Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

Chapter 14

Jenova grimaced as she threaded her needle, listening to the chatter of her ladies about her. Torn and worn garments and bedding were spread about them, and although one or two were working upon finer items, most were intent upon the tedious task of mending.

Her “ladies” ranged in age from eleven to seventy, and Jenova had the care of them all. It was part o

f her duty as Lady of Gunlinghorn, but normally she found it no chore. Today, however, her ladies were intent upon a subject she would rather have left untouched.

Henry.

“He is so handsome,” little Yolande sighed. “His eyes are bluer than…” But an item for comparison eluded her.

“Bluebells?” someone else suggested. “The sea in July?”

“He looks upon you very warmly, my lady,” said Gertrude, seemingly intent upon her work, but making mischief as always. “He is very fond of you, I believe.”

“We are friends,” Jenova replied levelly. “We have known each other since we were children.”

“I wish I had a friend like Lord Henry,” Yolande said wistfully.

“He is like a father to Master Raf,” Gertrude went on, very daring today.

Agetha frowned. “That is enough chatter. Lord Henry is not Master Raf’s father and never will be.”

Gertrude smirked. “And neither will Lord Alfric, now. I am glad he is gone. I did not like him.”

Agetha’s face flamed, but Jenova intervened before something was said or done that might embarrass them all. “Your likes and dislikes are of no interest to us, Gertrude. Look, you have an uneven stitch. Unpick it and do it again.”

Gertrude’s mouth set mulishly, but she did as she was told. For a moment silence reigned in the solar.

“Will Lord Henry be staying at Gunlinghorn?” Yolande was not to be diverted.

“His life is in London,” Jenova said, and though her voice did not betray her, she felt a prickling behind her eyes. She did not want him to go, but how could she stop him? Henry had his own life, and she had hers. It had been understood between them from the beginning that he would leave eventually.

“Mayhap you should ask him to stay,” Gertrude murmured. “Sometimes men need to be prompted in these matters. Mayhap he does not know you will miss him so much, my lady.”

Jenova blinked in startled amusement.

“Thank you, Gertrude,” Agetha retorted. “When Lady Jenova needs your fourteen-year-old wisdom, she will ask for it.”

Their voices went on, bickering gently, joking and giggling. Jenova let them wash over her. Ask him. She did not know whether she could do that. He might refuse, or worse, laugh at her presumption that he might wish to stay here at Gunlinghorn when his life in London was so much more exciting.

And what of this place, this château? Le château de Nuit. There was a mystery there she had yet to unravel.

Jenova sighed. In the old days, when they had been merely friends, things had been easier. She had not been afraid to say anything to him then. Now it was different. She felt as if her words could be misconstrued, or worse, that Henry might see past her barriers and into her heart. He could hurt her now far more than he could before.

Ask him to stay.

She would be risking her feelings, but if she did not ask, she would never know his answer. Mayhap Gertrude was right, mayhap Henry didn’t realize how much she would miss him.

I will then, she told herself, fingers trembling as she tried to sew. I will ask him to stay, and if he refuses, then I will laugh and pretend I do not mind. But if he agrees…

Jenova smiled to herself.

“Sea holly,” she said abruptly. “His eyes are the color of sea holly.”

And then blushed when all her ladies turned to gaze at her as if she had gone mad.

Rhona peered down through the mist that hung about the lower parts of the hill, winding through the trees like skeins of wool, clinging with damp fingers to their trunks and bare branches. Everything was so still, so silent.