The Widow's Kiss

by Jane Feather

  “I’m to believe that?” he demanded scornfully. “Four dead husbands and then you attempt to stab me!”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” Still livid, she glared at him, twitching her wrist free of his hold.

  There was a moment's silence as Hugh acknowledged that he was being ridiculous. Guinevere had had no intention of stabbing him. He said more moderately, “Perhaps you could explain why you said you were in the garderobe when it seems that you weren’t.”

  “What did the torch man see?”

  “You.”

  Guinevere shook her head. “How could he be so certain? Or did you use some persuasive techniques to get him to say what you wanted him to say?” Once again her voice dripped scorn. “We both know you weren’t intending to leave here without the evidence you sought.”

  Hugh's lips thinned. “That tune grows wearisome. The man saw you at the window both before and after Mallory's fall.”

  “And he saw me push him, did he?”

  “No. But the implication is clear.”

  “Do you have any idea how large Stephen was, my lord?” she asked in a tone of mild inquiry. “I’m not a small woman, I agree, but compared with my husband …” She gave him a rather pitying smile. “Anyone who knew Stephen will tell you that he was a very tall man, running to fat but still very strong. He was a drunkard and often unsteady on his feet. When he lost his balance after too good a dinner, which happened on several occasions, again as any member of my household will tell you, it was like trying to right a fallen oak. I would not have had the strength to push him out of the window.”

  But a well-placed foot to a flying ankle could do the job just as well. She pushed the thought aside and faced him with that same pitying smile.

  Hugh's conviction wavered. “Were you at the window? ” The light had faded now in the fragrant garden and he could barely see her face.

  She turned away from him to look out over the shadowed countryside below. She was very still, her tall body erect. She said softly, “Yes.”

  “Then why did you lie?”

  She turned back to face him, her face a pale glimmer, her eyes so dark as to be almost black. “It was a harmless enough untruth. I wanted to avoid any mutterings in the countryside. Folk around here are inclined to superstition and they love gossip. To lose four husbands could be considered careless, after all.” Her voice took on a sardonic edge. “Didn’t you and your masters come to that conclusion yourselves?”

  It was not an unreasonable explanation, Hugh reflected. He stood looking at her, trying to read her mind. There was still something she was hiding, he would swear to it. Was she a greedy and acquisitive murderess, or simply a brilliant scholar who put her learning to work in protecting her financial interests? He had no conclusive evidence of her involvement in any of the deaths and yet she had had both motive and opportunity in at least one of them.

  “So, Hugh of Beaucaire, are you going to arrest me?” The sarcastic edge to the challenge grated on him.

  “It's not my place to do so. It is, however, my place to escort you to London where others may make that determination. We leave at sunup the day after tomorrow. You will be ready.”

  So soon. Would she have time to make her move before then? She thought of the document tucked in the rose basket that she had intended to flourish with such triumph. The document proving that Roger Needham had had the right to cede the disputed land to his second wife. Much good would such an empty triumph do her now.

  Guinevere's expression was calm, showing none of her panicked speculation. She would not give him that satisfaction. “I can’t promise to be ready so soon.”

  “You will be ready, madam,” he repeated. “It's already past midsummer and I’ll not risk being still upon the road when the days grow short.”

  “I presume I may bring my own servants,” she said distantly.

  “You may. But they must be provisioned and prepared to take care of themselves. My camp cannot supply a domestic household. I can accommodate you and your daughters and a woman to assist you. Anyone else must make their own arrangements.”

  “I will discuss it with the senior members of my household,” she stated, her mind racing as she examined and discarded possibilities.

  Hugh nodded. “As you wish. I understand they’ve been with you since you were orphaned as a child. As long as you can pay their way, I have no objections.”

  “Until I’m rendered a pauper I can pay their way,” Guinevere said, making no attempt now to disguise her bitterness. Hugh of Beaucaire would expect her to be distressed and bitter, and if he was not to suspect she had other plans, she must give him what he expected. “I shall need the magister in London to help me with my defense, always assuming I’ll be permitted to make one.”

