The Order of the Lily

by Catherine A. Wilson

  ‘Faith be, Lady Matilda,’ he panted, ‘Broughton’s children will make mighty warriors one day.’

  ‘Be fair to yourself, Gillet,’ laughed Lady Matilda. ‘You were greatly outnumbered. There must have been at least twenty-five children piled upon you both.’

  Cécile stared at Gillet and her mouth fell open. ‘Twenty-five! Gillet, that’s it! The innkeeper in Arras. The three merchants gave him thirty ducats, but he returned five to the kitchen lad.’ Gillet watched with a growing smile as Lady Matilda and Bertram looked puzzled. ‘The merchants only paid twenty five ducats between the three of them. You tried to make me think it was twenty-seven! They each received one coin refund and the two ducats the boy kept, makes five. That makes thirty. I have solved it. Now I am ready to make transactions!’

  Gillet roared with amusement. ‘Well done, Céci,’ he said, wiping his eyes, ‘but, as for conducting business, I think not.’

  She raked him with a basilisk’s glare. ‘But Gillet, you said …’

  ‘Oui, I know what I said, sweetheart, but it took you all of a month to solve it. Your dishonest merchant could have walked to the south of France by now!’

  ‘Good Lord,’ exclaimed Lady Matilda, visibly shocked. ‘Has someone had mis-dealings with Cécile?’

  ‘Tell me which merchant,’ spluttered Bertram, rising to his feet and clenching his fist, ‘and I will gladly pay him a visit.’

  Gillet could not contain his amusement, laughing harder than before. ‘No, no, my friends. ’Twas no more than an exercise to test Cécile’s trading capabilities. The reality does not exist.’ He beamed broadly, wiping his eyes. ‘She has passed with flying colours. However, it took a little overlong.’

  Their interest piqued, the men rallied Gillet until he told his tale of the three travellers descending upon a tavern. An appreciative crowd gathered to listen. By the end, Gillet was standing inside a circle, the men laughing and slapping his back over the joke with Noah’s ark. With much gaiety, they filled Gillet’s tankard and he winked apologetically to Cécile as they led him away. At their posts, the serving maids were sighing together.

  ‘He is a very jovial character, my dear, when his heart is happy. He would be a great success at any court.’ Lady Matilda’s bony hand patted Cécile’s. ‘I suspected that he brings out the best in you, but even more so you also bring out the very best in him.’

  The short autumn days encouraged the group indoors as the weather took on a most decided chill. Simon stated that they should stay off the roads in the hope that such a move would confuse Salisbury.

  The mere thought of the man turned Catherine’s stomach. Yet, at the same time, she was intrigued. His questions had been quite pointed. He believed she knew something of the Lady of Scotland – her location perhaps? But who was this Lady? Perched on a log and drinking in the last rays of afternoon light, Catherine closed her eyes.

  The scene on the road appeared before her. Salisbury, wide eyed and angry, holding the blade to her throat. He had taken a risk, ambushing them in the open. Whoever the mysterious person was, she must be important.

  ‘Alone again?’

  Catherine’s eyes flew open. Roderick stood in front of her, blocking the light. ‘I was in need of a little air,’ she gasped.

  ‘Have no fear, I have no intention of waylaying you,’ he replied as he mockingly rubbed the side of his face.

  ‘I am sorry for Armand’s injury. I had not known that Lord Wexford would react so …’

  ‘Violently?’ he offered. ‘Why ever not? He is your husband.’

  ‘But Armand and I were only talking.’

  ‘From what I have been told you appeared to be thoroughly enjoying yourself.’

  Catherine pulled a face. ‘And is that not allowed? I cannot believe my mirth could warrant such behaviour.’

  ‘What? You jest. Armand’s reputation precedes him. If you were my wife I would have blackened more than one eye!’

  Catherine smiled, feeling naturally at ease in his company. ‘It is not Armand’s fault if ladies are attracted to him. His manner with me was exemplary and did not deserve the treatment your brother served upon him.’

  Roderick sat down beside her. ‘And is that all that ails you, my sister? Or do you have something else upon that pretty mind of yours?’

