by Sara Bennett
Jenova had been staring into Baldessare’s gray eyes as she’d spoken. She saw comprehension spark, a tiny flame in the familiar coldness, and then it caught and flared and exploded into a truly terrifying blaze of fury. The air about him seemed to hum like a violent, gathering storm.
As her words stumbled to a close, a hushed silence fell. No one spoke, not Alfric and not Rhona. It was as if they were waiting.
The storm broke.
Baldessare sprang to his feet, his face the color of overripe plums, and he began roaring with anger. “What is this? What worm have you in your head, you stupid woman!”
Jenova jumped, her breath catching in her throat. She glanced sideways at Rhona and Alfric, but they had their heads bent, sitting still and silent, as if by doing so they could prevent their father’s anger from settling upon them. Clearly Baldessare was used to getting his own way. Well, thought Jenova, he will not rant and rave here in my hall—he will behave himself or he can leave!
“Do not shout,” she said sternly and also rose to her feet, although her knees were trembling. She was a tall woman, and now she drew herself up proudly. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Reynard was standing, too, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. The knowledge that he was there gave her added strength.
“You will marry my son! You have promised to marry him and you will do so!” Baldessare was beyond reason. His anger was a scalding wave, flattening all within reach.
He took a step toward her. Jenova wondered if it was possible he would strike her, or snap her neck, before her men could stop him. Despite that possibility, she refused to move back. Her own voice lifted, with her courage, to the challenge. “I did not promise any such thing! I did not give my word, and I have signed no marriage contract. I will not marry your son, and you cannot make me.”
“You have lied to me, you bitch, you—”
“I have lied to no one. I have changed my mind.”
Lord Baldessare was so close that she could feel his body shaking with his fury, and his face was mottled with it. “Be very careful, my lady,” he said, his breath heaving in his chest and whistling through his teeth as he attempted to control himself. “Be very careful what you do and say. No woman has ever denied me. I am Baldessare and I will triumph.”
“Are you threatening me?” Jenova demanded, still refusing to step back, although every muscle in her body was screaming at her to do so. “You forget, the king is my friend. If you hurt me, you hurt him. That is treason, my lord.”
Baldessare’s gray eyes narrowed, and he withdrew slightly. His face lost some of its hideous color, and cunning tempered his ardor. Alfric and Rhona remained seated, quaking, leaning against each other as if to gain strength, and even in the throes of her own fear, Jenova found something pitiable in the sight of theirs.
“Jenova?”
Henry! He had come to her after all, and the sound of his voice had never been so welcome. His hand closed on her shoulder, heavy and warm, giving her vigor, assuring her without words of his protection.
Lord Baldessare’s eyes grew hard and savage as he looked beyond her to Henry, but this time the feeling was contained. Slowly, he nodded his head. “Aye, I see how ’tis,” he said between gritted teeth. “Once more Lord Henry steals what is mine for his own gain! But this time I will not allow him to get away with it. Beware, Lady Jenova, if you put your trust in this man! He is a liar and a thief, and worse. No matter how grandly he dresses himself and how many jewels he acquires, the filth that sticks to him will always befoul the air around him. And those who would be his friends.”
Baldessare gave Henry a final, fuming look, then he turned away, his cloak snapping after him, and strode from the hall.
With a mournful glance at Jenova, Alfric jumped to his feet and followed. Behind him, her chin held high, Rhona also retreated. In the length of time it took Jenova to take a couple of restorative breaths, the Baldessares had left the great hall of Gunlinghorn. Now once again there was silence, but this time no one seemed willing to break it.
It was done. It was over. Her betrothal to Alfric was no more. Jenova was free.
The warm hand on her shoulder was removed. Henry. How could she have forgotten Henry? Jenova turned and found his blue eyes bright and frowning behind her, his handsome face tight with anger.
“Sweeting? I commend you. What lucky thing have you said to cause the rout of the Baldessares?”
