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  “I do not believe it,” Joanna said with a smile. “You have never come to see that you are now a very attractive woman, no longer a scrawny child with features too big for her face. Why do you say Simon was not interested in you?”

  “Because he was only ardent when Aliva le Despenser was there to see him,” Barbara replied, her brows going up in challenge.

  “And Guy?” Joanna asked. Then before Barbara answered she went on, “Do not be a fool, my dear. Make a chance to speak to Leicester at the first opportunity. Even if Simon was trying to make Aliva jealous, Guy is the kind who is enraged by refusal. If you leapt at his offer, he would soon be bored and forget you, but if you deny him, he will desire to break your will. Now a word from his father hinting that you have taken his advances too seriously will let Guy turn away from you with contempt. He will enjoy the notion that he is scorning you and depressing your pretensions, so no ill-will will linger in him.”

  “But I would like to arouse ill-will in that nasty, vicious— Oh, I cannot even think of a creature I would soil with comparison,” Barbara protested. “I was about to call him a toad, but I rather like toads. They have such beautiful eyes.”

  “You like all animals,” Joanna chuckled. “I have seen you avoid stepping on an ant or a slimy worm.”

  “You would not see me avoid stepping on Guy,” Barbara remarked tartly. “Slimy or not, worms are very interesting. Guy is not.” Then she caught the anxious expression on Joanna’s face and sighed. “I suppose you are right, but I do not need to think about it while I am with you. Guy will not come here.”

  “No.”

  The sudden flatness of Joanna’s voice made Barbara wish she had stopped after admitting that Joanna was right about telling Leicester as soon as possible that she believed his son was growing too enamored. She had meant only that Guy was not interested enough in her to pursue her all the way to Yorkshire, but it was clear that Joanna had taken the remark to mean that Guy would not come to a manor of his father’s enemy. And before Barbara could think of how to explain, Joanna spoke again.

  “But I do not think you should be here with me.” Her voice trembled just a little. “I have done very wrong to allow you to stay so long. I thought it could not matter for a few days. Hugh was only just gone and you were such a comfort to me. But I have been a coward to cling to you for three weeks. You must go back to your father. It would look very bad for him if—”

  Her voice stuck on the next word and Barbara rushed desperately into speech. “There is no reason at all to drive me out, Joanna. You are just trying to punish me by exposing me to Guy because I will not take your advice and rush off to France to choose a husband.”

  Barbara expected a denial and a heated defense, but her aunt did not respond other than by an urgent pressure on Barbara’s hand and a sharp gesture for silence. Joanna’s head tilted and her whole body stiffened in an attitude of listening. Barbara’s breath caught. She heard it too, now that the sound of her own voice did not fill her ears. Very faintly from beyond the palisade and moat she heard the thud of horses’ hooves and a thin ringing of metal harness. Armed men were passing outside of the manor’s defenses.

  Chapter Two

  Barbara snatched up her work basket as she leapt to her feet and then felt a fool, for there was nothing in it that could protect her. The thought made her feel even more foolish. The troop that had passed was small and could not be dangerous even to the lightly defended manor house. Nonetheless, for a moment she was rigid with fear, staring blankly at the wall until all hint of sound faded. In another moment her panic eased. Barbara became aware that she was standing beside Joanna still clasping the basket to her. She put it down on the bench, picked up the sleeve cuff she had been embroidering, folded it, and tucked it in with the thread, the comb, and the silver mirror.

  “Shall we go in?” she asked, turning to her aunt.

  Having recovered from panic herself, Barbara was shocked to see how pale Joanna had become. She put a hand under her aunt’s arm to support her, but Joanna’s voice was quite steady when she said, “No, I left word that I would be in the garden. The guard at the gate will send any messenger here.”

  Messenger? Barbara did not repeat the word aloud. A messenger did not come with an armed troop, and Joanna knew that. But perhaps the men were only passing the manor. A distant shout—the hail of the guard at the gate, Barbara was sure, although she could not make out the words—ended that brief hope and the faint flicker of expectation that it might be her uncle coming home. The guard would not have questioned him.

