The Order of the Lily (37 page)

‘Nor can I be expected to know what you want of me!'

‘Then perhaps you might like to give me direction and I would not need to guess,' he bellowed, passing her at the main door and turning towards the kitchen.

‘Why do you not simply ask?' she muttered to his retreating figure.

The following day the wet-nurse arrived as directed and was escorted to the room set aside for the two women. They chatted amiably, with Catherine admitting her complete lack of knowledge. Marie took clean swaddling from her basket and began undressing her child, tilting him slightly to unwrap the tight bands. Catherine sat beside the contented baby, playing with his exquisitely formed fingers.

Marie patiently explained what she was doing, as she revealed the child within. Catherine listened intently, her eyes widening as the male anatomy was exposed. She was struck dumb by the sheer silliness of something so small.

‘Anyone would think you had never seen one.' Simon's voice loomed close to her ear and she jumped with surprise, her cheeks flaming immediately. ‘You haven't!' he declared with disbelief.

‘I … I was surrounded by women all my life,' she stammered. ‘The only men I ever met with were fully-dressed priests. I have heard rumours, about such an … an appendage, but believed it to be much … well … much bigger!'

Clutching his side Simon staggered from the room. At first she thought him to be afflicted with a strange malady, so followed him along the corridor where he had collapsed upon a bench seat. She realised that he was not ill, rather, consumed by hilarity, unable to draw breath. ‘Catherine, for the love of God, you are killing me!'

‘I do not think it very funny,' she cried, finding his mirth intolerable.

‘No … no … but I do,' he howled, his laughter echoing loudly.

‘You are a … a … oh!' she huffed as she turned away.

‘Stay,' he gasped, taking hold of her wrist. ‘Sweet, innocent Catherine, you have so much to learn, but I can assure you, each man starts out the same way – tiny.'

‘Oh, so the babe is normal?'

‘Very, and he will grow like all children, as will his, er, his … appendage.' He laughed again as he said the ridiculous word.

‘This is fortunate, yes?'

His grey eyes turned to hers, the bright flecks of silver dancing in the dim light. ‘You do know how a woman acquires a baby?'

‘I learned a great deal during my time with Anaïs.'

‘I hardly think
her
behaviour should be considered!'

‘Perhaps,' she replied. ‘Are all men made the same?'

‘As far as I am aware,' he smiled, struggling to contain the delight he was experiencing at her burgeoning interest.

‘Why?'

‘I … well … I … I once heard a priest tell Lady Pembroke that he required constant female attention as God had blessed him in the same measure as a donkey.'

Simon's laughter could be heard two floors below in the kitchen, as could the slamming of a door. In the hall, Roderick's eyebrows rose with interest as the men exchanged glances before returning to their game of dice.

‘Insufferable buffoon!' Catherine marched down the hallway to the opposite end of the building.

‘Catherine!' Simon called after her as she banged the door shut. He let himself in without invitation.

‘Go away.' She was lying upon the bed.

‘I should not have laughed at you,' he admitted.

Catherine rolled away from him, hiding her face. Her hair covered the pillow and cascaded down her back.

Simon's hand hovered over her golden mane, his discipline waning. ‘Ask me what you will. I will not laugh.'

‘Anything?'

‘Anything,' he replied.

‘And you will answer with honesty?'

‘Of course.'

She turned towards him, her cheeks still burning brightly. ‘Why do you fear me?'

He had not been expecting this. He had thought the conversation was to remain on matters of the body. Matters of the heart were much harder to discuss.

‘I do not fear you.'

‘You do not speak the truth.' She sat up, her temper rising with her.

‘You misunderstand.'

‘Is it that I am undesirable?'

Simon scoffed. ‘You cannot believe that.'

‘Then why do you avoid me?'

‘When I am alone in your presence it is becoming increasingly more difficult to contain myself!' he exclaimed.

‘So you hit Armand?'

‘I struck that upstart because he is far too forward.'

‘He is not. We were only talking.'

He slid his hand along her arm and pulled her towards him. ‘There are few things that frighten me, but there is this, that I will lose my heart to my wife but she will not lose hers to me.'

Their lips met, both hungry for the passion they had found previously. Catherine wrapped her arms around Simon's neck and returned his kisses with such ardour that he fought to restrain his own response.

‘Stop, Lady, you are my undoing.'

‘Is that not what
I
am meant to say!' She smiled.

‘I cannot wait for your objection, lest it be too late.'

‘Perhaps it already is. Does marriage not require mutual faith?'

‘It would seem so,' he replied.

‘Then I am ready to place my faith in you.'

He rested his hand upon her bodice and gently sought out the swell of her breast. ‘You do not know to what you commit yourself.'

‘I trust you,' she gasped.

Simon rose from the bed. ‘I told you that you would have the choice when the time came. That time is here.'

Catherine hesitated momentarily, then took his hand and stood before him.

‘There can be no turning back.'

‘I know,' she whispered.

