The Lily and the Lion (10 page)

‘Two weeks. That should give my sister time to hide.'

‘Then tell his Lordship that you are inflicted with your courses. That will occupy one week.'

‘Odette! I cannot say
that
to a man.'

My maid snorted and rolled her eyes. ‘You think they don't know? All you have to say is that you are “indisposed” and most back away as though you have a dose of the crabs.'

‘Oh! And what of the second week?'

‘Hmm.' She gnawed at her thumbnail as though it were a juicy bone. ‘You must keep the advantage at all times. Ply him with wine and render him off guard, then encourage him to mount. By the finish he will only wish for sleep.' She caught my arm. ‘Under no circumstances must you let his hands or kisses venture below your waist. This is crucial. To do so will give him the advantage and you will be lost. Meanwhile, I will see what arrangements I can make.' She slid off the bed and began to tidy the covers. ‘It may bode well that his Highness is much occupied with this treaty thing. If you are able to deny him a week, then he will certainly fulfil his own needs first.'

Odette's predictions were surprisingly correct and I tried not to fathom why I felt so dissatisfied. Edward looked less than pleased when I informed him, with head sagaciously bowed, that Madame Nature had played him false. Bitterly he retreated each night alone, but by the end of the week and as surely as a homing pigeon returns to roost, I was re-installed in his coop. I heeded Odette's warning and his wine cup had been repeatedly filled. Lips and fingers that wandered too far were carefully drawn back and I learned how to arch my hips in a manner that Edward could not resist. Even so, his skill was not wanting and I found myself precariously plunging into deeper waters. I knew the time to leave was nigh when one evening I had very nearly allowed his exploring hands their freedom.

Edward cupped my face within his palms, panting softly. ‘I have been a selfish lover. Tomorrow night no wine and I will more than make up for it. I believe, Lady, you are warming to me at last.' In a playful moment he caught the corner of the brown coverlet and draped it over my head, the tasselled edge fringing my brow. He sucked in his breath suddenly, a soft oath slipping out on its release. My hand, pressed against his chest, felt his heart crack from a canter to a gallop.

‘How long have you been buried in Armagnac's nest?'

‘Ten and seven years, Milord.'

His eyes widened as he removed the quilt and reverently picked up a lock of my hair. ‘And his is the only home you have known?'

At my nod he drew away and to my astonishment burst out laughing. Holding the sheet to my breast, I slid up against the bolster as he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for his wine. Drinking with the thirst of a dying man, he refilled his goblet and raised it into the air with a beaming smile. ‘A salute, my love. I know which Lord you will marry.'

Panic struck in my breast as Edward donned his wrap and strode to the door, yelling for his guard. ‘Send to Chartres for Salisbury!'

‘I do not care of the whys and wherefores, Odette. I must leave today!' I stuffed the linen-covered slices of ham into the bag, setting the cheese to one side, and pulled the string so tight that if bells had been attached they would have tolled louder than Nôtre Dame.

‘Well, what else did he say afterwards?'

‘Nothing. He refused to speak any more upon it.'

‘Then how did he act?' My profuse blush needed no words. ‘What, again? You certainly have his attention. More times in one night than …'

‘Odette! Concentrate! Is the boat in place?'

‘Yes.' She sat back pouting and crossed her arms. ‘He would not let Salisbury touch you. Are you sure you are doing the right thing? He could mean to marry you himself. Word is he has never been so besotted.'

‘God's sake, Odette! And pigs fly at full moon, and every fifth sheep is born with a golden fleece. Do not be so ridiculous! It is a ploy, a ruse, some game, and I have no wish to play it.' With a huff I threw my scant provisions onto the bed and went to her side, biting down my frustration. ‘For the Prince to marry me I would need noble blood and if perchance any exists in my veins, then it just means I am someone's by-blow.' Reaching out to stroke her braid, I smiled wistfully. ‘Conceived on the wrong side of the blanket … a foul contagion to be hidden. That at least would make sense. But Salisbury is a different matter. He has already attacked my sister. I cannot risk it. I must be gone from here before he arrives.'

She sighed sadly and rose to embrace me. ‘I shall miss you, Milady.'

‘And I you, Odette. You have been a wonderful friend when I needed one.'

She swatted her moistened eyes, her lips quivering. ‘Now, do you remember where I have hidden the boat?'

‘Oui. Come, secure my sack beneath your robe and let us proceed to the evening mass. Let us pray the same two dotards are our guards tonight.'

‘Lord! I hope this storm holds off for a little while longer.'

I swapped my cloak for Odette's outside the confessional – a poor priest was about to receive a list of sins longer than the baggage wains of an army as I escaped. The duration of the mass thereafter was the only head start I would have. With a howling wind at my back I brutally grazed my knuckles pushing the small boat into the water. The rising waves on the Seine, spurred by a tempest that blew from under Hell's door, whipped my cloak into a disobedient sail. I battled helplessly with the oars in the blinding deluge of rain. But fate played me cruel and the two guards found me. Hair slick in the drenching torrents as they yelled from the bank, their voices fell uselessly on an air pounded with fury. The boat, swaying as precariously as a drunken reveller, tipped, dumping me into the icy depths. I was sucked to the bottom and blackness swirled around my head as my heavy clothing cocooned me into a doomed chrysalis.

