Kissing the Bride

by Sara Bennett

  Reynard nodded, slowly, as if he truly understood. “Do you believe your father will grant you this freedom? Do you trust him?”

  Rhona smiled a bitter little smile. “I want to. I have to. I have no option.”

  Again he nodded. “Do you trust me?” he murmured in a deep voice.

  “I don’t know,” she managed, her eyes staring into his. What did she see there? Darkness, desire, faraway places.

  He kissed her, a gentle brush of his lips to hers. Her lips parted on a sigh, and he kissed her again, more firmly, their flesh clinging, melding together. Rhona leaned into him, her arms slipping about his neck, and it felt right. Entirely right.

  “Lady,” he breathed against her cheek. “You know I want you, but only if you want me.”

  She caught her own breath, leaning back a little to see his eyes. She could drown in them, she realized. Sink deep into their heavenly darkness, floating in a midnight sky. “I want you,” she said, and wondered if he even realized what she was saying. She didn’t just want his body, although that was a part of it; she wanted him.

  He smiled and gently pushed back her hood, smoothing his hands over her fair hair, kissing her brow like a benediction. “Good,” he said. “Very good.”

  Rhona reached up to undo the ties of her cloak, but he caught her fingers and held them, stilling her. Confused, she tried to read his expression.

  “You do not want to…you do not wish me to…” she stumbled.

  He shook his head, his fingers caressing hers, sending a wave of heat through her trembling body. “Then it would be like the others. I want it to be something, somewhere, special. A proper beginning for two people who mean to spend their whole lives together.”

  “Reynard, we hardly know each other,” she began reasonably.

  “Oh, we know each other, lady. I need only to look into your eyes and I know everything I need to know about you. Your beauty, your pain, your strength, your bravery.”

  Tears filled her eyes, and she bowed her head. “You cannot know,” she whispered, “what my life has been.”

  “It will be different from now on.” He placed a finger under her chin and tipped her face up, using his thumbs to smooth away her tears. “Trust me, Rhona. I will help you to free yourself.” His mouth closed on hers in a deep kiss.

  She kissed him back, losing herself in his embrace, knowing this was all new to her. Never had she wanted a man as she wanted Reynard, never had she allowed her mind to be subjugated by her feelings in a situation such as this. It had always been too dangerous, but now…now, she did not care.

  His big hand slipped beneath her cloak and closed over her breast, cradling her, her nipple hard against the flesh of his palm. Passion ripped through Rhona like lightning. Every sense came alive, turned molten.

  Reynard tucked her in closer against him, his hand squeezing gently, his mouth hot and open on hers.

  Voices, down in the yard. The boy from the inn, and another, younger voice. Rhona went still, trying to clear her head, trying to pull back from the mindless desire she had been indulging in. Reynard, too, had drawn away, turning his head to see down from the loft without being seen. After a moment the voices retreated, and all was quiet again. He looked back at her, surveying her swollen mouth and glittering eyes. His own mouth was reddened from their kisses, and deep in his dark eyes desire still lurked. But he had tucked it away for now, and she admired his control.

  Rhona cleared her throat and smoothed her hair back, for it had come unbound and fell in ringlets about her face. As if he sensed her discomfort, Reynard reached out and twisted a curl about his finger, letting it bob free. He smiled, his smile broadening when she blushed.

  Rhona shifted away from him, trying to regain something of her businesslike manner. There were things to say, and things to hear. Secrets to share between them.

  “Tell me. What have you heard at Gunlinghorn these past two days?”

  He seemed content to let her bring him back from daydreams to cold reality.

  “Your chaplain, Jean-Paul, came to see Lord Henry when he was at Gunlinghorn Harbor. He wore a mask over his face. He told Lord Henry that he would give him a choice. The first was to leave Gunlinghorn and return to London, and if he did this, then Jean-Paul would not reveal whatever it is he knows about Lord Henry. But he would only be allowed to do this if he could persuade Lady Jenova to wed your father. The second choice was to remain at Gunlinghorn and face the consequences of his secret being told to everyone. In short, of having his life destroyed.”