  Hugh had a sudden picture of what awaited her in

  London. What was he doing? Conspiring in the downfall of this woman and her children?

  A cloud that had obscured the moon drifted away and the garden was bathed in silver moonlight. Her upturned face had a translucent beauty as she threw her challenge at him. And it happened to him again, that bewildering sensation of losing his balance, his focus, so that he was certain of nothing but a confused swirl of emotion. His arrested gaze was fixed upon her face and he saw that she had read his expression, that she had seen the abrupt unbidden surge of desire in his eyes. Her pale cheeks took on a touch of color, her lips parted on a tiny exhalation, and her eyes were luminous.

  Without volition, he bent and took her mouth with his own. For a moment the world receded. His hands spanned her narrow back, pulling her against him, and her mouth opened beneath his. He tasted her warm richness as her tongue explored his mouth; he inhaled the fragrance of her hair and skin. His senses spun and as she leaned into him her body quivered with her own responding desire. Their tongues moved in a greedy dance of passion and she sucked on his lower lip as if it were a ripe plum.

  Then she broke away from him. The passion died slowly from her eyes, a strange horror taking its place as she stood looking at him like a cornered fox; then she was gone, her swift step crunching on the gravel as she hurried back to the house, the graceful folds of her dark hood swaying behind her.

  Hugh touched his mouth, then he swore beneath his breath. An oath of frustration and confusion. How had that happened?

  Absently he plucked a rose from the bush beside him, heedless of its thorns as he stared back at the house, its windows aglow with lamplight. One by one he pulled off the petals of the rose and they dropped to the ground at his feet.

  How had that happened?

  Guinevere's hands shook as she gathered up her skirts and almost ran up the stairs to her own apartment. How could it have happened? It was as if they’d been bewitched; some wand-waving fairy had thrown a magic circle around them. A circle that excluded all bitterness, all enmity, all desperation.

  She closed the door of her chamber with a slam and stood leaning against it as if barring the way to a horde of pursuing demons. She was breathing fast and her mouth still carried the memory of that kiss. She lifted her hands and watched them quiver. Her entire body was thrumming, arousal still pulsing in her loins, and she wanted to weep with terror and frustration.

  Tilly jumped up from her sewing stool and threw up her hands, sending needle and thread to the four winds.

  “Ay! Ay! Ay! What's happened! You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “No ghost, Tilly.” Guinevere moved away from the door, taking a deep steadying breath. “The devil maybe.” She went to the window looking down into the court. The torch man at his post in the southwest corner glanced up and then looked hastily away. She turned back to the room. “Why did you feel you had to lie to Lord Hugh?”

  Tilly looked stricken. “I don’t know, dearie. It seemed best to say that you weren’t alone with Lord Mallory. I thought it best.”

  “It wasn’t necessary.” Guinevere put a hand on the elderly woman's shoulder. “But I know you meant well.”

&n
bsp; “Oh, mercy me! Did I cause you trouble, chuck?”

  “I don’t think it made any difference really,” Guinevere replied with a little sigh. “The outcome was always going to be the same whatever anyone said.”

  She took up a candle from the table and when she next spoke her voice was strong and commanding. “We have a lot to do. Will you fetch the magister, Crowder, and Greene. I need to talk to you all in the inner chamber.”

  Tilly bustled away and Guinevere entered her inner chamber. She lit candles from the one she held in her hand and then sat in a folding leather chair at the table. Her hands fell limply to her velvet lap and she closed her eyes, composing herself.

  Those she had summoned appeared in a very few minutes, their expressions grave and attentive. Hugh of Beaucaire's real reason for being at Mallory Hall was no longer a secret from them, although they kept their knowledge from the rest of the household.

  “Lord Hugh expects us to leave for London at sunup the day after tomorrow,” Guinevere said without preamble. “I don’t need to tell you what will happen if we’re forced to go to London.” Heads nodded solemnly.

