The Order of the Lily (24 page)

Cécile awoke with a start, sensing she was not alone. She raised her head to find Gillet sitting beneath the window reading Catherine's letter. He looked up, his face rigid. ‘And when did you think to inform me of this? Simon marries your sister and you say nothing? What was he thinking?'

She rose and snatched the parchment from his hand, hurt by his accusation. ‘You read my letters now? That is private! And I would have told you sooner, only I have not seen you.' Prodded by jealousy, she added, ‘You are too busy preening in the yard with Gwynedd.'

‘Gwynedd? What has she to do with this?'

‘Nothing. Everything! First Catherine runs back to France, then Simon follows, then Armand. And you … you are always busy with Gwynedd.'

‘Armand? Are you saying Armand returned to France for Catherine? Please do not tell me my cousin dares to seduce your sister right under Simon's nose?'

‘Well, why not?' retorted Cécile, thoroughly peeved Gillet had missed her point. ‘It seems everyone is running around after Catherine! If I so much as go off half-cocked I get a King's speech but Catherine plays the heroine and has everyone chasing after her. And I thought you didn't like the idea that Simon married her? Now you protect him from Armand? Well, you need not worry. Armand would not bother!'

‘Oh? And why not?'

‘Because my sister is not to Armand's taste.'

‘And you would know so much about that, I suppose.'

‘As a matter of fact, I do. Armand and I grew up together, remember?'

Gillet put the letter down. ‘How could I forget? You remind me often enough.'

‘Do not misunderstand me, Gillet. I love my sister with all my heart, and from what I see Simon is a good choice for her. Anyway, Armand needs someone more vibrant, who will keep pace with him, someone like …'

‘Someone like you?'

‘Well, yes, I suppose. Compared to my sister, someone more like me.'

Gillet's eyes darkened. ‘I said someone like
you
. It seems to me that you have kept him to yourself for years now.'

‘That's absurd!'

‘Really? Clearly it bothers you now that Armand is in France with Catherine and not here,
with you
.'

‘That is ridiculous! What are you saying? Armand asked me to marry him once and I refused.'

‘And why did you, Cécile? As I recall, you were also considering a convent at that time.'

‘Yes, but that was different. They were willing to take me even though I was no longer … no longer … a maid.'

‘As was Armand.'

Cécile became flustered under his attack and began to pace. ‘Yes, but he … I thought that he … I thought …'

‘You refused him because Edward had seduced you.'

Cécile spun around. ‘Yes! I thought Armand deserved a maiden bride!' She caught the look on Gillet's face. Too late, like a bewildered rabbit she felt the trap spring.

‘But,' glowered Gillet, ‘soiled goods were acceptable to a man whom you thought to be a mere courier.'

Cécile reddened but she stood her ground. ‘If the courier were to gain rank and prosper, he could choose to overlook my misfortune, yes. But I never expected it from a man already knighted.'

Her barb struck home and Gillet closed his eyes. ‘Forgive me, Cécile,' he whispered. ‘What I said was uncalled for.'

‘Gillet,' she trod softly towards him, ‘why are we arguing?'

He let out his breath slowly. ‘I am unsure. I just know that I was caught off-guard learning Simon had married Catherine. I came here to tell you Gwynedd has suggested an idea that will allow me the time I need to repair the mill.'

‘Gwynedd?' Cécile felt her stomach tighten again.

‘Yes. She has offered to exercise the horses for me so that Griffith and I can be free to fix the mill wheel. I only need to show her some basic riding techniques.'

Cécile stared, nonplussed. ‘She wants
you
to teach her to ride first? Do you really believe it is the horses for which she cares?'

‘It would just be a few lessons to improve her skill.'

‘I think her skill is ample,' quipped Cécile testily.

Gillet raked one hand through his hair. ‘Why are you making this difficult?'

‘Au contraire.
This is almost too easy! Are you truly so blind, Gillet?'

‘I have a mountain of grain waiting to be ground into flour before the winter sets in! Griffith and I can leave the horses in Gwynedd's hands for the time it will take us to repair the wheel. I have yet to take tally of the supplies, count the beasts herded for the winter kill, and hunt for more if there is not enough to last us through. I need to repair the stable and see it fully stocked with new hay. Gwynedd …'

Cécile spun around, her eyes flashing. ‘Yes, Gwynedd is a saint! Just how long before you tumble her on that newly-stocked hay of yours?'

Gillet inhaled sharply and his eyes flooded jet black. ‘And that is what you think? My honour to you means nothing?' He stared for a moment, then stood and headed for the door.

‘Gillet! Wait! I didn't mean it.'

He turned, his face blank. ‘Ah, but you see, you did, Cécile. I shall be extremely busy during the next couple of weeks. Maybe you would like to take that time to consider which Albret cousin suits you best. Perhaps you should have accepted Armand's proposal after all, you and he being so much alike. Meanwhile I am going to give a riding lesson.'

Cécile stared as the door slammed. What had just happened? She clenched her fists and bit down on them. But no matter how much she wanted to run after Gillet, her pride would not allow it. She was not wrong in this.

As Gillet spent his time divided between the mill and the stables, Cécile spent hers in her chamber and the chapel. Daily she prayed for a way to breach the gap between them. By evening she fell exhausted into her bed, knowing Gillet would return too late from the mill to visit her. Pride prevented her from going to him. Already one week had elapsed and she was fearful the distance between them was widening. How much longer would Gillet make her suffer?

The following morning she was leaving the chapel after prayers when she heard his raised voice from the horse yard.

‘No, Gwynedd. I told you, never that horse!'

She crept amongst the line of trees and peeped around the elm trunk. Her hand flew to cover her gasp as she saw Gwynedd leading Ruby from the stable, complete with a side saddle. The girl pouted as Gillet took the reins and passed them back to the groom.

