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.’
Cécile sat patiently as Minette dropped the hairbrush for the third time. Her maid appeared nervous and her pallor was pasty. There were dark rings beneath her eyes too, suggesting she had slept badly.
‘Are you not well, Minette?’
‘Milady, I am …’
‘Ouch!’ Cécile rubbed her head where the veil had just been pinned to her scalp instead of the blue cap.
‘Forgive me, milady!’ Thoroughly distraught, Minette fell to her knees. ‘This last month in your service has been the happiest I have ever known, and I … I …’ She buried her face into her hands and burst into tears.
‘Minette! Whatever is the matter?’ Cécile encouraged the girl to stand and placed an arm around her shoulders. ‘I have made no complaints about your service.’
‘Griffith said … he said … Oh, milady, Griffith would never have aided his sister with that fire. I just know he would not!’
Even more astounded, Cécile raised her brows. ‘You speak with Griffith?’
Minette’s eyes dropped to the floor. ‘I was under orders from Milord d’Albret. I was to report daily, your health, your wellbeing, everything and anything that concerned you.’
‘Really?’ Cécile drew breath with mixed feelings. ‘How long has this been in progress?’
Minette swallowed uneasily. ‘The entire time milord was absent from your chamber, milady.’
‘And you think, for this, I will dismiss you?’
Minette shook her head. ‘No, milady but Griffith said we have failed in our duties. I am in charge of your wardrobe and I neglected to observe some garments were missing. He and his father will be called forth after Mass to go before milord. I am afraid we will all be dismissed!’
‘Well, you need not fear for yourself, Minette. I shall not lose you over a pair of garters.’ Cécile paused for thought. ‘As for Griffith, I cannot say. It will be up to milord. Do all the servants feel threatened?’
Minette nodded. ‘They have never seen milord this way before.’
Cécile was to discover the truth of this at the chapel. Where there was usually shuffling, coughing and general restless-ness, the chaplain found, to his delight, a very attentive congregation. From beneath her veil, Cécile observed Minette’s glances towards Griffith, who, together with his father, Llewellyn, looked almost green. Gwynedd, she noted, was nowhere in sight.
With the closing of the service, Gillet escorted Cécile back to the solar, as had been their habit a month ago. After breaking their fast, Gillet pushed away the dishes and poured two goblets of wine, his manner foreboding.
‘I must conduct a hearing. Stay if you wish but say nothing.’
Cécile moved to the window seat as Gillet placed his chair before the hearth and laid his sword at his feet. As though on cue, a knock sounded at the door.
‘Enter,’ commanded Gillet, and Symond let in Griffith and Llewellyn. Heads bent respectfully as they each sank to one knee. The door closed behind them. Llewellyn nervously twisted his hat in his hands.
‘Sire,’ croaked Griffith, ‘you wished us to present ourselves.’ It was too much for Llewellyn. He fell onto both knees, clearly terrified and sobbing as his head touched the floor. Griffith watched helplessly, his already pale complexion turning a bleached white. ‘Da, please,’ he whispered.
Llewellyn lifted his head, rocking back onto his heels. ‘Ruined us, she ’as, boy. What am I to do? Where are we to go?’
‘That,’ interrupted Gillet, ‘is precisely what
we are here to discuss.’ He indicated the two squat cross-chairs in front of him. ‘Griffith, assist your father to be seated.’
Griffith gripped his father’s arm and aided him to the chairs. The poor man was beside himself.
‘Llewellyn, your service to this family has been a long and loyal one. You are an excellent horse master and there has never been reason for complaint.’ His eyes slid to Griffith and the young man swallowed apprehensively. ‘Griffith, you have recently been elevated to the rank of squire and I have never doubted my decision. I would have you both know the importance of these two positions, for each of you are charged with the responsibility of caring for a lord’s most precious possessions – his horses, his armour, and his woman. I believe I have always shown myself to be a fair and reasonable man.’ This statement brought a surfeit of nodding from the father, and the son blinked for the first time. ‘Unfortunately, your daughter, Gwynedd, has committed a grievous offence.’ Both the men swallowed in unison. ‘It is true,’ continued Gillet, ‘that I showed her friendship but you have my word as a knight, I never encouraged otherwise. I stated on several occasions that the Lady d’Armagnac had claimed my heart. So it is with great distress that I will share facts which have just come to light with regard to the fire in the stables.’
