Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

Jenova straightened and moved away from the window. The rug beneath her feet was soft and warm—a relic of her father’s travels to the East. He was dead now, as was most of her family. Her mother, too, was gone, but she had died happy in the knowledge that Jenova had outgrown her rebelliousness and had made a good marriage. She was alone, and although that did not bother her usually, it did tonight. It would have been pleasant to have had someone who was close to her, someone of whom to ask advice.

Of course, there is Henry.

Jenova tried not to hear the sly note in the thought. Aye, she told herself briskly, she could seek Henry out in his chamber. Talk to him about Baldessare, ask his opinion again. The last time, he had seemed lukewarm on the matter of her marriage to Alfric. Was that because he disliked Baldessare, or did he have some other agenda? She should ask him, she should discuss it with him.

But it was no good, Jenova could not lie to herself. That wasn’t the real reason she wanted to see Henry—a warm tingle across her skin, a melting heat in her blood. She needed to be held close by him, to be kissed and loved by him. She had resisted long enough. Her guests would be abed now, there would be no one to see, and she needed h

im so.

Feeling dangerously reckless, Jenova drew her fur-lined cloak over her thin chemise and slid her feet into her slippers. She reached toward the door.

Would he be alone?

With repugnance, she remembered again the table on the dais and the greedy Baldessares taking their fill of her good food and wine. And the lovely Lady Rhona, with her dark gaze fixed firmly upon Henry, as if she fully expected him to fall in love with her on the spot.

At first Jenova had been a little shocked by such a blatant display. And then she had been angered. Women, more particularly wellborn ladies, did not behave so in her hall! Was this what happened while Henry was attending court? Were women always giving him suggestive looks? And did he always take advantage of them?

Is she with him now?

Jenova took a breath and tried to think clearly. Rhona’s come-hither look, though very shocking, had actually begun to turn a little stale before the meal had ended. Henry had not seemed to be aware of it, or if he had been, he had not responded to it. He had spent his time bickering with Baldessare or staring into his wine goblet. Indeed, she had rarely seen him so out of sorts, but then Jenova knew she was not quite her usual self either.

If she had been Rhona, she would have come to the conclusion that Henry wasn’t interested. That, young and beautiful as Rhona may be, she was not the woman Henry wanted in his bed tonight.

A swell of happiness filled her heart.

Buoyed by the thought that soon she would be in his arms, Jenova slipped out into the cold stairwell. Henry’s chamber was above hers, up another flight of stairs with a torch in a wall sconce at the top. Jenova had begun the climb when a figure stepped out of the shadows behind her so quietly and abruptly that he made her gasp.

“My lady?”

It was Alfric, his brown eyes catching the light, his manner a little hesitant, like a child caught out of bed after curfew.

“Alfric, what are you doing here?” Jenova demanded, more sharply than she meant. She kept her eyes on his face, although she had the urge to glance up the stairs to see if Henry was standing there. What would she have done if they’d been caught? If Alfric were to discover their secret, it would be horribly embarrassing for them all.

He reached for her hand, and without thinking she gave it to him. His lips were warm against her cold skin, and he squeezed her fingers as if he was trying to tell her something. Alfric seemed far more aggressive in his wooing during this visit—she even sensed a certain desperation in his flattery. He had lost his light touch. Jenova did not like him like this. She supposed he sensed her slipping away from him and at the same time didn’t understand why. She should feel sorry for him. Instead, the more desperate Alfric became, the more she wanted to distance herself from him.

Secretly gritting her teeth, Jenova allowed him to finish kissing her hand and then hastily withdrew it from his grip. “What are you doing here, Alfric?” she asked him again. “Is there something amiss?”

“I-I could not sleep,” he said slowly, watching her. “I thought to take a walk about the castle, and then I heard your door open. Can-can you not sleep either, my dearest lady?”

Alfric stepped closer, making full use of his melancholy gaze. But there was something intimidating in his movements that Jenova did not like, something almost predatory. She edged back, attempting to put space between them, but he came on, crowding her against the wall, his body a menacing shadow against the torchlight. She had never thought of him in such a way before, but he was Baldessare’s son, after all. She seemed to have forgotten that until now.

“Was that the case, my lady?” he said quietly, accusingly. “Were you taking a midnight walk? Or had you some specific destination in mind?”

He knows! she thought frantically. Or he had guessed…. Her back was hard to the wall now, she couldn’t go any farther, and besides, there was nowhere to go. Jenova put her hand against his chest to keep him back, feeling the fine velvet of his tunic and the sharp cut of a brooch fastened at his breast.

“You are frightening me, Alfric,” she said, only just managing to keep the tremor from her voice. “It is no business of yours where and when I choose to walk about my own castle—”

“No b-business of mine?” he sneered, his lip curling. His face loomed over hers, and her palm could no longer hold him. “I am your husband! Or will be…How can it be no b-business of mine who you spend your nights with, Lady Jenova?”

Her heart was thudding so loud that it deafened her, but she forced fear away; showing him how affected she was would only incite him further. This was a side to Alfric she had never seen before, and she knew with a cold, hard certainty that she never wanted to see it again.

“No, it is no business of yours, Alfric. I am not going to marry you. I am sorry to tell you in such a brutal way, but it is best if you know now and do not allow your hopes to continue any longer.”

His bravado fell from him like the pretense it was. He stared at her, his eyes huge, his mouth dropping open. He made a strangled sound.

“Now, I am weary,” she went on levelly. “I need to go back to my room.”

“Nay!” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Nay, lady, please, oh please, do not say that. I-I will be good, I swear I will never…never…I beg you to reconsider! Lady Jenova, please!”