The Widow's Kiss

by Jane Feather

  Just outside Kedleston, Hugh chose a campsite in a large field with a pond surrounded by woodland. It was far more exposed than the glade they’d found the previous night, Guinevere thought as she sat her horse and took covert stock. It had been but a short distance from the encampment to the seclusion of the trees last night. This spot was very different. But what could she do about it?

  She prepared to dismount and found Lord Hugh on the ground at her side. “Allow me, my lady,” he said with a smile that glimmered with wicked amusement. He raised his hands to her waist and she pushed them away with indignation. “I am quite capable of dismounting unaided,” she said.

  “Oh, don’t deny me the opportunity for chivalry,” he said, ignoring her flapping hands and lifting her easily to the ground. “I must set Robin a good example.”

  “I suppose showing excessive courtesy to a prisoner is one way of doing it,” she observed, moving away so that his hands fell from her waist.

  Hugh merely grinned and remarked, “You’ll wish to have your tent pitched some way apart again.” The cynical gleam in his eye was well concealed.

  “I like my privacy,” she replied, as she’d said the previous evening.

  “Indeed,” he murmured. He watched with the same cynical smile as once again she arranged to have her horse and the ponies tethered close to her tent. All set for a quick departure. But how was she going to deal with the guard? It would be interesting to see.

  “I trust you’ll join me for supper,” he said.

  Guinevere hesitated. She had intended to beg off sharing his meal, but now it occurred to her that maybe she could slip something in his wine. She’d been concerned when he said he only ever slept a couple of hours at a time on campaign. Supping with him could give her the opportunity to change that.

  “The girls will eat with Tilly in my tent. They’re tired after two days of riding,” she responded with cool composure. “But I should be honored to join you and Robin, sir.”

  “The honor will be all mine, madam.” He bowed over her hand. “Robin will take his supper with the men. At six then.”

  “I look forward to it.” She smiled, her face a mask of serenity. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’d like to stretch my legs a little while the tent is being erected.” She walked off towards the line of trees that surrounded the field. The girls ran up to her and Hugh watched as she bent and said something to them. Immediately they turned and left her to her solitary walk, going instead to the pond.

  Hugh nodded grimly and waited a few minutes before making his move.

  Guinevere strolled into the trees. It was a sparsely planted woodland and there was little concealment. She went deeper and then whistled her blackbird's call softly. She waited, listening, and almost immediately came the rattatat of a woodpecker. The sound led her to a screen of holly bushes.

  Greene stood up slowly, silently, barely disturbing the underbrush. “Is all in place, my lady?”

  “I am so glad to see you,” she said, unable to disguise her relief, although she had known he would be there. “We can do it, I think. But the field is very exposed.”

  He nodded. “I am aware, my lady.”

  “We will make the attempt just after midnight. It took the guard about five minutes last night to circle the perimeter of the camp. The camp won’t be any more spread out today, but it's in a more exposed situation. It’ll take us longer to get from the tent into concealment among the trees.” She spoke in a rushed whisper. “Tilly will give the guard a sleeping draught to put him out just after midnight.”

  “I think it's surer if I take care of ’im myself, madam,” Greene suggested. “I can smell rain so it’ll be a cloudy night. I can come up be’ind ’im easy.”

  “You won’t hurt him.”

  “Nah, jest a tap’ll do it,” Greene said confidently. “It’ll put ’im t’ sleep surer than anythin’ Tilly can come up with. Don’t you fret, m’lady.”

  A twig snapped somewhere behind Guinevere. Greene was suddenly gone and she was gazing at a holly bush. She turned slowly. “Is anyone there?”

  No sound greeted her. Her hands were clammy as she walked back the way she’d come. Then a doe jumped past her in a flash of creamy beige and white, snapping twigs and rustling leaves as she ran from whatever had startled her. It took a few minutes for Guinevere's heart to settle to its normal rhythm.

  She emerged into the field and saw that the tents were already up, the jaunty pennant flying from Hugh's. The fires were lit and men were talking and laughing in the atmosphere of orderly bustle that Guinevere now expected from Hugh of Beaucaire's troop. There was no sign of Hugh. She assumed he was in his tent.

