The Gilded Crown (27 page)

Early the following morning Cécile embarked upon her last emergency rations errand. Her choices would be even more limited since the food would end up submerged during their escape but her subsequent haul of three eggs from a neglected hutch delighted her. She could boil them. No doubt the poor mother hen had met with a similar fate. Cécile had wandered closer to the river, keen to catch a glimpse of the watery path to freedom, and thus she'd discovered abandoned cottages she had not previously explored. Not wishing to be out long, she hurried back up the hill and across the still deserted village square when a small group of figures detached itself from the shadows and came towards her. At the head of it Cécile recognised Adèle, whom she had not seen since Armand's operation. With a sinking feeling, she realised as they drew closer, one of Adèle's companions was Father Jacques.

‘There she is! I told you, gathering her supplies by the light of dawn.' Adèle pointed her finger accusingly. ‘She brought her cousin back from death with her incantations. I watched her as she chanted over a lighted candle in the middle of the night. She said she would make a deal to save her cousin. She has cast her evil upon us all! Heretic!
Heretic
!'

‘Adèle!' gasped Cécile. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Take her,' ordered the priest and the two accompanying guards grabbed Cécile's arms. Her basket fell; the eggs smashed into a puddle of yolk and the small cabbage rolled along the cobblestones like a severed head. ‘But I have done nothing!'

Father Jacques planted himself squarely in front of Cécile. ‘Are you not the same woman who was recently a guest at Castle Gisors?'

‘Yes, but …'

‘The same woman,' his voice rose ominously, ‘who bewitched the Duc? Do not deny this! He came to me the very next morning. He swore you seduced him and then, when he would not comply with your demands, you set your familiar upon him. I saw the scratches, Madame. Deep cuts slashed into his skin that could not have come from anything of this earth. It was clearly the work of the Devil!'

Panic gripped Cécile and her heart pounded. She struggled against the guards but they held her fast. ‘No! That is not true. Adèle! Help me!' She turned to the grinning girl. Beside her was a young man, wearing a breastplate and carrying a sword. His face was familiar and a name snapped to Cécile's lips. ‘Robiérre d'Arques? The squire from the Arras tourney?'

‘Yes.' Adèle smirked and hooked her arm within the man's. ‘I found my brother.'

‘Take this heretic to the cells,' ordered the priest. ‘At last we have rooted out the source of evil that taints this village!'

The men tugged her but Cécile was no longer listening to the cleric. Cogs and wheels within her brain were turning, gnashing against one another to slowly align, the parts meshing, nodes methodically slotting into spaces in an ordered process. An image appeared of Adèle in the woods at Arras, emerald eyes inspecting the St Gilles medal, the face demonic when Cécile mentioned her husband was nearby and Gillet, in the tent that night. His voice echoed across time, ‘
No, but I know his sister
,' and blushing like a maiden when she'd asked him if he'd ever lain with this woman. Older memories surfaced with precision; a letter arriving from Catherine, shards piercing Cécile's heart when she read that Gillet had married in England. Her eyes widened, her pupils large with disbelief.

Adèle watched closely and, recognising the moment of enlightenment, giggled with elation. Her expression was one of victory. ‘I once told Gillet I would see you burn. Pity your sister is not here to join you.'

Within the mechanism of Cécile's mind, the last shaft pin shot into place and released the knowledge she sought. She remembered where she had heard the name.

‘D'Arques!' she gasped, her gaze flicking to the brother and back to Adèle. ‘
God help me! Anaïs d'Arques
!'

‘I have always liked the idea of a round table. It evokes an image of solidarity and strength.' David raised his arm and a pimply-faced youth stepped from behind a banner and filled his goblet. ‘So I had this one installed to remind me of just how fractured and disloyal my country really is.'

Simon accepted a drinking vessel from the steward but remained standing, having been summoned to the King's private chamber only minutes earlier. ‘I am sure you enjoy a great deal of support since your return from London.'

‘Yes, of course, particularly from my nephew, his wife and their family.'

Simon placed the drinking vessel on the table, his shoulders rigid with formality. ‘You sent for me, Sire?'

‘Sit, Wexford, sit,' David instructed. ‘We are friends, are we not?'

Simon considered the request, then drew back a heavy wooden chair and sat opposite. ‘Your wife is a most fetching creature. I am told you rescued her from a nunnery?'

‘Not quite, M'lord. Lady Wexford fled that particular institution prior to our meeting.'

‘How fortunate for you,' the king sneered. ‘And you were quickly married, in France, then travelled to London before making your way to Scotland?'

‘I wished to introduce Catherine to my family.'

‘Do you honestly expect me to believe that?' David glared.

Simon kept his gaze fixed upon David; to look away now would give the Scottish monarch reason to assume he had something to hide. ‘A private matter drew me to Paris and I chose to visit Edinburgh when I learned that Walter Odistoun was stealing from my family.'

David narrowed his eyes. ‘That is quite an allegation to make against my brother!'

Simon drew in a long breath and sat back in his chair. ‘I meant no offence, Sire. It is matter between Walter and me.'

