Those moments together, when they had forgotten all else in the need to consummate their passion, had been some of the most exciting of her life. The possibility of being discovered, the wild behavior so out of character for her, and the sheer desperate need to join his body to hers. Aye, it had been wonderful.
Exciting and wonderful.
And then Henry had spoiled it.
Jenova felt hot tears fill her eyes and spill down her cheeks. He should have fallen in love with her. He should want to marry her for love. Oh, she knew marriage was a business contract, something arranged for land and money and bloodlines, but she had always hoped…she had always dreamed…Jenova swallowed back the girlish fancies she had thought long gone. Well, even if Henry could not love her, he had seemed so happy these past weeks, so content. He had seemed to enjoy the challenge of the tasks she had set him, although he had always deferred to her as Lady of Gunlinghorn. In short, he had been the perfect lord. A helpmate, a companion, and a lover. Everything she had ever wanted in a man.
Henry, her dearest friend Henry, was the perfect man for her. She should be the perfect woman for him. But Jenova very much feared that her love was a threat to him, despite the fact that she had not stated it aloud.
For she did love him.
She loved him more and more each moment she spent with him. Jenova admitted it to herself, the tears rolling down her cheeks. She was a weak and foolish woman, because although she had vowed never to love another man after Mortred, she had. She did. She loved Henry.
She lay down upon her bed, hearing the rustle of the horsehair mattress, feeling the soft furs beneath her, and she cried until her chest ached and her face was swollen and she could cry no more. This was what she had feared from the start. That with the excess of joy would come an excess of pain.
“My lady?” It was Agetha, her voice tentative, her knock gentle upon the door. “Are you well, my lady?”
Jenova took a shaky breath and sat up, wiping her face. She was a mess, but there was nought she could do about that. Besides, what did it matter, she thought, calling for the girl to enter. Agetha was her friend, and she needed her friends about her at this difficult time.
Agetha’s already rather protruding eyes bulged. “My lady? What is the matter? You…you have been crying!”
Jenova sighed. “I have. Can you please comb my hair and braid it again? It is making my head ache.”
The girl hesitated, plainly wanting to ask more questions, but Jenova closed her eyes. She felt weak and drained from her weeping, but at least it had made her see things more clearly. After a moment, she felt Agetha move behind her and begin taking the long brown tresses in one hand, while drawing the comb carefully through them with the other. Jenova drifted, allowing herself to enjoy the attention.
She could not marry Henry. It would be disastrous. If, she thought bleakly, she was unhappy now, then she would be even more so if they were bound together with ties of marriage and living far apart. Nay, her future had already been written. She would remain alone, and she would rule Gunlinghorn as wisely and well as she could, until Raf was old enough to take over. And then she would while away her days being as useful as she could, helping Raf, caring for her people, and when her grandchildren came along, she would take pride in them and try to guide them away from the same pitfalls that had beset her.
That was not such a bad life for a woman.
“My lady?” Agetha asked sharply. “Are you crying again?”
“No, I…just a sniffle. I am well, Agetha. Truly.”
“Hmm,” the girl made a suspicious sound but continued to comb Jenova’s hair. Soon she was braiding it neatly. “’Tis Lord Henry who has hurt you,” she said at last, her voice stony. “Do not deny it, my lady, for I know ’tis so.”
“Agetha—”
“He is a man who enjoys women, and they enjoy him.” It sounded as if Agetha was blushing. “He does not stay with one woman for very long. He can love none of them. I knew he would wound you, Lady Jenova. He does not deserve to touch the hem of your gown, let alone…well!”
“This is not your business, Agetha. Please stop.”
“You know, you would not have been hurt if you had agreed to wed Lord Alfric. He is gentle and kind, he would never do a
nything to upset you. My lady, I am sure ’tis not too late if you—”
“No, Agetha! I do not want to wed Alfric or Henry or anyone else. I am content as I am. Now please, please, say no more.”
To her credit, Agetha was silent, although Jenova sensed she was sorely tempted to carry on. But the girl quietly finished her task, and at Jenova’s request, she sent for hot water for a bath. Jenova let her fuss and boss the servants about, supervising the bathing, making sure the addition of scents and perfumes was just as Jenova liked it. Agetha pampered Jenova like a child, and for once Jenova was content to let her.
Afterwards, warm and dry, she felt much better. The need for tears was gone, and she had made a decision. She would insist that Henry go on his way north as soon as possible. She had been hurt enough, and he had made it clear he had no real interest in her. Aye, it was much better if he did not stay longer. The sooner he left, the sooner she could get on with her real life. Besides, she did not think she could bear it if he was at Gunlinghorn another moment.
She would command him to go, although she did not relish the thought of telling Raf. Her son had grown very fond of Henry, and Henry had grown just as fond of Raf. Mayhap, when the sadness and loneliness were faded, she could remember that one thing. And treasure it.
Henry rode hard, sending Lamb pounding across the sodden ground, up hills and down again, through woods and out the other side. He did not realize, until he went many, many miles, that the snow was melting. It sloshed under Lamb’s hooves and dripped monotonously from the tree branches. And the air, though still cold, felt a little less biting.
The thaw was upon them and, soon, the spring.
He would have liked to have seen Gunlinghorn in the spring. He would have enjoyed watching the new crops sown, and the new animals born, and work beginning on the sea groin. And, most of all, being with Jenova when the world was reborn in a cloak of fresh green leaves and sweet white blossoms.