Kissed by Shadows

by Jane Feather

  Her smile was so infectious, her tone so lightly mischievous that Lionel felt as stuffy as a pedantic uncle. “Spanish manners are different from English,” he said somewhat defensively.

  “Oh, don't I know it!” Pippa chuckled. “There are some similarities, however, in the way we conduct certain activities. Wouldn't you say, sir?” An eyebrow lifted suggestively.

  Pippa was taking an inordinate delight in this charade, Lionel reflected. He had hoped to give her pleasure, take her mind off her troubles, and it seemed he had succeeded. His supper invitation had tapped into some vein of mischief that he had glimpsed but rarely. It enchanted him and made him want to throw caution to the winds. And as a result was very dangerous.

  “Luisa has led a very sheltered life,” he stated in repressive tones, but then amusement got the better of him and he couldn't keep the smile from his face.

  “That's better,” Pippa said. “Now, tell me something of Seville and I'll offer no more provocation . . . although,” she added with a considering frown, “that might be a pity.”

  Luisa, blithely unaware of her guardian's concerns for her maidenly sensibilities, was offering the tray of sweetmeats to Robin. “Those with the dates are very good,” she advised solemnly. “I expect you like sweet things, Lord Robin.”

  “And why would you think that, Dona Luisa?” He took the tongs she held out to him and helped himself to a stuffed date.

  “Oh, sometimes I know things about people,” she said with an airy wave. “I have the . . . how do you call it . . . the second sight.”

  Dona Bernardina bustled over before Robin could answer. She smiled at Robin but her dark eyes were sharp and suspicious. She began a slow and solemn discourse.

  Robin understood that he was being headed off. Luisa's duenna was not about to allow a tête-à-tête of any kind. He nodded politely, ate his almond-stuffed date, pretended to understand, and tried to ignore Luisa's scented presence so close to him. He knew she was laughing although her expression was one of docile attention to what her duenna was saying. Periodically she would offer a translation.

  It seemed Dona Bernardina was talking of wild flowers. Robin knew nothing of wild flowers. He muttered about ragged robin, and Solomon's seal, and wild violets, names dredged from his boyhood. Luisa solemnly translated. Dona Bernardina waxed ever more eloquent on the subject.

  Robin rolled his eyes desperately in Pippa's direction, but she was occupied, talking intently with Lionel Ashton. A conversation that probably had nothing whatsoever to do with wild flowers, he thought resentfully. He could not look directly at Luisa, but he was certain she was deriving great amusement from his predicament. There would be an accounting later, he promised himself.

  Relief came in the shape of a servant who ceremoniously threw open double doors that led into a commodious dining hall. A long table was set with candles, flowers, and delicate porcelain. Nothing rough and ready in Lionel Ashton's establishment.

  “Dona Bernardina wishes me to say that this is a supper in the true Spanish style. It is what we eat at home in Seville,” Luisa stated as she took her seat at the table.

  Bernardina said something, her hands moving fluidly as she spoke. Luisa leaned closer to Pippa, who sat beside her, and whispered, “Lady Nielson, my duenna is apologizing that she cannot conduct a truly edifying conversation with her guests when you do not speak her language. It is customary for duennas to be accomplished at edifying conversations.”

  Pippa glanced at her and saw the mischievous glint in Luisa's eyes, the uptilt of her mouth. She couldn't help returning the conspiratorial smile and Luisa's smile immediately became wide and confident. She reminded Pippa of herself before the world's black dog had jumped on her shoulder. She was suddenly fiercely reminded of times when she and Pen would conduct just such sotto voce observations in company. Pen, most of the time, would try to be reproving, but then her eyes would sparkle and she wouldn't be able to keep the grin from forming.

  She looked across the table at Robin and surprised an intent stare. His gaze was fixed on Luisa. And there was something in his eyes that Pippa didn't think she'd ever seen there before. Her spine jumped as if she'd been alerted to some as yet unknown situation.

  She looked again at Luisa and caught the unmistakable droop of one eyelid in Robin's direction. Just what was going on here? Robin abruptly dropped his gaze to his platter and Luisa with a demure smile asked her duenna a question about the preparation of the dish in front of her.

