The Widow's Kiss (23 page)

Then he recognized the man and grunted to himself. Hugh of Beaucaire. There was something about Lord Hugh that the king found refreshing. He lacked deviousness. Seemed to have little interest in lining his own nest.

And he had two little maids with him. That in itself was interesting enough to arouse the king's curiosity. He considered himself to be a man with an inordinate love of children. He would conveniently forget that his fury with his older daughter's intransigence frequently led him to treat her cruelly: locked away, deprived of even the most basic necessities of fire and adequate food.

There was a stone bench set into a little archway carved into the privet hedge and he sat down heavily. He stretched his massive legs out in front of him, folded his hands across the great overhang of his belly, and regarded the approaching trio with an air of mild and genial curiosity.

Hugh had a child in each hand. He had hoped that the king had not altered his practice when at Hampton Court of visiting the stables alone on fine afternoons. He had hoped that the timing would be such that they would waylay Henry as he was leaving a spectacle that never failed to put him in good humor.

So far, it seemed, so good.

Pippa was unnaturally silent as they approached the great mass of the king, all dressed in squares of crimson and black, his flat hat tilted at a rakish angle. A huge emerald glowed in the brim of his hat and around his neck hung a small gold dagger. Everything about him was huge, not excluding the padded codpiece of striped silk. Her eyes found it and somehow couldn’t look away. She opened her mouth to say something and immediately Hugh squeezed her hot little hand in warning. Knowing Pippa as he did, it was not difficult to guess at what she was about to say.

He’d decided to give them no directions as to what to say, but to let their own innocence and natural wit speak for them. Now, he could only pray that his strategy had been the right one. They came up to the king and he dropped the girls’ hands to snatch off his hat. He bowed
low and the girls curtsied, bobbing up almost immediately, however, to regard their sovereign in wide-eyed awe.

“So, Lord Hugh, who have we here?” the king asked in an amiable bellow. “What pretty maids are these?”

“I am called Pippa, sir.”

“It's Philippa,” Pen corrected, with another bob of a curtsy. “That is my sister Philippa, sir. I am Penelope.”

“So, little Penelope, of what family are you?”

“Our father was Lord Hadlow of Derbyshire,” Pen replied, her voice strong.

A frown crossed the king's countenance. He rose from the bench, planting his feet firmly apart to aid his balance, his hands resting on his hips. “I have heard that name before.” He glanced interrogatively at Hugh.

“Lady Mallory's second husband,” Hugh said evenly.

“Yes, and we wish to go to our mother.” Pippa spoke up urgently, recovering from her awe of this great sovereign. “We don’t know where she is, but we
have
to see her. Please, sir.” She fixed her eyes upon him and unconsciously touched his hand.

Henry looked down at her. He looked at her sister, met the intent pleading gaze of both pairs of hazel eyes. “You’ll both be as comely as your mother, I’ll wager,” he said.

“We
have
to go to Mama,” Pippa repeated. “You will not keep us from her, will you, sir?”

“She’ll be so anxious for us,” Pen said.

“You would have the children plead for their mother, my lord?” the king said slowly to Hugh. “You know that We are weak in the face of a child's pleading.”

“I know that Your Highness has a generous temper,” Hugh returned. “Lady Mallory knows nothing of the ways of this court. She spoke in haste. I would vouch for her present regret.”

The king turned his padded shoulder to Hugh and
stared back down the path towards the stables. His queen was due to present him with his third child in the next weeks. This child would be the son he craved and needed more than anything else. All the signs said so. The astrologers said so. The doctors swore to it. Jane, herself, was certain of it in her quiet way. Mercy and generosity befitted a king. And, mayhap, an act of kindness to these children would bring health to his newborn son.

“Lady Mallory will accept your roof?” He spoke without turning back to Hugh.

“Yes, Highness,” Hugh said without hesitation.

“Then let it be hoped that she has learned to moderate her tongue and her temper,” Henry said. He pulled a ring from his finger and turned slowly back. He handed the jewel to Hugh. “Here is my authority for the lady's release.”

He bent down with some difficulty and chucked Pippa beneath the chin. He did the same to Pen. “God go with you, little maids. You will remember that you have seen the king today.”

“Oh, yes,” Pen said fervently. “Oh, yes, indeed, we will remember.”

Henry beamed. He was an expert at detecting flattery and the sincerity in the child's voice delighted him. “Then go now.” He straightened and gave Hugh a shrewd look. “You know your king, it would seem, Lord Hugh.”

Hugh contented himself with another deep bow.

“Go.” Henry waved them away.

Hugh backed off a few paces, drawing the girls with him, then turned and hurried them away back towards the water stairs.

“Did the king say we could go to see Mama?” Pippa asked, puzzled by what had happened. “I didn’t hear him say so.”

“He didn’t,” Pen told her. “But he said she was released.

Is she in a jail, sir?” She looked up at him, her eyes gravely questioning.

“Temporarily so,” Hugh told her.

“But why? Why would Mama be in a jail?” Pippa demanded, her voice rising with alarm.

“Your mother is going to explain that to you herself,” Hugh stated, feeling like a coward. “We must make haste back to London. The sooner we get there the sooner you will see your mother. Good, the boat is still at the steps.” He swung them both onto the barge they had left a bare half hour before. Had they been any longer the boatmen would have been forced to yield their place to new arrivals and their embarkation would have been much delayed. As it was, they were once more in midstream with the turned current in their favor within a few minutes.

The girls were quiet on the way back to the city. They were both hungry, not having eaten since an early breakfast, but the day's events had so overwhelmed them that they were barely aware of their grumbling stomachs.

