Bellegarde smirked indulgently and led me to the carved stone seat, swathed in a moss coverlet. His eyes captured mine as we sat.
‘You are beautiful.’
A heated rush burned my cheeks as he plucked a tiny toadstool from the crevice of a rock and twirled it in his fingers, reciting,
‘Of which that Britons speak great honour,
All was this land fulfilled of faerie,
The elf-queen, with her jolly company,
Danced full oft’ in many a green mead,
This was the old opinion, as I read.’
He slid back against the stone wall. ‘I think Catherine is looking in all the wrong places. I shall tell her to abandon her search in London and seek out the mystical world.’ His gaze slid lazily over my face. ‘I am sure you were born under a toadstool, for you are as impish as a sprite.’ His grin was pure majestic charm. ‘What do you think? Have I discovered your secret, Cécile the sprite?’
‘Sprite, is it?’ I sniffed. ‘You could have said faerie.’
His slow smile tempted sin. ‘Non, I think not. A faerie is much too decorous for you. I think, sprite.’
The evaluation that had been sadly lacking on our first encounter was now plied in full measure. His ebony gaze wandered slowly down my throat to admire my low cut neckline. Beneath my bodice my heart was racing.
‘It seems you have hidden talents, Monsieur. I had not thought a courier would be so well versed.’
His seductive chuckle made my stomach roll and somewhere deep within a spark ignited.
‘When I left you at that Paris inn, it was to ransom one of King Edward’s most favoured courtiers, a poet named Geoffrey Chaucer. He spent the entire journey back to London constructing verses and bewailing the lack of parchment. They are his words, Lady, not mine.’ Bellegarde folded his arms and, stretching out his long legs, crossed his booted ankles with grace. ‘Edward lied to you, Cécile. I was in France under his father’s protection and quite safe from the Parisian executioner.’ His eyes, languid in the shifting shadows of evening, assessed my lips. ‘We have a long journey ahead and I think it time we made peace between us. What say you to our own truce?’
Were my heart a tabor, the musician would have been dismissed for beating such an erratic rhythm. I had an irresistible urge to brush the wayward curl from his cheek. I dropped my gaze, for surely it was too bold.
‘If you think it best, Milord.’
‘Tell me of Larressingle. Armand says it is very beautiful.’
Smiling at the twilit sky, I began a monologue of childhood memories, stories of Armand’s and my misadventures. I concluded with a tale of Armand hanging from a balcony in the town square, the huge bully beneath waiting for him to drop like overripe fruit while Jean le Bossu and I hid in the church portal. The timely arrival of Armand’s paternal cousin had saved him.
Bellegarde shook with silent laughter and wiped his eyes. ‘No, wait. Let me guess. You were not supposed to be in the village and this hero hid you all behind his horse so you could sneak past Armand’s uncle. No one noticed the animal had suddenly sprouted six new legs.’
‘How did you …?’
His deep throated laugh sent fire coursing through my blood. ‘No, Lady. Do not look at me so. I am no conjurer. Armand recounted this very tale the other night.’ He slid back comfortably and rubbed his jaw, the humour still sparkling in his eyes. ‘I suppose this champion became the knight of your dreams.’
‘Hardly,’ I snorted. ‘He was twice my age and, anyway, I was jealous of him. All through our childhood, every time he returned home from service, Armand was sent to visit.’
‘Ah. And you did not like someone else usurping your affection. How often would this occur?’
‘Two, maybe three times a year.’ His surprised expression sent a flush of guilt to my cheeks. ‘You must think me very selfish, Monsieur.’
‘I understand the closeness you share. Armand told me so himself, but did you never consider that you had the sweeter bargain? This cousin may have enjoyed your friendship.’
I gazed up at the moon and sighed. ‘You make me realise how silly I have been. Truth is, I have never spoken of this to anyone before. It is strange that I should do so now and to you.’
‘Well, have no fear. Your secret is safe with me.’
I grinned up at him. ‘I suppose it should be. I’m sorry. Papa always said that I talked too much.’
