‘He seemed nice,’ murmured Cécile, determined not to prejudice everyone she met.
‘Nice, eh?’ growled Gillet. ‘You do not recognise the name?’ They continued on their way to the door.
‘No, should I?’
‘Not particularly, though I have mentioned it before. On instructions from the Earl of Salisbury, John Kentwode once hired a man called Pierre de Silver, who in turn engaged two thugs to kidnap a young lady from the marketplace in Paris. I rescued the demoiselle in question and took her to an inn but not before she was gravely injured.’
Cécile’s mouth opened in disbelief and her hand subconsciously rubbed her gown where beneath the velvet, a scar was carved into her skin. ‘He is one of those responsible?’ They passed through the arched portal into the garden.
‘Oui, he organised it. Now do you see that you have stumbled into a hive of wasps?’
Humphrey de Bohan was still within his assigned chamber at Blanquefort castle. The new Earl of Hereford liked to make a late entrance. ‘Hand me my chaperon, boy.’
‘Yeth, Lord.’ Humphrey frowned at the young lad’s lisp as the boy lifted the rondelet from the chest and brushed the peacock-blue velvet reverently.
Humphrey placed the roll on his brow and flicked the gorget, a dagged shoulder cape, onto one side revealing the gold lining. ‘Hand me that brooch.’
‘Yeth, Lord.’ The boy complied and picked up a sparkling filigree ornament, its belly a large deep-purple amethyst.
The earl took it and pinned it to the front of the roll. ‘How long have you spoken thus?’ asked Humphrey, still scowling.
‘All my life, Lord.’
‘Yes, well, it’s annoying. Don’t do it in my presence. I have no wish to hear such an impediment in my chamber. Understood?’
Fearing his next word, the lad nodded.
‘I said, “understood”?’ repeated the young earl. ‘I need to know you have understood me, boy.’
The youth winced and then answered. ‘Yeth, Lord.’
Humphrey glared down at the stripling’s impertinence as his hand curled into a fist.
Two minutes later, the Earl of Hereford stepped from his chamber, having carefully arranged the liripipe of his chaperon over his shoulder. It had been a hard decision whether to wear it thus or tuck it into his belt. He began his descent upon the stairs, flicking the entwined couple in the darkened corner a look of distaste.
Within the earl’s chamber, the child crawled from his curled position to where his master had left his vanity shield. He stared at the distorted reflection, the bruise around his swelling eye already turning black.
‘Not here!’ whispered the woman in the corner as she watched the Earl of Hereford pass to make his way down the stairs. She buried her head into the neck of her companion and snickered. Beneath her gown, the man’s hand crept up into the maid’s nether regions until she gasped, then groaned audibly. He withdrew his wet fingers.
‘Yes, here and now. I am fit to burst!’ He swung her around and pressed her into the wall, kicking her legs apart. Lifting her skirts to her waist, he pulled at his braies and thrust himself into her. A heated rush filled his groin and it was over in moments.
‘Is that it?’ complained the woman, returning her hems to floor length. ‘Hardly an assignation worthy of mention.’ She felt his residue running down the top of her thigh and grimaced.
‘Well, just who in blazes do you think you are? The poxy queen of England? You are only Mistress of the Robes!’ Bonneuil stared into her face. It once could have passed as comely but now it bore jagged scars that distorted her cheek and lip. She would not speak of it save that it granted her privilege in the Prince’s new household. Like himself, she had made her way from Paris on a promise. Her saving grace in beauty was a lustrous crown of squirrel-red hair. Bonneuil had always been partial to autumn-coloured whores.
‘I could come to your room later,’ she purred.
‘As if they’d assign me a room,’ he scoffed and spat his offence onto the floorboards. ‘The stable is as good as it gets for me. Anyway, will you not be busy organising all the gowns of these bitches?’
The woman sighed. ‘Oui, but, Eustace, I have to sleep some time.’ She ran her finger down the front of his embossed doublet. Not as fine as the Earl of Hereford’s peacock-blue but admirable enough for the likes of her. ‘It might as well be with you.’