  “So I must put myself and the girls out of reach. I intend to remove secretly to the house at Cauldon that was left me by my father. I don’t see how Lord Hugh could possibly find us there, I’m sure he doesn’t know it exists.”

  “Aye, my lady. I doubt anyone knows,” Crowder said. “It's not been visited in years.” He shook his head reflectively. “There's no knowing what state it's in.”

  “There's a caretaker, isn’t there?”

  Crowder looked a little embarrassed. “Aye, but I’ve not looked in on him for a while, Lady Guinevere. There's so much else, so many other estates to—”

  “Yes, I understand,” she interrupted briskly. “And that's all to the good. Cauldon is a forgotten and neglected house close to a day's ride from here. No one will think to look for us there.”

  She paused for a minute, then said, “I should like you all to go with me.” She looked at each somber face in turn. “But I will understand if you feel unable to face such an exile. We’ll not be able to live as we’re accustomed.” She gestured around the chamber, a gesture that encompassed more than the signs of wealth and comfort visible in their immediate surroundings.

  “God's blood, chuck!” Tilly exclaimed. “You think we’d leave you and the lassies?”

  Guinevere shook her head at the chorus of protestations from the others. “You must think carefully. Privy Seal has a long arm. I hope that by leaving him in possession of most of my land and fortune, he’ll not look too hard for us. But I can’t be certain of that.”

  “We’ll not let you go alone,” Crowder said simply.

  Relief flooded her. Now she could manage. She smiled gratefully. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me. Indeed, I don’t see how I could manage without you.”

  “Well, my lady, ’ow's this to be done then? Wi’ Lord Hugh an’ his men at the gates, ’ow are we t’ give ’em the slip?” asked Greene, getting down to business in his customary forthright fashion.

  “I’ve been thinking, and I don’t see how we can get away from this house without detection. So this is what we will do. The girls, Tilly, and I will start this journey with Lord Hugh. I’ll tell him that the rest of you will need more time for preparations, provisioning, and such like, and will follow us as soon as possible. I’ll try to persuade him to take the Derby road instead of the route through Chesterfield, which would take us far from Cauldon. On the Derby road we should be close to Kedleston by the end of the second day. That will put us within a night's ride from Cauldon.”

  She glanced around to see how her plan was being received. There were nods of agreement. She continued strongly, “As soon as we leave, Master Crowder and the magister will take all we need to establish ourselves at Cauldon. Greene, I’ll need you to follow us at a safe distance. When we camp on the second night, near Kedleston, we’ll make our escape. I don’t know exactly how as yet, it’ll depend on how Lord Hugh sets up his camp. But I’m confident we can do it.”

  Guinevere was aware as she spoke that she was very far from confident of this last most vital link in her plan, but it was all she could come up with.

  “Aye, an’ I’ll be waitin’ fer ye,” Greene said, needing no further explanation of his role.

  “Yes, we can’t travel without armed escort, particularly at night. If we escape undetected we should reach Cauldon before we’re missed at daybreak. If we muffle the horses’ hooves they’ll make no sound as we pass through the villages on the way and with luck no one will be aware of our passing.”

  “Aye, and I’ll bring up the rear, sweeping our tracks as we go,” Greene said. “A good thick branch’ll do the trick.”

  “We’ll have vanished like wraiths,” Guinevere declared. “Gone in the night without trace.” She nodded. It was as good a plan as she was going to come up with.

  “And what of my part, Lady Guinevere?” inquired the magister, leaning forward anxiously, scratching his beaky nose.

  “You must take care of the books,” Guinevere said simply. “You will know how best to pack and transport them.”

  Magister Howard sucked in his cheeks in his carp imitation as he considered the issue, then he nodded. “Aye, I can crate ’em, I believe.”

  “Then that's all.” Guinevere smiled around at them. “I am truly grateful to you all.” She rose to her feet and went to a corner cupboard. She took out a leather flagon and a two-handled goblet and came back to the table with them. “Let us drink to the success of our enterprise.”

