Chapter Eight

P hilip sat up on his pedestal in the Aula Magna and looked at the familiar faces all turned his way. His new wife was beside him on her seat, her back straight and her chin tipped regally. She really was incredibly beautiful, goddess-like with her long, pink-kissed hair; perfect skin; and seductive, dark eyes that sparkled with intelligence.

Once again, the sun was shining and a long streak of light poured through the window and landed over her. It didn't touch anyone else. It was almost as if God Himself had joined in their ceremony and wanted all of Brussels to see how beautiful she was.

"My love," he said, gesturing to his grandmother, who stood before them holding his sister's arm. "I would like you to meet my grandmother, Margaret of York."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," the dowager said, bowing her head but not taking her eyes from Joanna. "I hope you will be very happy here with us."

"Thank you." Joanna smiled, a warm and genuine smile that made Philip fall for her just a little bit more. He adored his grandmother and anyone who did the same had a place in his heart. "I am sure I will be, Dowager. Coudenberg is beautiful and so far, the archduke has made me feel very much at home." She turned to him, her smile still in place and her eyes flashing.

He shifted on his seat. Was she remembering their first night together? Was that why her cheeks held the faintest blush? It had been incredible. She was like no other girl he'd ever lain with. But then, she wasn't a girl . She was a princess, her blood was royal, and even more than that…she was his precious wife.

He reached for her hand. "That pleases me, that you feel at home." He clicked his fingers. "And I have a present for you."

"A present?"

"Yes, and it is why I wasn't here yesterday when you arrived. Sourcing it took longer than I had anticipated."

"Could you not have sent a courtier?"

"To choose a wedding gift for my bride?" He pressed his hand to his chest. "Oh, no, what kind of husband would that make me?"

"One who is where he is supposed to be when he is supposed to be there." She raised her eyebrows at him.

For a moment, he was shocked by her words, then he chuckled. She had wit—that was one thing he knew for sure about her.

A courtier stepped before them holding an armful of neatly folded material. Another stood at his side, then another. All holding sumptuous cloths.

"What is this?" Joanna asked, standing and then stepping down from the plinth.

"It is a trousseau, linen for your married life," he said, watching her run a fingertip over an exquisite piece of soft weave the color of a jay's wing. "We have excellent weavers and seamstresses here. I hope you will take advantage of them."

She turned to him, a frown marring her brow. "You do not like what I wear?"

"My love." He stood and cupped her cheek. "I love what you wear very much, but in Burgundian court, our style is different. I thought you would enjoy following the fashion, as you are a modern woman and there will be many feasts and music festivals for us to attend throughout the year."

"Mmm." She looked at the material again. "I do aspire to be progressive thinking and perhaps my gowns are a little…extravagant in comparison to those of the Flemish women."

"It is very beautiful material," Beatriz said.

"The best in all the world." The dowager nodded seriously.

"Yes, it is rather lovely." She turned back to Philip. "I thank you for your thoughtfulness. It is a wonderful gift and yes, I will have new gowns made and one for Beatriz too."

Beatriz smiled and curtsied.

"I am glad you approve." Philip turned to the room. "Now let us feast, enjoy good wine and music, and celebrate the joining of Burgundy and Asturias and the families Habsburg and Trastámara."

The doors burst open and there was a round of applause as servants carried in platters of roasted pheasant, woodcock, and venison. There were trays of fig-stuffed apples, cheese, bread, and pickles. Glass bowls of sugared almonds and candied spices were set about along with lettuce, poached quince, roasted carrots, and turnips soaked in honey.

Delicious scents filled the air and Philip breathed deeply as he looked around. For a moment, a stabbing pain caught in his chest. His father wasn't with him on his official wedding day. That hurt. His mother neither, but that wasn't her fault. Both absences were a darkness that sometimes weighed heavily on him like a wet, woolen cloak. But today wasn't a day to brood. It was a day to celebrate and then later, he'd lie naked with his sweet wife and have her panting his name all over again.

Music started, a flute, and he took his seat at the head of the feasting bench alongside Joanna. Her knights moved with her, never far away, always silent. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to them. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to. When she'd been his wife for a while, produced an heir, then surely, Belmonte would see that he was more than capable of protecting her.

"The food is delectable," she said. "Your cooks are very skilled."

"They are the best in the world."

She popped a wine-soaked cherry into her mouth. When she'd swallowed, she leaned close. "You seem to think that everything you have here is the best in the world."

"It is."

"How can you know? Have you traveled the world?"

"I have been told by my grandmother, who hails from England."

"Ah, I see." She turned and stabbed at a piece of meat.

"What does that mean?" he asked. "‘Ah, I see'?"

"You have been told . Do you not wish to travel the way Columbus has?"

"I will travel out of necessity. For war, to conquer, to discuss matters of politics and Habsburg business."

"Will you come to my homeland?"

"Perhaps, if the need to arises."

She nodded. "It is very hot, hotter than here, and the grasses dry out in the summer. They turn the color of your hair and blow in the scorching winds."

"‘Scorching' winds?"

