The Order of the Lily (46 page)

Dearest Sister

As I write this to you, my foot rocks a cradle, the tiny infant within snuffling softly as he struggles to settle after a long day.
His dark, downy head is just visible above the blankets tucked around him. But where do I begin? I know that you will want to hear all about Gil et's son, but mayhap I should tel you firstly of the circumstances of his arrival.

Catherine rested the quill upon the parchment and peered down at the bundle by her feet. It had been agreed that the babe should remain with Anaïs for at least several weeks, as they had been unable to secure the services of a reputable wet-nurse. So his sudden arrival was as unexpected as the commotion he brought with him.

She recalled her first impression of the boy. He had not evoked feelings of protectiveness as he opened his mouth and wailed. An exasperated Simon struggled to settle the child in his arms, unable to cope with the situation that had befallen him. The patrons in the tavern seemed mesmerised by the fury unleashed by something so small.

The wife of the innkeeper strode over and, taking the infant, slipped her finger into his mouth. ‘He is hungry, Monsieur,' she offered, as she clucked over him and directed one of her girls to bring the midwife. ‘She will know of someone who can suckle him.'

A further distressing ten minutes crept by as they awaited salvation, Simon pacing whilst Catherine peered with amazement at the new life in front of her. The poor soul was quickly losing interest with the unproductive digit and resumed his high-pitched assault on their ears. Simon was seriously considering the innkeeper's suggestion to feed him ale, when a large and extremely intoxicated woman all but fell into the room. Assessing the mayhem that confronted her, she did not wait for comment, but released her swollen breast from the confines of her dirty gown and placed her nipple into the nursling's hungry mouth.

Silence ensued. The innkeeper, his wife, three scullery maids, numerous patrons, Simon and Catherine all stared at the swaying prostitute as she fed the ravenous baby. The woman collapsed heavily on a bench and thrust her hand out towards Lord Wexford.

‘Fee,' she hiccoughed.

Simon turned his back and leaned on the board.

‘Fee,' she repeated, withdrawing her nipple from the child's mouth.

‘I do not give coin to whores,' retorted Simon, his disgust apparent as she held her breast teasingly close to the baby's eager, searching mouth. ‘Rather, in exchange, meals and accommodation.'

‘And wine,' she interjected.

‘One jug.'

‘Two!'

‘Done,' he agreed, but Catherine knew he was not happy.

Catherine returned the satiated newborn to their quarters and placed him in the cradle hastily procured by one of the staff.

‘Simon …'

‘Before you begin, I want to state that we had little choice. She may be a prostitute and a drunk, but she has what we need and that is all there is to it.'

‘She is filthy … and …'

‘So we will get her a bath and water down her drink.'

‘But …'

‘Catherine, I had to take him. Anaïs was harming him and herself. He needs to be fed and until I can come up with an alternative, the whore stays.'

The babe slept for several hours as did Catherine, until woken by his hungry cries. Unsure what to do, she laid him on the bed and released him from his blanket. Someone had clothed him in a long woollen gown, his feet and hands covered by bags, making them look much bigger than they really were. His elfin face was screwed into a ball, his eyelids squeezed tight, his nose flattened and flared as he drew breath in between his protests. Catherine touched his tiny ears and marvelled at their beauty, just so perfect.

A heavy knock at the door revealed the prostitute. However, she no longer looked quite so sure of herself. The ragged dress was gone, replaced by a serviceable gown and surcote. Her hair, previously lank and dirty, now curled about her shoulders. She sat beside Catherine and unlaced her dress before settling to feed the infant, whispering French endearments as he hungrily devoured her milk.

‘You wish me to change his bands?'

‘Yes, please,' Catherine replied, retreating hastily, her newfound confidence now waning.

It was decided that the woman, known as Paulette, would be accommodated in the chamber next to Simon and Catherine and that the boy be delivered to her when in need of her services. Catherine retired to her bed and contemplated Cécile's reaction to her news. She had been unable to continue with her missive as a megrim crept in behind her eyes. She had much to consider and little time to do so for her letter needed to be away. But what to do?

‘Resting, M'lady?'

She had drifted into sleep, only to be woken by the warm sensation of her husband's breath upon her cheek.

‘I felt unwell …'

‘As I thought, so I have procured a tray to tempt you. You drink little and eat even less!'