  ‘Yes. No.’ Catherine hesitated. ‘I am … I am …’ she stumbled. ‘That is to say, Simon and I have not yet …’

  ‘This much I gathered.’

  ‘You know?’

  ‘’Tis obvious, methinks. My brother walks around as though he has not had a … a … well, he too looks like he is in much pain.’

  ‘What am I to do?’

  ‘There is no easy answer,’ he winked. ‘Had you been an ordinary wench or even a lady of little repute, he would have bedded you by now and been done with it. Should things between you become unfriendly, he could simply take up the cross and rush off to the Holy Land.’

  ‘I see, but I am different?’

  ‘Quite. You are beautiful, young and pious – qualities that most men fear.’

  ‘I don’t understand! What is there to fear?’

  ‘Ah well, there is loss, disappointment, rejection. Without love you have nothing to lose.’

  ‘Are you saying that Simon is afraid of me?’

  ‘Perhaps you should ask him,’ Roderick suggested as they rose and turned back towards the house. ‘My wife says that men are pig-headed mules. Then they marry and under the direction of a comely wife, they become stubborn old bulls!’

  ‘That is not helpful, Roderick!’

  ‘I know,’ he laughed as the supper bell rang.

  ‘Anaïs is near her time,’ Simon offered across the table as it was cleared of soiled dishes.

  Catherine nodded, shame-faced, having not given her maid any thought for months. She avoided Armand’s gaze and concentrated instead on her meal of fresh fish and capons. He seemed jovial and laughed on several occasions with Simon and Gabriel, so she had to assume that all was well between them. Still, she could not resist peeping through her lashes at him. The bruising to his face was not as bad as she imagined, though she did feel a lingering guilt.

  ‘We will need to collect the infant and take it to Gillet.’

  ‘So, we return to England?’ She could not keep the excitement from her voice. Finally the opportunity to spend time with Cécile.

  ‘I did not want to speak sooner in case my plans could not be fulfilled.’

  Catherine rounded the table and gleefully threw her arms around his neck. She hugged him. ‘Thank you, Simon.’

  ‘I warn you, travelling with an infant across open sea will not be easy. You will need your wits about you.’ Simon took hold of her elbow and encouraged her to sit beside him.

  ‘My wits?’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Yes … and a good measure of skill.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘Lord, Catherine.’ Exasperated, Simon raised his voice. ‘To look after the baby!’

  ‘I do not know how to care for a child!’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘No. There were no children at the convent. I was the youngest.’

  ‘But I thought that you offered assistance to the sick. Surely there were infants amongst your fold? I had assumed …’

  She tried to pull away from him, angry now that he was yelling at her for a problem that was not of her making. ‘I was of little use in the infirmary, so spent my time in the garden.’

  ‘You might have shared that information with me before I agreed to collect the babe.’

  ‘Lord Wexford, might I interrupt? There may be a wet-nurse in residence upon this estate. Would you like me to make inquiries?’ offered Gabriel.

  Catherine accompanied Simon to one of the outbuildings. It was as though a small village had sprung up alongside the enormous manor, housing the many servants employed within. The wet-nurse, Marie, seemed pleasant and listened intently as the circumstances were explained to her. But she was unwilling
to travel with them, having only given birth to her own son weeks earlier.

  ‘He is too young to wean, Monsieur,’ she explained. ‘Perhaps I could teach Madame to feed the child with a cow’s horn and teat?’

  ‘She has much to learn.’ Simon hinted under his breath.

  ‘So do you, M’lord,’ Catherine retorted, turning away from her husband.

  She started back to the main building as he made the necessary arrangements with the wet-nurse, but he was soon on Catherine’s heels. ‘A man cannot read a woman’s mind,’ he huffed.

  ‘Nor can I be expected to know what you want of me!’

  ‘Then perhaps you might like to give me direction and I would not need to guess,’ he bellowed, passing her at the main door and turning towards the kitchen.

  ‘Why do you not simply ask?’ she muttered to his retreating figure.

