The Widow's Kiss Read Online Free PDF

attend chapel for vespers at five.”
    Hugh bowed again and putting a hand on his son's shoulder, eased him towards the house in the wake of the steward.
    “Who are they, Mama?” Pen asked, putting her hand in her mother's with a sudden little flutter of anxiety.
    “They come from the king. Lord Hugh has some estate business to transact with me.” Guinevere smiled reassuringly at her daughter. “It would please me if you would entertain Master Robin, Pen. Since I must entertain his father.”
    “I will try to keep Pippa from plaguing him,” Pen declared.
    “Then I wish you luck, love. You should change your gown too. You wish to look your best for the feast.”
    Guinevere stood in the court, watching her daughter run into the house. The Beaucaire men were withdrawing from the courtyard. Safely away from a surprise attack in the night. Damn the man's mockery! He seemed to be able to read her thoughts as clearly as if they were written down for him.
    But what was she to do?
    It was her life at stake. If he found her guilty of murder, she would lose her head. Or even worse, she would die at the stake. Murder of a husband was a petty treason and burning was the punishment for such a crime. Her children would be made wards of the court to be disposed of at the will of the king. Her estates would be confiscated, the revenues poured into the royal exchequer, after those like Hugh of Beaucaire had taken their share.
    And there was nothing she could do to stop the process, if they were determined. Her guilt or innocence was irrelevant. They would take what they wanted from her as they had done from so many others.
    For a moment she felt utter despair at the futility of pitting her puny wits against the might of the state. But the weakness vanished under a cold wash of anger. She couldnot give in without a fight. It was not only her own future at stake, but her daughters’. For their sakes, she could not assume the inevitable and yield without a defense.
    Guinevere turned and walked slowly into the house and up to her own apartments. Her jaw was set, her eyes bright with purpose. She would fight them with whatever weapons were at her disposal. They would have to make some gesture towards the law, towards finding proof of her supposed crimes. They would have to try her on whatever charges they brought. They would manufacture evidence, scare up witnesses, but she knew the law. Better than most lawyers. She could defend herself even to the lords in the Star Chamber. There was no factual evidence linking her to her husbands’ deaths. How could there be? Her ankle twitched of its own volition. Her foot had had a life of its own on the night of Stephen Mallory's death, but that was something only she knew.
    She could not fight them with physical means, but she could use her head, her learning.
    She stood frowning in the middle of her bedchamber, listening to the rooks cawing in the poplar trees alongside the river. She thought of Lord Hugh. Of what she had detected beneath the harsh exterior. She might loathe and despise a man who would trump up charges against a person for his own greedy ends, but that needn’t prevent her using the other weapons at a woman's disposal.
    Thoughtfully she opened the linen press and drew out an Italian gown of a rich amber velvet embroidered with black knots of a most intricate design. The square neck was studded with jet and the gown opened over an underskirt of gold-embroidered black silk. She examined it with pursed lips. Then nodded slowly. It would serve her purpose very nicely.
    “Lord, chuck, such a to-do.” Tilly bustled in. “Oh, is that the gown you’ll be wearing, eh? Well, it's a rightgrand one. So who are these visitors then, that you’d wear such a gown to honor them?”
    “They’re from the king,” Guinevere said, laying the gown on the bed.
    “From the king!” Tilly exclaimed. “What's the king got to do with us then?”
    “You may well ask,” Guinevere said grimly.