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He had meant to tell her, today in her solar, that he was happier at Gunlinghorn than he had ever been before, anywhere in his life. He had meant to tell her that he felt part of a family for perhaps the first time in his whole life. The abandoned boy, shunted from relative to relative, never belonging to anyone. He had always been afraid to give too much of himself, in case it was taken from him. But now the need was greater than the fear.
Jenova was his life. If he left her behind, if he left Raf and Gunlinghorn, he would feel like that abandoned child all over again.
He had meant to tell her all these things, but somehow the moment had slipped away from him. Faced with the reality of her, the possibility of rejection, he had been too much a coward to speak the words. She would ask him all the questions he so feared. And turn away from him, the disgust plain on her face.
Henry didn’t think he could stay and see that.
He was only a man, after all, not a saint.
Beau Henri.
Henry stilled, his outstretched hand touching stone, roughly cut and crumbling stone. Beyond him, in the darkness, he could hear breathing. He wasn’t alone.
There was a smell. A mixture of despair and terror, pain and misery. He knew them all. He knew that smell.
That was when he realized he was back in le château de Nuit.
He woke with a sob.
Jean-Paul had been waiting, standing like a shadow in the woods beyond the meadows, only his breath to betray him. Gunlinghorn Castle rose bulkily against the sky, dark apart from the occasional flicker of torchlight from the patrolling watch. There seemed more on guard than usual, as if they were preparing for a possible enemy attack.
He smiled to himself.
They thought the danger would come from outside Gunlinghorn. The truth was, it was already lodged safely within.
A figure was approaching on foot, its cloak flapping behind, an inner agitation causing jerky movements. And fear. Jean-Paul recognized the emotion instantly—in his youth, he had seen many people running through fear. It had been his job to catch them and bring them back; his and Henry’s.
“You are late,” he said and moved out into the figure’s path.
It jumped and gasped and clutched its chest. “Oh, you frightened me! I did not see you—”
“Have you news?”
A deep breath, a resigned huff at his bad manners. “Lady Jenova will marry none. Not even Lord Henry.”
“Not even Henry…” Jean-Paul considered that, enjoying the idea of Henry begging Jenova to marry him and her refusing. Had he told her about his past yet? Had he shared that with her? Did he dare? Jean-Paul almost hoped he would, so that he could suffer even greater depths of despair.
“What do you want me to do?”
Jean-Paul turned and stared at the face within the hood, considering it. “You must be very brave. If we are to give Lady Jenova and Lord Alfric the happy ending they deserve, then we must now take an action some may consider…extreme.”
“What action?” The voice was shrill, too loud.
“Hush!” said Jean-Paul impatiently. “Do you want the watch to hear you? It is only extreme because it is unusual, but it is necessary. Completely and entirely necessary. You trust me, don’t you?” He fingered the cross on his chest, letting the starlight catch it, reminding her of what he was.
The head within the hood bobbed respectfully. “Of course I do, Father Jean-Paul. I know you want only what is best, as I do. Sometimes others are blind to such things, and they must be shown the way. Prodded, gently, in the right direction.”
His own words, come back to him from another’s lips. He smiled. “That is so true, my child. Very well, I will tell you what I want you to do. Listen carefully and be brave. It will all soon be over.”
His voice went on, softly, urgently. At first the figure gasped and shook its head, but gradually, as his words washed over it, acceptance came. By the time they parted, it was nearly dawn, but his persuasion had had its effect.
Jean-Paul’s will would be done.
This morning the air was chill, but the sky had lost its ominous look. Henry led Raf up the slope through the trees, turning back to smile at the boy’s flushed and excited face beneath his furry hood. Jenova and Agetha had bundled him up so much that he resembled a round bladder rather than a skinny little boy.
“Not much farther.”
Raf grinned back, urging his pony faster. It lumbered along behind Lamb, making hard work of the slope. Jenova had not wished to join them, although both Henry and Raf had asked her—mayhap Raf had been the more sincere of the two. They had around half a dozen men from the castle as guard, but so far Henry had not sighted a single soul besides themselves.