  The following day the wet-nurse arrived as directed and was escorted to the room set aside for the two women. They chatted amiably, with Catherine admitting her complete lack of knowledge. Marie took clean swaddling from her basket and began undressing her child, tilting him slightly to unwrap the tight bands. Catherine sat beside the contented baby, playing with his exquisitely formed fingers.

  Marie patiently explained what she was doing, as she revealed the child within. Catherine listened intently, her eyes widening as the male anatomy was exposed. She was struck dumb by the sheer silliness of something so small.

  ‘Anyone would think you had never seen one.’ Simon’s voice loomed close to her ear and she jumped with surprise, her cheeks flaming immediately. ‘You haven’t!’ he declared with disbelief.

  ‘I … I was surrounded by women all my life,’ she stammered. ‘The only men I ever met with were fully-dressed priests. I have heard rumours, about such an … an appendage, but believed it to be much … well … much bigger!’

  Clutching his side Simon staggered from the room. At first she thought him to be afflicted with a strange malady, so followed him along the corridor where he had collapsed upon a bench seat. She realised that he was not ill, rather, consumed by hilarity, unable to draw breath. ‘Catherine, for the love of God, you are killing me!’

  ‘I do not think it very funny,’ she cried, finding his mirth intolerable.

  ‘No … no … but I do,’ he howled, his laughter echoing loudly.

  ‘You are a … a … oh!’ she huffed as she turned away.

  ‘Stay,’ he gasped, taking hold of her wrist. ‘Sweet, innocent Catherine, you have so much to learn, but I can assure you, each man starts out the same way – tiny.’

  ‘Oh, so the babe is normal?’

  ‘Very, and he will grow like all children, as will his, er, his … appendage.’ He laughed again as he said the ridiculous word.

  ‘This is fortunate, yes?’

  His grey eyes turned to hers, the bright flecks of silver dancing in the dim light. ‘You do know how a woman acquires a baby?’

  ‘I learned a great deal during my time with Anaïs.’

  ‘I hardly think her behaviour should be considered!’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she replied. ‘Are all men made the same?’

  ‘As far as I am aware,’ he smiled, struggling to contain the delight he was experiencing at her burgeoning interest.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I … well … I … I once heard a priest tell Lady Pembroke that he required constant female attention as God had blessed him in the same measure as a donkey.’

  Simon’s laughter could be heard two floors below in the kitchen, as could the slamming of a door. In the hall, Roderick’s eyebrows rose with interest as the men exchanged glances before returning to their game of dice.

  ‘Insufferable buffoon!’ Catherine marched down the hallway to the opposite end of the building.

  ‘Catherine!’ Simon called after her as she banged the door shut. He let himself in without invitation.

  ‘Go away.’ She was lying upon the bed.

  ‘I should not have laughed at you,’ he admitted.

  Catherine rolled away from him, hiding her face. Her hair covered the pillow and cascaded down her back.

  Simon’s hand hovered over her golden mane, his discipline waning. ‘Ask me what you will. I will not laugh.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Anything,’ he replied.

  ‘And you will answer with honesty?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She turned towards him, her cheeks still burning brightly. ‘Why do you fear me?’

  He had not been expecting this. He had thought the conversation was to remain on matters of the body. Matters of the heart were much harder to discuss.

  ‘I do not fear you.’

  ‘You do not speak the truth.’ She sat up, her temper rising with her.

  ‘You misunderstand.’

  ‘Is it that I am undesirable?’

  Simon scoffed. ‘You cannot believe that.’

  ‘Then why do you avoid me?’

  ‘When I am alone in your presence it is becoming increasingly more difficult to contain myself!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘So you hit Armand?’

  ‘I struck that upstart because he is far too forward.’

  ‘He is not. We were only talking.’

  He slid his hand along her arm and pulled her towards him. ‘There are few things that frighten me, but there is this, that I will lose my heart to my wife but she will not lose hers to me.’

  Their lips met, both hungry for the passion they had found previously. Catherine wrapped her arms around Simon’s neck and returned his kisses with such ardour that he fought to restrain his own response.

  ‘Stop, Lady, you are my undoing.’

