The Widow's Kiss Read Free Page B

palaces.
    “This is my son, Robin.” Hugh gestured and a boy rode out of the group of men behind him and came up beside his father. He had his father's blue eyes.
    “I claim the lands between Great Longstone and Wardlow for my son,” stated Hugh of Beaucaire.
    “And I deny your claim,” Guinevere replied. “My legal right to the land is indisputable.”
    “Forgive me, but I do dispute it,” he said gently.
    “You are trespassing, Hugh of Beaucaire. You have done my daughter a service and I would hate to drive you off with the dogs, but I will do so if you don’t remove yourself from my lands.” She beckoned the huntsmen to bring up the eager, straining hounds.
    “So you throw down the glove,” he said in a musing tone.
    “I have no need to do so. You are trespassing. That is all there is to it.”
    Pen shifted in her saddle. She met the gaze of the boy, Robin. He was looking at least as uncomfortable as she was at this angry exchange between their parents.
    “Greene, let loose the dogs,” Guinevere said coldly.
    Hugh raised an arresting hand. “We will discuss this at some other time, when we are a little more private.” He gathered his reins to turn his horse.
    “There is nothing to discuss.” She gathered up her own reins. “I cannot help but wonder at the sense of a man who would ride this great distance on an idle errand.”
    She gestured back along the path with her whip. “If you ride due west you will leave Mallory land in under an hour. Until some months past, you would have found hospitality at the monastery of Arbor, but it was dissolved in February. The monks seek shelter themselves now.” Her voice dripped contempt.
    “You would question His Highness's wisdom indissolving the monasteries, madam? I would question
your
sense, in such a case. Robert Aske is dangerous company to keep.”
    “I merely point out the inconvenience to benighted travelers,” she said sweetly. “Farewell, Hugh of Beaucaire. Do not be found upon Mallory land two hours hence.”
    She turned her horse on the ride. “Come, Pen. Greene, have the boar prepared for the spit. It will serve to furnish Lady Pen's birthday feast.”
    “But I didn’t shoot it myself, Mama,” Pen said with the air of one steadfastly refusing to take credit that was not her due. Her eyes darted to Robin. The lad smiled.
    “But you shot at it,” he said. “I saw your arrow fly. The boar went for your pony's throat. You were very brave.”
    “My congratulations on your birthday, Lady Penelope.” Hugh smiled at the child and Guinevere was brought up short. The smile transformed the man, sent all his antagonism scuttling, revealed only a warmth and humor that she would not have believed lay behind the harsh soldierly demeanor. His eyes, brilliant before with challenge and dislike, were now amused and curiously gentle. It was disconcerting.
    “I bid you farewell,” she repeated as coldly as before. “Pen, come.” She reached over and took the child's reins, turning the pony on the path.
    Pen looked over her shoulder at the boy on his chestnut gelding. She gave him a tentative smile and he half raised a hand in salute.
    Hugh watched Guinevere and her daughter ride off with their escort. The huntsmen followed, the boar slung between two poles.
    The miniature had not done her justice, he reflected again. Those great purple eyes were amazing, bewitching.
    And her hair, as silvery pale as ashes! What would it be like released from the coif and hood to tumble unrestrained down her back?
    “Father?”
    Hugh turned at Robin's hesitant voice. “You found the little maid appealing, Robin?” he teased.
    The boy blushed to the roots of his nut-brown hair. “No … no, indeed not, sir. I was wondering if we were leaving Mallory land now?”
    Hugh shook his head, a smile in his eyes, a curve to his mouth. This was not a particularly pleasant smile. “Oh no, my son. We have work to do. Lady Mallory has only just made my acquaintance. I foresee