8 Monastery of St Bavo, Ghent, March 1340

8

Monastery of St Bavo, Ghent, March 1340

While the Queen recovered from John's birth, Jeanette continued to visit the mews to train Frederick. A few times she absconded the bower to watch the knights at their training when she knew Thomas would be there, and her body stirred as she watched him ride. The muscles of the stallion and the man, moving as one. The thrust of the destrier's powerful haunches. The push and pull of Thomas's hips between pommel and cantle, his hands light but firm on the reins. He was perfect in motion and her throat was dry and her pelvis heavy with a melting pain that was almost like flux cramps.

She watched him in the hall when everyone ate together. He would look back and it was like lightning. Feeling the power of her womanhood, she would push out her bosom and jut her hip to gain a reaction from him – teasing, excited by the danger.

There had been no news from Gascony concerning the marriage proposal. Her mother had written, saying she must obey the King in all things, but she had given no indication as to whether or not she approved. She had sent the gift of an embroidered chemise for her marriage chest which Jeanette had barely looked at, stuffing it away and slamming the lid. Her trousseau continued to grow. She had two new gowns, a set of linen bedsheets, a silk coverlet and pillow cloths, and each addition to the tally tilted her equilibrium ever further from a state of balance.

The Queen, although not yet churched, held gatherings in her chamber and often invited some of the favoured knights to lend their company to play at backgammon and chess with the ladies. Ten days after John's birth, the Queen decided on such a gathering, for the day was overcast, cold and wet. Looking forward to the event, which would enliven the afternoon, Jeanette bustled about the chamber, humming to herself, plumping cushions, playing tag with the children and dogs, until Katerine rebuked her for over-exciting them.

Dainty pastries arrived at the chamber door, together with trays of almond-stuffed dates and brightly coloured eggs – the hens were laying well again as the spring advanced. There were small squares of salty cheese, sugared fruits, raisins and nuts. Jeanette stole some of the latter from a silver dish, ate some herself, and divided the others between the Queen's daughters Isabelle and Joan – and was rebuked again by Katerine for lacking decorum. The scolding only made Jeanette rebellious and she poked out her tongue behind Lady Katerine's back, deliberately childish, and made the little princesses giggle.

She retired to her curtained-off bed space and with Hawise's assistance changed her gown ready to welcome the visitors. Her underdress was of deep blue velvet with a gold belt that hugged her hips, and the sleeveless overgown of silky golden damask shone with a filigree pattern of ferns and birds. Hawise coiled Jeanette's thick golden plaits over her ears and set a band of pearls at her brow. Propping up her little ivory hand mirror, Jeanette applied a dab of carmine to her lips and very lightly darkened her brows as a foil to enhance her eyes, and knew with sinful vanity that she looked utterly ravishing.

Satisfied, she returned to the Queen's inner chamber. Musicians were tuning their instruments and the Queen's ladies were putting the finishing touches to Philippa's headdress, fussing around her like bees.

Seven-year-old Princess Isabelle was crying and rubbing her eyes and Jeanette went to comfort her. ‘What's the matter, ma très chère ?' She touched the child's brow and it felt hot and clammy beneath her palm.

‘My belly hurts,' Isabelle whimpered, and without warning vomited spectacularly over Jeanette's beautiful gown.

Isabelle's nurse rushed over and grabbed the child's hand. ‘You've been giving her sweetmeats!' She glared at Jeanette. ‘You know they do not agree with her, yet you persist!'

‘Do not blame me!' Jeanette retorted. ‘You are the one supposed to be watching her!' She stood up, wrinkling her nose at the stench. ‘I scarcely think this is the result of a few dried fruits!'

The Queen intervened, sharply ordering the nurse to take Isabelle away and see to her. ‘Your gown can be cleaned,' she told Jeanette briskly. ‘Go and change quickly, everyone will soon be here.'

