The Lily and the Lion (28 page)

Hoof beats sounded and with them the gasping of a rider at full chase. ‘You are … without doubt,' he puffed, sliding from his horse, ‘the most headstrong … obstinate woman I have ever had the misfortune … to come across. I suppose those endearments you are so eloquently muttering … are for me.'

‘Stay your distance, Gillet de Bellegarde! I am too vexed to cross words with you.'

‘Lady,' he bent double to regain his breath. ‘You gave me no time for even a bridle, much less a saddle. If Inferno had stumbled, I could have been killed trying to catch you.'

‘I did not ask that you come.' Inferno sidled up to Ruby, but she squealed and kicked out at him.

‘It would seem your mare shares your feelings,' he said, straightening.

‘Your stallion presumes too much. Kindly keep him away from her, Sir.'

Gillet stepped closer, still panting. ‘But he cannot seem to stay away. Against his better judgement, he is inexplicably drawn to her.'

‘Well, it appears quite plain to me that she does
not
desire his company.'

His breath was warm on my neck, his voice low. ‘Mayhap she does not yet realise that she desires it very much.'

I launched another rock, elbowing him in the process.

‘Oof! Another of Armand's accomplishments?' He rubbed his chest. ‘For a woman you display a fine hand but I believe I have told you so.' He sensibly moved aside and, scooping up his own handful of ammunition, catapulted one. ‘First duck or drake to skip five times. What say you?'

‘To what end?'

‘Must there be one? Might I not simply enjoy your company?'

‘You are on my time now, Gillet de Bellegarde. I did not invite you here. You followed me!'

He bowed acquiescently. ‘Then lay down your rules, Lady, but to keep it interesting why not play for stakes?'

I considered. ‘What odds?'

‘The loser grants the winner a wish.'

It may have been the sparkle in his eyes or the ease with which he seemed to think he could win that saw me surrender. ‘Agreed. Loser grants the winner a wish.'

The reckless bet had jolted my concentration and my next effort was poor, the stone bouncing only three times before sinking miserably. Gillet was one jump shy of triumph on his first attempt. He chuckled softly.

‘They forgot to show you the wrist flick.'

Of course. How could I forget? So long ago, Jean le Bossu had taken pity upon my childish attempts, and had pulled me aside to reveal the secret of Armand's and his constant winning streak. Remembering my brother's advice, I chose my next rock with more care and threw it, twisting my wrist as I let go. Four skips to me, and four to Gillet.

‘Would you mind telling me what happened back there?'

Gillet threw his pebble and it reached the opposite bank but only tipped the water four times.

‘I shall tell you what did
not
happen.' My stone skipped five times and Gillet turned to me with a congratulatory bow.

‘It would appear, Lady d'Armagnac, that you have won. Tell me.'

I sank to the ground and plucked at the grass. ‘I did
not
hit her.'

‘That much I already guessed.' He sat opposite me. ‘Since I know from experience that you strike right-handed, it did not take a genius to see that she was nursing the wrong cheek. I also know you hit hard enough to at least leave some mark.' He reached out and turned my chin, inspecting my bruised face. ‘Any fool can see who did the striking. Does it hurt?'

‘Yes. Immensely.'

‘I am sorry, Cécile. She had no right.'

‘And her claim that I poisoned her was equally unfitting.'

‘I know. Madame Duvall heard the fuss and confessed her guilt.' He broke off a long-stemmed weed and, sticking it in his mouth, laid back, palms beneath his head, watching the clouds like a shepherd with all summer to waste.

I watched him from beneath lowered lashes. ‘I saw you kiss Rosslyn in the garden.'

‘Did you now? That was not meant for your eyes.'

‘Just what game are you playing with me, Gillet de Bellegarde?'

He thought for a moment before answering. ‘Oranges and Lemons.'

‘Pardon?'

‘It's a matter of taste. If you had never tried an orange or a lemon, how would you know which one was to your liking? Both are beautiful yet they look so different. But everyone knows that by tasting you will learn that one is very sour whilst the other is undeniably sweet.'

‘And you have stomach enough to taste both?'

‘How else am I to know?'

I plucked another stalk and pulverised two seed heads before answering. ‘So, which am I?'

His gaze swept my face and he smiled warmly. ‘I am here, Cherub, am I not?'

‘Oh.' I considered this for a few moments. ‘Gillet?'

He rolled onto his side, his eyebrows arching. ‘Cécile?'

