Kissed by Shadows

by Jane Feather

  As she looked at Philip she was filled with a great loathing for that short, slight man. He reminded her of an evil gnome with misshapen legs and a receding hairline, the supercilious coldness of his expression, and the dark circles of dissipation under his eyes.

  What possible right did he have to banish her? Mary had that right, but Pippa could not believe that it was Mary who had decreed her exile for something as trivial as a rival pregnancy. Her husband must have prompted her, somehow convinced her that Lady Nielson's loyalty to Elizabeth was a stronger threat than they had thought.

  And they were quite right about that. Pippa thought of her correspondence with Elizabeth and a glitter of defiance lit her hazel eyes.

  She stepped out of the shadows and glided into the open court. Her head high she approached the three men and with a swirl of her skirts curtsied deeply.

  “Forgive me, Highness. Mr. Ashton bade me fetch my horse here if I wished to ride this morning. He did not think, I am sure, that Your Highness would find a reason to come to such an unlikely place as the smiths' court. I would not have offended your sight intentionally.”

  She rose from her curtsy although the king had not bidden her do so, and stood holding her whip against her skirts, her eyes fixed without expression on a stone in the wall behind Philip's head.

  Philip said nothing, merely stared stonily right through her.

  Lionel stepped between them as if to shield one or both of them from the sight of the other. “The error was mine,” he said in his calm remote tones. He laid a hand on Pippa's shoulder and turned her away, swinging out the folds of his cloak to envelop and hide her as he stepped behind her.

  Only then did the king move. He spun on his heel, Ruy Gomez following, and they returned from whence they'd come, whatever had brought the king to the smiths' court forgotten or dismissed.

  “My horse is the sorrel.” Pippa pointed with her whip. “Will you ride with me, Mr. Ashton?” She tried to sound cool and collected but she was aware of a slight tremor in her voice now that the confrontation was done.

  “I will ride with you,” he said as distantly as before.

  “I could not have known Philip would come here,” she said with soft vehemence. “Of all the ill luck!”

  Lionel made no response. He waited until she had mounted the sorrel with her groom's assistance then took the reins of the cob. He spoke to Fred. “I'll escort Lady Nielson. You may return to the stables.”

  Fred loped off and Lionel in calm silence mounted the sturdy brown cob.

  “That's a most inelegant mount for a courtier,” Pippa observed with a tiny smile.

  “It will serve the purpose,” Lionel said indifferently. He nudged the cob's flanks, directing him out of the court.

  Pippa drew up beside him. “Where will we ride?”

  “In the park.”

  Silence fell between them until they reached a broad grassy ride beneath the trees. Fallen leaves crunched under the horses' hooves and a cascade of gold and orange and yellow fell around them from the branches above.

  “What more could Philip do to me?” Pippa demanded, unnerved by Lionel's continued silence. “Send me to the Tower?”

  “I doubt that, but he's a bad man to anger. You would be advised not to do it again.” He sounded so detached, so matter-of-fact, so unsympathetic.

  “It was not intentional,” she repeated. “But I had such an urge to ride and I didn't know when you would come to me.”

  He turned his head and regarded her closely. “You look different this morning.”

  “I feel different. Full of life . . . but how true that is.” She laughed but Lionel did not smile and she wondered if she had angered him despite his seemingly matter-of-fact attitude.

  “I've upset you,” she stated.

  “No,” he denied. Pippa had not upset him, but seeing her there facing down Philip with that proud set to her head, the defiant glitter in her eyes . . . that had distressed him beyond words. The contrast between the conscious, courageous young woman who would not bow to the king's will, and the insensible, fragile body that he had nightly carried from Philip's presence filled him with a rage so powerful it nauseated him.

  “You are angry with me,” she insisted.

  He drew rein abruptly. “No!” he stated fiercely. “No, Pippa, I am not.” He leaned across and took her face between his hands. “Believe me.” He kissed her mouth and the horses shifted beneath them.

