Kissed by Shadows

by Jane Feather

  “Then I'll find you there.” Robin handed him the agreed sum, then jumped into the boat and the man threw the painter in after him.

  Robin settled into the rhythm of the oars, pulling strongly. He should have been fatigued after a day's hard riding but he found anticipation lent strength to his arms. It was a beautiful night, with a slight breeze to lift the lingering oppression of the day's heat.

  The yellow moon was high in the sky when he reached what he thought were the water steps of Lionel Ashton's mansion. Robin sat in the skiff in midstream and gazed up through the moonlight towards the house. He had seen it only once, and that in broad daylight, but he could remember no distinguishing features. It was just another of the imposing stone piles built by the newly rich along the river. In the moonlight it looked large and unremarkable. The quay appeared like any other.

  He noticed a small barge tied to the quay and remembered that Luisa had said her guardian kept no craft. There were no boatmen around that he could see, so it was unlikely that it belonged to a visitor.

  He began to wonder if he was in the right place, everything looked so very different from the water. However, he wasn't going to find out hanging around ten yards from shore, so with a half shrug Robin pulled the boat close to the quay.

  A sudden blaze of light dazzled him for a moment. He put up a hand to shield his eyes.

  “Oh, you've come,” a soft voice cried jubilantly. “I have been waiting for days and days. I thought you had decided you didn't like me after all.”

  “For God's sake, Luisa, lower that lamp!” he demanded in a fierce whisper. “I'm blind as a bat.”

  “Oh, I do beg your pardon.” The light disappeared altogether. “It was just that I needed to be certain it was you.”

  “And are you now certain?” He blinked once or twice to get rid of the after-dazzle.

  “Oh, yes. But I really had given up expecting you. Why did you not come before?”

  Robin shipped his oars and looked up at her where she stood on the quay. She had extinguished the lamp and was visible now only in the moonlight. Her black hair hung loose to shoulders that were covered by a film of silvery gossamer. Her gown was of some very pale material that seemed to shimmer. Whether that was an effect of the light Robin didn't know. He did know that it made her look insubstantial, a mere figment of the moonlight.

  Her voice, however, was robust as she stepped closer to the edge of the quay and leaned out. “Throw me the rope and I'll tie it to this ring here. I think that's what it's for.”

  “It is,” Robin agreed. “But let me get a little closer. If you lean out any farther you'll fall headlong into the river.”

  “I have excellent balance,” Luisa informed him cheerfully. She straightened, however, and waited for him to pull the few strokes necessary to bring him alongside the quay.

  He could very easily have tied up himself but Luisa was standing expectantly holding out her hand and it seemed a shame to disappoint her. He handed her up the painter and watched as she looped it through the ring and tied it securely.

  “There,” she said. “I don't think it will come undone.”

  “No,” he agreed, stepping out onto the steps. He climbed up to her.

  She stepped away from the quay and Robin followed until they were on the sweep of grass that led up to the house. There were a few lamps burning in the upstairs windows of the house, but the garden itself was well shadowed by tall trees.

  Luisa glanced over her shoulder towards the house. “Good, Bernardina has extinguished her lamp. She'll sleep like the dead until morning.”

  “And what of your guardian?”

  Luisa shrugged. “He is not in at present, but he would not look to see if I was in my chamber. It would not occur to him. I doubt he thinks of me more than once a week.”

  Robin wondered if he could detect a slight note of resentment in her voice. “That is all to the good, surely,” he observed. “If you're making midnight assignations.”

  Her laugh was a little uncertain. “That's what I'm doing, I suppose.”

  “I can think of no more accurate way of describing it.”

  “Why did you not come before?”

  “I had to leave London for a few days . . . some business.”

  “Oh, I see.” She began to play with the fringe of the gossamer shawl she wore around her shoulders. “'Tis very brazen, is it not?”

  “Absolutely,” he agreed with a grin. “But why should that concern you now?”

  “Does it concern you?” Her dark eyes carried a look of uncertainty as she gazed up at him.

