The Widow's Kiss (29 page)

“Sustenance,” he said smiling. He set a flagon of wine on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. His hand caressed her belly and for a long moment he just looked at her, closely, intimately, as if he would allow her body to have no secrets from him.

She stirred a little beneath the intensity of his gaze and his hand moved between her thighs to cup the moist mound in his warm palm. He gazed down at what he held, as if seeing her sex for the first time, his fingers delicately opening the lips, twisting the damp, tightly wound curls around a fingertip. Then he bent his head and kissed her, inhaling deeply of the rich lingering fragrance of their passion.

Guinevere shuddered and curled her fingers into his hair, pulling his head up. He kissed her mouth and she could taste herself, breathe in her own intimate scent. He laughed softly against her lips, dipping his tongue into the corner of her mouth, before raising his head.

“Wine?”

“Mmm.” She nodded on the pillow, watching as he took the stopper from the neck of the flagon. Before she realized his intention he had poured wine into the deep indentation of her navel. She wriggled at the cold trickle and he laughed again before bending to lap up the wine with a delicately sipping tongue. He let a few drops fall
onto her belly and licked them off with a quick swoop of his tongue.

“When you offered me wine I hadn’t realized this was what you meant,” she protested, squirming.

Hugh straightened, his eyes shining like blue diamonds. He took a deep draught of wine and set the flagon back on the floor. Leaning over he took her face between his hands and, holding the wine in his mouth, slowly brought his lips against hers, pressing them open to fill the warm sweet cavern of her mouth with the wine from his own.

Guinevere closed her eyes, concentrating on the delightful enticing sensation; the coolness of the wine mingled with the warmth of his probing tongue, the taste of wine and Hugh melded deliciously.

When he finally took his mouth from hers, let his hands fall from her face, she remained motionless on the bed, her face still upturned, lips slightly parted, her eyes still closed.

“More?” he asked.

Guinevere nodded dreamily still without opening her eyes. Hugh chuckled. He took another draught of wine and kissed her again.

“That was a very novel way to drink,” Guinevere murmured as he drew back at last. “I fear it could become a habit.”

“It could indeed.” He brushed aside the damp hair that clung to her brow. “So wonderfully wanton you look.”

“So wonderfully wanton I feel,” she responded. “And what they must have thought belowstairs when you appeared half naked, I can’t imagine.”

“They are not paid to speculate on what goes on in this chamber,” he said, tilting the flagon to his lips again.

“How many women have you brought here?” she inquired casually.

His eyes glinted. “Would you believe none before you?”

“If you say so,” she returned amiably. “But I’d ask how you knew of such a love nest.”

“I have friends who possess many kinds of useful information.”

“Ah.” She nodded and held out her hand for the flagon. He gave it to her and rose from the bed, beginning to button his shirt properly.

“We must leave,” she said, correctly interpreting his movements.

“Aye, if we’re to reach home before they send out search parties.”

She drank from the flagon and reluctantly dragged herself from the bed. “I can barely move.”

He smiled with a touch of smugness and observed, “I have more scratches and bruises than I’ve ever acquired on a battlefield.”

Guinevere stretched and examined herself. A large bruise was purpling on her thigh, a smaller one on her arm. “I would never have believed loving could be such a wonderfully savage business.” She poured hot water from the ewer into the basin on the dresser and dipped a cloth.

Hugh watched her covertly as she wrung out the cloth and pressed it to her throat, washing her body slowly, languidly, lifting her breasts, sponging between her thighs, lifting each foot in turn, balancing easily on one leg.

If she was aware of his scrutiny she gave no sign. He loved how comfortable she was in her skin. How the little imperfections didn’t trouble her. She had no vanity it seemed. She was as she was. Her long hair flowed over her shoulders, fell across her breasts as she bent forward. The fluid curve of her body made his heart race and he could think only that he could watch her forever. She was his. And he was certain she had never enjoyed such wild heights of passion before, even with Timothy Hadlow.

For all their love for each other, he and Sarah had not
reached such heights either. Their couplings had been pleasant, courteous, gentle. But Sarah had not been a woman of fire. She had been gentle as a forest stream. Not like Guinevere. Guinevere was a volcano, a turbulent crashing waterfall, a midsummer storm, forked lightning and thunderclaps, and when he was with her, he found those same qualities in himself.

They left the cottage without seeing a soul. Guinevere knew there were people around, she could hear sounds from the kitchen at the rear of the small building, but she had seen no one on their arrival and there was no one to bid them farewell. It was a most discreet love nest, one more suited to clandestine loving than the consummation of a marriage that had just been performed in the presence of the king and queen in the Chapel Royal at Hampton Court. The reflection made her smile.

