Kissing the Bride

by Sara Bennett

  Henry slammed one fist into his palm in frustration. “Mayhap it’s all a game! Perhaps he will not do anything at all!”

  “Can you take that risk?” Reynard reminded him.

  Henry went still, and Reynard, looking into his eyes, realized just how shaken Henry was. Rattled completely from his normal state of mind. He knew he would have to destroy himself for Lady Jenova’s sake, and he was going to do it. He must love her very much….

  Henry closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were burning with fury. “I know what I would like to do. Ride to Hilldown Castle and find this Jean-Paul. If he has his way, I will have no friends or supporters. All it will take is a seed of doubt, Reynard, to bring me down.”

  “Lady Jenova will stand by you, my lord.”

  Henry laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Will she? You do not know what she will do when she knows what I did, what sort of life I lived, what horrors I took part in. Women, in my experience, prefer not to be troubled with such things. It is easier to find someone else.”

  “Lady Jenova is not like that. You know she will be your friend whatever happens.”

  Be my friend? Perhaps. But my lover, my wife? I doubt it.

  And how could he blame her for that? He was not worthy of such a woman; he did not deserve her. He had no right to a happy life here at Gunlinghorn, with Jenova and Raf.

  Henry cleared his throat, aware that Reynard was still watching him, still waiting. “If I had an army, we might have a chance of taking Hilldown Castle, but as yet Baldessare has done nothing wrong. Can I lay siege to a man who has done nothing apart from threaten me?”

  If only Jenova would agree to marry him! He could protect her then, and even if the truth was disclosed, he could bear the disgrace because she would be safe.

  Tell her the truth.

  Could he risk it? He felt as if he were standing on the edge of the cliffs above Gunlinghorn Harbor, about to jump. All his life he had chosen women he could not love and who did not love him, and now he knew why. Now he understood what would happen to him if he found that soul mate, only to lose her. He had found her, and soon she would turn her back on him and walk away….

  “My lord?”

  Henry blinked at Reynard’s watchful face, for a moment hardly recognizing him. His head was aching, and he felt dizzy. When had he last eaten? The days and nights had melded into each other, full of questions and memories. He must pull himself together!

  “What is it, Reynard?”

  Reynard hesitated a moment, and then he plunged in. “Lady Rhona is mistreated by her father. I want her to leave. I want her to come here, to Gunlinghorn, where she will be safe.”

  Henry looked at him blankly, and then he laughed. “You want to bring Lady Rhona here? Against the wishes of her father and her brother? As if things were not bad enough, Reynard! Do you intend to start a war now?”

  Reynard’s jaw clenched. “If I have to.”

  Henry gave another wild laugh, then shook his head. “Jesu, I thought I was the madman!”

  “She is—”

  “I know, I know. Her life is a misery. You wish to save her.” A wry smile twisted his mouth. “Aye, all right. If she will agree to it, then bring her here, Reynard. We may as well annoy Baldessare as much as we can. When do you see her again?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Then meet with her tomorrow and see how things are, then make your decision.”

  Reynard released his breath. “Thank you, my lord.” When he left, there was a spring in his step.

  I have made him happy, at least.

  In the yard, the Gunlinghorn garrison were training—the professional soldiers and the villeins, who were required to do garrison duty every week. Henry, after receiving the permission of Jenova and Sir John, had been giving their captain some instruction on training methods. From the look of the men training now, they were doing extremely well. Give them another month or two, he thought, and they would be good enough to beat off anything that Baldessare could pit against them.

  But he had forgotten. He did not have that long. He had but a week, less than that now, and his life would be over. And if Jenova did not wed him, then he would not even be able to save her.

  Henry had been standing in the castleyard for a long time now, oblivious to the cold or the soldiers who were trying their hardest to win his approval. He looked as if he were in a dream. Jenova sighed and asked herself what Reynard had said to him to make him so pensive.

