The Blacksmith's Wife by Elisabeth Hobbes

with a flourish that reminded Joanna of a conjurer in the marketplace revealing birds from his sleeves.
    With a nod of thanks Joanna turned away. She slipped out of her kirtle and dropped it to the floor. She unpinned her hair, running her fingers through it until it fell freely down her back. Clad only in her chemise, she turned back once more.
    Hal had not moved. His eyes roved slowly over Joanna’s body, eyeing her with unconcealed desire. He must have been watching her all the while. Unconsciously she tightened her grip on her chemise, drawing the ribbons of the neck closer together.
    Hal’s eyes followed the movement and his brows knotted into a frown.
    ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said.
    Joanna nodded. Hal reached a hand to her cheek and stroked it softly. He rested his hands on her shoulders and Joanna realised for the first time how much she was shaking. Hal took hold of both her hands, drawing them gently away from her chemise until they were by her side, still enclosed in his.
    Joanna closed her eyes.
    Let it be quick , she pleaded silently.
    Perhaps not silently after all, as Hal abruptly released her hands. The floorboard creaked. Joanna opened her eyes to find he had moved away. He was leaning over the table with both hands resting on it and his broad back to Joanna. She crossed the room and stood behind him.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. She lifted a hand to touch his back, but stopped short and lowered it again. She stood uncertainly behind him, waiting.
    Hal stood straight and ran his hands through his hair, pulling the tangled curls loose from their cord. He poured a cup of wine and drained it before facing Joanna.
    ‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ He filled both cups and placed one in Joanna’s hand. He saluted her with a bleak grimace. ‘Happy wedding day, my dear wife!’
    Sadness crossed his face. He looked weary and remorse flashed through Joanna. The first time would be the worst but that would only happen once. She sipped her wine for courage, then placed the cup on the table and stood before Hal. With her eyes fixed on the floor she unlaced the ribbon and pulled the neck of her chemise open. Cold air hit her shoulders as she began to ease it slowly down over her body until her breasts were almost exposed.
    ‘What are you doing?’ Hal asked harshly. He seized Joanna’s hands, his grip firmer than before, and prevented her lowering the chemise any further. Joanna lifted her eyes to meet his. His eyes were flashing with fury.
    ‘I made promises to be a dutiful wife and within the day I have broken them,’ Joanna said.
    ‘Put your clothes back on,’ Hal instructed. Joanna opened her mouth to protest but Hal drew her chemise back up. He crossed to the bed and began to pull on his boots.
    ‘What are you doing?’ Joanna asked in confusion.
    ‘I’m going out,’ Hal said. ‘Your promises and “duty” will wait. I doubt either of us would get much pleasure out of anything we do tonight.’
    He walked to the door, took down his cloak and spun it around his shoulders before opening the door. He paused, one hand on the frame. His dark eyes were unreadable.
    ‘Go to bed and don’t fear, Joanna. You are my wife and I will not wait forever, but I am not one to force myself on an unwilling woman. You can sleep safely tonight.’
    He slammed the door behind him and was gone.

Chapter Seven
    H al woke up with an uncomfortable stiffness in his neck. He was slumped along the length of the settle with his cloak thrown over him in place of a blanket. He straightened his legs and groaned. He had not intended to spend his wedding night drinking alone in the corner of a gloomy tavern before stumbling back to the inn to fall asleep alone.
    He opened his eyes slowly. He pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the crick in his neck—he was too tall to sleep on the bench—and stretched his arms wide. Joanna was still asleep in the bed. On soft feet he crept to her side and could not