‘What am I to do when a strawberry comes along?'

He laughed softly and sat up. ‘Lady, I believe that you have a wish to be fulfilled.'

‘I would that we leave for Arras immediately.'

‘Are you well enough to travel?'

‘Oui.'

‘You know that I must return to England?'

It was a subtle reminder that he would soon leave. ‘I know.'

‘Cécile,' he whispered. ‘I need to know you will be safe while I am gone. Do you willingly agree to go to Madame Duvall's if Armand is called back to service?'

‘Oui.'

‘Thank you.' He reached inside his doublet and pulled out two silver chains, each with a tiny medal. Dropping one into his lap, he placed the other into my palm. ‘This is a medal of Saint Gilles. He is the patron saint of horses and will watch over Ruby for you. Gilles lived in a cave and was shot in the leg by an arrow whilst shielding a deer from hunters. The huntsman was a Visigothic king and in contrition he visited the man he had crippled, many times. The King so admired Gilles that he built a monastery and named it Saint-Gilles-du-Gard, in his honour.' Gillet grimaced wryly. ‘It was the closest I could find to my name. It would please me greatly to have you wear it.'

My fingers closed around the medal and my heart lurched. ‘It is beautiful.'

‘He is also known as the protector of fear in the dark. Should your bad dreams come, I want you to touch this medal and be strong.' His hand slid over mine. ‘Gilles is also known as the patron saint of forest and woods and that makes him perfect to watch over my little sprite.' A tear trickled down my cheek and Gillet thumbed it away. ‘I need to know someone will be looking over you when I cannot.'

‘And that one?' I asked, wiping my nose and pointing to the other chain.

‘This is for me. It is Saint Cecilia. She was an heiress of Rome, who obstinately clung to her beliefs. She challenged the custom of arranged marriages, believing that it should be made possible to marry for love. She did submit to her father's wishes and married a nobleman but on her wedding day she confirmed her vows to God instead. Her fortitude so impressed her bridegroom, it is said, that he respected her wishes and left her pure. Her devotion became legendary but, in the end, those in power made her suffer. They finally succeeded in their attempts to take her life but somehow she miraculously managed to survive, if only for a few days more.' Gillet reached out, brushing some windblown strands from my damaged cheek and tucked them behind my ear. ‘I know of another who was made to suffer by those in power and she, too, managed to survive. It would be my honour, Lady d'Armagnac, to wear this always close to my heart, ever to remind me of the innocence you sacrificed for me.'

He pulled me against him and raised my chin. ‘Cécile,' he whispered, his lips tenderly alighting on mine. His kiss was soft, poignant and so deep that I felt as though our souls touched and gently brushed together.

‘Come,' he said. ‘We should return.'

Our rooms became a hive of activity as chests were packed and supplies readied. Clarissa came to my chamber, her smile sad as we hugged. ‘My father has just told me you are leaving in the morning. I shall miss you, Cécile.'

‘And I you, Clarissa. Thank you for all your help.'

‘Your stay here was eventful and gave me much enjoyment,' she grinned impishly, ‘especially this morning when Monsieur de Bellegarde ordered Madame de Caux out of the inn.'

I gaped at her. ‘He what?'

Clarissa pulled up the little stool. ‘Oui, there was a disturbance in the garden and we all heard him yelling. My father went out to discover the problem and he sided with the Monsieur.' Her eyes widened eagerly, thrilled for a last chance to gossip. ‘Monsieur de Bellegarde told Madame de Caux if she did not leave immediately, he would throw her out.' Clarissa captured my wrist. ‘But, Cécile, she was absolutely furious, spitting with rage. She vowed she would have revenge. She actually frightened me.'

‘Do not worry, Clarissa. We travel in opposite directions. I doubt we shall ever see her again.'

‘I hope not, for the sake of you both. I see a lot of things and all kinds of people, and I can tell you now, Monsieur de Bellegarde made himself an enemy of that woman this morning. I should go. Take care, Cécile, and if you ever pass this way, come see me. God's speed.' We embraced warmly.

‘And God be with you, Clarissa.'

I am so relieved to be quitting Amiens, Catherine. Tomorrow we depart for Arras and Madame Duvall is very excited. She will soon be with her sister. How I wish I could say the same but I realise the day draws closer when Gillet will leave also. I know now that my heart does not want this.

May God keep you in His care.

