‘Fear not, Lady. I am a gracious victor,’ he smiled. ‘You are welcome to warm your feet at my hearth.’
‘Your dungeons boast a fireplace then?’ I quipped, and he laughed.
‘You are overcautious with your two knights. They are there to protect yet you constantly move them out of play.’
‘But I have no wish to lose either. They have both become dear to me.’ My heart thudded as his tender expression caught and held me captive.
‘One may need to honourably retire for the other to make a winning move.’
‘And what if he should let me down? Then I would have neither.’
‘Lady, you must place faith in your chosen knight.’
‘But your queen is also interested in him. I do but move him out of her reach. I am afraid he will fall to her.’
The dark eyes stared into mine. ‘You should have no fear of losing him. Your knight is loyal and true to the hand which plays him.’
‘But this queen is so very beautiful and she knows what she wants,’ I whispered.
‘Have you no knowledge of how enchanting your own beauty is?’ Gillet’s smile was disarming as he shifted his rook down the length of the board in a winning move I had overlooked. ‘You have been distracted,’ he murmured, ‘by a piece which had no real power. Yield.’ My breath caught at the huskiness in his voice and he turned my hand over. ‘Yield, Lady. I have won and I claim your queen as my reward.’ Gently he pressed his lips to the centre of my palm.
Suddenly the chess pieces flew from the bed and Gillet threw himself backwards as Desirée neatly landed between us. Purring loudly, she circled several times before settling, somewhat awkwardly, upon the board. Laughing, I scooped her up as Gillet gathered the scattered court.
‘You seem to have a number of loyal servants at your beck and call.’ He tilted my chin and our eyes met. ‘I am beginning to wonder if “sprite” was an underestimation. I am thinking that you are a witch after all. Those who do not fall under your spell seemed doomed to ill fate.’ His lips gently brushed mine in a soft kiss. ‘Good night, my spritely witch.’
For the longest time that night I stared at my candle, unable to sleep. Gillet had accused me of casting spells but could it be that I was falling under his charm?
The following morning I begged leave from Madame Duvall to take a turn in the garden. I longed to be in the fresh air. Stepping out under a summer sky, I inhaled the heady scent of jasmine and twirled with happiness. Last night’s euphoria was still with me but when I opened my eyes I found myself face to face with Rosslyn de Caux.
Impeccable in a dark gown and her red hair shimmered in the sunlight as she stoically folded her arms, her green eyes glittering. ‘I thought I told you not to interfere.’
‘I have done nothing.’
Her arm flew out and she savagely struck my cheek. ‘The next time I will cut you!’ Suddenly she flung herself backwards as though I were the one hitting her. She cupped her cheek and began to babble hysterically. ‘How dare you! You despicable girl!’ she shrieked. ‘Gillet! Oh, thank goodness. Save me from this mad creature.’ Turning a half circle, I saw Gillet striding towards us. Madame de Caux pitched herself at him, weeping a maniacal frenzy into his chest, and his arm closed around her.
‘What’s going on here?’
‘She struck me,’ sobbed Rosslyn. ‘I came out here to accuse her of what I learned only this morning and she hit me!’
‘I have done no such thing!’
‘Oh, she is a liar! A cruel, vicious liar.’ Rosslyn twisted her head and brushed at the false tears. ‘I went to the kitchen this morning and I learned that she had been in there yesterday. She must have slipped something into my food to make me ill. They told me this is not the first time she has played such a trick.’
I was stunned by this fresh accusation.
Gillet scowled. ‘Cécile?’
‘No. No, I am not guilty of this,’ I protested.
‘I only want the truth, Cécile.’
Tears of my own welled. ‘I told you the truth last night.’ I ran for the stables.
‘Cécile!’
Frantic, I saddled Ruby and we hurtled down the road behind the inn, galloping at breakneck speed. Spying a copse of trees in the distance, I finally slowed and headed across the fields to the man-made oasis. I dismounted and collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. Ruby wandered over to drink. Ten minutes of weeping was all he was worth. In frustration, I gathered a handful of stones for Ducks and Drakes, a game we had played as children. I threw one to skip three times over the surface of the water delivering the best from Armand’s repertoire. ‘ Stinking whoreson.’ I threw another and it went to four. ‘ Plaguey bastard. Poxy cur.’
Hoof beats sounded and with them the gasping of a rider at full chase. ‘You are … without doubt,’ he puffed, sliding from his horse, ‘the most headstrong … obstinate woman I have ever had the misfortune … to come across. I suppose those endearments you are so eloquently muttering … are for me.’