  She smoothed the mulberry-colored wool she had been so carefully stitching. It had been meant as a late Christmas present. A new tunic for Henry, a special present for her oldest and dearest friend. Now it was something she would give him when he went away—a good-bye gift. She had it almost finished, but as she watched him standing so still, she wondered if she could bear to give it to him. Although she had told him to go, Jenova knew that no gift could sweeten his leaving. She would be bereft. She would miss him so much that it would be as if a part of herself were gone.

  If only it hadn’t happened this way! If only their passion could have faded, as it was supposed to, instead of burning brighter every day. And turning, for her part at least, into a love so strong and glowing that it could outshine the sun.

  Suddenly, as if he had sensed her watching him, Henry looked up. Jenova was still standing at the window, and she felt the shock as their eyes met. There was a connection between them, and it sent a tingle down her spine and a shiver over her skin. For a long moment he stood, staring up into her eyes, and then abruptly his jaw tensed, his face hardened, and he took off at a run toward the keep.

  Uneasily, stumbling a little, Jenova backed away from the solar window. What was wrong with him? What was he thinking? And why did she suddenly feel like she wanted to bar her door before he got here? Because she knew very well that this was where Henry was headed.

  The door was thrown wide, and Henry strode in.

  He was nearly out of breath, and his eyes were alight with some inner quest. Oh God, she thought, what now? That was when Jenova realized how much he had changed. Henry hadn’t shaved. She blinked. His clothing was in disarray. There was a stain on his tunic. He had the wrong rings on the wrong fingers. Even his boots looked grubby.

  Was this her perfect Henry? What had happened to him?

  Dismay took the strength from her, and she dropped the mulberry wool at her feet. “Henry!”

  “Jenova,” he said, and his voice was low and powerful. “I need you to marry me. You were right, I didn’t tell you the entire truth before. You see, ’tis Baldessare who means to have you for his wife. Not Alfric, Jenova, but Baldessare, and he will have you, willing or not. Marry me, now. You must. You no longer have a choice.”

  She sat down on the window seat, carefully, composing herself. His violet-blue eyes were blazing as if they had a torch behind them. He looked dangerous. She had never seen Henry so wild, so uncontrolled, so totally lacking in all the attributes that made him Henry. Clearly this was a moment to choose her words very carefully.

  “Henry, we have already spoken of this—”

  “Baldessare wants you, Jenova. Take heed, he will not give up easily.”

  “I have dealt with Baldessare before. You know that. Besides, if he tried to marry me against my will, the king would punish him. Even Baldessare is not such a complete fool as that.”

  “Baldessare believes he can do whatever he wants. By the time the king returns to England, the marriage will have been accomplished.”

  She frowned, about to argue, but he went on.

  “Do not think the king is not fond of you, Jenova. He is, and he has been more than generous to you, when it was within his power to force you into any number of marriages for his own benefit. But if Baldessare makes this union between you, and then promises to behave, the king will be inclined to listen to him. Especially if he has other matters to deal with—there is much unrest in England at the moment, and he will be concerned with that when he returns. Ba
ldessare will have many months to persuade you to tell whatever lies he wants of you.”

  Jenova thought she might explode; her face was flushed, her hands had clenched into fists, her green eyes were dark with anger as she looked up at Henry. “No one can force me to do anything I do not want to do, Henry. You should know that. I am no feeble woman. I am the Lady of Gunlinghorn.”

  “Baldessare has a spy in your keep, Jenova. He has someone you trust working against you.”

  Her thoughts scattered. “I don’t believe it. All my people are loyal. Who told you that?”

  “Reynard.”

  “And who told him, Henry!”

  Henry hesitated, and then shrugged, as if he had decided it was safe to tell her the truth. Her anger rose another notch. “Lady Rhona.”

  “Ah.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Ah’?”

  “I mean I do not trust Lady Rhona. Possibly she tells Reynard lies to help her brother’s cause.”

  “How can the telling of such a thing help her? ’Tis more likely to put her at outs with her father. I would not want Baldessare angry with me, would you?”

