The Lily and the Lion (23 page)

Armand's compassionate grin was almost my undoing. ‘Why not ask him for yourself,
cherié
?'

When I had gathered enough courage to enter Gillet's room, it was only to find him still fast asleep. I dragged a stool to his bedside and brushed a stray lock from his brow. He slept peacefully, despite the rich assortment of rainbow colours ripening his skin. His lip was badly swollen on one side, the mangled flesh crusted with dried blood. He looked so broken and beaten. This was entirely my fault. Fresh tears welled and I buried my head into the coverlet and wept quietly.

‘Am I dead, that I should find an angel crying at my bedside?'

Eyes the colour of onyx blinked understanding and remorse flooded my soul. ‘Gillet, I am so sorry.'

He smiled crookedly and wiped the wetness from my cheek. ‘So there is a kitten beneath those sharp claws.' I placed my gift before him. ‘What's this?' A frown replaced the smile.

‘My frail excuse.'

He uncovered the bejewelled dagger and half his mouth grinned. ‘Are you sure you want to put this in my hands just now?' His eye caught the workmanship and he studied it more closely. ‘This has exquisite crafting and is valuable. Where did you get the coin?'

To avoid his gaze, I rose and poured a goblet of water. ‘I sold some needlework.' Even my sensibilities shuddered at the stretching of this truth. He took the cup I held out, looking far from convinced. ‘Does it please you? It is to remind you of France when you return to England.'

Gillet exhaled a long breath and stared at the fleurs de lys engraved between the stones. ‘Thank you, Cécile.'

He took a gulp of water, swallowing with discomfort. ‘You make it difficult, Lady, for me to administer the tongue-lashing you deserve. Do you realise how foolish you were to go out unescorted?'

‘Oui. And I am sick at heart for the trouble it caused. Because of me, a man is dead.'

‘No. For that you are not to blame,' he said gently. ‘His friend had yielded and there it should have ended. His death was of his own making.'

‘Then if I am to be absolved for that, is it too late to ask for another truce?'

‘Lady, we do seem to be constantly at war,' He picked up a lock of my hair and let it slide through his fingers. ‘But then, what is war if not a succession of truces?' He caught my chin and leaned forward. ‘A kiss of peace in honour of our treaty.' A knock sounded at the door and I shifted quickly as Madame Duvall entered, two servants carrying a tub and buckets in her wake.

She surveyed us with pouting disapproval. ‘The maid is soaking your shirt, Monsieur de Bellegarde. 'Twill require some deft stitching to see it serviceable again, but for now I would have you wash the dried blood from your skin. Out you go, Mademoiselle. This is no place for you.'

Gillet winked mischievously. ‘You could stay and sponge my back,' he whispered. The sudden image of him in a bath sent a vivid flush to my face. His grin was roguish. ‘I understand that Cécile's needlework can fetch a good price, Madame. Perhaps she will undertake to repair my shirt.'

24 July

A physician has visited Armand and strapped his ribs with stiff binding, leaving instructions that he should remain in bed for at least five days. For my disobedience, my penance was to play nursemaid and cater to every silly whim he and Gillet could contrive. I am sure it amuses them but my patience grows short. This morning's impossible task had been to shave Armand.

‘Ouch! Céci, are you trying to slit my throat?'

‘Do not tempt me! It would be easier to peel an apple with an axe. Keep still!' I grabbed a cloth to staunch the bleeding wound. There were three more just like it and the task was but half completed.

Gillet sat on the end of the bed, reading Armand's journal, chortling at both the stories and my efforts. Armand cut loose with another howl and I threw the blade into the bowl. ‘Oh, why do you not just grow a beard!'

Gillet's chuckles grew louder until he was laughing outright. Armand joined him but grasped his side in agony. I threw my cloth onto the bed. ‘I am done playing your court jester. Shave yourself and go hang!'

Armand's gaiety subsided amongst groans of helplessness. ‘At least I'd leave myself with a neck by which to be hung! Oh, oh, sweetheart,' he squealed, ‘first the journal, now this.'

‘What? What is wrong with the journal? I was assured they were funny stories.'

Gillet chuckled and placed
L'objet de Question
on the end of the bed and moved to fill the position I had just vacated. ‘You have never broken a rib, have you, Cécile?' He picked up the blade, rinsed it off and swiftly passed it under Armand's chin. No blood. Several strokes later Armand sighed in bliss.

‘No, I have not.'

‘There was one story about a man who …' began Armand but he grabbed his chest. ‘Oh, no, it is too funny, I cannot tell you.'

