Kissed by Shadows Read Online Free PDF Page B

armor the next time you run aground.”
    Luisa raised an eyebrow, just the most delicate twitch of a most delicate arch, and handed him the pole as he jumped aboard. She sat on the thwart, observing after a while as they reached midstream, “I see I am in the hands of a master.”
    Flirtatious little minx!
    She was worse than Pippa had ever been, Robin reflected, grimly driving the pole into the shallow river bottom close to the bank.
    “Tell me which water steps,” he instructed after fifteen minutes of silence, during which the punt moved steadily.
    “Over there is where I found the punt.” Luisa pointed to a narrow wooden pier jutting out from the bank. “I don't know who the punt belongs to, but I should return it there, and then I can walk to the house along the bank.”
    “Very well.” Robin steered the punt to the pier. He jumped out with the painter and tied it securely. “Come.” He held out his hand and helped her up beside him.
    “My thanks.” She looked at him without a smidgeon of her earlier flirtatious mischief. “I don't know whom I'm thanking.”
    “Robin of Beaucaire, at your service, Dona Luisa.” He executed a formal bow and with the utmost solemnity she curtsied, her bedraggled skirts falling around her in perfect folds.
    He offered her his arm and they walked along the bank until they reached the lower sweep of lawn leading up to one of the new stone mansions on the Strand.
    “Whose house is this?”
    “My guardian's. Don Ashton's,” she replied. “I believe he bought it through a steward before we landed at Southampton.”
    “I see.”
    Lionel Ashton grew ever more intriguing. A man who owned one of the palatial mansions on the Strand, and yet did not live in England.
    “My thanks again, Robin of Beaucaire,” Luisa said now with an almost shy smile. “I don't suppose I will see you again.” Suddenly she stood on tiptoe and quickly kissed his cheek. Then she hurried away, gathering her skirts high as she ran up the slope towards the house.
    Robin shook his head. They would certainly meet again. He glanced down ruefully at his ruined boots and hose. He'd been particularly fond of the cranberry hose, but then he recalled that Pippa had told him that when he wore them he looked as if he'd been treading grapes.
    Perhaps she was right. Pippa had style, not that he'd ever taken any notice of her opinions before. But maybe the cranberry hose weren't that great a loss.
    He walked back along the riverbank to Whitehall. It was a long walk and mud squelched in his boots, but he whistled softly to himself.

Three

    The tournament ground baked beneath the late-afternoon sun. The contestants sweated atop their gaily caparisoned horses; the spectators languidly fanned themselves on the padded benches beneath striped awnings. The queen wearily closed her eyes, retreating farther into the shadow cast by the canopy of state over her chair.
    The imperative summons of a herald's trumpet signaled the start of the fourth joust of this interminable afternoon and the queen leaned forward again, an expression of alert interest now on her face as she watched her husband enter the ground, his milk-white destrier caracoling in obedience to its rider's commands. It was an impressive display of horsemanship and Mary's smile became fond and proud as she glanced around at her companions to make sure they too appreciated her husband's expertise.
    Another tucket from the herald and Lord Nielson entered the lists from the opposite end. It was a much less spectacular entrance although Stuart was every bit as accomplished a horseman as Philip of Spain. But Pippa, watching from one of the lower benches, guessed that her husband was governed by discretion.
    She glanced up at Robin, who stood beside her. He had no part to play in the present tournament and having changed his river-muddied garments was content to be a mere spectator. His mind until Stuart's appearance had been most pleasantly occupied elsewhere.
    “It