Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

“I was burned too badly for them to know my face—and I do not think they knew it anyway. But they saw that I was a young boy, and they thought I was you, Henri! Their friend, who tried to help them, who had saved quite a few of them from my father and his hunt. I let them believe it. I thought it was prudent. They took me back to their village and nursed me, and told me that God had saved me because I was a saint. They sent me to the monastery to be a priest, because they thought me a saint.” He was nearly choking on his laughter. “Now, do you see what is so funny, my friend?”

Henry shook his head, even more sickened. “You should have used your good luck to change your life for the better, Souris. As I did. Instead you have wasted it in bitterness and hate.”

“Not wasted. I have enjoyed our encounter again after all these years, Henri.”

“You must come back to Gunlinghorn with me, Souris. This time you must pay for your crimes.”

Souris smiled. The wind wrapped his black cloak around him. A sinister figure. A sad figure. They stared at each other in silence, and then Souris threw his hood up into the air. It was caught on the breeze and flew over Henry’s head, like a dark bird.

“If I must die, then let it be as myself,” he shouted. Then, before Henry could stop him, he turned his black stallion and, driving it with heels and hands and knees, made for the end of the wharf.

Shocked, Henry started after him, but he was already too late. Souris reached the end and the stallion leaped out, into nothingness. Briefly they seemed to hang in the air, the powerful animal and the cloaked man, and then they hit the gray water with a splash.

Shouting, Henry dismounted, running to lean over the edge. Both man and horse had surfaced, floundering in the icy sea. But even as he started to believe the situation might be saved, that the small boat the captain had launched might reach Souris in time, he saw the flash of a knife. And the blood in the water.

In a moment the weakened horse sank below the waves, and the man clinging to its back went too. And there was nothing but the roll of the gray sea.

Henry stood up and wiped the spray from his face. It was over. Le château de Nuit, and all it meant to him, was finally gone. It was time for Henry to take up his life anew.

At Gunlinghorn.

Epilogue

The chapel at Gunlinghorn was awash with wild roses and honeysuckle. The scent hung heavy in the small space, making Henry’s head swim. Or mayhap it was sheer happiness that did that. He was marrying his one true love, the only woman he had ever loved and would ever love.

Jenova.

Beside him, Reynard shuffled his feet. Henry glanced at him, and saw that he was exchanging looks with Rhona. They had been wed at Easter and were leaving Gunlinghorn after Henry and Jenova’s wedding. They didn’t seem very clear on where they were going, but they were so much in love they didn’t care.

Alfric had survived his father’s attack and was still at Hilldown Castle. When she had heard of his wounds, Agetha had turned into a harridan, demanding to be taken to his side. She had nursed him back to wellness, and now to everyone’s surprise—apart from Jenova’s—Alfric and Agetha were to wed. Henry was not sure what sort of neighbors they would make, but they could only be better than Baldessare.

Baldessare, who was dead, murdered by Souris. So Henry’s secret could still have been a secret if he had wished it so. But he had known he could not be completely healed until he had completely cleansed himself. King William had returned to England after Easter, angry with the news that the earls had been plotting against him. But by then Lanfranc had already put down the short-lived, rather small rebellion. Henry had told William the truth one night, late, while drinking some good French wine. William had seemed to understand, but he had already been predisposed to forgive Henry—Henry had just helped him defeat two hundred Danes who had arrived, rather late, in support of the rebellious earls. Thus, so far, everything was well.

A murmur rose at the back of the chapel, capturing his attention. Henry turned to look at what was causing the stir, just as a small boy, resplendent in a tunic and breeches of moss green with gold trimmings, led the way toward the front of the chapel. As he drew nearer, Raf gave Henry a wide smile, his face alight with happiness. Henry smiled back and gave him a wink. Then he looked beyond Raf, and all coherent thought left his head.

Jenova was dressed in white velvet.

The most expensive cloth in England, the most difficult to procure. And she looked breathtakingly beautiful. She looked like a queen.

The velvet clung like skin to her lush curves. The neckline was cut low, outlining full breasts, following her trim waist to her hips, and then flaring out in heavy, shimmering folds to brush the stone flags as she walked. Her entire body seemed to gleam, and then Henry realized that the cloth had been sewn with hundreds of tiny pearls.

Her hair was unbound, curling about her back and shoulders, and more pearls shone among the warm, brown tresses. Her lovely face was aglow with happiness, just like her son’s, and her green eyes were fixed on Henry’s. Loving him.

Henry had not known it was possible to feel like this. Now that he did, he would never look at his friends with puzzlement and envy again. Jenova was his life, and he knew he would never regret leaving behind the gaudy emptiness he had once thought so important. Here at Gunlinghorn, he had finally found home.

She had reached him. Dazed, he saw now that there were flowers, as well as pearls in her hair. A cascade of cream and gold honeysuckle. She smelled of spring, a new beginning. He wanted to take her out to the meadows, as he had long ago in Normandy. Only this time he would not end the day with a kiss. His gaze slid over her white velvet gown, lingering, wanting to undress her slowly, taking his time.

“Can I kiss my bride?” he asked her, the old wicked glint back in his blue eyes.

Jenova leaned forward and said breathily against his ear, “In a moment you can kiss your wife.”

He smiled. “Even better.”

Hiding his own smile, the chaplain began to say the words that would join them together.