the main body of the hall. “If she won’t despise an old man's creaking steps.” He smiled a somewhat toothless smileand nodded, his black-hatted head bobbing like a jackdaw, his thin gray beard wagging.
“She will be delighted, Magister,” Guinevere said, knowing that Pen, whatever her true feelings, would show her tutor only a smiling respect and apparent pleasure.
“And young Pippa will be even more so,” murmured Hugh. “To have
That Boy
to herself.”
Guinevere laughed. It was impossible not to respond to his amused tone. “It won’t be for long. The magister's not as spry on his feet as he used to be although his brain is as sharp as ever. Anyway, the cake will soon attract Pippa's attention.”
“Does the mother dance as well as her daughters?” Hugh inquired. “Or does she consider herself still to be in mourning?”
“I did not mourn Stephen Mallory,” she said in a low voice. “And I’ll not pretend otherwise.”
Hugh regarded her closely, an arrested expression in his eye. One of the tall tapers that marched down the center of the table flickered in a sudden draught and her purple eyes seemed to catch the flame and throw it back at him.
Hugh said slowly and deliberately, “In that case, madam, will you dance?” He offered her his hand and there was challenge in his bright blue gaze.
Almost without volition, Guinevere laid her hand in his and rose to her feet in a graceful sweep of amber velvet. The diamonds at her breast and in the high arc of her headdress shimmered in the light of the torches sconced high on the wall. Her long black silk hood reached almost to her heels and as she turned in the stately movements of the dance it swirled against her velvet skirts.
She smiled at him as she had smiled at him in the chapel and Hugh felt again the bewildering sensation of losing his balance. He believed so strongly in her guilt, inhis mission, in his determination to get back from her what was his by right, and yet in this moment beneath that smile all conviction, all determination melted like butter in the sun. Was this truly witchcraft? Was she trying to bewitch him as she had bewitched four husbands? He couldn’t help but respond to her even as he struggled with himself to keep his distance, to keep his clear-sighted detachment.
“Mama's dancing … look, Pen, Mama's dancing,” Pippa squealed from the other end of the set where she was bounding around Robin, who had had to yield his place with Pen to the magister. “She's dancing with your father, Boy Robin.”
“So I see,” Robin said. “I don’t see why it should be a matter for such excitement. I’m going back to the table now. Are you coming or are you going to dance by yourself?”
Pippa looked momentarily crestfallen but she followed him off the floor and back to the table. “I haven’t seen Mama dance for ages,” she confided. “She never danced with Lord Mallory. Not even at Christmas and Twelfth Night.” A little frown drew the faint lines of her brows together. “He was a very nasty man. He shouted and threw things. Everybody hated him. Once I heard Crowder telling Greene that Lord Mallory was a drunken brute.”
Robin, who knew only that his father had come to lay claim to disputed property, was somewhat shocked by this confidence. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop,” he said. “One of these days you’ll hear something you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
“Oh, I don’t do it deliberately,” Pippa reassured earnestly. “It's just that sometimes people don’t know I’m there.”
“How could that be?” Robin wondered, opening his eyes very wide. “Are you telling me that sometimes you actually stop talking?”
“I think you’re being horrid!” Pippa stated. “I’m goingto talk to Greene.” She slid off her stool and ran to where the chief huntsman was cradling a full drinking horn and engaging in an intense conversation with the sergeant-at-arms. Greene regarded the child's precipitate arrival with an
“She will be delighted, Magister,” Guinevere said, knowing that Pen, whatever her true feelings, would show her tutor only a smiling respect and apparent pleasure.
“And young Pippa will be even more so,” murmured Hugh. “To have
That Boy
to herself.”
Guinevere laughed. It was impossible not to respond to his amused tone. “It won’t be for long. The magister's not as spry on his feet as he used to be although his brain is as sharp as ever. Anyway, the cake will soon attract Pippa's attention.”
“Does the mother dance as well as her daughters?” Hugh inquired. “Or does she consider herself still to be in mourning?”
“I did not mourn Stephen Mallory,” she said in a low voice. “And I’ll not pretend otherwise.”
Hugh regarded her closely, an arrested expression in his eye. One of the tall tapers that marched down the center of the table flickered in a sudden draught and her purple eyes seemed to catch the flame and throw it back at him.
Hugh said slowly and deliberately, “In that case, madam, will you dance?” He offered her his hand and there was challenge in his bright blue gaze.
Almost without volition, Guinevere laid her hand in his and rose to her feet in a graceful sweep of amber velvet. The diamonds at her breast and in the high arc of her headdress shimmered in the light of the torches sconced high on the wall. Her long black silk hood reached almost to her heels and as she turned in the stately movements of the dance it swirled against her velvet skirts.
She smiled at him as she had smiled at him in the chapel and Hugh felt again the bewildering sensation of losing his balance. He believed so strongly in her guilt, inhis mission, in his determination to get back from her what was his by right, and yet in this moment beneath that smile all conviction, all determination melted like butter in the sun. Was this truly witchcraft? Was she trying to bewitch him as she had bewitched four husbands? He couldn’t help but respond to her even as he struggled with himself to keep his distance, to keep his clear-sighted detachment.
“Mama's dancing … look, Pen, Mama's dancing,” Pippa squealed from the other end of the set where she was bounding around Robin, who had had to yield his place with Pen to the magister. “She's dancing with your father, Boy Robin.”
“So I see,” Robin said. “I don’t see why it should be a matter for such excitement. I’m going back to the table now. Are you coming or are you going to dance by yourself?”
Pippa looked momentarily crestfallen but she followed him off the floor and back to the table. “I haven’t seen Mama dance for ages,” she confided. “She never danced with Lord Mallory. Not even at Christmas and Twelfth Night.” A little frown drew the faint lines of her brows together. “He was a very nasty man. He shouted and threw things. Everybody hated him. Once I heard Crowder telling Greene that Lord Mallory was a drunken brute.”
Robin, who knew only that his father had come to lay claim to disputed property, was somewhat shocked by this confidence. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop,” he said. “One of these days you’ll hear something you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
“Oh, I don’t do it deliberately,” Pippa reassured earnestly. “It's just that sometimes people don’t know I’m there.”
“How could that be?” Robin wondered, opening his eyes very wide. “Are you telling me that sometimes you actually stop talking?”
“I think you’re being horrid!” Pippa stated. “I’m goingto talk to Greene.” She slid off her stool and ran to where the chief huntsman was cradling a full drinking horn and engaging in an intense conversation with the sergeant-at-arms. Greene regarded the child's precipitate arrival with an
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