Llewellyn placed his head into his hands, and Griffith turned from white to grey as Gillet recounted Gwynedd’s part in the fire, which he had extracted from Cécile in every detail. ‘Add to this also, one count of theft.’
Griffith’s head fell to his chest and Llewellyn began to sob, his old, hunched shoulders shaking with misery.
‘Llewellyn, where is Gwynedd now?’
‘Sire, upon receivin’ yer message this mornin’ I locked ’er beneath our trapdoor.’
Gillet nodded. The workers’ huts all contained a cellar under the floorboards or rushes. Dug into the earth, it was where many stored food supplies or brewed ale during summer.
From her window seat Cécile could see the expression on their faces. Llewellyn and Griffith held little hope of remaining within Gillet’s employ.
‘Your daughter is overripe for marriage and needs a strong husband to keep her well occupied. To wit, I suggest Rhys ap Rhyl.’
Llewellyn lifted his head. Gillet had just named one of the best bowmen in Wales, honourable and well respected. He was also a man who loved Wales too much to ever consider leaving her shores.
‘You told me yourself, Llewellyn, that he had offered for her. I shall provide passage for Gwynedd to my sister’s house in London, whereupon Rhys may collect her, but understand that both Gwynedd and the letter informing Rhys ap Rhyl leave here today.’
‘And what of us, Sire?’ asked Griffith.
Suddenly remorseful, Gillet sighed. ‘You may choose to accompany Gwynedd, or,’ a heartbeat passed, ‘you may retain your own positions, but I ask you to consider this carefully, for ’tis not my intention to remain in England. I will be returning to France, and require both a good squire and a horse master who will honour the trust I place in them. There will be much work to be done and this will leave little time for trips to Wales.’ Both Llewellyn and Griffith stared with stupefaction, but they visibly relaxed for the first time.
‘I approve any discipline that you wish to administer to your daughter,’ continued Gillet, ‘except let it not mark her body permanently, and her face not at all, for she is to be kept acceptable for Rhys ap Rhyl. It is with great sadness I tell you that it was her intention to see the Lady d’Armagnac scarred in a most horrific fashion.’ He lifted his head and stared down at the men. ‘For that, I never wish to lay eyes upon the girl again. She must quit this house today. The Lady and I will be leaving shortly and, when we return late this afternoon, Gwynedd must be gone. If you accompany her, then so be it. Indeed, I shall dearly miss your services. If, on the other hand, you remain, then know that you shall be required to swear oaths of fealty.’
Griffith immediately slid from his chair to a bent knee. ‘Sire, I will never be so remiss in my duties again, and will take my oath right now, should it please you.’
Gillet unsheathed his sword and held the weapon out flat. His squire solemnly placed his hand upon the blade.
‘By your sword, do I swear to serve and protect you and that which belongs to you, to honour your word and deed ’til either you, or death, releases me from my pledge. Upon your sword, I do swear it, knowing to fail will bring this blade to my neck.’ Gillet lowered his weapon with a nod and Griffith returned to his seat. Llewellyn gazed at his son with pride, but also anguish, for his decision now was one any parent would abhor, to live his life with his son, or his daughter, but never both.
Gillet’s voice carried softly. ‘Llewellyn, if you need time to decide, I will grant it, but only this day. I would have my answer by the time I return. Think upon it, for I know it is no easy decision.’
Llewellyn fell to his knees, his gnarled hands clutching his hat to his breast. ‘I thank ye for yer mercies, Sire, to me, my son, an’ that daughter o’ mine. Well knowin,’ I am, o’ the punishments ye could o’ rightly administered. Ne’er been so ’appy as I ’ave in yer employ, for always ye show me kindness. I see no prospects in Wales, ‘cept to live on ’andouts from my future son by marriage. Within yer fold is where I crave to remain, Sire. ’Tis an honour to serve ye.’ He looked expectantly to the sword in his master’s hand and, obligingly, Gillet held it out.
‘Look to this day, Llewellyn, and see it done, then know you have a place for a lifetime in my family.’ He clapped the old man on the shoulder. ‘I am truly sorry, my friend, for the way of it.’
Cécile stood in her room a short time later and distractedly straightened the folds of a deep green gown of musterdevillers as Minette tussled with the laces.