‘Go saddle the bay mare.'

‘But, Gillet,' she whined, ‘I can manage 'er. Yer lessons 'ave taught me much.'

Cécile stomach churned. When had the ‘Sire d'Albret' become ‘Gillet' to Gwynedd?

Gillet shook his head decisively. ‘No. I will lunge her myself. Ruby knows only one rider, and I would keep it that way.'

His companion pulled a sour face. ‘The
Lady
d'Armagnac.'

Gillet turned back, raising one eyebrow. ‘Oui. Lady d'Armagnac.'

Gwynedd pirouetted on her toes. ‘Because she rides astride, is it? Will ye teach me to do it?'

He frowned darkly. ‘No. It is enough that you learn side saddle.'

The stable master's daughter performed a provocative little dance, lifting her arms to spread out her hair, thrusting her breasts forward, and twirling.

‘Jezebel!' hissed Cécile as she watched.

Gwynedd looked up at Gillet with feigned innocence and giggled, pirouetting closer. ‘The lady does ride astride. Seen 'er, I 'ave.'

A shadow of a smile eclipsed Gillet's face. ‘Oui, but Cécile has ridden that way since she was a child, and even I would not deign to change it.'

Gwynedd danced her way to within inches of him, licking her lips. ‘Makes ye very sad, she does, an' ever'one knows it.'

Gillet stared at Gwynedd and then shook himself. He strode to the stable. ‘How long does it take that blasted boy to saddle a horse?'

Cécile slept badly that night. Visions of Gwynedd dancing for Gillet haunted her.

Restless and irritable, she rose and dressed. Her heart was too heavy for sleep and there was only one other place where she would feel some measure of comfort. She donned her dark cloak and crept down the stairs, into the night air.

Letting herself into the stable, carefully she placed her candle on a high shelf. Inferno whickered and swished his tail. Cécile paused to fondly scratch his ear, then slipped into Ruby's stall. The mare neighed softly, nudging her mistress with affection.

‘I am pleased to see that they are keeping you well groomed,' whispered Cécile, running her fingers through the bright red mane. ‘Hush. Do not make too much noise. I am not supposed to be here,' she confided, ‘but I have missed you so.' Her eyes misted and she laid her head against the horse. ‘Do you recall the day Gillet gave you to me? He said that you would be the only ruby he would ever give me.' A large, wet nose mussed Cécile's hair. ‘Well, I would not swap you for all the precious red gems on this Earth! You
are
the only Ruby I want from Gillet!'

‘Ye are no' supposed to be 'ere.'

The harsh voice made Cécile jump, her heart thudding as Ruby shifted nervously. Gwynedd sidled nearer the stall.

‘Frightened ye, did I not? So ye should be.'

Cécile lifted her chin with defiance. ‘What I do, and where I do it, is no business of yours.' Ruby's back leg stamped impatiently and Gwynedd smiled.

‘Think because yer French, ye can win the Sire's affections, eh? I tell ye now, 'e already turns 'is 'ead away, 'e does. 'Twill no' be long.'

‘Before what?' To her dismay, Cécile felt her legs begin to shake.

Gwynedd reached the shelf, and the shadows danced around the walls as she took down the candle. Cécile glanced at the dry straw surrounding them.

‘Afore
I
am in 'is arms, an'
not ye
. Long been 'is destiny, I 'ave. An' soon enough 'e will know it.'

Cécile forced herself to remain calm. She gave a curt smile. ‘I think not. My family has long had ties to the Albrets.' Cécile realised the truth of this as she said it, no matter which family she considered rightfully hers, Holland or Armagnac. Warming to her convictions, she stepped from the stall to face Gwynedd and thrust back her shoulders. ‘I am born to his rank. We are of the same mettle. You dare to presume that Gillet would ever consider you? You little fool! When he realises what you are about, he will scrape you from his boot like the dag of filth you are.'

Gwynedd's eyes flashed and her lips drew back from her teeth. ‘'E danced wi' me at Michaelmas! 'E laughed wi'
me
!'

‘Gillet is gallant, I'll not argue that. But who lay in his bed that night?' Cécile stepped closer. ‘Into whose ears did he whisper sweet words of love?'

‘Whsssk! Waited 'is return a long time, I 'ave. Acastin' me spells an' aweavin' me magic, beseechin' the Ancient Ones, an' they brought 'im to me, see.' The candle shook within her grasp. ‘They brought 'im to
me
!'

‘Did you truly believe that he would ever consider you … a stableman's daughter?'

‘If yer so sure o' yeself,' screamed Gwynedd, ‘why are yer not in 'is bed now? Eh? Why are yer 'ere, tellin' secrets to yer 'orse?' Her face split into a wide grin. ‘No longer shares yer bed, does 'e?'

Cécile faltered as Gwynedd stumbled upon a truth. The girl slowly trod forward, her face ugly with hatred. ‘'E's lost interest, 'cos 'e can't stand to watch the baby grow, a baby not 'is! I attract 'im now, an'
I
shall go to 'im pure!' Her eyes slid down the length of Cécile's gown, resting on her abdomen. ‘No' so arrogant now, are ye? No' so high and mighty!' She held the candle over a bundle of straw, and a couple of the horses whickered nervously. ‘Think 'e will still want ye if yer skin is melted and yer 'air singed to yer scalp? Scarred an' twisted, do ye think 'e will lead ye to church porch?' She picked up a fistful of straw, setting the ends to the tip of the flame, and Cécile watched in horror as it quickly ignited. Burning embers fell to the floor. The horses picked up the scent and began to stomp restlessly. Fear gripped Cécile.