Grimacing, Jeanette retired. Isabelle's vomit had soaked the underdress too, and through to her chemise. The smell made her want to retch herself as she stripped off the stained clothing and washed herself in the bowl of tepid rose water that still stood on her coffer. She bundled the chemise away for the laundry women. The gown and underdress would have to be carefully sponged by the wardrobe mistress and then brushed. From the pole above her bed, she pulled down her spare chemise and her red silk gown. The garment had fitted perfectly well at the January parade, but two months later was so tight across her breasts she had to remove the clean chemise and wear the gown next to her skin. Requiring Hawise's assistance to secure the laces and button the sleeves from elbow to wrist, she moved from behind the curtain to call to her.

At that moment, Thomas arrived, bearing two backgammon boards and a soft cloth bag of gaming pieces. Jeanette gasped and froze, her laces unfastened either side of her waist, exposing a pale gleam of flesh, and her nipples clearly outlined where the dress strained across her breasts. One of her braids had come uncoiled when she had been pulling her chemise over her head, and hung down, adding to her dishevelment. Her gasp sent his gaze straight to her; his eyes widened and he dropped the bag, scattering the pieces all over the floor.

Jeanette knew she should turn her back and draw the curtain across, but she faced him and jutted her chin. His gaze dropped from her face to her body and her breathing quickened.

Two of the counters had rolled to her feet and she stooped to pick them up.

He stooped too. ‘Dear God, mistress,' he muttered. ‘What are you doing to me?'

‘Do not blame me!' she hissed. ‘Am I a seer to know you would arrive at this very moment?'

‘I do not know, mistress, you tell me.'

She flashed him a furious look at his hint that she had done this on purpose, but excitement licked through her all the same.

‘What is this?' The Queen's voice whipped the air. ‘Jeanette!'

She leaped to her feet, and Thomas shot to his, his head almost colliding with hers.

‘Madam, I dropped the gaming pieces,' he said, and then pressed his lips together.

‘I was helping him to pick them up,' Jeanette added. ‘I was summoning—'

‘In a state of undress with your laces untied?' The Queen cut her off, her expression furious. ‘Where is your decorum? Go at once and make yourself decent!'

Jeanette fled into her bed space and tore the curtain across, tears of rage blurring her vision at the unfairness and humiliation. On the other side of the curtain the Queen was remonstrating with Thomas.

‘Pick up those pieces, put the boards on the table, and then you may retire,' she said icily. ‘I thought better of you than this.'

Thomas replied in a tone Jeanette had never heard him use before, flat and tight. ‘Madam, I swear to you it is not as it seemed. Indeed, I am your loyal servant and obedient to your will. My apologies if I have offended you and your ladies.'

After a short but pertinent silence, the Queen spoke again, stiffly. ‘Yes, you have offended, but I accept your apology and I trust that it was indeed a mistake of timing and not something less honourable. It will be better if you leave.'

‘Madam,' Thomas said.

Jeanette heard him walking away and then the closing of the door with deliberation. Moments later, the Queen parted the curtain and gave Jeanette a hard look. Behind her stood Katerine of Salisbury with pursed lips, but a thoughtful glint in her eyes.

‘I did not know Messire Holland was there, I swear it!' Jeanette cried. ‘I was summoning Hawise to help with my fastenings and he walked into the room – and then he dropped the pieces.'

‘Well, that is unfortunate,' Philippa said, ‘but you did not have to help him pick them up and expose yourself in that unseemly way. You should have retired on the instant. We cannot have any hint of scandal attaching to you while the Gascony match remains in play. I would have credited you with more sense and I am disappointed.'

‘Yes, madam, I am sorry,' Jeanette said, contritely, but her heart had leaped as she realised she had a way out of the Gascon match.

‘Good, then let that be the end of the matter. Make yourself presentable and we shall say no more.' Philippa withdrew, snatching the curtain across.

Exhaling, Jeanette closed her eyes, and dug her fingernails into her palms.

Hawise hurried in to help her lace her gown, and fasten her sleeves. ‘Oh, my lady!' she said. ‘It truly was not your fault!'

Jeanette shook her head. ‘As the Queen says, it is over and done with.'

Except it wasn't over at all, and even as Hawise rewound her braid and pinned it back into place, Jeanette was remembering how Thomas had been unable to take his eyes from her breasts.

