The Order of the Lily (31 page)

‘Do them good,' quipped Gillet. ‘They think they own us.'

They followed the track, winding deeper into the forest. Cécile nestled against Gillet's chest, the fragrance of Dame Martha's sandalwood soap rising from his warmth to conjure a host of memories.

‘We have come far, have we not?' she sighed blissfully.

Gillet frowned, his mouth quirking into a smile. ‘We have barely been riding for half one hour. Ow!' He rubbed his ribs ruefully.

‘I meant that the last time I rode thus with you, it was on the road to Compiegne, and we have come a long way since then.'

‘Oh, oui,' teased Gillet, ‘a long way. Compiegne … Amiens … Arras … Calais … Kent.' His arms tightened around Cécile, his lips nestling in her hair as she huffed irritably. ‘Oui, sweetheart, we have come far since then but our journey is just beginning.'

Following the rocky path, they wound past thick hedgerows of wild nettle mingled with blackthorn. The wide oaks formed a leafy canopy above while, beneath, the indestructible butcher's broom and mare's tail lavished in prolific abundance. Gillet tethered the horse and spread a blanket under an ancient elm. He emptied a sack containing a wedge of cheese, apples and a flask of wine and looked up at the sky. ‘If we are lucky, we may catch the songbirds.'

Cécile settled comfortably alongside the trunk. Gillet lay at right angles and rested his head against her breasts, brandish-ing the flask of wine as he pulled her arm across him, weaving his fingers within the weft of hers. The lines of strain present upon his face earlier had disappeared, replaced with a soft glow from cheeks kissed by the summer's sun.

Gillet drew a long breath and exhaled it slowly. ‘These woods have played host to hundreds of nesting herons every year. It is said, if they do not return to inhabit by the Feast of Saint Valentine that a terrible misfortune will befall the owner of the estate.' He swivelled his head and caught Cécile's haunted look.

‘Do you believe such tales, Gillet?'

‘No. I do not believe that herons spend their winter trying to part the veils of the future in order to find where to roost.' A smile twitched his lips. ‘Besides, they are nesting females. They are bound to be confused.' He rolled over and softly kissed her skin. ‘No doubt the story started from a wild coincidence, but not all things in life are mere chance. The day Catherine told me her sister's name was Cécile d'Armagnac, I knew that it was no accident of fate. God meant for you to be in my life.'

Tears prickled dangerously behind Cécile's eyes. ‘We've had rather a sore start.'

Gillet unsheathed his bejewelled dagger, Cécile's gift to him at Compiegne. He sliced one of the apples. ‘When I met you at the palace, I had serious doubts,' he said, offering a plump section from the tip of his blade. The ebony depths of his eyes sparkled, ‘but no more.' Handing her another chunk, he slid down to munch the remaining half pensively. ‘I have lived as a fool.'

Cécile combed her fingers through the soft black waves that fell to his shoulders. ‘It is funny. A year ago I knew you not, and now I cannot imagine my life without you.'

Gillet tossed his depleted apple core onto the carpet of bur-nished leaves and wiped his hand across his thigh. ‘There is Edward's child to consider.' He flipped onto his stomach and his long fingers adroitly stroked her laden womb. ‘If I want you in my life, Cécile, then I must accept this, but I shall not have him come between us.
No one
must come between us ever again.' He lifted her gown and rested his hands on either side of the bulge, addressing it sternly, as though he knew tiny ears were listening. ‘And you need not think, Jean Petit, that you shall exert your princely wiles upon me. If I am to act as your father, then you will obey me in all things.' Suddenly he ducked, and tickled Cécile with his new beard. Squealing, she tried to wriggle from his grasp, but his lips fastened at the top of her thigh. Cécile's breathing quickened as he slid down, his purpose abundantly clear.

She squashed her lips tight and held her breath, tensing as Gillet neared his target but the anticipation of soft whiskers against such intimate parts proved too much. She burst out laughing and pushed him from his goal. He tried again, but Cécile shrilled helplessly and Gillet gave up his task, slump-ing beside her.