  Pippa's lips pursed in a silent whistle. Did Lionel have no eyes? He was concerned that she raise no topic of conversation that might shock his ward's Spanish modesty, but he couldn't see that Luisa was flirting, albeit silently, with Robin.

  The duenna was a different matter, Pippa decided. The woman's eyes were ever watchful, moving between Luisa and Robin. Had she seen that surreptitious wink? She must surely be aware of the way the atmosphere around the table had a lightning crackle to it; it made the fine hair on Pippa's arms stand on end. How could Lionel be unaware of it? And yet he seemed oblivious. He kept up a stream of unimpeachable small talk, touching on music, poetry, the latest dances. Luisa's responses were soft and slightly distracted, Robin on the other hand kept his end up with fluid ease. Pippa, highly amused and intrigued, did her part.

  It seemed impossible that Robin and Luisa could have met before. Perhaps this was just an instant attraction. And why not? She had felt that same spark the first moment she had laid eyes on Lionel. Why not Robin and Luisa? But Luisa was a little young for Robin, she caught herself thinking. And the cultural divide was vast. Robin could not seriously court a Spaniard.

  Besides, he was already courting. She was convinced of that and his denials had not changed her mind. Perhaps one woman had opened his eyes to the beauty of others. And Luisa was certainly a beauty. But she was a little young for Robin, nevertheless.

  She was certainly too young for Lionel, and she could detect no particular closeness between ward and guardian. Pippa noted this with a degree of satisfaction that made her wonder if she had been the tiniest bit jealous. She had certainly been very curious to see this domestic situation . . . more than ordinarily curious. But Lionel's blindness in the face of whatever game his ward was playing with Robin was evidence that he had little time to notice his charge or to spend on her concerns.

  A neglect that could well prove a mistake, Pippa reflected. Not that Robin would do anything dishonorable, but if Luisa was already feeling her wings it was going to be very hard to clip them. Should she mention it to Lionel? Alert him? Or would that be assuming too great an intimacy? Pippa had a feeling that it might. Lionel was so private and reticent about his own concerns, although he had no such hesitation about hers.

  If this relationship was going to go anywhere it would have to be a two-way street. Pippa surprised herself with the decision. It seemed to allow the possibility of a future for them, which of course was absurd in her circumstances.

  As if aware that he was the focus of her thoughts, Lionel turned suddenly towards her. “What do you think of our zarzuela, Lady Nielson?” He indicated the bowl of fish stew before her. “You are not eating very much.”

  “The flavors are most unusual,” she said, toying with her spoon.

  He leaned closer and forked a piece of succulent eel from her bowl. “Try this?”

  His plain gold signet ring glowed dully in the candlelight as he raised the laden fork. Almost absently Pippa realized as she took the offering that in general he wore very few jewels. Most unlike his Spanish friends, or even the majority of the English court. Tonight, for instance, he wore, apart from his signet ring, only one other piece.

  She put the fork in her mouth, her gaze for the moment fixed to the strange serpent brooch of blackest jet that nestled in the ruff at his throat. He leaned forward to her bowl again and the candlelight caught the blue-white diamonds at the forked tips of the serpent's tongue. Two brilliant emeralds in the eye sockets blazed.

  “A strange brooch,”
Pippa said, aware of a thickening at the back of her throat.

  “'Tis a family heirloom,” he replied. “I think zarzuela may not suit you tonight. I will carve you a little chicken? I believe 'tis cooked in almond milk. You might find it soothing to the stomach.” The prosaic statement was an acknowledgment of her moment of weakness. Once again she wondered how he could divine such moments in the very instant she was aware of them herself.

  “Thank you.” She looked down as he placed a piece of white breast meat on her plate. “The brooch . . . did it belong to your father?”

  “Yes,” he said. “And his father before him. Lord Robin, do you hunt?”

  The conversation was turned but Pippa barely noticed. She was aware now only of an acute and unfocused unease. She could not take her eyes away from the sinuous jet-black shape, the diamond sparkle, the fire of emeralds at Lionel's throat.

