The Widow's Kiss

by Jane Feather

  “I do, Highness,” Guinevere said clearly and steadily and Hugh breathed again.

  Henry patted his hands together and rose heavily from his chair. He paused for a second to see if his ulcerated leg would start to throb and when he felt no pain declared smilingly, “We shall see you wed in two days’ time in the chapel at Hampton. The queen will be pleased to attend.” He beamed. A wedding would cheer Jane. He worried that her advanced pregnancy was taking its toll on her spirits.

  “Two days will be sufficient for the contracts to be drawn up.” He nodded at the dour Privy Seal. “Thomas, you will make sure that all's as it should be on that score.” And he strode from the Star Chamber, the short gown that hung from his massive shoulders swinging richly at each weighty step.

  The lords in the chamber had risen with their king and stood bareheaded until an usher closed the door behind him.

  Privy Seal regarded Guinevere who still stood white-faced at her chair. “It seems, madam, that you have found favor with the king,” he stated. “Your life is spared.” His lips moved soundlessly as he looked down at the papers on the table before him and only the bishop heard the soft “For now.”

  Hugh moved out of the tiered benches and into the center of the chamber. Formally he bowed to the motionless Guinevere. “Madam, your business here is done. If you would come with me now.”

  It was a command couched in pleasantry. Guinevere heard it as it was intended to be heard. She inclined her head in faint acknowledgment and walked ahead of him out of the chamber without looking once at her accusers, who remained on their feet.

  Privy Seal glanced at Bishop Gardiner as the lords in the chamber started to follow the vindicated woman.

  “She is guilty,” the bishop said through his teeth. “I can smell a witch from afar. She has bewitched Hugh of Beaucaire as surely as she bewitched her husbands.”

  “That I doubt, my lord bishop,” Cromwell said thoughtfully. “She is a clever woman, and a beautiful one. But she's no witch. A tricky lawyer, yes. Maybe a murderer.” He shrugged. “Who's to say and what does it matter in the end? I will still have what I seek from her.”

  The bishop looked sharply at him. “How will you do that, Thomas, now that the king has given her his blessing?”

  Privy Seal smiled a thin smile and answered with one of his favorite expressions. “There's more than one way to skin a cat, Bishop Gardiner,” he said.

  Guinevere remained silent as she walked with Hugh through the courts and corridors of Westminster Palace and down to the water steps. The weak late September sun was now high in the sky. It had been but a hint on the horizon when she’d awoken that morning to find herself alone in Hugh's bed, the memories of their loving embedded in her skin, present in the delightful languor of her limbs.

  The girls had still slept the belladonna sleep when Hugh and Guinevere had left for Westminster. She had kissed their sleeping faces, keeping her silent agony to herself. Now her step quickened involuntarily with the need to see them, to hold them, to reassure them that there was no longer anything to fear, that all was once again well. If marriage to Hugh and the loss of her independence was the price, then she would pay it and conceal her anger and resentment at his trickery. She knew that Hugh would not deprive her children of their dowries even if it pleased him to make their mother dependent upon his good will and charity.

  Hugh gave her his hand to step into the wherry that responded to his summons at the water steps. Her gloved hand merely brushed his as she embarked and sat upon the thwart. He sat opposite her, as silent as she, idly tapping the back of one hand into the palm of the other.

  The two wherry men took up their oars and pulled strongly for Blackfriars. Guinevere raised her face to the slight warmth of the sun. She inhaled deeply of the mélange of smells that rose from the river and came off the embankments on either side. Gutter smells of rotting meat and vegetables, of human waste, of green river slime, of fish and thick black mud. And occasionally a whiff of fresh baking would waft amid the others as a hawker walked the riverbank with his trays of pies and loaves. She could detect a hint of late summer roses from one of the small gardens that came down to the river. The colors everywhere were brighter, clearer than she’d ever remembered. The city's cacophony was music to her ears. The smells both rank and sweet were so precious she could not stop taking deep breaths, drawing the air far into her lungs. She was alive, and she was free.

