Kissing the Bride

by Sara Bennett

  Her father’s face lost none of its hideous color. He stamped about in front of the fire, sending terrified dogs scattering for safety in the corners and terrified servants close behind them.

  “If he had done what I told him to do, then she would still be marrying him!” he said through gritted, discolored teeth. “I finally find a use for Alfric, something as simple as bringing a woman to heel, and he fails me. The boy is feeble and useless, and always will be, but by God he will do his duty to his family with Lady Jenova! Even if I have to bring her to the priest at the point of my sword!”

  He stopped, breathing hard, realizing he had said far more than he’d intended.

  Rhona was watching him, a spark of intelligence in her dark eyes that was sadly lacking in her brother’s. “Well, it may come to that, my lord,” she said matter-of-factly. “The king is out of the country, and there is no one to stop us. Apart from Lord Henry.”

  The baron dismissed Lord Henry with a savage curl of his lip. “Aye, well, I know things about Lord Henry that will persuade him to put a hold on his tongue, if he does not want the whole of England to learn his sordid secrets.”

  “Do you indeed, Father,” Rhona murmured, wondering just what it was her father knew. Never mind, she would discover it eventually, she always did. “That may be, but for now the lady has her gaze fixed upon Lord Henry. Did you not note it, Father? They are lovers, I am certain of it. They have the look of lovers. Their eyes cling at every opportunity. The point of a sword is all very well, but perhaps we should begin with something less barbarous.”

  Baldessare frowned, his cold eyes narrowing as he gazed upon his daughter. Rhona held her breath, awaiting his decision. Her father had four possible ways of dealing with Rhona’s suggestion. He could shout at her for her impertinence, he could strike out at her and bruise her face in his fury, or he could punish her brother instead in the same violent and brutal manner he had often used in the past, though it was a misguided attempt to make a man of him, as if beating Alfric had ever changed him into anything other than a frightened, sobbing mess! Or her father could accept what she said and listen to her advice as he had begun to do more often of late.

  His voice broke the stillness. “Mayhap you’re right, Daughter. Lovers, you think? Your eyes are sharp. Very well,” he said, and although the anger was still there, simmering under the surface, Rhona knew that violence was no longer imminent. “If what you say is so, what do you suggest we do?”

  “We bide our time,” she said promptly. “Lord Henry is a creature of the court, ’tis well known. His life is there, and he will begin to miss it, if he is not already. He will not linger much longer at Gunlinghorn, but will return to London, and Lady Jenova’s bed will then be empty. She is a widow now long past her girlhood, while my brother is young and handsome. ’Tis not likely she will find another one such as Alfric so handy to her needs. Lord Henry’s going will leave her…unsettled. Her body will burn and ache for him, or someone who might replace him. She will look about her, and there will be my brother. You will see, Father. She will be unable to resist him.”

  “’Tis true, Father, she will not!” bleated Alfric.

  Rhona hurried on before Baldessare could do more than throw him a threatening scowl. “Let Alfric return to Gunlinghorn in a day or so, apologizing for the abrupt manner of our leaving. At the same time he can subtly remind Lady Jenova that Lord Henry will soon be returning to London, and that when he goes, she will be all alone. He might also remind her, again subtly, that she is no longer a young woman. No woman wants to be old and lonely. I am certain Alfric’s hints will begin to stir in her mind, and she will realize her mistake, and turn to him with gratitude.”

  Lord Baldessare grunted at her, but Rhona did not flinch, keeping her eyes fixed upon his face as if she had absolutely nothing to fear. Abruptly her father smiled, but it was not a sight to inspire joy. Inside, Rhona trembled, and she felt her brother move closer to her. Their lives depended upon pleasing their father; it was a fact they had accepted long ago.

  “Your idea has possibilities, Daughter, but if it fails, then we will use force. One way or another Alfric will wed that bitch, and by the time King William the Bastard returns to take her side it will be too late. The Baldessares will hold Gunlinghorn. If William does not want to create a scandal for the lady, then he will allow himself to be pacified with some of Gunlinghorn’s considerable riches. William is a practical man; he never allows sentiment to influence him over much. He will see the sense of letting sleeping dogs lie.”