  Suddenly she had to get away, out of this house. She touched fingertips to her throat, aware of a mist of perspiration, a cold chill on her back. Her fingers quivered. Unease became panic. She fought it down, forced herself to keep her seat, toyed with the chicken, let the conversation flow around her, and slowly the terror faded.

  “Pippa . . . Pippa, are you unwell?”

  She became aware of Robin's insistent voice, and then of Lionel's hand warm over hers.

  “I felt a little faint,” she said, withdrawing her hand swiftly and without knowing why. “Perhaps I should return to the palace.”

  Dona Bernardina looked stricken at such an abrupt end to her elegant repast, and Pippa explained directly, “Dona Bernardina, forgive me, but I am with child, in the early months.”

  She resisted a glance in Lionel's direction to gauge his reaction to her frankness, and was rewarded after a shocked instant by the duenna's response. “Don Ashton, my lord . . . pray take your wine into the parlor.” She waved her hands at them imperiously, sure of her ground here. This was women's territory and she had trodden it often with Dona Maria.

  Meekly the two men took up their goblets and left.

  Pippa endured the hand chafing, the fanning, the outpouring of sympathy and congratulation. An outpouring that came from the duenna not from Luisa, who could not imagine, after watching her mother endure one ill-fated pregnancy after another until she was worn to the bone, how anyone could empathize with Robin's sister's condition.

  Pippa, strong again and as impatient now with Bernardina's attentions as she was with her own infuriating moments of weakness, rose from her chair. “You have been so kind, but I think I am best in my bed now, madam. . . . If a servant could be sent to summon my brother.”

  She turned to Luisa as Bernardina, having rung a handbell with all the vigor of a fire alarm, hastened from the chamber when it was not immediately answered. “Luisa, I hope you will visit me in the palace one day. If Mr. Ashton can spare the time to bring you to see me.”

  “Oh, that would be delightful.” Luisa met her gaze directly. “I would dearly love to be presented to the queen.”

  Pippa grimaced. “Then you need someone other than myself. I am persona non grata with Queen Mary.”

  “But why then is my guardian your friend?” The words fell from Luisa's lips before she had a minute to reflect.

  “He is my brother's friend,” Pippa improvised. “I made a useful chaperone.” She watched Luisa and caught the blush. It was faint but there was no mistake. However, she had to applaud the girl's general composure.

  “I am not averse to the role,” she said easily, aware but untroubled that she was trampling on Lionel's private daisy patch. Luisa would come to no harm with Robin, but there were predators and the most alert duenna could not compensate for a mentally absent guardian.

  Not coincidentally it occurred to Pippa that she could repay some of Lionel's devotion to her own well-being by keeping an eye out for his ward's. It would be a pleasing quid pro quo.

  A bustle in the doorway heralded the return of Lionel and Robin. “I have ordered my barge to take you back to Whitehall,” Lionel said.

  Robin had Pippa's cloak over his arm. Immediately she felt a tension between the two men and guessed regretfully that they had passed an awkward time together. Robin had made no secret of his dislike and distrust of Lionel Ashton, both of which were based upon Lionel's Spanish affiliation, but Pippa had hoped that he was beginning to overcome his prejudice and see some of what she saw in the man. A fond hope it seemed at present.

  Robin draped the cloak over Pippa's shoulders. She drew on her gloves. Robin made his bows to Dona Bernardina and Dona Luisa, who received hers with a tilt to her chin that threw back the green folds of her mantilla to reveal the dark coils of her hair.

  Very pretty, Pippa thought appreciatively. She put her hand on Don Ashton's proffered arm and they walked down the garden to the quay.

  Lionel stepped into the barge and held up his hand for Pippa, who took it and stepped beside him. He squeezed her fingers, said quietly, “I will visit you tomorrow,” and returned to the quay.

  “Lord Robin, I look forward to continuing our talk. The scarab is a fascinating creature.” His voice was soft and conversational. A smile flickered over his mouth, but his gray eyes were sharp and cold and calculating.