Written by Cécile d'Armagnac, Auberge de Lys, Amiens, one day before the Feast of Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, 19 August 10 Jean II.

Gillet turned from the window to finish his packing. He sat upon the bed and unsheathed his dagger. It was time to take control of his life. He was tired of the treadmill he was on but, unlike the blind peasants who were hoisted to cathedral heights to walk the wheel, he knew how far it was to fall.

His brief courtship with the grieving widow had been a dangerous ploy but he'd had his reasons. Especially when he'd learned that first night that she was travelling to her brother, Gaston de Foix. Not only was Foix Jean d'Armagnac's enemy, he was the man responsible for the ruination of Gillet's own life two years ago. And Rosslyn had unwittingly provided him with information. A name mentioned in passing, with no knowledge of the familiarity to him – the one man who might be able to help him. And better yet, this man was currently in Arras. The gamble had paid but he had risked losing Cécile's … friendship. Would any of it matter then? His head sank into his hands and he sighed. He was so tired of feeling thwarted on all sides.

To the very good lady, my sister, Cécile d'Armagnac.

With my parchment before me, my quill at rest, the bright afternoon sun cast its warm glow over the room provided for me at the
Shalford Inn
. Three weeks have flown by but we are safe at the inn, the news reaching us that Broughton was under observation. However, my guardian feels it might be time to make our move. Moleyns' men have dispersed but the latest information indicates that new searches are being conducted closer to this area.

My thoughts were of you and Gillet, your latest missive in front of me. You should have reached Arras by now. Though my surroundings remain the same I am so very changed, in spirit, heart and just at present, thanks to Anaïs, in appearance also.

Three days ago, rising late to the cries of my stomach, I went in search of nourishment. The taproom was completely empty, benches piled atop the scrubbed tables, yet I could hear a murmur of voices and, turning towards the scullery, I was surprised by Lord Simon, tankard in one hand and a large piece of bread in the other.

‘At last,' he beamed. ‘You must be hungry.' Setting a heavy bench upon the flagstone floor, he indicated for me to sit and squeezed in beside me, calling out over my shoulder. At his beckoning a girl of no more than ten or eleven years danced into the room. ‘A platter and a jug of ale,' he instructed. I watched her red curls bobbing as she skipped away towards the kitchen.

‘I'm sorry your brother has had to close the inn on our account,' I said, my voice echoing around a room that would normally play host to passing travellers.

‘Yes, well, it was the safest way. Mention the word “contagion” and you find yourself keeping your own company quicker than it takes to sneeze. I suppose you look forward to more stimulating companionship at Broughton.'

I blushed beneath his scrutiny. ‘The last weeks have been no hardship,' I whispered softly, feeling my cheeks blaze.

His face, much strained of late, eased into a smile as a young woman, not much older than I, returned with a tray containing cheese, bread and ale. My stomach rumbled with approval but I resisted the urge to begin, waiting instead for Simon's lead.

‘Anaïs is not to join us?' I half-heartedly inquired.

‘No. I am told that she is asleep. Let us hope that she remains that way for some time.'

‘Do you have any proof yet that it was she who betrayed us?'

He frowned, lowering his cup. ‘No, but I am certain.' The resignation in his voice gave me the impression that he somehow blamed himself for this. ‘Do you recall the day I allowed her to attend the market for cloth?'

I nodded, for how could I forget? It was the same day I was given the opportunity to speak with Lady Elizabeth d'Aubedcicourt.

‘I had instructed one of my servants to guard Anaïs, and your “friend” was witnessed speaking to a man. The fellow was sighted on numerous occasions loitering outside the house. Several days later, a maid informed me that she had just seen the gentleman in the market. We quickly made our way down the street, where she pointed him out.' He paused to refill his tankard and broke off a small portion of bread, placing it in front of me. ‘It was John Moleyns.'

I gasped, for surely it could not be. ‘Lord Moleyns? The man with the scarred face and joined fingers?'

‘The very same,' he replied. ‘I did not think it would be long before the rat made its way back to the nest. Now the rodents close in upon Shalford. We must chance our escape to Broughton. Though my brother is more than willing to involve himself in our plight, two men and a nun cannot hold at bay a troop of hired mercenaries, let alone a well-trained adversary like Sir John.'

‘Is our position so precarious?'

‘I am afraid so. News of our confrontation on the road may have made its way back to Westminster, and I have as many enemies as I have friends, Catherine.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘I lied to the King,' he smiled, as though this were a trifling matter. ‘I said that I knew nothing of you or your sister.'

