Kissing the Bride

by Sara Bennett

  “Of course Lent is almost upon us,” she said with a thoughtful frown. Lent meant fasting, and as this was the time of year—late winter shifting into spring—when food stocks were running short and the new season’s crops were yet to be edible, a lack of sustenance could conveniently be turned into piety.

  “Most of the fields are plowed,” the steward went on, naming them, ticking each meadow off on his fingers. “And the tree and vine pruning is complete.”

  “All is in readiness then,” Jenova agreed. “I think we will reach the Easter feasting comfortably, if we are careful.”

  Her steward smiled. “Aye, my lady, roasted beef and good French wine! I can hardly wait for Easter!”

  Jenova smiled back, but inside her feelings were very different. If Henry was not there, then what did she have to look forward to? Her life would be incomplete because there would be something vital missing.

  “My lady?”

  It was Gertrude, one of her young ladies, her eyes wide and her hands twisting in her skirts.

  “My lady, ’tis Master Raf. I went to his room so that we could go and see the kittens together. But he wasn’t there and though I looked, I-I can’t find him.”

  Gertrude could be naughty, but she was a good girl at heart, and Jenova knew she would not think a prank such as this funny. Besides, there was nothing in her round face but anxiety. Jenova felt a curious hollowness developing in the pit of her stomach. “He went out riding with Lord Henry,” she said, trying to calm herself as well as the girl.

  “Aye, he came back from that, my lady, but now he’s nowhere to be found. ’Tis not like him, my lady, not when he promised to show me Raven’s kittens.”

  “He must be hiding, or…or with Lady Agetha?”

  The girl shook her head. “Lady Agetha says she hasn’t seen him, my lady. I’ve sent the cook’s boy to all the places he knows Master Raf likes, and I’ve called and called….”

  The hollowness inside Jenova deepened. Where was he? Had Henry told him he was leaving, and Raf was so upset that he had found some secret place to be sad in? It did not make sense. If Raf was upset, he would come to her. He was not the sort of boy who would run off and hide.

  “Where is Lord Henry, Gertrude?”

  “In the stables, Lady Jenova.”

  “Fetch him to—No, no, I will go myself!”

  She hurried through the great hall, hardly noticing the startled looks she was receiving. Where was Raf? It must be a mistake. Something completely innocent. And yet, considering the turmoil in other areas of her life, she could not quite believe it.

  Outside the last rays of the sun were shining weakly, and there was a promise of warmth in the air that had not been there only days before. Spring was coming, and Jenova did not even notice it. She fairly flew across the yard and into the stables. Grooms were forking hay and dung. Farther down the aisle, Reynard was standing, leaning against one of the stalls, speaking to someone on the other side.

  As Jenova drew closer she heard him say, “She didn’t come. I thought to stay and wait, but it will be dark soon and I know she won’t set out so late. I am fearful for her, my lord.”

  Henry’s voice, muffled, from inside the stall, answered. “If I were the devil’s advocate, Reynard, I would say she has taken you for a fool. That she has pretended to be what she is not. Are you certain that is not the case?”

  Reynard ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Nay, she is not like that! There is something amiss. I can feel it inside.”

  Henry stood up just as Jenova reached them. His eyes widened at the sight of her, and he came forward to open the stall door, setting aside the poultice he had been using on Raf’s pony and wiping his hands on a rag.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  Jenova felt suddenly breathless. She put a hand to her chest, struggling to find her voice. “Raf,” she gasped. “We cannot find Raf.”

  Henry put his hand firmly on her shoulder, and the warmth, or just the contact, did bring a stillness to her.

  “Be calm, Jenova,” he said quietly. “Raf is here somewhere.” Then with a frown, he turned to Reynard, who shook his head in bewilderment. “I was seeking him myself, earlier,” Henry admitted. “He said he would like to help me with his pony—the old chap has a bruised foreleg. He seemed keen at the time, but when I couldn’t find him I thought he must have found something else to do.”

  “You are his hero, Henry!” Jenova cried. “If you wanted him to help you, he would never let you down. Don’t you know that?”

  Henry stared at her, as if stunned by her words. Had he only just realized how much Raf loved him? But perhaps he had, Jenova thought wildly. After all, Henry had come from a childhood where love had been a rare commodity.

