Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

Heavy secrets perhaps, but nothing to make him look so ravaged.

Le château de Nuit.

What did it mean? Henry was pretending he had never heard the name before, when it was perfectly obvious to Jenova that he had, and that it meant something very important to him indeed. Blast Baldessare! Why could he not leave them alone?

“Mama? You have stopped listening to me!”

Raf was tugging at her sleeve impatiently. Jenova apologized, promising to listen now, but when she glanced up to include Henry in the moment, she found he was watching her with a strange, bleak expression in his eyes. As if he were a stranger.

Or she were.

Henry stood on the roof of Gunlinghorn Keep and looked out across the lush paddocks and water meadows and woods that comprised Jenova’s lands, all the way to the sea. He could not see the cold, heaving waves in the darkness—there were clouds across the moon—but he knew it was there. Just as le château de Nuit was there, at the back of his mind. Waiting, always waiting.

He had hoped that that particular part of his life was gone, but at the same time he had always feared it was not. That it would return when he least expected it and destroy him.

And now it seemed that Baldessare knew the name. Henry could not imagine where he had found it out, or who had told it to him. Aye, that was the big question. Who? What nameless creature had remembered him and unburdened his soul to others? Whatever the circumstance, Baldessare had the name, and the implied threat was that he would use it.

King William would distance himself from his friend. Henry fully understood what such revelations would mean to his comfortable life at court. It would be over. And yet, for some strange reason, it was not the king he thought of now. It was Jenova, and what she would think of him when she knew about that place.

She would never be able to touch him and kiss him, to smile at him with that same glow in her green eyes. When she understood that Lord Henry, the handsome, womanizing, oh-so-clever Lord Henry, with his witty tongue and brilliant mind, was but a sham. A façade behind which the real Henry hid, the boy with the tear-streaked face and trembling lip, who crept through the woods surrounding le château de Nuit.

Jenova had never known that boy.

Henry had taken great care that no one would ever know him.

But now it seemed that Baldessare knew. Knew enough to make his veiled threats, anyway. Henry wondered if he could discover just how detailed Baldessare’s knowledge was before he made his next move. And he needed to know exactly what Baldessare wanted, or if he was just enjoying tormenting Henry. Revenging himself for all the supposed wrongs and slights Henry had committed upon him.

Henry didn’t think so. Baldessare never did anything without hoping to gain something material. It was greed and avarice that ruled that man.

There is nothing I can do but wait and see. And keep a watch over my shoulder….

And hope he could stop whatever catastrophe was coming before it crushed him.

“He will kill us. I know it. We can never be free of him.”

Rhona looked over at her brother’s slumped form—a shadow in the darkness—his frightened words echoing in her head. She tried to think of something comforting to say, just as she always had. For once her clever mind was blank, her cunning tongue silenced, and she realized she was as frightened as Alfric. So much depended upon her now. She wasn’t sure if she was up to the task.

She remembered again how they had returned to Hilldown Castle, routed by Lady Jenova but pretending otherwise. Their father was in a rage, one of his white-hot furies that even Rhona co

uld not dampen with sweet reason. She had tried, but before she had been able to utter more than a few words, she had realized that their father knew.

He knew.

He had a spy at Gunlinghorn, and that spy had heard and seen enough to understand that Jenova had refused Alfric utterly.

“Why have I been cursed with two such useless spawn!” Baldessare had screamed, shaking his fists in the air. “I ask one simple request! One…simple…request…”

Alfric had whimpered and covered his head, knowing what was coming. His father had promptly thrown a goblet at him, and then another, and then the wine jug after them. Sour wine had dripped from Alfric’s hair and clothing. The castle dogs had begun to bark with excitement and fright, circling him, not understanding that this was no game.

Baldessare had stood, panting, his face puce, and Rhona had closed her eyes and waited for him to begin to use his fists. And then she had heard it. Laughing. He was laughing! Her eyes had opened wide and she had watched, uneasy still, as the color had faded from his raddled face and his cold eyes had lost some of their craziness. Alfric had continued to huddle in the corner, rocking himself and moaning, but the dogs had begun licking at him—evidently the wine had been to their taste.

Mayhap it had looked funny, but Rhona had not been able to laugh. She had felt too sick at heart. The thoughts had run crazily through her mind. Was this to be her life? To be forever afraid of this man and what he could do to her, or have done to her. She could not live thus. She could not….

As if he had read her mind, her father had turned and stared at her.

Remembering it now, Rhona shuddered and hugged herself, but at the time she had found herself frozen to the spot. Years of living with terror had taken away her ability to run, and even if she had run, where could she have gone? Jesu, where was there to go?

“Help me to destroy Lord Henry, and wed Lady Jenova, and you can have whatever you wish, Rhona.”