  Hugh watched her. He could make a fair guess at her thoughts. Soon, when the first flush of relief had faded, she would want to know why he had lied for her. He wasn’t certain of the answer. He hadn’t known he was going to vindicate her until he spoke the words. He had been stirred by her own defense, certainly, but that would not have been enough to make him do something so out of character as to perjure himself.

  He loved her. He lusted after her. He felt a deep and abiding passion for her. But he was not convinced of her innocence. And yet he had lied to save her.

  There was the money, of course. Had his motive been purely venal? He didn’t like to think so. He wanted what he had claimed for Robin, but he would have received that anyway. It had always been understood between himself and Privy Seal that those estates were his in exchange for delivering Guinevere Mallory. But he was going to insist upon much more in the marriage settlements. He was going to insist upon the customary arrangements whereby a woman brought her wealth to her husband.

  He had no intention of making Guinevere's life miserable, but he certainly did not intend to bow his head meekly to whatever legal financial arrangements she considered appropriate. He was no hapless male caught in the toils of a clever woman. Guinevere must understand that he would be a husband quite unlike her others.

  Her wealth would ensure that Robin could take his place in a world that would give him advancement, bring him wealth in his own right. Hugh loved her but she would not ride roughshod over him. He would gain more from this arrangement than the joys of a passionate and loving partnership. It was his right, both legal and moral, to do so.

  The wherry tied up at Blackfriars steps and Guinevere stepped ashore unaided, as Hugh paid the oarsmen. She stood looking around the thronged steps, once again conscious in every fiber of being alive. She heard Pippa's high voice in her head, Pen's more gentle, less piercing tones, and without waiting for Hugh set off with a swift stride along the familiar lane between the cramped hovels that led to Hugh's house.

  Hugh hastened after her. He understood her urgency. He caught up with her before she reached the gates to his house.

  He laid a hand on her arm. “Guinevere?”

  She stopped, startled at the sound of his voice after the long silence. “We will talk at length when we can be private,” she said. “I must go to my daughters.”

  Hugh let his hand drop. He had wanted to establish just a smidgen of private contact with her before they were engulfed in the children's needs. Just to garner a sense of how she felt about him now. But his needs were not important, not compared with her children's. He understood that. He nodded quietly but tucked her hand into his arm so that they walked up the drive united.

  He opened the door himself, then stepped back to allow her to precede him into the square hall. Guinevere stepped in, her eyes adjusting to the dimness after the brighter light outside.

  “Mama … Mama!” Pippa slid from the settle by the fire where she’d been curled with her kitten. The mewling ball of fur flew unheeded from her lap as the child hurtled across the floor to her mother. “Pen … Pen … Mama's here. She's not in a jail! She's not.” Her last words were muffled as she buried her face in her mother's skirts.

  Wordlessly, Guinevere bent and lifted her. She held her tight, pressing her face against the child's warm cheek, running her hand over the back of her head, feeling the childlike shape of her skull, breathing in the sweet vanilla scent of her.

  “It's all right, sweeting,” she whispered. “It's all right now.”

  Pen, her face tear streaked, her eyes swoll
en, almost fell down the stairs in her haste to get to her mother. She clutched Guinevere around the waist and Guinevere knelt down, lowering Pippa to the floor so that she could embrace them both.

  “It's all right now,” she repeated softly, tears pricking behind her own eyes, a lump in her throat as she held their dear familiar bodies and thought of how close she had come to being unable to do this ever again. Never to see them grow, to hear them laugh, to wipe their tears.

  She must not think like that. She must not break down now. Not at the end, when she had been so strong before.

  But joy and relief after such terror were too much.

  “Why are you crying, Mama? Don’t cry.” Pen stroked her mother's eyes, trying to wipe away the tears that now fell without restraint. “Are you sick, Mama?”

  “You said it was all right now,” Pippa said, nuzzling her mother's cheek, trying to bury herself in her mother, tears thick now in her own voice. “Please don’t cry.”

  “I’m crying because I’m happy,” Guinevere said, reaching around Pippa to wipe her eyes with the back of her gloved hand. “I need a kerchief.”

