Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

“Nay, Alfric. I will think of something else. Go to bed.”

Alfric, his glazed eyes fixed on hers, struggled between his blind belief in his sister to make all right, and justified fear for his own safety. After a moment he gave a jerky nod and turned away. Rhona closed the door behind him, leaning her brow against it and closing her eyes. If only she had been born a man, she would not have failed! Jenova would be hers! But Rhona suspected that she would not have been able to get away with half the things she said and did if she had been a man. And besides, she enjoyed being a woman, enjoyed the power she wielded and the admiration she saw in the faces of the men around her.

There had been admiration in that man’s face tonight, the big man who had been trying to overhear what she and Alfric had been saying. Rhona frowned, her mind working. It must have been his fault Jenova had scorned Alfric. He must have repeated what he had heard. But no, she did not really think so. Rhona had a feeling that Jenova’s doubts stemmed from someone else, someone who had far more influence over her than a servant. Mayhap she could still seduce Henry of Montevoy away from Jenova?

Rhona knew she must not give up yet, and she did not intend to. Before she allowed her father’s fury to roll over them like the violent storm it was, she would do everything in her power to stop him. Would Jean-Paul help her? He had helped before, but, she suspected, only when it suited his own agenda. Their chaplain was a puzzle to her. He had come to their household a year ago, and since then he had slipped into the role of their father’s close confidant. It was a position that ensured his wielding much power over Baldessare and his household.

She did not trust him.

She did not trust any man.

Men were weak and greedy and used their strength to oppress. Rhona supposed good ones existed, but as far as she was concerned they were few and far between, and she was not about to gamble her life on the hope that one day a chivalrous knight would come riding to her rescue.

No, if she and Alfric were to be saved from their father’s wrath, then they must save themselves.

Chapter 9

The next morning Jenova descended the stairs with her speech prepared. She was pale and weary, but determined. The servants were already up and busy, and she cast a practiced eye over the preparations under way for the midday meal. Feeding the number of souls in a castle the size of Gunlinghorn required much careful planning and strategy. It was a job Jenova had been trained for since girlhood and one that gave her pleasure and a great sense of satisfaction.

In the kitchen, a boy grinned at her as he sat behind the protective screen, turning a spit of roasting meat over the flames so that it wouldn’t burn. The smell of fresh baking bread mingled with that of pies coming from the ovens. The cook, a man with a round belly and a wooden spoon in his hand, gave her a respectful nod as he went about his business.

Nothing to be done here. Nothing to cause her to linger. No excuses. Jenova knew she was being a coward, but the thought of facing the Baldessares was turning her into one. Well, best get it over, then!

With a deep breath to bolster her courage, Jenova made her way to the great hall. There were any number of her household already up. Some of them were seated at the trestle tables, involved in conversation or games of dice or chess, while others took their fill of yesterday’s bread and ale, which served to break their fast before the midday meal.

“Mama!”

It was Raf, his arms warm and tight about her legs as he gazed up at her with sparkling green eyes.

“We are going to find Raven and her babies. Do you want to come with us?”

Us? Jenova turned and found Henry close behind her. He gave a self-mocking smile, as if she should disapprove of his attachment to her son, when it was one of the things she loved about him. And one of the reasons she knew she could not marry a shallow man like Alfric.

“I would, sweeting, but I have something I wish to discuss with Lord Baldessare,” she said to Raf, but she was looking at Henry.

He must have read the tension in her face, because his expression sharpened and his blue eyes narrowed. “Do you want us to wait?”

Sweet Jesu, yes! But Jenova swallowed down her weakness and fear. Raf’s open, smiling face was still turned to hers, and looking down at him she knew she did not want him to be privy to the scene she was about to put into motion. Better he was with Henry and far away from Baldessare’s displeasure.

“I-no, Henry, no. Find Raven and her babies. I will manage Lord Baldessare.”

Henry nodded, still watching her. He stepped closer, near enough to say, “Be sure you insist on proper terms for your marriage contract. Favorable for you and Raf, rather than my lord Baldessare.”

Jenova realized then that Henry thought she meant to talk with the Baldessares about the marriage. He would not know, he could not know, that she had changed her mind completely. She sensed that he would not like the complications this brought to their own relationship, or the expectations.

“Lord Henry, you must come now,” Raf insisted, impatient to be gone. Henry took the boy’s hand in his but continued to look at Jenova. She forced a reassuring smile.

“Yes, go, Henry. I will be all right.”

He hesitated a moment more, then gave a brief bow and left her.

Jenova closed her eyes and took a deep breath before turning again to the great hall.

At once her eye fell upon Lord Baldessare, standing by the dais, slapping his gloves impatiently into his palm. His two fair-haired children stood close by, staring at Agetha, who was attempting to engage them in conversation. Jenova knew that Baldessare had already been up and about the stables—one of the grooms had told her—complaining about any number of things that were none of his business. He seemed to think Gunlinghorn was already his.

Jenova felt relief dilute her apprehension. She was doing the right thing in refusing Alfric. She still believed she could have kept Lord Baldessare at a distance, but it would have been wearing on her patience and her temper. The man was a bully, and Jenova did not like bullies. Her resolve strengthened—she was weary of Baldessare, with his cold stares and barely contained contempt.

Better if he never set foot at Gunlinghorn again.