Gillet laughed again. ‘Only you could give someone with three broken ribs a journal full of ridiculously silly anecdotes.' He held out the bowl. ‘Cherub, it is the Devil's own pain to laugh with one broken rib, let alone three, and you present your cousin with a journal full of jocularity.' Taking the proffered dish, I prayed my trembling hands would not be noticed. Cherub? He stood and turned me to the door and playfully whacked my
derrière
. ‘Go, before you kill your cousin with kindness.'

I took off down the stairs and into the courtyard at lightning speed. Emptying the dish, I sat on the well to catch my breath.
Sacré bleu
! Did the man have any idea what effect he could have on a woman?

The exoneration bestowed upon me by my three travelling companions has let me see a new side to myself. I am sure they understand that there are fundamentals of my character which cannot be changed and they make their own adjustments accordingly, but for me something more happened. I began to realise that a careless deed, however well intended, can have serious consequences. It may put the people around me at risk, people for whom I have come to care. Armand says that I have more courage than any woman he has ever known but I know that there are times when it fails me miserably.

My life has taken a different path from the one I believed was to be mine, and I have spent the last few weeks feeling so very angry and bitterly disappointed but the burden is mine alone. It is time for me to accept these changes and embrace the gifts God has laid before me. Dearest Catherine, of these gifts, you are one. I had not thought to let you into my heart but now I know that you have always been there. I did not embrace you as I should. Can you forgive me?

Written by Cécile d'Armagnac, Auberge de Lys, Amiens, 24 July, one day before the Feast of Saint Christopher, 10 Jean II

Cécile d'Armagnac was a leech. She had wormed her way beneath his skin and was sucking him dry. And … she had infused an insatiable fire into his blood. Gillet's thumb stroked the blue sapphires in the hilt of his new dagger. They were the colour of her eyes. The moment he'd drawn his blade at the tavern, he'd felt a fierce possessiveness. The idea that he must protect her as though she belonged to him had been a heady mix and he liked it. No woman had ever made him feel that. It was as though he'd discovered what Simon had been trying to teach him for years – a sense of self-worth, his own true value. It had made him feel as though he counted. But Cécile d'Armagnac did not belong to him.

He rolled the haft across his fingers, testing the weight and counterpoise. It was good craftsmanship. Would he balance so perfectly on her scales when she learned the truth? His thoughts divided and, like cantankerous oxen, pulled in two different directions. He chose the safer path. Armand had assured him that she possessed no skills in needlework, so from where had she obtained the coin for such a piece? Armand had also told him that Edward of Woodstock was angry, very angry.

Sighing, he sheathed the weapon and turned to stare out the casement at the tall cathedral spire piercing the clouds. If only, two years ago, he had ridden directly to Larressingle, rather than resting at Saint Leu. Perhaps his life would not have careened out of control. Most men served God first, then King and country through their overlord. He had twice the number of kings, no country to call his own and God was not listening. A tiny sparrow flew past his window and alighted in the nearby tree. He was reminded of the time he had watched a wren building a palatial nest in a precarious position. A savage storm had struck one night and the next day he could see the tiny clutch of eggs exposed, threatening to fall. He had begun to climb the tree when a hand clamped upon his shoulder. ‘Leave it, lad,' Simon had told him. ‘Interfere now and the birds will abandon it. At least this way they have a chance to repair their own handiwork and they will learn from their mistakes.' God had not abandoned him, Gillet acknowledged. The Almighty was simply waiting for him to repair his own badly built nest.

To my beloved sister be this delivered.

You might be surprised to find me now on the road but rest assured, my dearest, I begin by promising you that, though our journey was most eventful, I am safe and well and remain within the protection and company of Lord Wexford.

Without doubt you will recall that my last letter contained news that Lady Joan was our mother and Salisbury our father. This revelation came the same day that Anaïs was removed from my suite and hastily shifted to Lord Wexford's personal bedchamber, he having moved to the library as the remainder of the house is under repair. All afternoon I could hear Anaïs' shrill complaints as she pranced around, declaring herself in a manner of such self-importance. I truly struggled to find charity and forgiveness in my heart. Horrified by my own reaction, I dedicated the afternoon to prayer but in my weakened state I instead fell into a deep sleep and did not wake until the following day. My stomach's loud demand for nourishment made easy my decision to seek out the salon.

I found Lord Wexford seated at the end of the long table, his chaturanga board laid out in front of him. I have watched him play this Eastern form of chess many times and know that he finds the game both challenging and calming.

‘Have you seen Anaïs since this morning?'

‘Yes, I have,' he grunted. ‘She graced me with her presence just one hour ago and I believe that she is now in her room, as I made it quite clear that I did not wish to converse with her.'

‘Has she angered you?'