Jenova gave a shaky laugh, but the tears shining in her eyes were not happy ones. “Oh Henry, Henry, have I done the right thing? I have told Lord Baldessare that I cannot…I will not marry his son.”
Henry went still.
Jenova was sure she could actually see the calculations turning in his mind, the cogs wheeling furiously behind the sudden blankness in his eyes. She was not certain she wanted to know what he was thinking, what his clever brain was plotting. She needed him now as an ally and a friend; she did not want to scare him off with the idea that she expected more of him than he was willing to freely give.
“I told Baldessare my reason was nothing to do with Alfric,” she went on carefully. “I told him that I had decided I did not wish to wed again, not yet, not now, not to anyone.”
“And is that true?”
He was watching her, scrutinizing her, wondering whether or not to trust her. What had she expected? she wondered wildly. A declaration? An offer from him to step into Alfric’s place? Had she really believed Henry would do that? Was she such an innocent fool? It seemed that she must be, because Jenova knew that one of the reasons she did not want to wed Alfric was that he could never compare to Henry.
But for her own sake, and the sake of her pride, Henry must never, never know that she had considered, even for a moment, whether he might make marriageable material.
“Of course it is true,” she said, meeting his eyes without blinking. “Yestereve, I saw Alfric and he…he frightened me, a little. I realized then that he wasn’t the man I wanted by my side here at Gunlinghorn. Or standing in lieu of a father to Raf! Better to remain a widow than to take the risk of aligning myself with someone who will do me and my son harm.”
“I know that no man can ever replace Mortred.”
His eyes were so blue, reaching into her mind, searching her heart. In another moment she would blurt out the truth, and Jenova could not bear that. She had to escape. Hurriedly she turned and began to walk away. Let him think she was overcome with grief at the memory of her husband. Better that than the truth….
“You said Alfric frightened you, Jenova? In what way?”
Henry was following her! Of course he was; he would not let her go that easily. He knew her too well. He knew she was keeping something from him, although he seemed to have settled on her encounter with Alfric rather than Mortred.
Jenova walked faster. “He was so intense, so angry, and then the next moment he was almost in tears. He was so afraid of what his father would say if I didn’t wed him. His fear far outweighed any concern he might have had for me.” Briefly she glanced over her shoulder, noting Henry’s frown. “I think that for Alfric our marriage was simply a way to please his father. As I lay in my bed last night, I realized that I did not want a husband who cared only for pleasing his father, Henry. I wanted a man who cared about pleasing me.”
“I see.”
Jenova wondered if Henry really did see, and prayed not. She managed to throw him a smile as she reached the door to the kitchen. “I have matters to attend now, Henry. We can discuss these events later, when I feel calmer.”
He halted, and although he returned her smile, it was missing its usual warmth. He looked away from her, beyond the door, and there was something bleak in his face that she had not seen there before. Something that caught at her heart and squeezed.
She hesitated, on the brink of escape.
“Henry? Surely you do not take any notice of what Baldessare said? When he called you a liar and a thief? And the rest? He is a vicious pig, flinging mud at whoever is in
his path. I cannot believe you would let the words of a man like that wound you….”
His eyes had returned to hers, and now there was a gentleness in them that warmed her more thoroughly than any fire could. “If you do not believe him, then that is all that matters to me, sweeting. In truth, I was thinking of what I would like to do to him, but that will wait. Go and see to your household, and I will find your son. After he has played with the kittens, I promised him a trot about the bailey on Lamb, and I am sure Lamb is stomping with impatience.”
She gave another shaky laugh. “I am sure he is. Thank you, Henry. You have been very…kind to Raf.”
Henry lifted his eyebrows. “Lord Henry of Montevoy ‘kind’? Mmm, mayhap. In truth I do find Raf amusing company. He is not at all like Mortred, you know. Oh, in looks he is a little, and his smile, but his character is all his own.”
“I know, and I am glad for it!”
Henry’s frown returned. “Jenova?”
