Jenova was silent a long moment. “Why…why did Count Thearoux do such things? What reasons could he possibly have for…for…”
“He enjoyed it,” Henry said quietly.
He closed his eyes again, but the pictures were in his head. The dark trees and the moonlight, the running prey, the ragged breath, the yells and cries of the hunters and the howling of the dogs. And then the screams, the endless, endless screams…and worse, the silence.
And always that doubt inside him, that terrible fear that maybe he was just like them.
He put his hands over his face. “Jesu,” he whispered. “I watched them kill so many, so many, and I did nothing.”
Jenova did not answer. After a moment, he knew she was not going to answer. She must be wishing him gone; she had her son to worry about. Why should she care for his miserable tale? But he might as well tell the rest before he left. It was nearly over. If only he were not so tired….
“There was a girl. Young, pretty, innocent. She made me think of you. Until then I had been able to go on, but seeing her…remembering what my life should be like…it was the end for me, Jenova. I tried to save her, but Souris had decided he wanted to see this one suffer. He liked to hurt—he liked to hear women scream. After that I…went a little crazy.
“I found my way to Thearoux’s den. They were all there, drunk, sated on the murder of that pitiful innocent. There were plenty of weapons in the room—lots to choose from. I really can’t remember what I picked up, but it made a mess. I hit him, hard, and the blood sprayed out. He stood up, roaring at me, and I hit him again. And again.”
He took a shuddering breath, as if preparing himself for the worst.
“It felt so good, Jenova. Ev
ery time I hit him I laughed. Some of the others began to wake and I swung at them, too, and it felt even better. I knew then that they had made me into one of them. I was a murderer, too.”
Jenova made a sound in her throat. Disgust, he thought, and he had to force himself to go on. Nearly there now, he told himself desperately. Nearly over…
“It was time to leave. I looked about me and felt sick and dizzy. Those I hadn’t…hurt were still too drunk to do much. I told myself that these men didn’t deserve to live—so I set about killing them. I made a fire—it was simple, really. It was as if I had only just thought about setting fire to some straw in the room with the wheel, and the next thing the fire was there, burning so quickly, so fiercely, that even if I had wanted to put it out I could not have. I suppose it was me who lit it, but truly I do not know for sure.
“The fire was well alight by the time I remembered Souris—I had forgotten about Souris. I ran to his room, but he was not there. I was choking, and the fire…I couldn’t look any further. I-I always felt guilty about leaving him, despite what he was. He was my friend, sort of, and in a way he was a victim, too.
“I don’t remember running, only that suddenly I was outside, a little hurt and a little singed, but well and alive. My head ached, with all the things in it I did not want to remember. I felt as if I had escaped from a dream, so for a time I let myself believe that was so. I walked and walked, stealing food, hiding from the peasants, until I reached a large town. No one knew me there. I stole some clean clothing and knocked upon the door of the local lord, and offered myself as his squire. Perhaps my sheer gall impressed him, for he took me in.
“During those days, I tried to put it all behind me. I thought of myself as a phoenix, risen from the ashes of le château de Nuit. I promised myself that I would do something with my life, make a success of myself. I swore I would not let Thearoux, that monster, stop me from living it the way I wanted to. I would make my survival worthwhile. It was remarkable that I was not hunted down, but I later learned that Thearoux’s friends and family did not even know I was there—very few did. My mother said nothing. She must have known, but she took the secret of my escape to her grave. I suppose I can thank her for that, if nothing else.
“When I arrived in England with William, the past was long forgotten. Even I had forgotten it, or I told myself I had. And who would connect Lord Henry of Montevoy with the sniveling boy who had crept from Thearoux’s château while all about him burned? I was safe. Until Jean-Paul came to Gunlinghorn.”
Henry turned to look at the shadow of her face, and his shame and self-disgust filled him. And his guilt. He could see the shine of her eyes, like that long-ago girl, staring up at her tormenters and knowing she was about to die. And he had not been able to save her, just as he could not save Jenova and Raf.
“This is my fault. Jean-Paul wants to hurt me. He thinks he can do that by hurting you and Raf.”
“Henry…” She was close to him, her breath fragrant and warm upon his cheek. “Who do you believe Jean-Paul is? I think you must already know, in your heart.”
He felt light-headed. Too much, it was all too much. The faces from the past were ranged before him, accusing him, pleading with him, telling him he had not tried hard enough. Murderer…
“Souris. I think Jean-Paul is Souris. He knows too much for it to be otherwise. He knows me too well.”
“But why does he hate you? Surely Souris was your friend.”
“Because he thinks I left him to die. Because that place was his home and Thearoux was his father. I took all that from him, remember, so now he wants to take you and Raf from me. He wants me to hurt as he hurt, to suffer as he suffered.”
He wondered, bewildered, why she was asking him these questions. Why was she still in the same room with him? He would have to make it even plainer for her, and then she would walk away from him. As he deserved.
“I enjoyed killing Thearoux,” he said. “That’s what I didn’t want to tell you. Sometimes I even enjoyed the hunting. There was excitement in it, in the chase and the kill. I felt…powerful. Mayhap that was the real reason why I had to kill Thearoux and escape. Not because of that poor girl, but because I was beginning to like it too much. I was turning into one of them. I had to save myself before it was too late.”
Jenova made a small sound in her throat. Her hand was limp by her side, but he lifted it up and gripped it, tightly, as if he did not mean to let her go. Although he had expected to drive her away, he found now that he did not want that. He knew he should be strong and walk away from her, but suddenly he did not feel strong. Henry felt like weeping.
“That day at Gunlinghorn Harbor, Jean-Paul gave me a choice, Jenova. I did not tell you that. I could not begin to tell you. He said he would inform the king about my past if I did not hand you over to Baldessare with my blessing. You see, Thearoux was the king’s uncle. He will hate me for what I have done, and he probably will not believe that Thearoux was a monster. Why should he, it is only my word against his. And he will ask why I have taken so long to tell him my story. If I was innocent, wouldn’t I have spoken of it before? I imagine that he will order me to my furthest estates—if he leaves me any estates after he has punished me. As for my friends…Once Jean-Paul lets it be known what I have done, and the king has cast me off, I will not have many friends left.”
“You speak as though it is a foregone conclusion,” she said huskily. “That you will stay here at Gunlinghorn and see your life destroyed.”
“Leave Gunlinghorn? Of course not. You see, he knows me, Jenova. He knows I will never leave you unprotected against Baldessare. And he also knows I cannot bear you to know my secret. So I will stay, and you will find out—as you have done—and abandon me. And then I will have nothing, just as Jean-Paul has nothing.