the Tower?” Pippa asked, knotting a rose silk ribbon with one hand. “What was he doing while I was in prison?”
“Very much the same as the rest of us, watching his step and taking a care for his head,” Robin informed her. “No one was safe then. The queen saw treachery at every turn, and with good reason.”
“So he was in no particular woman's company?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Did he seem worried about me?” She dropped the ribbon and looked up at him, tilting her head back against the pillar.
“As worried as we all were. Your mother, my father, me . . . yes, of course he was worried. He came often to the house at Holborn to talk with my father and Lady Guinevere about what could be done to gain your release.”
“I wonder if he was angry with me for making such a choice so soon after we were married,” Pippa mused, frowning. “He didn't seem to be, but maybe he was. Maybe he decided to take a mistress because of that.”
“I think you're making too much of this, Pippa.” Robin spoke briskly. “Stuart is not a complicated person at all. And he certainly wouldn't be revenged upon you just because you were loyal to Elizabeth. He's too good-natured for that. Too sure of himself, of his popularity, his skills, his courtly talents. Of course he wouldn't do something so petty.”
Pippa was silent for a minute. What Robin said was true, fitted with what she knew of her husband, or, at least, with what she had thought she knew of him. He was not petty.
“I think he must be in love,” she said finally, her voice rather small. “A wild passion that he cannot help but indulge.”
“Oh, now you're talking romantic nonsense,” Robin declared. “And that's not in the least like you, Pippa.”
“Well, there has to be some explanation,” she snapped. “He's changed. Why does he lick Spanish hands like a lapdog?”
“I don't see how a passionate love affair could explain that!” Robin responded as acerbically as Pippa.
“Unless it's all he can think about and he doesn't care what he does.”
Robin held steepled fingers to his mouth. It was true that Stuart was behaving in some puzzling ways. “I don't think it's got anything to do with a mistress,” he said. “But if you like I'll do some digging, see what I can come up with. But I think the simplest thing is just to ask him.”
“Ask him what?” Pippa cried. “You can't ask him why he doesn't seem to want to be with me anymore. I've already asked him myself, and if he won't tell me he's not going to tell you.”
“No, perhaps not. Anyway I wouldn't interfere in such a matter. It's between you and Stuart. But I can ask him what's going on with the Spanish.”
“And you could make a few discreet inquiries about the other matter,” she said.
“Yes, I will do that.” He looked at her anxiously. Pippa had always been so vibrant and mercurial, now she seemed weighed down with the burdens of Atlas. He remembered how gravely her mother and then her elder sister had responded in their own difficulties when the world with its injustices and threats had pressed close upon them. But they had always seemed somehow deeper, more complex characters than Pippa. They had always embraced the serious side of life.
He would have expected Pippa to shrug off her troubles and go her merry way, but apparently her personality and reactions were more akin to her mother's and sister's than anyone would have guessed from the tempestuous child and the lighthearted, flirtatious young woman of the court who had preceded this incarnation.
“Is there anything else that troubles you?” he asked, searching her face. He saw a pulse jump suddenly in her temple, a flash cross the hazel eyes, then she shrugged.
“No, nothing else. It is enough, I believe.”
“Aye,” he agreed, but he knew she was lying. There
was
something else. Her usually open countenance was now shuttered and it seemed that she had withdrawn into herself, leaving him conversing in
“Very much the same as the rest of us, watching his step and taking a care for his head,” Robin informed her. “No one was safe then. The queen saw treachery at every turn, and with good reason.”
“So he was in no particular woman's company?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Did he seem worried about me?” She dropped the ribbon and looked up at him, tilting her head back against the pillar.
“As worried as we all were. Your mother, my father, me . . . yes, of course he was worried. He came often to the house at Holborn to talk with my father and Lady Guinevere about what could be done to gain your release.”
“I wonder if he was angry with me for making such a choice so soon after we were married,” Pippa mused, frowning. “He didn't seem to be, but maybe he was. Maybe he decided to take a mistress because of that.”
“I think you're making too much of this, Pippa.” Robin spoke briskly. “Stuart is not a complicated person at all. And he certainly wouldn't be revenged upon you just because you were loyal to Elizabeth. He's too good-natured for that. Too sure of himself, of his popularity, his skills, his courtly talents. Of course he wouldn't do something so petty.”
Pippa was silent for a minute. What Robin said was true, fitted with what she knew of her husband, or, at least, with what she had thought she knew of him. He was not petty.
“I think he must be in love,” she said finally, her voice rather small. “A wild passion that he cannot help but indulge.”
“Oh, now you're talking romantic nonsense,” Robin declared. “And that's not in the least like you, Pippa.”
“Well, there has to be some explanation,” she snapped. “He's changed. Why does he lick Spanish hands like a lapdog?”
“I don't see how a passionate love affair could explain that!” Robin responded as acerbically as Pippa.
“Unless it's all he can think about and he doesn't care what he does.”
Robin held steepled fingers to his mouth. It was true that Stuart was behaving in some puzzling ways. “I don't think it's got anything to do with a mistress,” he said. “But if you like I'll do some digging, see what I can come up with. But I think the simplest thing is just to ask him.”
“Ask him what?” Pippa cried. “You can't ask him why he doesn't seem to want to be with me anymore. I've already asked him myself, and if he won't tell me he's not going to tell you.”
“No, perhaps not. Anyway I wouldn't interfere in such a matter. It's between you and Stuart. But I can ask him what's going on with the Spanish.”
“And you could make a few discreet inquiries about the other matter,” she said.
“Yes, I will do that.” He looked at her anxiously. Pippa had always been so vibrant and mercurial, now she seemed weighed down with the burdens of Atlas. He remembered how gravely her mother and then her elder sister had responded in their own difficulties when the world with its injustices and threats had pressed close upon them. But they had always seemed somehow deeper, more complex characters than Pippa. They had always embraced the serious side of life.
He would have expected Pippa to shrug off her troubles and go her merry way, but apparently her personality and reactions were more akin to her mother's and sister's than anyone would have guessed from the tempestuous child and the lighthearted, flirtatious young woman of the court who had preceded this incarnation.
“Is there anything else that troubles you?” he asked, searching her face. He saw a pulse jump suddenly in her temple, a flash cross the hazel eyes, then she shrugged.
“No, nothing else. It is enough, I believe.”
“Aye,” he agreed, but he knew she was lying. There
was
something else. Her usually open countenance was now shuttered and it seemed that she had withdrawn into herself, leaving him conversing in
Similar Books