They said little on the journey back to Blackfriars. There was no musicians’ barge on the return, but the queen had put at their disposal one of the royal barges used to carry lesser court officials on their errands. It was a small craft, but it had a cabin to keep out the wind that got up as the afternoon faded, whipping up the gray water, bringing a light drizzle with it.

Guinevere held her hands to the brazier's warmth and allowed herself to feel the joyous relief from the despairing tension that had been so intense she had almost forgotten what it was like to live without it. Nothing could hurt her or her daughters now. She had lost her independence, but she had Hugh's love. She had no doubt of that. And if she cleared away the residue of resentment, of the sense that he had been responsible for all this that had happened to her, she knew that she loved him in return. It was said that time would heal all wounds. And she had no need of her independence if she and Hugh lived in love and amity and mutual respect.

She would make this marriage work.

“Such deep and serious thoughts,” he said, reaching to touch her face.

She only nodded and he didn’t press her.

It was almost dark when the barge bumped the steps of Blackfriars. The drizzle had turned to rain and Guinevere drew up the hood of her cloak, waiting while Hugh gave the oarsmen their douceurs. He gave generously as befitted a man who had been married that day.

“Come quickly now,” he said, putting an arm around her, hurrying her through the wet lanes that led to the gates of his house. Men huddled in doorways staring morosely out at the rain as the two passed. They didn’t pay any attention when one man slipped from shelter and came after them. His fingers curled expertly over the knife concealed in his sleeve.

They had reached the end of the dark narrow lane when Hugh suddenly spun on his heel. Some soldier's instinct for danger had alerted him. He had a sword in his hand even as he turned, shoving Guinevere aside so that she fell against the wall of one of the houses.

The dark-clad figure sprang at him, the knife a dull flash in the dark rainy evening. Hugh's sword slashed, caught the man's wrist. The man screamed as his hand fell uselessly to his side, the knife falling into the mud. Blood poured from a gash so deep it had almost severed his hand from his arm.

Guinevere stared, her mouth open but no sound emerging. She was too shocked to speak or even cry out.

Hugh stood over the man as he lay howling, bleeding in the mud. The city was full of such footpads on the lookout for easy prey. The lane was dark and narrow. Such an attack was far from unusual. He bent and picked up the knife and wiped it on the man's cloak, then he tucked it up his own sleeve.

“Bastard,” he said savagely as he straightened. “I hope he bleeds to death.”

Guinevere stepped away from the wall, aware that her hands were shaking. “Where did he come from?”

Hugh shrugged. “They’re everywhere, outlaws, felons, lurking in the lanes. A man has as much chance of getting his throat cut for a groat in the streets of London as he does in the slums of Paris.”

“He was going to rob us?”

“I can think of no other reason for such an attack,” Hugh responded, glancing sideways at her. “Can you?”

“No.” But her head buzzed with only one thought. She had been about to lose her fifth husband. Hours after the wedding, he had faced death in her company.
What kind of curse was it that dogged her?
She remembered Hugh's words on their first meeting.
“Men die in your company.”

She looked down at the man whose howls had become moans. He lay curled in the mud under the rain. It was hard to imagine he could be a threat. “Shouldn’t we … ?”

“No!” Hugh said shortly. “If he has friends they’ll take care of him. If he has enemies they will do him the same service in their own way. Come. It's not safe to linger.”

Still she hesitated. “It seems so harsh.”

“God's bones, Guinevere! This is London town. ’Tis not some quiet hamlet in the northern wilds!” But even as he said it he thought that quiet Derbyshire hamlets also held death in their hearts.

“Come!” He took her arm and there was no gainsaying him. Guinevere allowed him to hurry her out of the dark confines of the lane.

Once in the open he asked more gently, “Are you very shaken?”

Her thoughts had shaken her more than the event, Guinevere realized, but she could not share with Hugh her horror at the prospect of losing yet another husband to a violent accident. Instead she reassured him hastily, “A little, but it was so quick … you were so quick … there was barely time to react.”

However, when they reached the driveway, safely behind his gates, she paused and took a deep breath. “Let me just compose myself a minute before we go into the house. I don’t want the children to think something's wrong.”

They could hear music coming from the house now and voices raised in laughter and song.

“I think they’ve started without us,” Hugh observed, holding her against him under a dripping tree, one hand rhythmically stroking her back. “I gave Robin permission to begin the revels at mid-afternoon. He seems to have taken me at my word.”