Bonneuil squeezed the plumpness of her breast. He liked his wenches well-padded, more to hold as he rode between their thighs. He pulled away before he hardened again. ‘Just do not be too late. And remember keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open. I want to know it all.’
He watched her retreating derrière wobble beneath her skirts as she left him to hurry about her business. Then he made his way outside. A group of five young lords had gathered under the trees to take fresh air and swap brags. Bonneuil’s ears were alert as he passed them.
‘Christ on the cross! What a turnaround!’
‘Yes, but what a beauty.’
‘Did you see the size of that sapphire she wore?’
‘Never mind the sapphire. Did you see those pearls? She must have been hidden in the convent of King Neptune!’
‘Who cares about the pearls? I just want to feast upon her oyster!’
They exploded into ribald laughter. Snorting derisively Bonneuil made his way to the stables, missing the last remark.
‘You’ve no chance. Word is the Sir Ghillebert d’Albret is keeping her all to himself.’
Inside the hall, Humphrey de Bohan, Earl of Hereford, sidled up to his pseudo aunt. ‘Greetings, Katherine.’
‘Humphrey!’ She grabbed his arm and pulled him into a secluded corner. ‘You’ll never guess who turned up this evening! I’m quite enthralled.’
Humphrey managed to hold his facial expression even. In his opinion, Katherine Beauchamp was akin to a nervous little lap dog whose diet consisted entirely of gossip. At times, she was so eager, he thought it a wonder she didn’t piss herself. But, unlike most who dismissed her as witless, he knew the advantage of staying within her grace. She possessed an inordinate perception of people and, not being a selfish woman, would share her bones of wisdom. He listened with growing interest as she blathered over the latest addition to the court.
‘I must say,’ she pursed her lips, ‘that Lord d’Albret wasted no time swooping in on her.’
Humphrey sniffed with arrogance. ‘An eagle to a mouse … I cannot say I am surprised. They were together under the same roof in Chilham for months. And we all know Albret is no saint when it comes to bedchambers.’
Katherine palmed the base of her throat. ‘Months? Really? But you said Lord Holland visited Chilham. He must have been satisfied his offspring was properly chaperoned, surely?’
Humphrey shrugged. ‘Who’s to say? There was that business at the pond. It was thought to be Holland’s daughter but it was quickly hushed. And the loss of Arnaud d’Albret’s heir but then Arnaud d’Albret left Chilham in a hurry.’ He glanced at his aunt. ‘I tell you now there was funny business afoot before Lord Holland showed up.’
‘And not long after he departed Kent, he died,’ mused Katherine. She turned to observe the maelstrom of eager courtiers whirling around Gillet and Cécile. Neither looked too happy. ‘You don’t think Albret …’
‘No, Katherine. That’s not his style.’ He dropped a quick kiss upon her cheek. ‘But do be a sweeting and keep them in your focus. I’d love to hear all later. Oh, and thank you for finding my chamber-boy. Pity the lad lisps like a village idiot.’
‘That’s quite all right, Humphrey, dear,’ said Katherine, still bedazzled by the Holland girl. ‘It was no bother. He came very well recommended, you know.’ Her examination left Gillet and Cécile to watch her nephew march off to join another group. ‘Lisp?’ She muttered to herself, shaking her head. ‘The boy did not have a lisp when I spoke with him.’
‘Smile,’ whispered Gillet, tightly. ‘We must convince them we are enjoying e
ach other’s company lest they separate us.’
‘Well, how can I?’ hissed Cécile, ‘when you just told me I deserve nothing less than a good whipping! Do you think me a horse? No, wait,’ she chided, peevishly. ‘You’d never take a rod to Inferno so I must assume that I rate lower than a beast on your scale of affection!’
Gillet nodded politely to a passing couple. ‘You know I say all manner of absurdities when I am vexed! Christ’s bones! Smile. Aah, Lady Katherine.’
Katherine Beauchamp clapped her hands together in delight. ‘I have just spoken with Lord Felton and he will see both of you seated at our table, next to me.’