  Rhona nodded. It was much as she had guessed when she had overheard her father and Jean-Paul.

  “And what did Lord Henry say to that?”

  “Not a great deal. He was taken by surprise.”

  “What will he do?” she demanded impatiently.

  Reynard met her eyes, and he hesitated. Rhona wondered why she felt as if he was deciding between telling her the truth or a lie.

  “He does not want to abandon Lady Jenova to such a fate,” he said at last, “but neither does he want his secret to become known. Jean-Paul gave him a week to make up his mind.”

  “He will stay,” she said with despair. “He is not the sort of man to leave the lady in peril. He will stay, and Jean-Paul will expose his secret, and Jean-Paul probably knew that that was what would happen when he gave Henry the choice. It is part of the Purgatory he is forcing Henry to undergo.” She looked into Reynard’s black eyes, searching their depths. “I think he has something else planned. Another plot that Lord Henry does not know of. I overheard him and my father this morning. Jean-Paul said he had a friend at Gunlinghorn, but he meant a spy.”

  “The groom,” Reynard said quietly.

  “Nay, not the groom. Someone else, someone close to the family.”

  Reynard puzzled over this for a moment with a frown. “You are aright, my lady. The priest will not let things rest where they are now. He knows Lord Henry will destroy himself rather than abandon Lady Jenova to Baldessare. He hates Lord Henry. I could hear it in his voice. That degree of hatred will not be satisfied with mere threats. He will want to carry them through. He will want to be sure that Lord Henry is helpless to prevent his lady’s suffering.”

  “Believe me, he is the sort to force Henry to watch them in the bride bed.”

  “Jesu, he is a monster!” Fury narrowed Reynard’s eyes.

  “No more than my father,” she said quietly.

  “I pity Lady Jenova.”

  Rhona watched him a moment, thoughtful. “Does she know? Has Lord Henry told her the change in bridegroom?”

  “Nay, I don’t think so. I know he has said nothing of whatever it is Jean-Paul knows of him.”

  “He should tell her,” Rhona said urgently. “If she loves him, she will understand, whatever this secret is. Women are far stronger than men think them; they have to be.”

  Reynard smiled. Rhona realized then what she had said. Had she forgotten which side she was on? Her freedom, and Alfric’s, depended on Lady Jenova’s downfall. She must not forget that, she must not grow squeamish now….

  Reynard turned his attention once more to Jean-Paul. “Do you know who he really is? Do you know anything at all about him?”

  “I think he is truly a priest. He knows too much to be playing a part. He has been with us a year now, and I am surprised he’s stayed so long, for he is a clever man. I think he could do far better than Hilldown Castle. It is as if he chose us on purpose, for some reason of his own.”

  “Perhaps he did.”

  “Aye, perhaps. His disfigurement comes from being badly burned. The scars are old. I have heard they cover most of his body. ’Tis a miracle he survived.”

  “A miracle indeed. And you do not have another name for him?”

  “Nay, only Jean-Paul.” Rhona twisted a ring restlessly upon her little finger. “He…he is not a man with whom to have a pleasant conversation. I have never felt entirely comfortable with him. There is something in his eyes…eye. As if he is secret
ly laughing at me. Even when he is being sympathetic, he is laughing. And the laughter is not kind, Reynard.”

  The words spilled from her; she could not stop them. It was as if all her reticence, all the walls she had built to keep herself safe, had come falling down.

  Reynard covered her hands with his, squeezing gently. He could feel her bones through the flesh, so fragile. She was a small woman, and could be so easily hurt. He did not want her to return to Hilldown Castle, to her father and Jean-Paul, but he knew he had no choice but to allow it.

  Allow it? He smiled to himself. As if she would let him boss her about! Lady Rhona was very much her own woman, used to taking command. Could he persuade her to change sides? It was one thing to show signs of regret, but it was a big step from that to betraying her father and throwing in her lot with Lord Henry. Reynard did not believe that Baldessare would set her and Alfric free—they were his, and he was too greedy of his possessions to ever let them go.