  “Not in the least,” Robin said. “I am accustomed to unconventional women.”

  “Oh.” She smiled, showing the whitest teeth. “I would not wish to give you a disgust of me.”

  That made him laugh. “Were that likely, I would not be here now.”

  “No, I imagine you would not,” Luisa said, sounding much more at ease. Deliberately she drew backwards into the deeper shadow of a shrubbery, obliging Robin to follow her.

  She stood in the secluded center of the shrubbery and for the first time wondered what she was doing, alone here in the middle of the night with a strange Englishman. If she were ever discovered they would shut her up in a convent run by one of the strictest orders.

  “Is something amiss?” Robin inquired, absently realizing that two buttons of his doublet were undone. He must have forgotten to button up after he'd pocketed the package of letters. Its weight was still reassuringly heavy and warm against his chest.

  Luisa's eyes had followed his and before he could rectify the sartorial negligence she stepped forward and with seemingly businesslike efficiency did up the buttons herself. It brought her very close to him and in his surprise Robin was caught off guard. He felt his body stir at the warm softness of Luisa's.

  He stepped backwards hastily, holding her at arm's length. Had that been deliberate, or was it simply the ingenuous gesture of an innocent?

  But when he looked at her eyes, he dismissed the latter explanation. Dona Luisa de los Velez of the house of Mendoza might well be an innocent in practice but she was definitely not in intention.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I wished only to help.”

  “Quite,” Robin returned with a dry smile. “My thanks. And what is it that you wish in return, Dona Luisa?”

  She looked at him suspiciously. “Why should you imagine that I want anything, Lord Robin?”

  He smiled. “Don't prevaricate. I'm willing to indulge you within reason.”

  It seemed to him that this young Mendoza was unstoppable and he had somehow landed the task of satisfying her quest for excitement and experience while keeping her safe for whatever her Spanish destiny held for her. There were too many predators in the streets of London for an ingenue to try her wings under anything but the strictest protection.

  It was a task best undertaken by Lionel Ashton, of course, but that gentleman seemed to have little interest in his ward. Robin found the prospect of doing Ashton's work for him curiously appealing.

  He would play the guardian and the teacher. A safe enough role, surely. “So,” he said, still smiling. “What do you want of me, Dona Luisa?”

  She hesitated, then said with an eloquent shrug, “Nothing out of the ordinary, sir.”

  He gave a short crack of laughter. “Don't expect me to believe that. In my experience out-of-the-ordinary women tend to want similar favors. Come, tell me.” He beckoned her to a stone bench set into a neatly carved arbor in a privet hedge. “Let us sit down and discuss this.”

  Luisa sat beside him. It was a small bench and their thighs touched. Luisa's nose wrinkled. “You smell very rank, Lord Robin,” she stated with distressing frankness. “In my country it is not customary for a man to visit a lady with the sweat of the day upon him.”

  Robin turned to stare at her, for an instant completely dumbstruck. He stood up and put several feet between them before he found his voice.

  “I would have you kno
w, madam, that I have ridden fifty miles today, and then rowed from the Tower. All to see you. If you are so nice in your notions that you cannot accept the help of a man with the sweat of honest toil upon him, then I will take my leave.”

  Luisa jumped up. “Oh, no . . . no, please do not go. Please don't take offense. I have the most . . . most dreadful habit of speaking my mind. I do not mind that you smell . . . indeed I don't.”

  Robin wasn't at all sure that this declaration improved matters. And now that it had been pointed out, he could smell his own rankness on the somnolent air. He never gave a second thought to his appearance, he was always untidy, a matter for gentle teasing among his family. But now he began to wonder if he was less than scrupulous about matters of personal hygiene. When had he last changed his shirt and linen?

  His father had chided him often for neglecting to do so when they had traveled together during Robin's youth.

  “I have had a hard day's travel and came to you as soon as possible,” he said stiffly. “You must forgive me for offending.” He left the shrubbery with an anger that was rooted as much in discomfort as in annoyance.