  The wine was plum-dark, strongly fortified, and saved for the most important occasions. She filled the hanap, took a sip, then passed it to the magister.

  They all drank in silence, all aware of the risks they were about to take. If the enterprise failed, they would all stand accused of treachery for aiding and abetting the escape of one who traveled to London on the king's orders to face the charges of Lord Privy Seal and the might of the State.

  8

  We’re going to London … we’re going to London …” Pippa chanted as she danced down the long gallery. “Isn’t it exciting, Pen?” She turned around and danced backwards as she called to her sister who was following rather more slowly.

  Pen was not so sure. While the prospect intrigued her and she felt a peculiar little tingle when she thought of spending so much time in Robin's company, she had detected something troubling behind her mother's cheerful announcement of the coming adventure.

  Her mother had sent for them to her inner chamber, a formality she reserved only for the most important matters. She had been smiling when they’d entered somewhat apprehensively, and she had certainly made it seem as if the journey would be one of great excitement as well as very educational. She had explained how she had to go to London to argue her claim over the disputed land in the courts. Lord Hugh and his men would provide the escort they needed for such a journey. She had said how much they would enjoy London. Although she had never been there herself, she had read so many descriptions of the great river Thames, the hustle and bustle of the streets, the grand mansions of the nobles, and King Henry's great palaces at Greenwich and Hampton Court and Whitehall. They would see them all, she had promised.

  But Pen had seen the shadow behind her mother's smile. It was the same shadow she used to have when Stephen Mallory was rampaging through the house. And it had been absent since his death until Lord Hugh and his men had arrived. Pen still didn’t understand why her mother chose to go to all this trouble just for some land that they didn’t need. They had more than enough of their own.

  “Well, say something, Pen!” Pippa demanded, interrupting her sister's reverie. “You haven’t said how exciting it's going to be.”

  “You’re such a child!” Pen snapped.

  Pippa looked hurt. “So are you!”

  “I’m not always babbling.”

  “But don’t you want to be with the Boy? All those weeks ridin
g together. Surely you want that.” Pippa put a cajoling hand on her sister's arm. “I won’t get in your way, really I won’t.”

  Pen grinned reluctantly. “Yes, you will. You won’t be able to help it. Come on, Mama wants us to help Nell pack up our clothes.”

  “We won’t have to have lessons with the magister while we’re journeying,” Pippa said gleefully. “Surely you’re pleased about that, Pen.”

  Pen was still too much of a child not to be pleased at the prospect of no lessons, but she knew her mother would miss the long sessions in her workroom reading with the magister. One couldn’t really read on horseback, and the magister was such an indifferent horseman himself he wouldn’t be able to think of anything but staying upright. Pen couldn’t help a little chuckle. The magister on a horse looked just like a sack of wet flour. Her mother would have to rely on Lord Hugh for adult conversation.

  The chuckle gave way to a tiny frown scrunching the girl's pale eyebrows. Sometimes it seemed as if Lord Hugh and her mother were quite friendly. They laughed at the same things sometimes, and there seemed to be a warmth between them. But at other times it seemed they hated each other. She knew Robin was as confused as she was, but it wasn’t something they talked about. It had been bad enough when they’d quarreled over the land dispute. Of course she would take her mother's side, and of course he would take his father's. Since then they’d silently agreed never to mention the subject. But could they manage not to on such a long journey in such close company?

  Such close company. Weeks and weeks of it … A shiver ran down her spine, but it wasn’t caused by alarm, or anything else bad.

  Pippa was prancing ahead again, unconcerned that Pen hadn’t answered her question. There could be only one answer anyway.

  “Wait for me!” Pen called and picked up speed to catch up with her exuberant sister.

  Alone in the inner chamber, Guinevere paced between the windows, her hands unconsciously cupping her face. Had she managed to convince them there was nothing to worry about? Pippa, yes, but perhaps not Pen.