Kissing the Bride

by Sara Bennett

Reynard looked up, shading his eyes against the glare of the torches, trying to see Alfric’s handsome face among those of the guards. But they all wore helmets and chain mail, and there was no way to tell them apart.

  “I need to speak to your father, my lord,” he called back. “I am come on Lord Henry’s behalf and—”

  “Is he afraid to come on his own?”

  That got him a laugh. Alfric seemed to take courage from it, continuing in a more confident tone.

  “My father does not want to speak to you. When he is ready, he will send word to Gunlinghorn. You will just have to wait.”

  “You have Lady Jenova’s son.”

  Alfric was silent a moment, and a hush fell over the wall.

  “You are mistaken. There are no children here.”

  “You lying swine! Let me speak to your father now!”

  Then Alfric said something Reynard could hardly believe.

  “Wait. You are obviously hard of hearing. I will come down and speak with you face-to-face.”

  Reynard turned and looked at his men. They were gaping back at him. It was a trick. It had to be. But no, soon enough the gate was opening, and a number of soldiers stepped out, all wearing chain mail or leather tunics and helmets. One of them came forward cautiously, and it was indeed Lord Alfric. Beside him, a decidedly tubby soldier waddled along, struggling to keep pace. Warily, they halted several yards from Reynard and his men.

  “Reynard? I-is that your name?” Alfric asked. “Come forward, I want to see you.”

  “Don’t go!” one of his men warned, but Reynard decided that if Baldessare’s men had wanted to fire an arrow at him from the walls, they would have done it before now. He kicked his mount forward, tempted to run Alfric down. Except that that would solve nothing. Perhaps he could capture him and hold him for ransom? Although, having seen how Lord Baldessare treated his son, it was doubtful he would care.

  Alfric was speaking in important tones, as if he were not saying the oddest things. “I have a man here, Reynard, who will go back with you to Gunlinghorn Castle. He will speak with Lord Henry in person and explain to him what we want in return for Lady Jenova’s brat. Do not harm him, for he is important in this matter. Do you understand me?”

  Reynard nodded in bemusement.

  Satisfied, Alfric flicked his fingers at the soldiers behind him. “Come here.”

  The fat soldier waddled forward, puffing and panting. Beneath his helmet, his face was dark with grime and running with sweat. Alfric gave him a curiously gentle pat on the shoulder. “Do as we said and all will be well,” he instructed. “I-I am forever grateful. And do not fear for me. I believe I have finally found my courage.”

  For a moment he seemed to waver, and then he quickly turned away, his men behind him, and the gate closed with a thump.

  Reynard looked at the soldier and shook his head. He really was fat—a great round belly and only thin legs to hold it up. Dear God, how were they to get this creature up onto one of the horses?

  “Will you hurry?” the lardy soldier said in a hissing wail. “I am about to fall down. And Raf can hardly breathe under this chain mail.”

  Reynard was down off his horse and at her side. It was she. It was Rhona, disguised under a wash of mud and the ancient helmet. Her chain mail tunic was enormous, big enough for two, and if what she had said was correct, there were two under it. No wonder she could hardly walk!

  “Be careful,” she whispered, her eyes eating him up. “One of my father’s spies might be watching. The men are not all loyal to my brother and me, but there are more than we ever thought. We have sent my father to sleep with a sleeping potion, but it will not be forever. I thought Alfric would come with me, but now he wants to stay and take my father’s place. He wants to hold him prisoner in his own castle. Dear God, my gentle brother Alfric to play the hero! He does it for me, so that I can get away to safety. He says it is for all the times I have saved him. Oh, Reynard…”

  Tears streaked the mud on her cheeks. Reynard ached to hold her, but with all those watching eyes he knew it would not be wise. So instead he allowed himself a brief, searching look before he turned to his men.

  “Come on, help me get this soldier up onto a horse!” he shouted. “And then let’s go home.”

  They rode into the woods before he adjudged it safe at last to stop. Rhona was lifted down and her chain mail removed. Raf, who had been tied to her chest, was released, and he lay panting on the ground.