  “God's blood!” he muttered. “Let us dismount.” He swung from the cob and Pippa, more than happy to accept this change of mood, slid to the ground before he could come round to help her.

  “We seem destined to make love in the open air,” she observed, going readily into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder as she looked up into the gray eyes where urgent desire mingled with something else that disturbed her. Something distressful.

  She touched his face with her fingertips. Gently, tentatively brushed his eyelids. She stood on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his mouth, wanting to banish whatever it was, wanting to see in his gaze only passion, the same passion that burned in her loins.

  He caught her to him, kissed her deeply, sliding down with her to the carpet of leaves that crunched and crackled beneath them as they loved one another in a hasty scramble of tangled clothes and limbs.

  Pippa pressed herself upwards into him. His hipbones were sharp against her soft flesh as each thrust drove him deeper and deeper inside her. Their eyes were open, fixed upon each other. She saw the moment when the tide would take him, and he saw the same in her face. He held back for an instant, not breathing, and then as the wonder spread into her eyes he thrust once more.

  Pippa cried out, biting her lip till she tasted blood, and held him against her, pressing her hands into his back as if she could fix him forever against her, live forever in this glorious incandescent instant of bodily joy.

  But it passed as it always did, leaving her feeling for a moment bereft. Lionel rolled sideways and lay on his back, his hand over his eyes, his chest heaving as if he'd run a marathon.

  She leaned over him, propped on one elbow, and kissed him again. Laughing he caught her against him and rolled with her until she lay on her back again and he hung above her.

  A calm mouth, gray eyes, where she read both compassion and distress. An expression so familiar and yet unknown, so terrible and yet reassuring. She had never seen him look like this before. But she had. Somewhere in the shadows of her mind, she had seen that expression on his face. A darkness gathered around her. She stared up at him, then her eyes found the serpent brooch at his throat. It had disturbed her last night. Now it terrified her.

  She sat up, pushing him away, dashing a hand across her mouth as if to get rid of some vile taste.

  “What is it?” he said, sitting up beside her. “Pippa, what's the matter? Are you sick?”

  “I don't know,” she said in a voice that didn't sound like her own. “Who are you? What are you?”

  “What do you mean?” He tried to smile, to laugh even, but he knew, a cold shaft in his heart, that the time had come.

  “Something bad has happened,” she said, feeling for words. “I know it. I have always known it in some way, but not so certainly as now. And you did it.” She looked at him with hard, accusing eyes filled with horror.

  “No,” he said. “No, I didn't, Pippa.” The denial sounded feeble to his ears, unconvincing, because it was not rendered with conviction. He blamed himself for what had been done to her as much as he blamed Philip.

  She stood up slowly, straightening her skirts automatically. Lionel rose with her. She leaned against a tree, instinctively needing its support, and faced him. “You will tell me now, Lionel. You will tell me what this bad thing is.”

  The same hard, accusing, horror-filled eyes forced him to look at her, forced him to face what had to be done.

  “Yes, I will tell you,” he said as a great calm came over him. “But you must listen to the end.”

  She
nodded but her eyes never left his face as he began speaking. And they stared there unwavering until he had fallen silent.

  She touched her belly. “This child is Philip's,” she said as if confirming it to herself. Her voice was flat, expressionless, and her eyes were now vacant, without any emotion, as if she was no longer capable of feeling. And it filled Lionel with terror as her horror and anger could not do.

  “This child is Philip's,” she repeated. “And you helped to put it there. You and my husband.”

  This time she almost spat the words at him and he flinched. He had given her no explanation, no excuse, just the plain unvarnished facts. To excuse himself had seemed impossible. But now he knew he had to do or say something to lessen her unutterable disgust and contempt.

  “Your husband,” he said. “You must understand that they threatened him with exposure, but more than that they threatened the life of his lover.”

  “And I counted as nothing when compared to his lover,” she stated, cold and bitter as the grave. “My husband is of no further interest to me. But what of you, Lionel? What did they know about you that would compel your so willing assistance?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “I gave my assistance in my sister's name . . . and for England's security.”