‘Cécile and I are of interest to the King?'

‘It would appear so, and though I made many surreptitious inquires when I was at the Tower, I learned nothing. Whatever his interest, he keeps it to himself.'

‘What shall we do with Anaïs?'

‘She will remain with us until I speak with Gillet. As she constantly reminds us, she carries his child.'

I returned to the remnants of my bread, picking out the small seeds from within and arranging them in piles on the tabletop as I considered how to redirect the topic of conversation. ‘I am sure that she has read some, it not all, of Céci's letters.' Watching his face, I expected a reaction but he displayed none. ‘You don't understand, there is much written therein that is private between my sister and me, and it may lead to trouble with Anaïs.'

‘How so?' His face was puzzled and I sat, wretchedly trying to decide exactly how much I should share.

‘My love for my sister knows no bounds and I would never willingly lay bare her trust, yet I feel that there is something that you must know, something that I believe Anaïs might suspect.' I had his attention, one brow arching in curiosity. ‘Gillet has presented Céci with a gift of a medal and he in turn wears one as her favour. I feel their affection for each other is growing into something far deeper.'

‘This pleases you?' he asked, frowning.

‘Yes, very much.'

I smiled, hoping the idea would be more preferable to him than Gillet's possible union with my maid. However, I did not have the opportunity to discover Simon's feelings on the matter, only his surprise at her sudden appearance.

‘You filthy, lying bitch!' She lunged and, grasping my hair, viciously pulled me onto the stone floor, the remnants of my meal spilling in my wake. ‘Gillet loves
me
! Your sister is nothing more than an unpaid whore!' she spat, raking her fingers across my cheek.

Scrambling over the bench, Simon drove the screaming girl backwards until she was wedged against the wall. Kicking wildly, she caught him in the shin and, swearing a foul oath, he drew back his arm and clenched his fist.

‘No, Simon!' I yelled, jumping between them, my face only inches from his hand. ‘No! Please! Enough. I cannot bear it.' His arm relaxed at my intervention but Anaïs was not finished. Sensing this to be her moment, she struck me with an empty tankard, her vengeance connecting fiercely with the side of my head.

Darkness enveloped me and I began to fall. Unable to save myself, my face collided heavily with the table and I felt a sickening crack as I slumped to the ground.

I could hear Simon's obscenities and Anaïs' muffled cries. The air around me smelled stale and fetid, my stomach lurching wildly, nausea climbing up my throat. With both palms flat upon the floor, I threw my head forward to vomit. Desperately I tried not to panic, gasping as much air as possible into my lungs, my face screaming with pain …

The heavy weight of a cloak fell about me, accompanied by a strong and not unwelcome arm around my shoulders as Simon drew me towards him. He assisted me to my feet, guiding me to the seat, and pressed a soft, damp cloth to my nose. ‘It is bleeding.' I held the linen in place as he lifted my hair to examine my ear, which throbbed terribly. Gently he took my face in his hands. ‘Can you see?'

I blinked several times, trying to focus the image. ‘Yes, but everything is a blur.' My lips stung as I spoke and, moving the cloth to one side, I touched my split mouth and found, much to my dismay, that I'd bitten my tongue.

‘I'll be back shortly,' he said, squeezing my hand. ‘I need to fetch my supplies.' I could hear his heavy gait retreating and waited until he was well away before succumbing to tears.

There was further bustling within the room, people coming and going, and I knew not what had happened to Anaïs. I was shaking uncontrollably, my stomach turning in sickening circles and, closing my eyes, I lowered my head onto my arms, desperate for respite.

A short time later Simon returned. ‘How do you feel?'

‘Far bedder than I thuppothe I look.'

‘Sister Catherine! That's vanity! And your vision?' Though he jested I could hear the strain in his voice.

‘Much bedder.'

He lifted my face to the light. ‘This is very inflamed,' he said, prodding around my right eye, ‘but I am more concerned for your ear. I have made a compress to help with the swelling.' Carefully positioning the pad, he wrapped my head in a length of soft linen.

Searching through the box, Simon removed a glass jar, the colour of lapis lazuli, and which contained a most foul smelling ointment. Dabbing his finger in the contents he then, without consideration to my person, placed his finger on my lips and began smoothing the cream. The numbing relief was almost instantaneous.