  “I could hardly breathe, and the chain mail was so heavy,” he complained. Then his lip trembled. “Where are Lord Henry and Mama?”

  Rhona stroked his hair. “You’ll see them soon. You were very brave and very quiet. They will be proud of you, Raf.”

  Reynard was watching her, and when she looked up, he saw that her eyes were filled with tears.

  “I couldn’t let it happen,” she said, her lips trembling, too. “I thought I would rather us both die trying to escape than suffer what my father and Jean-Paul had planned.”

  “Rhona, you are a brave and wonderful woman. But I always knew it was so.”

  Her face crumpled. “I thought I would never see you again!”

  He took her into his arms, holding her fast, feeling her body so soft and trusting against his. She was his, he realized in gratitude. He had been given another chance to take her home to Gunlinghorn, and this time he would never let her go.

  Back at Hilldown Keep, Baldessare was stirring. First one eye opened, then the other. He blinked, sleepily, then with a growing alertness.

  As he awoke, the rage awoke with him. Until it consumed him. Alfric. He would kill Alfric first, and then Rhona. A father deserved the loyalty of his children—he was a king in his castle, after all. Disloyalty was treason, and treason was punishable by death.

  Chapter 24

  “My lady, my lady!”

  The voices grew louder, approaching up the stairs toward the solar. Shouting now, with an hysterical edge. Jenova opened her eyes. Somehow she had fallen asleep, here on the seat, enclosed in Henry’s arms. Henry, who was already on his feet, and running for the door.

  It was flung open before he reached it.

  Reynard, the night damp clinging to his clothing and sprinkling his hair, his black eyes gleaming like stars. And in his arms, a small, pale boy with reddened eyes and a wobbling mouth.

  “Raf!”

  Jenova clutched him to her, beyond thought, beyond tears. Her body shuddered, and she carried him with her back to the window seat and sank down, still holding him. Behind her she heard Henry asking questions, but she didn’t care what the answers were, not yet. It was enough that she had her son back.

  Safe in her arms.

  “Lady Jenova?”

  This voice was not one that should have been in her solar. Perhaps it was the fact of it being out of place that pierced her abstraction. She looked up and blinked. Lady Rhona? Her face filthy, her clothing…Jenova’s eyes narrowed.

  “Lady Jenova,” Rhona repeated, tilting her chin in her usual proud manner. But there was something new in her eyes, a hint of pleading. “I have brought your son home to you, and at great cost to myself and my brother. I am placing myself in your hands and asking that you allow me to stay within the safety of Gunlinghorn’s walls. If my father finds me, he will kill me for what I have done. God have mercy on my poor brother.”

  She swallowed, and Jenova could see that she had been crying. Slowly, her gaze roved over the girl, taking in the bagging breeches and the enormous chain mail tunic. Her fair hair curled and straggled about her dirty face.

  “Mama,” Raf spoke in a husky voice, pushing slightly away from the comfort of her arms, but not too far. “Mama, Rhona saved me. She found me in the room they had locked me in, and she took me to her brother, and they made a plan to save me. They were frightened, because her father isn’t very nice, but they did it anyway ’cause she said it was the right thing to do. Please let her stay.”

  Rhona managed a smile, her gaze meeting
Jenova’s a little defiantly. “I admit I have not always thought in such terms, my lady, but there have been…reasons for that. I think there comes a time in all our lives when we must face the consequences of what we have done or what might be done if we sit back and do nothing.”

  “And you had reached that point,” Jenova replied levelly. She was thinking of Henry, that he too had found the point where he could go no further. A question occurred to her. “What of Jean-Paul? Where is he?”

  Rhona’s smile widened, strangely childlike on her grubby face. “I locked him in the chapel and put a guard on the door. He cursed me, but I laughed and told him to pray to God for his freedom.”

  “Let us hope God has better judgment than Lord Baldessare.”

  “Let us hope so, my lady.”

  “Mama?” Raf tugged impatiently at her sleeve. “Can Rhona stay? You have not said yet.”