  “He came back with you, Henry, didn’t he?” she went on. “You did bring him back to Gunlinghorn?

  Now Henry looked incredulous. “Of course I did! I don’t have him in my pocket, Jenova, if that’s what you think. I brought him back, then Agetha came to fetch him and took him away. I have not seen him since.”

  “Agetha says she has not seen him since that time, either.”

  They were silent, both caught in their own private fears.

  “Did you tell him that you were leaving us?” Jenova asked abruptly, not caring if Reynard overheard her, only intent upon getting to the bottom of this mystery. “Was he upset?”

  Henry tried to remember. “I said something about the king eventually needing me back at court. He wanted…he asked if I would stay at Gunlinghorn. I didn’t want to promise something I could not…” He cleared his throat, not meeting her eyes. “He wasn’t upset. I did not upset him. He understood. The ride was enjoyable, and he was a little tired, but that is all.”

  Of course Henry would not upset Raf. Jenova knew it. Just as Raf loved Henry, Henry loved Raf. Loved him like his own son. In the midst of her pain she realized something else about Henry—his willingness to forsake Raf rather than tell her his secret must mean it was something very terrible indeed.

  Something she might not want to hear.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away.

  “Raf? Where is Raf?” she whispered. “Henry, where is he?”

  Fear and doubt and then anger flared in Henry’s eyes, and suddenly he was all action. He turned to Reynard, giving orders in a confident and sure voice. “Get some men together and search every inch of Gunlinghorn—keep and yard, stable and storerooms. Everywhere. And ask everyone—Everyone!—when they last saw Master Raf. We need to discover where he went after Agetha left him.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Reynard was gone, taking big strides, his shouts ringing through the yard as he reached the door.

  Jenova stared after him, not knowing what to do. After a moment she turned and found Henry watching her, the pain in his eyes mirroring her own. “Be reassured, my love. He will be found,” he said quietly. “We will find him.”

  She nodded, then nodded again. She felt lost, as if she were drifting. Suddenly everything that had seemed so important to her a moment ago meant nothing. She needed her son; if he was not safe, then nothing else mattered.

  Jenova swallowed. She must not break. Henry would find him—Henry might not trust her, but she trusted Henry. He was strong and clever, and he would find her son for her and return him to her arms. She was made of stronger stuff than this, and it was time to show it.

  Jenova straightened her back. “Thank you. I will go and speak with Agetha again. If you want me—”

  He nodded, grim-faced. He knew better than to take her in his arms.

  Jenova walked away, keeping herself upright with an effort. She felt fragile, close to shattering. If he had touched her again, reached for her, she would have fallen into pieces. She had never felt so alone, and she did not like it.

  She found Agetha in the solar, folding clothing. The girl straightened up, her face flushed from bending over the trunk, the scent of lavender drifting about her. “My lady!”

  �
�Agetha, my son…I am sure it is nothing, but it seems my son is not to be found. Have you seen him?”

  Agetha shook her head, her eyes wild. “Nay. Not since he came back from his ride with Lord Henry. He was weary, so I brought him to his room to rest. When I looked in later, he was gone.”

  “Gone? Gone, where? Where could he have gone?”

  Agetha seemed startled by Jenova’s aggression. “I…I don’t know, my lady.”

  Jenova went to the window, her skirts swirling about her, and opened the shutters, uncaring if the air was bitter. It suited her mood. The sun was almost set, the shadows were growing long and blacker. It would be night soon. Cold and dark. How would they ever find one small boy?

  “My lady, I am sure that everything will end well,” Agetha said in a tentative, anxious voice.

  But Jenova did not hear her.

  “Is this the man?”

  Reynard nodded. Both he and Henry stood a moment beyond the door, staring at the thickset young man who was waiting, shifting nervously from foot to foot, in the guardhouse. As if he sensed their eyes upon him, the man glanced up and saw them, and stilled. By the single candle it could be seen that his round and honest face was pitted with old scars, and his eyes were apprehensive.

  Reynard entered the room. “You know who this is, Cecil?” he asked, nodding to Henry, close behind him.

