Kissing the Bride

by Sara Bennett

  A swell of happiness filled her heart.

  Buoyed by the thought that soon she would be in his arms, Jenova slipped out into the cold stairwell. Henry’s chamber was above hers, up another flight of stairs with a torch in a wall sconce at the top. Jenova had begun the climb when a figure stepped out of the shadows behind her so quietly and abruptly that he made her gasp.

  “My lady?”

  It was Alfric, his brown eyes catching the light, his manner a little hesitant, like a child caught out of bed after curfew.

  “Alfric, what are you doing here?” Jenova demanded, more sharply than she meant. She kept her eyes on his face, although she had the urge to glance up the stairs to see if Henry was standing there. What would she have done if they’d been caught? If Alfric were to discover their secret, it would be horribly embarrassing for them all.

  He reached for her hand, and without thinking she gave it to him. His lips were warm against her cold skin, and he squeezed her fingers as if he was trying to tell her something. Alfric seemed far more aggressive in his wooing during this visit—she even sensed a certain desperation in his flattery. He had lost his light touch. Jenova did not like him like this. She supposed he sensed her slipping away from him and at the same time didn’t understand why. She should feel sorry for him. Instead, the more desperate Alfric became, the more she wanted to distance herself from him.

  Secretly gritting her teeth, Jenova allowed him to finish kissing her hand and then hastily withdrew it from his grip. “What are you doing here, Alfric?” she asked him again. “Is there something amiss?”

  “I-I could not sleep,” he said slowly, watching her. “I thought to take a walk about the castle, and then I heard your door open. Can-can you not sleep either, my dearest lady?”

  Alfric stepped closer, making full use of his melancholy gaze. But there was something intimidating in his movements that Jenova did not like, something almost predatory. She edged back, attempting to put space between them, but he came on, crowding her against the wall, his body a menacing shadow against the torchlight. She had never thought of him in such a way before, but he was Baldessare’s son, after all. She seemed to have forgotten that until now.

  “Was that the case, my lady?” he said quietly, accusingly. “Were you taking a midnight walk? Or had you some specific destination in mind?”

  He knows! she thought frantically. Or he had guessed…. Her back was hard to the wall now, she couldn’t go any farther, and besides, there was nowhere to go. Jenova put her hand against his chest to keep him back, feeling the fine velvet of his tunic and the sharp cut of a brooch fastened at his breast.

  “You are frightening me, Alfric,” she said, only just managing to keep the tremor from her voice. “It is no business of yours where and when I choose to walk about my own castle—”

  “No b-business of mine?” he sneered, his lip curling. His face loomed over hers, and her palm could no longer hold him. “I am your husband! Or will be…How can it be no b-business of mine who you spend your nights with, Lady Jenova?”

  Her heart was thudding so loud that it deafened her, but she forced fear away; showing him how affected she was would only incite him further. This was a side to Alfric she had never seen before, and she knew with a cold, hard certainty that she never wanted to see it again.

  “No, it is no business of yours, Alfric. I am not going to marry you. I am sorry to tell you in such a brutal way, but it is best if you know now and do not allow your hopes to continue any longer.”

  His bravado fell from him like the pretense it was. He stared at her, his eyes huge, his mouth dropping open. He made a strangled sound.

  “Now, I am weary,” she went on levelly. “I need to go back to my room.”

  “Nay!” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Nay, lady, please, oh please, do not say that. I-I will be good, I swear I will never…never…I beg you to reconsider! Lady Jenova, please!”

  He was distraught, and this was no act. She tried to push him away, but he had gripped her shoulders and was holding on far too tightly.

  “You can g-go where you like, sleep with whom you like, I don’t care, I don’t care, only don’t say you will not m-marry me, Jenova—”

  “Alfric!” She pushed him, hard, and he finally seemed to realize that he was frightening her. He swallowed, blinked, took a step back. In the torchlight his face was deathly pale.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered, and tears sparkled in his dark eyes.

  Oh Jesu, let him not cry! Jenova could not bear it if he cried.

