Kissing The Bride

Medieval Series ~ Book #4

JENOVA + HENRY'S STORY

EXCERPT

1075, winter, The Vale of Gunlinghorn, England

The weather has forced Lord Henry and Lady Jenova to take shelter in an old tower on Jenova’s estate. Friends since childhood, they are struggling against a new and  powerful attraction for one another . . .

Henry came and stood by the fire, looking across the flames at her.  He seemed to be searching her face, reading her thoughts, and then he gave a wicked smile.  “We were the same when we were children, remember?  Riding out together and forgetting ourselves.  Your mother was always scolding.  But we are safe now, and in such luxurious lodgings.  What is this place?”

“Uther’s Tower.  We don’t really know who Uther was, but legend says he was a long-ago king of this part of England.  I think he was a Briton, holding his lands against the Romans.  He built this tower as a warning to them not to come any farther.  One of the stories tells of his love for the wife of a captain of a Roman Legion.  This may even have been where the lovers met.”

Henry raised his brows.  “’Tis not very romantic.”

“Aye, it is,” she retorted, refusing to be annoyed with his skepticism.

“I could think of better places to meet,” he went on, glancing about.  “There isn’t even a comfortable bed.”

Jenova shook her head at him in disgust.  “They were in love, Henry.  ’Tis a state of mind.” 

“Like lunacy?”

She tried to smile, but suddenly she was just too cold.  Even though the fire was now crackling pleasantly, she couldn’t seem to get warm.  There wasn’t enough heat to counteract the intense cold that had already entered her body and was still seeping into the building from the snowstorm raging outside.

With a frown, Henry moved to kneel by her side.  “Are your feet cold?”

“I cannot feel them at all.”  Despite her furs, Jenova shook and shivered.

“Here then.”  He reached to take her boots in his hand, swiftly removing them and arranging them by the fire to dry.  Her stockinged feet were very cold, and his hands were so warm . . . They felt wonderful.  He set about rubbing each of them to warmth, toes, heel and instep.  Next he set to work on her hands, pink with cold beneath her gloves.

His face was creased with concentration as he performed his task, and his touch was impersonal and thorough, and yet gentle.  He was doing what needed to be done, but Jenova did not feel like an object, far from it.  She felt cherished; there was something very agreeable in his touch, something very comforting, almost sensuous . . . Jenova was aware of her whole body relaxing, growing languid with the pleasure of Henry ministering to her.

“Thank you, Henry,” she said softly.  “You are very good to me.”

Henry looked up at her, the firelight dancing in his blue eyes.  “Why wouldn’t I be?” he mocked.  “We are old friends, are we not?”

He looked very appealing.  And very handsome.  Why, thought Jenova in surprise, he was like a stranger!  If she had not remembered this was the man she had known forever, her childhood companion, she would have been as foolishly attracted to him as any other woman.  Jesu, she was attracted to him .

A warm trickle of unfamiliar sensation ran through her cold body, a stirring she had not felt for a long time.  Jenova shivered.

“Are you still cold?” Henry demanded, a crease of worry between his brows.  He reached again to clasp her hands, his fingers strong and sure.  There was a crooked white scar on the back of one of them, and suddenly she thought; I do not know how he came by that scar.  And at the same time she realized that there were many things she did not know about Henry. 

“Jenova?”  He was watching her, waiting for the answer to his question, and puzzled by her silence.

Jenova heard her inner voice sound a warning.  Run for your life!