  “Then I will say now. She can stay, Raf,” Jenova said. She took a deep breath, meeting the other woman’s eyes. “You have my everlasting gratitude and protection, Rhona. If I can do anything to help you, I will.”

  Rhona’s eyes widened, and she glanced at Reynard, and blushed beneath her dirt. “Thank you, my lady. I think…I think I have all I need, now.”

  Then Henry came and lifted Raf from Jenova’s arms. She released him a little reluctantly, but secure in the knowledge that her son was as safe with Henry as he was with her. She knew that Henry, too, would die to protect him. He was a remarkable man, the more so because of the travails he had suffered and conquered along the way.

  “I am very glad to see you again, Raf,” Henry said quietly. “I have missed you very much.”

  “I missed you, too,” Raf replied in a little voice. “Will you stay at Gunlinghorn now, Henry? Will you stay forever?”

  Henry did not glance at Jenova. “I will stay until you are safe again,” he said. “I will protect you and your mother as long as it is necessary.”

  “Until I am big and strong and can protect her myself,” Raf added, and he gave a sigh and cuddled into Henry’s shoulder. “I am very tired,” he announced with a jaw-cracking yawn. “Can I go to bed now?” Then, as another thought struck him, he lifted his head, his eyes widening. “But not if Agetha is still here. I do not like Agetha anymore.”

  “Agetha is locked away,” Henry assured him. “She has been bad and must be punished. Perhaps we can talk about Agetha in the morning.”

  Raf seemed content with that, and within moments he was fast asleep in Henry’s arms.

  Baldessare barely glanced behind him at Alfric’s bloodied body. The boy had fought hard, harder than he had expected—Baldessare felt a sting of pride through the red haze of his anger.

  He pushed through the doorway, Alfric’s sword in his hand. Where was the priest? This had all been Jean-Paul’s idea—Baldessare would have been just as happy to have forgotten the subtleties and taken Gunlinghorn by force. Jean-Paul had talked him out of it—the king must not be angered, he had said. You must not break his laws, he had said, but you can bend them.

  Bend them! Well, Baldessare would bend Jean-Paul….

  “Where’s the priest?” he bellowed.

  Armored men backed away, their eyes fixed nervously upon him.

  “Where is that monstrous priest!”

  “In the chapel, my lord,” someone was brave enough to finally give him the answer he wanted. “He’s barred in there. ’Twas Lord Alfric’s orders—”

  Baldessare fixed them all with a furious look, just to remind them who was really in charge of this keep. When he turned toward the chapel, no one said a word.

  In truth Baldessare still felt foggy from whatever potion his foul offspring had given him. His eyes narrowed. Rhona; it was she who was behind this, and she would feel his wrath. Perhaps, he thought as he reached the chapel, he would give her to the garrison as punishment. Aye, she would be more pliable after they had had their use of her.

  “Priest! Are you there?” Baldessare’s fist crashed against the thick wooden door.

  A step sounded from inside, and that harsh, husky voice came to him, slightly muffled. “Baldessare? Let me out.”

  “Oh, I will,” Baldessare muttered, gripping the bar across the door, lifting it and tossing it to one side. “I’ll let you out, Priest, and then I’ll kill you.”

  All his pent-up anger and loathing where Jean-Paul was concerned flared in his eyes as the chapel door swung open. The priest stood there, dark against candlelight. Even as Baldessare lurched forward toward him, bringing up his sword, he felt a cold droplet of terror spill into the boiling cauldron of his fury.

  “My lord, predictable as always.”

  That harsh voice was the last thing Baldessare heard before the knife blade entered his chest and pierced his heart.

  “Henry?”

  He looked around. She was standing on the roof of the tower behind him, a shadow against the predawn sky, her cloak wrapped about her, and the torchlight in her hair. Henry took a final glance at the peaceful Gunlinghorn countryside and walked toward her. As he drew closer, he saw that her face was pale and tired, but the anxiety that had drawn lines upon it had gone.

  She was as beautiful as ever.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked her, taking her arm and leading her inside, down the stairs. The castle was at rest, its young master home and safe, and everything had returned to normal. Well, almost.

