Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

“We bide our time,” she said promptly. “Lord Henry is a creature of the court, ’tis well known. His life is there, and he will begin to miss it, if he is not already. He will not linger much longer at Gunlinghorn, but will return to London, and Lady Jenova’s bed will then be empty. She is a widow now long past her girlhood, while my brother is young and handsome. ’Tis not likely she will find another one such as Alfric so handy to her needs. Lord Henry’s going will leave her…unsettled. Her body will burn and ache for him, or someone who might replace him. She will look about her, and there will be my brother. You will see, Father. She will be unable to resist him.”

“’Tis true, Father, she will not!” bleated Alfric.

Rhona hurried on before Baldessare could do more than throw him a threatening scowl. “Let Alfric return to Gunlinghorn in a day or so, apologizing for the abrupt manner of our leaving. At the same time he can subtly remind Lady Jenova that Lord Henry will soon be returning to London, and that when he goes, she will be all alone. He might also remind her, again subtly, that she is no longer a young woman. No woman wants to be old and lonely. I am certain Alfric’s hints will begin to stir in her mind, and she will realize her mistake, and turn to him with gratitude.”

Lord Baldessare grunted at her, but Rhona did not flinch, keeping her eyes fixed upon his face as if she had absolutely nothing to fear. Abruptly her father smiled, but it was not a sight to inspire joy. Inside, Rhona trembled, and she felt her brother move closer to her. Their lives depended upon pleasing their father; it was a fact they had accepted long ago.

“Your idea has possibilities, Daughter, but if it fails, then we will use force. One way or another Alfric will wed that bitch, and by the time King William the Bastard returns to take her side it will be too late. The Baldessares will hold Gunlinghorn. If William does not want to create a scandal for the lady, then he will allow himself to be pacified with some of Gunlinghorn’s considerable riches. William is a practical man; he never allows sentiment to influence him over much. He will see the sense of letting sleeping dogs lie.”

“Or sleeping Baldessares,” Alfric murmured.

Rhona held her breath as their father turned his cold eyes upon her brother. For a moment she was certain he would clout him across the side of the head, but then his mouth twitched, and he gave a bark of laughter.

“Very good, boy, very good.”

Rhona smiled, more with relief than amusement, allowing her tight muscles to ease. “What is it you know of Lord Henry, Father?” she asked curiously.

Her father eyed her with something approaching benevolence, but she did not let down her guard. She had learned over the years that it was never wise to trust her father, even when he appeared to be in a good mood.

“You ask a great many questions, Rhona. Do you have a fancy for him yourself?”

The joke was heavy-handed, but she made herself smile. “Nay, father, he is far too pretty for me.” A memory of tousled dark hair and piercing dark eyes threw her momentarily off balance. She caught herself, her words barely faltering. “’Twas only that I thought Alfric could use the knowledge, whatever it is, to drive a wedge between Lady Jenova and Lord Henry. A word, a seed of doubt, and before Henry knows it, she will be treating him like her enemy.”

Her father nodded thoughtfully. “Your reasoning is sound, Daughter. I cannot tell you all—the knowledge is in the keeping of another. For now it is enough for you to know that Lord Henry and I have a mutual…friend.” He gave an unpleasant smirk. “Have you heard of le château de Nuit?”

Rhona shook her head, bemused. “The castle of Night?”

“Aye, that is it. Have Alfric mention that name to the lady, and tell her that Lord Henry may have a choice to make very soon. Lady Jenova will not know what he means, but she will repeat those words to him, and he will understand he is in danger of being exposed for what he is. She will ask him questions and he will not want to answer them. If anything will hurry my lord back into his hole in London, then ’twill be his fear of the truth.” Baldessare grunted a laugh, his eyes gleaming savagely.

“Very well, Father,” Rhona said, with a meaningful glance at Alfric, trying not to see the mixture of hope and terror shining in his face. It was rare for their father to be in such good spirits, especially after he had just been routed by a man he hated. The knowledge he held must be damaging indeed. Damaging enough that if Lord Henry felt his position at court to be in danger, he could be worked on, mayhap even frightened away. In Rhona’s experience men always put themselves and their interests first. And with Henry gone, then Alfric might actually have a chance.

Pray God this turned out in their favor, thought Rhona, for if they failed…. It didn’t bear thinking. Her father had not yet broken her spirit, as he had Alfric’s, but she feared that the time was close.

For some reason Rhona remembered again the big man with scruffy dark hair who had overheard her and Alfric and who had also been in the hall at Gunlinghorn this morning. He had looked at her in a way she had understood, in a way she might be able to use. Aye, he might come in useful, the stranger with dark eyes.

Reynard.

His name had been Reynard. Rhona shifted uncomfortably. How had she known that? Had her ears pricked to the sound of it when someone had called to him? She was not normally interested in such men…. They were not the sort to further her own ambitions and those of her father, but for some reason this Reynard made her feel wistful. Surely such a man as he would never allow his woman to be broken by her bully of a father? She h

ad seen the way he’d stood behind Lady Jenova while her father had ranted, protectively, ready to step in….

“My lord Baldessare, a successful journey?”

The husky voice brought all their heads around. Rhona’s thoughts scattered, as they always did when confronted with the scarred and disfigured countenance of their chaplain.

“Jean-Paul! I did not see you there.” Baldessare shuffled awkwardly, as if he were embarrassed. Like a squire caught gossiping about matters he had been told not to mention. It seemed completely out of character, and Rhona stared from one to the other, trying to understand what it was that was between them. Ever since Jean-Paul had come to their home, their father had deferred to him. Sometimes, remarkably, he even seemed to be in awe of him, but in a grudging way.

Jean-Paul, in his somber robes, strolled down the great hall toward them, a little smile twisting his thin lips. “I have only just finished my prayers,” he said, explaining his late arrival. “Lord Alfric. Lady Rhona.”

Rhona responded to his greeting, her eyes slipping away from his. It was always so. The hideous sight of his destroyed face on one side, and the unmarred perfection on the other. Two sides of a coin. It was shocking and disturbing, and she wondered, as she always did, how he bore it without wishing himself dead. She was sure she would never have survived such a disaster, nor would she have wanted to. Sometimes she thought that Jean-Paul almost reveled in his ugliness, enjoying the effect he had upon them all. Sometimes she thought it gave him satisfaction.

“So, am I soon to join together Lord Alfric and his fair lady? Is the marriage to take place in the spring, as we agreed?”

Alfric cast him a melancholy look. “She has decided she prefers the bastard Montevoy, Jean-Paul.”

Jean-Paul shook his head slowly, making Rhona stare as the two views of his face shifted from side to side—the perfect and the destroyed. “Bastard, indeed, Lord Alfric. I have heard stories of this Lord Henry of Montevoy, and I do not like what I hear. He is not to be trusted. Can you not open Lady Jenova’s eyes to the truth, allow her to see him for what he really is?”

“She likes him,” Alfric replied, as if he could hardly believe it himself. “They have been friends for a very long time.”