  Pen and Pippa were with Robin at the pond. He was showing them how to skim stones across the water. It was time now to talk to the girls although she still hadn’t decided on the best, least alarming way to explain their flight.

  Guinevere ducked into her tent where Tilly was arranging the bedding. “Will you fetch the girls, Tilly. They’re down by the pond. It's time to break the news.”

  “Oh, aye,” Tilly said matter-of-factly. “I’ll tell ’em to come up fer their supper. I’ll tell ’em they’re goin’ to eat in ’ere tonight.”

  She bustled off and Guinevere sat down on one of the trunks and composed herself. They mustn’t see her anxiety, her desperation, her knowledge that this was the last chance to save them all.

  Pippa's high tones heralded their arrival. She tumbled into the tent. “Why are we eating in here, Mama? We want to stay outside and play with Boy Robin. I nearly threw a stone all the way over the lake.” She demonstrated with a wide-flung arm.

  “It's a pond not a lake,” Pen corrected, following her sister into the tent with rather less exuberance. She surveyed her mother. “Is something wrong, Mama?”

  “No,” Guinevere denied, smiling. “Close the tent flap, Pen, and sit down.” She gestured to one of the cots.

  “Is it something exciting?” Pippa demanded, bouncing on the straw palliasse. Pen, her own expression grave, closed the flap and sat solemnly beside her sister.

  “I think so.” Quietly Guinevere explained that instead of going to London they were going to leave Lord Hugh's men that night and go to a new house.

  “Can we take the kittens, Mama?” Pippa demanded as soon as her mother paused.

  Guinevere got up from the chest and sat down on the cot between them. “Yes, you may.” She put her arms around them and drew them close against her.

  “But you said you wanted to go to London,” Pen pointed out.

  “I’ve changed my mind, sweeting.”

  “But why must we go in the night, Mama?” Pen pressed, her eyes wide with alarm.

  Guinevere knew there was little she could say to reassure her daughter. Pen was far too intelligent to believe in tales of an amusing midnight adventure. “Lord Hugh has orders to escort us to London. I’ve decided I don’t wish to go there after all, but Lord Hugh will feel it's his duty to take us whether I wish to go or not. So we must slip away without his knowing.”

  “I want to go home,” Pippa said, turning her own now frightened eyes on her mother. “Why can’t we just go home?”

  “Maybe we will later,” Guinevere said, hugging the child close. “But for the moment we are going to go to this other house. Greene will be waiting for us when we leave here.”

  “Greene!” squeaked Pippa. “Where is he?” She looked around as if expecting to see the huntsman materialize from the canvas walls around her.

  “Don’t interrupt Mama,” Pen commanded.

  “He's waiting for us in the woods. Now, listen carefully. You’ll have supper with Tilly and then you must go to bed. Tilly and I will wake you up when it's time to leave. Greene and Crowder and the magister will be with us. And Tilly of course. So it’ll be just like home really.”

  The girls looked a little reassured at the prospect of familiar faces.

  Tilly came into the tent at that moment with a laden tray. “ ’Ere's supper,” sh
e said cheerfully. She scrutinized the girls and tutted. “Dearie me, such long faces. What will Greene say when ’e sees you lookin’ like a wet Monday, Pippa? He’ll think y’are scared of summat. You know how y’are always tellin’ ’im y’are scared of nowt.”

  “Well, I am scared of nowt,” Pippa stated with bravado. “You’re not scared, are you, Pen?”

  “There's nothing to be scared of, is there, Mama?” Pen managed a tremulous smile.

  “No,” Guinevere said firmly. “Would I let anything bad happen? Now eat your supper and then tuck into bed in your clothes. That way when we wake you up you’ll be all ready to go.”

  “I shan’t sleep,” Pippa said, taking a veal pasty from the tray. “I’m far too excited to sleep. Will you sleep, Pen?”

  “I don’t know,” Pen said, examining the contents of the tray. She didn’t like pasties when the filling spilled out and she couldn’t see one that was whole. She took a chicken drumstick instead. The skin was crisp and the meat juicy. It comforted her.