  Voices again, this time his aunt, scolding one of the lads who fetched wood for her. Reynard glanced at Rhona and gave her a reassuring grin. “It is only the innkeeper, Matilda. Do not fear, she will not betray you.”

  Rhona gave him a suspicious, sideways look. “You seem to know her well, Reynard.”

  He hesitated. “She is my father’s sister,” he said.

  She appeared startled. “Oh.”

  “She wasn’t always as you see her now. Once she wore fine clothes, like you, and rings upon her fingers. She was a merchant’s wife in Bruges and very proud. But he lost his fortune and died in debt, and left her to grow old in poverty.”

  Rhona looked away, as if she didn’t want him to read her thoughts. “That must have been difficult for her.”

  “Aye. I have helped her when I can. I am only sorry I cannot do more.”

  Now she did look, and there was a wondering expression in her eyes. “So you help her? You haven’t abandoned her because she is poor and of no use to you?”

  Reynard felt pain, an aching jolt in his chest, that she should think such a thing, that her life with Baldessare had led her to believe such actions were the norm. “Nay, lady, I would not abandon her,” he said gently.

  She gazed at him a moment longer, as though trying to read his thoughts, and then she nodded her head. She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, and gave a sigh. It was a deep sigh, a sigh of longing, and suddenly Reynard knew he wasn’t making an error of judgment in trusting this girl. His instincts were correct. She was worth saving.

  He reached over and covered her hands with his. She started, but did not remove them.

  “I want to help you to be free,” he said quietly and reached up to caress her cheek, her throat, exploring her soft, vulnerable flesh. She was so beautiful. He knew he would never tire of touching her, of looking at her.

  Her lashes fluttered down, dark against her pale cheeks. “Do you, Reynard?”

  “You have suffered, Rhona, but that can change. I can spring the trap you are in.”

  “If only you—”

  “Will you travel with me to faraway lands, lady? Will we see all the world has to show us, you and me?”

  She looked up then, her eyes ablaze. “Oh yes. Yes, please.”

  His lips brushed hers, teasing, testing. Then deeper, drawing her against him, until she softened, molding her curves to the hard planes of his body. Her arms tangled about his neck and she hung on, her tongue dueling with his, her mouth hot and wild and willing.

  Reynard was sure he had found paradise.

  And then she pulled away.

  Her breasts beneath the yellow gown were rising and falling, almost as wildly as his own heart was beating. She put a palm flat against his chest, as though to hold him back, but he wasn’t moving.

  “You must know…you should know that what you said about me was true. My maidenhead was given as an inducement to a man who had land my father wanted. And there were other times, times when I had to…when I…”

  “I don’t care.”

  She blinked, as if she couldn’t quite accept what he had said. As if she was certain he had some other, crueler meaning he meant to hurl upon her.

  “I don’t care,” Reynard repeated softly, so she could not mistake him. “Your past is nothing to me, and I hope mine does not influence you. We are two lonely souls, and we have found each other. Let us be grateful for it.”

  Tears filled her eyes, her mouth trembled, but she managed to answer him. “I am grateful. Help me, Reynard. If I can escape my father, if I can save myself and my brother, and Lady Jenova, too, then I will! But I cannot do it on my own.”

  “I know, lady, and I will help you. We will win through.”

  He kissed her, feeling the need in her, holding back. Now was not the time. When he had freed her, when they were together, then he would be able to love her as he wished, as she wished. Until then, they must wait.

  “’Tis cold as a witch’s heart out there,” Matilda said, looking up as her nephew sat down on the bench beside her.

  Reynard laughed. “What do you know of a witch’s heart?” he mocked gently.

  The old woman grumbled into the pot she was stirring over the coals. Hare stew, the same hare Reynard had brought with him. It smelled good.

  “She is a fine lady,” she said now, refusing to meet his eyes. “Too fine for you, Reynard. The Normans are too proud a race to look beneath their own.”

  “Perhaps she is tired of her own race. Perhaps I can give her something they cannot.”

