The Lily and the Lion (39 page)

‘Thank you, Lady Matilda, thank you for everything!'

‘Oh my dear, I am just so very happy to have found my niece at long last.'

Oh, Cécile, my heart was beating in a way much new to me. Not from longing or despair, by misery or need. Today my heart soars with joy, with love and acceptance. For we are, dear sister, the daughters of Sir Thomas Holland, Knight of the Garter, and his beautiful wife, Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent, granddaughter of Edward I.

Reluctantly I left our aunt to take her rest before midday prayer, with the promise of returning later to learn more of our family and its history. Nothing could have clouded my happiness as I all but skipped towards my room, desperate to share the wondrous news with you.

‘You seem pleased.' Simon sat forward, his body hidden within the massive high-backed chair located along the hallway.

‘Simon, I am so happy, and relieved. Salisbury is not my father!'

He rose and his right arm made a sweeping arch until his fingers almost touched his boot. ‘Lady Holland, I presume?'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘May I be the first to address you by your correct name and title? However, I promise you that after this day I shall never bow quite so low again,' he jested, making a mock gesture of rubbing his back.

I smiled, for I knew that there was nothing wrong with him or his sense of humour. ‘How did you know?'

‘I did not. 'Twas but a small suspicion.' He extended his arm, indicating that I walk with him to the front door. ‘When we were in London, I saw Joan and Thomas at the Tower.' He stepped aside, guiding me through the portal. ‘Your mother is extremely beautiful and I saw you in her. And you have Thomas' light colouring, whereas Salisbury is dark.'

‘So you never believed we were Salisbury's daughters?'

‘I found it difficult to accept that two girls, both loving and kind, could be in any way spawned from that vicious, uncaring family.' He twisted a lock of my hair around his finger. ‘Looking at you now, it seems so very obvious.'

The breeze through the garden was warm and inviting, and spoke of long summer days ready to make way for autumn. The purple berries of the elder gave a hint, a sense that they would soon ripen, heralding the change in season. Simon led me to a bench hidden behind a thick hedge and we sat comfortably together.

‘Tell me, does Gillet know?' I asked.

‘I suspect he must know something of your past, considering he was within the confidence of Mary St Pol.'

I reflected on this for a moment, my mind turning with countless possibilities, the lies and the deceit. ‘It is amusing when you think on it that Gillet, who claims to be a knight, lowers himself to marry a maid, when in fact he could have married royalty. Yet my sister, much enamoured by him, felt she was beneath his class.'

‘Yes, there are many things that I feel he should discuss with both you and me.'

‘I agree,' I replied absentmindedly, still pondering the many facets of a man such as Gillet. ‘Mayhap we should seek him out and share today's revelations.'

‘I have searched but, alas, he cannot be found.'

‘Has he left?' I cried, rising to my feet.

‘No. His horse remains stabled. I have a sneaking suspicion that he did not go to his marital bed last night and as a result Anaïs is ransacking the house. I'll wager she can't wait to lay her hands on him!'

‘Literally, I imagine,' I replied, without thinking.

He laughed, rocking backwards and forwards, completely taken by mirth. ‘Lady Catherine! I am surprised at you!'

‘I did not mean it like that!' I could feel the heat building in my cheeks and turned my back upon him. ‘Why is it that you suggest the most lewd meanings for the simplest of statements?'

‘Why is it that you are so naïve?'

‘I think your question quite ridiculous,' I huffed as I marched away the house, his laughter chasing me on the breeze.

I walked to the stables and searched the many outbuildings, but I could not locate Gillet. I returned to the house where Anaïs' bitter recriminations could be heard rolling out her door and into the very core of the manor. By supper time I had given up hope of finding Gillet and returned to my room, determined to write to you.

Lady Matilda has kindly agreed to meet with me on the morrow, after the noon meal, so I am more than content as I compose this reply.

So, my dearest, much has been revealed. What do you think, Lady Cecily Holland? So much in a name, is there not? Comte d'Armagnac did you great service when he broke your troth to the Duke, and though your love is now placed squarely at the feet of a weary knight, one wonders at the turmoil that may have been caused when a Valois Prince discovered his bride was of Plantagenet blood. Many wives have suffered greatly for a lesser offence. I think God intended that we be found. Is it that fate always takes the upper hand so that truth will find its way?

8 September

I cannot continue this letter to you, dearest sister, without first begging your forgiveness. For such a grievous act of betrayal have I committed against you that I would not be surprised if you felt it impossible to grant me favour at this time. For how could you, with my last letter surely breaking your heart? Please appreciate that I was acting in your best interest and, had Gillet and Simon been honest with me, this pain and anguish would not have been necessary. But of course I must explain, for you will no doubt be much confused.

This morning, on my way to break my fast, I overheard the maids discussing that Gillet had been in the chapel all night and, sure enough, as I entered through the large oak doors, I saw your courier, kneeling in prayer. I cautiously joined him but he sighed and sat back on the pew.

