Here Be Dragons

by Sharon Kay Penman

  “They sound as unlike as chalk and cheese, Mama. Henry is well-meaning but weak, and John…” He paused, watching her intently. But she was already pulling back; the moment had passed.

  “And John was neither,” she said, with forced flippancy. “Well-meaning or weak, I mean. Let’s go back, Davydd. I want to talk to Elen, see if I cannot coax her into returning to Aber with us for a time.”

  “I think she—Will? What are you doing out here? Were you seeking us?”

  Joanna spun around, saw Will ambling toward them. “Yes, I was,” he said, favoring them with a lazy smile. “I need to talk to your mother, Davydd. Would you mind if I borrowed her for a few moments?”

  Davydd felt some reluctance, knowing Joanna was never fully at ease with a de Braose. But he could not refuse without rudeness, without offending the man who was to be his father-in-law. “Of course, Will. I’ll go and find Elen, Mama, shall await you back at the guest hall.”

  As Davydd moved away, Joanna began to walk rapidly along the water’s edge, not waiting for Will. But he had no difficulty in keeping stride, fell into step beside her. “Come now, Joanna, surely you cannot object to us meeting like this, in a monastery garden in the middle of the afternoon? What could be more innocent? Moreover, the plight troth did make us kin of sorts. Of course, we were already linked by an earlier marriage, that of my father and Gwladys. I once sought to figure our relationship out, did only give myself a right sharp headache! It’s a tangled coil, in truth; see what you can make of it. Gwladys is your stepdaughter and was, for nigh on thirteen years, my stepmother. Now my question is this. As the stepmother of my stepmother, does that make you my step-grandmother?”

  Joanna gave an involuntary splutter of laughter. “Jesú forfend!”

  Will was grinning. “I thought I could coax a smile if I truly tried. Am I forgiven, then?”

  Joanna stopped, for the first time looked him full in the face. “I am not angry with you, Will. I do not blame you for what happened. I want only to forget.”

  “I’d rather remember,” he said, plucked a sprig of honeysuckle from the closest vine, and handed it to her. She took it, but then began to walk again.

  “I would like to thank you, Will, for your kindness at the time of Catherine’s death. I know I never answered your letter, but it did help.” Not at first, though; she’d been terrified when Will’s messenger was ushered into the great hall, handed her the letter in full view of all. She’d broken the seal with unsteady fingers, but her fears were unrealized; the contents did not compromise her in any way. Will had written a graceful letter of condolence, explaining that he’d only recently heard of Catherine’s death, and expressing his sympathies to Joanna and Catherine’s family. She’d been able to pass the letter over to Llewelyn without the slightest qualm. “It was a kind thought,” she repeated, bringing the honeysuckle up to breathe in its fragrance.

  “I knew you were very fond of her. Was she ill for long?”

  “I loved her,” Joanna said softly. “And no, not long at all…”

  “Did you ever tell her about us?”

  “No.”

  “Just as well. But what of your maid…Glenna? Can you trust her?”

  “Glynis? Yes, I believe so. Why?”

  “No…it was a foolish whim, much too risky. However trustworthy she seems, it would be madness to put yourself into her power like that. A pity, though. To have had an entire night together…” He shook his head regretfully. “Well, we’ll just have to make do with what we can. At least we’ll have an afternoon. What about tomorrow? I know an inn not far from Shrewsbury, a bit on the shabby side but no hovel. It can provide what we most need, clean sheets, decent wine, and privacy.”

  “No, Will. No.”

  “Think on it, love; just us and a soft bed.” Will’s smile was wry. “I might as well confess; I’m past the age where I enjoy rolling about on dirt floors, like my comforts with my pleasures. I want to be able to take my time, to undress you myself…very slowly. I want you to unbind your hair so I can feel it against my chest as I kiss you, and then—”

  “Will, stop, please stop! I cannot, not ever again!”

  “Why not?” He sounded truly surprised. “You need not fear discovery, love. I’ll take care of it, arrange everything—”

  “No. I love my husband.” To Joanna’s dismay, her voice was unsteady. “I do, Will, I do!”

