The Lily and the Lion (14 page)

‘If one wishes to listen in on another's private conversation, one must be willing to accept the consequences when one is caught!'

‘Lord Wexford,' I cried as he grasped my arm and pulled me further down the passageway into his private chamber. ‘I … I … Oh dear.'

‘What in heaven's name did you think you would achieve? That door is carved out of solid oak for God's sake!'

‘I wanted to hear what they were saying,' I cried, my ear as bruised as my dignity.

‘Do you not trust Gillet?'

‘Yes, of course I do.'

‘He will tell you anything should you wish to ask. Then there was no need for you to take such risks!'

‘Risks?' I exclaimed in surprise.

‘Anaïs has been working in my kitchen for many weeks now. Do you not think that she may have allies? Had one of them seen you, I have no doubt that she would be informed.'

I could feel the heat travelling across my cheeks. ‘It is essential that she believes all is well. She must have
no
suspicions concerning you or your sister.
Do you understand
?'

I nodded my head in affirmation, tears threatening to spill any moment. I did not want to cry in front of this man. Sensing my growing distress he handed me a large square of silk and turned away to allow me time to compose myself. ‘I am mortified, Lord Wexford.'

The Earl's voice was soft and contrite. ‘I did not mean to hurt you.' He was facing the window, his back rigid, so I was unable to judge his sincerity. I placed his kerchief upon the desk and made to leave. ‘Your time ahead with your servant will be difficult. Your privacy might not be assured. I will call you each night to my private chambers. There you shall be able to write to your sister in peace.'

‘Thank you,' I replied timidly, the mere thought sending shivers of panic through my body. But what was I to do? For it would have seemed most impolite to refuse such an offer.

I rushed to my room, hoping that Anaïs remained downstairs. How I wish I could be there with you in France. How I long to be at your side, away from the oppressive, stinking air of London. If only I could convince Gillet to take me with him but I know he would not.

My bed has been moved to the far corner, my meagre possessions pushed to the floor space beneath it. I have finished this letter despite the many interruptions as they deliver the chattels of my maid. Dear sister, for a woman who had little at the convent, she has acquired a vast amount since our arrival in Blackfriars.

I know my next weeks will be difficult. I pray that the Lord will give me the courage and strength to carry the load He has set upon me. I take great comfort in the knowledge that you are safe and well and that Gillet will soon return to you. Do not worry for me, for my pain and suffering will never match that which you have faced. I pray that I will rise above my circumstance in the same manner as you.

Take peace, my dear sister. Stay safe and well. Listen to Gillet and heed his advice. When I next hear from you all shall be settled.

Your loving sister, Catherine

Written in Blackfriars, London, Feast of Saint Audrey of Ely, 23 June, 34 Edward III.

Simon paced the rug liked a caged lion. He had heard the whispers at court. The King himself had inquired as to his involvement. He denied everything of course, but he was walking a tightrope and he knew it. It would not be long before she was seen and then what hoop would he jump through? Now his reputation was at stake. Salisbury had as many friends as he had enemies, all with empty purses. Most would betray him for the smallest of rewards.

He had tried to remain detached but could not divest the urge to protect. There was something alluring about Catherine's naïveté. He knew it was far too late to turn back. Glancing at the ceiling, his thoughts turned to Anaïs. He had to shelter Catherine from the soiling influence of that manipulating maid and he cringed at the thought of the two women sharing a room. But it had provided him with a means to an end. Surely his company was the better option?

He would try to gain a little ground. For Catherine had spirit, he had seen it, had watched the flame ignite within her eyes. If only he could encourage her to find her voice, perhaps there might be hope for them both? For his past was as tortured as hers.

To my sister, Catherine Pembroke, guest of Lord Wexford in London, be this letter delivered.

Dearest Catherine, the last three weeks have crawled by, bland as cabbage water, but my senses thrill to a change of scenery at last. The courier has returned and plans are in progress for my removal to Compiègne. His arrival re-awakened the sting of his cruel words from our last encounter and they dangle between us still, as repugnant as a hangman's noose.

He collected me on the morning of our departure, waiting patiently as I buckled on my purse. He had not returned empty handed. A small but exquisite assortment of clothing had been delivered to my room the previous evening.

‘Your gown fits, then?' he questioned, eyeing my choice of the green bliaut and corded hip belt. He frowned at my hair. I had ignored the wimple and chosen to wear only the fillet and veil. Beneath it, my hair was braided for the journey, a single tress but as a mark of personal defiance I had woven it only halfway, leaving the lower section to flow freely. Not a maiden, not a wife.

‘Oui,' I replied. ‘Remarkably well, but considering that at a certain inn you took far more liberty to observe my size than any poor tailor would ever dare, I am hardly surprised.' With satisfaction I noted his heightened colour. His lips squashed into a thin line of disapproval as he snatched up my pannier.

We met with Armand in the outer courtyard where three horses were saddled, along with a packhorse duly burdened. Father Dumond stepped out from under the arched portal and accompanying him was the physician who had been attending me. At their beckoning, Bellegarde headed in their direction, irritably slapping his gloves against his thigh. I was left to exclaim delightedly over the little chestnut mare.