  Luisa flew after him. She seized his arm. “Oh, please . . . 'twas so thoughtless of me. Forgive me. I never ride far, so how can I know what it's like? And I do not mean to sound ungrateful that you came to me with all speed. Please, forgive me.”

  She gazed up at him with bright eyes full of conviction. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. She stroked and patted his hand as if it were a lost kitten.

  Robin felt his discomfort and annoyance slip from him. So he reeked of sweat and horseflesh. So he had offended the tender nose of this sheltered child. But this excitement-inclined young woman had more on her mind than a less than fragrant tutor in London's entertainments.

  “What do you want of me, Luisa?” he asked again.

  She regarded him anxiously as if to be sure everything had returned to an even keel, then said, “Well, now that I have a boat and a horse I can leave the house more freely. I was thinking that if you would bring me man's clothes next time, we could go quite safely into the city at night, when Bernardina is asleep.”

  “Man's clothes?” Robin scrutinized her, then gave her her own again. “My dear girl, you don't have the figure to get away with it.”

  She gazed down at herself. “Whyever not?”

  “You have too many roundnesses,” he said bluntly, hands passing through the air to indicate breasts and bottom.

  Luisa was undeterred by what she considered a compliment. “Then I will wear a long cloak. It will cover all roundnesses.”

  Robin considered. His little attempt at minor insult had fallen short because Luisa's particular plumpness was a fashionable advantage among the Spaniards. Trading barbs of a personal nature with a mere miss was beyond the dignity of a man who had a considerable reputation in his chosen and very dangerous profession.

  “I'll decide for myself what you should wear,” he said firmly. “I will bring you what I consider suitable. Stand still and let me take a look at you to assess the fit.”

  “I cannot see the point if I'm to be shrouded in a cloak,” Luisa observed, although she stood still for him, and then turned as he twirled an imperative finger. “I can't imagine how you can guess at what's beneath this farthingale,” she said.

  Robin heard the mischief in her voice. Dona Luisa was not to be easily managed. But then neither was he.

  “I will return in two nights, he said without responding to her mischief. “At eleven, if that's the safest time for you.”

  “Bernardina retires at ten. She keeps such early hours in England, but I expect 'tis because she's bored,” Luisa said. She sighed. “Poor Bernardina. She has no friends here . . . no one to pass the evenings with in gossip as she used to.”

  “Perhaps I should bring a disguise for her and she can join us on this little expedition,” Robin suggested, jumping into the skiff. He was rewarded with a peal of laughter. Such a wondrously joyous sound he couldn't prevent his own delighted smile.

  He untied the painter and took up the oars again. Luisa stood on the quay waving him away in the moonlight until she had disappeared into the midnight darkness.

  He found the skiff's owner in the Black Dog waxing maudlin over what was clearly one of a long line of tankards of strong ale. The man blinked up at him, not recognizing him.

  “Your skiff's at the steps,” Robin said. “You'd best keep an eye on it, lest someone decide to borrow it.”

  The man grunted and his head sank into his tankard. Robin shrugged. His obligation was done. He left the tavern and went for his horse.

  It was close to three o'clock when he arrived at Whitehall Palace. It was not too late for the hardened carousers of the court. They would be at cards or dice, listening to music, drinking deep. Philip of Spain, now released from the necessity of serving his wife's bed, would probably be among them.

  Robin's grimace of distaste was involuntary. His dislike of the queen's husband was so powerful that only training enabled him to maintain the superficial courtesies. Philip was a debaucher, but even his sternest critics had to admit that he worked on affairs of state with the same dedication he showed to pleasure. He would sleep two hours and be at his desk at dawn, after attending early mass.

  Robin had lodgings in the palace, a small chamber in a wing occupied for the most part by the lowlier members of the court. He rarely used the room, preferring the more spacious accommodations of his father's house in Holborn, but he was too tired tonight to ride any farther.

  His route took him along the corridor that led past the apartments of Lord and Lady Nielson. A large suite of rooms for a favored courtier, a man who had been intimately involved in the negotiations for the queen's marriage.

