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.’
‘So it would seem,’ she replied as she stared at his rigid form.
‘You look disappointed.’
‘I am!’ she added as seriously as possible but she could not hold back her smile.
‘You wanton wench,’ he cried, before falling upon her.
By late January Garçon had grown considerably and Simon was becoming restless. He wanted them safely in England but had postponed the journey as the weather was unreliable and the babe not yet weaned. Roderick appeared in no hurry to depart as he diced his way through several large bags of coin. Simon knew that he had to speak with his brother before the Shalford fortune was frittered away. Simon collected a jug of ale from the maid and returned to his quarters. He was looking forward to spending the evening with Catherine. She never ceased to surprise him. He had thought his patience would eventually pay dividends, but his wife was far less frigid than he imagined. In fact her recent attempts to arouse him had both shocked and surprised him. He paused to consider whether she had sought advice from the prostitute, but then remonstrated himself for such idiocy. He opened the door to their bedchamber but found the room empty. She must be feeding the boy.
A sharp knock from behind shook him from his daydream and any further thoughts of a quiet evening were shattered as Armand, Gabriel, Guiraud and Mouse clamoured into the room.
‘I would encourage you to touch your husband as I explained,’ continued Paulette, ‘for you will have him crying for mercy and be able to dictate …’
‘Shush,’ interrupted Catherine, her finger to her lips. She tiptoed towards the door and peered through the gap. She could see the men hunched over documents spread across the table top. Indicating to the wet-nurse to remain quiet she listened to the conversation in the adjoining room.
‘Lord Wexford, may I inquire when you are likely to make your way to the coast?’ asked Gabriel formally.
‘Soon. We have been waiting for the child to be weaned,’ explained Simon.
‘I have completed my journey to Arras and we must return to duty in Calais,’ said Armand, as he filled six goblets. ‘We
are to leave tomorrow. Mayhap you could join us?’
Simon nodded. His interest, though, was held by the illumination he had removed from Salisbury’s possession. ‘I will speak with Catherine and ascertain if the babe is ready.’
‘Good, a salute then,’ announced Armand, raising his cup. ‘To the Order of the Lilies and the success of our mission.’
‘To the Order of the Lilies,’ they repeated before drinking.
‘What do you intend to do once the child is safety delivered to Kent?’ inquired Guiraud.
‘Discuss the matter with Gillet. There must be something we have missed,’ added Simon as he ran his finger over the depiction.
‘I spoke with Gillet and he was as puzzled as you, particularly by the reference to the painter. Was the boy at Corbie Abbey sure it had been painted by a woman?’ asked Armand as he refilled his goblet.
‘He was, and the only name I could extract from the Abbott was “Cletus,”’ Simon replied. ‘I believe the best course is to backtrack. I must return to Denny.’
Catherine gasped audibly, shocked by her husband’s revelation.
‘But many have searched and not found the Lady,’ added Roderick who had sauntered into the room.
‘’Tis true, but perhaps they did not know where to look. Now I have the advantage.’
‘Have you asked Catherine?’ inquired Armand.
‘No, my wife has had enough burdens to bear of late.’
Mouse snorted crudely under his breath and was shoved sideways by Gabriel.
Catherine returned to the bed and ran her hand over Garçon’s head. ‘The Order of the Lilies.’ Seven names on a parchment depicting seven lilies. She was certain of one thing. She would be going to Denny Abbey with her husband, come hell or high water, as Sister Mary Cletus was a frail old woman!
They departed for Calais the following morning. Catherine’s shoulders ached from the weight of the babe, her back strained from holding the same position for many hours. Garçon appeared to fare well and hardly complained, even though he had received his last nurse from Paulette. The men added their travelling garb to the ever-growing number of chests, yet there was plenty of room within the carriage.
Simon sat atop, the men on horseback rode to the front and the rear. The dim light faded by middle afternoon. Ominous clouds gathered, threatening to drop their heavy load. The journey proved slow and dusk was upon them before they neared Calais.
Catherine was dozing, Garçon held securely in her arms, when the carriage lurched oddly forward. Knocked to the floor, her forehead crashed against the wood as the carriage twisted sideways and began to slide, their possessions falling all around her.
She bounced into the opposite wall and scrambled to hold the newborn as the cart embarked on a steep descent, the sound of snapping branches and splintering underbrush muffled by the roar of a river. The carriage shuddered a number of times, coming to rest on its side, icy water streaming through the leather covering as it began to sink.
Simon scrambled down the bank and dived into the dark torrent, fighting his way into the rear of the cart. He grasped Catherine’s arm, turned her over and lifted her head from the water. Her lips were blue and she began to cough.
‘The baby,’ she gasped, rain pounding her face as the thunder cracked overhead.
The carriage suddenly lurched and sank further. Simon wrapped his arms around Catherine and dragged her from the wreck just as Gabriel surfaced beside him. They struggled to the bank as Simon fought against the rushing tide to scramble onto the verge. ‘Give me your hand.’
Catherine whimpered as the weight of her clothing dragged her down. Armand jumped atop the partially submerged carriage and cutting through the remaining ropes, tossed the chests to Mouse.
‘The baby …’ Catherine wailed, as Simon encased her in his dry cloak.
‘Gabriel dived into to get him,’ he managed through chattering teeth.
‘There,’ pointed Mouse.
The outline of the bridge was barely visible, obscured by the mist and rain as the rising torrent rushed towards it. Catherine’s eyes widened with fear for, in the middle, clinging to one of the piers, was Gabriel, his back turned as branches and trees brushed past him.