His voice was steady, yet his face reflected a new weariness that I had not previously seen. ‘I have kept a vigil for the Blessed Virgin and prayed for her guidance. Forgive me, but I cannot go through with this. Please understand I want nothing more than to see you safe, Catherine, but Céci … Céci is of my heart.'

Abandoning any further thoughts of religious reflection, I sat on the seat next to him. ‘I don't know what you mean. I thought your affection lay with your wife.'

For a moment he stared at me, then clearing his throat he reached for my hand. ‘I have a confession to make. I have committed a deed both hurtful and shameful, the guilt of which weighs heavy upon my conscience.'

My chest constricted. What was he to reveal? What could be worse than his marriage to Anaïs?

‘I must tell you something of an intrigue, a ruse so despicable that I would not have been able to commit it had it not been done simply out of love, for both yourself and your sister.'

I looked down at my hand, so small and insignificant when held inside his. His thumb rubbed gently over mine, an act of affection? Or one to calm me, to prepare for the brewing storm?

‘My marriage, yesterday, to Anaïs was a sham.' The squeeze to my hand was not reassuring.

‘Sham? What does that mean?' I asked.

‘I did not really marry Anaïs. It was a trick, a play, to convince her that she was my wife. But this is not so. I have come to realise that no matter the cost, I love your sister. I cannot maintain this charade.'

‘What?' I gasped, quickly rising to my feet.

‘Please do not be angry, Catherine. Simon deduced that it would be the only way to keep both you and Céci safe.'

‘Lord Wexford,' I whispered, not at all surprised at his involvement in such an act. ‘How can this be? I saw you. I heard you.'

‘The vows were real enough for a man and woman pledging to marry some time in the future, but not on the day.' Simon had silently entered the chapel and was now standing only inches behind me.

‘This cannot be right, please God, this cannot be right.' My raised voice swirled around the empty chapel, my rage within building.

‘Catherine, you need to calm yourself,' instructed Lord Wexford.

Pulling my hand from Gillet's I stumbled towards the altar and directed my temper at Lord Wexford. ‘How could you commit such an … an … evil act?'

‘You are overwrought.'

‘How could you do this without telling me?'

Simon stepped towards me, his gentle urgings somewhat conciliatory. ‘I will explain.'

‘What? That you are relying on a few misplaced words to absolve Gillet from a promise he made in the eyes of God. Why could you not have been honest with me?'

‘Honest? How dare you! Since we are each on trial, perhaps you might like to confess your own sin?'

‘I am sure I do not know what you mean!'

‘I am referring to a letter, handed to my brother.'

Turning my back on Lord Wexford, I watched as Gillet's gaze flew to me.

‘Gillet, I … I believed Anaïs to be your wife.'

‘Yes, but only you think that is so,' he said.

‘She and Cécile,' clarified Simon as he moved to stand beside Gillet. ‘Is that not to whom you sent your secret correspondence last night?'

‘
What
? What are you saying?' Gillet paled, as though suddenly doused with ice water. ‘Cécile
knows
?' Gillet slapped his forehead. ‘
Christ Almighty
!' He paced the aisle uttering a string of French expletives but, catching sight of the altar, quickly crossed himself.

‘I did not want her to be hurt,' I cried, wringing my hands. ‘I tried to tell you yesterday, but you wouldn't listen. Why did you not share the truth with me then?'

‘That was my decision,' replied Simon. ‘Had you known of the plan you might have given us away. You said yourself that you found it very difficult to lie?'

What could I say? This was true, I could not deliberately mislead another, but surely this was not a fault in my character? I kneeled heavily on the altar steps, mutely begging the Lord to fix the terrible mistake I had made.

‘You see, I needed you to be Anaïs' witness,' explained Simon, ‘for your disappointment, your indignation, was extremely convincing and completely spontaneous. For this reason alone we could not tell you.'

‘So you used me as a pawn in the game of marriage?'

‘Well, not use
you
, per se, but your emotional response. But now you have risked it all. Why could you not have waited?'

‘I am sorry.' Tears sprang to my eyes.

‘Sorry? Sorry? Is that all you have to offer?'

‘You tricked me, misled me. How was I to know?'

‘Sometimes it is necessary. Your immaturity and naïveté have prevented you from conceiving this.'

‘Enough!' interrupted Gillet. ‘Cécile needs me. I am leaving.'

‘If you ride for France now, all that you have achieved thus far will be for naught,' stated Simon.

‘She means more to me than this.' Gillet turned to me, his face softening. ‘Catherine was right all along. 'Tis better I stand beside Cécile.'

‘You are risking your life and ours.'

Ignoring Lord Wexford's comment, I went to Gillet and laid my hand upon his arm. ‘Go to her, Gillet. She may be angry at first but she has great forgiveness. And I know she would much rather face any danger with you by her side than suffer this farce.'