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Jenova suddenly no longer found it difficult to smile and say, gently, “Alfric, I am truly glad to see you. I would like us to be friends again. For us to put aside the unpleasantness that occurred the last time you were here. However, I must tell you that if you have come here thinking to persuade me to change my mind in regard to your wish to marry me, then you have wasted your journey.”
Alfric’s mouth quivered, his eyes filled with tears. “But, my lady—”
“My brother does want to persuade you to change your mind, my lady,” Rhona said evenly, her cool tones slicing through what threatened to be an impassioned plea from her sibling.
Jenova turned to her with relief. She did not want a scene. “Then I am sorry, but—”
“Surely you do not want Alfric to lie, and declare otherwise?” Rhona went on, clearly intent upon saying what she must. “I am very sure, Lady Jenova, you abhor lies as much as I do. But be assured, my brother will not embarrass you over this matter, he will not make you uncomfortable. Alfric will bide his time, and follow your lead. He is young, and he can wait until you are ready to look upon his love for you in a more favorable light.”
Clever words, thought Jenova, looking from one to the other. The Baldessare siblings were very alike in demeanor, with their fair hair and brown eyes. A handsome couple, neither of them having inherited their father’s rather bucolic looks. Whatever sort of father he was, he had seen that his son and daughter had been well taught in the ways of the Norman aristocracy.
“My lady?” Rhona’s eyes shone with an inner intelligence and determination, while Alfric’s were more like a child’s, begging for some sign of her affection, for some spark of hope. She hated to think what their father would say to them if she turned them out without the least sign of hospitality. And yet if she were cruel, was it not sometimes kinder to be so? It prevented one from having false hope. It was better to allow Alfric to suffer one short moment of pain now, and save himself a later, longer suffering by remaining blindly hopeful that she would change her mind.
“Alfric is young and handsome; he will soon find himself another wife,” Jenova said, although not quite as coldly as she wished.
Rhona’s eyes flashed, but at once she disguised her anger with a smile, hiding it well. In contrast, Alfric looked even more likely to burst into tears.
“There, now, that is the worst of it,” Jenova continued on, more rousingly. “We have stated our positions, and put our differences behind us. Let us take some wine and be friends again. Tell me, how is your father?”
“He is well, my lady,” said Rhona, “but if you will excuse me, I prefer to take a stroll in your gardens while you and my brother speak privately. There are still matters he wishes to broach with you, if you will be good enough to hear him?”
Jenova did not want to hear him, but Alfric was watching her pleadingly, like a puppy that expects to be beaten. She was not normally a hard-hearted woman. She had stated her situation, but it could not hurt her to listen to what he had to say, although she feared it would only be more of the same. She would be kind and then send him on his way.
Jenova nodded brusquely. “Very well.”
Rhona smoothed her saffron-colored skirts, her fingers heavy with jeweled rings. The Baldessares were wealthy, and it seemed that when it came to his offspring, their father did not stint upon clothing and decorations. Only upon his love and affection.
“Thank you, my lady. I will leave you alone then, briefly.”
Jenova watched the younger woman cross the great hall, her back straight and her head high. There were many rumors about Rhona, but Jenova had never inquired into their truth or otherwise. She did not consider her a close friend—Rhona was not the sort to unburden her heart to another or allow anyone to get too close to her. She kept her distance. Until now, Jenova had never wondered why.
“My lady?” Alfric was holding a chair for her, his expression eager. Jenova nodded to a servant, who stood with a tray upon which was set the wine jug and best goblets.
“Will you take some wine, Alfric? It is very good.”
“It cannot be as good as you, Lady Jenova.”
Jenova tried not to roll her eyes. She glanced about a little desperately and caught sight of Agetha, hovering by the dais, her eyes fixed upon her hero. At least Agetha did not see his feet of clay…. An idea suddenly occurring to her, Jenova beckoned her over. “Agetha, please come and join us. I am sure Alfric will not mind.”
Alfric looked as if he minded very much indeed, but he could hardly say so. It would have ruined his portrayal of a perfect gentleman. In contrast, Agetha looked as if she might burst with the pleasure of being in the company of her hero. Jenova began to pour the wine, satisfied that she had made the best of a very awkward situation.
Rhona wandered about the flower borders, shivering from the cold desp
ite her fur-lined cloak. Nothing green was growing at this time of year, apart from the winter stalwarts of holly, ivy and bay. A sprinkling of snow lay upon the ground, and every now and then a fresh flutter of flakes would fall about her.
It had been necessary for her to leave the great hall so that Alfric could be alone with Jenova, despite the fact that Rhona could see it was all a pointless waste of time.
The lady had made up her mind. Her brother had not measured up to Lord Henry, and angry as she was, Rhona could understand why. Poor Alfric, ’twas not his fault he was weak and frightened and so willing to please. Lady Jenova would eat him alive if they ever did marry. But Rhona knew in her heart that they would not.
Jesu, she was not about to tell her father that! Instead she would spin some tale about Jenova still being undecided, and that Alfric was gradually whittling down her defenses. That there was still hope…. With luck, Rhona’s lies would hold his rage in check until she came up with a better plan. And to come up with a better plan, she needed information from inside Gunlinghorn Keep: She needed a spy.
That was the other reason Rhona was walking out here despite the bitter cold; the real reason she had come to Gunlinghorn on what was clearly a fool’s errand.
He had been in the castleyard when they’d arrived. Reynard. He had been striding from the direction of the stables, crossing the path of her mounted entourage. Most certainly he was just as arrogant and rude as she remembered, because he had not troubled to lower his eyes from hers. His gaze, dark and amused, had slid over her like a touch, making her shiver from more than the cold.
Rhona had stared back at him, but it had been she who had dropped her eyes first.
He was a stranger and a servant, she reminded herself. Rough and uncouth, ill-mannered and unkempt. Although mayhap not quite as unkempt as she had first thought, for this morning he had appeared quite well turned out in a Lincoln green tunic and brown breeches, with a studded belt fastened about his hips. She had even spied a ring upon his finger—the jewel in it had flashed yellow in the wane light as he’d pushed his dark hair out of his eyes.