Armand smiled and untied the reins. ‘I thought she'd please you.'

‘Oh, Armand, she is beautiful. Thank you.' I scratched the mare's ears as she nuzzled my face and whickered softly.

‘Do not thank me, sweetheart. Gillet bought the horse yesterday, though I doubt that I could have found better. I did inform him, however, of your uncommon habit.' He eyed the saddle with a broad grin. ‘You should have seen his face!'

Raised with two boys I had refused a side saddle, much to the horror of my maman. Her endless wailings of such unbecoming behaviour was ruthlessly ignored and the female harness remained shrouded in dust, a sanctuary for homeless spiders. After all, how could one compete at jumping logs and racing along riverbanks with two legs awkwardly on one side and nothing more than a step to secure them?

Father Dumond quietly appeared at my side and pressed a scroll into my hands. The physician was still bending Bellegarde's ear. ‘In case you decide to take the path of God, this will serve as an introduction to your circumstances.' He farewelled Armand and, making the sign of the cross in the air, departed as the courier joined us.

I tucked the parchment into my purse. Bellegarde raised a discerning eyebrow at my cousin but Armand shrugged his shoulders. ‘Do you find your horse acceptable?' He politely cupped his hands for my foot.

‘She is beautiful,' I breathed in awe, stroking the glorious mane. ‘I have never seen such a deep red colour.' Armand mounted and gathered the lead rope of the pack horse in readiness. Bellegarde expertly swung himself into his saddle but his capricious stallion sidled my mare and she kicked out in protest.

‘She is seditious,' he announced matter-of-factly, ‘but as with most stubborn females it but needs to be ridden out of her.' He grinned wolfishly.

‘I'm sure I can manage, Monsieur, but it might help me to know her name.'

He spun his black beast around and came up sharply on my other side. ‘Ruby.' At the mention of the jewels he had so viciously spurned, my head shot up. ‘Take heart, Cécile,' he said, lowering his voice so that Armand would not hear. ‘'Tis the only ruby you will
ever
get from me!' I was spared answering as he whacked the rump of my horse and, startled, she sprang for the gate.

Following a single width bridle path from the rear of the monastery, we were led into a nearby copse that would shield our escape. Armand's soldiers were to meet us in a village halfway to Compiègne, where we would stay the night. The lay brothers were working in an adjoining field, robes tucked into belts, their backs as bent as their scythes, and I sent a prayer of thanks for the admonishing they had delivered to Edward's horrified soldiers only days before. How many new pots of dye, by way of payment, had recently appeared in the illuminator's cavern on my behalf? The sunlight glinted on Bellegarde's shield. No doubt he had supplied the means but the coin for such protection would have been my father's, surely?

We came to the road and with a sudden burst of abandonment I threw back my veil and offered my face to the sky like a pagan sacrifice. My spirits restored, I spurred my horse to a trot as Bellegarde drew alongside.

‘Whoa, Cécile. If you travel at this pace we will leave Armand far behind. Edward's hounds are sniffing a trail to the south so we are safe for now. Though,' he added hesitantly, ‘your revitalised countenance is agreeable.'

‘Casting your bread upon the waters?' I bestowed upon him my sweetest smile. ‘All you shall get is soggy loaves!' I kicked my horse faster.

The courier kept pace and when he reached over to grasp my reins I outmanœuvred him, laughing at his scowl.

‘You misunderstand me, Cécile. We have a long way to travel and I do not wish the beast to become lame.'

‘Your pardon, Sir. I thought it already was.' At my wilful bidding, Ruby sprang into a gallop and we flew ahead but it would be foolish arrogance to think that the courier would not catch me on his great stallion, Inferno. The pounding of hooves closed the distance quickly, and this time he did seize my reins. Unsure of our problem, Armand had forced the packhorse to a gallop.

‘
Sacré bleu
! I thought you had sighted soldiers,' he exclaimed, catching up. ‘I was almost ready to let go of our belongings.'

Bellegarde dismounted, furious as he dug into his saddlebag. ‘Your cousin mistakes our escape for Sunday frivolity. Next she would have us ride through the forest to jump logs and take an afternoon dip in the river.' He took out a length of rope and began to thread it through my horse's trappings.

‘What are you doing?' I pivoted Ruby but he held the bridle fast. His glower could have curdled milk.

‘Lady, this is no church
piquenique
. You
will
obey me.' Armand was checking the packhorse, his face as taut as the straps he tugged. Bellegarde mounted and hooked the rope onto Inferno's saddle. ‘Although, the horse is not at fault. Mayhap it would serve me better to tie you up!' My gasp brought a smug pull to the courier's lips and his eyes slid pointedly to where Armand was mounting. ‘Pray notice your cousin does not interfere.'

The journey re-commenced in silence and after a few backward glances confirmed that Armand was dozing in his saddle, Bellegarde leaned over.

‘Think yourself safe from my threat, hoyden?' The black beast edged closer. ‘Your cousin will not thwart me. Your father entrusted your custody and safety
to me
.'