  “Oh, what unimpeachable, unselfish aims!” she scoffed. “What's the sacrifice of one woman when set against such worthy goals?”

  “I didn't know you,” he said, hearing how pathetic a defense it was when set against such an outrage, such an atrocity. “I thought . . .” He tried again. “I thought I could ignore the person and see only the goal. I found I could not.”

  “Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “You found you could not. Once Philip's seed was securely planted you found you could indulge the luxury of remorse. Is that it?”

  “No.”

  But she brushed right past his denial. “And what twisted goal gave you the idea to make love . . . no, to have sex with this tool of the Spanish? Remorse? Pity? Or just the desire to experience what your king had had?” The words flew at him, poisoned darts that found their mark, each and every one of them.

  “You came to me,” he said in barely a whisper. “You came to me, Pippa, and I could only give you what you needed . . . what we both needed.”

  She shook her head at him in wordless disgust and pushed herself away from the tree. The recognition of this evil had given her a strength she didn't know she possessed. She brushed past him and with the same steely determination mounted her horse unaided.

  “Pippa . . . Pippa . . .” He came up to her, put a hand on her bridle. “There is something else you must hear—”

  “Get out of my way!” She slashed at his hand with her whip. “I would not hear another word out of your mouth.” She struck the sorrel's flanks with her whip and the horse leaped forward, crashing down the ride towards the palace.

  Lionel watched her go. He was empty, no feeling, no emotion left. He had not told her of Margaret. But now he thought that to use his sister's tragedy as an excuse for his own dreadful violation would be but another violation.

  But Pippa had to listen to him. He had to save her and her child, and he could not do that without her trust. But how could she ever trust him again?

  Eighteen

  “Pretty flowers, sir,” Jem observed, regarding his master slyly as he folded shirts and clean linen into the leather traveling bag.

  “Aye,” Robin agreed, tying the stems of his carefully selected bouquet with a yellow silk ribbon from his little sister Anna's ribbon box.

  “I daresay the lady will be pleased,” Jem observed with the same sly grin.

  “Damn your impudence,” Robin said, but without heat.

  He surveyed his bouquet with complacency. Lovely late roses, their heads heavy with the night's dew, milky ox-eye daisies, and vivid yellow and orange marigolds. All the very best of the autumn garden at Holborn. Informal, bold, yet graceful and full of sunshine, it was a selection that suited Luisa. Of course, it would be presented to Dona Bernardina, his official hostess of the night before, but Luisa would know she was the intended recipient and the charade would amuse her.

  It was still very early, a beautiful crisp autumnal morning. He had had no more than two hours' sleep but he had a lot to accomplish. After his courtesy visit to Luisa and her duenna, designed to enable him to tell Luisa he would be going away for a few days, he would go to Whitehall to talk with Pippa, then return to de Noailles to pick up the ambassador's letters and instructions.

  “Meet me at Aldgate at noon,” he instructed Jem. “I want to get to Thame tonight so we must ride hard.” He pulled a wooden comb through his nut-brown curls, grimacing at the way they sprang back into the same unruly tangle just as if they had a life of their own.

  “Aye, sir. Should I pack another suit of clothes?”

  Robin considered the matter with a thoroughness he would not have accorded it a few weeks ago. “Yes, you had better,” he said.

  “We'll be gone a good while then, sir?”

  “Not more than a week, but I'll need a change of clothes for visiting. I can't show myself in public with travel-stained garments.”

  “No, sir.” Jem nodded solemnly. “Of course not, sir.”

  Robin shot him a suspicious glance. “You find something to amuse you, lad?”

  Jem shook his head. “No, sir . . . not in the least, sir.”

  Robin suppressed a smile and reached for his doublet. “Just make sure you're at Aldgate by noon,” he said with an attempt at severity. He caught up his short cloak and slung it around his shoulders, then armed with his bouquet left the house.

  He reached Lionel Ashton's mansion just before eight o'clock and rode around the back into the stable yard to leave his horse. Luisa, attended by a very businesslike-looking groom, was about to mount an elegant, cream-colored mare just as Robin rode into the yard.