  “I no longer doubt that,” he said hastily. “You made that quite clear the last time we were together in the hafod. You love him, well and good. But you still want me, Joanna.” She was shaking her head and he stepped closer. “Look me in the eye then and say you do not. Tell me you do not want to go to that inn, do not want to be in my arms right now, do not want me to make love to you.”

  Joanna’s face was burning. But she raised her chin, met his eyes. “I do not want to go to an inn with you. I do not want to bed with you. It’s over, Will. It’s done.”

  His eyes shifted from her face, followed the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. “Now why,” he murmured, “do I not believe you?”

  Joanna backed away. “You act as if this were some sort of game! Have you never thought what would happen should my husband find out about us?”

  He shrugged and she began to understand. “I once told you that you could not trade upon being fourteen forever. But that’s what you’re still doing. Only now it’s your name, your family’s power.”

  He was no longer smiling. “And what does that mean?”

  “Tell me the truth, Will. How many unhappy husbands have suspected you of cuckolding them and yet looked the other way? How many of your vassals were unwilling or unable to act upon their suspicions?”

  He shrugged again. “What does it matter? That has naught to do with us.”

  “But it does matter! Can you not see that? Do you truly think Llewelyn, too, would turn a blind eye? That being a de Braose, a highborn Norman lord, would save you? It would not, Will; believe me in this, it would not. Llewelyn would kill you if he knew. As simple as that. He would kill you.”

  “He need never have to know, Joanna. Why can I not convince you of that?” He glanced about, saw no one in sight, and caught her hand, brought it up to his mouth. “If you do not want me, darling, why does your pulse jump so when I touch you? Why does your breath come so quick?”

  Joanna jerked free. “Yes,” she gasped, “yes, I do want you. Is that what you would have me say? But it will avail you naught, for I will never act upon it. I will not destroy my marriage for you!”

  She’d dropped the honeysuckle on the path and Will picked it up, crushed it between his fingers as he watched her move away. She was all but running in her haste to put distance between them, did not look back.

  11

  Aber, North Wales

  April 1230

  Joanna and Gwladys were seated at a table in the great hall, making up the guest list for Gwladys’s upcoming marriage to Ralph de Mortimer. This was no less political a match than the other marital alliances Llewelyn had forged with his Norman-French neighbors. Ralph de Mortimer was an influential Marcher lord, baron of Wigmore, his a family that had long been hostile to Llewelyn. But antagonism had yielded to expediency, and he’d shown himself eager to ally with the Welsh Prince, to wed Llewelyn’s eldest daughter. Joanna was not all that impressed with Mortimer, a brash, forceful man, noted both for his candor and his quick temper. Gwladys, however, obviously saw something in him that Joanna did not; she had suggested the match to Llewelyn, after meeting Mortimer during her London visit, and now, with the wedding but weeks away, she gave every indication of looking forward to her new life as Ralph de Mortimer’s lady.

  “Shall we begin with the Marshals, Gwladys? My sister Nell will attend, of course, but Pembroke will have sailed with Henry for Brittany by then. I think we ought to invite Pembroke’s younger brothers, though; they are—”

  “Joanna…I’d rather we wait. I asked Senena to join us.”

  Although Joanna said noth
ing, hers was an expressive face. Gwladys leaned across the table. “Let us speak plainly. I do not blame Papa for keeping Gruffydd at Deganwy, for Gruffydd gave him no choice. Nor do I blame you. It is only natural that you should try to safeguard Davydd’s rights. Gruffydd has a man’s courage, a man’s will, but a child’s grasp of the world we live in. Yet I still love him, I still feel his pain, and I would never forsake him. When he asks me for something, I try to oblige, and he asked me to include Senena in my wedding plans. She needs this, Joanna, needs some pleasure in her life. I want to do this for Gruffydd, want you to do it for me. Will you?”

  Such a question could have but one answer. Joanna nodded. “I’ll try,” she said grudgingly. “In all honesty, I cannot promise that she’ll not provoke me, but I will try.”

  “Fair enough.” Gwladys half rose, beckoned to her sister-in-law. “Ah, there you are, Senena. Joanna and I were just discussing those who cannot attend. Chester, too will be sailing with the English King and Pembroke. I doubt that Gwenllian and her husband will come from Ireland. But at least Marared and her husband will be present. What of Elen and John the Scot, Joanna?”