  “Or sleeping Baldessares,” Alfric murmured.

  Rhona held her breath as their father turned his cold eyes upon her brother. For a moment she was certain he would clout him across the side of the head, but then his mouth twitched, and he gave a bark of laughter.

  “Very good, boy, very good.”

  Rhona smiled, more with relief than amusement, allowing her tight muscles to ease. “What is it you know of Lord Henry, Father?” she asked curiously.

  Her father eyed her with something approaching benevolence, but she did not let down her guard. She had learned over the years that it was never wise to trust her father, even when he appeared to be in a good mood.

  “You ask a great many questions, Rhona. Do you have a fancy for him yourself?”

  The joke was heavy-handed, but she made herself smile. “Nay, father, he is far too pretty for me.” A memory of tousled dark hair and piercing dark eyes threw her momentarily off balance. She caught herself, her words barely faltering. “’Twas only that I thought Alfric could use the knowledge, whatever it is, to drive a wedge between Lady Jenova and Lord Henry. A word, a seed of doubt, and before Henry knows it, she will be treating him like her enemy.”

  Her father nodded thoughtfully. “Your reasoning is sound, Daughter. I cannot tell you all—the knowledge is in the keeping of another. For now it is enough for you to know that Lord Henry and I have a mutual…friend.” He gave an unpleasant smirk. “Have you heard of le château de Nuit?”

  Rhona shook her head, bemused. “The castle of Night?”

  “Aye, that is it. Have Alfric mention that name to the lady, and tell her that Lord Henry may have a choice to make very soon. Lady Jenova will not know what he means, but she will repeat those words to him, and he will understand he is in danger of being exposed for what he is. She will ask him questions and he will not want to answer them. If anything will hurry my lord back into his hole in London, then ’twill be his fear of the truth.” Baldessare grunted a laugh, his eyes gleaming savagely.

  “Very well, Father,” Rhona said, with a meaningful glance at Alfric, trying not to see the mixture of hope and terror shining in his face. It was rare for their father to be in such good spirits, especially after he had just been routed by a man he hated. The knowledge he held must be damaging indeed. Damaging enough that if Lord Henry felt his position at court to be in danger, he could be worked on, mayhap even frightened away. In Rhona’s experience men always put themselves and their interests first. And with Henry gone, then Alfric might actually have a chance.

  Pray God this turned out in their favor, thought Rhona, for if they failed…. It didn’t bear thinking. Her father had not yet broken her spirit, as he had Alfric’s, but she feared that the time was close.

  For some reason Rhona remembered again the big man with scruffy dark hair who had overheard her and Alfric and who had also been in the hall at Gunlinghorn this morning. He had looked at her in a way she had understood, in a way she might be able to use. Aye, he might come in useful, the stranger with dark eyes.

  Reynard.

  His name had been Reynard. Rhona shifted uncomfortably. How had she known that? Had her ears pricked to the sound of it when someone had called to him? She was not normally interested in such men…. They were not the sort to further her own ambitions and those of her father, but for some reason this Reynard made her feel wistful. Surely such a man as he would never allow his woman to be broken by her bully of a father? She h
ad seen the way he’d stood behind Lady Jenova while her father had ranted, protectively, ready to step in….

  “My lord Baldessare, a successful journey?”

  The husky voice brought all their heads around. Rhona’s thoughts scattered, as they always did when confronted with the scarred and disfigured countenance of their chaplain.

  “Jean-Paul! I did not see you there.” Baldessare shuffled awkwardly, as if he were embarrassed. Like a squire caught gossiping about matters he had been told not to mention. It seemed completely out of character, and Rhona stared from one to the other, trying to understand what it was that was between them. Ever since Jean-Paul had come to their home, their father had deferred to him. Sometimes, remarkably, he even seemed to be in awe of him, but in a grudging way.

  Jean-Paul, in his somber robes, strolled down the great hall toward them, a little smile twisting his thin lips. “I have only just finished my prayers,” he said, explaining his late arrival. “Lord Alfric. Lady Rhona.”