‘I am sorry, Gillet,' she choked with merriment. ‘But you made me ticklish and it would not cease.' His sullen look was so forlorn Cécile succumbed to another fit of giggles. ‘Sire, punish me not for your folly.'

‘Come, Lady d'Armagnac,' Gillet held out his hand, his voice devoid of humour. ‘Since my inept attempts are causing such frivolity, mayhap we should take a walk to quell your jocularity.'

‘No, Gillet. Do not be so offended! Come, sit back down. Since I cannot be your slave, let me be the master.' He relented and slouched against the tree. She unfastened the wooden toggles on his doublet and, tugging his shirt free, bent to kiss the smooth skin. His body responded eagerly. Cécile let her tongue glide languorously over his stomach and followed the trail of velvet-down to the edge of his braies. Designs more intricate than the plans of Notre Dame skidded across his midriff and Gillet groaned with growing impatience as Cécile teased. Leisurely she drifted below the line of his braies, when suddenly she snarled and gnashed her teeth like a hungry wolf. Gillet scrambled sideways with the speed of lightening, his hands flying to protect his vulnerable parts. Cécile fell back, laughing riotously.

‘You should have seen your face!'

‘Point taken, Lady.' Two strong hands pinioned her waist. ‘Let's keep the biting end towards the sky, yes?' Gillet's arousal had not been completely doused and he hoisted Cécile astride him.

Cécile was jolted by the heated rush that surged between them. It was an ancient alchemistic response. Gillet's eyes darkened to black, as though the candle lighting them had just been extinguished. With resolute calculation an adjust-ment of linen had him sheathed and home. His hands slid to her hips to dictate the pace, and Cécile bent forward, her lips bruising his, as a slow growl of pleasure unfurled in his chest.

‘Mon Dieu,'
groaned Gillet, sagging against the tree, breathless from his victory. A whistle of wings sounded from above as a flock of wood pigeons flew overhead. In the distance came the melodic notes of a thrush and Gillet smiled. ‘Music from a songbird. That is supposed to be a good omen.'

‘I did not think you believed in omens.'

He lifted Cécile to one side and readjusted his clothing. ‘Not when they are based on feather-headed females looking for somewhere to nest,' he goaded, grinning conceitedly.

Cécile struck out playfully and they tumbled in an array of arms and legs, switching positions with much hilarity, until Gillet was perched above her, a great eagle mercilessly toying with his quarry. His muscled thighs and strong hands held her down and she was pinioned like a hide staked out to dry.

‘Lady, I think that …' Suddenly he tensed, the laughter leaving his face as his eyes became fixed to a point on the ground to his right. He drew in his breath slowly. ‘As you value your life, Cécile,' he whispered soberly, ‘I beg you, do not move a muscle.'

Cécile instinctively flinched and Gillet's grip tightened, holding her fast.

‘Do not move.
When I give you clearance, slide your hand towards my leg and slowly unsheathe my dagger … slow-ly.'

Without lifting his eyes, he released the pressure on her forearm. At a snail's pace Cécile slid her wrist along his thigh towards his belt. Her fingers curled around the hilt of his dagger.

‘Now slide it … down my arm, to my hand … slowly … very … very … slowly. Make … no … sudden … movements.'

Cécile swallowed, the blood pounding in her ears, until finally the handle passed from her hand to his. The apple in Gillet's throat convulsed as he took a firm ‘stabbing' hold of the weapon.

‘When I give you the command, roll to your right as fast as you can.' He released the pressure he had thus kept upon her right forearm. ‘
Now.
'

With a yelp, she whirled away as Gillet leaped from her and struck with his blade. He followed quickly behind her, both of them rolling along the ground like storm-blown acorns. Cécile scrambled to her feet to see a thrashing length of creamy brown and black scales, pegged by its head.