  Cecil bowed his head at Lord Henry and spoke in French with a strong English accent, “Aye, sir, I do.”

  “Lord Henry would hear what you have to say. Tell him again what you told me.”

  Cecil gave another jerky bow, but the eyes he raised to Henry were clear and honest. “I were in the storeroom where the wine is kept, me lord. I were counting how many barrels were left, for the steward. He and Lady Jenova were taking a tally of them, before the beginning of the Lent fast.”

  “Yes, go on.”

  “I were down on the floor, because it looked like one of they barrels had sprung a leak, and I had to get down to see. Then I heard steps passing me by, hurrying steps, two pair. And I heard voices, soft voices. I thought, ‘Now who could that be? There’s no one supposed to be down here but me.’ So I got up and looked, and I could just see the back of them, through the barrels like. Her and him.”

  “Tell us, man, for God’s sake!”

  He took a deep breath. “’Twere Lady Agetha, my lord, and she had Master Raf with her. I heard him say he were tired or some such thing and she were telling him to hurry on and be quick about it. Something like that. Then they were gone, out through the other storeroom, and I heard no more. I thought it were odd but it isn’t my place to question the ways of my betters.”

  Reynard thanked him and handed him a coin, which Cecil examined carefully before he placed it in the cloth purse attached to his belt. When he had gone, Henry stared at Reynard in bemusement.

  “Agetha? Where was she taking him? Have the storerooms been searched?”

  “At least three times. But I have learned something more, my lord. There is a secret door in one of the rooms there, and a tunnel beneath the castle wall. It is known to only a few, which is why Cecil does not know of it. It takes you out of the castle and down to the river. I looked for myself, and found footsteps that could belong to a child in the mud along the bank. And there is a small boat, pulled up into the marshes. A boat big enough to hold a woman and a child.”

  Henry nodded as if he understood, but his head felt as if it was going to burst. Agetha had taken Raf. Taken him…where? Possibilities swirled around him, threatening to drown him. He took a breath and forced calm upon himself. Jenova was relying upon his cool head, and for her sake, as well as Raf’s, he dared not let his fears overwhelm him.

  “I see. She took him in the boat. But she is back here now, Reynard. Where did she go? And where is Raf now? It makes no sense—”

  “But it does,” Reynard replied grimly. “You know that Lady Rhona said that Jean-Paul claimed to have a friend at Gunlinghorn. Someone close to the family. What if he has made use of that connection?”

  “Agetha?” Henry whispered. “But why take Raf? What can he want with a child?”

  “Lady Jenova’s child. For whose safe return she would do anything.”

  Anything? Even marry Baldessare? And Henry would be unable to stop her—how could he stop her? A boy he loved, too. A boy that he himself would do anything to save….

  “Jesu,” he groaned and put his head in his hands.

  “I have put a guard on the Lady Agetha’s door, my lord.”

  Henry’s mind was blank. Henry, who had always been good in a crisis, to whom the king looked for clear thinking, was beyond thought. Was this his fault? After all, it was he who Jean-Paul hated, he who Jean-Paul wanted to suffer. If it had not been for Henry, then Raf would still be here, safe in his mother’s arms. Jenova, too, would be safe, and not under threat from Baldessare. But how could Henry have known, all those years ago, when he’d risen from the ashes, that it would mean disaster for those he loved?

  “Is Lady Jenova still in her solar?” he asked.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Then take Agetha there. We will question her together.”

  Reynard went to do his bidding, leaving Henry alone in the guardroom. The candle spluttered, and the silence crushed him. He thought of Raf’s brilliant smile and green eyes, he remembered the conversations they had had, and the times he had taken him up upon Lamb. And Henry knew that if he had to batter down the doors of Baldessare’s keep himself, if he had to raze it to the ground, he would save Raf. He would do whatever he had to do.

  Jenova, seated on a stool by the brazier, looked up in surprise when first Henry, then Agetha, and then Reynard, entered the room. Agetha appeared pale and sullen, and no wonder, for Henry had an ungentle grip on her arm. The girl tried to shake him off, but he held her firm.

  “Henry? What is happening?”

  “My lady,” Henry said formally, and pushed the unwilling Agetha forward, until she was standing before her mistress. “I have some news for you. We have learned that Raf left the castle with Agetha.”

