Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

That was his choice.

“This is madness,” he whispered.

“You have a week to think on it, Henri,” said Jean-Paul, and there was an intimate note in his voice that had not been there before.

“A week?” Henry’s voice trembled with sick fury, his chest rose and fell violently. “Tell me who I have to thank for this…this insanity? Who is colluding with Baldessare to destroy Jenova and me? Damn you, tell me his name!”

The faceless priest considered him: Henry had the sensation that he was savoring the moment. When he spoke, Henry heard again the satisfied smirk in his voice. “You have me to thank, Beau Henri. I am your worst nightmare come true. I hate you so much that I would do anything I could to harm you, and I have nothing to lose in doing it.”

His voice wavered, grew tight with an anger that he was attempting to keep tightly reined.

“I have watched you, Henri, and I have listened. I have waited until the moment was right. I came to England, to Lord Baldessare, for a reason; because I knew he hated you almost as much as I do. And I knew he wanted Gunlinghorn. So I suggested he order his son to wed Lady Jenova, and then I placed before her a contract I knew she would find unpalatable. I knew she would not agree to Baldessare becoming her son’s protector if Alfric died. I knew she would call upon her friend and adviser to come and help her.

“You, Henri! I knew she would send for you. I made you come here, so that I could punish you as you deserve. It is justice, don’t you think? You see, I know how much Gunlinghorn and its lady mean to you. You feel safe here, you feel loved here. Without them you will be adrift. You will suffer. Just as I suffered when you took my home and those I loved from me. Oh yes, my Henri, I want you to suffer. As I have suffered.”

Henry stared at him, openmouthed. Who is he? This man who hated him enough to tear his life to shreds. Again.

But the question came too late, as did the chance to unseat him and rip the mask from his face. The priest turned the stallion around, and in a moment they were clattering away, back toward the cliffs, his cloak flying behind him.

“What is it, my lord? What did the priest mean?”

The urgent questions came from Reynard. His man had moved close to his side, one eye on Master Will, who was hovering curiously. Henry did not know how much time had passed. It was as if his life were running by him, out of control. The priest had spoken true; Henry felt as if he had stepped into his worst nightmare.

Slowly, carefully, he took a deep breath, and then another. Enough. He must not allow this to prevent him from thinking straight. His intelligence, his clever mind, was his greatest asset. If he was to conquer this monster, whoever it was, and save himself and Jenova, then he must use his mind to do it.

“Baldessare has sent me a message, Reynard. You heard what that…creature said. If I do not want my secret revealed to the whole of England, I am to leave for London in a week and abandon Lady Jenova to her fate.”

Reynard leaned closer, his big body a bolster against the wind, his dark hair whipping about his swarthy face. “I do not understand. What is this ‘secret,’ my lord? What can be so bad that a man would think of abandoning Lady Jenova to something like Baldessare?”

“The destruction of all I have tried to make of myself. Of all I now am. That is bad enough, Reynard. And it could happen. Aye, it could very well happen.”

“Lord Henry—”

“I should never have come here. If I had not come to Gunlinghorn, Jenova’s fate would not now rest in my hands.”

“But, my lord, you came because Lady Jenova was planning to wed Lord Alfric. If you had not come, the wedding would probably have gone ahead, and then she would still be trapped in this maze. At least now you have been forewarned of what Baldessare means to do. You can stop him. You can tell her. You can arm yourself against your foe.”

That was true enough, to a point. But how did one arm oneself against a foe that had no face?

And what of this choice that lay before him? Henry knew he could not return to London and see her destroyed, just to save himself. It was impossible, and it was not an option, despite what would become of him if he stayed. If he hurt Jenova, he might as well throw himself into the sea right now.

The priest knew that. It was part of his game. He had given Henry a choice that was in fact no choice at all….

“My lord?” Reynard’s hand was warm against his shoulder. “Tell me what it means. What hold does Baldessare and this priest have over you? Is the answer at le château de Nuit?”

“What do you know of that place?” Henry turned, his voice sharp and suspicious. For a moment he wondered whether even Reynard, whom he thought loyal, was part of this plot against him.

“My lord, I will tell you all I know, I swear it. But first I would ask that you answer.”

Henry gave him a wild stare. Confusion overwhelmed him; he felt lost. His usually quick mind was fogged with terror. He had just begun to realize how much Jenova and Gunlinghorn meant to him, and now he would lose all. He had always feared this would happen, always dreaded it; there was almost a sort of light-headed relief in his fears being finally realized.

“I have a dark secret, Reynard,” he said at last, in a voice dulled by pain. “I did not think there was anyone left to tell it, but Baldessare, it seems, has found someone. The priest, whoever he is, says he knows. That name he called me, Beau Henri. It is a name from my boyhood that I had hoped forgotten. Now he wants to hold my secret over me like a hangman’s noose, until I am forced to do as he wishes. And if I do not…then the noose will tighten.”

“Tell me this, my lord: Have you done aught wrong? Why are you so afraid of them telling, if you have not done wrong?”

He had done wrong, that was the problem, but he was not about to be specific. His wrongdoing was not for Reynard’s ears, although he could tell him a little….

“Le château de Nuit belonged to King William’s uncle. His name was Count Thearoux, and the king has fond memories of him. Long ago, after I had fought with William at Hastings, and he had rewarded me and become my friend, he spoke to me of Thearoux. He told me the story of Thearoux’s death—all false, but I did not tell him so. He told me that one day he would discover the killer of his favorite uncle and see him punished. And all the time, as I sat there, listening and nodding, it was I. I was the one he was seeking.”