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The First Princess of Wales by Karen Harper

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CHAPTER ONE On that rare and jeweled day, the great adventure of her life began. The lush blossoms and tender crops of fertile Kent gilded the May morning breeze with their mingled aromas, and nightingale songs floated from the... See more » CHAPTER ONE On that rare and jeweled day, the great adventure of her life began. The lush blossoms and tender crops of fertile Kent gilded the May morning breeze with their mingled aromas, and nightingale songs floated from the nearby forest depths unutterably sweet. Her beloved home, the large, stone-walled house known in the English shire of Kent as Liddell Manor, reflected its gray stones and windows, beams, and brick chimneys in the encircling moat, but beyond the gardens and orchards, the great Kent Road to London beckoned eternally outward. At first in early dawn it seemed no one stirred, but soon enough the slender, blond girl knew, they would all be upon her: then she would go away to whatever lay out there and this gentle haven of peace and freedom would be hers no more. It was not that she was afraid, she told herself determinedly as she stood barefooted at the window in a favorite short linen chemise she had long ago outgrown but still stubbornly slept in no matter how her maid railed at her about it. Joan of Kent, as the shire folk called her, had never been afraid of anything--not yet, at least. Besides, since she was granddaughter to the past King Edward I of all England, she had always known deep insideshe should never be meek or afraid of anything, even if she were a woman. There had not been one thing yet, in all of her life here at Liddell, she had wanted to possess or to do that she had not had or done. That is, not until a fortnight ago when her eldest brother Edmund, lord of Liddell Manor ever since their father had died so long ago, had come riding home from king's service and told her she was leaving Liddell to be reared at court with the king's family. Though the sun did not touch her recessed window yet, she pushed the casement open farther and leaned out on her elbows. Her flat stomach scraped a bit on the thick stone ledge and her bare feet swung free of the thin braided carpet on the floor of her little chamber, but this position gave her the full view of the fish pond and walled herb gardens below as she wanted. Aye, the servants had just finished gathering breakfast from the well-stocked fish pond, and speckled bream or spike-nosed pike would soon enough fill the bellies of the travelers before they all set out for London. "Poor silly fish," Joan murmured aloud as she wriggled back inside and her feet touched the floor. "Saints, you do not have one bit more say in where you are headed than I do! It is out of a quiet pool and into a seething pot for all of us, I warrant." The scolding voice behind her was crisp and shrill, but so familiar in its rich Scottish burr that Joan did not even flinch. "Lady Joan! My own dear lassie, skittering about barelegged and mutterin' rebellions. Aye, I caught yer tone and know yer wayward heart about this honor that's befallen ye!" Joan just rolled her eyes at the wiry, lively old woman, Marta, who had been so many things to her for as long as she could remember--nursemaid, companion, taleteller, playfriend, almost a mother even, since her own lady mother so seldom came out of her room. Joan gave her luxuriant, nearly hip-length hair a wild toss off her shoulder with one hand and shot Marta a sweet and tolerant smile as she sat down hard on the edge of her plump feather bed. "Now, do not scold, Marta, please. It is our last day here together--my last day--and I could not sleep." "Stuff and nonsense, lambie. Ye ha' slept like a soldier fresh out a battle sin' ye were a wee lass. The lord be right, ye know. A young woman grown and ye such a beauty to still be here in this moated hermitage hidden out in the great Weald a green England--well. Lord willin', there be blessings and love out there at th' great royal court just yers fer th' askin'. My lambie, she'll have the whole royal court in whirls afore she be done there, this Marta knows for a truth!" The warm smile faded from Joan's pouting lips as her eyes locked with Marta's. The old woman's taut-skinned face must have once been beautiful and she must have known firsthand about things like love and the ways See less »

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The First Princess of Wales by Karen Harper

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