  A light shone beneath the door to Pippa's bedchamber. Robin paused. He had no desire to interrupt some marital intimacy but after what Pippa had confided it was probably unlikely that Stuart was visiting his wife at this hour of the night. It was more likely that Pippa was wakeful and unhappy.

  He tapped on the door.

  “Who is it?” Pippa's voice did not sound sleepy.

  “Robin.”

  “Just a minute.” Pippa slid out of bed and padded barefoot to open the door. She pushed her loosened hair away from her face and looked at him in surprise and concern. “'Tis so late, Robin. Is something the matter?”

  “No. I've just returned from Woodstock. I was going to bed and saw your light. You should be asleep.”

  Pippa stepped back, pulling the door wide in invitation. “I find it hard to sleep these nights.” She climbed back into bed, propping the pillows behind her. “Tell me of your visit. Did you see Elizabeth?”

  Robin helped himself to wine from the flagon on the sideboard before perching on the end of the bed. “No, but your letter was delivered. I expect an answer on my next visit. But Jem had some news for me.” He sipped his wine and raised an eyebrow.

  Pippa nodded. “The queen is with child.”

  “'Tis not yet public knowledge?”

  “No. At the end of the week, I understand, amid great fanfare.”

  Robin took another sip of his wine, regarding his stepsister over the lip of the goblet. She had something else to say, he was sure of it. “And . . . ?”

  Pippa leaned back against the pillows. “And it seems that I too am with child. The queen and I will bear our pregnancies together.”

  “My felicitations.” Robin leaned over to kiss her cheek. “It pleases you, doesn't it, Pippa?”

  “Yes,” she answered slowly. “Yes, in one way it does. But to carry the child of a man who finds no pleasure in his wife is hard, Robin.”

  “Stuart must be pleased!” Robin protested.

  “Oh, yes, he's delighted. His wife is with child, he will have an heir. He receives everyone's congratulations with all the complacency of a man who deserves them.”

  Robin winced at the bitterness of her voice. “Pippa, dearest Pippa, be happy. The child is yours
as much as Stuart's. You will have joy in your child.”

  Pippa was silent for a minute, then she said, “Yes, of course you're right. I will concentrate on the child and think nothing of my husband's infidelities. How many other women have done the same?”

  She was thinking of her mother now. Her mother had married twice after the husband of her daughters had been killed. Bad marriages both of them. But Guinevere had concentrated all her love and spirit on her daughters. Pippa could do the same.

  But her mother's world had turned when Hugh of Beaucaire had ridden into her life.

  “Pippa, I hate to see you so melancholy,” Robin said as her expression remained as bleak as ever. It was so unlike Pippa to be sad and depressed, she was always so vibrant, always the one to bring anyone out of the doldrums.

  She shook her head. “'Tis probably the pregnancy. It makes me feel very strange; when I'm not wanting to puke, I either want to cry like a baby or laugh like a maniac.”

  “Ah.” Robin nodded, relieved at such a simple explanation, and willing to accept it even though he knew it was far from the whole story.

  He changed the subject, asking with a frown, “Do I reek, Pippa?”

  She looked at him in surprise. Sniffed, then said, “No more than usual, why?”

  “No more than usual?” Robin looked pained. “I thought it was just because I've been traveling all day.”

  Pippa laughed, the first sound of pure amusement he had heard from her in several weeks. “Oh, Robin, you're always untidy and a bit sweaty. It's the way you are. No one minds.”

  “Perhaps you're just used to it?” he suggested glumly.

  Pippa considered this. “Perhaps,” she agreed. “But why bring it up now?” Her eyes gleamed suddenly and she sat up straighter in the bed. “Robin, you have a secret.”

  Robin felt himself blushing. “I do not,” he denied.

  “Oh, yes, you do,” she crowed delightedly. “And I'll wager it's a lover.”

  Robin got off the bed. “You should be asleep,” he said. “I'll see you in the morning.” He blew her a kiss and left her still laughing against the pillows.