My eyes flew open. Gasping for air, I thrashed at the imaginary waves of the monastic blanket that lapped at my face.

‘Cécile?' Strong arms anchored mine and I dived into the safe harbour, burrowing deep into Bellegarde's chest.

‘Lady, you are trembling.' He dropped his parchment onto the bed and gathered me properly into his embrace.

‘Please,' I whispered, ‘don't let Edward find me. I have no strength to fight him.'

23 May

It has taken me two weeks to write this much, so weak is my constitution. Monsieur de Bellegarde has left our company but promises to call before he returns to you. He is fulfilling his duties to Edward and has informed Armand that the Prince has left behind a small contingent of soldiers who are to continue searching for me.

‘The royal seal of the Dauphin has been applied to the “Treaty of Bretigny,”' explained Armand, one afternoon. ‘Gascony is firmly tucked under English rule and the Aquitaine has been given directly to the Black Prince. King Edward was finally granted Guienne and Calais free of homage. The deal was sweetened with large stretches of territory between the Loire and the Pyrenees.' He sighed with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘King Edward agrees to cease attempts to take the French throne but England still reigns over nearly one third of France.'

‘And the Prince?' I croaked, sipping the cool water he handed me.

‘Good news,' he smiled. ‘He has sailed with his father from Honfleur. They return to London. All you need do now is get better.'

Exhausted, I fell back onto my cushion, a strange feeling of desertion seeping into my bones.

6 June

The weeks have seen my health improve until at last I was arranged in the Abbot's private garden as ceremoniously as musty linen in need of airing. Hidden amongst the crab apple boughs, the scent of lavender heavy in the breeze, I told my woes to any passing ladybeetles that cared to listen. Not many did. The courier had been gone for three weeks and if not for the monotonous plainsong echoing from the chapel I could have believed that God had stopped time.

‘The goodly brothers of this institution would be scandalised if they knew what lay beneath your habit, sweetheart.' Armand sat on the bench beside me and plucked the hood of my woollen robe forward, tweaking my nose in the process. ‘Are you feeling better today?'

‘This tedium is driving me witless, Armand. When will you take me out of here?'

‘Well that is a good sign, surely. We shall leave soon.' He stroked his finger down the back of my hand. ‘You must have made quite an impression, chérie, for insiders report that in private the royal heir is inconsolable.'

‘He mourns the loss of Armagnac,' I snapped irritably. ‘How did my father react to the letter I sent him?'

‘Not well, but did you expect differently?'

‘No,' I sighed, ‘but he did send you.'

‘Did you doubt I would come? Is this my “Angelique” speaking?' His smile warmed my heart as he nudged me with his knee. ‘We grew up together, you and me. We shared everything, our food, our games, our secrets and even Jean le Bossu.' He reached out to coax a lock of hair from beneath my hood. ‘Do you not remember how, as children, Jean and I would cross swords for your honour, in our play of the Charlemagne legends? I was Roland and Jean was my cousin, Rinaldo, and we fought long, brilliant battles for our beautiful Angelique.' My eyes misted as Armand wobbled on the bench and clutched his breast as though he'd been struck with a great spear.

His sapphire gaze mellowed and the jester in him was cast aside as he wiped the tear from my chin. His arm slid around me and I laid my head on his shoulder. ‘Silly goose,' he whispered. ‘Did you think I would let you suffer alone? You were there for me, remember?'

Four years ago Armand returned from war a broken man. He had been with the French forces at Chartres, sent to halt a strategic three-pronged attack by the English. The two armies had battled at Nouailles, southeast of Poitiers. The French were crushed and Armand lost his younger brother, Jean. I was never sure of the details for he would not speak of it, even now. I nursed him back to health but only the news that his paternal cousin, Ghillebert, had renounced his Albret alliance and joined the French forces of Bertrand du Guesclin restored his spirit and love of life. I knew this cousin held a special place in Armand's heart, alongside me, and all through our growing years, whenever Ghillebert returned home from service Armand was sent to visit with him. Never once had I admitted my shameful resentment.

‘How is Ghillebert?' I asked. ‘I suppose with the truce you will hope to see him soon?'

‘Jealous, sweetheart?' To my astonishment Armand burst out laughing. ‘The last I heard, Ghillebert had undertaken a very important commission.'

‘So he will not spare time for you?'

He pinched my leg playfully. ‘Why? Hoping to meet him?'

I pulled my robe tighter and sniffed haughtily.

Armand chuckled. ‘Anyway I believe his new mission will keep him much occupied. Which reminds me, Father Dumond tells me you have been inquiring about convents. Is this true?'