Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

He was distraught, and this was no act. She tried to push him away, but he had gripped her shoulders and was holding on far too tightly.

“You can g-go where you like, sleep with whom you like, I don’t care, I don’t care, only don’t say you will not m-marry me, Jenova—”

“Alfric!” She pushed him, hard, and he finally seemed to realize that he was frightening her. He swallowed, blinked, took a step back. In the torchlight his face was deathly pale.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, and tears sparkled in his dark eyes.

Oh Jesu, let him not cry! Jenova could not bear it if he cried.

“Just…do not make a decision yet. Not yet. Wait until the morning. I will do whatever you ask of me, anything, but please, please, reconsider.”

Jenova steadied her own breathing, watching him closely, wondering if he might lose control again. But, thankfully, he seemed to have pulled himself together. “Very well, Alfric. I will make my decision in the morning.”

He nodded, a smile trembling on his mouth. “Thank you,” he managed. “Thank you, my lady—”

“Now let me pass. I wish to retire.”

He stumbled back, and she hurried by before he could change his mind. The chamber door closed firmly behind her, and she barred it. Only then did she feel truly safe.

She wouldn’t marry him, not now. If she had loved him, then perhaps they could have worked through his problems, but she had never loved him. Jenova knew the situation was partly her own fault, and she was sorry for it, and for Alfric, but she would not allow her pity to trap her into making a disastrous mistake.

If it hadn’t been for Henry, she may indeed have tied herself to that boy. How could she have so lost her way as to think Alfric would make her a good husband, that an alliance with the Baldessares was a suitable one? Well, the wedding would not now go ahead, but the matter was still a complete mess. One she needed to sort out as soon as possible. In the morning she would confront Baldessare and his son and explain matters to them.

She had changed her mind, that was all. Other people changed their minds all the time, and women were renowned for it. Baldessare probably expected it. He might curse her all he wished in private, but there was not much he could do to her face.

After all, Jenova had the king’s favor, and that, she told herself, ensured her safety.

Climbing back into her bed, she closed her eyes. Her decision was made, and she would follow it through to the bitter end. But, although she was a practical woman, she was also a woman, and Jenova could not help a pang at the thought that she would never now wear the white velvet.

“Rhona!” The harsh, whispering voice would not go away. Rhona sighed and, glancing at the quietly snoring servant on the floor beside the bed, threw back the covers and padded, shivering, toward the door.

“Alfric, is that you?”

“Aye, ’tis me. Rhona, I did as you s-said. I w-waited near her d-door and-and—I m-must speak with you!”

Dear God, now what? Rhona thought, but she didn’t bother saying it aloud. Quietly, hoping not to wake the servant, she opened her door a crack and peered out at the pale, tear-streaked face of her brother.

Her heart sank.

“She s-says she isn’t going to marry me n-now,” Alfric said, his voice trembling. “What will I do? Father will kill me for this.”

Rhona made soothing noises, patting his cheek, but she felt her own heart thud with dread. Lord Baldessare had had his greedy eyes turned on Gunlinghorn for years; if he were thwarted now that he was so close to having it, she and—more likely—Alfric would pay a heavy price.

“The lady may be having doubts, Alfric, but that does not mean—”

“I persuaded her to p-promise to wait until the morning, to make her decision then, but I am n-not hopeful. She only promised so I would leave her alone. She hates me n-now, Rhona. I-I saw it in her eyes.”

He should not have set a deadline for her decision, Rhona thought. Better to let matters drift—there was always a chance Jenova would change her mind back again—but to hed

ge her into a corner like that…. She sighed. She should have known Alfric would mess things up. She shouldn’t have trusted him. She should have realized that he could not do anything without her standing behind him telling him what to do. Well, it was done now, and they must prepare to face their father’s anger and, if they were clever, talk their way out of it.

And if they could not? The usual bruises, she supposed, the usual punishments and threats. Of course their father might go further this time. He might do more than threaten. Rhona shuddered, remembering. From somewhere she found her voice again, as well as the necessary words to soothe her frightened brother.

“Go to bed. I will be ready in the morning. I will think of something, don’t worry.”

“Maybe we should use the potion.”

Their eyes met, fear in the depths of both. The potion was a secret between them. Once, in a moment of bravado, Rhona had purchased a sleeping potion from an old woman at a market. It was hidden in her chamber. She and Alfric always swore that, if things grew too terrible, they would use it on their father and then, while he was sleeping, they would run away. But how far could they get before he awoke? Rhona thought it would probably never be far enough.