The Order of the Lily (17 page)

‘Llewellyn's daughter? I suppose she is,' he remarked off-handedly.

‘You must know she's is in love with you.'

Gillet eyes lifted to stare into Cécile's. ‘But I am in love with you.'

‘Are you, Gillet? Even when I act inappropriately?'

‘Ah, that reminds me. Dare I ask what happened to your new gowns and our boots?'

Cécile grimaced. ‘I … I … was waylaid going into the village.'

‘And so was my purse as I understand it.' His eyes sharpened. ‘Do you know how much you spent on the horse, Cécile?' He watched her blush beneath his scrutiny. ‘It brings to mind another occasion when you were hardly thrifty with my coin. That time also you spent an obscene amount on wine.' Realisation dawned on Gillet and he blinked. ‘You have no concept of coinage values at all, do you?'

Cécile shook her head. ‘No.'

‘So when I asked you to pay the tailor and the boot-maker, you had no notion of what I was talking about?'

‘None at all.'

A rumbling in his chest slowly grew until he was laughing out loud. ‘Lady, next time, spare my funds if you are so poorly suited to the task. Although, I must tell you, your skill at the auction was admirable.' He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. ‘Gift me in future from your own hand and let my coin lie in its pouch.'

Cécile climbed off the bed and retrieved a bundle of crumpled blue cloth from a basket. She held it up.

‘Good Lord! What is that?' cried Gillet, his mouth agape.

‘A gift from my own hand! Do you wish to swap the horse for this for your name day gift?'

Gillet stared in horror at the garment's crooked neckline and odd-length sleeves and then burst into hearty peals of laughter. ‘If it's all the same to you, sweetheart, I think I will keep the horse.' Guffawing again, he slapped his thigh, ‘At least its legs are even!'

‘So, what did you discover?'

‘Wexford is hiding the girl at a small church not far from here. It offers little protection and the walls can be easily breached.'

‘And you saw her?'

Salisbury shook his head. ‘No, but she is there.'

‘You have proof?'

God! The woman wanted blood. She always did. Perhaps that was why he had grown to admire her so. ‘No, only my word.'

‘And you expect me to believe
you
?'

The room was poorly lit but he could imagine the hatred on her face. There was no disguising her disgust. In the past he had avoided her patronage, but times had changed and he needed the coin, and she had friends in the right places. ‘There was a time when you took me at my word.'

‘Hah, when I believed you it was to my own detriment. No one considers you now, Salisbury, so large the hole you have dug for yourself.'

‘If I fall in, milady, I can assure you that I will have hold of your skirt.'

‘Are you threatening me?'

‘On the contrary. 'Tis but a warning.'

He watched as she filled her goblet. The clarity of the wine and quality of the goblet bespoke her standing. She did not offer any to him.

‘Take as many men as you need. Go back to that church and finish this, once and for all. I cannot afford to have any little reminders flaunting their wares before Edward's nose. Do you understand?'

He nodded. ‘I take it then that you do not care what becomes of the girl?' Silence engulfed the room. ‘And I will be paid?'

‘Handsomely,' she drawled. ‘So long as you bring me proof!'

‘I will take great pleasure in humouring you once again,' replied Salisbury.

Catherine dreamed of a cornfield bathed in sunlight, daffo-dils dancing as the breeze tickled their throats. It was bright and warm and clean. But as the cold night air invaded her senses she became aware of the sounds around her, the crackling of the fire, the coarseness of the blanket beneath her cheek, the smell of wood smoke. She reluctantly forced the beautiful image aside and began to wake.

She was alone. Simon, the French soldiers and the priest were nowhere in sight, but she could hear raised voices, her guardian the loudest amongst them. Catherine wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, tiptoed to the open doorway that led to the adjoining vestry and peered into the gloom.

‘Are you sure this is what you want?'

A warm smile lit up her face. Roderick had returned from England!

‘This has nothing to do with what I want. It is more a matter of what must be done.'

From behind, the brothers looked alike, except that her guardian appeared most agitated as he paced from one side of the small chamber to the other.

‘This is extremely unusual, Lord Wexford,' informed Father Pierre. ‘I am sure you are aware that the law is the same here as it is in England. Under normal circumstances …'

‘But these are
not
normal circumstances,' interrupted Simon.

‘Perhaps there is some other way or someone else who might be willing,' suggested Roderick.

‘Who? You?'

‘You are being ridiculous! I bet you would find three willing participants standing right outside this door.'

‘If you think I would allow one of those French dogs …' Simon stopped mid-sentence and his gaze fixed upon the door. Catherine pulled back fearing she had already been seen.

‘Why not join us, Lady Holland? I am sure we would like to hear your opinion on this matter.'

She stepped into the room. ‘I did not mean to listen. Your raised voices woke me.'