  He seemed so sincere. Jenova could see it in his eyes. He wanted her safe, and he saw marriage as the way to do it. She believed that about him; she even believed that he was fond of her. If she were fond of him, then she would not mind marrying him. They could live apart and be perfectly happy seeing each other only occasionally. But Jenova loved him, loved him with her heart and her body and her soul, and it was just not enough anymore to have him as her comfortable friend.

  She would rather not have him at all.

  Her decision confirmed, Jenova patted the seat beside her. “Sit down, Henry.”

  He eyed her narrowly, impatiently, but he came and sat beside her. Jenova decided he looked even worse at close quarters, with his unshaven face and shadowed eyes, and the hint of self-mockery about his mouth.

  “Mayhap you do not understand how it is for a woman in my position, Henry,” she said in a carefully moderated voice. The voice, she realized guiltily, she had used in her conversation with Alfric not long since. “I am better off alone.”

  “You do not trust me.”

  He said it evenly, as if it didn’t really matter, but she saw something in his eyes, something hurt, as if she had struck him with a closed fist. Henry, hurt? It was almost impossible to believe. Henry, a man with an iron shield of confidence, with an easy, smiling charm? She found it difficult to believe anything she said to Henry could pierce that armor. And yet, looking at him now, she did not see much of that old Henry at all.

  Jenova wondered if she could have wrought this change. Was this her fault? But no, how could it be! Whatever had happened to Henry, he was keeping it locked away inside. For her to help him, he must trust her.

  “I trust you,” she said carefully. “Far more than you trust me. I have said this before, but I think…I know you are keeping something from me. There is more to your concern about Jean-Paul, and probably about Baldessare, too, more than you are telling me. But if you will not tell me, then I cannot give your wishes proper consideration. And I do not wish to marry you under these circumstances. I am sorry, Henry.”

  “So you need no help with all of this? You can defeat Baldessare, hold off his army, discover the spy in your keep, and protect your lands until the king’s return? There seems little point in me remaining here, then. I am merely in your way.”

  He was angry with her, and his words gave her a pain in her heart that was as sharp as a needle. But she kept it at bay—there would be time to feel later.

  “I never expected you to stay at Gunlinghorn forever,” she said quietly. “Of course I will miss you. You know I will. I…I am used to you being here, Henry. Raf will miss you, too. But I am fully aware that your real life is elsewhere; you have never led me to believe anything differently.”

  Now was the time, if he wished, to tell her what was troubling him. To trust her. To throw himself open to her healing love. Henry stared at her and said nothing. There was a fine sheen of perspiration on his face, and when he leaned back against the window embrasure, his body was as tense as iron. Jenova watched him sadly, eyes fixed on his profile, the perfect line of nose and brow and bearded jaw, the fall of his hair, the hard soldier’s body. Something was eating him alive, but he would not share it. And Jenova knew she could not bow to his wishes. He must tell her the truth—as much as she loved him, they could not live together otherwise.

  “You are very understanding, Jenova,” he said at last, and there was little emotion in his voice—perhaps a hint of dry mockery.

  “We are friends, Henry. We were friends before and we will, I hope, be friends after.” It was costing her a great deal to be so reasonable and so calm. To pretend her heart was not breaking.

  “Aye, friends.” There was bitterness beneath the surface, but she ignored it. He might be suffering from hurt male pride because she wouldn’t accept his help, or irritation because she had not needed him to ride to her rescue. Or mayhap he was simply annoyed because she had put him into a corner. But Jenova could not escape the sense that, deep inside, he needed her most desperately.

  “Raf is expecting you to take him riding tomorrow,” she said, holding on to her composure by a thread.

  He nodded, not meeting her eyes. “I hadn’t forgotten. Will he really miss me?”

  Now there was vulnerability in the line of his mouth, an uncertainty that had never been there before. Jenova felt tears sting her own eyes, and she had to look away and pretend to smooth her sleeve. “Of course he will, Henry. You are his hero.”