‘That would explain his comment on my packing plenty of henbane oil and a funnel.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Healing simples, Lady Sprite. Henbane is a painkiller and a sedative for earache.’
‘Oui,’ I glanced up coyly, ‘but it is also used as an aphrodisiac.’
Bellegarde’s smile slid away and my heart raced as he softly grazed his knuckles down my cheek. He was close enough for me to feel the breath from his words. ‘No man would need an aphrodisiac for you, Cécile d’Armagnac.’ He leaned toward me and I drew breath quickly, my heart hammering in anticipation. I am sure he misread my tiny gasp. He slid back with a cough as a loud cheer erupted from the inn.
‘It sounds as though the dice game is getting serious. Come.’ He proffered his arm. ‘I promised your cousin that I would not keep you out long. Oh, and I have managed to secure you a proper chaperon, should your cousin be recalled to duty. It would not be seemly for you to travel without the company of another woman. You will meet her at dinner.’
Armand joined us at the table with a grin as wide as the French Channel. He dropped a fat leather purse in front of us. The dice had rolled in his favour. Bellegarde shot to his feet as a plump, formidable looking woman, clothed in heavy, black silk appeared at his elbow. To my astonishment she acknowledged his greeting and squashed herself onto the seat beside him. Her wrinkled face was puckered like a walnut with an abundance of grey hair stuffed precariously under her cap. Her tight barbette prevented her cheeks from sliding to her chin. I looked to my custodian in horror as the innkeeper bustled our plates to the table. If this woman had ever served a maid’s duty, it must have been when Edward the First was still cradled in his royal nursery! What had Bellegarde been thinking? Surely this could not be the woman of whom he had spoken? I glared across the table. So, his solicitous behaviour in the garden had merely been a buttering.
Calmly he introduced Madame Duvall, a childless widow from Brittagne.
From across the board the ancient dame regarded me astutely. ‘You are too thin, child. You need fattening. ‘
Armand choked on his ale as Bellegarde’s attention shifted to a non-existent mark upon his sleeve. ‘Madame Duvall is seeking means to travel to Arras to join her sister,’ he announced coolly, brushing his cuff. He deigned to look at me. The challenge was in his eyes. ‘It will do you no good to complain.’
‘Monsieur de Bellegarde tells me that you hope to reach Arras by the end of the month,’ said Madame Duvall to Armand. ‘I am delighted at the prospect.’
‘I am afraid that my cousin and Monsieur de Bellegarde have quite misunderstood my needs,’ I interrupted. ‘What I require is the service of a maid.’
She turned to me. ‘That was not my understanding but I can be of assistance when required.’ Armand tactfully engaged himself in conversation with Bellegarde. Madame smiled with the shrewdness of an alley cat. ‘I think the Monsieur knows precisely what you need. Eat up, child, you are wafer thin.’ She moved my plate closer.
Herding my peas into a flock and leaving the carrot to shepherd them, I listened to Armand and Gillet’s conversation in which they were typically discussing war manœuvres. I had my own battle going on inside. My appetite was severely tested and my stomach felt queasy. I pushed my food away.
‘Yes, but if Sir Alain had listened to the advice given …’ Armand’s voice raised half an octave in mid-sentence as my dish suddenly reappeared under my chin.
‘No, Armand, you are forgetting that his orders came from higher up. All he had to do was remain calm,’ Bellegarde was saying.
‘You have not eaten your food, Mistress.’ Madame Duvall slid my plate further. ‘One of my main duties, as outlined by Monsieur Bellegarde, was to look after your health. If you do not eat, you will become ill.’
I felt panic closing in and most definitely stood up too quickly. ‘If you will excuse me.’ My retort was directed to Bellegarde. ‘And I am no one’s mistress, and never have I been!’ Swirling blackness ensued.
‘Cécile!’
5 July
My expectations of a new maid have been futile since my fainting proved Madame Duvall’s point. Neither can I write that the relationship between us has improved but at least, after an incident this morning, Bellegarde has granted me quarter.
