Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

Utterly.”

There was tremendous satisfaction in his harsh voice. In her listening place, Rhona, tense and frightened, wondered what Lord Henry had ever done to warrant such terrible enmity.

“Lord Henry?”

The voice was high pitched and impatient. Clearly Raf had been calling him for a while now without response. Henry blinked and looked down with a smile, taking the boy’s hand in his own. With time such gestures had become natural, but he still had a sense of wonder when it happened. Here was a child who trusted him, liked him, smiled at him without guile. Henry couldn’t bear to think of a future when he might not have the opportunity to do something as simple as hold Raf’s hand.

“What is the matter, Raf?”

“Mama has said I may ride outside the castle gates. If you are with me.”

Raf’s eyes shone, and his cheeks were pink with excitement. Raf had been working on his mother for some time now, trying to persuade her that he should be able to ride beyond the castleyard, and that it was her duty to allow him to do manly things. Henry had enjoyed listening to them—Raf’s stubborn determination to have his way and Jenova’s stubborn determination to keep him safe. Raf had finally worn her down.

“Mama, I have told him!”

Henry looked up and found Jenova approaching them down the length of the great hall.

For a moment he simply watched, enjoying the vision. Her dark blue skirts swirled about her, the bejeweled girdle resting upon the swell of her hips, the pale fur decorating the hem and sleeves and neckline shining silver in the candlelight. She had a gold circlet holding her veil in place, a red stone shining at its center. She looked like a queen. His queen. With her green eyes fixed upon him and her pink lips curled in a faint smile, she was everything he had ever wanted.

That was when Henry accepted that he would do anything for her. Give up anything, become anything, just to keep her safe.

Even if it meant he could never see her again.

“I will look after him,” Henry said now, nodding down at Raf, who was dancing anxiously up and down, still clinging to his hand.

“I know you will.” She smiled as she said it, but her eyes were gentle and warm, as though she believed in him. God help her, thought Henry bitterly and looked away.

“We can ride up the hill,” Raf was saying. “The one above Gunlinghorn that looks down upon all my lands.”

“So that you can see how much you will have to look after when you are grown?” Henry teased.

“I am grown now,” Raf replied, looking seriously displeased that Henry should suggest otherwise.

Jenova laughed, and Henry’s eyes twinkled—until it occurred to him that they probably looked just like two proud parents.

“You will grow bigger than this,” Jenova said, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s head. “Taller than me, if I am not mistaken.”

Raf stilled, thinking about that. “Taller than Lord Henry?” he asked, eyeing Henry speculatively. “Will I be taller than Lord Henry?”

“Possibly,” Henry said. “You will be your father’s son, and he was as tall as Lord Radulf.”

Raf’s eyes seemed to glaze over with the vision that conjured. “Tall as the King’s Sword,” he whispered, as if the thought of equaling the size of this legendary warrior was hardly to be borne.

“Aye, you will be your father’s son,” Henry assured him, and laughed as Raf, spying Agetha, took to his heels, shouting, “One day I will be as tall as the King’s Sword!”

Jenova’s hand closed on Henry’s arm, her slender fingers warm. He looked down at them, feeling himself tense, beginning to harden. Jesu, had he no self-control left where she was concerned?

“Not quite like his father, I pray,” Jenova said quietly, her face turning sad as she looked after her son.

Instantly Henry was ashamed of his carnal thoughts. She was remembering Mortred’s betrayal, of course she was. Jenova had loved her husband, and to learn he had not been the man she’d thought him had struck her deep. She would find it hard to trust again. And that was just as well, because one way or another Henry would betray her, too. It was inevitable.

“Raf is also your son,” he reminded her levelly, ignoring the urge to take her fingers in his. “He will be a fine man. If…when the king calls him to court, I will make certain that he does not become corrupted.”

Jenova glanced at him sharply, and her hand fell away from his arm. “Will you? You think you will still be at court then, Henry? In…oh, ten years’ time?”

He knew what she was really asking. He could not answer her; he did not know. “Where else would I be?” he asked politely, but his eyes weren’t smiling, and he saw her own narrow, a flicker of pain in the green before she looked away.

“Where else indeed?” she said brightly, as if it didn’t matter to her at all. Mayhap it didn’t, mayhap she would be glad to see him go. Only if he went, she would be at Baldessare’s mercy. She just didn’t know it yet.