‘I find the young woman to be nothing more than a conniving, manipulative wench. If not for Gillet, I would have thrown her into the street weeks ago. As it is I am forced to placate and fawn, which I am finding considerably taxing.'

‘I am genuinely sorry, Simon.' My shy use of his first name caused me to blush, so I instantly dropped my gaze. ‘It is my fault that she is here in your home. I could have left her behind in Aylesbury, but for want of company I kept her with me. A mistake indeed!'

‘You were not to know.' He repositioned one of the jade playing pieces on the board. ‘She is a bewitching woman, well-versed in deceit and dishonesty.'

‘Have you received any indication when Gillet might return?'

‘I am afraid I cannot answer you. I have no information at this point as to the whereabouts of Gillet or your sister, but do not fret, this is good news,' he said. ‘If I do not know, then nor does anyone else.'

Once again I was cheered, as I do worry incessantly but I feel less justified when reminded of the company you keep. For though Gillet has displayed many shortcomings, his devotion to your safety is unquestionable.

Having broken my fast I returned to my now private room, happily contemplating reading through your many letters again. Lifting the lid of my coffer, I knew immediately that something was amiss. My clothing was dishevelled, the contents clearly displaced, and your missives, so lovingly penned, were gone. I searched and searched but I knew that I would not find them. I hurried back downstairs and breathlessly explained my predicament to Simon but he appeared little interested, suggesting that I look again.

‘No, you don't understand, the documents are not misplaced, they are missing, and they lead right back to Céci.'

He looked up as the implication dawned on him. ‘You must allow me to look for myself before I begin ranting at the maids.'

We returned upstairs and, unbelievably, as he opened the coffer your letters, neatly tied together with an old ribbon, were sitting atop my spare linen nightdress.

‘They were not there five minutes ago,' I said as I hungrily snatched them up and hugged them to my breast.

‘I don't doubt you, Catherine. I do not believe you would invite me into your room on such a pretext.'

‘Something wrong?' Anaïs slithered into the room, much like a serpent searching for weak and easy prey.

‘Not at all,' replied Simon. ‘I am inspecting the hinge on this coffer.' Bending down, he made good his ruse by slowly lifting and lowering the lid. ‘But it would appear to be in good order.'

‘Methinks it only … misbehaves … for me,' I stammered as I struggled to lie.

‘Yes, they can be selective,' he replied, glancing up surreptitiously, ‘but now it's fixed we should leave it and see what happens. However, if it acts badly again I will have it removed permanently.' Bowing low to us both, he made to leave the room but turned and addressed Anaïs, whose cheeks were crimson red. ‘You need to rest, Anaïs, as does Catherine. I suggest you return to your room and raise your feet. In your condition, your slender young ankles will swell to the size of a smithy's neck.' She turned abruptly on her heels and marched back down the corridor without further comment, Simon following behind her.

I closed my door and retired to the comfort of my bed. I was sure that Anaïs had taken and read at least some of the parchments. Dearest sister, I feel that I have betrayed you. How could I be so foolish as to believe that Anaïs or any one of the maids would not search out and read the secrets we have shared with each other?

I had to speak to Lord Wexford. I was beset by worry. Now Anaïs was able to confirm that you were alive, but what would she do with this information and who would she tell? My stomach rolled and my head began to ache, for I knew I had undone all the good work of Gillet.

There was a gentle tapping at my door which opened to reveal Simon's smiling face. ‘I could not return and speak with you until I knew she had settled.' He closed the door and sat on the stool beside my bed. ‘Do you think she had time to read any of the documents?'

‘I have no doubt. And now I have betrayed my sister. I should have been more careful.'

‘This is unfortunate, Catherine, but not unexpected. If it is any consolation, I suspect that Anaïs learned of Cécile some time ago. However, I must make every attempt to alert Gillet.'

‘The news of our father and now this.' I wiped the stray tear from my cheek.

‘You must not blame yourself. As yet we have no proof of your parentage.'

I pray that he is right, for Lord Wexford seems to know more of Salisbury than we do. As for Anaïs, I fear that an emotion was then born inside me and was soon to fester and grow. A feeling so new to me that at first I did not recognise it, but believe it to be dislike, intense distrust. I must come to terms with this lest it develop into something far worse, hatred.

That evening I retired with your missives safely cradled within my arms, but I did not sleep for long. Halfway between matins and lauds, I was woken by one of the housemaids. She informed me that Lord Wexford had issued orders that I be waiting downstairs within ten minutes.

No candles were alight in the house and the sliver of a new moon offered no illumination. Although I could make out a great deal of movement, it was surprisingly quiet. Meeting me outside the kitchen door, Simon pulled me towards him. Placing his finger to his lips, he moved his head close by my ear, the proximity of his body causing my heart to jump wildly. Why am I still so frightened of this man?