  “ ’Ere's a nice drop o’ murat,” Tilly said, filling two cups with the drink of honey flavored with mulberries. She shot Guinevere a significant glance. The sweet drink, a treat on any day, would soothe them.

  Guinevere nodded. Already their fear seemed to have subsided; Tilly would do the rest. She would put them to bed and stay with them until Guinevere returned from her supper with Hugh. Whatever the girls might say, their mother was fairly confident that they would sleep.

  Supper with Lord Hugh. She would be at her most charming and entertaining. They could and did enjoy each other's company whenever they could hold their mutual antagonism at bay.

  Or hold at bay that strange lustful connection that hit them between the eyes when least expected, and never invited.

  She squashed the inconvenient reminder. Tonight she would show him only her friendliest face. She took the small traveling glass from her trunk and examined her appearance in the lamplight. Her hood was askew after the day's riding and her coif was dirty. She rubbed at her neck and regarded the grime on her fingertips with distaste.

  “Tilly, could you fetch me some water? I’m all begrimed from the dust of the road!”

  “Aye, chuck. There's hot water on the fire.” Tilly picked up a jug and left the tent.

  Guinevere unpinned her hood and coif and asked Pen to unlace her gown.

  “My fingers are sticky,” Pen said doubtfully.

  “Mine aren’t!” Pippa bounced up.

  Pen glared at her. “Mama asked me.” She licked her fingers vigorously and attacked the laces of her mother's stomacher.

  Guinevere stepped out of the emerald silk. It lay in a crumpled heap at her feet. Because she had been riding she wasn’t wearing the cone-shaped farthingale that ordinarily ensured that her skirts were perfectly creaseless. She said pacifically, “Pippa, sweeting, I need you to find the turquoise hood. The one with the silver edging.”

  “I know where it is!” Pippa bounded to the trunk, burrowed, and emerged triumphant, flourishing the deep blue hood. “But you always wear the gray gown with this.”

  “It's in the other trunk.”

  She had brought two gowns and a very little jewelry with her; all her other clothes and possessions would by now be laid in the cupboards and linen presses at Cauldon. Tonight she would sup with Lord Hugh in a gown of silver-gray silk with a raised pattern of black swans. She would wear sapphires … and she would send him to sleep with the sweetest of dreams.

  11

  Guinevere entered Hugh's tent precisely at six o’clock. “I give you good even, Lord Hugh.”

  Hugh bowed, an appreciative gleam in his eye as he took in her appearance. “Madam, you do me much honor.” He looked down ruefully at his own dust-coated garments. “I fear I haven’t had a chance to change my own dress.”

  “You have so many responsibilities,” she said smoothly. “So many matters that require your attention. How could you have time for such trivialities?”

  Hugh bowed again. “You are most understanding, my lady.” He poured wine and handed her a cup, then gestured to the table where appetizing steam rose from a covered pot. “One of the men shot a rabbit this afternoon. It seems we’re the beneficiaries.”

  “One of the advantages of supping at the commander's table,” Guinevere murmured, taking one of the stools at the table, her silvery skirts falling in graceful folds around her. She sipped her wine as Hugh ladled rabbit stew into two bowls before taking his place opposite her.

  The valerian that would ensure Lord Hugh slept deeply that night was concealed in her handkerchief, but for the moment she couldn’t see how to administer it. He set his wine cup on the table but his hand remained loosely curled around it as he took a forkful of stew. She slipped the handkerchief from her sleeve and dropped it in her lap.

  Hugh watched her covertly. From what he’d overheard earlier she and Greene had all their plans for tonight in order. But even the best-laid plans could go awry and she must know that. But if she was apprehensive about the coming flight, she gave no indication of it. Her countenance was as composed as ever, her beautiful sloe eyes alert and yet seemingly tranquil. In her rich gown she could have been sitting at her own high table instead of in a campaign tent in the middle of a field, and he wondered why she had chosen to dress up for him on this of all nights. Despite his annoyance at the trouble she was causing him, he admired her courage, and he was stirred as always by her beauty, by that indefinable sensuality that awoke his own deep unwitting response.