In the stables, two days later, Thomas dismissed his groom and set about attending to his stallion Noir himself. The action of currying the horse's coat, stripping out the winter hair, helped to steady him. He was avoiding people as much as possible, and when he had to interact was curt and taciturn, not lingering to talk but concerning himself with duty. He had stayed away from the mews, although John de la Salle informed him that Jeanette had visited several times to tend her falcon, and had asked for him. He had avoided the hall too, and when obliged to be there had held himself aloof. In the evenings he played dice with his men in the guardroom and tavern, but with only half a mind, and had lost more often than he had won. Angry with himself, he had taken it out on others and Otto had had to drag him out of a brawl last night before the daggers came out. Even a visit to the Gilders had not improved his mood. No matter how accomplished the woman, his need had not been assuaged beyond a numb release that had done nothing for his desire.

He kept thinking about Jeanette standing before him looking like a wanton woman in the midst of being tumbled by her lover, the scent of her body, her breasts, the nipples studding beneath the tight ruby silk, the clear, aquamarine eyes and full, red lips. It was too much.

Was it deliberate? He had no idea. Instinctive perhaps. And part of it was his own spring fever, for she could not have known he would walk in as she was summoning her maid. Then again, she had faced him, brazening it out rather than turning away.

Grimly, he swept the comb along Noir's rump, dragging out swatches of winter hair and dander. The stallion stamped a hoof and Thomas spoke to reassure him, and then, sensing a presence, turned, thoroughly prepared to snap at the groom; but it wasn't a servant, it was Jeanette, and unchaperoned. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dark against the clear sea-blue.

‘Mistress, you should not be here,' he said curtly. ‘Where is your maid?'

‘With your falconer,' she replied. ‘I went to visit Frederick, and Master John said you were here. I left Hawise with him to give them an opportunity to talk for a little while. You must know they are courting.'

‘That is no reason for you to come here alone.'

‘Well, if you would speak to me in the hall instead of ignoring me, I would not have to resort to doing so!'

Throwing down the curry comb, he moved away from the stallion and went to pick up his tunic from the hay pile at the far side of the stall.

‘Just what game are you playing with me?' he demanded.

‘I am not playing games!'

‘Then what is it you want of me, mistress? Let us have done with this charade once and for all.'

She came and stood before him, as close as she had done after the alms-giving. ‘They want to send me away to Gascony to marry, and I do not wish to go. It is not right that I should make my vows and pledge my faith to someone I have never seen and do not know. What am I to do?'

‘Your duty, as we all must,' Thomas said curtly. ‘It has ever been thus.'

‘But it shouldn't be. It is neither right nor fair. I won't let them; I swear I will not. I would rather die!' She closed the last fraction of space between them and put her arms around his neck. ‘I know what I want!'

He knew he should push her away, but their bodies were pressed so close. He could feel the line of thigh and waist, her breasts round and firm, and he knew she must be very aware of his own response to such stimulation. ‘In God's name . . .'

‘Would you marry me, Thomas?' she asked. ‘Would you give me your name?' She raised her face to his.

He gave up the unequal struggle and ceased to think. He did not know if this was part of her game, or for real, but the use of his name, the look on her face, her question, tipped him over the edge, and he kissed her. She made a small kitten sound in her throat and pushed up against him.

The pile of hay in the corner where he had tossed his tunic and cloak now became a place to lie down with her, prickly soft and fragrantly scented. A time-honoured bed for tumbling. Her arms gripped him fiercely, and when he lay over her she moaned and arched her spine. She was innocent, but she was knowing, and made no effort to stop him when he pushed up her skirts. Her legs were long and shapely, and the soft space between her thighs was thatched with crisp gold. He closed his eyes and started to draw back, but she urged him on fiercely. Digging her fingers into his arms. He was desperate, straining, and she was desperate too, her hips making small, needy undulations.

‘Oh God,' she whispered. ‘Don't stop.'

Gasping, he freed himself and pushed into her in a single thrust as if he was meeting an opponent on the tourney field. She wriggled and cried out, but he was beyond anything but the feel of being inside her. It was like charging down the tilt, fully committed. So close, so close. Within seconds he was finished, and the sensation was so swift, so strong, that it was an instinct more than a pleasure, but such a blessed relief that he could only gasp like a landed fish as the sensations continued to flicker, and eventually fade.

