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He was not sure he trusted it.
Jenova was also deep in her own thoughts, though hers were more prosaic. In her head, she was counting up the carefully packed barrels of salted meat in her storerooms, and wondering if they would last through until the spring. She did not doubt they would, not really, for she was a careful housekeeper. But winter was a season for taking stock of what they had, and what would be needed for Gunlinghorn in the year ahead. Jenova had a great many souls dependent upon her good management, and she did not mean to fail them.
Mortred had never understood that, or perhaps he just had not cared as much as she. He was like Henry, preferring the life and liveliness of court and the king’s company and, she had discovered, the easy women to be found there. Domestic bliss was not for Mortred, it seemed, and yet she had been too besotted and trusting to see it. Never again. She would never place herself in such a position again.
The wheeling gull caused her to look up, too. And as she did, a snowflake fluttered down and melted upon her cheek. They had ridden far today, almost to the farthest edge of her lands, and suddenly she realized that the weather was closing in. The threateningly dark clouds she had seen earlier were almost upon them. Already a thick mist hung low over the hills to the north, lapping at the forest that lay between them and the safety of the Vale of Gunlinghorn. Soon the storm would be surging in to cover them all. She had been so lost in dreams that she had failed to notice the approaching danger.
“We must go home,” she said sharply and glanced over her shoulder at Henry. “There is snow coming, and lots of it.”
Henry too was frowning at the heavy clouds. Snow was beginning to fall more quickly now. “Hurry then,” he replied and met her eyes. “Lead the way, Jenova, and I will follow.”
She gave a brief nod and, without another word, headed into the forest.
The air grew swiftly colder, and as hard as they rode, they could not outrun the snow. Thick, blinding snow. Jenova felt her body growing chilled, her feet turning to ice, and feared that soon they would be unable to continue. That was when she saw the old tree, the gnarled and twisted oak, rising tall above its younger brethren. And she realized she was much closer to Uther’s Tower than she had been aware.
Uther’s Tower was a place used mainly in the warmer months by the woodsmen who cared for the Gunlinghorn forests. However, there were times when her people used it for shelter in the winter, so it was kept in good order all year round. They would be safe there, and surely it made sense to wait out this storm in relative comfort.
She felt a tingle of doubt. As if she was about to make a decision that would have far-reaching consequences….
“Jenova?” Henry was behind her, his face grim and white with cold, his eyes narrowed against the weather. “We cannot stop here,” he shouted. “We must find shelter!”
Henry was depending upon her, Jenova reminded herself. He trusted her to get them to safety. He was following her, just as he had promised to do. She owed it to him not to fail.
“There is shelter. There!” she called back, and pointed through the stark trees. Henry nodded to show he had heard, and urged his tired horse after her, ducking his head beneath the bare branches, once again letting her lead the way.
Uther’s Tower rose stark before them. A squat tower gave the building its name, and attached was a solid cottage structure, made of a mixture of timber and stone. It looked as if it had simply sprung up from the ground. There was already a thick coating of new snow upon the jagged roofline, and more piled up in front of the low door.
Henry dismounted, quickly using both his hands to clear enough of the snow out of the doorway so that they could open the door and enter. He looked back at her. “Come on!” he said, with a frown. “You’ll freeze to death.”
He was right, she knew it. And yet she had a sense of risking all, of burning her bridges, of stepping into the unknown….
Jenova followed him inside.
It was hushed out of the storm. For a moment Jenova blinked, seeing only darkness, and then slowly her sight grew accustomed to the gloomy interior of the building. There was but a single room, with an earthen floor and some clean straw tossed into a heap against one wall. Wood had been piled neatly, and while Henry stabled their horses in the lean-to at the back of the tower, Jenova began to make a fire.
Her hands were frozen now, as well as her feet, and when the wood finally caught with a lick of flame, she sank down beside it with a grateful whimper. By the time Henry returned, his cloak heavy with snow, the wood was well ablaze and giving off some heat.
“I did not pay enough heed to the weather,” she confessed, giving him an apologetic look as he fastened the door. “I saw the storm approaching, but I was enjoying myself too much, and I thought we had time—”
He untied the laces of his cloak and swung it off, laying it over the woodpile to dry. “So was I. Enjoying myself, I mean.” 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. We are equally at fault, Jenova, but we are safe here 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 th
at 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?”
