Kissed by Shadows (10 page)

She would dress and go in search of Robin, see if she could tease his secret out of him. It would certainly distract her from self-pity.

She ate breakfast with an appetite that had eluded her for the last weeks. The taste of the food on her tongue seemed particularly savory, and the mead, now her favorite drink, filled her with a sense of well-being.

Martha had just laced her stomacher and was adjusting the small round ruff at Pippa's neck when there was a knock at the door. Martha went to open it.

A page in the queen's livery stepped into the chamber. He intoned his message into the air. “Her Majesty requests the presence of Lady Nielson at an audience at nine of the clock.”

“Lady Nielson will be honored to attend,” Pippa responded automatically. “I assume you bear the same message to Lord Nielson.”

“No, madam. I have not been so instructed.” The page bowed and withdrew.

That was strange, Pippa thought. And then immediately felt the clutch of the old fear. Was it a sinister summons? She was never singled out for the queen's attention, merely treated as a necessary if unwelcome adjunct of her husband. Had Mary discovered that she was corresponding with Elizabeth? Was she going to confront her in this private audience? Would Stuart have an explanation for the summons?

She selected an emerald breast jewel from the silver casket on the dresser and matched it with emerald and turquoise rings. Her fingers had the tiniest tremor as she slid the rings over her knuckles.

She stood in front of the mirror, trying to control her fear with a scrupulous inventory of her appearance. Her gown of forest green edged with silver lace and opening over a primrose yellow underskirt was perfectly suitable for the morning's audience. As was the black velvet hood with its emerald-studded horseshoe frontlet.

The inventory restored her confidence a little. She reasoned that if Robin was still at large then Mary could not possibly know of the letter he had carried to Woodstock. Pippa knew that Robin had safely delivered the letter, so it had not been intercepted . . . unless one of Bedingfield's men had intercepted it within the palace walls before it reached Elizabeth.

Her heart thumped uncomfortably and she had half a mind to ask Martha to loosen her laces. She touched lavender water to her temples and breathed slowly until her heart had settled into its normal rhythm. There was no point anticipating trouble.

Pippa glanced at the enameled watch that hung from the girdle of fine gold chain at her waist. It was barely eight o'clock. More than enough time to seek out Stuart, to see if he could throw any light on the summons, and then Robin. Maybe he would know something.

A door connected her bedchamber with her husband's. It was a door that was rarely opened these days. Pippa tapped lightly, waited a few minutes, then lifted the latch. She stood on the threshold, reluctant to enter without invitation. The chamber was in shuttered darkness but was empty. The bed was undisturbed.

Stuart kept late nights, but he usually sought his bed by dawn. And he was never an early riser. He had not said he was traveling anywhere, and he would have told her. There were some pieces of information that had to be shared if they were to preserve the public appearance of harmony. So where had he laid his head last night?

She pushed the question from her, stepped back into her own chamber, and closed the door. She glanced quickly at Martha, but the woman seemed busy piling the breakfast dishes onto a tray and didn't look up. Pippa knew, however, that the maid kept close company with Stuart's manservant. Martha was probably well aware of when his lordship failed to sleep in his own bed.

Pippa left the bedchamber and made her way through the maze of corridors to Robin's small chamber. Single men not of Mary's household were not treated with much deference by the queen's chancellor when it came to allotting accommodation, and the corridors grew narrower, the doors more closely spaced, the wall hangings frayed and lusterless as Pippa entered the north wing of the palace.

There were few people about and it was very quiet, dust motes thick in the sun's rays penetrating the gloom from the very few narrow windows. Pippa barely noticed her surroundings, so intent was she on the queen's summons. She passed a door that stood very slightly ajar. Voices whispered from the chamber behind.

She had gone five paces past when recognition penetrated her reverie. She stopped, frowning. What could Stuart be doing in this remote and unfavored part of the palace? She retraced her steps and stood unashamedly eavesdropping at the gap in the door.

Two men whispering. Stuart and one other. At first she couldn't understand what she was hearing, it made no sense. It was love talk, soft endearments, little murmurs, then a sound that chilled her. The unmistakable sound of flesh moving on flesh.