  “I saw her, in her velvets and her furs, her fingers heavy with jewels. How can you compete with that, Reynard? Nay, ’twill be only unhappiness you find with her.”

  Knowing his aunt’s own background, Reynard could understand her need to preach caution. But she didn’t understand Rhona as he did. She did not see her pain and her hurt and her need for the simple, valuable things he could give her. Kindness, gentleness, compassion, but most of all, love.

  “I will be careful,” he said now, sniffing appreciatively at the hare stew. “Don’t worry about me. I know what I am doing.”

  She gave him a narrow, sorrowing glance. “I have heard many men say those words in my long life, Reynard, and none of them did. Not in the end.”

  Rhona’s horse flew over the stony ground, leaping half concealed branches and logs and dangerous dips in the ground. She was being reckless, and she didn’t care. She had never been so happy. She had thought to find a spy in Reynard, someone to use in her plot, and instead she had found love, and a man who was everything she had ever wanted.

  Of course he was a servant. A mercenary. The son of a shipwright and navigator. Doubts circled her, but she pushed them away and rode on. This was beyond any considerations of wealth and blood and power. Her father might believe such things were all that mattered, but Rhona no longer did.

  They would be together.

  Just how, she did not know. Reynard had sworn to meet her again tomorrow, at Uther’s Tower. Mayhap he would have thought of something by then. She knew now that Lord Henry had no intention of placing Lady Jenova into her father’s hands. He would die rather than allow that to happen. But Jean-Paul must have known that, she realized, just as he seemed to understand so many other aspects of Lord Henry’s character.

  He must have another plan.

  She must learn what she could, and then tell Reynard. Together they would thwart Jean-Paul, and her father. And then? Her father would not simply be furious with her. If he found out, he would kill her.

  “The king will not be pleased to hear what Baldessare has been up to,” Reynard had said, holding her in his arms, his deep voice filling her senses. “The king will punish him, possibly he will strip him of his lands and his wealth. How will you like being just Rhona, a simple, freeborn girl?”

  Rhona had expected to feel regret. There was none. It would not matter to her, she realized in surprise. She would still have the thing that mattered to her most. She would have Reynard.

  But s
he might not be able to wait until the king returned to England. She might have to run as soon as Baldessare’s plot began to go wrong. And so she had told Reynard.

  “Come to Gunlinghorn,” he had replied. “You will be safe there.”

  Come to Gunlinghorn. As if it were the simplest thing in the world. As if it were not partly her fault Lady Jenova was in this predicament.

  But Rhona knew that if it became necessary, she would do just that. Come to Gunlinghorn. And pray she had a welcome there.

  The walls of Hilldown Castle came into sight. She rode through the postern gate, nodding at the guard on duty. He had been given a coin for his trouble and would say nothing about her slipping out for so long. Rhona left her horse with one of the grooms and hurried into the keep and up the stairs to her small room—no more than a corner in the tower. She would straighten her clothing and comb her hair, and go downstairs to play her part. There was much to be done, and she needed to be brave….

  As Rhona opened the door, someone rose from the seat by the window.

  It was Jean-Paul.

  Chapter 19

  “Did she say what he looked like beneath that accursed mask?”

  Henry was rubbing his jaw, making a grating sound as his hand passed over his unshaven skin. It was the first time Reynard could ever recall seeing Henry at this hour without his face being cleanly shaven. His tunic, too, looked creased, as though he had picked it up off the floor and put it back on. His hair needed combing, and it was matted at the back.

  Reynard experienced a strong feeling of unease. Was it a good thing or a bad thing that his lord seemed to have lost his peace of mind? When he had first come into Henry’s service, he had thought him the most composed man he had ever met. Nothing had seemed to upset him, and he had been in full control of his life. Now it was as if a different man altogether had stepped in and taken Henry’s place.

  “His burns are extensive,” he said, trying to bring his thoughts into line. “It is difficult to tell what he used to look like, or even how old he is. And he has someone here at Gunlinghorn, my lord. A spy. It is someone close to the family. I think he means to fool you into thinking he is planning one thing, and then he will do another.”