“Who's invited?”

“No one alarming, no one important. Just the household, some of my friends, some old campaigners,” he said. “You didn’t produce a guest list of your own.” He gave her a quizzical smile, and she could see that he was completely unperturbed by the murderous attack. How could he be so cool, so calm, when he had just hacked off a man's hand?

It gave her the strength to master her own shock and horror. “How should I have done? Besides, I saw little reason then for celebration.”

“And now?” The quizzical smile remained.

“And now … perhaps,” she returned.

“Perhaps?” He shook his head in mock reproof. “I suppose I must be satisfied with that for the moment.” He glanced back at the house where the windows threw candlelight onto the path. “Then let us go in if you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.” She straightened her shoulders and smiled at him, her face still very pale in the dim light beneath the tree.

“Then come, madam wife.”

A
great deal of effort had gone into the preparations for the wedding feast. The hall was decorated with swags of greenery, interspersed with branches of holly sporting their bright berries against glossy leaves. Chrysanthemums and daisies massed in great copper jugs glowed golden and orange. The long table was spread with a white cloth and lit with plentiful wax candles.

It occurred to Hugh as he stood in the doorway taking in the scene that Master Crowder must have had the ordering. His own steward at this juncture had no access to the funds necessary to produce so much splendor. He glanced at Guinevere. Had she given her steward instructions? She looked as astonished as he, and, he thought, more than a little chagrined. Someone had taken matters into their own hands, he decided. Guinevere had not been anxious to make much of this wedding.

The explanation appeared with the children, who rushed upon them the instant they opened the door. All three were dressed in their finest. They attempted a solemn welcome that disintegrated into an excited babble with Pippa explaining how she and Pen and Tilly and Master Crowder had decided on the details of the feast.

“We had to have wax candles, Mama,” Pen said.

“Yes, but Master Milton only had tallow in the stores,” Pippa declared. “Robin said to him that it would be all right to lay out the cloth and send out for wax candles.”

“Of course it was,” Robin said, but with a touch of bluster. He looked a little anxiously at his father. “Master Milton thought it would be a suitable occasion to kill the bullock we were saving for Christmas, sir. I thought so too.”

“And Greene went across the river and shot a deer and ducks and pheasants in the fields,” Pen put in. “We have an enormous game pie that Tilly showed the cooks how to make. As well as the bullock.”

“I trust nobody's toes were trodden upon,” Guinevere remarked.

“Oh, no,” Pen assured her earnestly. “Everyone's been very happy. We’ve had such an exciting day!”

“And see how beautiful it all is!” Pippa swept her arm in a wide circle and Guinevere smiled.

“It's very beautiful, my loves. All of you must have worked so hard.”

“ ’Tis a marriage after all,” declared Robin, his voice just a trifle thick.

“Indeed it is,” agreed Hugh, regarding his son with a shrewdly assessing gaze. Robin was flushed, excited and excitable. Hugh glanced at the table. The jugs of ale and flagons of wine had not yet been broached but he could hear raucous laughter coming from the back regions of the house. He guessed that the men of his troop and other members of his household had started the festivities a little early. He had instructed Robin that they should broach two hogsheads of strong October ale at the beginning of the celebration. Robin, it seemed, had joined the men's premature revels with some enthusiasm.

“Where's Jack Stedman?” He looked around the hall
with a frown. Jack would have kept a watchful eye on the boy. He also had an urgent task for his lieutenant that would take him away from the feast for a while.

“He went hunting with Greene,” Pippa explained before Robin could reply. Very little occurred without Pippa's knowledge. “They’ve been drinking together in the butchery ever since they got back. I went to talk to them but they told me to go away. So I did.”

“Fetch him for me, Robin,” Hugh instructed. “There's something I need him to do.”

Robin hurried off, his step to Hugh's eye just a little unsteady. Robin was used to ale and small beer. On the journey to Derbyshire he had joined his father and the men in the taverns and drunk with them, but always, under his father's eye, in moderation. The October ale was particularly strong. The boy knew that perfectly well, Hugh thought, and he was not in general foolish. His emotions must be in some turmoil over his father's sudden marriage, and the acquisition of two sisters. An acquisition that would have taken some getting used to at the best of times without the added complication with Pen.

“We should greet the household and your guests,” Guinevere said, seeing the eager welcoming circle forming in front of them. She drew off her gloves and handed them to Pippa. She gave Pen her cloak. “Take these to my chamber, loves.”

“Lord Hugh's chamber you mean,” Pippa said importantly. “We’ve put flowers in there too.”

