The Order of the Lily (22 page)

Cécile smiled at Margot's own brand of cunning and she watched Gwynedd retreat from the grounds. The girl ducked behind a large elm and looked back at the dancers, her face twisted with hatred. Cécile's heart somersaulted.

The music ended and Margot and Gillet quit the field, panting and laughing together.

‘No,' gasped Margot, ‘but I'll warrant that Cécile does not crush your toes as much as I do.'

The humour slid from Gillet's smile. ‘I would not know. I have never had formal occasion to dance with her.' His expression softened and he held out his hand. ‘Come, Lady d'Armagnac, you look weary and, since I cannot dance with you, let us retire early and spend what is left of the evening together.'

They made their way slowly back to the manor house, Cécile leaning against Gillet, and his arm firmly tucked around her waist. In the darkness behind them a pair of green eyes glittered.

The cold night air disturbed Catherine's sleep as it licked at her ankles. She drew her feet further under the blanket and shivered uncontrollably. Simon's shirt and doublet were proving inadequate and the dainty slippers she had been provided with at the palace were wet through.

‘Are you cold?' Simon was sitting not far away, his back against the trunk of an elm.

‘Yes, a bit,' she admitted.

He held out his cloak and offered her the opportunity to join him. Catherine hesitated momentarily, her discomfort far outweighing the fears and doubts she had been experiencing.

She sat down beside her unwilling husband and was immediately encased by the warmth of his embrace.

‘You are like ice!'

‘I know …' she mumbled through chattering teeth.

‘Give me your hands.'

He took them each in turn and rubbed them briskly, coax-ing the blood back into her blue fingers.

‘I did not mean to imply earlier that I would rather marry Roderick,' she began shyly, determined to ensure he understood her meaning.

‘I see.'

‘I was taken off guard. I had not imagined that I would be getting married.'

‘To me?'

‘No, well, no. Not to anyone.'

‘You have never considered such an option?' he asked, turning over her fingers so her palm lay in his.

‘To the church perhaps, but I knew no other life.'

‘Catherine, I want you to understand that this was not of my making, and had there been another way …'

‘You would not have married me.'

‘No, I would not.'

Catherine closed her eyes. The image of Broughton appeared in her mind along with the smiling face of the man beside her. But it was not really him. That Lord Wexford was not the same man with whom she now huddled in the rain.
He
had been open and friendly. On the boat crossing to Calais she had glimpsed something beneath the hard surface. She had allowed her heart to hope and that had been a mistake.

‘I think I will go back to the fire,' she said somewhat stubbornly.

‘The heat from the embers would not warm my ale, let alone a fully-clothed maiden,' he scoffed. ‘Stay put, else you will drown.'

‘Given the choices, M'lord …' she began and he laughed at her.

‘You misunderstand.'

‘I do not.' Catherine held back the tears that threatened to engulf her as Simon sat rigid beside her.

‘As I explained to you …'

‘Yes, married I am no longer a prize that can be sold by the Crown. I am now the worthless chattel of Lord Wexford, supposedly no longer a maiden, with no family other than my husband.'

‘Yes,' he replied, his eyes fixed upon her mouth as she admonished him.

‘What you failed to explain, M'lord, is that if you do not care for me, then why marry me at all?'

‘I lied.'

‘You lied?'

‘I did.' Releasing her hand he bent his head towards her and gathered her into his arms, placing his lips upon hers.

Catherine had not expected such an honest response and now, helpless in his embrace, she was reminded of the kiss they had once shared at Broughton. That memory consisted of their lips meeting gently and then parting with such softness it was though she had been warmed by the sun. But this was different. This was all-consuming.

Simon tilted his head and kissed her again. Nestling his hand into the small of her back, he cradled her closer.

Catherine leaned into him, daring to reciprocate she tentatively returned his ardour.

‘Your innocence is your undoing.'

She gasped as his hand rested lightly on her thigh. ‘I … I … think we should …' she mouthed.

‘Stop,' he finished for her.

‘My head is spinning. Perhaps I am ill?'

‘No, I do not think so.'

‘Are you sure?' she asked.

‘Yes.'

‘How do you know?'

‘Because my head is spinning also.'

‘Oh,' she replied.

He smiled.

She laughed.

He tucked the cloak around them, sealing their heat within.

‘I am still a maiden.'

‘Yes, and as long as you are, there is always
void ab initio
,' he suggested.

‘I had considered that.'

‘So, when the time comes, it will be your decision to make.'

She lowered her head onto his shoulder. When the time comes? How on Earth was she to know when that time would be?

Salisbury sat atop his destrier. The priest before him stood calmly between two soldiers. ‘Where did they go?'

‘I know not of whom you speak.'

‘I was taught that lying is a sin. Is that not right, Father Pierre?

The small man remained silent.

‘Still no reply? What of your church register?'

‘I have sworn to protect the innocent and uphold the law of the church. I will pray …'

Salisbury plunged the blade of his sword though the priest's chest and watched, somewhat intrigued, as the dying man's mouth worked up and down. ‘It would have been better to speak openly, Father Pierre, for as you see, I have little respect for French traitors.' Pushing the body with his foot, Salisbury extracted the bloody blade and the priest slid to the ground.

Several soldiers mounted beside him, one handing him a large, leather-bound book. ‘The register, M'lord.'

Salisbury flipped open the hefty volume and perused the last page. Satisfied with his find he secured the precious item to his saddle.

‘Where to, M'lord?' inquired the sergeant-at-arms.

‘Take half the men and search the outlying areas. I will return to Calais,' instructed Salisbury. ‘And I want them found as soon as possible.'

It had taken most of the day for Simon and his companions to reach Corbie and the Abbey dedicated to Saint Peter, the impressive cathedral situated in the centre of the town. The golden stones reflected the last rays of the day, highlighting the beautifully shaped arches and intricate circular work of the gifted stonemasons.

‘Sanctuary?' asked Catherine.

‘Yes, sanctuary,' Simon confirmed as they made their way to the vestry. ‘It is said that this abbey contains many treasures, including a Byzantine painting of the face of Jesus and a frag-ment of the True Cross.'

‘Oh, I would dearly love to see them!'

‘Perhaps it might be wise to ask the Abbot for refuge, warm pottage and spare clothing first. What say you?'

‘Yes of course,' she replied, somewhat distracted as her eyes travelled over the carvings adorning the walls.

‘Corbie also claims to have the finest library in France, some say in all of Christendom. Perhaps we might convince them to allow us a viewing?' Simon's wink was conspiratorial as he wandered over to the stout monk who was extinguish-ing candles on the altar.

Catherine was housed within one of the many separate dormitories and was offered fresh clothing and a much-needed bath. Several younger monks carried the heavy tub into the lodgings and filled it with steaming water.

Simon gallantly excused himself, claiming the need to ensure that Roderick, Armand, Guiraud, Mouse and Gabriel were receiving the same hospitality.

Catherine lowered herself into the water and allowed the feeling of pleasure to wash over her. As a child such indulgence would have been punished. Besides, the water would have been tepid and dirty. Being the youngest member of the convent she was always the last to wash. But this was delightful, bordering on sinful.

Catherine slipped below the surface and submerged her hair. She had never fully understood the sacrifice of giving oneself to the church. Sacrifice came from knowing pleasure and willingly putting it aside. As she had never known luxury, there was nothing to miss. But then Simon had entered her world, and slowly and subtly encouraged her to experience that which she never had, fresh new gowns, enticing hot meals. And then he had wrapped his arms around her, gathered her to him, and kissed her. The memory ignited a flame that made her skin tingle. There would certainly be much to sacrifice now.