Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

And Reynard knew he was just the man to give it to her.

Chapter 8

In her own chamber, the solar above the great hall, Jenova could not sleep. Before the feast this evening, she’d been visited by the captain of the ship freed from the sandbar by her men and the villagers of Gunlinghorn Harbor. He had been grateful, anxious to thank her, but he had also been eager to do business. He had, he’d told her, some bolts of cloth he wished to show her. Alas, he could not give them to her for nought, although he wished it were so, but he could do her a very favorable deal, if she were so inclined…?

The cloth was exquisite, particularly one bolt. White velvet, the rarest and most beautiful of materials, and so difficult to attain. Velvet was uncommon enough in England, but the color white was beyond price. Jenova had stroked it, h

ardly breathing, an unfamiliar sense of avarice taking hold of her. “How much?” she’d asked bluntly, and she’d closed her eyes in dismay when he’d told her. The captain had gone on to insist this was a fair price and that he had intended to ask much more. Jenova sighed. The velvet would make a beautiful gown for her marriage to Alfric—she had thought to wear her red wool, but this was so much more fitting for the Lady of Gunlinghorn.

Henry’s blue eyes will blaze if he sees me in this.

The thought had been unexpected and somewhat shocking. Jenova knew she should not be thinking of Henry and her marriage to Alfric in the same breath.

“Very well,” she had said, trying not to think how much better such a sum of money could be used elsewhere. “I will have the white velvet, Captain. All of it.”

The man had hardly been able to contain his glee.

Jenova glanced at the trunk now, where her precious cloth was contained, and felt slightly sick. Not because of the cost but because she was beginning to have second thoughts.

She felt as if something inside her had shifted, subtly but emphatically. Matters about which she had been so clear and certain had now changed. Tonight when Alfric, with his hopeful brown eyes, had continued to flatter her—a little desperately now, she thought—the words she had once enjoyed had seemed hollow and meaningless. She had wanted him to stop, to leave her alone. If only, she had thought, she could find peace and quiet, mayhap she could order her thoughts again, make some sense of them.

Not long ago she had been looking forward to Alfric becoming a part of her life. But now…Those dreams were becoming faded and vague; nothing seemed clear to her anymore. And aye, she admitted it to herself, she was having great difficulty imagining Alfric as having any part in her life at all!

It is Henry’s fault.

He had done things to her body and mind. Now all she could think about was Henry, Henry, Henry! And when next she might have him alone with her. Even today, amidst the feast she had planned and hoped to make perfect, she had been impatient for the Baldessares to be gone. Just so that she and Henry could be together. She had dared not look at him too often, in case she gave herself away to the people around her, in case her desire glowed like moonlight in her eyes.

Jenova shivered, but she wasn’t cold. She was remembering the moments in the stillroom when he had held her and brought her to her peak, and she had been like a wild thing, pressing her own hand to her mouth so as not to scream. Her body ached for his. How could that be right? How could that be just? How could she go on into the future she had planned when her every waking thought was for him?

Henry had said their passion would fade, and she had been sorry for that, but in a way she had been relieved, too. Henry had no part in her future—at least, not in the major role he was playing now. But Jenova had not seen any sign of her own passion fading. If anything it had grown hotter, more desperate—her familiarity with Henry had only made her want him more, not less.

And that was very disturbing indeed.

With a restless sigh, Jenova rose from her bed. Outside her window, the snow fell in silent beauty, coating the bailey in white and turning the world beyond into a dreamlike landscape. This was her land, her place, and she had always felt as if she knew what was best for it and herself. She was Gunlinghorn. Now everything had changed, and she was no longer sure—she was adrift. She did not know what she wanted. The future no longer seemed comfortable, or perhaps it was just that the path she had chosen no longer felt like the correct one. Not because she had seen another, better path—she told herself she accepted there was no future for herself and Henry—but simply because Henry had turned her ideas of happiness upside down.

How could she wed Alfric and live here with him now that she knew what she would be missing? How could she be content with affection now that she knew the hot ache of real passion? It would almost have been better if she had remained in ignorance. She could have been content then, blindly, foolishly content.

And what made it worse was the possibility that this situation might be nothing at all out of the ordinary for Henry. Henry might not be overwhelmed by it at all. For all Jenova knew, she was just another body to him, another woman with whom to pass the time.

Not so for Jenova. She felt as if he had taken her from her comfortable, familiar world and then torn it asunder. She could never put it back together the way it was. She could never be the way she was.

Oh Jesu, what am I to do?

Mayhap there was still hope that it could all turn out as Henry said—that this passion, this desire, would burn itself out? If she was no longer afflicted with the heat and the longing, she might learn to be satisfied with someone like Alfric, she might learn to accept a more lukewarm passion.

Please, please let it be so!

And if it was not, if she found herself no longer able to be Alfric’s bride under any circumstances? Jenova rested her cheek against the cold wood of the window in despair. Lord Baldessare would not be an easy man to dissuade once he had set his sights on something. And, as she was all too well aware, he had his sights set on Gunlinghorn, even if it was only through the compliance of his son. Alfric’s character was not strong, and he would always be ruled by someone. Jenova had planned to be his master, but she had known she would have to make her position very clear to his father. Lord Baldessare would have had to learn very early on that, once Jenova and Alfric were wed, he would no longer have a part to play.

Jenova had had no doubts as to her own ability to handle Alfric, rule him firmly but gently, and at the same time keep his father at bay. But if she now turned around and spurned Alfric altogether…no, Lord Baldessare would not be happy with that.

If she had not known exactly what sort of man he was before, she knew now. During her specially prepared feast there had been little appreciation for her efforts in the baron’s demeanor, and he had not once complimented her, or even shown the most rudimentary good manners. The chief emotion she’d sensed in him was a smoldering bitterness. Even when she had presented him with her headache medicine, he had looked at it as if it were poison. No thank you, no gratitude. Just cold dislike.

And Jenova did not think it would take much for Baldessare’s dislike to spill over into rage and violence. He was not the sort of man who should ever be crossed. Jenova did not believe Lord Baldessare would ever forgive a transgression, imagined or otherwise, and he was definitely not the sort of man to kiss and make his peace with his enemies.

Jenova told herself firmly that she did not fear him. She was the Lady of Gunlinghorn, widow of the king’s cousin, and the king himself was fond enough of her to allow her to arrange her own marriage. No, she did not fear Baldessare. He would need to be a brave man indeed if he were to attempt to harm her in some manner.

Or a desperate one.