“That's lovely.” Guinevere waved them away.

She and Hugh stepped forward to receive the congratulations of Hugh's friends and the household. Tilly and the magister embraced her tearfully; Crowder seemed even more dignified than usual and Guinevere understood that the ordering of this feast had produced some tension between himself and Master Milton, whose own
congratulations were delivered with a distant respect. But those were problems for another day.

They drank a toast with the assembled guests and moved to the fireplace to hold an informal court before the feasting itself began.

Jack Stedman hurried into the hall. “I ask pardon, my lord. I should’ve been here,” he mumbled, his face rather red as he bowed. “May I offer my congratulations, my lady.”

“Thank you, Jack.”

“Well, ’tis no great matter,” Hugh said, reaching into his sleeve for the knife he’d taken from his assailant. He handed it to Jack. “We were set upon in the lane just before the house. Go and see if the man's still there. I wounded him sorely. If he is, see if you can discover what he was after.”

“I thought you said he was a simple footpad.” Guinevere looked at him in surprise.

Hugh shrugged. “I believe him to be so, but I’d like to be sure … Take the knife, Jack, see if anyone recognizes it.”

“Aye, my lord.” Jack tucked the knife into his own sleeve.

“My apologies for depriving you of the feast,” Hugh said with a smile.

Jack shook his head in disclaimer and went off.

“But if it wasn’t a robbery, who would want to kill you?” Guinevere asked, her voice muted. A shadow fell over her as she relived the horror of the moments of that attack … the terrifying dread of some curse that dogged her.

“I have no idea,” Hugh returned. He gazed into the contents of his wine cup as if he would read the answer there. Then he seemed visibly to shake off his thoughts and looked up, his frown vanished.

Robin weaved his way through the crowded hall, Pen
and Pippa beside him. “I sent Jack to you, sir,” he said, sounding out his words with great care.

“Yes, so I saw,” Hugh returned. “Shall we begin the feast?”

“I’ll tell the herald to play the summons.” Pippa ran off, her velvet skirts flying around her.

“I wanted to do that,” Robin said. “ ’Tis my place to do that.”

“You’ll have to get up very early in the morning to be ahead of that little maid,” Hugh observed. “I’m sure Pen learned that a long time ago.”

“Oh, yes, sir, almost as soon as Pippa was born,” Pen said. She glanced at Robin. “I also learned that mostly what she wants to do isn’t worth fighting over.”

Robin flushed and looked as if he’d received a rebuke of some kind. “There are
some
things.”

“Well, maybe,” Pen agreed thoughtfully. “But when you get used to the idea of her as a sister you’ll find it easier not to mind her most of the time.”

“Wise words,” commented Hugh.

The trumpet's call sounded from the small minstrel's gallery and they moved to the table.

Pen was aware that Robin had been drinking most of the afternoon with his father's men. He was almost a man and entitled to do so but she couldn’t help feeling anxious about him. Besides, like her mother, she had seen too much of the evil effects of drink on a man. She tugged on her mother's sleeve as they took their places at the table and Guinevere immediately bent her head to listen to her daughter's whisper.

“Robin's had too much to drink, Mama. What should I do?”

“I imagine Lord Hugh is aware of it,” her mother said. “He’ll take care of his son.”

Pen was a little reassured but still determined to exercise her own influence if she could. Pointedly she refused
wine herself, hoping he would take the hint. But Robin was oblivious, joining in the men's raucous conversations, shouting across the table, laughing immoderately.

Guinevere waited for Hugh to intervene as Robin filled and refilled his drinking cup to the brim but he said nothing. She glanced sideways at him, saw the frown in his eye, a certain tension in his jaw. As Robin's voice grew louder, his words more slurred, Guinevere finally said in an undertone, “Should you not say something to him, Hugh?”

Hugh shook his head. “He's on the road to manhood and has to learn to make his own mistakes on the way. At least he's making this one in the safety of home. The only consequence will be a sore head on the morrow that he’ll not be permitted to indulge.” His tone was curt and Guinevere knew that he was finding it very difficult to sit and watch his son make his mistake.

Robin reached again for the ale jug, his movement jerky and uncoordinated. His sleeve caught a bowl of gravy and sent it spinning to the floor, splashing Pen's gown.

Pen could bear it no longer. “Look what you’ve done, Robin! How could you be so clumsy?” She spoke in a fierce undertone.

Robin looked at her in surprise and confusion. He’d never heard the gentle Pen use such a ferocious and impatient tone. “ ’Tis nothing,” he mumbled, bending to dab at her skirts with his napkin.