Beneath him, she made small, distressed sounds, and as he came to himself he was shocked and ashamed. But even as he diminished within her, he still wanted her. Slowly he eased from her body and covered himself. She sat up and folded her arms around her waist, her head bent, and his feelings of guilt increased fourfold.

‘I do not know what to say,' he said, ‘except that this should never have happened, and I am sorry.'

She shook her head and finally looked at him. ‘I wanted this, and I should thank you,' she said. ‘Now I know what to expect when I go to a husband. It is not so bad, for at least it is swiftly done.'

His guilt thickened, and he even, appallingly, felt an edge of anger towards her because she had pushed him first. ‘You were as eager as I was – I believed you were with me.'

She gave him a baffled, wary look. ‘I was with you,' she replied, ‘but you had forgotten me. I did not expect . . . I did not know it would be so . . .' She swallowed and swiped at her eyes, before scrambling to her feet. ‘I must go. Hawise will come looking for me, and if anyone finds out, they will kill you.' Her voice was breathless with the effort of holding back tears.

He dragged on his tunic and stood up. ‘I have despoiled you,' he said, and drew her back into his arms. ‘We cannot leave it like this. We need to talk; we need to decide what to do. The King entrusted me to protect you, and I have done the opposite, and I am sorry.'

‘Well, I am not,' she said fiercely. ‘I am glad it happened. If you are not, there is nothing more to say. You said yesterday that it was what lay underneath that mattered – and you were right!' Wrenching away from him, she ran out of the stable towards the mews.

Thomas groaned and palmed his face and acknowledged to himself that it had happened because she had wanted it to happen more than he had wanted to stop, and he was the more culpable because he had the experience to know better and be accountable. But done was done and now he must deal with it, even if it meant his death. He was already dishonoured.

Having made sure the stallion was secure, he left at a brisk walk for the mews, not knowing what he was going to say to her. But he was too late. Jeanette and her maid had gone.

Jeanette drew the curtain across her bed space, sat down on her mattress and hugged herself, overwhelmed. Her virginity was gone and she was sore between her legs. She had thought she knew what to expect, but it wasn't this. The experience had been as swift as a stallion with a mare in the breeding pen. When she had gone to him, she had intended that it might happen and that it would be a lever if necessary to cast doubt on her proposed marriage to Armand d'Albret. She had imagined too how it might be in the moment if she gave free rein to all the lovely, melting feelings inside her when she thought of Thomas in bed at night. But imagining was not the same as encountering the visceral reality.

With shaking fingers, she removed her gown and chemise, the latter smeared with tell-tale blood-stains. She was pulling on a clean chemise when Hawise returned from hanging up their cloaks.

The maid's eyes widened and she put her hand over her mouth.

Jeanette handed her the stained chemise. ‘Do something with this. No one must know.'

‘Indeed not!' Hawise was swift to understand the situation through her shock. ‘I shall scrub this myself in cold water and salt.' She set the bundle to one side and quickly helped Jeanette into clean garments and tidied her hair. ‘Mistress, what happened? Did he force you? I thought you were upset when you came to the mews.'

Jeanette shook her head. ‘I knew exactly what I was doing – indeed I pushed him into it . . . but now . . .' Her chin wobbled.

‘Now you wish you had not,' Hawise said.

Jeanette flashed her an angry look, but then her face crumpled. ‘I wish it had been different,' she said tearily. ‘Now I have even less reason to go to Gascony if this is what it is . . .' She looked at Hawise. ‘Have you and the falconer . . .'

Hawise reddened. ‘No,' she said. ‘But almost . . .'

‘I did not realise; I did not understand . . . I still don't.' She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. ‘Whatever happens, I am not going to Gascony,' she said vehemently. ‘I swear it on my soul.'

Hawise looked alarmed. ‘My lady, you should not say—'

Jeanette laughed bitterly. ‘Oh, I have gone far beyond "should not"!'