  “Just…do not make a decision yet. Not yet. Wait until the morning. I will do whatever you ask of me, anything, but please, please, reconsider.”

  Jenova steadied her own breathing, watching him closely, wondering if he might lose control again. But, thankfully, he seemed to have pulled himself together. “Very well, Alfric. I will make my decision in the morning.”

  He nodded, a smile trembling on his mouth. “Thank you,” he managed. “Thank you, my lady—”

  “Now let me pass. I wish to retire.”

  He stumbled back, and she hurried by before he could change his mind. The chamber door closed firmly behind her, and she barred it. Only then did she feel truly safe.

  She wouldn’t marry him, not now. If she had loved him, then perhaps they could have worked through his problems, but she had never loved him. Jenova knew the situation was partly her own fault, and she was sorry for it, and for Alfric, but she would not allow her pity to trap her into making a disastrous mistake.

  If it hadn’t been for Henry, she may indeed have tied herself to that boy. How could she have so lost her way as to think Alfric would make her a good husband, that an alliance with the Baldessares was a suitable one? Well, the wedding would not now go ahead, but the matter was still a complete mess. One she needed to sort out as soon as possible. In the morning she would confront Baldessare and his son and explain matters to them.

  She had changed her mind, that was all. Other people changed their minds all the time, and women were renowned for it. Baldessare probably expected it. He might curse her all he wished in private, but there was not much he could do to her face.

  After all, Jenova had the king’s favor, and that, she told herself, ensured her safety.

  Climbing back into her bed, she closed her eyes. Her decision was made, and she would follow it through to the bitter end. But, although she was a practical woman, she was also a woman, and Jenova could not help a pang at the thought that she would never now wear the white velvet.

  “Rhona!” The harsh, whispering voice would not go away. Rhona sighed and, glancing at the quietly snoring servant on the floor beside the bed, threw back the covers and padded, shivering, toward the door.

  “Alfric, is that you?”

  “Aye, ’tis me. Rhona, I did as you s-said. I w-waited near her d-door and-and—I m-must speak with you!”

  Dear God, now what? Rhona thought, but she didn’t bother saying it aloud. Quietly, hoping not to wake the servant, she opened her door a crack and peered out at the pale, tear-streaked face of her brother.

  Her heart sank.

  “She s-says she isn’t going to marry me n-now,” Alfric said, his voice trembling. “What will I do? Father will kill me for this.”

  Rhona made soothing noises, patting his cheek, but she felt her own heart thud with dread. Lord Baldessare had had his greedy eyes turned on Gunlinghorn for years; if he were thwarted now that he was so close to having it, she and—more likely—Alfric would pay a heavy price.

  “The lady may be having doubts, Alfric, but that does not mean—”

  “I persuaded her to p-promise to wait until the morning, to make her decision then, but I am n-not hopeful. She only promised so I would leave her alone. She hates me n-now, Rhona. I-I saw it in her eyes.”

  He should not have set a deadline for her decision, Rhona thought. Better to let matters drift—there was always a chance Jenova would change her mind back again—but to hed
ge her into a corner like that…. She sighed. She should have known Alfric would mess things up. She shouldn’t have trusted him. She should have realized that he could not do anything without her standing behind him telling him what to do. Well, it was done now, and they must prepare to face their father’s anger and, if they were clever, talk their way out of it.

  And if they could not? The usual bruises, she supposed, the usual punishments and threats. Of course their father might go further this time. He might do more than threaten. Rhona shuddered, remembering. From somewhere she found her voice again, as well as the necessary words to soothe her frightened brother.

  “Go to bed. I will be ready in the morning. I will think of something, don’t worry.”

  “Maybe we should use the potion.”

  Their eyes met, fear in the depths of both. The potion was a secret between them. Once, in a moment of bravado, Rhona had purchased a sleeping potion from an old woman at a market. It was hidden in her chamber. She and Alfric always swore that, if things grew too terrible, they would use it on their father and then, while he was sleeping, they would run away. But how far could they get before he awoke? Rhona thought it would probably never be far enough.