“Yes, it is!” she snapped, pushing his hand away. “You’re drunk!” There were tears in her voice. “I
hate
it when men get drunk. Why would you do it?”

Robin stared at her. “I am not!” he denied loudly. “And you have no right to … to
nag
at me like some shrew. A man's entitled to his ale, Miss Prim.”

“Oh, you mustn’t quarrel,” Pippa cried in dismay. “Not today. Not at a wedding feast.”

“That's true enough, little maid,” one of the men
boomed cheerfully. “Master Robin's not drinking fair. I say the lad pays the forfeit.”

A chorus of agreement ran around the table, and men rose to pounce upon Robin who at first didn’t realize what was in store. They lifted him bodily from the bench to carry him to the manacle on the wall. And then he understood. He struggled, suddenly terrified, all bravado gone.

“No!” Pen cried, looking in anguish at her mother. This was now her fault. She had drawn attention to Robin, had forced the quarrel upon him.

“Stop them, for God's sake, Hugh!” Guinevere said urgently. “You can’t let them do this.”

Hugh was looking as anguished as Pen but he said grimly, “ If he wants to drink like a man then he must pay the price like a man.”

“That's nonsense!” Guinevere told him. “You can’t let them do this to him in front of Pen. Not here, not now. Don’t you understand? He’ll never recover from the humiliation.”

Hugh looked at her then he looked to where Robin still struggled against his captors. He said, “You think the humiliation of being rescued by his father and carted off to bed will be less than paying that forfeit?”

“I am telling you it will be,” she responded. “In front of Pen, today. Let him be a child, just for today.”

Hugh pulled at his chin. Was she right? Women had such different views of these things. He’d never had to consider a woman's view in his dealings with Robin.

Abruptly he rose to his feet. “Let the lad be,” he called, striding across to the wall where the men had finally managed to haul Robin.

They looked reluctant to give up their prey. They were flushed with drink and excitement, their good nature now mixed with malice.

“I said leave him be.” Hugh's voice was suddenly
dangerously soft, his eyes hard and cold. He had seen Robin's face and his son's desperate fear turned his heart.

The men moved aside and Hugh with one movement dipped his shoulder and tossed the boy over. He straightened, saying with some ferocity as he bore the still figure from the hall, “Don’t you dare puke down my back, my son.”

Pen heaved a sigh of relief. Pippa, who for once had been totally silent during the short drama, said soberly, “I’m so glad Lord Hugh wouldn’t let them fasten him. It would have been
horrid
!”

“I think it's time you two went upstairs as well,” Guinevere said. There was a rough edge to the noisy jollity now and she knew from experience how swiftly the situation could deteriorate. In her own home, she would have left the table herself, but she couldn’t do that as yet. Not at least until Hugh returned.

“It's early,” Pippa protested. “For a wedding feast, it's very early. And I was going to have some more cake!”

“You’ll be able to have more tomorrow,” her mother promised. “There’ll be plenty left.”

“Come along.” Pen tugged at her sister's sleeve. “We don’t want to stay here any longer.”

Pippa hesitated then got up. “If Robin hadn’t been drunk we could have stayed,” she observed bluntly.
“And
had cake.”

“I don’t
wish
to stay here another minute,” her sister said. “If you’re not coming, I’ll go on my own.”

“I’m coming!” Pippa cried. “I was only saying …” She trailed after her sister.

“You want I should go with ’em, my lady?” Tilly appeared at Guinevere's elbow. She was a little flushed and had clearly been enjoying herself in a group of the more staid servants.

Guinevere shook her head. “No, there's no need. I’ll look in on them when I go up.”

“But you’ll be wantin’ me to ’elp you to bed,” Tilly said.

Again Guinevere shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. You have no tasks for tonight, Tilly. Just amuse yourself.”

Tilly looked as if she might protest this, then a burst of laughter came from the group she’d been sitting with. “Well, if y’are sure, my lady …” she murmured and went back to the enticements of gossip and mild flirtation with the head stableman.

Hugh returned to the hall a few minutes later. He took his seat again beside Guinevere.

“How is he?”

“Well, let's just say I managed to get his head to the bowl in the nick of time.” Hugh reached for his own wine cup. “You sent the girls away?”

“It seemed best. Matters can grow out of hand very suddenly and they’ve seen enough of such things.”

Hugh was silent for a minute before observing, “A bachelor's household is no doubt rougher than one where a woman holds the domestic reins. My men are inclined to play hard when the opportunity arises. If it offended you, I’m sorry for it.”