The Gilded Crown

by Catherine A. Wilson

  Cécile met Armand’s gaze and thought he looked as exhausted as she felt, and yet, within the rich azure of his eyes was the ever-present twinkle she adored, the creases at the corners a reminder of how often he laughed. ‘I will never regret my decision to stay for you, Armand-Amanieu d’Albret. May one day a woman love you as much as I do, but as your wife.’

  Armand kissed her knuckles. ‘Margot spoke to me of you,’ he said. ‘She told me you were a great friend at a time in her life when she needed one.’

  Cécile sighed. ‘I tried to do what I could for her. And now she is gone, just like that.’ She snapped her fingers.

  ‘Yes, it happens that way, chérie. People come into our lives and we do not know for how long they will stay or in what manner they will leave – sometimes unexpected and shocking.’

  ‘But, Armand,’ whispered Cécile. ‘It was so unfair.’

  He patted her hand comfortingly. ‘Put it from your mind, Céci. It was not your fault. You could not have foreseen such events. Margot has gone from us and she can never return. She is with God now.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ asked Gabriel.

  Armand considered. ‘I think Cécile should complete the Vicomtesse’s mission.’ He waved away her protest. ‘I shall go to Scotland and bring back your son. Alone, I can travel faster.’ He kissed her hand again. ‘Let me do this for you, chérie, by way of gratitude for what you did for me. Let me bring Jean Petit home. You must finish what you began. Gabriel will take you and Minette to Bordeaux … to Gillet.’

  Cécile sighed. ‘It was the Vicomtesse’s intention that I should intercept Gillet upon the road. He must be well and truly ensconced within the Bordeaux court by now. How am I to gain admittance? I cannot present myself as the Lady d’Albret, nor can I use the name of Bellegarde. How am I to enter this English realm?’

  Armand grinned cheekily. ‘The answer is simple, ma chère. You go in as yourself, your true self – the Lady Cecily, daughter of Sir Thomas Holland.’

  The Bishop’s Palace

  Bordeaux, France

  Arnaud-Amanieu d’Albret, the new and much younger Vicomte de Tartas, stood with his back ramrod straight and his hands clasped behind him as he stared out of the small window. He was taller than most, his black hair brushing the neckline of his scarlet and blue doublet, his lithe body strong and muscular beneath the quilted layers.

  Gillet breathed the aroma of lavender as he entered the chamber. The room was elegant and richly splashed with gilt. Exactly what one might expect from a bishop’s palace.

  Arnaud-Amanieu turned and smiled. It was a handsome smile that reached his eyes; the kind for which the Albrets had become well known. ‘Ghillebert!’ He held out his arms and kissed Gillet on both cheeks. ‘You look good.’

  ‘As do you, Arn,’ reciprocated Gillet, using the short form of address only relatives dared to express. And, as Gillet’s two older brothers had the same names singularly, Arnaud and Amanieu, it kept things simple between cousins.

  ‘How is that rascal younger brother of mine?’

  ‘Armand?’ Gillet’s chuckle was one of affection. ‘He keeps pace.’

  Arnaud-Amanieu offered a seat at the small table and filled two cups with wine. He raised his in a salute. ‘To Albret blood – thicker than water, thicker than wine.’

  Gillet swung his cup into the air and nodded. ‘Thicker than water, thicker than wine.’ He’d always liked Armand’s brother, who was only three years his senior.

  Arn sat down with a grunt. ‘Do you remember that time we tried to get Armand drunk?’

  ‘Tried?’ scoffed Gillet. ‘I remember quite well we succeeded.’

  Arn laughed. ‘Did you ever tell him how we managed to stay sober?’

  ‘By throwing the contents over our shoulders as he downed his? No, I never told him.’

  Arn stretched out his long legs and sighed. His expression became serious. ‘I know why you are here, Gillet. Or at least, I can guess. I know from where you have come.’

  Gillet raised a brow. ‘You are kept very well informed.’

  Arn leaned over in a lazy sprawl. ‘It suited Guitard to stay with the English and, for now, it suits me too.’

  At the reminder of the death of Arn’s older brother, a shadow passed over Gillet’s face. ‘I was very sorry to hear of Guitard’s passing, Arn. I hope he did not suffer.’