  Henry smiled back, but the pain in his face had not gone away. “I am glad I am someone’s hero then, sweeting. If you do not mind, I think I will go and speak to your scribe. I have some plans for him to draw up, for your harbor. That will be safe, at least.”

  “Thank you, Henry.”

  He took her hand as if to kiss it, then changed his mind and let it go. Jenova smiled, but he had already gone through the door. It was best, she told herself. Her heart was breaking, but he would never know it. She would allow him to go back, without guilt, to the life he loved without feeling he needed to stay on for her sake.

  This was her gift to him, and it was of far greater value than any tunic.

  “Jean-Paul?”

  In the moment after opening her door, Rhona had time to gather her wits and smooth her features into the mask she usually wore when she was in his presence. That he was in her room at all was frightening enough, but there could be an entirely innocent explanation for it.

  “Where have you been, my lady?” That single pale eye raked over her, taking in the wrinkles in her clothing, her untidy hair, her bruised lips. Ticking off each damning piece of evidence against her.

  He knew. Somehow he knew, and Rhona was experienced enough to realize she would be foolish to pretend otherwise. But she could bend the truth, make it work for her. She had done it before.

  “I have someone in Lord Henry’s camp who tells me things. I was meeting with him, Jean-Paul. Furthering the interests of my father and Alfric.”

  His gaze was still upon her, his disconcerting face in shadow. “Who is this ‘someone’?”

  “Lord Henry’s manservant,” she replied without hesitation. “He is enamored of me,” she added, with a laugh and toss of her head, as if it mattered not at all. “I’m sure he would do anything for me, if I asked it of him.”

  “Is that why you were listening at the door this morning, my lady? I thought he was the spy, not you.”

  Jesu. “I-I could not help but overhear, but I would not repeat what I heard. Why would I? I lingered because I was eager to learn what was in my father’s mind, so that I could help him to secure Lady Jenova as his bride.”

  “She is ours anyway,” the priest replied matter-of-factly. “Your father will tame her.”

  Rhona couldn’t help it; she flinched. Horror uncoiled in her belly. Lady Jenova, beautiful and calm Lady Jenova, beate
n into submission by Baldessare. She had tried not to think of it, tried to put it out of her mind, but now it was there, in all its terrifying detail. And she knew at last what her heart had been trying to tell her all along. She could not do it. She could not be a party to this thing. Reynard was right; she belonged with him, at Gunlinghorn.

  Mayhap he saw that in her face. Mayhap her mask slipped long enough for him to read what she was thinking. His voice dripped satisfaction.

  “Your father still has need of you, my lady. Do not think that because he will wed Jenova he will no longer require you to help him in his dealings. We both have plans for you.”

  Somehow she stayed upright. She even lifted her chin as he rose and came toward her, his long robes brushing the floor. He smelled of incense and something rancid, as if he did not wash himself very often. She met his one good eye as he paused before her, staring down at her.

  “You are very lovely and very brave, chérie,” he whispered. “Too bad. Do not leave the keep again. If you try, I will have you locked in. Do you understand?”

  His mouth was curved with satisfaction, but it did not disguise the cold savagery in his ruined face. The fire might have damaged the outer shell of this man, Rhona thought, but others had survived such trauma. No, it was the inside that was rotten. And perhaps that had always been so.

  “As you say,” she replied coolly.

  When he had gone, she sank down onto her bed and stared at nothing until the trembling eased. She was alone, more alone than she had believed possible, or perhaps it just felt worse after being with Reynard.

  Nothing had changed.

  She had had such hopes, and now nothing would ever change. She would remain the spare arrow in Baldessare’s quiver, to be used for his benefit. Forever. The only thing different was inside her, the change in her, and that was because of Reynard. She was changed because of him, he had given her hope of a better life, and now she would never see him again. He would wait for her tomorrow at Uther’s Tower, but she would not come.