‘He is staying.’
‘Milady?’ Her maid held out the dark, wine coloured surcotte and Cécile wriggled into it, settling the lozenge pattern symmetrically over her stomach.
‘Griffith has chosen to stay on as milord’s squire.’
Minette brushed a non-existent speck from the expensive Normandy wool, her cheeks colouring to a rosy glow.
Cécile reached out and cradled Minette’s chin in her palm. ‘He will be in need of a friend,’ she added softly.
Minette’s eyelashes fluttered and she lowered her gaze. ‘Yes, milady.’
‘And since you deign to speak with him, there are times when I would have you honour me the same way.’
Her face lit with a shy smile. ‘Yes, milady.’
Cécile found Gillet leaning against the fence of the horse yard, his boot resting upon the bottom rail. He cut a fine figure in black quilted chausses and a murrey coloured doublet. His cloak was tossed haughtily over one shoulder and the breeze blew his hair about his neck. He was watching Inferno, the great beast cantering the yard, snorting, and rear-ing as a passive, disinterested Ruby munched her fill in the next enclosure. Gillet greeted Cécile with a dimpled grin that would soon be lost to a beard.
‘He still has not managed to win her affection.’
‘I am sure he will eventually,’ she replied, reaching his side. ‘How can she resist such a handsome fellow?’
‘Come.’ Gillet held out his hand as a blue roan Boulonnais was brought from the stable by Trefor.
Cécile eyed the heavy beast suspiciously. ‘You don’t expect me to ride that, do you?’
‘You prefer to break poor Ruby’s back?’
Gillet hoisted her up to sit sideways across its broad neck and mounted behind. He headed for the narrow path, crossing the paddock to ford a small stream and scale the far side of the shallow bank. Both Ruby and Inferno watched, whinnying in chorus as their master and mistress disappeared into the woods.
‘Do them good,’ quipped Gillet. ‘They think they own us.’
They followed the track, winding deeper into the forest. Cécile nestled against Gillet’s chest, the fragrance of Dame Martha’s sandalwood soap rising from his warmth to conjure a host of mem
ories.
‘We have come far, have we not?’ she sighed blissfully.
Gillet frowned, his mouth quirking into a smile. ‘We have barely been riding for half one hour. Ow!’ He rubbed his ribs ruefully.
‘I meant that the last time I rode thus with you, it was on the road to Compiegne, and we have come a long way since then.’
‘Oh, oui,’ teased Gillet, ‘a long way. Compiegne … Amiens … Arras … Calais … Kent.’ His arms tightened around Cécile, his lips nestling in her hair as she huffed irritably. ‘Oui, sweetheart, we have come far since then but our journey is just beginning.’
Following the rocky path, they wound past thick hedgerows of wild nettle mingled with blackthorn. The wide oaks formed a leafy canopy above while, beneath, the indestructible butcher’s broom and mare’s tail lavished in prolific abundance. Gillet tethered the horse and spread a blanket under an ancient elm. He emptied a sack containing a wedge of cheese, apples and a flask of wine and looked up at the sky. ‘If we are lucky, we may catch the songbirds.’
Cécile settled comfortably alongside the trunk. Gillet lay at right angles and rested his head against her breasts, brandish-ing the flask of wine as he pulled her arm across him, weaving his fingers within the weft of hers. The lines of strain present upon his face earlier had disappeared, replaced with a soft glow from cheeks kissed by the summer’s sun.
Gillet drew a long breath and exhaled it slowly. ‘These woods have played host to hundreds of nesting herons every year. It is said, if they do not return to inhabit by the Feast of Saint Valentine that a terrible misfortune will befall the owner of the estate.’ He swivelled his head and caught Cécile’s haunted look.
‘Do you believe such tales, Gillet?’
‘No. I do not believe that herons spend their winter trying to part the veils of the future in order to find where to roost.’ A smile twitched his lips. ‘Besides, they are nesting females. They are bound to be confused.’ He rolled over and softly kissed her skin. ‘No doubt the story started from a wild coincidence, but not all things in life are mere chance. The day Catherine told me her sister’s name was Cécile d’Armagnac, I knew that it was no accident of fate. God meant for you to be in my life.’
The Order of the Lily Page 18
