The Blacksmith's Wife by Elisabeth Hobbes Page A

suppress the smile that came to his lips at what he saw. She lay on her side with one leg drawn up, the covers failing to hide the tantalising curves of her buttocks. One hand was tangled in the flaxen drift of hair that spread wide about her. Her face showed none of the anxiety that had twisted it the previous night when she had offered herself to him.
    Hal went downstairs where the innkeeper’s wife provided him with a large bowl of hot fried chunks of bread and milk.
    ‘Your wife will be hungry this morning, sir,’ she said with a knowing chuckle as she slipped a slab of honeycomb into the bowl.
    Hal agreed pleasantly. He watched the comb begin to melt into the bread, wondering what the woman would say if she knew he had spent his night on the cold, wooden settle rather than in the warm arms of his pretty bride.
    When he returned to the room Joanna was awake and sitting up plaiting her hair. She jumped as Hal entered the room. Her eyes widened and her hands moved instinctively to draw the counterpane higher. She had completed one side before he came in and the thick braid lay neatly bound behind her ear. The other side was loose, the pale hair falling over her shoulder in a manner that made Hal long to slip his fingers through the silken mass.
    ‘You don’t need to do that,’ Hal said. ‘I told you last night I don’t force myself on unwilling women.’ The fact his infrequent companions were never unwilling crossed his mind.
    Joanna said nothing but returned to braiding her hair. Hal put the bowl on the table, drew up a stool and watched her fingers moving swiftly and surely. He took a chunk of bread and ate it hungrily. When Joanna had finished her braid, Hal hooked his foot round the second stool and pulled it closer to the table.
    ‘Come join me,’ he invited.
    Joanna climbed from the bed and obediently padded across the room barefoot and wearing only her chemise. Hal’s throat tightened as he stared at the contours he could see beneath the thin linen.
    Joanna sat on the edge of the stool and selected the smallest piece of bread. She nibbled it slowly, keeping her eyes on Hal who munched his own with enthusiasm he didn’t feel. He pushed the bowl closer to Joanna who took another, larger chunk this time, eating it with an expression of pleasure. A small trail of honey dribbled temptingly down her slender fingers. Hal pictured himself slowly licking it away and wondered what Joanna would do. Scream or faint, in all likelihood, or worse, quietly and obediently submit to him as she had begun to do the night before. Visions of passionless nights and silent days stretching down the years ahead of them filled Hal’s mind and an overwhelming feeling of frustration enveloped him. He pushed himself from his chair abruptly.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ Joanna asked in alarm.
    ‘Everything,’ Hal admitted. ‘This marriage was a mistake. I knew it before I even spoke to your uncle but I ignored my doubts. Last night you recoiled from me with such repulsion.’
    Joanna jumped to her feet and faced him, hands on hips. ‘It’s far too late for regrets now!’
    ‘If it was within my power to undo it I would,’ he said.
    ‘You would undo it? You!’ Joanna cried. ‘Unfortunately there is no way to do that.’
    Her voice was high. She sounded on the verge of breaking down. Perhaps she was. Hal wouldn’t blame her.
    ‘You could sue for an annulment,’ Hal suggested, his stomach curling at the thought. ‘You have grounds. I refused to consummate the marriage after all.’
    Joanna’s face lit briefly. Would she do it? The humiliation of all that was implied would be hard to bear, but Hal would endure it if it meant the end of this farce.
    ‘No,’ Joanna said bitterly. ‘What other prospects do I have? I cannot return to my uncle’s house and no one else will have me.’ Tears welled suddenly. ‘For good or ill, I am your wife.’
    Hal looked away, unwilling to see her large, blue eyes full of sorrow. She took a