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The Knight(37)

By:Monica McCarty


In time she would fill the emptiness in her heart again. She hoped. Though it wouldn’t be with Sir David. After James had left they’d talked, and she knew she couldn’t continue to encourage him in a future beyond friendship. Apparently, whatever it was he’d seen on her face had convinced him of her sincerity. Or maybe it was the horrible scene he’d witnessed in the Hall. He tried to change her mind, and made her promise to send for him if she did, but they both knew she would not.

The man she married deserved to have her whole heart, and until she could pry the last fingers of James’s grasp away, it was not hers to give.

Time, she told herself. Time was the great healer. Time would cure the misery in her heart and give her the separation and clarity of mind she needed.

Until then, she had her family. She was seated in the Hall with her mother, helping her with the intricate embroidery of a new cloth she was making for the dais. Normally Joanna avoided needlework, preferring activities that would take her outdoors, but she had not yet completely regained her strength and tended to tire easily.

She’d just about reached the point that the pleasant quiet monotony turned to boring, however, when her sister Constance came bursting through the door. “He’s here!” she exclaimed excitedly. “He’s returned!”

Her mother furrowed her brows. “Calm down, child. Take a deep breath and try again. Who is here and returned from where?”

Constance did as their mother bid—albeit with an impatient huff—and tried again with only slightly less exuberance. “Sir James.” Joanna’s heart dropped. “Returned from wherever he was serving the king.”

Her mother frowned as she always did now whenever James’s name was mentioned, her eyes flickering to Joanna with concern. “And how do you know this?”

“Because he just rode in to see Father, and Father told me to tell you to have the servants ready some refreshments for his private solar. Apparently they have something to discuss.” Constance’s brows furrowed together. “It must be important, although I don’t think Father is very pleased.”

Joanna didn’t think her heart had beat or a breath had left her lungs since her sister’s pronouncement. Her blood seemed to have frozen solid in her veins.

“Why do you say that?” their mother asked.

Constance lowered her voice. “He was glowering at Sir James, and Father told him they didn’t have anything to talk about.” She shrugged with all the carelessness of an innocent thirteen-year-old. “But Sir James said something to convince him.” She sighed. “Just wait until you see him, Jo, he looks magnificent. I’ve never seen him look so fine. He’s wearing a surcoat with the Douglas arms.”

But Joanna had no intention of seeing him. James had come to speak to her father about business, and probably didn’t even know she was here.

Her gaze shot to her mother. She nodded and Joanna hurried out of the Hall, racing up to her room while her formerly stagnant heart now beat thunderously in her chest.

The next two hours passed in agonizing slowness, as Joanna tried to control her anxiousness, while she waited for the knock upon her door that would tell her he was gone.

She was being ridiculous. When she’d decided to return home, she’d done so with the knowledge that she would not be able to avoid seeing him in the future. She just hadn’t anticipated the future being so soon.

Why was he here? It seemed an odd time to take a break from war with the English king supposedly readying to lead another campaign in the summer. She couldn’t believe King Robert would let one of his most important knights leave at a time like this.

Finally, the knock came. It wasn’t her mother. Instead, it was one of the servants, telling her that her father wished to see her in the Hall. Assuming James was gone, she was shocked when she entered to see him standing beside her father.

Constance was right. He did look magnificent. This was the young lord of Douglas he would have been had the war not come. His hair gleamed like polished ebony, falling in silky dark waves across his forehead, his jaw was freshly shaven, his mail coif and sword shimmered like spotless silver, and his velvet surcoat embroidered with the blue stripe and three stars of the Douglas arms—the azure three mullets argent—was fit for a king. He looked more handsome than she’d ever seen him, but so much the important lord, it made her chest pinch.

She didn’t realize her feet had stopped moving until her father spoke. “Come, daughter. There is no cause for alarm.”

The soothing tones of her father’s voice did little to ease the trepidation mounting inside her.