‘You honour us greatly, madame,’ responded Gillet, bowing.
‘Nonsense! It will be my pleasure, I assure you.’ She took Cécile’s hand in hers, her long fingers sliding over Cécile’s knuckles. ‘And, my dear, Lord Felton has sent to the inn you requested for your maid and belongings but I also assigned the Mistress of the Robes to serve you. She will see to anything you need.’
Cécile curtseyed. ‘Thank you, Lady Katherine.’
‘Lord d’Albret, Lord Felton requests the use of your squire to help his assistant with the chests.’
‘Of course, Lady Katherine. I will attend to it immediately.’
‘Good,’ she replied, looping her arm through Cécile’s. ‘We shall be seated, awaiting your return.’
Lady Katherine directed Cécile to the far end of the decorated trestles, above the salt. ‘Here, we go.’
Cécile climbed over the bench just as a man sat down opposite. Out of her peripheral vision she saw the Albret-black hair and, for a moment, thought Gillet had ignored Lady Beauchamp’s request and followed them to the table.
‘Well, well, well,’ her dinner partner drawled from across the board, ‘look what the cat dragged in.’ His sneer revealed a gap where he was missing a front tooth.
Cécile caught her breath as she stared into the demonic glare of Gillet’s older brother, Arnaud.
Gillet made his way to the stables but found the object of his errand coming toward him. ‘Griffith?’ His squire’s expression was disconcerting. ‘What is wrong?’
‘Nothing, milord, but I made an interesting observation. The same boy who begged coin from you outside the cathedral on Corpus Christy, and delivered your brother’s message when you met with him, has turned up in the stable. His eye is as swollen as a ripe pear and just as rotten!’
Gillet frowned. ‘Does he say who did it?’
‘No, milord, but he wears the colours of Hereford.’
‘Interesting.’ Gillet stroked his chin, then remembering his mission, slapped Griffith on the shoulder. ‘I have a job for you that will wash away weeks of hardship. How do you fancy an evening with your beloved?’
After Gillet briefly explained the unfolding events within the hall, Griffith strode off, grinning from ear to ear, to find Lord Felton. Gillet paused a moment to breathe some fresh air and gazed up into the twinkling sky. Without conscious thought, he sought the brightest one, his lips slowly stretching into a smile. No matter his concerns, he was glad at the appearance of his wife. His musing was interrupted by loud coughing and someone emerging from the stables. He heard them hawk a gob and spit it to the ground, then the sound of trickling as the man relieved himself. Gillet turned to go but caught the man’s silhouette. Even elongated against the shed’s wall, he recognised it.
‘God’s nails!’ He slid behind a bush, feeling his blood rise. ‘Bonneuil! What in plaguey hell is he doing here?’
They remained hidden behind the walls of Craiglocard Tower for more than a month before Simon concluded it was safe to depart for Dumbarton, instructing Catherine to pack their meagre belongings.
‘And what of me? Lady Agnes smiled sweetly as she entered the bower. Her gaze settled on the large parcel covered with the oiled cloth.
‘I have asked Roderick to escort you to Dunbar,’ Simon replied.
‘My sister, Geilis, is residing in Glasgow. I think, under the circumstances, it would be wise for me to visit with her.’ Agnes placed her hand on Simon’s arm and sat beside him. ‘I know I have already asked a great deal, but should you grant me this favour, I would be very much in your debt.’
‘It would be my honour, Lady Dunbar.’
Roderick shot his brother a disapproving glare as he stood behind Agnes.
‘Lord Locard has offered his carriage so we can comfortably accommodate you. We will travel to Glasgow and then make our way to Dumbarton and back to Carlisle.’ Simon grasped Catherine’s hand. ‘I wish to return to Cambridge well before Catherine’s confinement.’
‘Then you are not returning to Edinburgh?’ Agnes asked.
‘Not in the short term.’