  Arn nodded. ‘Thank you. God blessed us insomuch as he did not linger.’

  ‘But,’ continued Gillet, ‘as to my presence here, you have not even heard my words.’

  Arn scowled. ‘I have no need. The Dauphin is without funds. He is struggling to raise his father’s ransom and we both know King Jean le Bon sold his youngest daughter, Isabella, in marriage for such coin. Do you think the Crown has money to recruit us as well?’ He inclined further. ‘Gillet, the only way I can ensure food in our people’s mouths is to make sure the Albret army is paid. And right now, the English are the ones with coin.’ He drew away. ‘It really is that simple.’

  Gillet nodded with a sigh. He had not really believed Arnaud-Amanieu d’Albret would accept the proposal he carried folded within his doublet and for the very reasons his cousin had just laid bare.

  ‘It’s not all bad,’ said Arn, ‘as you must well know.’

  ‘Yes, but be careful, all the same,’ replied Gillet.

  Arn laughed. ‘I have no wish to become the Prince’s confidante. Too many die that way. Besides,’ he drew himself up, ‘I am Gascon.’

  ‘Yes, well, the favourite of the Prince’s grandfather was a Gascon – Piers Gaveston. That did not count for much in the end.’

  Arn’s smirk widened at the unintended pun. ‘Yes, well, we may never know if the stories of their persuasions were true but take heart. I do not plan on sleeping with Edward!’

  Gillet smiled bleakly and twirled his cup. ‘You need have no fear of that. I am well-versed in Edward’s tastes and they do not lend themselves to our gender.’ He looked up into his cousin’s bright cerulean eyes, the mark of ‘Albret’ along with the black hair, and he grinned. ‘No matter how pretty you are.’

  Arn’s teeth flashed but his ice-blue gaze was serious. ‘Keep Armand and Guiraud safe for me. Tell them to be vigilant in guarding the sally-port door. Unlike our jest on Armand that day, I do not disregard or throw any of you over my shoulder now. We are all Albret. Come, burn that communiqué you hold in the grate. I’ll not have you arrested for treason over me.’

  Gillet nodded and the moved to the fireplace as Arn took up a candle.

  ‘Enough politics,’ continued Arn, ‘stay awhile and visit with me at Blanquefort court.’ His eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘You never know what titbit may fall upon your ears. Tell me, have you seen your brother Arnaud yet? He told me I would see you with a mademoiselle upon your arm, but he would not mention her name.’ Arn left the ashes in the fireplace and refilled their cups. ‘So who is she?’

  ‘My brother looks for me to introduce the daughter of Thomas Holland,’ answered Gillet, his own gaze fixing upon a tapestry. Within the coloured stitches a hunter was stalking a timid deer. ‘But I think not. You will not see her at this court.’

  ‘Inspecting my bastions once again, Lord Wexford?’ Lord Symon Locard leaned upon the heavy outer door, bracing it open against the wind. ‘It had always been my hope to increase the overall height of the structure, but I dinna have the coin.’

  ‘I do not doubt the strength of the walls, Lord Locard, ’tis more my habit I cannot break.’ Simon cast his gaze over the cleared ground between the wooded fields and the outer wall of the ancient building. The view to the road was unobstructed and any approach by a large group of men could be easily spotted. Yet he was plagued with worry.

  ‘Has the tower always been in your possession?’ Roderick asked as Simon pushed passed him on the narrow walkway.

  ‘No, lad. I was quite canny at dice, something Connor Kincaid discovered to his loss. I dinna think he ever forgave me for snatching away his wee castle.’<
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  ‘Perhaps you might like to game with me tonight, Lord Locard?’ Roderick placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder. ‘Many believe Lady Luck covets my heart.’

  ‘Thank you for the invitation, laddie, but I have always thought it better to walk away whilst the wheel was turning in yon favour.’ A burst of cold air swept across the hill, pushing the heavy timber door against the frail Scotsman. ‘I’ll be leaving you to finish,’ he concluded, before retreating into the passageway.

  Simon acknowledged their host’s hasty retreat, then continued his journey around the top of the tower, taking note of each vista, the nearby stream and hills to the north.