As I stood beside a steaming tub ready to strip my chemise, there was a knock at my door. Madame Walnut entered without invitation. Her eyes fell upon the bathwater.
‘Mademoiselle, it seems I am just in time,’ she said, knotting her hanging sleeves behind her back.
‘I need no assistance! You may leave.’
‘You do change your mind quickly since you, yourself, stated that you required a maid.’ She pushed up the sleeves of her undergarment until they were a fat roll at her elbows. ‘Come, remove your clothing and in you go.’
Certainly not! I had yet to make my peace with water and would do so on my terms and in my own privacy. I wanted this woman gone but it would take desperate measures.
Bending to retrieve the nearby pitcher, I scooped it full. ‘Take one step closer and you will wear this,’ I threatened.
She eyed me warily. ‘I was told you might resist my help. I will call for the Monsieur if need be.’ She backed away and reached for the latch. Fearing she would carry out her threat I lobbed the jug’s contents but she side-stepped and wrenched open the door. Monsieur Bellegarde stood there, his fist suspended mid-air as though to knock. He bore the brunt of the airborne waterfall!
When his shock at the dousing subsided he brushed at his doublet, his sarcasm dripping as readily as his clothes. ‘I see you were expecting me.’ He waggled his right foot.
‘You missed a bit.’
‘Mademoiselle!’ screeched Madame Duvall. ‘Cover yourself this instant!’
A primal hunger flickered in Bellegarde’s eyes.
‘I hardly think my chemise will shock Monsieur de Bellegarde,’ I retorted, unaware that my splashed undergarment had been rendered as transparent as the finest gauze. ‘He has already afforded himself the pleasure of my nakedness.’ The smile I gave was grossly exaggerated. ‘Is that not so, Sir?’
Madame Duvall gasped as Bellegarde, cheeks flaming, strode into the chamber and reefed the coverlet from my bed.
‘Leave us, Madame,’ he ordered tersely.
‘Monsieur, you hired me for propriety and to leave you alone …’
‘Leave us.’ He tossed the blanket at me. ‘I can promise you the lady’s virtue is under no threat from me.’
She bowed to defeat and he firmly closed the door.
My energy spent, I wrapped the blanket around me and sank onto the nearby stool. Bellegarde snatched up a cloth and wiped his face, then perched on the edge of my bed. His presence filled the room and my senses were very aware of it. I awaited his explosion. It came in cold, derisive tones.
‘Had I known you wished to share your bath with me, I would have forgone my own. Would you care to explain why you object to Madame Duvall’s assistance?’
‘I am not eight-years-old! I can wash myself.’
‘And yet the more worldly “you” welcomed the suggestion of a maid. You spin faster than a tossed coin, Lady.’
‘I asked for a knife and you gave me a battle axe!’
‘No, it was definitely a knife. You just stabbed it in my back.’
I wilted beneath his uncompromising stare. ‘I spoke nothing but the truth. You have seen me naked.’
‘Yet you failed to mention the part where you were bleeding to death and that the removal of your garments was entirely necessary.’
‘You have a reason for coming here, Monsieur?’
He scowled and rose from the bed. ‘I came to tell you that Armand and I would take you to the market, if you so wish. I thought you might welcome the outing.’
‘Oh.’ I glanced back at the tub. Perhaps I had misjudged him. ‘I should enjoy that very much, Monsieur.’
He cupped my chin and tilted my head. His voice was low. ‘Edward has been known to punish his mistresses. If not for the assurance of the monastery’s physician, I should think you hide a skinful of scars. Perhaps the physician was not looking hard enough.’ The dark eyes pierced my soul. ‘Did the Prince condemn you, Lady, when he learned of your duplicity?’
‘Sir, my bath grows cold.’ I stared at his splotched boots and wondered if I had imagined the faint brush of his finger against my face as he let go. His feet retreated from my vision and he sounded almost melancholic.
‘Meet us at the stable. I will inform Madame Duvall she will not be required to assist you during bathing.’
