Joanna by Roberta Gellis Read Free Book Online Page B

 
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Chapter Three
    Even in the late afternoon, the great hall of Roselynde keep was rather dark. The light that flooded in through the western windows was lost in the great space, softening to a dim radiance. One could see well enough, but everything was soft, without hard edges or brilliance. Servants moved without hurry, clearing the remains of dinner from the tables. The best of the leftovers went into baskets to be handed out to beggars at the gates; the small or mangled scraps were scraped onto the floors where the cats and dogs and mice and rats would snatch them out of the rushes.
    There was some noise as the trestle tables were lifted from their stands and piled against the walls, but not much. In fact, the servants were making an effort to be quiet because they wished to listen. Lord Geoffrey was playing and singing, and he was as skilled, many said more skilled, than any minstrel. The clear notes of voice and instrument, although they were not loud, seemed invested with a life of their own and traveled easily, filling the space.
    Geoffrey FitzWilliam looked out into the hall as if he could follow the path of his notes with his eyes.
    Of one that is so fayr and bryght
velud maris stella

__]Bryghter than the dayis lyght
parens et puella

__]I crie to thee, thou saie to me
Leuedy, preye thy sone for me
tam pia

__]That I mote come to thee
Maria
  The repetition of the first verse, having rounded off the song, the last note trembled into silence.
    ‘‘I did not know you could sing in English.”
    Slowly, almost reluctantly, Geoffrey turned his eyes from the dim hall to the bright vignette of Joanna seated at the window. It was an exceptionally warm May. The shutters stood wide and the sun, blazing in at an angle, lit sparkles in the fine beading of perspiration on Joanna’s upper lip and turned her thick braids into rivers of fire. Geoffrey should not be looking at those braids. They should have been decently coiled and concealed under a modest wimple, but Joanna had said flatly after they had returned from a session of sitting in justice that she was through with melting in the cause of propriety. Off had come the wimple; out had come the golden pins; down had tumbled the braids.
    Geoffrey had watched at first with unabashed pleasure. Joanna was usually a pattern of propriety, but when she decided to act outside of the common norm, she did so with such assurance that the unusual seemed to become the only reasonable or rational thing possible. Certainly there was nothing at all provocative in her manner then. Geoffrey was wearing a good deal less than Joanna, having stripped right down to shirt and chausses as soon as he could rid himself of his armor. Cooled wine had slaked one thirst, but now it seemed to be raising another. All the time he was singing, Geoffrey was as aware of Joanna’s presence as if she were pressing herself against him.
    It was odd that this should come over him now. When he had arrived at Roselynde the previous day, he had been decidedly uneasy. He had not seen Joanna since their betrothal on the first of April. The ceremony over, the guests sped, he had done a grueling six weeks’ round of the estates with Ian to summon the vassals and castellans to Whitechurch and to take oath of them that they would obey him. That had been easier than Geoffrey expected. The men all knew him, and they seemed flatteringly pleased at his advancement. Alinor and Joanna had been traveling also, although on a different route, but Joanna had returned directly to Roselynde when   Alinor turned to the west coast to meet her husband and take ship for Ireland.
    After Geoffrey had news of their safe arrival from the returned ship, he had been at loose ends. He was not due to meet the king until the last week of May and, really, he had nothing to do until then. He could, of course, go to Hemel, but he knew his presence there would make his young castellan nervous during his