  “Here.” Hugh bent down and handed her his own.

  “My thanks.” She took it and wiped her eyes properly before gently disengaging from the children and standing upright once more. “I have not cried,” she said softly. “Not a tear before.”

  “No, I know,” he returned as softly, his hand for a second brushing her damp cheek.

  She didn’t turn from the fleeting caress, but neither did she return it with hand or eye, although she knew his sympathetic understanding was genuine. There was still too much to be resolved between them to rush gratefully into his arms. She saw now that Tilly, the magister, Greene, and Master Crowder had joined them and stood a little apart, their expressions tense and questioning.

  She went to them, holding out her hands. “My friends,” she said softly, clasping each one's hand between both of hers.

  “ ’Tis truly over, chuck?” Tilly asked, dabbing at her own eyes with the edge of her coif.

  “There are some complications, but we’re safe,” she replied. “And you will all stay with me and the girls, unless you wish otherwise.”

  “That's a piece of nonsense,” Greene declared gruffly. “Where you go, my lady, we go.”

  “My thanks,” she responded. “I need you as much now as I’ve ever done.” She smiled at them and turned back to the children as Crowder and Greene left the hall.

  The magister and Tilly remained where they were, hesitant in the shadows of the staircase.

  Pen and Pippa regarded their mother in solemn puzzlement. “You’re happy because everything's all right now,” Pen said firmly. “That's why you were crying.”

  “Yes, sweetheart, that's why.”

  “I’m very happy that matters turned out for the best, madam.” Robin spoke with a stiff gravity that concealed his emotions. He had been standing in the shadow of the settle watching the reunion. He was aware of enormous relief that his father had somehow managed to divert the devious course of justice in Lady Guinevere's favor. He had no doubt but that his father had arranged for Lady Guinevere's acquittal.

  “Why, thank you, Robin.” Guinevere turned to the boy, smiling warmly as she gave him her hand. She had a shrewd idea that Robin had known more about the gravity of her situation than he had let on to Pen. She held his hand for a little longer than necessary, imparting a more than ordinary warmth. Hugh could kiss Pippa with utter naturalness, but Robin, even from his about-to-be stepmother, would definitely squirm at such a display.

  Robin's fingers twitched and she released his hand immediately. Still smiling at him, she brushed a drooping lock of hair off his forehead in a gesture that could only be interpreted as maternal. She waited for Hugh to say something.

  He said nothing.

  Guinevere spoke. “I am to marry,” she said to her daughters. ’Tis the price of freedom. But that she didn’t say. She bent and kissed their astounded faces.

  “Again!” demanded Pippa in ill-concealed dismay. “The last one was so horrid! Why must you marry, Mama? We don’t want another father! Do we, Pen?”

  But Pen was silent, looking at her mother.

  “Stepfathers,” declared Pippa, “are nasty and rough. They shout and throw things. We don’t want one, Mama. We want to go home and be like it was.”

  “Would you accept me as a stepfather, Pippa?” Hugh asked with a quirked eyebrow.

  “You!” exclaimed Pippa. “You, Lord Hugh?”

  “Aye,” he affirmed calmly. “Your mother has agreed to become my wife. And I am not in the habit of shouting and throwing things.”

  Pen's eyes darted to her mother, became fixed on her face with an almost painful intensity as if she had some inkling of the devious channels that snaked beneath this startling decision.

  Guinevere smiled at her and gave her a little nod of reassurance.

  “Maybe not, sir, but you don’t like cats,” Pippa pointed out. “What will we do when Moonshine and Nutmeg have kittens if you’re going to live with us?”

  “I suppose that increase is inevitable,” Hugh said with a mock sigh. “Well, when that happens you’ll do pretty much what you have been doing.” His tone was light and easy. “Keep them out from under my feet and I see no reason why we can’t coexist perfectly happily.”

  Pippa absorbed this. She looked at her sister and saw that Pen, while she appeared still puzzled, was looking much less anxious and unhappy. That was enough for Pippa to decide that perhaps this strange turn of events was not necessarily a bad thing.

