The Order of the Lily (25 page)

‘Gwynedd, please. Stop this now and I will say nothing. Do not do this!'

Gwynedd waved the smouldering straw and laughed as it burst into flame. ‘Ye are no' suppose to be 'ere,' she repeated. ‘So no one will eve' think to look for ye 'ere!' The horses began to snort as she split the bunch and threw them into the stalls. She hurled the candle into Ruby's stall where it rolled onto dry sacking.

Frantic, Cécile unhooked the gate as Ruby kicked, the flames having caught the straw beneath her hooves. She grabbed the mare's mane and, covering her eyes, wrenched her head around to force her through the opening. Gwynedd threw another lighted torch onto the loose haystack, and ran for the door. Cécile heard the bar crash into the cradle, sealing off her escape. Swiftly she threw open the nearby gates, dodging as the frightened horses bolted down the aisle.

More horses caught the scent and began to kick and squeal, but Cécile was desperate to reach Inferno. His stall was alight and he reared in panic. She fumbled with the catch, her fingers tearing along the sharp metal hinge. A huge flare swelled with a roar as one wall succumbed to the climbing blaze. The latch gave way and Cécile, coughing and choking, threw herself from the path as Inferno stampeded past. A central post had become a fiery pyre and, with a loud cracking sound, the beam above it gave way. The flames raced along the floor, turning one half of the stable into a river of fire, Pyriphlegethon in all its hellish glory. Cécile was smothered by a black cloud of billowing smoke and she rasped for breath, disoriented.

‘Milady!' Griffith raced down the aisle, kicking open the remaining gates as he passed. He swung Cécile into his arms and, pulling his cloak over them, quickly ran the length of the building.

Greeted by a cold blast of night air, Cécile was wheezing as Griffith sat her down on a log underneath the trees. She gulped the coolness into her lungs and saw Gillet running from the house, Gwynedd hard on his heels. Griffith was already yelling, clanging a nearby bell as yeomen began pouring from their huts. They hurriedly formed a chain, filling buckets from the pond as others doused themselves and sped to the stables, carrying wet sacks.

Another loud explosion brought down an entire section, and embers danced into the sky, mocking the stars above. Gillet gripped Cécile's arm and she was jerked to her feet.

‘Are you hurt?' he panted.

‘No, I do not think so.'

‘Griffith! Escort the demoiselle to her chamber.' He turned on her like a snarling wolf. ‘If you value your skin, Mademoiselle, do not leave your room. You will be where I can find you when this is over.'

Cécile pulled her arm from his grip. ‘I can shift for myself, sir!'

His nostrils pinched white.
‘You will do as I say.'

‘Sire! The roof is about to collapse!'

An ear-splitting sound cracked across the night air and the men leaped to safety. Burning timber crashed to the ground, thick smoke belching out as a blinding shower of sparks lit the sky. Despite the intense heat, a cold shiver ran down Cécile's spine. She watched the flaming inferno in a daze. All too easily she could have been under the rubble.

‘Griffith, take her! And hurry back!'

Margot stared out the window, watching as the men fought against a wall of flames. Cécile joined her, now washed and wearing a plain woollen gown. She stared bleakly at the blazing hellfire below.

‘The Devil's work has been done this night,' murmured Margot.

Cécile began to shiver uncontrollably. ‘Gillet will never believe me.'

Margot turned from the fiery spectacle and gathered Cécile into her arms. ‘Then you must make him believe.'

For the next two hours the women watched in silent despair. The end of the stable closest to the house burned furiously, but no attempt was made to save it. Instead, they worked upon the far side, wetting the building to prevent it from catching alight. By dawn it was over, and only smouldering ashes remained. Their efforts had been in vain. The workers wandered back to their homes in a daze. Griffith and a handful of men saddled horses and galloped in the direction of the woods. Gillet waited until they had disappeared from sight and then he walked towards the manor. Cécile's stomach was in knots.

Margot stood and kissed her cheek. ‘Courage,' she whispered.

Left alone to face his wrath, Cécile hitched up her sleeve and stared at where she had burned her arm in the kitchen days before. She shuddered as Gwynedd's words came back to her, ‘Scarred an' twisted, do ye think 'e will lead ye to church porch?' How, in God's name, was she to make Gillet believe her?

She jumped at every sound as another hour passed. She'd turned her chair to face into the room and sat waiting, her hands twisting in her lap. Just when her nerves were reaching fever pitch the door swung open. Without a glance at her, Gillet paced to the opposite wall and back to the door, repeating this several times before finally facing her. In all the occasions Cécile had confronted his fury, never had she seen him so angry.

‘I have spent the last hour bathing in a tub, repeatedly holding my head under the water, all the more to cool my temper. I shall warn you now, Mademoiselle, I was not successful.' He resumed his measured steps while, behind his back, one fist thumped into his palm. ‘If my striding disturbs you, I tell you that I do it to curb my longing, for I would like nothing more than to lash out at something! Therefore, I shall remain on this side of the room. Were I to put my hands on you now, I would surely wring your neck!' The blood drained from Cécile's cheeks. ‘Griffith has led a party into the forest to recapture the horses that escaped. It was with great inconvenience we discovered the gate had not been closed on the far side of the yard.' He ceased pacing and glared at her, his eyes blazing. ‘You may be interested to know that both Ruby and Inferno remained. However, Goblin fled.'

