MARIAM DID NOT APPROVE of Joanna’s decision to seek Richard out. It was easy enough to understand. Who better to ask for military aid than the Lionheart, after all? So Joanna’s logic could not be faulted. But Raimond had not wanted her to do it, and Mariam thought she ought to have deferred to him on this. Whilst Raimond seemed more good-natured than many husbands, she was sure he still had his share of male pride, and male pride was so fragile it could be bruised if breathed upon—or at least it seemed that way to Mariam.
Glancing over at Joanna, she sighed. It would have been better to coax Raimond’s consent. Joanna would have been able to win him over had she only been patient. Joanna’s patience could not have filled a thimble, though. For certes, she’d proved it by insisting upon leading that attack upon the rebel stronghold at Les Casses instead of waiting for Raimond to return home. He’d been furious when he’d found out, and Mariam could not blame him. They’d made their peace, of course, most likely in bed. But did Joanna realize how lucky she was to be wed to a man who was also her lover? Mariam sighed again, knowing that would have been true, too, for her and Morgan had fate been kinder.
“My lady?” Sir Roger de Laurac, the captain of Joanna’s household knights, reined in beside the two women. “There is a stream up ahead. I would suggest we stop to water the horses if that meets with your approval.”
“Of course, Sir Roger,” Joanna murmured, smiling. Roger was new to her service, selected by Raimond, and she had to admit her husband had chosen well. She was confident Roger would have offered up his life to protect her, but he was also unusually discerning. He’d clearly noticed how easily she was tiring these days and he’d begun to find excuses to halt so she might rest, while taking care to spare her pride. It was frustrating enough that her energy seemed at such a low ebb in the past fortnight, and she was grateful for his tact, not normally a knightly virtue.
After Roger assisted the women from their mounts, Joanna followed him toward a grove of trees off to the side of the road, and once a blanket was spread upon the grass, she seated herself in the shade of an ancient oak, bracing her aching back against the tree’s vast trunk. Mariam joined her, offering to unpack a basket of food. Joanna’s stomach was roiling as if she’d been at sea instead of perched in the sidesaddle of her favorite mare, and she hastily shook her head. She was very thankful that they were only five miles from Poitiers. Roger had already dispatched one of her knights to alert the palace of her arrival, and she hoped there would not be a lengthy welcome, for she wanted only to go to bed.
“Joanna . . .” Mariam hesitated, for Joanna had rebuffed all of her earlier attempts to discuss this mission to find Richard. But she was tired of being kept in the dark. “After Poitiers, where next?”
“To Fontevrault Abbey, of course. If anyone knows where Richard is off shedding blood, it is likely to be my mother.”
Mariam thought she detected the faintest glimmer of a smile and that encouraged her to persevere. “You and Raimond . . . You did not part in anger?”
“No . . . We were not happy with each other, but no longer quarreling. He finally agreed that I could seek help from Richard, saying it was marginally preferable to my leading another expedition against his rebel lords.”
This time there was no mistaking her smile, and Mariam was emboldened to say firmly, “You are very fortunate that he has a sense of humor.”
“I know,” Joanna admitted. A pity her dignity did not allow her to lie down on the blanket and nap, for her eyelids felt as heavy as stones. After a while, she said drowsily, “I cannot blame Raimond. He always warned me he was a lover, not a fighter.”
Mariam sat up, staring at her in dismay. “You mean like . . . William?”
Joanna’s eyes snapped open. “Good God, no!”
They had never discussed it—that fatal flaw in the man who’d been a good brother to Mariam, a fond husband to Joanna. It was too dangerous, for Joanna had realized that if she’d ever given voice to her qualms, she’d be releasing a demon to prey upon the peace of her marriage. William had pursued a very aggressive foreign policy, dispatching military forces to Egypt, North Africa, Greece, and Spain, yet he’d never taken a personal role in any of those campaigns. Theirs was a world in which a king was expected to lead his army into battle, but William had sent men out to die in his name whilst he’d remained safe and comfortable in his Palermo palaces. Joanna had not loved William; love was not expected in royal unions, however. She’d known, though, that she’d have been miserable with a man she could not respect, and so she’d kept that particular door securely shut and bolted.
Mariam was thankful to hear Joanna’s assurances that she did not equate Raimond’s lack of martial fervor with William’s cowardice. Even now that was too painful a topic to explore in the light of day and she said only, “I am so glad you see that.”