‘I see. Then it would be wise for you to make arrangements with your staff, Catherine.’ Agnes advised as she helped herself to a goblet of wine. ‘I will notify Tiphanie’s father of our plans.’ Catherine looked over to English Mary who was assisting Girda with the baby. She had no wish to send her back to the Odistouns.
As though anticipating his wife’s request, Simon shook his head. ‘We do not have the room and besides, she is Beatrix’s maid.’
‘And I doubt she would want to leave Scotland,’ Roderick admitted. ‘She may be called English Mary, but she has no love for her kin.’
Catherine rested her cheek against her husband’s shoulder. ‘I will miss her.’
‘She has family in Edinburgh. Best leave her be,’ Simon added.
It was not the tearful departure Catherine had feared. English Mary appeared happy to be spending time in Edinburgh prior to returning to her position with Walter and Beatrix. Catherine felt genuine relief, smiling at the waving maid as she headed back towards the city. ‘Perhaps we should have offered to assist her.’ Catherine giggled as they watched English Mary place her heavy bundle on the ground.
‘I assumed Lord Loccard’s page was sufficient protection and assistance, but would have provided them with horses had I known you were going to give away half our possessions,’ Simon joked.
‘My old cloak and a few plaids! They are nothing to us but will greatly improve Mary’s comfort.’
‘Your generosity extended much deeper than “a few plaids”,’ Simon snorted. ‘She can hardly lift that sack!’
‘Oh dear! I think you are right.’
‘She will be fine,’ said Roderick as he tossed his chest onto the back of the carriage. ‘I believe her husband’s kin are no more than six furlongs from here and I gave her a few coins should she need to seek assistance.’
‘You did?’ Simon’s eyes widened. ‘Was that before or after I did the same?’
Catherine beamed as both men chortled.
‘Tricky old wench. Good luck to her,’ Roderick slapped his brother’s back. ‘No wonder she was humming as she slipped through the gate.’
‘As will I, as soon as we are on our way.’ Simon winked as he assisted Catherine into the back of their transport.
The cart was well-proportioned and offered sufficient space for Catherine to stretch out her legs. There were numerous pillows scattered across the seats and floor. The travelling chests, containing the clothing they had procured whilst at Edinburgh Castle, had been secured to the front of the carriage, covered with tartan rugs provided by Symon Locard.
The elderly knight also seemed happy to see them leave, the deep-set lines that criss-crossed his forehead disappearing as he bid them farewell.
The day had been uneventful. They broke their journey to enjoy a picnic lunch on the bank of the River Almond and though Roderick and Simon kept a watchful eye on the road, not a single horse or carriage passed by.
Catherine laid Gabby on a plaid beneath the shade of a large alder. The little boy was growing ever stronger and could roll from his back to his front and had even begun to crawl, hoisting himself up on hands and knees and rocking. He was also demanding more of her attention, blowing bubbles and grasping at her hair.
‘When will he
start to speak?’ she asked Simon as he sat down beside them.
‘He certainly is a bright, young lad. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was calling you Mama by Yuletide.’
‘Really? Oh, Simon, really?’ She gasped as a sudden rush of emotion washed over her and she began to sob. ‘Sorry, I am not sure why I am crying.’ She laughed.
‘You are with child!’ Simon answered sympathetically.
‘Oh.’ She giggled, before launching into a second round of tears. ‘I can’t stop! Oh dear. I think I must appear quite mad. Look away.’
‘I have never seen you more beautiful.’ He frowned as her weeping increased.
‘The paying of compliments is not helping,’ she added as she collapsed into his embrace, Gabby caught in the crush between them.
‘I think we should seek out an inn. A nice hot meal and a warm, comfortable bed will do you no harm at all.’
‘I agree.’ Catherine chuckled as Simon helped her to stand.
Unfortunately the village of Harthill did not offer the type of respite Simon had envisaged and in the end, they were lucky to be settled in a farmer’s barn. Simon lifted a fetlock of the lead mare and scraped the mud from her hoof. A small rock had imbedded itself within her frog and he picked it out with the tip of his dagger.
The Gilded Crown Page 27
