Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

Aye, Henry admitted to himself reluctantly, lesser men still attempted to get away with thievery and treason and murder even when well aware that the king could order them to be put to their deaths. They were too greedy or stupid to care. And though Baldessare was not stupid, he was certainly greedy.

He could use Baldessare as an excuse to stay, if he needed one. In truth, despite Leon’s competence, Henry knew he should have returned to London a fortnight ago. He could not seem to drag himself away. He wanted to stay here. With her. He was happy here, with her, happier than he had been for a very long time. Oh, it would not last. Of course it would not last, and he did not expect it to. But all the same he couldn’t bring himself to sever the cord, not just yet, despite his sense of unworthiness.

Leave it a little longer. Just a little. Mayhap the affair would end of its own accord, and then he would not have to leave with such a heavy heart. Or Jenova might tell him to go, send him off with a flea in his ear, and he would not have to make the decision himself.

But there were no signs yet of their affair cooling, and he seemed to be melding into other areas of her life, places he had never been before.

Yesterday, she had asked for his attendance at a meeting with a merchant from Gunlinghorn Harbor. “I need your advice, your thoughts,” she had said, as if they’d mattered to her. This had not been unusual in itself—Jenova often asked for his advice—but rarely on the day-to-day running of her lands and its people.

Henry had attended the meeting, prepared to offer what advice he could and stave off boredom. Gunlinghorn was hardly London, after all. These matters were not likely to affect the future of the kingdom.

But before long, Henry found himself actually intensely interested in what was being said. He found it stimulating in a way he had not expected—certainly had not expected outside the machinations of the court. He was surprised at himself, and curious as to why he was so engaged in the business of Gunlinghorn.

Was it because of Jenova?

Aye, but it was much more than that. It was because he cared. Henry admitted it at last, uneasily. He cared deeply about this place and its people.

The merchant had come to ask Jenova to consider giving her harbor to him as a fief: He would pay her an annual rent, and in return she would allow him to command the trade in the harbor as he wished and keep the profits. At present, the harbor was part of Jenova’s Gunlinghorn estate, and therefore hers to do with as she willed.

“A good, honest man like myself, my lady, would be more than happy to remove the worries of such a matter from your already overburdened shoulders. I heard that a boat ran aground lately? You do not want to be troubled with problems like that. It would be my pleasure to spare you from them in any way I could.”

Jenova had glanced at Henry, a sparkle in her eye, ignoring his grimace at the flowery language. “Would you really, Master Will? I had thought that bearing heavy burdens was part of being the Lady of Gunlinghorn.”

The merchant had continued to flatter and chatter, but it had been very clear to Henry that he’d had his eye on the prize. Gunlinghorn Harbor. With the increasing number of ships arriving there and the prospect of more trade, the man had seen a way to being rich. He’d planned to seize it, and he had not wanted to share. A feeble and lazy lady might have taken his offer, glad to be rid of the “burden.” But Henry had known such a move would not have been in Jenova’s interest.

“You say that a boat lately ran aground,” he’d said, cutting through the flummery. “The harbor is beginning to silt up, then. What will you do about that, Master Will? Have you any plans? Will you put some of your moneys into repairs?”

Master Will had hemmed and hawed, but it had been clear he’d had no intention of doing anything about such long-term problems as the deep channel becoming too shallow to take the larger ships. His plan had been to make his money and go.

“Some things are simply God’s will,” he had ended piously.

“No, they are Lady Jenova’s will, and she is more than capable of overseeing her harbor and the ships that come into it. She is also clever enough to keep her harbor from silting up.” Henry had spoken with deceptive mildness.

Master Will had eyed him with dislike. It had been clear he’d wished Henry back in London that very instant, and the knowledge had amused Henry. Poor Master Will had believed it had only been Lord Henry preventing Jenova from caving in to his wishes. Clearly he had not known the lady very well, and it had seemed that Jenova had been quite content to have had it so.

“Lady Jenova is a fragile and beautiful woman, my lord,” he had replied, a little desperately. “Women should not be burdened with the troubles of commerce. They do not understand such things. It is for men to help them, and I would not like to think I stood by and watched her sufferings, when I could so easily have relieved her of her troubles.”

“Relieved her of her troubles?” Henry had snorted. “I’ll warrant you would like to! And line your pockets with her profits at the same time. Be gone, Master Will. We have heard enough of your self-serving nonsense. Lady Jenova has made her decision; she will be keeping her harbor.”

“My lady,” Master Will had blurted, his face falling. “It was not my intention to—”

At that moment Jenova had stepped in and smoothed his ruffled feathers, and eventually she had eased him from the door. Her smile, when she had turned again to Henry, had been broad and filled with genuine amusement, and something more. Pride. But of whom had she been proud?

“Next he will be wanting to open a market every week on the quayside,” she had said, “to take advantage of the cargoes arriving so frequently. We will have traders and buyers coming from all over southern England to purchase wares.”

“So you will,” Henry had teased. “Let me guess, Jenova. You are thinking of doing that yourself.”

“But of course. That was why I did not want to relinquish control of the harbor. I would be a fool to do so.”

“So you didn’t really need my advice after all?”

He had known she was no fool, but still the idea that she had not needed his counsel had wounded him.

“Oh, but I did,” Jenova had insisted. “I needed you here in person, Henry. If you had not been here to send him away, he would never have gone. You see, I did not want to insult him—he is useful to me—but you could insult him for me. It is fine for him to be at odds with you, but I have to remain the saintlike Lady Jenova. Such men as Master Will prefer not to believe that their lady tallies up her profits before bed—it spoils that image of fragile feminine weakness. And that image comes in very useful, Henry, when I want something done.”

Henry had laughed. “So I played the devil to your saint?”

“You did indeed. We made a perfect pair.”