  “I think not,” Joanna said regretfully. “They’re visiting the court of John’s cousin, the Scots King, will not be back in time. But my brother Richard and his wife will come for certes, and mayhap my aunt, the Countess of Salisbury.”

  “May I assume you do mean to squeeze in a few Welsh midst all these Normans?”

  Joanna dropped her pen, splattering the parchment with ink. Gwladys said hastily, “The Welsh will be well represented, Senena. Here is our list. Have you any suggestions to make?”

  Senena gave the list only a perfunctory glance. “What of Will de Braose and his wife? Surely you do not mean to overlook them. Or have you already given Will an invitation, Madame?”

  “No, I have not!” Joanna drew a deliberate breath. She could not do this to herself, could not allow her suspicions and her guilt to color the most innocent of utterances; in that way lay madness. “Of course I mean to invite Will and Eva de Braose; they are Davydd’s kin now.” And, picking up the pen, she inked in the names of her lover and his wife.

  Gwladys laughed suddenly, none too happily. “That man always did have a diabolical sense of timing,” she said, as Joanna turned with foreboding, saw Will de Braose being ushered into the hall.

  He greeted the three women in turn, and then smiled at Joanna. “I suppose I ought to have sent word ahead, but I took it for granted that you could accommodate me.”

  How long, Joanna wondered in sudden despair, was it to be like this? How long ere she could talk to this man and not feel a shamed sense of intimacy? “You are ever welcome at my husband’s court,” she said reluctantly, stressing the words “my husband” in the vain hope that Will would understand the emphasis, abandon the chase. “But neither Llewelyn nor Davydd is here. They are meeting in Bangor with the Bishop, and I do not expect them to return until the morrow. Mayhap you would rather continue on to Bangor, join them there?”

  “Bangor is but six miles,” Gwladys chimed in, no more eager than Joanna to have Will at Aber. But he was shaking his head, saying that only a churl would give up an opportunity to pass an evening with three charming women, and Joanna could only pray that neither Gwladys nor Senena caught the mockery beneath the good manners, that none but she could read the message in those amused grey eyes.

  Dinner should have been a festive occasion, freed as they were of the monotonous menus of Lent; the table was bountifully set, and afterward there was music and dancing. But for Joanna, the evening was an ordeal. Will was in recklessly high spirits; he insisted upon dancing with Joanna and Gwladys, even attempted to coax Senena into joining the carole, and he flirted outrageously with Glynis, who seemed both flustered and flattered by his attentions. And all the while Joanna could feel Senena’s eyes upon them, upon her and Will.

  Joanna was standing alone, watching the dancers. When Will materialized unexpectedly at her side, her nerves betrayed her and she splashed half of her wine into the floor rushes. “Shall I fetch you another cup, Lady Joanna?” Will asked, so solicitously that she yearned to slap him.

  “No. You’ve had enough wine tonight for both of us. You can do something for me, though. You can stop trying to bedazzle Glynis. Let her be, Will. There’s no sport in seducing such an innocent.”

  Will laughed so loudly that he turned several heads in their direction. “‘Jealousy is cruel as the grave,’” he quoted softly. “Do you recognize that, Joanna? The Song of Solomon. Who’d ever expect to find so erotic a love poem in Scriptures? Shall I recite it for you? ‘Behold, thou art fair, my love. Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet. Thy breasts are like two—’”

  “Will, hush!” Joanna was truly frightened now. “When the stakes have become life or death, it is no longer a game. Have you not noticed how Senena keeps watching us? She puts me in mind of a stalking cat, makes me feel like a bird with a broken wing.”

  “The cat eyes are yours, love, not Senena’s.”

  “Will, stop! Listen to me…please. You must leave me alone. If you do not, I’ll have no choice but to denounce you, accuse you of making unwelcome advances. Do not make me do that, Will. I do not want you to come to harm!”

  Will grinned. “Nor do I, darling!” But as he studied her face, his smile changed, became softer, more sympathetic. “I wish I could convince you, Joanna, that you’re distressing yourself for naught. Why should you care what Senena suspects as long as you have Llewelyn’s trust? But if it will ease your mind, I’ll strive for discretion. Now…tell me quickly whilst we’re still alone. Where can we meet…and when?”