He draped his doublet over the stool and removed his shirt, then gathered her into his arms, allowing her to experience the feel of his skin against hers.

‘We will go slowly and take each step one at a time.'

He felt her tremble. This would be difficult for him also, as his body was responding quickly and he would have to fight against his raging desire.

He stepped behind her and unlaced her gown, gently loosening the ties and sliding it from her shoulders. He kissed her neck and trailed his fingers across her back, pushing the garment to the floor.

She crossed her arms over her chest and bowed her head, hiding from his gaze.

‘You have the most beautiful body, given to you by God. It is not something of which you should be ashamed.'

‘I fear you will find me wanting,' she whispered.

He lifted her chin and kissed her deeply as he coaxed her onto the bed. He wanted to divest her of the chemise, but she clung to it like a drowning man to a barrel.

Whilst removing his boots Simon considered his own state of dress. To remove his braies would frighten her to death. Clothed he was far less threatening.

He secured the latch to their room and stoked the fire before climbing beneath the sheet. He drew her towards him and kissed her. ‘Every time I touch, you should feel pleasure, like the gentle brush of butterfly wings.' He ran his fingers along the top of her arm and felt her shiver. ‘I do not want to hurt you.'

‘I know,' she replied, closing her eyes.

Simon toyed with the ribbon at her throat and untied her chemise. He watched her face, the frown lines softening and her lips parting as she responded to his touch. She was exquisite. He whispered endearments, as he slowly explored her body, allowing her to drink in each and every new sensation, soothing, teasing, all the while reassuring. He waited as long as he could then acted quickly, thrusting himself within her.

Catherine wrapped her arms about his neck, her fingers kneading his skin.

Lost in his own selfish need to bury himself within her, Simon smiled as she cried out, her climax consuming. He followed her, drowning in the waves of pleasure that swept over him as he kissed her damp cheeks.

He lifted her hand and kissed the tip of each finger. ‘Will you marry me, fair lady?'

‘But we are joined already, by church and now by God.'

‘True, but I would have you want me now as I want you and not for any other reason.'

Catherine smiled, brushing a fair lock from his brow. ‘Are we still to be honest with each other?'

‘Always,' he replied. ‘Ask what you will.'

‘Will it always be so?' She frowned.

‘Do you mean painful? No,' he answered.

‘Was it so for you?'

‘No, it is not the same for men, but I promise you, the more we join together the better it becomes.' He studied her face. ‘You are a brave and beautiful woman, and for me, it was everything I had hoped and more.'

‘So this can be done often?'

‘As often as you wish. But I warn you, I may not be able to accommodate you as well as a young squire might.'

Catherine laughed. ‘I think you will suit me fine.'

‘I hope so … wife.' He gathered her into his arms and kissed her tenderly. ‘Are you sore? I have ointment …'

‘Not that horrendous black pig's muck you wiped upon my tongue?'

‘What matter the colour, so long as it works?'

‘No thank you. I feel quite at ease,' she replied.

Catherine wriggled into Simon's embrace as he pulled the sheet over them. He smoothed her chemise, which he had not the power to remove, though the desire was great. Nor had she yet seen his naked form. He closed his eyes. They still had so much more to enjoy, but it would have to wait he thought, as her gentle snores lulled him into a deep, restful sleep.

It was a tradition in the Albret household that the servants had the latter half of All Hallows Eve free from service to enjoy the festivities but, as their master was in Broughton at the time, they did not take it upon themselves to indulge. In light of this, when Gillet returned home, he awarded his servants the following Saturday in lieu, to conduct their own post celebrations. Cécile considered this to be an excellent opportunity to delight Gillet with her culinary skills and begged him to allow her return to the abandoned kitchen for the sole purpose of preparing an intimate supper. Against his better judgement and helpless against her pleas, Gillet finally relented.

He decided to bury himself in rent rolls and ledgers and settled in the solar but Llewellyn called his attention to an outside matter. As Gillet prepared to ride into the village, he remembered Cécile's request for a chicken and instructed Ricard, the cook's boy, to kill one.

But Ricard's mind was more on the upcoming visit to the maids in Chilham's tavern and, easily distracted by his excited comrades, he left with the other servants without fulfilling his allotted task.

After searching the pantry, the cheese room and the cellar for the fowl, Cécile stepped out into the small slaughter pen at the rear of the kitchen, only to find her intended dinner happily pecking the ground.

‘Of all the saints in Heaven!'

She slipped inside the gate, bypassed the round stump that served as a chopping block, and retrieved the cleaver from its nail. ‘I hope you don't realise I've never done this before. Lord, give me strength!' Cécile cautiously moved towards the hen, hiding the weapon behind her skirt. ‘Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.' She lunged half-heartedly to no avail. Several attempts later, amidst a cacophony of shrieks and flapping wings, Cécile had a glorious scratch over her knuckles and the plump miscreant tucked beneath her arm. The beady eyes glared up at her.