The Order of the Lily (29 page)

‘I think I begin to understand,' said Margot. ‘But they do say that time will heal all wounds.'

‘Time only mocks me!'

‘Running away will solve nothing and, anyway, from what you say Gillet would only come after you.'

Cécile snorted. ‘No, he would not.'

Margot smiled mystically. ‘I believe he would. He is using this incident to release pent up feelings. I think you are right in that it concerns Armand and Edward but, Cécile, it seems to me that what Gillet really fights is his own jealousy! Give his anger time to cool and you will find he will come back to you. Meanwhile it cannot hurt if someone were to lay certain facts at his feet concerning Gwynedd.' Margot set down her wine as she observed Cécile's yawn. ‘Come, now. You have tired yourself. Let us move the coffer and you take some rest. By tomorrow, things will be brighter. You shall see.' Together they lifted the chest and placed it in the corner, then Cécile flopped onto the bed. Margot kissed her forehead. ‘Gillet may have vented his spleen at you,' she whispered fondly, ‘but I will wager, in private, it is tearing at his heart.'

It was dark when Cécile awoke with a start. A sharp noise had invaded her dream and snapped her back to consciousness. Some ancient instinct warned her to lie still and breathe evenly but her heart pounded with the resolve of a smithy's hammer. Slowly she lifted her lids a fraction and, as her eyes and ears became attuned to the mortal world, she sensed rather than saw someone leaning over her. She heard the soft plod of footsteps across the rugs and the tell-tale squeak of her door. She hadn't thought her heart could beat any faster but the sound of an unmistakable hiss sent it into panicked somersaults.

Gywnedd!

Cécile slipped out of bed and cracked open her door just enough to see Gwynedd slither into Gillet's room. Drawn like a moth to a flame, Cécile crept to the entrance of the chamber and positioned herself to observe. Terrified of what she would learn, she could not stop herself. She had to know whether or not the girl's visit was expected.

She watched as Gwynedd placed a log onto the fire and poked the dying embers to life. The room lit with a pink flush. Gillet stirred in his bed and, rolling over, rubbed his eyes sleepily.

‘Cécile? Is that you?' He looked to where Gwynedd stood, still wrapped in her cloak.

‘No, Gillet,' she cooed softly, ‘it is I, Gwynedd.'

‘Gwynedd?' With a warrior's alertness he jerked into a sitting position. ‘Is something wrong? Is it Llewellyn? Is he ill?'

Gwynedd smiled in the soft light. ‘No, my father, 'e sleeps. I came to give ye a gift long overdue.'

The declaration caught Gillet mid-yawn, and he frowned as his mouth snapped shut. ‘
Mon Dieu
. It is the middle of the night, girl, and you are in my bedchamber!'

‘The perfect time an' place, Sire.' She threw off her cloak and, tossing her long hair, spread her arms wide. She was naked except for black stockings tied with silver garters. Illuminated by the fire's glow, her skin shimmered like pearl against the darkness of her nipples and the triangular tuft of black curls. She purred softly. ‘I know ye prefer yer women in naught but stockings. I 'eard you say so.'

Cécile stifled her gasp. In her letters to Catherine, she had chided her sister more than once for listening at doorways, but the reality was that no amount of willpower could now make Cécile move. She had to know, had to see with her own eyes what Gillet would do. It would decide her fate.

Gillet threw back the covers and donned his braies. Then he picked up Gwynedd's cloak and draped it around her shoulders, covering her completely. His voice was calm but firm.

‘I am honoured, Gwynedd, that you should consider me so favourably, but I must tell you that what you hoped for, when you entered this room, is not possible.'

Gwynedd blinked in disbelief while, behind the door, Cécile's lip trembled. Gillet held out his arm and indicated for Gwynedd to leave.

‘Ye do not understand, Gillet. I come to ye wholesome an' pure. I can give ye ever'thing the Lady d'Armagnac cannot – purity, ye own son.' She chuckled softly. ‘An' ye desire me, too, I can see.' She ran her hand down his chest to the top of his braies. Deprived of carnal activities, his body responded eagerly. Cécile bit her fist to keep from crying out but Gillet stepped away and, retrieving his robe, slipped it on.

‘There is no denying that you are a young and beautiful maiden, Gwynedd, and it would be so easy for me to take you as my mistress. But I will not.' He placed his palm on her upturned face. ‘I have no wish to hurt you but hear me clearly. My heart belongs to Cécile, and, no matter how attractive the temptation, I will not betray it or her. She is the woman of my dreams and, though we may suffer our disagreements, she will always have my honour.'