Gillet sprinted to the horse and drew the sword strapped to his saddle. He severed the snake's writhing body and hurtled it into the bushes. Pinning the head with his foot, he pulled out his knife and flicked the remains into the undergrowth, stooping to wipe his dagger on the grass.

‘Remind me to wash this when we get home. It will have poison on it.'

Cécile fell against the nearest tree, dry-retching. Gillet waited patiently for a few minutes, then hooked his arm around her waist and gently lifted her to her feet. He brushed away the tendrils of hair from her wet cheeks.

‘An adder. You were very brave, Lady Sprite.' He smiled and waggled his eyebrows in jest. ‘Life with you,
ma chérie
, is never boring.'

Cécile crumpled into Gillet's arms and burst into desolate tears.

He held her head against his shoulder. ‘Hush, my love. It was just a snake. It cannot hurt you now. We probably disturbed its winter nest with our foolery.'

Cécile pushed herself from Gillet's arms, shrieking. ‘Just a snake?
Just
a snake? No! Do you not see? It was the Devil himself! This is the Garden of Eden and I am Eve, and we ate the apple. Are we always to be punished for our love?'

‘Cécile.'

‘Every time we turn around, we must be watching over our shoulders. Women trying to seduce you … Edward after me … soldiers bursting into our room … fleeing in the middle of the night … fires in barns … and now … snakes! And this …
this
!' She thrust her stomach forward, screaming.
‘I hate this.
I hate not knowing if I am going to be laughing one minute, crying the next, all the time not knowing what my future holds because of
this
. I cannot see my papa. I cannot go home.
I have no home. Edward has ruined my life.'

Gillet stared, open mouthed, as she held out her hands beseeching him, tears streaming down her face.

‘Take me away, Gillet. Put me on that horse now and let us ride from here to … to … Spain … Portugal, anywhere, I don't care! We can go where no one knows who we are, where no one
cares
who we are. I see the looks you try to hide. I know what thoughts lay behind those eyes. You try to hide them, but you cannot! You loathe the fact I carry Edward's child. Will it never end?' Her shoulders slumped and she put her head in her hands, her voice a whisper. ‘If my life must be torn from me, then would it was
your
child for whom I suffered.' The storm gave way and she fell to her knees, weeping pitifully.

Gillet's lips seared hers in a blinding kiss. Without a word, he scooped her up and mounted the Boulonnais, keeping her possessively in his arms. Cécile gave herself up to him, exhausted. She leaned against his chest, drinking in his scent and closed her eyes.

Gillet's deep voice resounded above her, rich and mellow.

‘Love reigns serenely in my lady's eyes,

Ennobling everything she looks upon,

Towards her, when she passes, all men turn,

And he whom she salutes feels his heart fail,

So that, with drooping countenance, and pale,

He then because of his shortcomings sighs:

Before her, pride retreats and anger flies:

Assist me,
Ladies, now to honour her.

All sweetness, all humility of thought

Stir in the heart of him who hears her speak,

And he who sees her first is blest indeed.

And when she smiles her beauty is such as

Cannot be told, nor in the memory held,

So fair, so new a miracle it is.'

Cécile snuggled deeper on the verge of falling into a doze. At length she noticed the elongated shadows and prised herself from the security of Gillet's warmth. She glanced up at his grim expression. ‘Gillet?'

‘Yes, sweetheart.' His expression was a blank mask, his eyes stalwartly fixed on the road, his mouth set in a line of determination. He appeared possessed in a single-minded purpose.

Cécile glanced around. ‘Is that not Chilham behind us?'

‘Yes.'

‘Gillet, where are we going?'

‘To Spain … unless my Lady orders otherwise.'

Excerpt of letter to Lady Catherine Wexford from her sister.

We did not take the road to Spain that day. But we did find the path back to each other. In that moment, as he stared into my eyes, I knew I had only to say the word and he would have risked all to take me from this place. But one cannot run away from life, Catherine. Nor do I find you can turn your back on love. When it is truly in your heart, it is there to stay. I would make my life with this man, and no other.

Cécile d'Armagnac.