The men were instantly on their feet and running along the embankment.
Catherine struggled to follow, tripping on her sodden gown and the tangled undergrowth.
Once they reached the bridge, Simon climbed down the support post, twisting his hand out as far as he could reach. Catherine watched in horror as a large log appeared in the distance, rolling around in the water as the current tossed it like a twig. She froze, her gaze held by the tragic scene. The long, loud wail of a baby tore through the darkness before the shattering sound of splintered wood invaded her senses. Debris exploded into the air and Gabriel vanished beneath the bridge as the pier took the full force of the impact.
At the very last, Gabriel stretched up, Gillet’s son writhing in his grip, and Simon swung out, taking hold of the infant. He fell back onto the timberwork, Garçon crying in his arms and rolled onto his side. Catherine lifted her soggy garments and rushed towards him, sobbing with each intake of breath.
‘Take the lad,’ he panted and once again jumped over the railing of the bridge. He reappeared moments later, a dishev-elled Mouse behind him and he, in turn, had hold of an exhausted Gabriel. Nobody spoke as the three men clambered onto the deck, with Mouse pulling Gabriel up and into his embrace.
Garçon’s cries promptly brought them back to the moment, his protestations growing weaker with each passing moment.
‘Strip off his wet clothes,’ instructed Simon, opening his own doublet. Clutching the naked babe, he laid him against his bare chest.
Within the hour they were settled at the Port Royal Inn, Catherine bathed and abed, and Garçon drinking contentedly from the cow’s horn. After warming the boy and procuring a cradle, Catherine kneeled to pray, sending thanks to the Lord for the safekeeping of her husband, his brother, Garçon, and their brave friends.
The incessant calling of a cock finally woke Catherine the next morning. She opened her eyes and was greeted by a strange sight.
Garçon was awake and nestled comfortably in the crook of Gabriel’s arm, being fed his morning milk. She felt a strange longing in her chest, her soul so full of gratitude, for here was a man, a truly beautiful man, who had all but given his life to save a child. She propped herself up and smiled at Gabriel, who responded in kind.
‘I have not yet thanked you.’ Sliding out from under the coverlet, she wrapped herself in Simon’s discarded cloak.
‘There is no need, Madame,’ Gabriel whispered, his gaze returning to the infant.
‘Oh, but I think there is, for you could have been drowned, yet you chose to hold onto the baby, rather than the bridge.’
He said nothing, his free hand running compassionately over Garçon’s soft, dark curls, the empty cow’s horn now lying on the floor. ‘Gillet is very lucky, oui?’
‘Yes, he is,’ she acknowledged. ‘Do you not think Garçon is very much like you?’ she asked Gabriel, as she sat next to him on the floor.
‘Lady Wexford, the swim in the river has affected your eye-sight’ he laughed, rubbing his own blonde locks.
‘I was not referring to your looks,’ she said with amusement. ‘I meant your courage and strength and your beautiful spirit.’ He blushed perceptively. ‘I think Gabriel is a beautiful name. What about you, Gabby, what do you think?’ she asked the sleeping newborn.
Gabriel, touched, looked upon his namesake. ‘Thank you, Catherine, thank you.’
Simon and Armand lumbered into the room carrying further supplies and additional blankets.
‘We have arranged your passage to Dover,’ Armand informed her.
‘The sooner we have you back on English soil the better, methinks.’ Simon sat beside Catherine, his palm caressing her forehead, checking her temperature.
‘I long to see Cécile.’
‘I kno
w. We will be away soon, I promise you.’ He smiled an expression to which Catherine was beginning to become accustomed. ‘I want you to rest, for I know Lady d’Armagnac will have my hide should you arrive with a fever!’
Catherine agreed and hitched the blanket over her shoulder. She closed her eyes and attempted to picture the scene as she arrived in Kent. She had much to tell her sister, but it was not all good news.
Gillet stared from the casement and sighed for the fifth time. Catherine’s letter was crumpled in his hand. ‘I am sorry, Cécile, truly sorry. To most, Sir Thomas Holland was a good and decent man.’
Cécile lay on the bed and stared dry-eyed at the beamed ceiling. ‘I prayed for our release, Gillet, but not this. I did not wish him dead.’
‘No, but someone did.’
Cécile rolled onto her side and cradled her belly protectively. ‘Who?’
Gillet shrugged and came to sit beside her. ‘I must go to London. And I should call in at Broughton, in case Lady Matilda has not yet heard about her brother.’ He placed the letter on the bed. ‘Lord knows it took long enough for the news to reach us here, in this weather.’
‘Exactly. And now you tell me you are going to ride to London in it? You and Inferno will freeze long before you get there.’
‘I shall be gone twelve days at most. I have no wish to be away too long.’ His gaze fell upon her ripened condition, ‘but it must be done and I still have friends at court. For Simon’s sake I must discover whether Thomas managed to obtain an annulment.’
‘And what if you are seen? You are in exile, remember?’
He leaned forward and kissed her brow. ‘I’ll just have to make myself invisible.’
His mind made up, Gillet departed the following morning, tucking his determination stoically beneath his thick cloak as the gloomy, grey skies above promised sleet. Cécile watched him leave with a heavy heart. She padded into the solar, which was to become her retreat for the next few days. By the sixth day, Cécile was glad Gillet was not present. The pain came upon her fast and she screamed in agony.
The Order of the Lily Page 28