  ‘You seem troubled, brother?’ Roderick snatched at the corner of his flapping cloak and tugged it down by his side.

  ‘I cannot deny the knot that has formed in the pit of my gut,’ Simon answered.

  ‘If David knew we were here we would have been routed days ago. Truth be, no fortress in Scotland can protect us from the wrath of the monarch,’ Roderick noted.

  ‘I agree, but still my uneasiness persists.’

  ‘Then perhaps we should depart for Dumbarton.’

  ‘Nothing would give me more pleasure than to be one step closer to home, but we cannot leave yet,’ Simon stated.

  ‘Why?’ Roderick swept his arm in the direction of Edinburgh. ‘What holds you here?’

  ‘Walter Odistoun.’ Simon crossed to the south parapet and looked out across the landscape towards Craigmillar. ‘I don’t trust him.’

  ‘If it was his intention to run back to his master, do you not think he would have done so by now?’

  ‘I do, hence my reluctance to play my hand just yet. The longer we remain hidden in Edinburgh, the more likely David will assume we have slipped away.’

  ‘You are playing a dangerous game, Simon.’

  ‘Aye, brother, but only skittish rabbits scurry from their dens in broad daylight.’

  Roderick frowned. ‘I would much rather we left immediately for Cambridge.’

  ‘Cambridge! Have you no desire to return to Guildford?’ Simon asked.

  ‘I desire to see you safe.’

  ‘Your loyalty means a great deal and I know my wife has grown quite fond of you,’ Simon began, noting the flush to his sibling’s cheeks at the reference to Catherine. ‘But I have often pondered, in all the months we have travelled together, you have made no mention of Eleanor and the girls.’

  Roderick turned away, his reply harsh. ‘My wife and daughters do not require my presence in Guildford.’

  ‘What precisely does that mean?’

  ‘Their happiness has nothing to do with whether I am with them.’

  Simon scowled. ‘But what about your happiness? Surely it extends further than dice and whiskey?’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘Your gambling habits have increased tenfold since we departed France and I often see you rise still dressed in your doublet and boots!’

  ‘I think you should concentrate your concerns on you own situation, Simon,’ Roderick retorted.

  ‘I worry for you. Catherine worries for you.’

  ‘Does she?’

  ‘Of course she does,’ Simon replied.

  ‘You are a lucky man, brother.’ Roderick clapped his hand on Simon’s arm. ‘There are many who envy you, both for your position and your wife.’

  ‘I hope you are not one of them,’ Simon jested.

  ‘Of course not,’ Roderick said as he released his grip.

  Simon held open the door to the inner passageway and turned to study his sibling’s face. Roderick’s reply had been overly emphatic, so much so that a tiny seed of doubt had taken root in Simon’s mind.

  ‘Tell me of your childhood,’ Catherine requested of Agnes as they sat together in front of the fire. There was no great hall at Craiglocard, the accommodation considerably smaller than at Edinburgh Castle. Lord Locard offered to escort Simon and Roderick around the walls of the keep, security paramount to everyone, leaving the two ladies to enjoy their repast.

  ‘Oh, my dear, I fear there is little to tell.’

  ‘You were a Randolph, yes?’ Catherine enquired as she filled two goblets with the dark, sweet wine provided by their host.

  ‘I was and, like you, I married in my nineteenth summer to Patrick, Lord of Dunbar and March.’

  ‘Did you have siblings? A sister?’

  Black Agnes smiled. ‘Yes, brothers and sisters. They are all passed now, but one. My sister and I are the last of my family.’

  ‘Oh, I did not mean—’

  ‘Be still, I am not distressed,’ Agnes interrupted. ‘I remember them fondly.’

  A comfortable silence settled over them and Catherine let her mind drift back to her own past. She had but one memory of Cécile and the longing to reunite grew as strongly as the child she carried.

  ‘I did not know my older brother, Thomas, very well. He, like my father, died fighting for the Bruce. He was a handsome boy, tall with deep-blue eyes. My parents felt his loss keenly.’

  Catherine sat up in her chair and watched Agnes. The older woman’s gaze was fixed on the dancing flames within the hearth, her hands locked together as though in prayer.