  A tiny gasp of surprise and pleasure escaped her, to be swiftly swallowed. She stepped away from Malcolm, who had been about to boost her onto her horse. “Why, Lord Robin, what an unexpected visit,” she said in dignified accents. “I was about to go for a ride.”

  “Then don't let me hold you up, Dona Luisa,” he said, swinging down from his own horse. “I came merely to thank Dona Bernardina for her hospitality last even.”

  “And to give her flowers, I see.” Luisa eyed the bouquet. “What a pretty bunch. Shall I take them for you?”

  He bowed with a flourish and handed her the bouquet. She smiled up at him as she smelled the roses. “What a heavenly scent.”

  Robin did not say what he had thought, that the fragrance had reminded him of Luisa's own the previous night. He merely bowed again.

  “Malcolm, I will ride later,” Luisa said. “I must take Lord Robin to Dona Bernardina.”

  “Very well, madam.” Malcolm took the mare's reins just above the bit. His examination of the visitor was automatic, swift, thorough, and covert, and ensured that he would always recognize Robin of Beaucaire at any time and in any guise. It was one of Malcolm's many skills that made him particularly useful to his employer.

  “Come, Lord Robin. I don't know if Dona Bernardina has left her chamber as yet. She does not in general come down before midmorning, but I will arrange the flowers and you may give me a pretty message for her.”

  “That will do very well,” Robin agreed. “Is your guardian at home?”

  “I don't know . . . I don't believe so,” she said with a cheerful little skip. “He usually attends the king at daybreak, when His Majesty reviews the day's business.”

  It was the answer Robin had hoped to hear. He was not yet prepared to engage Ashton in further conversation on the subject of scarabs.

  It was to be hoped Ashton would visit Pippa early too, Robin reflected. She would not take kindly to being confined the entire morning awaiting her jailer's permission to leave her chamber. But then perhaps she would no more mind that than she seemed to mind the royal edict, he amended acidly. Maybe Lionel Ashton could
do no wrong. Pippa had certainly given that impression yesterday.

  He returned his attention to Luisa just as they entered the house. She was skillfully engaged in innocuous small talk that required little concentration but would draw no remark.

  She addressed the steward who had admitted them. “Senor Diaz, would you send a message to Dona Bernardina's chamber and tell her that Lord Robin is here to pay her a visit? Oh, and bring . . . bring . . .” She turned to Robin. “What do you eat and drink at this time of day in this country?”

  “Ale, meat, cheese, bread,” he said. “What do you eat in Spain?”

  “Just bread and preserves, and we drink watered wine.”

  “Then you should offer me what you would eat yourself.”

  Luisa looked a little doubtful and Robin laughed. “As it happens I have already broken my fast,” he told her. “I have no need of refreshment and indeed have only a few minutes to spare.”

  “Then I will inform Dona Bernardina immediately.” The steward spoke in thick but fluent English as he executed a stately bow.

  “Oh, and send someone with a vase for these flowers,” Luisa called after him as she led Robin into a small parlor at the rear of the house.

  “We are alone,” she said in a meaningful whisper. “Not for long, I fear, but let us take advantage of it.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

  He smiled. “That may be daring in Spain, dear girl, but in England 'tis a very chilly way to greet one's friends.”

  “Oh?” She tilted her head on one side. “Demonstrate your way, please.”

  He caught her chin on the tip of a finger and swiftly, lightly, kissed her on the mouth. “There, that is considered quite acceptable.”

  Luisa's cheeks pinkened. “Not in Spain,” she breathed.

  He chuckled and stepped back as the door opened to admit a servant with a pewter vase. “Dona Bernardina, madam, will come down in half an hour.” He set down the vase and left.

  “That's very swift,” Luisa marveled. “It normally takes her at least an hour to dress. Either she wishes to do you signal honor, my lord, or she is desperately anxious for my reputation.” She began to arrange the flowers.