Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

“No love lasts forever, but some last longer than others. I don’t know whether the fact that he is jealous of me is a good sign, or a bad sign. Mayhap good.”

“Jealous!” Jenova declared, green eyes narrowing. “What do you mean, Henry? Alfric has no reason to be jealous.”

“Didn’t you see the way he looked at me when we met? He was jealous, Jenova. He thought you and I are…” Her eyes had narrowed even more, like a cat, and Henry bit his lip on the less than polite word he was about to use. “Let us just say, sweeting, that he believes we are far more than friends.”

Jenova broke into a peal of laughter. “You cannot be serious! You and me, Henry! I will have to explain to Alfric that if there are two people in all of England least likely to be lovers, then ’tis you and me!”

For some reason Henry did not feel amused.

What was so amusing, anyway? What was wrong with him? Was he less of a man than Alfric? Henry felt the stirrings of a strange anger deep inside himself. He was a better man than that cow-eyed youth, and he knew it! Why did Jenova find the notion of him and her so laughable? It was enough to make him want to prove her mistaken.

Henry inwardly shook his head at his own shortsightedness. Such a step would be both foolish and cruel. He was not a cruel man, and he was certainly not a fool. If Jenova had hurt his pride, then it had been unintentional. She was his friend. Surely having such a friend was far, far better than making her his lover for a short time, and then, inevitably, having nothing.

But, just for an instant, a heavenly vision came to him. Of Jenova, her creamy skin uncovered and her brown hair loose about her lush body. Her green eyes, sleepy with desire, lifted to his and her arms held out toward him.

Just for an instant, and then it was gone, and Henry could breathe again.

Jenova was combing her hair. The long, heavy tresses fell over her back and shoulders, curling up at the ends, shorter strands tickling her face and neck. She often thought her hair dull, but the firelight brought out the many different colors to be found in it—gold and mahogany and red. They gleamed and meshed, making the dull glorious.

She thought of Alfric and smiled. He might seem young, but he would mature with time and some careful tutoring from her. Henry was right. Although she had not liked to admit it, Alfric was uncomfortably jealous of other men. That, Jenova decided, was the fault of his youth, and of his overbearing father. With time his confidence would grow, and he would no longer be quite so insecure.

He was not Mortred, she reminded herself. He did not have Mortred’s easy self-confidence. But then she did not want another Mortred. She had loved her husband, mourned him, and he had betrayed her. Men like Mortred, men like Henry, found it too easy to manipulate a woman’s gentle heart and willing body. She wanted no more of them.

Jenova took a deep breath.

Wasn’t that one of the reasons she was marrying Alfric? To take revenge upon Mortred’s memory? But that was her secret. Not even Henry must know the true extent of her hurt—he would not understand. Henry never allowed emotion to interfere with business, and what was marriage but a business contract?

She drew her comb through her hair, remembering Henry’s face when she had laughed at the idea of him and her. She should not have laughed. It had been impolite of her. But the thought of them together had struck her as so bizarre that it was amusing. They were so totally unsuited, so unlikely a couple! For a moment there he had looked…hurt, before his good humor had reasserted itself. That was one of the wonderful things about Henry; he was so even tempered that very little upset him. He had been a sweet boy, and he had grown into an amiable man.

Jenova knew she was lucky to have Henry as her friend. And so much better to be his friend than his lover. She had always felt a little sorry for his women, although they did not appear to resent the experience. There were always lots more of them willing to take the place of those who had gone before.

Is he really such a good lover?

The curious thought had hardly entered her mind when it was followed by an image of Henry. Golden skin and blazing violet-blue eyes, rising above her, his handsomeness all for her. She shook her head, uncomfortable with herself. No, no, not again, that would never do! Henry was her friend, one of her few friends, and she did not want to ruin such a fortunate relationship. Once, when they were hardly more than children, they had kissed one afternoon in a meadow, and it had been very sweet, but that was long ago. Such things were best forgotten.

If she had really hurt his feelings by laughing at him, then she would make it up to him tomorrow. She would take him out riding! Although the Vale of Gunlinghorn and the surrounding hills were white with snow, the ride would be a bracing treat. Henry had always loved to ride around Gunlinghorn.

Jenova was well aware that he would already be missing the court, with its verbal maze of rumor and gossip, the constant stimulation of his mind and his senses. Henry thrived upon such things; they were his life. It was important that while he was here, she keep him entertained with all the pursuits he enjoyed.

Aye, tomorrow they would go riding.

Just the two of them.

The Gunlinghorn countryside was white, the fields covered in a crisp layer of snow, the water meadows and marshes half-frozen, while ice and snow hung heavy from the bare branches of the trees in the woods. Beyond the cliffs to the south, the sea was gray and sullen, while some brave gulls floated in a sky that was just as gray.

Jenova had risen early, washing and dressing in her warmest gown and fur-lined boots, and hurried down to the hall. Henry, who was already risen, as she had known he would be, smiled at her over his mug of ale and morning meal of bread and cheese. Jenova hesitated as she reached him. That was odd. Why had she never noticed before how white and strong his teeth were? And how the little lines by his blue eyes creased up so attractively when he smiled?

For a moment her thoughts were confused, and she found herself wondering what she had been about to say, but she quickly shook off her strangeness. It wasn’t as if she had never seen Henry before. And yet, just for a moment there, he had been like a stranger. A handsome, desirable stranger.

“I thought we could go riding this morning, Henry,” Jenova said, a little breathlessly, striving for normality. “I have not been out for weeks, and although ’twill be cold, I believe the weather will hold for a few hours.”

Henry’s smile broadened. “I would enjoy that very much, Jenova.” He hesitated. His smile remained but lost something of its ease. “Alfric will be coming?”

Jenova shook her head. “No, not Alfric. We will go together, Henry, just you and me.”

Henry nodded, and then hesitated, as if debating something, before launching into what sounded to her like a prepared speech. “I have been thinking about your marriage, Jenova. The king may not approve an alliance between you and Baldessare. Mayhap you should wait until he returns from Normandy and see what—”

Jenova held up her hand. “No, Henry. Not today. We will speak of my marriage, but not this day. I intend to forget the Baldessares, all of them, and enjoy myself. Please,” she added.