‘Stay your distance, Gillet de Bellegarde! I am too vexed to cross words with you.’
‘Lady,’ he bent double to regain his breath. ‘You gave me no time for even a bridle, much less a saddle. If Inferno had stumbled, I could have been killed trying to catch you.’
‘I did not ask that you come.’ Inferno sidled up to Ruby, but she squealed and kicked out at him.
‘It would seem your mare shares your feelings,’ he said, straightening.
‘Your stallion presumes too much. Kindly keep him away from her, Sir.’
Gillet stepped closer, still panting. ‘But he cannot seem to stay away. Against his better judgement, he is inexplicably drawn to her.’
‘Well, it appears quite plain to me that she does not desire his company.’
His breath was warm on my neck, his voice low. ‘Mayhap she does not yet realise that she desires it very much.’
I launched another rock, elbowing him in the process.
‘Oof! Another of Armand’s accomplishments?’ He rubbed his chest. ‘For a woman you display a fine hand but I believe I have told you so.’ He sensibly moved aside and, scooping up his own handful of ammunition, catapulted one. ‘First duck or drake to skip five times. What say you?’
‘To what end?’
‘Must there be one? Might I not simply enjoy your company?’
‘You are on my time now, Gillet de Bellegarde. I did not invite you here. You followed me!’
He bowed acquiescently. ‘Then lay down your rules, Lady, but to keep it interesting why not play for stakes?’
I considered. ‘What odds?’
‘The loser grants the winner a wish.’
It may have been the sparkle in his eyes or the ease with which he seemed to think he could win that saw me surrender. ‘Agreed. Loser grants the winner a wish.’
The reckless bet had jolted my concentration and my next effort was poor, the stone bouncing only three times before sinking miserably. Gillet was one jump shy of triumph on his first attempt. He chuckled softly.
‘They forgot to show you the wrist flick.’
Of course. How could I forget? So long ago, Jean le Bossu had taken pity upon my childish attempts, and had pulled me aside to reveal the secret of Armand’s and his constant winning streak. Remembering my brother’s advice, I chose my next rock with more care and threw it, twisting my wrist as I let go. Four skips to me, and four to Gillet.
‘Would you mind telling me what happened back there?’
Gillet threw his pebble and it reached the opposite bank but only tipped the water four times.
‘I shall tell you what did not happen.’ My stone skipped five times and Gillet turned to me with a congratulatory bow.
‘It would appear, Lady d’Armagnac, that you have won. Tell me.’
I sank to the ground and plucked at the grass. ‘I did not hit her.’
‘That much I already guessed.’ He sat opposite me. ‘Since I know from experience that you strike right-ha
nded, it did not take a genius to see that she was nursing the wrong cheek. I also know you hit hard enough to at least leave some mark.’ He reached out and turned my chin, inspecting my bruised face. ‘Any fool can see who did the striking. Does it hurt?’
‘Yes. Immensely.’
‘I am sorry, Cécile. She had no right.’
‘And her claim that I poisoned her was equally unfitting.’
‘I know. Madame Duvall heard the fuss and confessed her guilt.’ He broke off a long-stemmed weed and, sticking it in his mouth, laid back, palms beneath his head, watching the clouds like a shepherd with all summer to waste.
I watched him from beneath lowered lashes. ‘I saw you kiss Rosslyn in the garden.’
‘Did you now? That was not meant for your eyes.’
‘Just what game are you playing with me, Gillet de Bellegarde?’
He thought for a moment before answering. ‘Oranges and Lemons.’
‘Pardon?’
‘It’s a matter of taste. If you had never tried an orange or a lemon, how would you know which one was to your liking? Both are beautiful yet they look so different. But everyone knows that by tasting you will learn that one is very sour whilst the other is undeniably sweet.’
‘And you have stomach enough to taste both?’
‘How else am I to know?’
I plucked another stalk and pulverised two seed heads before answering. ‘So, which am I?’
His gaze swept my face and he smiled warmly. ‘I am here, Cherub, am I not?’
‘Oh.’ I considered this for a few moments. ‘Gillet?’
He rolled onto his side, his eyebrows arching. ‘Cécile?’
‘What am I to do when a strawberry comes along?’
He laughed softly and sat up. ‘Lady, I believe that you have a wish to be fulfilled.’
‘I would that we leave for Arras immediately.’
‘Are you well enough to travel?’
‘Oui.’
‘You know that I must return to England?’
It was a subtle reminder that he would soon leave. ‘I know.’