  “Perhaps you should go in,” Joanna said. “No one need know you are here.”

  “I will not.” Barbara’s response was immediate. “We are witness for each other if any abuse is offered.”

  Joanna did not reply, and Barbara guessed she had not listened. She was not afraid for herself or for Barbara. Neither moved or spoke again until Hugh Bigod’s old master-at-arms came through the open gate in the inner garden wall and hurried toward them. Barbara could feel Joanna’s arm stiffen in her hand as she braced herself, and her own heart sank again, for she thought the old man looked frightened.

  As soon as he was close enough not to need to shout, he said, “My lady, the Earl of Norfolk begs admittance.”

  “Father?” Barbara exclaimed, feeling an instant of joy and relief. But then she had to tighten her grip on Joanna, who wavered on her feet, and both joy and relief fled.

  “Yes,” Joanna whispered, clutching at Barbara and as the man came forward, his head cocked to show he had not heard her, she nodded.

  “Yes,” Barbara repeated as she steadied Joanna. “Bid him enter and come to us here as quickly as he can.”

  She helped her aunt to sit down and stood beside her, one arm around her shoulders. She could think of nothing to say, no comfort to offer. Tears stood in her eyes and then began slowly to trickle down her cheeks. If her father had come, the news must be very bad, worse than confiscated estates. Uncle Hugh must be in prison or hurt or…or dead.

  “Hugh is safe, whole and safe.”

  Norfolk’s rough bellow, the words shouted from the entrance gate in his eagerness to give good news, was like heavenly music. Barbara ran forward to embrace her father. Joanna, who had bounded to her feet, was barely a step behind.

  “It is not all good news,” the earl warned, sliding his left arm around Barbara’s waist and taking Joanna’s hand in his right.

  “He is not wounded?” Joanna asked, and when Norfolk shook his head, she smiled with clear-eyed joy. “Then I do not care for any other bad news. If he is taken prisoner, I will find ransom for him. I have my jewels and my own lands to draw upon—”

  “You will need no ransom. Hugh is fled to France.”

  “To France—” Joanna looked around as if surprised at finding herself still in the garden instead of packing. “Then I will go—”

  “You will not!” Norfolk exclaimed, dropping Joanna’s hand. “Fool of a woman! I thought better of you, Joanna. There are more important considerations than your desire for your husband’s company.”

  Color flooded into Joanna’s face. “What would you, of all men, know of that consideration?” she asked in a voice Barbara had never heard her use before.

  “I know there has been a major battle at Lewes,” Norfolk roared, “and that any hope the king will ever again rule by his own sweet will, throwing plums to his favorites, is over for good.”

  Pure shock at the cruelty of Joanna’s remark, for her father’s long unhappiness in his marriage and his attempt to free himself from it was public knowledge, had held Barbara silent. It was totally uncharacteristic behavior. Joanna was never cruel. Nor was she ever sharp-tongued, but now Barbara saw her draw breath, clearly to answer as angrily as her father had spoken. Before even more unforgivable words were said, Barbara pushed Joanna back and stepped between her and Norfolk.

  “Joanna!” she cried. “Look at my father’s clothes and his eyes. He has been riding night and day—
have you not, Papa? He has come to protect you and to protect Uncle Hugh as well as he can. You must listen to the whole story before you decide anything. Let us all go in so Father can sit down and have some wine.”

  “Joanna,” Norfolk said, moderating his tone, “King Henry and Prince Edward are now Leicester’s prisoners. In fact, nearly every important supporter of Henry has been taken prisoner. If you go to Hugh in France, your lands will be swallowed up by Leicester’s followers. I intend to lay claim to Hugh’s property. After all, it was my mother’s first but I could offer no reason for taking yours.”

  “My son Baldwin will be released from prison now,” Joanna said angrily. “Will he not be favored with my lands if I go to France? Surely he deserves at least that since he suffered imprisonment in Leicester’s great cause. Or is the high and pure Earl of Leicester so little different from the king he blames? Are you telling me that Leicester too will only gift his own sons and his powerful supporters with the prizes he wrests from those who fought honestly for what they believed right?”

