The Widow's Kiss

by Jane Feather

  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.”

  Guinevere shook her head. “I took no offense. They’re entitled to their celebration. The only sufferer will be Robin in the morning, poor lad.”

  Hugh frowned. “I can’t think what possessed him to be so foolish.”

  “Can’t you?”

  “Well, perhaps I can,” he said ruefully. “But I should imagine tonight's little display will cure Pen of any lingering affection.”

  “Pen's far too levelheaded to hold it against him,” Guinevere said. “But I have a feeling that they’re already falling into an easy way with each other that has more of friendship than anything else to it. Living in such close quarters breeds familiarity, and love flourishes on the unknown, on a sense of mystery about its object. Don’t you think?” She regarded him with a glimmer of mischief in her eye.

  “I have little time for mysteries,” Hugh returned. “I like things to be straightforward. I like to understand things. That may sound prosaic … boring even. But it's how I am.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said, teasing him. “I am wed to a plain man who has no time for frills and fancies. A plain-spoken man who likes only the unvarnished truth.”

  “And is there something wrong in that?” He would not respond to her teasing manner. His expression was grave, his gaze intense as it rested on her countenance.

  “No,” Guinevere said. “Nothing at all. But women, you should know, tend to be a little more devious than men. They approach things in a rather more roundabout fashion.”

  Hugh wondered what she was trying to tell him. This was no idle conversation, he was sure of it. So what point was she making?

  “You sound as if you’re warning me of something,” he said.

  “I merely point out that when men think they’ve arranged matters to their satisfaction, women have a way of upsetting such arrangements,” she responded lightly. “And men, in general, are completely taken by surprise. Complacency, my lord, is dangerous when it comes to women.”

  “There's no fear that anything you do will take me by surprise, Guinevere,” he said quietly. “Complacency is not a fault of mine, I promise you.”

  For a moment their eyes held, then Guinevere's soft laugh broke the tension. “We’re well matched, my lord. I foresee some interesting times ahead.”

  Hugh's eyes narrowed. “Well matched, indeed, my lady. Both between the sheets
and out of them.”

  “On which subject,” Guinevere said, “I wish you to understand that there’ll be no bride-bedding at this feast.”

  “It's a little late for that,” Hugh responded with a quick grin. “This bride has already been bedded. Well and truly, I would have said.”

  “Well and truly,” Guinevere agreed, rising from her chair. “I’m going to slip away now while they’re all too deep in drink to notice and decide to play more games.”

  “I’ll come as soon as my guests have left.” He reached for her hand. “Be ready for me.”

  “As you command, my lord.” She gave him an ironic smile and glided from the hall.

  Hugh smiled to himself and wondered how long he could wait before joining her. There was delicious torment in the delay.

  “My lord …” Jack Stedman appeared at his shoulder.

  “Sit you down, Jack. Help yourself to meat and drink.” Hugh gestured to Guinevere's vacant chair and the still-laden table. The cloth was no longer pristine, the wax candles burning down, but there was still food aplenty on the great serving platters.

  “My thanks, sir.” Jack took the seat and pulled a platter of roast venison towards him. He ate ravenously, spearing the meat with his dagger, sopping up juices with a hunk of barley bread. He drank deeply from the ale jug and cut a hefty chunk of game pie.

  Hugh waited patiently until the man's first hunger had been appeased. He sipped his own wine, leaning back in his chair, eyes half closed. But anyone who thought he was relaxed would have been mistaken.

  “Well?” he prompted finally when Jack began to show signs of satiation.

  “ ’Tis passin’ strange, sir.” Jack wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “The man was still there, lyin’ in the dirt, bleedin’. No one ’ad come near ’im. Ye’d think some folks would’ve taken a look-see. Robbed ’im of summat.”

  Hugh nodded. “Was he still alive?”

  “Jest about. Folks were jest standin’ around watchin’ ’im bleed to death.” Jack shook his head. “Never seen the like. They wouldn’t go near ’im. ’Twas almost as if ’e ’ad the plague.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “He was in deadly fear, m’lord. An’ not just of dyin’. Clammed up, wouldn’t talk even when I offered to take ’im to a leech. Kept mutterin’ about ’is orders.”