  ‘Is that not what I am meant to say!’ She smiled.

  ‘I cannot wait for your objection, lest it be too late.’

  ‘Perhaps it already is. Does marriage not require mutual faith?’

  ‘It would seem so,’ he replied.

  ‘Then I am ready to place my faith in you.’

  He rested his hand upon her bodice and gently sought out the swell of her breast. ‘You do not know to what you commit yourself.’

  ‘I trust you,’ she gasped.

  Simon rose from the bed. ‘I told you that you would have the choice when the time came. That time is here.’

  Catherine hesitated momentarily, then took his hand and stood before him.

  ‘There can be no turning back.’

  ‘I know,’ she whispered.

  He draped his doublet over the stool and removed his shirt, then gathered her into his arms, allowing her to experience the feel of his skin against hers.

  ‘We will go slowly and take each step one at a time.’

  He felt her tremble. This would be difficult for him also, as his body was responding quickly and he would have to fight against his raging desire.

  He stepped behind her and unlaced her gown, gently loosening the ties and sliding it from her shoulders. He kissed her neck and trailed his fingers across her back, pushing the garment to the floor.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and bowed her head, hiding from his gaze.

  ‘You have the most beautiful body, given to you by God. It is not something of which you should be ashamed.’

  ‘I fear you will find me wanting,’ she whispered.

  He lifted her chin and kissed her deeply as he coaxed her onto the bed. He wanted to divest her of the chemise, but she clung to it like a drowning man to a barrel.

  Whilst removing his boots Simon considered his own state of dress. To remove his braies would frighten her to death. Clothed he was far less threatening.

  He secured the latch to their room and stoked the fire before climbing beneath the sheet. He drew her towards him and kissed her. ‘Every time I touch, you should feel pleasure, like the gentle brush of butterfly wings.’ He ran his fingers along the top of her arm and felt her shiver. ‘I do not want to hurt you.’

  ‘I know,’ she replied, closing her eyes.


  Simon toyed with the ribbon at her throat and untied her chemise. He watched her face, the frown lines softening and her lips parting as she responded to his touch. She was exquisite. He whispered endearments, as he slowly explored her body, allowing her to drink in each and every new sensation, soothing, teasing, all the while reassuring. He waited as long as he could then acted quickly, thrusting himself within her.

  Catherine wrapped her arms about his neck, her fingers kneading his skin.

  Lost in his own selfish need to bury himself within her, Simon smiled as she cried out, her climax consuming. He followed her, drowning in the waves of pleasure that swept over him as he kissed her damp cheeks.

  He lifted her hand and kissed the tip of each finger. ‘Will you marry me, fair lady?’

  ‘But we are joined already, by church and now by God.’

  ‘True, but I would have you want me now as I want you and not for any other reason.’

  Catherine smiled, brushing a fair lock from his brow. ‘Are we still to be honest with each other?’

  ‘Always,’ he replied. ‘Ask what you will.’

  ‘Will it always be so?’ She frowned.

  ‘Do you mean painful? No,’ he answered.

  ‘Was it so for you?’

  ‘No, it is not the same for men, but I promise you, the more we join together the better it becomes.’ He studied her face. ‘You are a brave and beautiful woman, and for me, it was everything I had hoped and more.’

  ‘So this can be done often?’

  ‘As often as you wish. But I warn you, I may not be able to accommodate you as well as a young squire might.’

  Catherine laughed. ‘I think you will suit me fine.’

  ‘I hope so … wife.’ He gathered her into his arms and kissed her tenderly. ‘Are you sore? I have ointment …’

  ‘Not that horrendous black pig’s muck you wiped upon my tongue?’

  ‘What matter the colour, so long as it works?’

  ‘No thank you. I feel quite at ease,’ she replied.

  Catherine wriggled into Simon’s embrace as he pulled the sheet over them. He smoothed her chemise, which he had not the power to remove, though the desire was great. Nor had she yet seen his naked form. He closed his eyes. They still had so much more to enjoy, but it would have to wait he thought, as her gentle snores lulled him into a deep, restful sleep.