Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

Her pride had been in him, in Henry.

She had been looking at him as if he had exceeded all her expectations.

Under her gaze Henry had felt himself grow a little taller—some parts more than others. But now, when he thought about the incident, he began to wonder if Jenova hadn’t been trying to teach him something else entirely. Had her lesson been that Gunlinghorn wasn’t as boring as he thought, that his presence here would actually be of use to her? The harbor, for instance. It would be a challenge to keep the channel deep enough for larger vessels.

Such a challenge appealed to Henry.

Was that what Jenova was saying to him, in her own devious manner? That fundamentally there was nothing to be found in London that could not also be found here?

The memory faded; Henry blinked and found himself once more in the bailey at Gunlinghorn. He urged Lamb to hurry up, smiling at Raf when the stallion tossed his head and snorted impatiently. He used to think he was a clear-thinking man, a pragmatic man, but now he didn’t know what to think. Worse, he didn’t know what to do! To one side stood Baldessare and his oblique threats, as well as Henry’s satisfying life at court; on the other side stood Jenova and her son, and Gunlinghorn. And in between both was Henry, with his dark secret and his desire for Jenova, and his very real fear that he could never be the man she wanted. The man she deserved.

He would fail her.

She just did not realize it yet.

Unaware of Henry’s churning thoughts, Jenova drew her warm furs closer about her and watched him and her son, seated upon the big stallion, trotting so steadily around the castleyard. The animal, with his enormous feathery hooves, took cautious, surprisingly light steps. Henry had complete control, and she wasn’t afraid for Raf. Besides, he was enjoying himself so much that she very much doubted any command of hers would be heeded.

She had never thought of Henry as a man with a fondness for children. He had never taken much notice of Raf before, and indeed she had sensed he was grateful she had not pressed him on the matter. Jenova was not sure she fully understood his current change of heart. Henry, in her past experience, never did anything without expecting something in return.

Is he trying to please me to gain my favor

?

He already had all he wanted from her—she denied him nothing these days. Last night they had lain in each other’s arms, their bodies joined, delirious with pleasure. He had brought her to her peak again and again, making her cry out, uncaring who heard her. And she had wondered, as she always wondered at such moments, how much longer it would last.

Jenova told herself to stop trying to see into the future. She should just enjoy it, take it moment by moment. Soon Henry would go, back to London and his real life, and she would be alone again. Alone without even a husband like Alfric to look forward to. But she would still be the Lady of Gunlinghorn, loved and looked up to. Surely there was something to sustain her in that?

Raf laughed and waved one hand. “Mama, we are riding to London!” he shouted. Henry smiled and shook his head at her, while she smiled back. She knew Raf wasn’t riding to London, she knew that neither she nor Raf would ever ride to London with Henry. He did not want them there. London was where his real life lay, and Jenova suddenly knew, with a cold shiver in her heart, that he did not want them to be part of his real life.

Well, what did you expect? she asked herself impatiently. Enjoy the moment, as Henry is fond of saying. Take what you can, and savor the memories. You have made your bed, Jenova, now sleep in it!

Chapter 11

Jean-Paul closed his eyes, trying to still the ache in his head. The pain was elusive, not yet the pounding agony it would soon become. The headaches were part of what he was now, and he had grown to accept them. Just as he had grown to accept the ruination of his body and face.

That did not mean he had to like it.

God taught forgiveness, but Jean-Paul did not forgive. He could never forgive what had been done to him that night, when the fire had come and he’d been abandoned to this half-life. He had survived, dragging himself away from the charred building, lying half dead in some peasant’s hovel. But he had survived.

The people of the village had claimed it was a miracle, that God or one of his many saints had stepped in and taken up Jean-Paul for His own. It had suited Jean-Paul to allow them to believe that, to let himself be persuaded into the monastery, and to learn the ways of the holy men there.

But it wasn’t true.

The thing that had kept Jean-Paul alive during those early dark days, and all the days that had come afterward had been revenge. It had been as simple and as complicated as that. Someone would pay for what had happened to him; it was only just. God taught justice, as well as forgiveness. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A life for a life?

Yes, someone would pay, and that someone was Henry of Montevoy.

The ache in Jean-Paul’s head intensified. Henry had abandoned him when he’d needed him most, left him to die, and worse. Henry deserved all that was coming to him. Despite the pain, Jean-Paul smiled. He was going to enjoy himself in the weeks ahead.

The bath was placed in one of the rooms off the great hall, small but private. Henry lay back in the steaming water with a sigh and closed his eyes amidst the rather feminine scent of violets—Agetha had provided him with the soap.

Henry had a fetish for cleanliness, which was always a source of amusement to his friends. When they made him the subject of their jokes, he would shrug and laugh and tell them that he preferred not to carry around the filth they preferred. But it was more than that—he knew in his heart that his past had much to do with the need to cleanse himself so often. To scrub and scrub at a stain that only he could see and that could never be removed.

Henry shook off such grim thoughts, moving restlessly in the water. Lady Agetha had offered to scrub his back, as good manners required, but he had refused her, to the relief of them both. Now, if it had been Jenova…

When he was with Jenova, nothing more mattered. She would probably laugh if he told her that and think he was teasing her, or begin to make plans for the future. Henry did not trust himself that far. His future had never consisted of remaining with any one woman longer than a month, but even that alarming thought didn’t make him want to pack up his belongings and ride northward.

He sighed again, sinking deeper into the water, his well-muscled body a golden blur beneath its surface, while his head and shoulders rested against the side.