  Rhona responded to his greeting, her eyes slipping away from his. It was always so. The hideous sight of his destroyed face on one side, and the unmarred perfection on the other. Two sides of a coin. It was shocking and disturbing, and she wondered, as she always did, how he bore it without wishing himself dead. She was sure she would never have survived such a disaster, nor would she have wanted to. Sometimes she thought that Jean-Paul almost reveled in his ugliness, enjoying the effect he had upon them all. Sometimes she thought it gave him satisfaction.

  “So, am I soon to join together Lord Alfric and his fair lady? Is the marriage to take place in the spring, as we agreed?”

  Alfric cast him a melancholy look. “She has decided she prefers the bastard Montevoy, Jean-Paul.”

  Jean-Paul shook his head slowly, making Rhona stare as the two views of his face shifted from side to side—the perfect and the destroyed. “Bastard, indeed, Lord Alfric. I have heard stories of this Lord Henry of Montevoy, and I do not like what I hear. He is not to be trusted. Can you not open Lady Jenova’s eyes to the truth, allow her to see him for what he really is?”

  “She likes him,” Alfric replied, as if he could hardly believe it himself. “They have been friends for a very long time.”

  “So your father has told me, Lord Alfric. Since childhood. I think that our Lord Henry considers Gunlinghorn his second home. His…sanctuary, hmm?” He smiled, and Rhona stared, fascinated, at the charming smile on one side and the twisted travesty of a smile on the other. “We must see if we can’t destroy that for him, make Gunlinghorn feel unsafe. Set fire to his sanctuary and burn it to ashes, and then see what he does.”

  “Burn Gunlinghorn?” Alfric gasped.

  Rhona dug her fingers into his arm before he could make a fool of himself. “Jean-Paul is speaking in metaphors, Alfric. He does not mean to actually set fire to Gunlinghorn, only to destroy Lord Henry’s enjoyment of it so that he no longer feels able to stay there in safety.”

  Jean-Paul met her eyes, his pale blue good eye gleaming with amusement, the other one milky and half closed. He looked as if he were winking. “Very clever, my lady. That is what I mean.”

  Rhona wondered, as she had many times, why she felt as if Jean-Paul was their equal, rather than a priest under their authority. What was it about him that gave him that air of command, of control? And fear, for she feared him, too, and not just because of his damaged face. It was fear that prevented her from treating him with the contempt she sometimes felt he deserved.

  No, he made Rhona uneasy. Jean-Paul might pretend to be their friend, often championing them to their father, diverting his rages and turning his foul moods to fairer ones. But he did it for his own benefit, not theirs. Alfric did not agree with her—he saw Jean-Paul as some sort of savior—but Rhona had seen and heard things about the priest.

  He was known to strike the servants for no reason Rhona could fathom—she had seen him knock the kitchen boy to the ground and walk off smiling, as if he had enjoyed inflicting the pain. The only thing he appeared to love and prize was his horse, a black stallion more suited to a king than a mere priest. Cruelty was not unusual in the Baldessare household, indeed not, but whereas Rhona’s father might hit out in rage, Jean-Paul’s anger was cold and controlled. And all the more worrying. But if Rhona had suspicions, she was determined not to let Jean-Paul know.

  A servant had come with ale. Baldessare lifted a mug to his lips, taking a thirsty gulp, and the brew seemed to return to him some of his familiar bluff confidence. “I know what I’m about, Jean-Paul. Lord Henry will be punished. You will see, you will have your wish granted soon enough. And I will have mine.”

  Rhona schooled her face into a sweet smile. “And what is your wish, Jean-Paul? For I know that my father’s is to hold Gunlinghorn.”

  Jean-Paul watched her a moment, his body very still within the dark robes. “My wish is to be allowed to marry Lady Jenova to your brother, my lady. What else?”

  What else, indeed?

  Why, then, didn’t she believe him?

  Raf laughed, the joyful, innocent sound ringing throughout the castle bailey. A trader with a heavily laden mule grinned, his teeth white in his swarthy face. Others, servants about the castle or villagers coming and going, paused in their daily routines just to smile.