  Joanna gave a strained, shaken laugh. “You never hear me, do you? I do not know what else to say to you, how to convince you…” Shoving her wine cup into his hand, she said, “I do want more wine, after all, Will. Would you mind?” And as soon as he moved away, she turned, crossed the hall to Gwladys.

  “I know you like Will’s company no more than I do, but I need you to act in my stead for the rest of the evening. Will you do that for me?”

  Gwladys gave a mock grimace. “I cannot pretend I’m thrilled at the prospect. But I do owe you a favor. Go along, then; I’ll see to the hall and our guests.”

  As Joanna hurriedly departed the hall, Senena came to stand at Gwladys’s side. “It is rather early for bed, is it not?”

  Gwladys shrugged. “Joanna does not find it easy, being with a de Braose.” Senena laughed; Gwladys did not like the sound of it, and she said with far less friendliness, “I am not asking you to sympathize with her predicament, Senena, merely to understand it.”

  “But I do.” Senena was smiling. “I do understand, Gwladys. I understand very well, indeed.”

  One of the windows in Joanna’s bedchamber was unshuttered, and the sounds of laughter and music carried on the quiet April air. Glynis was dutifully brushing out Joanna’s hair, but she kept casting such wistful glances toward the window that Joanna at last relented.

  “Never mind,” she said. “You need not braid my hair into a night plait. Would you like to return to the hall?”

  “Oh, yes, Madame, thank you!”

  “But Glynis…do take care. Do not pay too much heed to Will de Braose’s honeyed words. His promises are counterfeit coins; they look genuine until you seek to spend them.”

  Glynis blushed and then grinned impishly. “I know that, Madame, I do. But it’s like our trips to the Shrewsbury market; I can enjoy looking without necessarily meaning to buy!”

  Joanna smiled, waved the girl out. Alone now in the bedchamber, she felt calmer, safe both from temptation and exposure. Talking to Will would do no good whatsoever. The more she said no, the more intrigued he became. She could not trust him, and in all honesty, she was still not sure she could trust herself. She and Will must never be alone. She must avoid him whenever possible, and if that meant open rudeness, so be it. She could only hope Davydd would understand. But even if he could not, that changed noth
ing.

  She took several books and a candle with her to bed—and Topaz, for the spaniel always took shameful advantage of Llewelyn’s absences, abandoning its sleeping basket for its mistress’s feather bed. Joanna removed her bedrobe, gave the dog an indulgent pat, and reached for the books.

  The first she discarded at once, a romance of the ill-fated love of Tristan for his uncle’s wife, the beguiling Iseult. There was a perverse comfort in attributing adulterous passion to a love potion; Joanna wryly wished she could so easily explain away her own infidelity. But she was in no mood for an object lesson—however lyrical—in the inevitable wages of sin, and she chose instead a French translation of a lengthy English poem, The Owl and the Nightingale.

  Even this selection was not as innocuous as it first seemed. A cynical couplet could have served as John’s epitaph: “The dark way he so fully knows, that in the bright he never goes.” Other lines struck too close to home. “A woman may sport beneath the sheet, in wedded love or lustful heat.” “For sure it is a better thing, for wife to love her husband pure, than wanton with a paramour.” Joanna dropped the book into the rushes, blew out the candle.

  She was almost asleep when Topaz began to whine. The door creaked; she heard the bolt slide into place. Glynis. She pulled the pillow closer. But Topaz continued to whimper. She was rolling over, a drowsy reprimand forming on her lips, when the bed hangings were drawn back. A candle still burned on the table; framed in flickering light, a man was standing by the bed. Llewelyn? Joanna sat up, blinking sleepily. But then he moved, and the candle caught the sheen of flaxen hair. Joanna gasped, grabbed for the sheet. “Will?”

  “Did you think I was not coming? I did not want to be too obvious, love, waited nigh on an hour.” He grinned. “And I know what you’re going to ask now. But no one saw me; it’s full dark.” As he was speaking, he was unfastening his mantle. Tossing it onto a coffer, he began unbuckling his scabbard and sword.