“No, I merely point out the inconvenience to benighted travelers,” she said sweetly. “Farewell, Hugh of Beaucaire. Do not be found upon Mallory land two hours hence.”
She turned her horse on the ride. “Come, Pen. Greene, have the boar prepared for the spit. It will serve to furnish Lady Pen’s birthday feast.”
“But I didn’t shoot it myself, Mama,” Pen said with the air of one steadfastly refusing to take credit that was not her due. Her eyes darted to Robin. The lad smiled.
“But you shot at it,” he said. “I saw your arrow fly. The boar went for your pony’s throat. You were very brave.”
“My congratulations on your birthday, Lady Penelope.” Hugh smiled at the child and Guinevere was brought up short. The smile transformed the man, sent all his antagonism scuttling, revealed only a warmth and humor that she would not have believed lay behind the harsh soldierly demeanor. His eyes, brilliant before with challenge and dislike, were now amused and curiously gentle. It was disconcerting.
“I bid you farewell,” she repeated as coldly as before. “Pen, come.” She reached over and took the child’s reins, turning the pony on the path.
Pen looked over her shoulder at the boy on his chestnut gelding. She gave him a tentative smile and he half raised a hand in salute.
Hugh watched Guinevere and her daughter ride off with their escort. The huntsmen followed, the boar slung between two poles.
The miniature had not done her justice, he reflected again. Those great purple eyes were amazing, bewitching. And her hair, as pale and silvery as ashes! What would it be like released from the coif and hood to tumble unrestrained down her back?
“Father?”
Hugh turned at Robin’s hesitant voice. “You found the little maid appealing, Robin?” he teased.
The boy blushed to the roots of his nut-brown hair. “No … no, indeed not, sir. I was wondering if we were leaving Mallory land now?”
Hugh shook his head, a smile in his eyes, a curve to his mouth. This was not a particularly pleasant smile. “Oh, no, my son. We have work to do. Lady Mallory has only just made my acquaintance. I foresee that before many hours are up, she will be heartily wishing she had never heard the name of Hugh of Beaucaire.”
VANITY
A Bantam Book / January 1996
Copyright © 1996 by Jane Feather.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.
eISBN: 978-0-307-43068-7
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Table of Contents
Cover
Other Books By This Author
Title Page
Prologue - Sussex, England: 1762
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright