Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

Those green eyes, so like Jenova’s, met his with a shy hope in them that made Henry wish he had kept silent. “No, Raf. It means as long as I am needed.”

Raf nodded, but he looked doubtful. “And is it a promise? Mama always says that a promise cannot be broken, that one must be very careful about making one, because then you are bound by it forever and ever.”

“Your Mama is right, Raf. A promise is binding forever.”

“So is it a promise? Will you stay here with us?”

There was no escaping it, Henry thought bleakly. He had never known anyone, man, woman or child, as stubborn and determined as Raf when it came to having an answer.

“I promise I will stay as long as I am needed,” Henry said.

Raf opened his mouth to argue further, but he must have seen a warning in Henry’s eyes, because he suddenly changed his mind and began to talk about the stable cat’s kittens.

Just as well, thought Henry. He would not lie to the boy in this matter, but neither did he wish to hurt him

. It surprised him to realize that he had been kinder to Raf than himself. I am becoming a better man, he told himself with some mockery. Jenova has turned me into a saint.

“Why are you smiling, Lord Henry?” Raf demanded.

“’Tis naught, Raf. I have just thought of something amusing.”

“Tell me then.”

“No, no, Raf. You wouldn’t understand. I hardly do myself….”

Chapter 10

Lord Baldessare was far from pleased. As he strode into his hall at Hilldown Castle, he thought of Gunlinghorn, with its borders abutting his own land, the rich pastures and meadows of the Vale of Gunlinghorn, and its harbor, which could take trading ships with goods from as far away as Venice. Aye, it was a jewel worth having!

And Baldessare wanted it. He had almost had it in his grasp—and completely within the law, too!—only to have been thwarted by a silly woman and a pretty, prattling fool. He felt infuriated, bereft, but he also felt all the more determined. He was not a man to give up his possessions without a fight, and in his own mind Gunlinghorn already belonged to him.

He would not give up.

“She will marry you, whether she wants to or not!” he turned and shouted at his son.

Alfric, who was following behind him, cowered. “I did n-nothing t-to—” he began in a shivering voice.

“Be silent!” his father roared.

Alfric glanced wildly at Rhona. Thank God, he thought, that Rhona was there! She had always come to his aid, ever since he was a child. She had always done her best to protect him, sometimes even taking the thrashings that had been meant for him upon herself. He knew well enough that of the two of them, she was the stronger one, the braver one. If anyone could turn their father’s foul mood about and into calmer waters, it was Rhona.

“Father, you know this is not Alfric’s fault,” she said now in soothing tones. “He has done everything you asked of him. ’Tis that bitch, Jenova, who is at fault. She has a fickle nature and is easily influenced by her friends. One friend in particular.”

Her father’s face lost none of its hideous color. He stamped about in front of the fire, sending terrified dogs scattering for safety in the corners and terrified servants close behind them.

“If he had done what I told him to do, then she would still be marrying him!” he said through gritted, discolored teeth. “I finally find a use for Alfric, something as simple as bringing a woman to heel, and he fails me. The boy is feeble and useless, and always will be, but by God he will do his duty to his family with Lady Jenova! Even if I have to bring her to the priest at the point of my sword!”

He stopped, breathing hard, realizing he had said far more than he’d intended.

Rhona was watching him, a spark of intelligence in her dark eyes that was sadly lacking in her brother’s. “Well, it may come to that, my lord,” she said matter-of-factly. “The king is out of the country, and there is no one to stop us. Apart from Lord Henry.”

The baron dismissed Lord Henry with a savage curl of his lip. “Aye, well, I know things about Lord Henry that will persuade him to put a hold on his tongue, if he does not want the whole of England to learn his sordid secrets.”

“Do you indeed, Father,” Rhona murmured, wondering just what it was her father knew. Never mind, she would discover it eventually, she always did. “That may be, but for now the lady has her gaze fixed upon Lord Henry. Did you not note it, Father? They are lovers, I am certain of it. They have the look of lovers. Their eyes cling at every opportunity. The point of a sword is all very well, but perhaps we should begin with something less barbarous.”

Baldessare frowned, his cold eyes narrowing as he gazed upon his daughter. Rhona held her breath, awaiting his decision. Her father had four possible ways of dealing with Rhona’s suggestion. He could shout at her for her impertinence, he could strike out at her and bruise her face in his fury, or he could punish her brother instead in the same violent and brutal manner he had often used in the past, though it was a misguided attempt to make a man of him, as if beating Alfric had ever changed him into anything other than a frightened, sobbing mess! Or her father could accept what she said and listen to her advice as he had begun to do more often of late.

His voice broke the stillness. “Mayhap you’re right, Daughter. Lovers, you think? Your eyes are sharp. Very well,” he said, and although the anger was still there, simmering under the surface, Rhona knew that violence was no longer imminent. “If what you say is so, what do you suggest we do?”