No, it wasn't possible!

She swallowed, hearing the sound loud in the quiet still corridor. She was losing her mind. Hearing things. Some strange fantasy trance induced by pregnancy.

Pippa stepped closer to the door. She touched with her fingertips and it opened a few more inches. She could see the bed, a narrow cot in a meager chamber.

This was no fantasy. She was not hearing things. She was not losing her mind. It was Stuart on the bed. She could not see who was with him but she didn't need to.

Softly she stepped back into the corridor. Leaving the door as it was, Pippa flew back the way she had come, her skirts swinging around her, her jeweled satin slippers making no sound on the oak floor.

Within the chamber Gabriel moved away from Stuart. “Did you hear something?” His voice was fearful.

Stuart shook his head. “No, nothing. A mouse maybe.” He laughed softly. “We're quite safe here, Gabriel. No one occupies this chamber, I made sure of it.”

“But the door . . . 'tis open.” Gabriel pointed, his face ashen.

Stuart rose to his feet. He crossed the narrow space to the door. He peered into the corridor. It was deserted. He closed the door again, but as he turned back to the chamber the latch clicked open again and the door swung ajar about an inch.

“The latch doesn't hold properly,” he said. “That's all. I'll make sure it closes properly next time.”

Gabriel ran a hand over his waxen countenance. “'Tis too dangerous here, Stuart. I prefer the tavern.”

Stuart grimaced with distaste. “I loathe it there, love. 'Tis so sordid.” He came back to the bed, sitting on the edge, reaching down for a leather flagon of wine at his feet. He lifted it to his lips then held it to Gabriel's. “You worry too much.”

It wasn't as if they had anything to hide anymore. There was no safety anywhere.

The bitter reflection turned the wine to gall on his tongue. But Gabriel did not know this truth and must never know it.

Gabriel drank deep, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I must play for the card games this afternoon, in the great salon. Will you be there?”

“Aye. I never pass up the opportunity for a game,” Stuart said with a laugh that was supposed to reassure the musician.

Gabriel tried a smile but it was a weak attempt. “I'll go now.”

Stuart made no attempt to stop him. If Gabriel was jumpy then it was only kindness to let him hurry to where he felt safe.

But there was nowhere safe. Stuart sat on the bed, the flagon of wine held loosely between his hands. He stared down at the floor. A mouse scurried out from beneath the cot. He watched it disappear into a hole in the floorboards.

He had made a decision. He was being blackmailed so why should they still scurry around in holes and corners? Hiding themselves in the squalid chambers of a tavern? It wasn't as if they were hiding anyway. Renard's spies watched their every move. They probably knew he had found this unoccupied chamber. And if they didn't now, they soon would. But there was no reason why anyone else should know of it.

They couldn't be open about their love, but if they practiced reasonable security they could keep this private chamber to themselves. It lacked much in the way of comfort, but it was safe, well away from the social areas of the palace. It gave some dignity to their love. And using it gave Stuart some sense of control. Lessened the dreadful sense of being manipulated like a marionette, of having no say in what happened to him, or how he conducted his life. It was illusion, of course, but he could pretend that it wasn't. For Gabriel's sake.

He glanced up at the door. Gabriel had closed it behind him but again the latch had not held. Well, that was easily mended. He would have a strong lock put upon it. That should reassure Gabriel and keep out a spy's prying eye.

Stuart rose and carefully adjusted his dress. He glanced around the chamber wondering how to make it more inviting. A coverlet for the straw mattress at the very least.

He strolled in studied leisurely manner to his own bedchamber. He glanced towards the connecting door to Pippa's chamber. He had heard her vomiting in the mornings and the revulsion he had felt had had nothing to do with her sickness, but everything to do with what had caused it. Hating himself he had cowered in his bed, burying his head beneath his pillow to drown out the sound.

There were no such sounds from the next-door chamber this morning. With a wash of relief he flung open the shutters, threw off his clothes, and climbed into bed. An hour's sleep would refresh him and he would find Pippa later in the morning. They should present themselves together at the queen's public audience. They could not talk to each other anymore except in broadest generalities, but the public form of their marriage must be preserved, and Pippa had proved herself as adept as he at maintaining the pretence.