Jesu, she had said more than she’d meant, and now he would ask her more questions! She waved her hand at him as she turned away, saying she must go and ignoring his call. But as she hurried toward the kitchen, Jenova felt his curious eyes burning into her back, and she knew in her heart that she was only forestalling the inevitable.
Henry wondered what Jenova could have meant.
I know, and I am glad for it?
Did she not want Raf to resemble his father? But she had loved Mortred! Hadn’t she? Henry well knew that she had mourned him and refused to marry again. She had refused even to contemplate it, until now. He had hoped that her love for Mortred had been the real reason she had rejected Alfric and caused such a scene. That she had suddenly been struck by a realization that Alfric was not, and never could be, Mortred.
Her other explanation, that she had had an abrupt change of heart, was plausible enough but very unlike her usual self. Jenova did not sway like a tree in the wind—she was a practical woman of fixed opinions. Surely she must have known what Alfric was like when she’d first set eyes on him? She was certainly not blinded by love for him; the reasons for her marriage, as she had recounted them to Henry, had been clear and precise. How could the scales have fallen from her eyes when they’d never been there in the first place?
No, there was another reason. Something else had happened to change her mind. If she had not refused Alfric because of Mortred, or a sudden realization of what he was, then what?
Henry was aware of a shaky feeling inside. A niggling, fearful doubt. He recognized what it was, that dark worm tunneling its way through his heart. He was afraid that Jenova had refused Alfric because of him. Because of what they had done together in Uther’s Tower; what they were still doing, whenever they had the opportunity.
Did she, somewhere in her secret woman’s heart, hope that Henry would ask her to marry him? That they would, somehow, despite all the odds against them, live happily ever after?
If that was the case, then she was doomed to be disappointed. Henry knew he would not make any woman a good husband, especially not a woman he cared about as much as he cared about Jenova. He was far too concerned for her happiness to place himself in a position where he could hurt her. Oh, he wasn’t sorry she had refused Alfric and sent Baldessare off in a fury. He had never believed Alfric was the man for Jenova.
But neither was Henry.
And yet Henry knew, with a sickening clench in his belly, that in the circumstances, his jubilation that Jenova was no longer planning to wed Alfric was excessive. And it was not just because he did not feel Alfric was good enough. It was because now he, Henry, would not have to stay away from Gunlinghorn just because Alfric was here. He could visit just as usual and see Jenova. He would still be able to take Raf up upon his stallion, enjoy the boy’s admiration and smiles, and make him extravagant promises. For Henry, life could go on much as before.
He was happy with an outcome that had made Jenova unhappy, and he despised himself for it but could not seem to help feeling it.
Baldessare was right. He was not a good man. He was a liar and a thief; a man who reeked of unwholesome secrets. And if that reek did not quite contaminate his friends, friends like Jenova, then his secrets would certainly cause her to eye him with disgust were she ever to discover them. She would turn her back on him and never speak to him again.
Does Baldessare know?
The question was the one he had asked himself last night and dismissed, as he did now. Baldessare was the sort of man who, if he had something to use against Henry, would use it immediately. He was impulsive—not much of a plotter or a planner. It was one of the reasons Henry did not consider him particularly dangerous—he had more bluster than substance.
Threats like those Baldessare had thrown out would not hurt Henry. He must do better than that, Henry thought as he turned about, only to bump into someone standing directly behind him.
“Reynard!” He pushed his man impatiently aside and continued back across the great hall, with Reynard now in pursuit of him.
“My apologies, my lord,” Reynard said without a hint of it in his voice. “I was worried for Lady Jenova. Lord Baldessare was like a man possessed of more than one evil spirit.”
“Aye.” Henry paused and glanced at him with a frown. “Do you think his anger will cool?”
“I think he is the sort to build on it, adding twigs, until it blazes all the brighter.”
“Very lyrical, Reynard,” Henry mocked. “So you do not think Baldessare will sit wringing his hands over this matter?”