  “Nay, Alfric. I will think of something else. Go to bed.”

  Alfric, his glazed eyes fixed on hers, struggled between his blind belief in his sister to make all right, and justified fear for his own safety. After a moment he gave a jerky nod and turned away. Rhona closed the door behind him, leaning her brow against it and closing her eyes. If only she had been born a man, she would not have failed! Jenova would be hers! But Rhona suspected that she would not have been able to get away with half the things she said and did if she had been a man. And besides, she enjoyed being a woman, enjoyed the power she wielded and the admiration she saw in the faces of the men around her.

  There had been admiration in that man’s face tonight, the big man who had been trying to overhear what she and Alfric had been saying. Rhona frowned, her mind working. It must have been his fault Jenova had scorned Alfric. He must have repeated what he had heard. But no, she did not really think so. Rhona had a feeling that Jenova’s doubts stemmed from someone else, someone who had far more influence over her than a servant. Mayhap she could still seduce Henry of Montevoy away from Jenova?

  Rhona knew she must not give up yet, and she did not intend to. Before she allowed her father’s fury to roll over them like the violent storm it was, she would do everything in her power to stop him. Would Jean-Paul help her? He had helped before, but, she suspected, only when it suited his own agenda. Their chaplain was a puzzle to her. He had come to their household a year ago, and since then he had slipped into the role of their father’s close confidant. It was a position that ensured his wielding much power over Baldessare and his household.

  She did not trust him.

  She did not trust any man.

  Men were weak and greedy and used their strength to oppress. Rhona supposed good ones existed, but as far as she was concerned they were few and far between, and she was not about to gamble her life on the hope that one day a chivalrous knight would come riding to her rescue.

  No, if she and Alfric were to be saved from their father’s wrath, then they must save themselves.

  Chapter 9

  The next morning Jenova descended the stairs with her speech prepared. She was pale and weary, but determined. The servants were already up and busy, and she cast a practiced eye over the preparations under way for the midday meal. Feeding the number of souls in a castle the size of Gunlinghorn required much careful planning and strategy. It was a job Jenova had been trained for since girlhood and one that gave her pleasure and a great sense of satisfaction.

  In the kitchen, a boy grinned at her as he sat behind the protective screen, turning a spit of roasting meat over the flames so that it wouldn’t burn. The smell of fresh baking bread mingled with that of pies coming from the ovens. The cook, a man with a round belly and a wooden spoon in his hand, gave her a respectful nod as he went about his business.

  Nothing to be done here. Nothing to cause her to linger. No excuses. Jenova knew she was being a coward, but the thought of facing the Baldessares was turning her into one. Well, best get it over, then!

  With a deep breath to bolster her courage, Jenova made her way to the great hall. There were any number of her household already up. Some of them were seated at the trestle tables, involved in conversation or games of dice or chess, while others took their fill of yesterday’s bread and ale, which served to break their fast before the midday meal.

  “Mama!”

  It was Raf, his arms warm and tight about her legs as he gazed up at her with sparkling green eyes.

  “We are going to find Raven and her babies. Do you want to come with us?”

  Us? Jenova turned and found Henry close behind her. He gave a self-mocking smile, as if she should disapprove of his attachment to her son, when it was one of the things she loved about him. And one of the reasons she knew she could not marry a shallow man like Alfric.

  “I would, sweeting, but I have something I wish to discuss with Lord Baldessare,” she said to Raf, but she was looking at Henry.

  He must have read the tension in her face, because his expression sharpened and his blue eyes narrowed. “Do you want us to wait?”

  Sweet Jesu, yes! But Jenova swallowed down her weakness and fear. Raf’s open, smiling face was still turned to hers, and looking down at him she knew she did not want him to be privy to the scene she was about to put into motion. Better he was with Henry and far away from Baldessare’s displeasure.

  “I-no, Henry, no. Find Raven and her babies. I will manage Lord Baldessare.”