At a loss, Hawise picked up the chemise. ‘I shall go and deal with this, my lady.'

Jeanette nodded, and Hawise left, a little tight-lipped.

Jeanette went out to join the other ladies and picked up some sewing, keeping her head down, not looking at anyone, feeling sick.

Thomas was absent for the next two days, busy with essential military matters, but he dined in the Queen's hall on the third day at noon. Jeanette had no opportunity to speak with him, for he was in a different part of the hall with the soldiers. Their eyes met several times though, assessing, cautious. After the meal, the Queen summoned Jeanette to rub her feet, and then to read to her, but at last she managed to gain permission to visit her hawk.

‘Do not be too long,' Philippa said. ‘Be back before sunset.'

‘Yes, madam.' Jeanette curtseyed and was out of the door in an instant, fastening her cloak as she flew, Hawise hurrying in her wake.

In the mews, John de la Salle was busy with his apprentice, but there was no sign of Thomas. ‘He has gone to his lodgings to reckon with some accounts,' John said.

Jeanette turned to Hawise. ‘I have to see Thomas alone,' she said. ‘Stay here with John. He won't say anything – no one will know.'

‘My lady, you should not do this.' Hawise shook her head in alarm. ‘It is too dangerous! What if someone does find out?'

‘They won't,' Jeanette said stubbornly. ‘Quick, give me your cloak and take mine, and wait in the mews.'

Hawise reluctantly did as Jeanette asked, persuaded by the opportunity to spend time with John, and not in a position of power to refuse. Jeanette swung Hawise's plain woollen cloak round her shoulders and pulled up the collar to form a shallow hood.

‘I shan't be long.'

‘Be sooner than that, my lady,' Hawise replied anxiously.

Jeanette hurried to Thomas's lodging in the compound, her stomach churning, but her step determined. His sturdy manservant Duncalfe opened the door to her knock, and frowned at her.

‘I am here to see your master on a personal matter,' she said.

Duncalfe's gaze darted and she stood firm, ready to argue, but Thomas came to the door. ‘Leave us,' he told his manservant. ‘But stay on guard and give me good warning of any approach.'

‘Sir,' Duncalfe said, phlegmatically, and without looking at Jeanette, stepped outside, easing his way past her.

Thomas stood aside and Jeanette entered the chamber. Parchments were piled on a trestle table near the window. Thomas's cloak lay across the end of his bed, which was neatly made and smooth.

‘Do not tell me I should not be here,' she said before he could speak. ‘I know what I am risking, and that it involves your life too. You said we should talk, so talk we shall. I hope your manservant is trustworthy.'

‘He is,' Thomas said shortly. ‘Unto death.' He barred the door, went to the wine jug on the table and poured a measure into his cup. ‘We shall have to share.'

Jeanette sat on his bed, removed her own cloak and put it on top of his. ‘I shall happily set my lips to the same place as yours – after all, we have already shared so much more.'

He handed her the cup and regarded her with troubled eyes. ‘I have taken from you what can never be returned, and for that I am deeply sorry and ashamed, for it is a stain on my honour that has dishonoured you also.'

‘I told you, I am not sorry.' She lifted her chin, defiant because she was scared. ‘Done is done, and better you than a Gascon boy. You have been my first, paid for in blood, and that can never be changed.'

He tensed at her fierceness. ‘But it was still dishonourable, and I would not have wished it to happen like that.'

She drank, and returned him the cup. ‘Neither would I, and I have wondered if it is all there is. Is that what binds men and women and fires up priests to write of damnation, and poets of pleasure? If so, I am baffled. I do not know why the Queen smiles when the King has visited her bed. Why does she sleep so long and then stretch like a cat in the morning?'

He turned his head away for a moment. Studying his lean profile, the curl of his hair around his ear, her heart flooded with a raw, painful emotion. If this was love, it was bloody.

‘Jeanette,' he said, and shook his head, clearly at a loss.

‘I want you to show me,' she said. ‘I want to be with you until I can no longer be with you; even if it is only for an hour, it will be for the rest of my life.'

He took a shuddering breath. ‘And if I say we should draw back now and not take a single step further for both our sakes?'

