,” she said, embarrassment flooding her as she realized how many courtiers had gathered.
Raymond wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed her hair. “I’m not sure what happens if a bride faints in the middle of the ceremony, but I was terrified I was going to find out.”
“I…I don’t know what came over me.”
“Shh. Here are the horses. Ride with me.”
She would have begged to go in the wain. Certainly, she didn’t trust herself to sit a horse. But Raymond lifted her into his saddle as though she were a rag doll, then mounted behind her. She saw Richard, who called out, laughing, “There’s a palfrey for the bride.”
Raymond laughed, too.
“I prefer this.” He spurred his horse forward to the front of the party as others found their horses or piled back into the wains. “Shall I spirit you away, lady? I’d fain avoid the feasting and speeches and be alone.”
“You’ve married the king’s sister.” She tried to match his lighthearted tone, but the last thing she wanted was to be alone with him. “Feasting and speeches are part of the dowry.”
“I didn’t marry you for your dowry.”
She flushed. “I’m sure Richard would be glad to take it back.”
Because he held her so close, his laughter jostled her. “It would be impolite to refuse his generosity.”
When their escorts caught up, they lapsed into silence. With Raymond’s arms about her, wrapped in his mantle, Joan felt unaccountably secure.
The reprieve was short-lived; the castle was close to the cathedral. The wedding party descended upon the great hall, which was decked out for the feast. Though the tables were already laden with food, servants carried trays holding more. The wine goblets were full to the brim, and cupbearers stood at both ends of each table ready to pour. Raymond had the seat of honor beside the king. Richard drained his cup even before the chaplain said grace.
Joan and Raymond shared a trencher—he had impeccable manners. Joan hoped her mother took note. She noticed, too, that after every few sips of wine, he added water to the drink before anyone topped off his goblet. After the first few toasts, she copied his trick and blushed when he caught her and smiled. He ate a little of everything, but didn’t gorge himself, and paused frequently from various conversations to talk quietly to her.
“Jeanne, I’ve been watching you. You haven’t eaten enough to sustain a rabbit. It’s no wonder you nearly fainted.”
“I can’t eat when I’m nervous,” she admitted.
“But the hard part is over,” he said, pushing a slice of pear toward her side of the trencher. “Here. This is very sweet and mild.”
The hard part was over?
“I almost fainted on my wedding day. Would you also like to see me ill?”
He snatched back the pear. “I’m sorry. I’ll be less annoying when I know you better.” He slid his hand under the table and squeezed her thigh. With effort, she kept herself from brushing it off. He pulled back and looked at her questioningly. Had he felt her recoil?
“Behave,” she managed to whisper.
He laughed very low.
“You seem well entertained,” Richard said, intruding.
“I am,” Raymond answered. “But the matter is private and no great credit to me, I’m afraid.”
Richard’s laughter resounded across the hall. If Joan didn’t know better, she’d believe Raymond was winning her brother over. Or perhaps Richard hoped to charm Raymond.
If only the feast could last. But already servants were clearing the tables, and a harpist set his chair before the head table. The cupbearers refilled goblets as he tuned the instrument. Raymond was one of the few men who did not immediately lift his drink.
Sweet notes filled the air. The harpist sang an Occitan love song. Listening to the joyous melody, Joan gazed around the table. Richard’s face had lost some of its hardness. Mama’s lips curled contentedly. When Raymond reached for her hand, a dream came upon her, a dream that she was young again and this, her first wedding. She might have found happiness. Instead…
The last strains faded. Joan’s eyes were wet, but she was not alone. Even some who didn’t understand the words were moved by the music. Raymond stood and tossed a purse to the singer.
“There is more,” Richard said.
Raymond smiled. “I’m glad of it. With such splendid entertainment, our presence will not be missed.”
He laid his hand on Joan’s shoulder, and she rose, though her legs felt like pudding. Appreciative tittering spread among the celebrants. A new round of toasts was raised, but Raymond was already leading Joan toward the door.
They walked down one corridor and turned at the next. The moment they were out of view, Raymond took hold of her shoulders and pressed her against the craggy wall. His mouth was hard against hers, as if he would devour her. When he stopped to breathe, she turned her head before he saw her fear.
“You’ll have to lead, Jeanne. I don’t know the way to the bridal chamber.”
Without answering, she slid past him and walked down a long hallway then up a flight of torch-lit stairs. When they reached the landing, he pulled her close and kissed her, more gently.
“Too far,” he complained.
“Please, stop. Someone will see us.”
With a laugh, he peered down the deserted stairs.
“We’re almost there,” Joan said, breaking away.
A girl had been set at the door; but she’d fallen asleep, a bouquet of dried roses across her lap.
“Marie,” Joan urged in a loud whisper, “we’re here.”
The girl startled awake. “But where…?” She’d obviously expected more of an entourage.
“Go back to sleep, child,” Raymond said, handing her a coin. “We won’t need anything.”
He pushed open the door.
The small room was beautifully arrayed with fall blossoms. An oil lamp burned low on a table near the door, surrounded by slender tapers they might light if desired, and a flask of wine with two chalices. Three mattresses were
heaped on the bed, covered by a bright yellow blanket. Underneath would be crisp linen sheets that had been soaked in rosewater before drying.
“Would you like wine?” she murmured, gesturing to the table. Anything to stall what was to come. He shook his head.
“You hardly touched your drink at dinner, my lord. Is it not to your liking?”
“It’s very good.” He smiled down at her. “But I’ve reached a stage in my life where I no longer try to indulge competing pleasures.”
She didn’t know whether the comment required a response of laughter or flattery. While she debated, the moment passed.
Raymond shut the door, lit one of the tapers, and taking her elbow, moved toward the dressing table and chair along the far wall. The table held a hairbrush, a bowl of scented water, and an empty bowl to spit in. Draped over her chair was a pretty, lightweight gown. Didn’t Raymond know he was supposed to allow her time alone with her maids to prepare?
He set the candle down and stared at her. When he spoke, his voice was low and heavy with desire. “Since leaving the church, I’ve been imagining undressing you.”
Joan blanched. He chuckled softly.
“Here. Sit down.” He guided her into her chair. Standing behind, he began plucking the wooden pins from her hair—not as deftly as Charisse but less clumsily than some maids she’d known. The plaits gave him more difficulty, but he persevered until her hair was completely unbound.
“Hairbrush?” he said.
She handed it to him, and he began brushing her hair with smooth gentle strokes. Her nerves grew calmer. With the last tangle gone, he pushed his fingertips against her crown and massaged her scalp. Her skin tingled all down her spine.
He swept her hair aside and kissed the nape of her neck.
“Stand up.” He pulled her to her feet and began untying the laces of her dress. Just as she wondered if he was having second thoughts over the numerous knots, the cloth loosened. He pushed the gown from her shoulders, down over her hips, to fall in a pile at her feet.
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