  God's bones! He wanted to make love to her; the longing to explore that long supple body made his hands quiver, his breathing quicken.

  “Do you have a house in London, Lord Hugh?” she inquired pleasantly, breaking off a crust from the loaf of bread.

  The question was a relief, hauling him back from the dizzying brink of desire. “A modest one,” he responded. “In Holborn.”

  “Is that close to the river? I know very little of London.”

  “You are perhaps more familiar with the geography of ancient Rome or Athens,” he observed.

  She inclined her head in smiling acknowledgment and reached forward to dip her bread in the large saltcellar that stood in the middle of the table. Her hand slipped and with an awkward jerk her elbow caught the saltcellar, knocking it to the grass beneath the table.

  “Oh, how clumsy!” she exclaimed, stooping to pick up a pinch of the spilled salt. “The girls will say it's such bad luck. I can’t remember whether I have to throw it over my left or my right shoulder to cancel out the ill luck.”

  “You’d better do both,” he said, bending to retrieve the saltcellar.

  “It's such a waste of salt too. Can you manage to salvage some of it? Let me help you.”

  “There's no need.” He scooped the precious commodity into the palm of his hand.

  Her handkerchief was in her hand. Swiftly she leaned forward and dropped the fine powder it contained into his wine cup, praying it would dissolve before he raised his head.

  He straightened, shaking the rescued salt from his palm into the saltcellar again. What had she done? He knew the spilled salt was a ploy. She didn’t give anything away in either voice or countenance but every one of his senses was alert, aware of some danger. She had done something.

  Poison? Did she intend to dispatch him to whatever world now held her husbands?

  She sipped her wine and repeated, “Is Holborn near the river, Lord Hugh?”

  The wine, he thought. It had to be the wine. “No, it's some streets away. You’ll see for yourself as you’ll be residing under my roof until Privy Seal makes disposition for you.” Over my dead body. Guinevere smiled and dipped bread in her stew.

  Hugh picked up his cup, cradling it in his hand, watching her. He thought her eyes had grown sharper although she didn’t look at his cup. He raised it to his lips. She remained intent on her supper, but he thought he could detect just the slightest tremor in her fingers as she took a forkful of buttered greens.


  He swirled the wine in the cup. It looked unadulterated but he was not about to take any chances. He pretended to sip and then set the cup down. Guinevere's smile didn’t waver.

  Treacherous, manipulative witch! He smiled back and helped himself to more stew.

  Guinevere continued to question him about London life with all the appearance of one searching for relevant information. He continued to pretend to sip at his wine. After a while a trooper came in and removed the bowls and stew-pot, placing a basket of wild strawberries on the table.

  “Has Master Robin finished supper?” Hugh inquired. Guinevere in housewifely fashion was sweeping crumbs from the table into the palm of her hand, absorbed in her task.

  “Aye. He went to water the ’orses, sir.”

  Hugh nodded. He raised his cup, holding it at waist level. Quickly he tilted it and a stream of wine fell soundlessly to the thick grass at his feet. “Tell him he should bed down with the men tonight.” He raised the cup to his lips, confident that Guinevere had not seen its emptying. “I’ll be sitting late and the lamp will keep him awake.” He glanced at Guinevere as he said this. She appeared unperturbed.

  “Aye, sir.” The trooper went off.

  Hugh leaned across for the flagon and refilled his cup.

  “I was hoping you would consider taking a break tomorrow,” Guinevere said, popping a strawberry into her mouth. “The girls are very tired.”

  “Are you?” He watched with a sort of mesmerized fascination as she took another strawberry. Her long slender fingers conveyed the fruit to her warm red mouth. Her teeth gleamed white for a second and she closed her eyes with pleasure as the sweet juice spurted on her tongue.

  “No, not in the least. But I’m accustomed to riding all day. Hunting is one of my greatest pleasures.”

  “One you shared with two at least of your husbands.”

  “My first husband would not hunt with a woman,” she said neutrally.

  “Ah, yes. As I recall you were in childbed when he fell from his horse.”