‘But ye want
me
.' Gwynedd threw herself against him, pressing her breasts tightly to his chest and kissed him soundly.

Gillet jerked his head back and pushed her away. ‘No,' he growled, as she wildly reached out to him.

‘Gillet, please!'

‘I think you should leave now.' His voice rippled with anger as he turned his back. ‘Retain your dignity, Mademoiselle!'

Gwynedd's cloak slipped to the floor and she stepped over to wind her arms around him. ‘Ye do no' mean this. I know the Lady d'Armagnac carries the child of another. Ease yerself with me for I shall be yers, and yers alone.'

Gillet disengaged himself and, scooping to retrieve her cloak, held it out. ‘Have you heard nothing, Mademoiselle? I have no desire to acquire your virtues tonight or any other.'

Gwynedd wrapped the cloak around herself with a sob. ‘Ye … ye … led me to believe that … ye cared for me, Sire. Ye gave me ridin' lessons … ye laughed an' danced wi' me … I cannot believe tha' did no' mean somethin'. Gillet, please … I implore ye … ye
do
feel somethin' for me, I know ye do.'

‘No. Listen to me, Gwnedd, for I shall not repeat this. You have misread my friendship to suit your own wishes. I am sorry, but I am not the man for you.'

Gwynedd blinked up through her tears. ‘Mademoiselle d'Armagnac would ne'er have to know. I would not tell her.'

‘And yet I still refuse,' replied Gillet, patiently. ‘You still don't understand, do you? Even if my lady were ignorant, I would know. I cannot go against my own heart. Now please, do not make this any harder. Go.'

Gwynedd collected her boots and ran from the room.

Cécile pressed herself into the shadows as the girl flew past. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed her heart to cease its wild dance. When she felt she had herself under control once more, she tiptoed back to her room. As she passed Gillet's door, she saw him sitting on the edge of his bed, lifeless as a statue, nursing his head in his hands.

Cécile closed her door quietly and trod to the window to open the shutters. The stars shone feebly against a partly clouded sky, ribbons of moonlight haphazardly streaking the bleak darkness. She welcomed the breeze that chilled her face. For a moment she thought she was to be sick and gripped the sill so hard her fingers hurt. The tension broke. Her head fell into her hands as she covered her face and wept tears of relief.

Two arms crossed over her chest and pulled her back against solid flesh. Gillet's lips seared her brow. ‘Hush, Céci, please do not cry. I love you and we will find our way through this.'

Together they watched as a shadow with a billowing cloak darted across the lawn. Gillet brushed the hair from Cécile's cheek and sighed. ‘She came to me, just as you said she would,' he whispered. ‘Can you forgive me for doubting you?' His gaze fell upon the travelling chest in the corner and he stiffened. ‘You have made your decision then?'

Cécile turned within his arms and placed her hands upon his bristled cheeks. ‘Yes. I have decided.'

Gillet closed his eyes to hide his disappointment.

‘I have decided that I love Armand-Amanieu d'Albret in more ways than I can ever explain. But … I am
in
love with his cousin, Ghillebert. With this man I would share my life, for he alone possesses me body, heart and soul.'

‘Cécile.' Gillet pressed his lips upon hers and lifted her into his arms.

Euphoric in the aftermath of their reunion, Cécile lay with her head upon Gillet's shoulder as he unfurled her hair. The fire in the grate crackled softly, the warmed air sensually wafting over the lovers.

‘How could you ever have supposed that another could usurp your place in my heart?' said Gillet, twirling a tress.

Cécile trailed a finger down his fading scar and pressed her lips to his torso. She met the dark eyes watching her. ‘How could
you
, milord?'

He smiled tenderly. ‘The minikin in you is much taken with devilment at times but I should have realised that you do not tell barefaced lies. You spoke the truth about the fire, yes?'

‘Yes.'

His eyes hardened. ‘Then Gwynedd must be punished.'

‘What will you do?'

‘Banish her. Somehow she knows the child you carry is not mine.'

‘The barn,' sighed Cécile. ‘She was hiding in the rafters that day. I thought I saw her leave but I could not be sure.'

‘That would explain a number of things. Then she knows your child's father is Edward. I must also take theft into account for I believe, Lady, that your wardrobe has been compromised. I remember specifically ordering the silver garters she wore.'

‘Oh?' teased Cécile, poking him. ‘And just how did you come by knowledge of what lay under her skirts?'

He stared at her with a slowly widening grin and pulled her up to meet his kiss. ‘Skirts? Did I not mention? She wasn't wearing any.'