‘And I thank the Lord for Simon's intervention,' said Roderick, ‘for now I am able to once again lay eyes upon you. How do you fare, Lady Holland?' He took her outstretched hand into his own.

‘I am in good health. And you, Lord Shalford?'

‘I remain robust, which is just as well as I am becoming quite the seasoned traveller.' His smile was engaging and open. There was nothing about Roderick that she did not like.

‘And Gillet? Did you leave him in good health? And my sister? Did you see her?'

‘I'm afraid I was not able to visit the lady in question as I was directed to return on the following tide.' Roderick nodded towards Simon, who was deep in conversation with the priest. ‘Simon wanted me here. But Gillet recovers well and I am sure is happily cocooned within your sister's arms as we speak. It was no easy task mind you, convincing him to depart Calais. He was determined to mount his own rescue party, swearing he would not leave you behind.'

‘But all went well?'

‘It did, once I was able to assure him of your safety.'

‘Thank you for all your assistance.'

‘There is no need. In fact, it is my pleasure. Now there's a further matter we need to discuss.'

‘Is something amiss?'

Roderick drew her closer as though about to share some intimate knowledge, but then appeared to change his mind. ‘Perhaps you might first furnish a weary traveller with a goblet of wine.' Their discussion continued into the kitchen. ‘Have you ever considered marriage?' he asked as she filled his tankard.

‘To the church? Yes.'

‘That is not what I meant.'

‘Oh! To a man? No, I mean I do not believe that I would be considered.'

‘Would it surprise you to learn that the King has already entertained several would-be suitors?'

‘For me?' She shook her head. ‘I can't believe the King or anyone else, for that matter, would care whom I marry?'

‘I imagine your dowry would be quite attractive,' suggested Roderick, ‘as are you. But I doubt money has anything to do with your desirability. You forget, you are the granddaughter of a prince, and share the same blood as your King. Any children you have would be perfectly placed to attract royal patronage.'

‘Oh,' she answered, for this had never occurred to her.

‘You can claim descent from Henry III, thus greatly empowering your future husband.'

‘And I shall be forced to marry against my will?'

‘Yes. You will be forced,' Simon interjected as he sat opposite her. ‘And Lord William Latimer has already petitioned. His avarice and immoral manners are well known but worse, Salisbury has suggested Lord Moleyns to the King.'

Catherine paled. ‘Is there nothing we can do?'

‘Your current choices are limited,' admitted Roderick, ‘and time is not on our side. Latimer is pressing the King for immediate consent.'

Simon turned away. ‘I have instructed Father Pierre to marry us immediately.'

The goblet in Catherine's hand slipped to the flagstones, the clanging failing to hide Roderick's groan. ‘What?' she gasped, springing to her feet. ‘Surely you jest!'

‘I can assure you, Lady Holland, that I find no mirth in
my
situation,' he threw over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

‘But 'tis not yours alone!'

‘True, but I have the most to lose!' The door slammed and Catherine felt the chill of his indifference sweep over her.

Roderick rose from his seat and took Catherine's hand. His kindness brought little comfort as her tears of frustration and rejection began to fall. She apologised several times for her indiscreet behaviour, unable to control the flood of emotions which threatened to overcome her. She could not deny that she had harboured the smallest hope of winning Simon's heart, for she had to admit, if only to herself, that she felt something for her guardian. He had certainly allowed her to believe that he cared for her and though others saw only his rude and roughened exterior, Catherine believed that she had viewed the man beneath. Cécile had often written her that men will want differently from women, depending on the circumstance. A permanent arrangement certainly meant a lifetime chained to another, in the way that she had been to the church. Perhaps Simon was as fearful as she and, if that be the case, she could forgive his anger. But one thing was certain. Catherine did not want to marry anyone and especially not Simon, now that he had displayed such displeasure at the thought.

Simon marched out of the churchyard, stomping his way through the overgrown grass between the headstones in the cemetery. The last thing he wanted was to remarry. He had sworn vehemently that he would never do so again. But he had not expected Catherine, nor foreseen the manner in which she had infiltrated his heart. Yet he knew that a permanent union was not the solution. On the contrary, it was precisely what he did not want.

He continued out onto the road towards the bridge that spanned the fast flowing river. He stared wistfully into the water below and took a deep breath. He had planned to take Catherine to Paris and hand her over to Bertrand du Guesclin before returning to Scotland. It was the only way. Bertrand would protect her as he himself would, but with detachment.

Catherine could then grow to love someone her equal whilst he retreated to a healing spa, hidden within the misty highlands.

Now his plan was unravelling and his stomach knotted. He closed his eyes and attempted to clear his mind but the image of his first bride materialised before him. Her dark eyes danced provocatively above the veil that hid the lower part of her face. Simon knew she smiled as he slid the ring upon her finger. Perhaps she had been happy? Or more likely amused by his strange token of love but she'd worn it proudly. Simon swallowed hard. Had they prised it from her hand before they buried her?