Pippa sat in a secluded corner of the pleasaunce. It was still too early to attract visitors and apart from gardeners she had it to herself. A faint mist rose from the fountains as the water rose and fell in rhythmic arcs.

She was numb. So strong was the sensation that she wriggled her toes and fingers and was surprised to find that she could feel them. She couldn't think, she could only sit in this strange cold place isolated from the warm and sensate world.

She had never been so alone.

“Your pardon, madam . . .” A gardener's apologetic voice intruded and she realized with a start that he had spoken before.

“Yes?”

He gestured with his rake. “The gravel, madam. Beneath the bench.” He looked at her curiously. “You quite well, madam? Should I send for someone?”

“No . . . no, thank you.” She rose, sweeping her skirts aside. She glanced at her watch. It was almost nine. If she didn't hurry she would commit the unthinkable and be late for an audience with the queen.

Her head felt stuffed with fog and somehow it seemed quite unimportant that she might be late. She could summon no interest in the point of this audience. What could happen? An accusation of treason. Imprisonment in the Tower? It didn't matter.

She walked quickly back through the gardens, along the terrace, into the palace. People spoke to her, smiled, waved a greeting. She saw none of them. At the doors to the presence chamber she stopped.

“Madam.” The herald bowed, knocked with his stave. The doors were opened and she was ushered into the great room. It was deserted. Even this failed to make an impact. The herald walked ahead of her to the door that led into the queen's private audience chamber.

He flung open the doors. “Lady Nielson, Your Majesty.”

Pippa walked into the chamber. Mary was alone with her ladies, sitting at her desk on which were scattered various papers of state. She subjected Pippa to a close scrutiny.

“Good morning, Lady Nielson.”

“Madam.” Pippa swept a low curtsy, falling to one knee. It had been a long time since their relationship had been warm enough for Mary to use her first name.

Mary gestured that she should rise, and indicated a cushion. “Pray be seated. Pregnant women must have a care for themselves.” A thin smile flickered. “Your husband spilled your secret.”

“'Tis no secret, madam.” Pippa sank down onto the cushion, her skirts spreading around her. Her body performed the correct maneuvers, her tongue said all the right things, but her mind seemed to play no part in any of it. She offered Mary a smile of her own that contained a slight question.

Mary nodded. “You have heard the whispers.”

“Indeed, madam. Pray accept my felicitations.”

Mary nodded. “So, it seems we shall carry our children together. Suffer the pains of childbirth . . .” Again the smile flickered.

Pippa was aware on some periphery of recognition that the smile was unpleasant and that something lay behind it. But she still moved in the cool, foggy space that enclosed her, and her polite answering smile was blank.

“You are well?” Mary leaned forward, her hands clasped on the desk.

“Except for nausea, madam,” Pippa responded. “But I am told that will pass after the twelfth week.”

Mary sat back. “Yes, so I understand. I am fortunate. I have not experienced it.”

Pippa inclined her head in acknowledgment but made no comment.

“Ah, we must have a care for the Lady Pippa, my dear madam.”

Pippa blinked at the new voice that seemed to have come from nowhere. Philip had appeared suddenly at his wife's side and the curtain behind her desk swayed slightly.

“Yes,” Mary agreed, her voice flat. “She must stay close at court. My own physicians shall attend her.”

“There is no need, madam. I have my own and—”

“No, no,” Philip interrupted. “We shall not hear of it. You shall have the same care as the queen of England, madam. We insist upon it. Do we not?” He turned for corroboration to Mary, who merely smiled her assent.

“My husband, sir, will be most grateful,” Pippa said, surprised to hear that her voice sounded both cold and ironic.

There was a short silence, an element of chill in the air. Then Mary said, “We will send our physicians to you this afternoon, Lady Nielson. You will find them skilled.”

It was a dismissal. Pippa rose with the ease of experience from the low cushion. She curtsied to both king and queen and backed out of the privy chamber.