Catherine sat up and watched as he delicately nibbled on an inviting roll smeared with honey and could not suppress her laugh. He frowned then stepped away. Unable to hide her amusement she stuck out her tongue and grasped for the remainder of the bread, but was not fast enough, as he swiftly held it aloft.

‘If you want this, you had best apologise,' he said, a cheeky smile playing across his lips.

‘I will do no such thing,' she retorted, stubbornly folding her arms.

‘Oh, well, then you will starve.'

She once again tried to grab it, but he was quickly on his feet.

‘Apologise,' he teased, opening his mouth and waving the morsel as though about to swallow it whole.

‘May the Lord protect you from a most evil choking attack.'

‘I am sure
He
will,' he winked, stepping closer.

She turned the other way and feigned a sniff, dropping her chin to her chest.

‘Surely you are not upset?' he asked.

Catherine revelled in the opportunity to jest with him, so lowered her eyes and nodded. She waited until he was sitting beside her then pounced. She threw both hands around his wrist.

‘Sister Mary Catherine! You shock me.'

‘Ha!' she cried as she wriggled to her knees.

‘You honestly think you can trick me with a few tears and a fake smirk.' Simon uncurled his fist and sprinkled a minute portion of crumbs into her palm, revealing the bread in his other hand.

‘Cheat!'

‘Novice' he teased, pinning her to the mattress. ‘I will not easily give in to you.'

‘Nor I, M'lord.'

Simon laughed, his face creasing with humour. ‘We shall see about that!'

Paulette remained for several days, teaching Catherine how to warm milk and feed Garçon, as he had been so named, with a modified cow's horn. A week after the Christmas feast Simon informed her that Thomas Holland's death had been officially reported and his body interred. She had been unable to cry further tears for her father, understanding now that her grief was attached to loss of family rather than to the man himself, though she continued to pray for his soul.

Her world now centred around Simon, for she had to admit, if only to herself, that she had fallen in love with the gruff knight. However, he had never made mention of any affection he felt for her.

His ministrations were more frequent and daring and Catherine was becoming more and more the willing participant. She had woken that morning, divested of her chemise but could not recall when she had undressed. Encased within his arms she could not escape and blushed profusely once she realised that he was also without clothes. The more she tried to break free of his embrace, the stronger his hold became.

‘Lie still, wife, else I be forced to take you in daylight!'

‘Surely that would be a sin!' she gasped.

‘A sin!' he laughed, and slid his arm from under her head. ‘I don't think God cares for the time of day!' He rested his head upon his elbow and stared down into her face. The sheet had fallen below his abdomen and she could see the lean stretch of his chest. He watched as her gaze travelled over him, but stopped at his navel.

‘There is nothing now between us that either must hide. I am your husband and you my wife. I want to know every part of you and have you know me.' Simon lifted off the sheet and revealed his naked form to her but her eyes locked with his.

‘What are the marks I feel on your back when … when … I touch you?' she asked timidly.

He turned from her, revealing the pink streaks of hardened tissue that snaked across his shoulders. ‘In my youth I was steward to a knight who felt it necessary to take the rod to errant boys. One such child within my care managed to attract a great deal of trouble and, as it was partly my fault, I elected to take the punishment.'

‘What did he do?' she asked as her fingers trailed down one particularly deep scar.

‘He might like to tell you himself one day.'

She appeared puzzled, unable to identify the man in question.

‘I have known Gillet from a small boy. He was not always as he is today and has found himself in many a predicament that has been, well, at times questionable.'

Catherine's eyes widened.

‘'Tis not as bad as it seems. He will tell you if you ask.'

Simon sat before her, his gaze dark and penetrating. He grasped the sheet close by her knee and slowly pulled it towards him, revealing her naked form. She inhaled sharply and resisted the urge to cover her breasts, instead focussing on his face.

‘You are the most exquisitely beautiful woman I have ever seen.'

‘You have seen many?'

‘I have seen enough to know that I will never again look upon another.'

He kneeled over her and sat lightly upon her thighs. ‘No more secrets.'

‘No,' she whispered, unable to deny that she had seen that part of him she had long feared. However, she found it to be far less threatening than she had believed it to be. She blushed.

‘Not a donkey.' He smiled.

‘Nothing like!'

‘Your priest was telling a mistruth.'