‘Then I shall answer that I have seen you joust and you did not hesitate to dare and that your aim was true. I shall say that what happened between us is only half begun and it cannot be finished when we have only run one course. Shall I call you a coward?'

His gaze brightened with indignation and sparked to match her own. ‘No man would say that to me and survive.'

‘But I am not a man, as well you have discovered. Thomas, you owe me this. You are in my debt and I intend to claim it, one way or another.'

In the silence that followed, Jeanette felt the tension pulling between them like wild horses straining at either end of a taut rope. She left the bed and came to put her arms around his neck as she had done before. ‘I mean it,' she said. ‘With every part of my being. Now mean it with every part of yours – or else cry quarter and leave the field. Which is it to be? Nothing, or for ever?'

‘God help me,' he muttered, and kissed her.

And when their kisses led them to his bed, it was different. She could feel the rapid thud of his heart and hear his shaking breath, but this time he held back. He removed her clothes and she helped him to remove his in a sensual dance until they were as naked as Adam and Eve. She pulled out her hair pins and let her hair tumble down in a skein of heavy gold, and gloried in his soft oath of appreciation. He was at her mercy just as much as she was at his. Even if this was wrong, she had never felt a moment so right, so whole. If they were to joust, then she would meet him full tilt in the lists.

She arched against him, and this time when he entered her it was a smooth glide. He moved against her with taut control and she saw the tension in his throat and jaw and the effort he was making to rein himself in. Filled with power, she rested her hands on his buttocks to feel the movement and watched over her shoulder, head raised to see and to remember.

His movements became more ragged and she strained against him, pulling him closer still, and suddenly she was caught up in a wild surge of delicious sensation that made her cry aloud. He gave a final thrust, and with a sob, hastily withdrew himself and spilled against her thigh, before collapsing, gasping her name into her shoulder.

She lay for a moment, one arm bent across her eyes, and then slowly lowered it and smiled. She reached out and pushed her fingers through his raven-wing hair. ‘Now I understand a little more,' she said, and licked her lips, still tasting his kisses, savouring the experience.

He gave a shaken laugh. ‘It was a close-run thing. I could not have lasted much longer.'

When he had recovered a little, he left the bed and fetched a cloth to wipe them both. She shivered, for the early spring afternoon was cold. He gestured for her to get into bed, then poured some more wine and joined her, pulling up the coverlet. ‘Only for a moment, to get warm,' he said. ‘If they find you gone, there will be hell to pay.'

She wanted to toss her head and say she did not care, but Thomas would suffer the consequences too, as would Hawise. ‘My maid is waiting for me at the mews,' she said. ‘I cannot stay long anyway.'

They drank the wine, sharing the cup. She playfully dripped some on to his chest and then licked it off on the tip of her tongue. He reciprocated, and she shivered; the feel of him tracing lazy patterns on her skin was delectable, and she turned to him when the wine was finished and they indulged in a second bout, where once again he withdrew at the final moment.

Afterwards, he helped her to dress and tidy her hair, his touch delicate. ‘I shall escort you and your maid back to the hall,' he said, sweeping on his own cloak. ‘There shall be no questions.'

When they left his lodgings, the sky was gilded with the flame colours of sunset, and arriving at the mews they found Hawise hopping from foot to foot in agitation.

‘I am in time,' Jeanette said as they exchanged cloaks. ‘I told you I would be back, and Messire Holland will escort us.'

‘It is my duty and my pleasure,' he said. He and Jeanette exchanged swift, conspiratorial glances and hidden smiles.

Their return was smooth. The guards saluted Thomas and the women without a second look, for they were accustomed to Jeanette's visits to the mews, and Thomas was a commander, they saw nothing untoward.

On the threshold, bidding farewell, Jeanette turned to him. ‘I think I need to ride out with Frederick, to further his training,' she said. ‘Shall I see you on the morrow?'

‘Do you feel fit to ride, mistress?' he replied with a gleam in his eyes.

‘Just as far as I desire,' she answered with a mischievous smile and a tilt of her chin. ‘Is that not what you told me?'