  Jenova, too, smiled from her sheltered seat by the stable wall. She sat, bathed in a burst of winter sunlight, and Henry let himself enjoy the sight of her as he took Lamb on another turn about the yard. Her happy face and her shining eyes gave her all the appearance of a young girl. Henry had seen much of that girl in Jenova of late, and far less of the staid matron and sensible lady of Gunlinghorn Castle. It was as if their lovemaking had set her free, and now she reveled in things she had thought put aside long ago.

  “Faster, Henry, faster!” Raf’s excited voice brought his thoughts back to the here and now.

  “If I go any faster, Lamb might carry us all the way to London, and what would your mother do then?”

  The boy thought about that, and then gave Henry his brilliant smile. “Mama could come, too,” he announced, pleased he had the solution. “We could all go to London!”

  Henry managed a strained smile in reply but found that his quick tongue seemed strangely sluggish. Jenova in London? It was not something he could even imagine, let alone consider seriously. She belonged to Gunling-horn, to the countryside, to this secret life into which he had been transported. But London? London would mean showing her to the world; it would be like announcing to everyone that he and Jenova were lovers.

  A pair.

  A couple.

  Bound together by bonds stronger than friendship.

  People would look and whisper, point and stare. Gossip could be cruel, and the court thrived on gossip. Henry told himself he didn’t want her to suffer that. Besides, the voice in his head blustered, the king would not like it. He would be displeased with Henry for bringing his cousin’s widow’s reputation into disrepute, and Henry had worked too long and too hard to throw away his own life’s ambitions in such a careless manner. For a woman? No, no! His existence at court must remain separate, and when he left Gunlinghorn and returned to London, as he knew he must, then the affair would be over. Jenova would go back to being what she was, the Lady of Gunlinghorn, and mother to the heir, and he would go back to being Lord Henry of Montevoy, friend of the king and lover of many women.

  You’re a liar, Henry.

  Henry sighed. He was a liar. His excuses were just that, and deep in his heart he knew it. They meant nothing, and all of them could be overcome if he wanted to overcome them. The real reason he didn’t want Jenova in his life, the honest reason, was that he was afraid. Jenova did not know the truth about him, she did not know how unworthy he was. If they were to become a couple, a pair, then she would ask questions, she would dig around in his past, until she found out.

  Like some fearful fairy tale, she would open the creaking door onto his soul and see the real Henry. No one still living had ever s
een what was behind that door, and he broke out in a sweat at the thought of Jenova being privy to what had occurred at le château de Nuit.

  You’ve forgotten about Baldessare. You cannot leave her to face that man’s tender mercies all on her own. She has thrown aside a marriage, probably because of you, despite her claim to the contrary. Coward, does that not present you with an obligation where she is concerned!

  It did, but Jenova could look after herself. She preferred it that way, always had. She was the Lady of Gunlinghorn, and she reveled in ruling her people and her lands. Besides, Baldessare would not dare to make too much of a fuss. He knew she was a favorite of the king, and even Baldessare was not stupid enough to cross King William.

  Was he not?

  Lesser men have died for such transgressions.

  Aye, Henry admitted to himself reluctantly, lesser men still attempted to get away with thievery and treason and murder even when well aware that the king could order them to be put to their deaths. They were too greedy or stupid to care. And though Baldessare was not stupid, he was certainly greedy.

  He could use Baldessare as an excuse to stay, if he needed one. In truth, despite Leon’s competence, Henry knew he should have returned to London a fortnight ago. He could not seem to drag himself away. He wanted to stay here. With her. He was happy here, with her, happier than he had been for a very long time. Oh, it would not last. Of course it would not last, and he did not expect it to. But all the same he couldn’t bring himself to sever the cord, not just yet, despite his sense of unworthiness.

  Leave it a little longer. Just a little. Mayhap the affair would end of its own accord, and then he would not have to leave with such a heavy heart. Or Jenova might tell him to go, send him off with a flea in his ear, and he would not have to make the decision himself.