  Henry nodded, still watching her. He stepped closer, near enough to say, “Be sure you insist on proper terms for your marriage contract. Favorable for you and Raf, rather than my lord Baldessare.”

  Jenova realized then that Henry thought she meant to talk with the Baldessares about the marriage. He would not know, he could not know, that she had changed her mind completely. She sensed that he would not like the complications this brought to their own relationship, or the expectations.

  “Lord Henry, you must come now,” Raf insisted, impatient to be gone. Henry took the boy’s hand in his but continued to look at Jenova. She forced a reassuring smile.

  “Yes, go, Henry. I will be all right.”

  He hesitated a moment more, then gave a brief bow and left her.

  Jenova closed her eyes and took a deep breath before turning again to the great hall.

  At once her eye fell upon Lord Baldessare, standing by the dais, slapping his gloves impatiently into his palm. His two fair-haired children stood close by, staring at Agetha, who was attempting to engage them in conversation. Jenova knew that Baldessare had already been up and about the stables—one of the grooms had told her—complaining about any number of things that were none of his business. He seemed to think Gunlinghorn was already his.

  Jenova felt relief dilute her apprehension. She was doing the right thing in refusing Alfric. She still believed she could have kept Lord Baldessare at a distance, but it would have been wearing on her patience and her temper. The man was a bully, and Jenova did not like bullies. Her resolve strengthened—she was weary of Baldessare, with his cold stares and barely contained contempt.

  Better if he never set foot at Gunlinghorn again.

  With more confidence in her step, Jenova moved toward the little group, nodding at Reynard as she passed him. Lord Baldessare turned with a frown, returning her polite greeting with a brusque nod of his head. His daughter, her prettiness clouded by a pale, tired face, echoed the greeting in a subdued voice. Beside her, Alfric bowed and said nothing, his shadowed eyes and white face indicating that he, too, had had very little sleep.

  Not a happy gathering, then.

  “My lady,” Agetha smiled, but her eyes were watchful. Agetha would not be pleased when she discovered that Jenova meant to sever all ties with Al
fric—he was a great favorite with her. Well, Jenova could not live her life to please her ladies.

  “Agetha, would you leave us for a moment. I have something to say to Lord Baldessare.”

  The other woman gave her a questioning glance but nodded and retreated reluctantly further down the hall.

  “My lord,” Jenova began in a brisk voice, “would you be seated a moment? There is something I must say.”

  They were isolated enough that they could converse in private, yet her household was still close enough that Jenova did not feel as if she was under any threat. It was indicative of her change of heart that she even thought of such things; that she was actually considering herself to be in possible danger in her own hall.

  “Your servants are disrespectful,” the baron informed her as he sat down heavily on a chair, swirling his cloak about him.

  “Agetha is no servant, she is the daughter of—”

  “Not that silly little girl. I reprimanded your groom for being too slow with my horse this morning, and he gave me a surly look. Your people need a firm hand; you are too lenient with them. I have found that women always are.”

  “Indeed?” Jenova hid her anger, taking her own seat on one end of a bench, while Baldessare’s daughter and son placed themselves at the other end, together, giving the impression that they had formed an alliance against their father.

  “Aye, indeed,” Baldessare retorted. “Alfric can help you there, at least. He will know how to deal with your servants, and if he doesn’t, then I will show him.”

  The arrogance of the man amazed her. Did he really believe she would allow him to give even one order at Gunlinghorn? He must think her a dolt indeed. Any remaining doubts were fast being replaced by certainty and a sense of relief. She was doing the right thing, and she had best get it over with. Jenova folded her trembling hands firmly together in her lap.

  “My lord, I have something of importance to tell you, and I will speak plainly. I cannot wed your son. ’Tis not because he has done or said anything to cause me a dislike of him—never think that. ’Tis just that I have discovered in myself a dissatisfaction with the whole idea of marriage. I do not want to wed again. I do not want to be a bride. I am not yet ready for it, and mayhap I never will be.”