  “At least his sons have roots in this land,” Norfolk began hotly, but stopped when Barbara took his arm, turned him about, and gave him a sharp push.

  “Go in, I beg you,” she cried. “I will be on your heels.” And then, turning to Joanna, “What ails you? Can you not see that you are the only one who can safely try to win permission for Hugh to return? If my father or even Baldwin interceded in Hugh’s behalf, his loyalty would come into question at once. You are no threat, and Leicester will think it right and proper for a wife to try to arrange for her husband’s pardon. Come, Joanna, gather up our sewing, then go and lie down for a little time and recover from your fright. I will see to my father’s care. His temper will also be better for a rest, a clean gown, and a cup of wine.”

  Joanna raised her hands to her face for a moment and uttered a stifled sob, but she dropped them and turned back toward the bench where they had been sitting. As soon as she was sure Joanna would do as she had asked, Barbara ran quickly after her father. She caught up with him outside of the garden. He was staring at the handsome stone manor house from which a thatch-roofed walk extended to the kitchen building. Voices and laughter drifted from the latter, mingling with the occasional bark of a dog from the kennel attached to the near side of the barn and stable across the courtyard and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer from his shed just beyond the pens for animals fattening for slaughter.

  “Hugh has done well with this place,” he said when she took his arm.

  “It is a great favorite with all of us.” Barbara tugged at him gently, and he walked with her toward the house. “One can see out across the hills from the windows of the hall. Come, you will feel better when you have shed that mail and filled your belly.”

  “Will I?”

  “Of course you will.” She hugged his arm affectionately to her side. “You know you are always cross when you miss a meal, and I am sure you have missed more than one, coming in haste from Norfolk.”

  He raised a hand to pull at a thick curl that had snaked its way through the net of gold silk that, as usual, was losing the battle of controlling her hair. “I have not missed any meals, but I admit they were not such as I cared to linger over.”

  “Well, that is the same,” Barbara said, releasing his arm so he could climb the narrow stair to the open door. “Go up, Papa, do. As soon as you have eaten, you will see that matters could be worse.”

  He laughed harshly at that, but climbed the stair without any other reply. Normally Barbara would have taken him into Joanna’s solar, but her father and her aunt would be better apart for a while and Joanna’s bed was in the solar. Thus, Barbara gestured to one of the dozen or so menservants, who were busy about various duties in the hall. The man hurried to her and began to help the earl remove his mail while Barbara ran across the hall into the solar. There she opened a clothes chest from which she drew a surcoat and tunic, a fine linen shirt, and thin, footed woolen chausses.

  Norfolk was stripped to shirt and hose when she came back and was standing at a window with its shutters open to the sweet spring air and sun. He shook his head when she asked if he wanted a bath, and continued to stare out toward the hills, bright green with spring growth beyond the plowed fields, until the manservant brought a basin of water for washing and a towel.

  Turning at Barbara’s touch, he pulled off his shirt and scrubbed his broad, hairy torso with the washing cloth, then let Barbara dry him and slip the clean shirt over his head. When she had tied the sleeves, he pushed off his undergarments under the shirt and sat down in the short window seat. The manor house was a substantial building, but its walls were nowhere near the ten- or twelve-foot thickness of a keep’s. There was room in the inlet bays that held the arched windows for only a single wooden seat on either side.

  As Barbara knelt to pull off her father’s chausses and fit the feet of the fresh pair on, he turned his head sharply. Barbara looked up also and saw Joanna pass among the workers and idlers—who sought suddenly to look busy—through the hall and into the solar.

  “What the devil has got into her?” Norfolk asked his daughter.

  “I am not sure, Papa.” Barbara pulled the fresh chausses up to her father’s knees, letting go when he took the garment from her and got up to draw it up to his waist. “But…”

  He looked down. “But?” he echoed, making clear that he wanted to hear any idea Barbara had, which was not always the case.