“Nay, I do not.”
“Then you do not believe we should return to London just yet?” he went on thoughtfully, as if it was something he had been considering. “I was thinking it was time to go back to court. There is the matter of the earls and their plotting….”
Reynard met his eyes, and Henry saw the full knowledge there. Reynard knew a lie when he heard it, and knew what was expected of him in return. “Leon would send for you, surely? I think we should stay at Gunlinghorn as long as we are needed.”
That was the answer Henry wanted. Very good. Then why was the churning sensation in his belly increasing, and why were his muscles rigid and tense? Henry knew it was in his own self-interest to leave now, return to the life he excelled at and understood, the life he had mapped out for himself when he was thirteen years old. Then he had been the phoenix rising from the ashes.
Did he really want to burn again? To lose all he had gained by stepping back into the flames?
“You are right, Reynard,” he said with a sigh. “We should stay at Gunlinghorn. As long as we are needed.”
“Lord Henry?” Raf’s warm little hand slipped into his, and Henry looked down with a smile. “Can we ride Lamb now?”
“My apologies, Raf. Come then, let us not keep Lamb waiting any longer.”
As he began to walk away with the boy, Raf said, “I heard you tell that big man you would stay here as long as you are needed. Does that mean forever?”
Those green eyes, so like Jenova’s, met his with a shy hope in them that made Henry wish he had kept silent. “No, Raf. It means as long as I am needed.”
Raf nodded, but he looked doubtful. “And is it a promise? Mama always says that a promise cannot be broken, that one must be very careful about making one, because then you are bound by it forever and ever.”
“Your Mama is right, Raf. A promise is binding forever.”
“So is it a promise? Will you stay here with us?”
There was no escaping it, Henry thought bleakly. He had never known anyone, man, woman or child, as stubborn and determined as Raf when it came to having an answer.
“I promise I will stay as long as I am needed,” Henry said.
Raf opened his mouth to argue further, but he must have seen a warning in Henry’s eyes, because he suddenly changed his mind and began to talk about the stable cat’s kittens.
Just as well, thought Henry. He would not lie to the boy in this matter, but neither did he wish to hurt him
. It surprised him to realize that he had been kinder to Raf than himself. I am becoming a better man, he told himself with some mockery. Jenova has turned me into a saint.
“Why are you smiling, Lord Henry?” Raf demanded.
“’Tis naught, Raf. I have just thought of something amusing.”
“Tell me then.”
“No, no, Raf. You wouldn’t understand. I hardly do myself….”
Chapter 10
Lord Baldessare was far from pleased. As he strode into his hall at Hilldown Castle, he thought of Gunlinghorn, with its borders abutting his own land, the rich pastures and meadows of the Vale of Gunlinghorn, and its harbor, which could take trading ships with goods from as far away as Venice. Aye, it was a jewel worth having!
And Baldessare wanted it. He had almost had it in his grasp—and completely within the law, too!—only to have been thwarted by a silly woman and a pretty, prattling fool. He felt infuriated, bereft, but he also felt all the more determined. He was not a man to give up his possessions without a fight, and in his own mind Gunlinghorn already belonged to him.
He would not give up.
“She will marry you, whether she wants to or not!” he turned and shouted at his son.
Alfric, who was following behind him, cowered. “I did n-nothing t-to—” he began in a shivering voice.
“Be silent!” his father roared.
Alfric glanced wildly at Rhona. Thank God, he thought, that Rhona was there! She had always come to his aid, ever since he was a child. She had always done her best to protect him, sometimes even taking the thrashings that had been meant for him upon herself. He knew well enough that of the two of them, she was the stronger one, the braver one. If anyone could turn their father’s foul mood about and into calmer waters, it was Rhona.
“Father, you know this is not Alfric’s fault,” she said now in soothing tones. “He has done everything you asked of him. ’Tis that bitch, Jenova, who is at fault. She has a fickle nature and is easily influenced by her friends. One friend in particular.”