‘Use it as often as you need, it will help considerably.' Packing up the remainder of the pots, Simon rose to leave.

I placed my hand on his arm. ‘Thank you, Thimon.'

‘Do not thank me,' he said gruffly, ‘It was my fault.'

‘How tho?'

‘I should not have allowed you to distract me.'

‘I thought you meant to thtrike her.'

‘No less than she deserved, but it does my honour ill.' Slamming the lid of the box, he tried in vain to fix the latch.

‘It wath not your fault.'

He huffed at my statement and pushed the box away, unable to secure the tiny pin. I pulled it towards me and, though I could barely see the lock, easily managed to complete the task.

‘How ith it that you know the art of medithine?' I asked, amazed at his knowledge of the craft.

‘You learn many skills when in battle. Not all of them involve killing.' I nodded, for it seemed acceptable. ‘You must return to your room and rest before the swelling sets in.' He held his hand out to me and for the first time I took it without reservation.

So, my dearest, here I am propped up in my bed, having done very little these past few days but sleep and pray, for what else is possible when one's eyes are almost closed, one's nose is blocked and one struggles to form coherent speech? Not that there have been many with whom I could converse, left as I have been to recover.

My nose, I am told, is still quite straight although it feels as if it belongs to some grotesque monster rather than to me. I awaken each day with a parched throat and dry mouth as I struggle to breathe through my constricted passages. Oh, how I do sympathise with those who have been beaten and abused, for I was struck down by just one blow. Imagine if it had been more.

So content to spend the afternoon rereading your letter, I did not notice the sun had left the fair day behind. I must have dozed, for I woke to Simon's gentle knock.

‘Anything else within your sister's missive that you would like to share with me?'

‘She and Gillet are well,' I replied, noting my guardian's discomfort. ‘I know the sight of my face is sickening.'

‘And how would you know that?'

Sliding my hand under the pillow, I retrieved your recent gift, courtesy of your disastrous visit to the vendor in Amiens. ‘Céci sent me a mirror,' I whispered.

‘Your appearance does not sicken me,' he said with compassion.

‘I see the pain in your eyes and you hesitate to look at me.'

‘You misunderstand. What you see is shame.'

‘How can you be ashamed of something you did not do?'

‘I may not have struck you but I thought to strike Anaïs and this is the result.' He pulled back the stool and sat heavily, his guilt as thick as the woollen blanket at my feet. ‘These last few weeks I have had to deal with emotions I thought I would never experience again. Anger is a most destructive force, particularly when you lose control. Locking yourself away from the world protects you from such outbursts.'

‘I might know little but this I am sure is true. High walls do nothing to protect your heart.'

He gently took hold of my hand, his gaze studying the many lines etched upon my palm. ‘'Tis wicked what Mary St Pol did to you.'

‘Not wicked, Simon, but necessary. The Lady Mary may have had few choices available to her.'

‘Tell me something of your childhood. I know it was difficult.'

‘'Twas not more so for me than for any other novice,' I admitted shyly, ashamed of the resentment that has begun to develop, now that I have had time to reflect on my past. ‘Mary St Pol is a saintly example of sacrifice and reverence.'

Lord Wexford scoffed.

‘Although,' I admitted hesitantly, ‘I have learned that whilst she provided abundant guidance, she did not produce sustenance in equal parts.'

I searched for some happy reminiscence that I could relay to him, some moment that perhaps stood apart to shine above the constant cold and darkness. ‘I was never alone in my circumstances and understood that there were many who fared worse.'

‘That may well be true but I doubt whether such knowledge would console a hungry child. Go on.'

Taking a deep breath, I recalled the warmest memory. ‘The kitchen at Denny was large and inviting, for the fires never ceased to burn. It was my favourite place to hide. Most of the children found that, if they secreted themselves near the hearth, they were quickly bustled away. I used to sit beneath the table, for here I was not underfoot and often forgotten. I learned more about the Abbey and life in general from the loose tongues of the maids, and filled my aching belly with the numerous tidbits that found their way to the floor.' I chuckled, my thoughts cast back to those maids, clucking around the table like chickens in a coop. ‘They would have been severely punished for such wastefulness if caught but I was swifter than any rat.' I smiled at Lord Wexford but it faded as he cocked his head, one eyebrow arching. The veil over my eyes slowly lifted. ‘They did it on purpose!'

‘Perhaps their charity was more Christian than that of Mary St Pol,' he murmured. ‘Tell me of Mary.'