Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

“Farewell, Reynard.”

“Adieu, my lady.” He bowed, but not before she once again caught the dark gleam of his eyes and the teasing smile curling his mouth.

He knew.

God rot him! God curse him! Rhona cantered away from Uther’s Tower, her anger keeping her warm. But by the time she reached the bottom of the hill, her bad temper was forgotten and she was daring to dream of the next time.

Thoughtfully, Reynard walked back toward Uther’s Tower. Lady Rhona had shown remarkable candor; clearly the need to have Lord Henry leave Gunlinghorn was of much importance to her. Rhona, and through her, Baldessare, wanted the Lady Jenova alone and vulnerable. Reynard frowned, feeling the anger he had been holding back begin to burn. He could guess what that monster planned to do, and it was not pleasant.

Would Henry go? Reynard did not think Henry was the sort of man who would leave a woman defenseless to save his own skin. Besides, Henry would not go anywhere until he knew the name of his enemy, this friend Baldessare had spoken of. Rhona had promised to get that name for him, but he had seen the spark of fear deep in her eyes. Even Baldessare’s own daughter was afraid of him, he thought with disgust.

Mayhap she can be turned to our side?

The voice in his head gave him pause. Mayhap she could be turned. Reynard did not think she was evil at heart. She was proud, aye, and she had been hurt, and if half the stories about her were true, she had few scruples. But beneath her chilly exterior was a flesh-and-blood woman. He had held her, felt her tremble, seen the confusion in her beautiful face.

Lady Rhona was very troubled.

Was Reynard the man to save her from herself?

Chapter 15

Far beyond the keep, the sea pounded against the cliffs, white spray caught on the wind and tossed up onto the wharf at Gunlinghorn Harbor. The weather had deteriorated during the night, and although Henry had paid it little heed with Jenova wrapped in his arms beneath the warm furs, early this morning word had come to the castle that another ship had gone aground, a coastal trader seeking shelter from the storm.

“I am worried,” Jenova said, and her green eyes were candid as they met Henry’s. “Not for the seamen, thankfully they are safe. I am worried that my harbor will fill with silt and be no more. I had such plans, Henry!”

It was a very real fear. Many thriving, busy ports along the coast formed bars or spits that prevented craft from entering, and in some places the deep channels had silted up entirely. There were villages now where once, a hundred years ago, the sea had ebbed and flowed.

“Do you wish me to take a look, sweeting?”

Jenova was very proud of her position as lady, and Henry was careful to not assume more than she was offering. But this time she seemed so woebegone, so in need of help, that he reached out and touched her cheek, his fingers sliding back into her long, curling hair.

She leaned into his palm, nuzzling against him with perfect trust. Like Raf. It made his heart hurt, and the bitterness of his own unworthiness tasted like ashes in his mouth.

“That is generous of you, Henry. I know…I know you must have been wishing yourself home in London for many weeks now.”

Her dark lashes swept down, hiding her eyes, and she bit her lip. Henry caught his breath. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, breathing in the scent of her, feeling the softness of her body, experiencing being with her. He wanted to tell her he would stay with her at Gunlinghorn forever, if she would let him.

But he did not; he dared not.

How could he, when he did not know what secrets Baldessare held? It might not be possible for Henry to stay. Tomorrow, he might be gone, riding north, leaving all this behind him. Leaving Jenova behind him. And yet…

“I would do anything for you,” he said quietly, and meant it with all his heart.

Jenova looked up at him, pleased surprise widening her green eyes, her mouth curving into a delighted smile. “Anything?” she asked, a little breathless.

Henry made himself smile back, made his voice teasing. “Well, almost anything. I refuse to empty Raf’s chamber pot again.”

Jenova’s lips quivered and she put her fingers to them, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “Oh, Henry, he did not ask it of you?”

Henry sighed. “He did. He did not want Agetha to think he was a baby, needing to relieve himself in the night. I had to pretend the piss was mine.”

Jenova gave a giggle, and then another. “Oh Henry.” Her laughter faded, and she rested her brow against his. He felt her trembling. “You say you will do anything for me, and I ask you now, before I lose my courage…. Will you stay at Gunlinghorn?”

He went cold and hot, one after the other, and suddenly he was trembling as much as she. “Jenova,” he whispered, “you know my place is in London. As much as I want to stay, I fear you would grow weary of me and be wishing me gone soon enough. I am…you do not know me so well as you think.”

He swallowed, wondering if the lump in his throat was from misery or fear; mayhap both. She had asked him to stay, she wanted him to stay, and he should be shouting with joy. Except that she did not know, and if Baldessare let free his secrets and she found out what sort of creature he really was, she would hate him. He would rather not be here to see that in her eyes.

A tear ran down her cheek. “Oh Henry,” she said again in a shaky voice. Another tear slid after the first.