  “I expect it will be all right then,” she said judiciously. “Even if you don’t like cats. Will we go back to Mallory Hall?” She plucked at her mother's skirts. “Or will we stay here? Pen and me, we want to go home. Don’t we, Pen?” She turned to her sister for corroboration.

  “That hasn’t been decided,” Guinevere said before Pen could respond to her sister. For the first time Guinevere glanced up at Hugh with a hint of challenge in her eyes. He acknowledged it with a tiny gesture of his head. They would draw battle lines soon enough.

  Robin had said nothing. He was looking at Pen. If she was to be his stepsister, they couldn’t walk hand in hand along the riverbank, or pick flowers together, or …

  He glanced up at his father and saw his sympathetic smile. “Sisters make the best friends, Robin,” Hugh said gently.

  Pen looked momentarily startled, then she blushed, catching his meaning. She hadn’t thought about consequences for herself and Robin in their parents’ marriage. She glanced shyly at Robin, unsure what she felt about this new turn of events, wondering what he would think. He didn’t meet her eye and she looked away again.

  Pippa frowned over this, then her face cleared as she said, “Oh, I see. If Pen and Boy Robin are brother and sister then they can’t like each other the way they do.” She frowned again. “That's not very fair.”

  “We don’t mind,” Robin said gruffly.

  “No,” agreed Pen, slipping her hand into her mother's. “We don’t mind.”

  “Oh.” Pippa was about to ask how one minute you could say you loved someone and the next say you didn’t, but something told her it wouldn’t be wise to ask awkward questions at this juncture.

  “You will enjoy having a brother,” Guinevere said, caressing Pen's cheek. “I always wanted one of my own.”

  Pen looked a little uncertain but managed a game smile.

  “We have cause for celebration,” Hugh stated. “A more than ordinarily good dinner is in order, I believe. Robin, will you go and arrange matters with Master Milton?”

  “Pen and Pippa will go with you,” said Guinevere, putting a hand on each child's shoulder. “I believe that Master Crowder should have some contribution to make to this …” She hesitated, then continued, “To this joint celebration, Lord Hugh?” She raised an eyebrow. “If we are to blend our households we must find some way to share domestic responsibilities.”

  Hugh
frowned. Guinevere, of course, would have her own household as always. Two stewards under one roof could prove problematic. “There's time enough to work out such details,” he said pacifically. “Milton and Crowder seem to have managed well enough so far.”

  “Indeed, but Master Crowder has accepted his position as guest under your roof,” she pointed out. “That's about to change.”

  “As I said, we will discuss such details later. Robin, if you please …”

  Robin gave a jerky bow and turned towards the kitchen regions. Guinevere gave the girls a little push to follow him and they went half hesitantly, half willingly.

  Tilly came forward. “So, ’tis to be another wedding, chuck,” she observed, regarding Lord Hugh with an expression neither favorable nor otherwise.

  Magister Howard stepped forward. “We’ll be drawing up contracts then, madam?”

  Guinevere heard the question in his voice and guessed that her tutor and mentor had a shrewd idea of what had transpired. “Yes,” she stated. “Lord Hugh will have his own lawyer, I’m certain. We will sit down together.”

  She faced Hugh, met his gaze steadily. Saw the flash of warm amusement in the brilliant eyes, understood that he would not answer her challenge with his own. He had no need to do so. He had the upper hand and he knew she knew it.

  “We will sit down together,” she repeated.

  “Aye,” he agreed. “I’ll send for Master Newberry forthwith. Will tomorrow forenoon suit you, madam?”

  “Certainly.” She inclined her head. “The time is yours to set, Lord Hugh. We remain beneath your roof.”

  He laughed as he’d laughed in the Star Chamber and her heart turned over. She loved the sound of his laughter. It wasn’t mocking, not in the least. It was purely appreciative as if she’d made a joke that tickled him. A private joke that would mean nothing to anyone else. She gave a tiny half shrug.

  “If you’ll excuse me now, Lord Hugh, I would go to my chamber. It's been a somewhat trying morning one way and another.”