  ‘My sister, Geilis, was a funny little thing, sweet yet demanding. She married a kinsman of my husband and they moved away. But it was John who commanded my heart – such a devoted brother and son, he could do no wrong.’

  Catherine quietly placed her empty goblet on the table and settled back in silence, in the hope that Agnes would continue.

  ‘He was loved and admired by all who knew him and had few enemies, other than Salisbury, who hated him with a curse.’

  Catherine’s head shot up in surprise. ‘Salisbury?’

  ‘They loathed each other with more venom than I could ever understand. I am sure they knew of each other, even before, before …’

  ‘William Salisbury?’ Catherine asked again, the mention of his name causing her heart to leap in panic.

  ‘William Montague, the first Earl of Salisbury,’ spat Agnes.

  Catherine willed herself to breathe slowly. This was the father of the current Earl of Salisbury – the man who had separated her as a babe from Cécile and forced their mother to marry his son. ‘You knew Salisbury?’

  ‘A more wicked man I have yet to meet and were he still alive, I would torture his body until his soul learned to bleed!

  ‘The first Earl of Salisbury betrayed my family and caused great harm to my mother.’

  ‘That devil caused harm to each and every person he met. He besieged my husband’s castle for six months and threatened to rape and torture the ladies in my service. He tried to starve us out, blocking the route that led to Dunbar and terrorising the local villagers.’

  Catherine gasped. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘It was fortunate that he was not aware of the secondary entrance.’ Lady Dunbar laughed. ‘Lord Ramsey was able to sail close the bottom of the cliff and enter the castle through our sea dock, bringing with him much needed supplies. I took great enjoyment dusting off the battlements with my kerchief and tossing fresh crumbs down upon my attacker.’

  ‘How did you defeat him?’ Catherine asked, now fully engrossed in the story. ‘I have been told that he was a furious warrior.’

  ‘He was and I could do naught but wait. Eventually he became bored and marched back to England.’

  Catherine frowned. Salisbury’s determination was reputed and she could not imagine such a man simply giving up.

  ‘John visited the castle on numerous occasions during the siege. He was a great comfort to me and my ladies. ’Twas only two years later that he was included in a prisoner exchange, for Salisbury, both of whom had been captured in separate battles,’ Agnes sighed. ‘When David invaded England, John was one of the first to take up arms against the English. He was killed at the Battle of Neville’s Cross, fighting for his country and King.’

  ‘I am so sorry, Lady Dunbar.’

 
Agnes patted Catherine’s hand. ‘What is done is done. We cannot change the past.’

  Catherine lay between the cold sheets of the large bed and shivered. It was impossible to achieve the sleep she so badly required as Lady Dunbar’s story spun around and around in her mind. She could see Agnes acting in such a defiant manner, standing on the tops of the bastions, antagonizing her enemy as she paraded up and down. Catherine imagined the delight of the castle inhabitants at the arrival of Lord Ramsey and his fresh vegetables. It was much more difficult to picture Salisbury’s retreating back, as he rode away, his pride wounded, his head hanging low in defeat. Simon had told her many times that a lie always starts with a truth and Catherine wondered at what point Lady Dunbar had chosen to alter her tale.

  The tailor’s five apprentices filed through the inn door and began their ascent on the stairs, the result of hours of labour from the seamstresses flowing over their arms. When they entered the room above, Cécile and Minette cried with delight and threw themselves at the boys, relieving them of their precious consignment.

  Thanks to the gold in the hem of one of Cécile’s plainer gowns, courtesy of the Vicomtesse, the first order of business Gabriel had taken upon their arrival in Bordeaux was to make sure ‘Lady Holland’ and her maid were suitably attired. He was highly amused at their reaction.

  ‘If only the disagreements of war could be so easily settled – with silk and velvet.’ He leaned back in his chair to enjoy the female jubilation, adding, ‘And if only I had known I was carrying a small fortune all this time. I could have saved myself hours of latrine digging in Le Goulet!’ He pretended a bad back as Cécile shot him a sidelong glance.

  Avidly clutching a green velvet gown, she knelt at his side. ‘I was so worried about Armand I forgot to tell you I had some coin sewn into one of my gowns.’