Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

Henry paused. It was true, he had been mulling over her marriage during the night, and the more he mulled, the less happy he became at the idea of his Jenova aligning herself with that family. And perhaps more importantly, the less happy he believed King William would be. But she was right, such things could keep until later.

“Of course,” he said genially and rose to his feet. “Let us ride together.”

“Mama, Mama, can I come?”

The boy running toward them had hair that curled wildly about his head and neck and was the same color as Jenova’s. He came to a halt against her skirts, buffeting her, but she laughed and hugged him to her. What is his name? thought Henry. What was Jenova’s son’s name?

“Raf, you grow stronger every day,” Jenova pretended to scold, solving the problem for him.

Raf

gave her a broad grin and then turned his gaze on Henry. There was a slightly wary look in his eyes now, as if he was well aware that Henry did not willingly seek the company of children. Henry had a suspicion that Jenova herself may have told her son not to bother their guest, and he was grateful.

“Good morning, Raf,” he said in a falsely jovial voice.

The boy bowed carefully. “Lord Henry, I pray you are well in mind and body.”

Henry’s lips twitched despite himself, while Jenova bent and murmured something in the boy’s ear. For a moment Raf looked mulish, but then with a resigned sigh he nodded. A plump young woman waited anxiously farther down the hall, clearly waiting to ferry him away. He turned and, slightly dragging his feet, returned the way he had come, but not before he cast another glance at Henry. This time the look in the boy’s eyes was pleading, and Henry had an uncharacteristic urge to call him back, to say that of course he could go with them. He stifled it. Boys like Raf reminded him too much of his own young and innocent self.

He supposed he had been that innocent, once. Or nearly so. Life had sometimes been difficult, and he had been much alone, but he had been brave and strong and determined to make the most of his opportunities. How was he to know he would fall in with such evil creatures?

Jenova’s warm fingers brushed against his, startling him from his reverie. “Come then,” she said gently, almost as if she had read his mind. “Let us go while the weather holds.”

The horses had not been exercised for some time, and they were as eager as Henry and Jenova to be out in the brisk morning air. For a while they simply rode, Reynard and the troop of men-at-arms spread out behind them. When they reached the top of Gunlinghorn Hill, they stopped, breathless, and gazed at the view before them. On such a crisp and cold day, it was possible to see for many miles. Henry looked with satisfaction upon the rich Vale of Gunlinghorn, with its wide river and meadows and, overlooking it all, the stark bulk of the protecting castle. This may not be London, but, to Henry’s mind, it was the next best thing. If he had to live in the country, if he was ever forced to become a live-in landlord, then he would choose Gunlinghorn.

Then he remembered. Soon Alfric, with his brown, melancholy eyes, might be master here, and Henry would no longer feel welcome. The idea of that sulky boy at Gunlinghorn was suddenly so repugnant to Henry that he determined that if the marriage went ahead, he would never visit again.

With that realization came another. Henry had never understood just how much he would miss Gunlinghorn.

And Jenova.

He glanced at her, wondering if she was thinking the same thing, if she realized this might be one of their last days together. But Jenova was smiling as she gazed over her domain, her thoughts clearly very distant from his own. Jenova caught his eye, and there was a wildness in hers that he remembered from when they were children. “Let’s ride to the sea,” she cried and, with a laugh, kicked her horse into a gallop. She flew down the hillside, and into the woods, the hood of her fur-lined cloak falling back from her hair. She didn’t look back, she just expected him to follow her. And so he would; so he always did. With a laugh of his own, Henry set off in hot pursuit.

They spent the next few hours simply enjoying themselves, in a manner they had not done for years. They reached the sea at Gunlinghorn Harbor, the village that straddled the mouth of the river where it spewed into the sea. Jenova received revenue from the trading boats that came and went from her harbor, and because it was a relatively safe, though small, anchorage along an often dangerous coastline, she was never short of vessels putting in. Dwellings and hostelries had grown up around the timber wharf, catering to the seamen, merchants and traders, with their packhorses, who came to carry the goods to market elsewhere.

“My lord.” Reynard nodded toward one particular building, where a sign painted with the image of a black dog was propped against the wall. “My father’s sister lives here. Her name is Matilda. Have I your permission to visit her? If you wish”—he glanced at Jenova—“she will serve us with food and ale. I have heard this inn is well known for its good service.”

Henry raised a brow. “I did not know you had blood relations here, Reynard.”

“My father was a builder of boats, my lord, and lived here for a time under the reign of the English king Edward, called the Confessor. My father’s sister married and stayed after he returned to Normandy.”

“Thank you, Reynard,” Jenova said. “I would be glad to partake of your aunt’s hospitality. I know Matilda, and you are right, this inn has a fine reputation.”

Reynard’s aunt Matilda was a small, plump woman with wiry dark hair, and when she hugged Reynard, her head only came to his armpits. She fed them well, and Jenova sat by the fire, warming herself, and enjoying the informality. ’Twas not often she allowed herself a day away from the endless tasks that befell her at Gunlinghorn. She glanced across at Henry and found him watching her in an oddly intent manner, his eyes half closed. Almost at once he smiled, sharing the moment.

“It is long since we sat together like this,” he said. “As I recall, your mother would never let you sit idle for long. You had to learn to be a great lady.”

“And you a brave knight,” she retorted.

“She did not like me,” Henry said matter-of-factly. “She was afraid you would grow too fond of me.”

“All the girls were in love with you, Henry. ’Twas the fault of your handsome face.”

She was teasing him, and he laughed, but there was something at the back of his eyes. Something she did not recognize.

“But you did not, did you?” he said at last. “Fall in love with me, I mean. You made me run errands for you, and fetch and carry. And I was only too willing to do so.”

“You could have told me nay, Henry.”