Hugh, aware of his own, cursed himself for being in such haste that morning that he had ignored such practicalities. He watched the sun's measured progress and bit his tongue on the urge to press the watermen to greater speed.

It was close to six o’clock when they bumped the landing stage at Blackfriars. Hugh sprang ashore and lifted the girls beside him. “Wait here,” he instructed the watermen. “I’ll need you again in five minutes.” He took the girls’ hands and hurried them almost at a run back to his own house.

He left them at the door then turned and ran back to the barge. “The Lion Gate at the Tower,” he instructed as he jumped aboard.

The watermen took up their oars and pulled east down the river beneath the bustle of London Bridge to the Tower dock.

The Lieutenant of the Tower regarded the king's ring when it was laid upon the table in front of him. He picked it up, examined the royal insignia. “So, Lord Hugh, I am to deliver the prisoner, Lady Mallory, into your charge.”

“That is the king's will.”

“She had visitors this morning.”

“Aye, her tiring woman and Magister Howard. I sent them with some necessities for her.”

“I gave them leave to remain with her for an hour.” The lieutenant sounded as if he was seeking approval for his clemency.

“I’m sure Lady Mallory was grateful.”

“Aye. My lady wife took a fancy to her last even. She supped at our table. I had a fire lit in her chamber.”

Hugh merely nodded, hiding his impatience.

The lieutenant rose to his feet. “Come, my lord, I’ll take you to the prisoner. I trust you’ll find she has not been ill-housed.”

They crossed the Tower green where the ravens were gathering for the night along the ramparts and in the deep shadows of the high walls. They climbed the steps to the tower where Guinevere had her cell.

She was sitting by the still sullenly smouldering fire, her cloak draped around her shoulders, an open book on her lap. But she hadn’t read a word in several hours. The visit from Tilly and the magister had cheered her but now, as the shadows of night closed in upon her prison, all optimism left her. She could see no point at all in still trying to marshal a legal defense. No one would listen. They might pay lip service but in the end they would take from her what they wanted.

She turned her head lethargically at the sound of the key in the lock, expecting to see one of the uncommunicative guards with a supper tray.

“Hugh?” She rose from the stool, automatically closing the book over her finger to keep her page. “What brings you here?”

The lieutenant hovered in the doorway and Hugh said quietly, “Leave us, if you please.”

The man bowed and withdrew, closing the door behind him. He did not turn the key.

“Do you bring me news of the girls?” Guinevere asked, laying down her book upon the stool. Her face was drawn and anxious. “Tilly and the magister brought me all else that I need, for which I thank you. How … how are they?”

“Impatient to see you. Their questions have gone beyond my ability to answer.” He stood by the door making no attempt to approach her. His eyes raked her face, took in every line of strain, read there every moment of the fear that had haunted her since he’d left her in the guardhouse at Hampton Court. His heart leaped towards her but he held himself still. He could feel the wall she’d thrown up between them, it was almost as solid as the door at his back.

“They cannot come here,” she said, gesturing emphatically to her grim surroundings.

“But you may go to them,” he said. “I have the king's orders for your release, as long as you’re willing to accept my hospitality.”

“How did you manage that?” Her eyes were suddenly narrowed, her posture as graceful and erect as ever.

Hugh shrugged. She’d find that out eventually but he was in no hurry to make the disclosure. “Henry is changeable. He can be manipulated with the right tools. I had them.”

Guinevere did not press for further information. “But to leave here I must accept you as my jailer?”

“In essence.”

She turned away, back to the fire. She felt so vulnerable, so aware of his body behind her, of the piercing light
in his wonderful eyes that seemed to see into her very soul. She yearned for his arms, for his mouth upon hers, for the strength his loving would give her. And yet she was so afraid that in the end it was not strength but weakness that she would draw from him. This man was going to stand as witness against her and he would weaken her with every touch he laid upon her body.

She turned back to him, making her voice hard and bitter. “And must I expect to have my body violated by my jailer in exchange for his hospitality?”

The color drained from his face. His nose was suddenly pinched, a blue shade around his mouth. He raised a hand in an involuntary gesture, then it fell immediately to his side. His fingers curled into his palms as if only thus could he keep them from her.

Guinevere took a shuddering breath. She looked away, saying in a low voice, “Forgive me. I don’t know why I said such a thing.” She had wanted to hurt him, to drive him from her, but now she felt only self-disgust at the words that still rang in her ears.

Hugh said nothing for a minute. He was too angry to find instant forgiveness. He turned back to the door. “The bells will ring for curfew in a very few minutes. You have until then to make your decision. If you choose not to come with me, then I will have your children brought to you here. They may share with you the king's hospitality. I can’t hide the truth from them any longer myself. I suggest you decide what you wish to tell them.” He opened the door. “I’ll return for your answer when the bells ring.”

“Hugh?”

“Well?” He didn’t turn back to her but remained with his hand on the door latch.

“I will come with you.” What choice did she have? He had known that she could not subject her children to the Tower. Just as she could not allow them to suffer her absence without explanation.

“Then let us waste no more time,” he said, his voice still cold. “I’ll send someone for your things when we get home.”

Guinevere clasped her cloak at her throat. She glanced around the small room.
Would they bring her back here after her trial? After she’d been found guilty? Would she await her execution here?

Then vigorously she dismissed the black thoughts. Her earlier depression receded, her natural optimism flooding back. While she had her freedom, anything was possible. She was going back to the girls. She’d need all her energies finding a way to explain the truth to them.

She glanced up at Hugh as she walked past him through the door. His expression was still grim. “Forgive me,” she said again. “It was a terrible thing to say.”

“Yes, it was,” he agreed. “I wish I knew what I’d done to deserve it.” He took her arm and directed her down the stairs to the green as the bells for curfew rang out.