"Yes, the wind is hot. But the olive trees like it." She paused. "The horses and dogs, not so much. We rest in the afternoon. Take to our bedchambers and wait until the sun begins to slip from the sky and takes with it the heat of the day."

"And in the winter?"

"It is cold, it is true." She paused. "But I suspect I will be colder here, this winter."

He leaned close and kissed her cheek. "I will keep you warm, my love. Do not fear."

"I will hold you to that." She touched his arm, her small, slender fingers delicate on his dark tunic. "Every night."

He caught his grandmother watching him and smiled at her. He hoped she approved of his new bride as much as he did.

"Tell me about your family," he said, reaching for a thick slice of venison.

"My parents are pious monarchs with great ambitions to spread the word of God in their new lands."

"It is a noble cause."

"We were raised to be God fearing, to confess our sins."

"And I know you committed at least one." He popped in some food and studied her face as he chewed.

"Archduke," she said with a frown and glancing around. "I beg you not to talk of such things, of our private conversations."

"No one is listening. No one is interested in us." He grinned.

" Everyone is interested in us and everyone is always listening." She stared straight ahead. "That is what I was frequently told growing up in court. And it is why we took lessons in etiquette and good manners, amongst other things."

"What other things?"

"Mathematics, grammar, reading, law, history, languages." She paused. "The list goes on."

"So…go on." He was curious to know his wife's skills.

"Classical literature and poetry, Juvencu and Prudentius, Seneca and the Saints."

"That is a lot."

"Needle arts, drawing, dancing, clavichord and monochord, Latin—"

He laughed. "And French too. I cannot fault your accent."

"I thank you." She glanced at the window. Sunlight still poured in. "And outside pursuits were not forgotten, hawking and hunting, equestrian skills—"

"I do not wish you to ride."

She frowned at him and crossed her arms. "But I love to ride."

"It is my wish that my wife, the mother of Habsburg heirs, does not ride." His jaw tensed and he gripped his goblet of wine. A flash of a memory popped into his head. The memory of his mother's accident, which she'd never recovered from. "Do you hear me?"

"Ah, Archduke, may I please offer you and your honorable bride my sincere congratulations?" Thomas stood at his side.

"Thank you." Philip nodded.

Thomas leaned closer, his hand on Philip's shoulder. "A gift that I hope will serve you well." He set a heavy silver candlestick holder upon the table.

"How pretty," Joanna said, a smile returning to her face. "I thank you, Thomas—if I may call you that?"

"It is my name, Your Highness." He grinned. "So please, call me ‘Thomas.'"

Joanna smiled then returned to picking at her meal.

"Thank you, my friend," Philip said. "Now I wish you to carry out an instruction." He made a come closer gesture with his fingers.

"Of course." Thomas leaned in.

"Ensure the stables do not allow my wife to ride on the Spanish horses Belmonte and his pesky knights rode in on. In fact, they must not let her ride at all."

Thomas glanced at the knights who stood tall and silent. "I will instruct the groomsmen this very day."

*

The feasting and dancing went on until night had fallen. Philip's legs ached and his head spun with all the wine. So much so that when he fell upon his bed with Joanna, day was breaking and he was snoring within minutes.

When he opened his eyes she was gone. There went his chance to enjoy her sweet body once more.

He rang for hot water, honey, and bread then pulled on his clothes. Where was she? He looked out of the window at the flat landscape that stretched into the distance. There were more clouds in the sky today, but still, it shone bright. Above, a pair of buzzards circled, their graceful outlines in silhouette.

It was then he spotted movement in the distance. Horses. Three of them. They were advancing at pace toward the palace, cantering over the vivid, green lawns.

He placed his hands flat on the glass and peered out, eyes narrowed. It was a gray horse and two bays. Atop the bays were knights; their shining armor was unmistakable. And on the gray was a woman riding not sidesaddle, but legs astride.

"In the name of the good Lord." He sucked in a breath as a shot of anger burst into his veins. Heated and tormenting, it made his ears ring and his heart pound.

He turned from the window and stomped across the room, dragging on a pair of breeches as he went. He pulled open the bedchamber door then stormed along the passageway, thundered down the staircase, and marched for the main door.

Once outside, Belmonte rushed up to him. "Your Grace, you look…angered."

" Angry is too calm a word." He threw a withering look at Belmonte. "I am furious beyond all comprehension." He clenched his jaw so hard, his teeth hurt.

How dare she disobey him like this?

How dare she test his good nature?

"Thomas! Thomas! Where are you?" Philip didn't wait for a reply. He paced across the formal entrance area, down more steps, and made his way in the direction of the horses.

Belmonte rushed at his side. "What has made you furious? Can I help the situation?"

"It is the horses you brought that made the situation." He clenched his fists.

"I do not understand."

"I told my wife I did not want her to ride, yet there she is, as clear as day, making haste on horseback…and for what? Pleasure?"

"She has always ridden, Your Grace. And a very good rider she is too."

"I will not stand for it!"

"Because she is not using a sidesaddle?"

"It has not helped the situation."