‘I think not.' David turned his attention to a large ring on his index finger which he began to rotate with his thumb. ‘It requires a great deal of coin to run this kingdom, funds that I am entitled to obtain as taxes from my people.'

‘And I do not object to such payments. It is more …' Simon paused. He needed to tread carefully. ‘It is more the contribution to your ransom with which I disagree.'

‘I am grateful of Walter's support.'

‘Lord Odistoun is most generous, when he is giving of something which does not belong to him.'

David laughed loudly. ‘How well you know my brother!'

‘I have bequeathed him the revenue obtained from our family property in Fife and will add Doune once arrangements have been settled but, should he sign either property over to the crown, I will offer no further assistance to him or my sister.'

‘I see.' David smiled broadly. ‘You are a man wise with your coin.'

‘There are many who show no care.'

‘Indeed! And there are those who prefer to hoard.'

‘Perhaps they have reason to,' Simon suggested in the smallest hope of drawing something from David.

‘If only we could read our stars and those of our children, then we would have no need to worry.'

Simon nodded, though he wondered where the conversation was headed, considering David had no heirs.

‘Have you news of my wife?'

Simon frowned. ‘No, M'lord.'

‘And you bring no greeting from Edward?'

‘I had no reason to attend court in London.'

David leaned back in his seat, his bearing visibly relaxing. ‘I am told she is doing well, that Edward has sought advice from the very best physicians.'

‘I will pray for her hasty recovery,' Simon added, watching every emotion that passed over David's face. ‘There is the matter of my wife and son.'

‘Go to Doune. Have the estate settled on Walter and when you return, you and your family will be free to leave.'

‘Thank you, Sire.' Taking his leave Simon bowed and swiftly removed himself, pleased with the agreement David had offered.

‘Lady Wexford, I have brought along a companion.' Lady Dunbar stepped through the doorway, encouraging the young woman behind her to enter. ‘This is Tiphanie. Her mother, a great friend of mine, requested that her daughter be placed into my care. She accompanied her father from France to the Scottish court and may be some company for you. I am sure she finds our daily existence up here all rather boring.'

‘Lady Wexford.' The girl curtsied gracefully and waited for Catherine to acknowledge her.

‘Tiphanie, what a lovely name. Please let me look at your gown. It is beautiful!' Catherine reached for the brocade fabric unable to stop herself. ‘Lady Dunbar believes I need assistance with my wardrobe. Perhaps you shall be able to help me?'

‘I would be honoured,' Tiphanie gushed, her cheeks aglow.

‘Good! Then it is settled.' Lady Dunbar clapped her hands together. ‘For the duration of your visit, Lady Wexford, I shall loan you Tiphanie as a companion. You two are almost the same age and I believe,' Lady Dunbar turned to Tiphanie, ‘the Lady Catherine has a sister in France. You will have much to discuss. Run along, dear, and pack your belongings.'

The girl inclined her head and ran off, her face jubilant.

‘She is very striking,' commented Catherine.

‘Her colouring is that of Douglas clan. They are known for their glossy, red locks and startling green eyes.'

‘Oh, like James?' Catherine asked.

Lady Dunbar's brow furrowed. ‘Who do you mean?'

‘James Douglas. He spoke to Lord Wexford on the day we arrived. He did not look pleased to see Simon.'

‘I am unaware of any direct connection between Lord Douglas and Tiphanie. There are several branches of the clan Douglas throughout Scotland, just as there are Campbells and Stewarts.'

‘And Dunbars?'

‘No, there are not so many Dunbars, or Randolphs for that matter.'

Settling before the fire, Lady Dunbar retrieved the needlework from the wicker basket she had brought with her. ‘I thought we would try some more sewing today.'

Catherine nodded, her thoughts returning to the brash James Douglas.

‘And where are you, Catherine, for I see you are not here listening to me?'

‘Sorry, I was thinking – well, wondering …'

‘About that scoundrel Douglas? Yes?' Lady Dunbar laughed. ‘If I tell you what I know will you promise to concentrate on these stitches?'

‘Of course,' Catherine agreed, amused by Black Agnes' playfulness.

‘James has an older sister. Some would say a rather unattractive lass, whom he has been attempting to marry off for as long as I can remember.'

‘Oh dear.' Catherine winced. ‘The poor girl.'

‘Yes, well, he claims that Lord Wexford had been courting Morag and made certain promises.'

Catherine gasped. ‘What kind of promises?'

‘Now, now, lass. I doubt there is any truth in the matter. James has a habit of accusing any man whom he believes may have
visited
his sister.'

‘I see, well, in that case …'

‘I wouldn't worry, I am sure Lord Wexford will sort it.'

Simon returned to their solar later that afternoon. He was bone tired. Battling adversaries with a sword was far preferable to the political jousting he was being forced to endure. But he had to know. How many of the Scottish lords were assisting David with the alleged ransom and how much were they paying? Without the facts he would not be able to get to the truth of the matter. And he had to be completely sure before he returned to Robert Stewart.