  “With…with Agetha?” Jenova stared at him, then shifted her gaze to the other woman. Agetha quailed a little under the look in her mistress’s eyes and said nothing. But Jenova read the truth in the girl’s bowed head and stooped shoulders, and she knew a burst of rage such as she had never felt before. This woman, who had professed to be her friend, had taken her child. If Jenova had had a dagger, she would have killed her.

  “Where is he?”

  Agetha shook her head.

  Slowly Jenova rose up from her seat, every line of her taut with fury. “Tell me, or I will give you to my soldiers to question!”

  Agetha gave a wail. “Please, don’t, don’t. It will be all right. I tried to tell you before that everything will be all right. If you will just agree to marry Alfric, then Raf will be returned, and everything will be as it should.”

  The quiet was deathly.

  “Marry Alfric?” Jenova whispered at last. “Is that what this is all about? You have given my son to Baldessare as a hostage?”

  Agetha bit her lip, her eyes teary. “It was for your own good,” she whispered, no hint of uncertainty in her voice. In her arrogance, the girl believed that she was right.

  Jenova could hardly believe it. That Agetha, whom she had thought her friend, Raf’s friend, could do such a thing. And yet, by that defiant cast to the girl’s expression, it was clear she truly believed she had done what was best for them all. How could anyone be so utterly blind and stupid? It was time to close the shutters on Agetha’s girlish dreams.

  “Do you know what happened to Baldessare’s last wife?” Jenova asked her, her voice icy. “He beat her to death.”

  Agetha blanched. “No, I…I meant you to wed Alfric. Alfric is gentle and kind and…”

  “Alfric does not want to marry me, or if he does he would not deny his father. It is Baldessare who wants me now, Agetha, and you have given him the perfect way t
o have me, haven’t you? He knows I will do anything to get Raf back safe.”

  Agetha was shaking her head. “’Twas not Baldessare I gave him to,” she whispered. “’Twas the priest, Jean-Paul. A priest would not do anything bad to a child. He promised me. It was for the best. You must see, my lady. I did it for the—”

  “The priest? But Jean-Paul is not to be trusted. He is the master and Baldessare his puppet. Just like you, Agetha.”

  “My lady, I did not…I am sure…”

  “Get out!”

  With a sob, Agetha bolted and slammed open the door on the startled guard outside. She gave a wail as he grabbed her arm and escorted her away.

  Jenova knew she, too, should weep and rail. But it was as if all feeling had frozen inside her. She was numb. After a moment she felt the warmth of someone standing near her, and, turning her head, she found Henry. He looked far older, the lines on his face seemed to have deepened, and the unshaven cast of his jaw was quite dark. This was Henry as he might look in twenty years’ time—careworn and sad. Jenova wondered if she looked the same, and then didn’t care.

  “Jenova,” he said, and there was cool reason in his voice, despite his appearance. “Jean-Paul does not hate you. It is me he hates. This was all done to punish me.”

  He sounded reasonable, aye, but what he had said made no sense. She shook her head.

  “It is a long story,” he persisted. “I think you should know it. You have been asking that I tell you, and I have resisted. When you hear me out, you will know why. I know that perhaps this is not the right time, and I know that you have other things on your mind—and I do too, my love—but it is important to tell you now. So that you will understand the man we have to deal with. Jenova, do you think you can bear to listen?”

  “What of Raf? Henry, what of my son?”

  “This morning I sent a message to Crevitch, in the west, to Lord Radulf, to ask for as much of his army as he can spare. It will take nearly four days—three if they take little rest. When they arrive, we can besiege Hilldown Castle, or threaten worse. We can frighten Baldessare into giving Raf up. But for now I have sent Reynard to Hilldown Castle with a message for Baldessare, demanding that Raf be released at once. If he does that, then I have sworn no harm will come to Baldessare or his family. I have made mention of the king’s anger when he hears what Baldessare has done. A man like that, blinded by his greed, will only listen if he thinks his land and wealth could be taken away from him. We must make him aware of how much he will lose by carrying through with his plan. As for Jean-Paul…Perhaps we can persuade Baldessare to turn against the priest in his own self-interest.”