The market at Compiègne was packed as heavily as a king’s coronation. Bellegarde forced a path through the swelling throng, cursing as Inferno shied at a brood of flapping chickens. He dismounted and grabbed my bridle, dodging puddles and wayward piglets as he headed for the holstery. The stable boy collected our mounts and my attention was re-directed to where two men were juggling flaming arrows. The crowd roared with delight as one man drank from a cup, tipped back his head and, touching the arrow to his lips, breathed fire like a dragon.
‘What first?’ Armand brushed the dust from his emerald green velvet.
‘I have to see the fletcher,’ answered Bellegarde, shading his eyes and squinting above the crowd. ‘That way.’ His finger stabbed in the direction of a flapping blue and yellow banner. ‘And you?’
Armand grimaced and patted his pouch. ‘I have a score to settle up at the gaming house.’
‘Then Cécile had best come with me. The gaming house is no place for a lady.’
‘Agreed,’ nodded Armand. ‘I can meet you at the tavern for a drink in a short while.’ With the decisions of men made, my protector took my arm and began to push his way through the crowd as my cousin disappeared in the opposite direction.
The fletcher’s stall was as interesting as counting sacks in a granary. More to my taste was the table opposite, selling fancies for a lady’s hair. I left Bellegarde to discuss his arrow points and groove depths, and wandered over to the wonderful array of colourful ribbons and bone clasps. Musing on the rainbow hues, I picked up a length of green silk and ran my fingers down the shiny length. I replaced it with a sigh.
The courier’s shadow fell across the stall, startling me. ‘That is not your colour.’
‘I was thinking of Catherine. As a novice, she has missed many pleasures.’
‘Good Lord,’ he exclaimed. ‘It must be the day of St Anthony.’
‘I do not believe so. Why?’
Shaking his head at the vendor, he took my arm and steered me across the square. ‘He is the saint of miracles and you, Lady d’Armagnac, were just thinking of someone other than yourself.’
‘Ooh!’ Wrenching my elbow from his keep, I marched away angrily, his taunt hanging in the air like the odour of a three day old latrine. It took two rows of merchants’ stalls before his grip clamped my shoulder. He eyed the table of custard tarts with unease.
‘Don’t even think it! I have worn your temper once today and that is quite sufficient. Come, your cousin should have finished paying his debts by now.’
The tavern was hot and noisy but Bellegarde secured a table outside, under the shade of a weeping cherry. He winked at the blushing maid as she took his order. My attention was for a young woman sitting on the grass nearby. She was dangling a sugar-coated plum in front of the infant on her lap. His golden curls bobbed and he squealed in delight as he reached for the fruit with plump, eager hands. Something pulled at my heart and an emptiness stirred within.
�
�Wishing for a simple life, Cécile?’ Bellegarde slid a tankard of cider across the table, his tone surprisingly gentle.
Pensive, I sipped the cool, spicy drink, still captivated by the mother and child. Bellegarde’s glance shifted to the small boy and he smiled. The mother had relented and the child was noisily sucking his plum.
‘When Duc de Berri asked for my troth,’ I mused aloud, ‘I thought I would have my own hearth to warm me at last. I had waited so long for the plague and war to end. I would have borne him heirs who would take offices in the royal household, but for a little while the babes would have been mine to hold.’
‘And now?’
‘Now, I would settle for what she has.’
A man had joined them and was scooping up the infant to sit on his shoulders. Bellegarde watched as the husband’s arm swung down to press the woman snugly into his side. ‘A titled lord would ensure a wealthy household and secure your future,’ he said.
‘I know. And eventually one will be well paid to overlook my shortcomings but I think it is no longer enough.’ Remembering the laughter that my maman and papa had shared, I blinked away the gathering tears. ‘My papa used to say a truly blessed house lets love reside in its rafters. I would as lief have my father offer no dowry, so that I should know myself truly wanted.’
‘What? The lady prefers a byre and sack cloth?’
His roguish grin made it impossible not to smile. A tray of fruit pastries hit the table and he slid one in front of me.
‘What of you, Monsieur?’ I asked. ‘What does a man like you wish for in life?’
The Lily and the Lion Page 13