  Robin felt as though they were reading his very soul. It took all his years of experience to keep his own expression bland, his own eyes calm. It was Ashton's second reference to the scarab. The first when they were alone in the parlor could have been accidental, the second was not. Robin's thoughts were in turmoil. Was Ashton attempting to ensnare him? Were the codes now known to the Spanish ambassador and his spies? If he showed any recognition, would he be betraying himself to Spain? And if the codes weren't known to Simon Renard then who and what exactly was Lionel Ashton?

  “I daresay we shall meet at my sister's side, Mr. Ashton,” he said with a formal bow. “Since I assume you will be there in your position as jailer.”

  “I would prefer not to call it that,” Lionel said with the same smile. But his eyes had not ceased their intense scrutiny. “Companion, perhaps?”

  “Robin, it grows chill,” Pippa called from the barge, puzzled by this inaudible yet clearly strained conversation between the two men.

  “I'm coming now.” Robin bowed to his host. “A most pleasant evening, Ashton. I thank you.”

  “And I thank you.” Lionel returned the bow.

  Robin joined Pippa. The boatmen pulled away from the quay and Pippa huddled into her cloak.

  “What were you two talking about on the quay?”

  “Nothing of any importance,” Robin replied. “Just the courtesies.”

  Pippa looked at him closely in the swinging light from the cresset. “There seemed little of courtesy in your manner, at least to an observer.”

  Robin stroked the silky plume of his hat that he now held in his lap. “I wonder if your friend is what he seems?” he said, watching her now as closely as she was watching him.

  “Which of us is?” Pippa said without batting an eyelid. “I find myself questioning everyone these days. 'Tis too dangerous to be honest, Robin. We must all dissemble . . . adapt to whatever company we find ourselves in.”

  Robin did not respond, merely sat staring over the black water, stroking the plume of his hat.

  After a minute, Pippa said casually, “I invited Dona Luisa to visit me at Whitehall if her guardian would escort her.”

  Robin turned to look at her. “Did you now.”

  “You seemed to enjoy her company.”

  He shrugged.

  “You don't think she's too young for you?”

  “Pippa, what nonsense is this?” he demanded, stung finally.

  “Sauce for the gander,” she replied with a grin. “You questioned me about Lionel earlier, making all kind of assumptions. I am merely giving you your own again.”

  Robin had been debating whether to let Pippa into his secret, but now decided irritably that she didn't deserve the confidence, however much it would amuse her. He would
save it for some other time when he wasn't so preoccupied.

  He went over in his mind the conversation with Ashton in the parlor. Looking for a topic of conversation he had commented on an unusual chess set where the ivory carved pieces were all insects. He had been fascinated by the queen, a wonderfully whimsical bee, and the king, a giant stag beetle. It was Ashton who had drawn his attention to the pawns, ordinary beetles to Robin's eye, but his host had described them with great deliberation as scarabs. Egyptian scarabs.

  It was the one identifying word known only to Elizabeth's supporters. Or it had been. But now maybe it was known to the enemy, who could use it to identify traitors to the queen.

  He had been very careful to show no reaction, Robin was sure of it. The answering identifier had not come close to his lips. But he needed to talk with de Noailles without delay. If there was a traitor in their midst then Elizabeth and Thomas Parry must be warned.

  “Do you mind returning alone to the palace?” he asked abruptly.

  “Why?” Pippa leaned forward, her eyes now serious, no hint of teasing in her manner. “Is something wrong?”

  “I don't know. But I must talk with de Noailles. His water steps are before Whitehall. I would like to get out there.”

  “Is this to do with this evening?” she pressed.

  Robin hesitated. Pippa was as loyal to Elizabeth as anyone was, and had risked as much as anyone in that lady's cause, but now she was entangled in some way with Lionel Ashton. Now Robin didn't know what he could tell her.

  “You think Lionel is not what he seems?” she prodded, still leaning forward with a penetrating gaze.

  “I don't know. What do you think?”

  Pippa sat back. Would she be betraying Lionel's confidence if she told Robin that Lionel himself had said he played a deep game?

  She sighed. “I believe he is not what he seems. But I do not know what he is.”

  Robin nodded. Whatever was between Pippa and Lionel Ashton, it had not affected her essential honesty. “That's where I stand too. But I need to talk to de Noailles without delay.”