‘I have received word that your presence here has been discovered,' he whispered, his warm breath tickling the back of my neck. ‘We must leave now. I fear an early visit from Salisbury or Moleyns.' I caught my breath at the sound of his name, my blood growing cold in my veins.

Anaïs was not far behind me, her footfalls and constant complaining could be heard well before she actually appeared. Seeing Simon, she stormed over to him, servants scattering in all directions.

‘What's the meaning of this?' she spat, hands on hips, her belly extended. ‘How dare you wake me in the middle of the night, have me forcibly dressed and readied for a journey that I do not intend to make.'

‘I have requested that you keep your voice down.' Simon was far from amused as he stood toe to toe with her.

‘I want answers, Wexford!' she cried, further raising her voice. ‘And if you do not give me any I will scream my head off as soon as you open that door.' She pointed to the rear access where our belongings were stacked.

‘
Silence, woman
.' The sound of his hand against her cheek stunned both Anais and the servants.

I was terrified. Lord Wexford's furious scowl rallied his menials back into action. Panniers were loaded haphazardly onto a small cart. He assisted me on board but was not so gentle with my maid. As he dragged her through the doorway I could clearly see the glint of a dagger within his hand. Forcing her to sit beside me, he pushed himself next to Anaïs.

‘Cover your heads with your cloaks!' he snapped as he flicked the mare with the reins. The cart moved forward. We were in a laneway, like many I had seen in London, but rather than join the main road in front of us we headed in the opposite direction, skirting the walls of the priory.

I could not stop my hands from shaking, from both the bitter cold that was seeping into my body and the dread rising from within. The roads were deserted and we travelled a good two or three miles before Simon spoke again. Anaïs sat stiff and resolute between us.

‘I have arranged for us to gain access to the rear of a friend's inn. We will be there shortly so please refrain from speaking until we arrive.' Although the request was polite, it was delivered as a command and, given his display of temper in the kitchen, I dared not refuse.

True to his word we were soon negotiating an even narrower laneway, whereupon Simon quickly alighted and drew open a set of heavy doors. He tethered the horse and directed Anaïs and me through a doorway, to a well-hidden room.

The fire within instantly heated my cheeks and I began to warm my hands by the flames. Anaïs moved to the far wall, her face fixed with a look of intense disdain.

‘George will be here presently with hot pottage,' explained Simon.

‘How dare you strike me!' Anaïs stepped from the shadows to stand directly in front of him. ‘How dare you touch me at all! I will speak to Gillet of this and he will cut out your heart with his blade.'

‘I doubt that,' replied Simon, nonchalantly turning his back. ‘In fact I doubt it very much. I think Gillet's reaction will be far different, particularly when I tell him that it was your loose tongue that forced us to flee London. He will not thank you for endangering his charge!'

He faced her then, his smirk gone, replaced instead by a look of contempt. ‘Let me make myself quite clear, Anaïs. If not for Gillet I would have left your worthless carcass back at the house for Salisbury's minions to find.' He thrust his face inches from hers. ‘You can be sure of this – the Earl would not be as gracious as I, not once he discovered that you led him on a merry chase.'

‘I did not tell anyone anything.'

‘I was contacted tonight and warned of an impending calamity. I am far more likely to believe one of my most trusted friends than a conniving upstart of a maid!' For a moment I thought she would strike him in return.

‘You will pay for this.'

‘I expect I will, but not in the manner that you imagine.'

‘You whoring, filthy …'

‘Stop it! Stop it, both of you!' I cried, moving to stand between them.

Lord Wexford stepped away, much to Anaïs' glee.

The room fell silent as a small man entered carrying a tray laden with three steaming bowls and a jug of mead. He placed the refreshments on the table.

‘George!' Simon gathered him into a smothering embrace.

‘You were not seen,' replied the inn-keeper, his diminutive stature furnishing a nasally voice. ‘Dawn is almost upon us. They will raise the portcullis upon the gate soon. Go quickly, my friend. I must tend to my own kitchen now.'

‘Thank you, George. Your loyalty means a great deal to me.'

‘As does yours, M'lord,' came the sincere reply.

We hurriedly consumed the welcome nourishment, then returned to the cavernous entrance to find our horse and cart had been replaced with a sturdier conveyance.

Simon donned a tabard much like I had seen his own servants wearing and covered his head with a beaver hat. He assisted Anaïs and me inside, before seating himself at the front. The chariot was garnished with a heavy leather roof and side flaps. However, both ends were open and I could clearly see the road behind us. The interior was quite sumptuous, the timber boards barely visible beneath a woven rug and the many fringed cushions, all of which Anaïs greedily arranged around herself.