My nose lifted two inches into the air. ‘And my astonishment is limitless. I am sure he must have been as soused as a pickled herring with his head stuck down a latrine when he dictated that piece of wisdom!'

‘No, it was written by his own hand. I believe his decision had something to do with my height.' He grinned fiendishly.

Flushing crimson, I swivelled to stare accusations over my shoulder. Just what had been told to this man? Why would my papa give Bellegarde control over me when I had Armand as chaperon? As if reading my thoughts, my custodian smiled.

‘Your cousin loves you too much for your own good. Apparently, you could get him to swap the moon and sun if it suited your purpose. I, however, am not so easily swayed.' He tugged the rope attached to his saddle and I glared at him, my tongue sharing Ruby's predicament. ‘What's the matter, Lady Hawk? Tethering not to your fancy?'

He set his face forwards, triumphant with his taunting and my gaze settled on his arrogant broad shoulders. Even his hair curled with impudence at his neckline, some locks twisting out, some under. His leather doublet, elegantly embossed on alternating panels, was firm across his chest and his quilted chausses lay against his horse with strength and authority, the muscles riding … I brushed my forehead.
Mon Dieu
! I had to keep a lid on my imagination. What Pandora's Box had Edward's induction opened? To imagine those thighs rubbing against … I succumbed to another look. What woman would not want to be tethered to such a fine specimen?

As though he had eyes in the back of his head, the cur flashed an impertinent grin. ‘Do I pass your examination, Mademoiselle?'

My cheeks singed to the bright pink of young cherries and I jutted my chin with disdain. ‘Your vanity is untucked.'

Pre-empting the kick of my heels, he waggled his forefinger and tugged on the rope. ‘Ah-ah-ah.'

I withdrew into silence. A brief examination of Armand revealed that he must have been having an amusing dream. Damned if he was not smirking!

‘I had a she-cat once that did nothing but hiss and spit,' said Bellegarde.

‘If it had possessed any sense it would have run away at the first opportunity.'

He quickly looked at the surrounding woods. ‘No, she was cantankerous but not stupid. She knew she would not last one day alone in the wilds. Eventually she settled down.'

‘Oh? And how did you accomplish that? Bribe her with bowls of rich cream?'

‘Rich cream?' His eyebrows shot up. ‘Hardly. She learned which of us was the master. A few well-placed smacks on the bottom and she purred like a kitten.'

Behind me, Armand burst out laughing.

The shadows were long on the pebbled ground by the time we located the hostelry. Bellegarde ordered three rooms while my cousin tended the horses. A maid showed us to our chambers, her giggling insufferable as my keeper thanked her with a beguiling smile. The taproom was crowded by the time I descended the staircase, a roar erupting from one alcove as dice raced each other across a table. The distorted hubbub of conversation competed with the kitchen's clanging pots and a hound provided dubious melody as he howled alongside a stripling's attempt to play a reed flute. Another dog lolled on the hearth, where a fire was lit beneath a huge cauldron. It divided its attention between licking the heat from its singeing fur and snuffling for fleas. Armand was at the bar using his ‘charm d'Albret' on the serving wench. He nodded to the far corner and I saw Bellegarde, his boot casually perched upon a bench as he leaned over the gathering of merchants. His fist struck the table as he concluded his story and they fell back in an uproar. Someone offered him ale but he saw me and waved away their invitation. His head jerked to the empty trestle behind him.

‘You look tired,' he commented, placing himself opposite so that he could watch the inn's entrance. ‘Are you hungry?'

His tone was sincere and for a moment I reflected on what it would be like to belong to such a man. He may be a conceited upstart but I had the feeling he would stoutly protect what was his. To have his strength pitted in my honour, his sword raised in my defence, a declaration of …

‘Cécile?' His teeth flashed in a captivating grin that almost unseated me.

‘I … I … what?'

‘I asked if you were hungry but I suppose you are. You were staring at me as though you were a mouse and I a piece of cheese.'

‘Don't be ridiculous!'

Armand thumped three tankards onto the freshly-scrubbed board and slid in beside me. Bellegarde signalled for the maid. She strolled over to take our order but he had to repeat it twice. Her fluttering eyelashes rendered her deaf.

Disconcerted, I slouched against the daub wall and closed my eyes as the men settled to conversation. I could not fathom why my heart was still drumming faster than a musician's tabor. The noise became a distant blur until a gentle shaking roused me. The dishes were set before us – roast capon, veal pie, griddled trout with herbs, a pan of steaming vegetables accompanied by caraway seed bread and a bowl of cherries. The aroma was delicious and I fell to the serious business of eating. Armand and Bellegarde talked in between bites, discussing the latest commission to Bertrand du Guesclin, the French troops in general and eventually the philosophy of battle manœuvres. As peas and cherry stones became opposing troops across the board, the fish bones were snapped to required sizes for arrows, swords and lances. I watched with interest, not because I cared whether the mounted cherry vanguard successfully divided and outflanked the archer peas, or that they cleverly charged from the rear of the ploughed trencher field, but because I found an intrinsic pleasure in the dimpled smiles of Gillet de Bellegarde.

A flag of surrender went up and their conversation marched into the neighbouring meadow.