  “I was looking for you.”

  “I am making sure we are protected, Jenova. I promised to do that, and that is what I am doing.”

  They had reached the landing on the stairs, the same place they had made love and he had blurted out his proposal. He didn’t dare imagine he would ever hold her like that again; he was still coming to terms with the fact that she had so readily accepted his time at le château de Nuit.

  And yet maybe this was a night for taking chances….

  “What will happen?” she was asking.

  “I am hoping the army from Crevitch will arrive soon, and I have sent a messenger to the Regent, Archbishop Lanfranc, to explain to him what Baldessare has been up to. He will not escape punishment, Jenova, not this time. I will make certain of it.”

  Jenova hoped he was right. She did not know how she would continue to live here, with such a man on her border. Especially if Henry was not here to support her, to stand behind her like the wonderful man he was. She had thought, after the maelstrom of the night, that he would never leave. But now, after what he had said to Raf, Jenova was no longer sure.

  “Jenova,” he said softly. He still hadn’t shaved. Soon he would have a beard like a Saxon. “I will only ask this once. I know how unworthy I am, and I do not think I have the courage to ask again. And I am tired. So very tired. I want to rest. I want to sleep for a hundred years, and I want you in my arms when I awake.”

  His eyes met hers, so somber, so vulnerable.

  “My lord!” They both looked up, startled, memories of the past hours resurfacing with a sickening lurch. Jenova went pale, and Henry slid his arm about her, holding her against him as Reynard thrust his way onto the stairs below them.

  “What is it, man! You will wake Raf.”

  Reynard had the grace to look sheepish, but the urgency in his eyes didn’t go away. “My lord, I have Master Will in the hall below. He has come from Gunlinghorn Harbor. He says that the priest has taken passage on one of the boats about to leave—”

  Henry was gone, pushing past him down the stairs and into the great hall.

  Sleeping bodies lay on benches and mattresses; it was early yet. Outside, a cock began to crow. Master Will was standing by what was left of the fire, and he turned eagerly as Henry strode toward him.

  “My lord, the priest…I know he is no friend of yours—I was there at the harbor when he rode down to speak with you. He is back there now, at the harbor. He has taken passage on one of the Channel traders. He came not an hour ago, with plenty of money to buy himself a place aboard.”

  �
��And they gave it to him?”

  “At first the captain was hesitant—the priest wants to take that accursed black stallion with him. But the priest offered him a goodly amount, and the captain has agreed.”

  “When do they leave?”

  “Now, my lord. That is what I came to tell you! The tide is on the turn now, and they leave with it!”

  Henry spun around, spying Reynard behind him and Jenova hurrying for the door. “You will take charge while I am gone, Reynard,” he said, already moving away. “I will stop him if I can.” He kicked at some of his men as he passed, waking them, shouting for them to get up. The rattle of swords and shuffle of boots followed him out.

  Reynard and Master Will looked at each other.

  “You did well to bring this news to us,” Reynard said. “Lord Henry will be grateful.”

  Master Will nodded, his pale eyes gleaming. “I know. I trust he will be grateful enough to think of me when Gunlinghorn Harbor grows fat and rich.”

  Reynard shook his head. “Lord Henry prefers men who think of the common good, my friend. Remember that.”

  Master Will snorted and turned away to find some wine and food to compensate him for his journey. Reynard, watching him go, felt a warm hand on his back. He smiled before he turned.

  She had bathed, and now her golden hair was damp and smooth, and she was wearing one of Jenova’s blue gowns, which was much too long for her. She had tucked it up around her girdle to prevent herself from tripping on the hem.

  “My lady,” he murmured and bent to kiss her mouth.

  She clung to his neck, stretching up onto her toes, with her body pressed to his. “Reynard,” she breathed against his cheek and smiled. “I am ready,” she added.

  He leaned back to look at her, a question in his dark eyes.

  “You said you would enjoy me when I was ready to enjoy you. I am ready.”

  His breath came a little faster. “Rhona, are you…”

  She put her fingertip to his lips. “I know what I am saying,” she told him firmly. “I have never been more sure.”