  “I think she has fallen in love with Hugh.”

  “Fallen—”

  The word came out in a roar, and Barbara jumped to her feet and put her hand over her father’s mouth.

  “You silly filly,” he went on, but much more softly. “She has been Hugh’s wife for twenty years. Is it not a little late for ‘love’? You have been reading those stupid tales again and are growing addle-witted.”

  “Papa!”

  “Merde!” He turned away toward the window again. “If I had known that Queen Marguerite would take it into her head to have you taught to read, I would never have left you with her in France. You are spoiled. And I am at fault too. I should have married you properly as soon as I brought you home, instead of allowing you to—”

  Barbara put her hand on her father’s shoulder. “Now, Papa, you are not at fault. We have talked before of the complications of getting me married because my lands are in France and I am in King Louis’s gift. Forget about it. I have been content, and I am not dreaming of love. I know it seems strange to say that Joanna has fallen in love with the husband she has had for twenty years, but I have good reason to think so. In any case, she is different from when I lived with her and Uncle Hugh. She never really cared then whether he was with her or not. Now she cannot bear to be parted from him. Papa, would it really matter so much if she went to France?”

  Norfolk turned around, but he did not answer his daughter’s question at once, remaining silent as Barbara pulled on and laced his tunic, slipped the tabard-style surcoat over it, and fastened that with a supple leather belt. He glanced at his sword belt, which lay across the opposite window seat, then around at the hall, but there were only unarmed servants about. His men at the gate and in the courtyard would make sure now that no armed men came in to attack him, and he let his sword lie where it was.

  “Now you listen to me, chick,” he said at last. “I came here for a double purpose, only partly for Hugh’s good. The other part is for the good of the realm—as I see it. I swear to you that I love Hugh and do not wish to see his property despoiled. I intend to have it whole and safe for him on the day he can win a pardon for his misguided support of Henry. But I also intend to make a pardon his only way back to England.”

  “But what has that to do with Joanna?” Barbara asked. “She… Oh, dear sweet Mary, will you hold Aunt Joanna hostage for Uncle Hugh’s behavior?”

  “Yes,” Norfolk said, then laughed suddenly at the stricken expression on his daughter’s face. “But I promise you I do not intend t
o hang Joanna if Hugh works for an invasion or even leads one. In fact, I will take an oath to keep Joanna safe, protect her and the younger children and her lands—by force of arms, if necessary—if she should be declared a traitor for her husband’s crimes, and—”

  “Oh, thank you, Father,” Barbara burst out before she thought. An instant later she drew in an appalled gasp and cried, “Papa! You are a monster!”

  “So?”

  “You know that will tie Uncle Hugh’s hands even tighter because then whatever he does will get you in trouble too.”

  “Not whatever he does. If he strives for the settlement that Leicester has proposed, which will include pardons for all those who will accept the Provisions of Oxford, no one will be in trouble.”

  “I will be in trouble,” Barbara pointed out. “If Uncle Hugh and Joanna suspect I told you how important they have become to one another, they will both hate me forever.”

  “Nonsense. What you said has nothing to do with my decision.” He frowned and shook his head when she started to speak, then raised his brows. “Chick, did you not promise me something to eat when you lured me in here?”

  Barbara turned to look for an idle servant to send for food, only to see Joanna coming toward them leading a manservant carrying a small table and a maidservant with a laden tray. She had been aware of movement in the hall, but there were always people coming and going so neither she nor her father had paid any attention. When Barbara did not answer him, Norfolk looked out into the hall and also saw Joanna. His lips thinned.

  “My lord, forgive me,” Joanna said softly, curtsying low. “I did very wrong to missay you and—”

  “Stop that bobbing up and down,” Norfolk said irritably, gesturing at Joanna to rise, “and do not be more of a ninny than you must. We have been brother and sister for more than twenty years. Do you think I do not understand that you are at your wit’s end with worry? And you might consider that I am fond of Hugh also. Sit.”