Cécile's lips trembled and hot tears sprang to her eyes.

‘Have you nothing to say in your defence, Mademoiselle? Would you care to explain why you were in the stable, when, on more than one occasion, I had explicitly forbidden it?'

Cécile felt her throat constrict and swallowed with difficulty.

‘Nothing to offer? If I am to make any sense of this night, Cécile, I need to know
why
you disobeyed me.'

She could not hold back her tears any longer. ‘I … uh … uh … only wanted to see Ruby.'

Gillet sat heavily on the bed, and stared unblinking. When he finally spoke his voice was a strangled whisper. ‘Do you realise how lucky you were tonight?'

‘Yes, but not all is as it appears.'

‘You were not to go to the stable alone.

‘I wasn't alone.'

‘Yes, I know. If Gwynedd had not been passing when you fainted with the candle, God knows what … oh, thank Christ she saw you!'

‘That's what she told you? And you believe her?'

‘Why would I not?'

‘Because she is a liar,' spluttered Cécile. ‘She lit the fire herself and barred the door! She hoped that I would be severely burned so you would abandon me. What? You think me luna-tic? Oui! I see you do! And what if I told you that she wishes to bless you with her innocence, would you believe that?' Cécile began to laugh inanely. ‘She wants your bed, Gillet! Does it sound familiar?'

Gillet gawked in disbelief. ‘You are overwrought, woman! Gwynedd is Llewellyn's daughter – a groom's daughter. She understands her place in this household and has ever conducted herself properly.'

‘Really? Does that include when she threw herself at you on the village green at Michaelmas? Or performing Jezebelian dances in the horse yard? Oh, I know that you do not believe me. I can see it all over your face!'

Gillet's hands curled into fists. ‘I have thought you many things, Cécile, but never a malicious carper. That you would cowardly besmirch an innocent for your deceit, you deserve …'

Cécile sprang to her feet. ‘What? A beating, like your brother administers? Then do it! Do not stand there frightening me half to death. Do it, if you think so little of me!'

Gillet spun on his heel with an ursine growl. ‘Aargh! Your story lacks substance! Gwynedd knows those stables are her father's life and she would never stoop so low. She knows what it means to love a father. Unlike you, who spits upon the name of Holland and cavorts with the enemy of Armagnac!'

Cécile recoiled, her hands flying to her mouth. ‘How can you be so cruel? I try to tell you of Gwynedd, and you … you throw Edward in my face! Get out!
Get out
.'

Gillet stormed to the door and almost wrenched it off the hinges. ‘You are wrong, Cécile. This is not about Gwynedd or Edward. This is about you! Thanks to your disobedience, the horses will have no roof over their heads come winter.' He turned to face her. ‘I saw the barn door of which you speak. I saw it myself before it burned to the ground. And it was not barred.'

Catherine's health deteriorated following their arrival at Corbie. Lack of food, sleep and shelter had taken their toll, allowing a chill to enter her chest, and keep her bedridden for days. Lord Wexford summoned the assistance of a nearby apothecary to procure ingredients for his purges and he was forced to watch helplessly as Catherine struggled to breathe. Fearing the fevers were the result of the stitches in her shoulder, he removed the catgut, but to no avail. Shaken by his response, he turned to the very institution he had all but rejected.

Simon found his way to the chapel, kneeled before the Virgin and stared up at the marble statue. He had not prayed inside such a building since the death of Amina and Rassaq. He lowered his gaze and rested his forehead on clasped hands.

‘I don't deserve a second chance.'

‘Can I help you, my son?' A gentle hand pressed upon his shoulder. The serene face of an aging monk peered at him from under a cowl.

‘I should not be here. I have long turned my heart away from God.'

‘A good man will always find his way back to God, no matter the circumstance.'

‘I might not be a good man.'

‘No? Then perhaps you should tell me why not.' The monk pushed back his hood and sat beside him.

Opening his soul for the first time in many years, Simon retold the story of his wife, Amina and son, Rassaq. ‘I could no longer believe in a God who would condone the death of an innocent child, just because he was an infidel,' Simon admitted.

‘Then you are a man of great integrity.'

‘No, more that I am a coward.'

‘Why do you think such a thing?'

‘Because I blame myself,' Simon replied. ‘I married her against her people's wishes. I was stubborn and pig-headed. I know now that I did not love her but I refused to admit my mistake and once our son was born I would not allow her to leave.'

‘You have much to regret, my son.'

‘I do, for they were both killed the moment my back was turned.'

They sat in silence, the old man reflecting on the younger's distress.

‘Many men sin but feel no guilt, so suffer no pain. Your loss is great and your sorrow deep. Do you not think that is penance enough?'

‘I should have paid with my own life.'

‘But you did not, nor can you continue to punish yourself, for your soul will wither and die long before your body decays with age,' the monk replied. ‘Now you say you are newly married; does this not bring you joy?'

‘It does, but I do not deserve her.'

‘Perhaps God chose you for this very reason.'

‘But we have far to go and I fear that she is not strong enough.'

‘You will always have far to travel, my son, but you need to look forward, to the road in front of you, rather than over your shoulder at the many bumps behind.' The monk rose slowly, his legs stiff with age, patted Simon's back in a fatherly fashion and shuffled away towards the cloisters.

Simon returned to Catherine's bedside, pleased to discover that she was neither quite so hot nor so flushed. Even then it was another two weeks until his wife was well enough to travel.