Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

Jenova studied him a moment more, trying to make him out, but of course it was impossible. If Henry did not wish you to read his thoughts, then you couldn’t. It was one of the most infuriating things about him. On the surface he was charming and easygoing, but there were hidden depths to Henry. Well, she would just have to take him at his word.

Jenova relaxed into a smile of her own. “Thank you, Henry. Now, there was something more….”

“Oh?”

“It concerns Lord Baldessare, Alfric’s father. He sent his scribe, who is also his priest, with a request…nay, a demand,” Jenova’s eyes glittered, “that the marriage contract include my agreement that, in the event of Alfric’s death, he himself would become guardian to my son, and protector of Gunlinghorn.”

Henry frowned. “Guardian to your son? If you were a feeble female, I suppose I would understand it, but you are not. And protector of Gunlinghorn? You have had no protector thus far, why would he imagine you needed one?”

“That is what I ask myself,” Jenova said, pleased to see he was as put out by Baldessare’s demands as she. “Perhaps you can discover what notions are wriggling about like worms in that man’s head, for I fear he is beyond me.”

Henry smiled at the image, but he still looked uneasy. “He is a tough old warrior, I grant you. Perhaps he thinks all women are weak and unable to care for their lands, and there’s an end to it. Perhaps if we persuade him you are as capable and clever as you are beautiful, he will desist.”

His praise pleased her. “Well, I will not agree to his terms, and there’s an end to it. If I wed Alfric and anything were to happen to him, I would rule alone, as I do now, until my son is old enough to see to his own inheritance. I do not want interference from strangers who know nothing of Gunlinghorn, and care less.”

“Is Alfric sickly?” Henry was still worrying at the problem. “Mayhap the father knows something you do not.”

Jenova tapped a slim finger against her cheek. “I would not have thought so, no. He appears hale and healthy. But you must make your own judgment on the matter, Henry. I’ll warrant you know more than I of the lies and tricks powerful men like to play.”

Henry wondered if she meant that as a compliment. If not, then what was she implying? She was the only woman he knew who could confuse him like that. “My feeling is that Baldessare is simply too greedy to allow the possibility of Gunlinghorn falling out of his grasp.”

“But it is not in his grasp. If I marry, I will be marrying Alfric.”

“And Alfric is a man you can rule, Jenova. But think on this; if you can rule him, then so can others.” He stood up. “I will bathe, and change my clothing, and see you and your bridegroom anon.”

Jenova smiled, and then watched as he strode across the hall, calling to his man as he went. He looked very handsome, despite the dust of his journey, but then Henry had never been anything but handsome. It was ungenerous of her, she knew, but sometimes she wished he could look just a little worn or frazzled. A little less than perfect.

Henry’s big, swarthy servant, Reynard, fell in behind him. He wore Henry’s emblem on his tunic, the phoenix surrounded by flame. The two of them, Henry and Reynard, vanished up the stairs into the keep’s upper reaches.

Jenova knew that in her heart she was glad she had asked Henry to attend her. He may be famed for his honeyed tongue at court, but she knew that in such a situation as this he would give her an honest opinion. Even if she did not agree with it, she could rely upon him to be sincere. That was something she missed when he was not here—a man who told the truth to her. Alfric tended to flatter her, telling her what she wanted to hear. And while it was very nice, and he seemed to mean it, Jenova preferred the brutal truth.

You are as capable and clever as you are beautiful.

The words echoed in her head. Did Henry really think her beautiful? She imagined he was used to flattering women, and doing other things to them that made them gasp and squirm and beg for more. An image of his naked, well-muscled shoulders and back, his body almost entirely covering the female form beneath him, his hands and mouth touching, caressing, his chestnut hair curling at his nape…her fingers tangling in it as she felt his lips, warm and teasing, moving over the plump curve of her breast toward its center. His hot mouth brushing her so that she gasped. His tongue circling, and then his lips closing over her and she…she…

Jenova stood up abruptly. Shocked. What on earth was she thinking? Henry’s women were naught to do with her. She was sometimes curious, aye, but for some reason just now that curiosity had gotten out of hand. Her cheeks felt quite hot. And it wasn’t just her cheeks.

Jenova took a deep breath and pushed all such thoughts firmly out of her head. Enough. That was quite enough of that. She had Alfric to dream of, hadn’t she? Henry was her friend and that was all. Even to begin to imagi

ne such a situation was dangerous and foolish and a sure way to get herself hurt.

When she was quite certain that she had regained her composure, Jenova went to attend to her own appearance.

Chapter 2

Alfric, son of Lord Baldessare, arrived on a snowy horse at the head of a troop of grim-faced men. He was dressed in a fine woollen tunic of woad blue, with soft, dark leather breeches. The spurs attached to his boot-heels shone like stars. He was a good-looking young man, with hair fairer than Henry’s, and with eyes of a deep, melancholy brown. As Jenova came to greet him, the gaze he turned upon her was more like a hound’s toward its master than a future bridegroom’s toward his bride.

Henry sighed inwardly. If Jenova wanted a man who was her slave, then she had chosen well. While he stood back and waited to be introduced, Alfric was busy kissing her fingers and whispering preposterous compliments to her, his puppy-dog eyes full of meaning. Reynard, who was standing behind Henry, murmured something derogatory under his breath.

“Now, now, Reynard,” Henry said in mock reprimand. “We cannot all be men of intelligence. And the lady seems to be enjoying his attentions.” Indeed, Jenova was quite flushed. “Perhaps that is a lesson for you and me—be not clever or skilled if you want to succeed with the ladies. They much prefer stupid men.”

“I need no help when it comes to the ladies, my lord,” Reynard replied with some arrogance.

Henry turned and looked him up and down. Reynard was a big man, more like a bear than a man, but with his rugged good looks, women seemed to cluster about him. Even Christina, when she thought Henry wasn’t watching. Mayhap Reynard was right, and he did not need instruction from Alfric. Or Henry.

“Lord Henry!”

Jenova had finally managed to fight free of her aspiring bridegroom, and now her gaze was fastened meaningfully upon him. It was time for him to play his part, outwardly at least. But, as Henry strolled forward, full of his usual smiling confidence, he felt anything but amiable toward Alfric, son of Baldessare.