The horses turned toward them and slowed.

Philip's fears were confirmed. It was Joanna atop the huge, gray steed—its neck as strong and thick as a carthorse and its withers standing at a man's chin level.

"Wife of mine." Philip shoved his hands on his waist and stood with his feet hip-width apart. He squinted up into the sunshine. "Dismount this instant."

She rode toward him and halted with an innocent smile upon her face. "Good morning, husband."

"Your Grace. Your Grace." Thomas rushed up, cheeks red and out of breath. "I'm sorry. I…"

"You what?"

"Fell asleep after the festivities. My plan was to visit the stable first thing this morning and tell—"

Philip held up his hand, silencing him. He should have done the job himself.

"What is it?" Joanna asked.

"Get down from the horse." He had to consciously unclench his teeth to speak. " Now ."

"You are angry?" Her smile dropped.

"Get. Off. The. Horse."

She let out a sigh then did as he'd asked, slipping nimbly to the ground still holding the reins. Her gown was creased as it fell to her ankles covering her lower legs, which had been exposed.

The two knights, close behind her, also dismounted. One of their horses let out a neigh, as though sensing the tension.

"I don't know why you are so vexed," she said. "This is a beautiful Spanish horse who has served Belmonte well and is a safe ride. Honestly, Philip, I'm a good rider. My parents put me in the saddle the day after I took my first step."

Each word enraged him further. It was all fueled by fear. Fear for her. Fear for himself at the thought of losing her. Fear of her being broken by a fall. His stomach contracted. Sweat popped on his forehead and under his arms.

"I cannot stop riding, which is one of my favorite pursuits, just because—"

"Silence." His fists clenched. He was aware of Belmonte taking a step closer. He didn't care. His frustration at being disobeyed was all-consuming now. "I ordered you not to ride, just yesterday. Then this morning, I wake and you are not in our marital bed, you are outside, riding, doing the very thing—"

"I am not good at taking orders." She tilted her chin and glared at him. The horse shook its head and pawed the ground.

"Why. You…" He raised his hand and stepped forward, reaching for the reins. He had to get her away from the giant horse, away from Belmonte, so he could explain his fears in private.

But the moment his arm lifted higher than his head, his movements were stopped.

The slice of metal on metal as two swords were withdrawn screamed through his ears. Between one heartbeat and the next, the steely tips of the knight's weapons were tucked beneath his chin. If either one swiped an inch, he'd be dead.

He stilled instantly.

"How dare you?" Philip's nostrils flared and his mouth dried. Cool metal prodded dangerously near his life blood. "Belmonte. Tell them to back off," he managed, glaring at the knights.

Belmonte, hand on the grip of his dagger, looked between Joanna and Philip and then at the knights. "Your wife's protectors clearly consider you to be a threat to her wellbeing in this moment."

"I said… tell them to back off ." Philip didn't dare move. He was fond of the blood vessels in his neck.

Thomas, who had also drawn a dagger in preparation of protecting Philip, snapped at Belmonte, "You dare to threaten the archduke like this, on his own land?"

"Our loyalty is to Joanna of Castile," Belmonte said, his deep voice low and menacing. "Though I will agree, this situation is not ideal."

"Not ideal." Joanna turned and frowned at the knights. "Remove your swords from my husband's neck. Immediately."

Nothing.

"I command you." She stomped her foot. "Remove your weapons."

Still nothing.

"I believe a little reassurance from your husband in necessary, Your Highness," Belmonte said.

"He was not going to hit me or hurt me. My husband is a kind and gentle man, I know that already. He was reaching for the reins." She slipped the reins into Philip's still-raised hand. "See. Like this."

"I want her away from this horse so she does not get hurt by it," Philip managed as he curled his fingers around the leather. "Why would I hurt her when that is my biggest fear?"

No one spoke. Philip could hear his pulse in his ears. Sunlight glinted off the two blades and the narrow slits of the knight's helmets gave them an ethereal quality.

Then, as quickly as the weapons had appeared, they were gone. Slid back into their sheaths.

"My love." Joanna stepped quickly up to him and touched his neck. "Are you hurt?"

"No." He closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself. So many emotions charged through him—relief, anger, indignation, surprise—it took a few breaths to control them.

"I will not ride again," Joanna said. "Now I have seen how it disturbs you."

"For that, I would be grateful." He opened his eyes. The tremble in his limbs, the fight instinct, was reducing. "Now let us go back to the palace, where we can conduct ourselves with a little more civility." He threw a glare at Belmonte and then curled his arm around his wife's small waist and pulled her fragile body toward his. He kissed her temple. "And I wish us to be alone. It's like being in a battlefield being wed to you."

"You are dramatic." She giggled and pressed her hand to his bare chest as she leaned close. "Though as you said yourself, I am not just some girl of the court, I am Joanna of Castile, third in line to the kingdom of Asturias and of royal blood. I am everything you need and more."

He studied her sparkling eyes—they were full of confidence and ambition. She was indeed unique and he knew in that moment she'd keep him on his toes. She'd keep life at the palace interesting. Very interesting.