‘Cécile,’ he whispered. ‘I need to know you will be safe while I am gone. Do you willingly agree to go to Madame Duvall’s if Armand is called back to service?’
‘Oui.’
‘Thank you.’ He reached inside his doublet and pulled out two silver chains, each with a tiny medal. Dropping one into his lap, he placed the other into my palm. ‘This is a medal of Saint Gilles. He is the patron saint of horses and will watch over Ruby for you. Gilles lived in a cave and was shot in the leg by an arrow whilst shielding a deer from hunters. The huntsman was a Visigothic king and in contrition he visited the man he had crippled, many times. The King so admired Gilles that he built a monastery and named it Saint-Gilles-du-Gard, in his honour.’ Gillet grimaced wryly. ‘It was the closest I could find to my name. It would please me greatly to have you wear it.’
My fingers closed around the medal and my heart lurched. ‘It is beautiful.’
‘He is also known as the protector of fear in the dark. Should your bad dreams come, I want you to touch this medal and be strong.’ His hand slid over mine. ‘Gilles is also known as the patron saint of forest and woods and that makes him perfect to watch over my little sprite.’ A tear trickled down my cheek and Gillet thumbed it away. ‘I need to know someone will be looking over you when I cannot.’
‘And that one?’ I asked, wiping my nose and pointing to the other chain.
‘This is for me. It is Saint Cecilia. She was an heiress of Rome, who obstinately clung to her beliefs. She challenged the custom of arranged marriages, believing that it should be made possible to marry for love. She did submit to her father’s wishes and married a nobleman but on her wedding day she confirmed her vows to God instead. Her fortitude so impressed her bridegroom, it is said, that he respected her wishes and left her pure. Her devotion became legendary but, in the end, those in power made her suffer. They finally succeeded in their attempts to take her life but somehow she miraculously managed to survive, if only for a few days more.’ Gillet reached out, brushing some windblown strands from my damaged cheek and tucked them behind my ear. ‘I know of another who was made to suffer by those in power and she, too, managed to survive. It would be my honour, Lady d’Armagnac, to wear this always close to my heart, ever to remind me of the innocence you sacrificed for me.’
He pulled me against him and raised my chin. ‘Cécile,’ he whispered, his lips tenderly alighting on mine. His kiss was soft, poignant and so deep that I felt as though our souls touched and gently brushed together.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘We should return.’
Our rooms became a hive of activity as chests were packed and supplies readied. Clarissa came to my chamber, her smile sad as we hugged. ‘My father has just told me you are leaving in the morning. I shall miss you, Cécile.’
‘And I you, Clarissa. Thank you for all your help.’
‘Your stay here was eventful and gave me much enjoyment,’ she grinned impishly, ‘especially this morning when Monsieur de Bellegarde ordered Madame de Caux out of the inn.’
I gaped at her. ‘He what?’
Clarissa pulled up the little stool. ‘Oui, there was a disturbance in the garden and we all heard him yelling. My father went out to discover the problem and he sided with the Monsieur.’ Her eyes widened eagerly, thrilled for a last chance to gossip. ‘Monsieur de Bellegarde told Madame de Caux if she did not leave immediately, he would throw her out.’ Clarissa captured my wrist. ‘But, Cécile, she was absolutely furious, spitting with rage. She vowed she would have revenge. She actually frightened me.’
‘Do not worry, Clarissa. We travel in opposite directions. I doubt we shall ever see her again.’
‘I hope not, for the sake of you both. I see a lot of things and all kinds of people, and I can tell you now, Monsieur de Bellegarde made himself an enemy of that woman this morning. I should go. Take care, Cécile, and if you ever pass this way, come see me. God’s speed.’ We embraced warmly.
‘And God be with you, Clarissa.’
I am so relieved to be quitting Amiens, Catherine. Tomorrow we depart for Arras and Madame Duvall is very excited. She will soon be with her sister. How I wish I could say the same but I realise the day draws closer when Gillet will leave also. I know now that my heart does not want this.
May God keep you in His care.
Written by Cécile d’Armagnac, Auberge de Lys, Amiens, one day before the Feast of Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, 19 August 10 Jean II.
Gillet turned from the window to finish his packing. He sat upon the bed and unsheathed his dagger. It was time to take control of his life. He was tired of the treadmill he was on but, unlike the blind peasants who were hoisted to cathedral heights to walk the wheel, he knew how far it was to fall.
His brief courtship with the grieving widow had been a dangerous ploy but he’d had his reasons. Especially when he’d learned that first night that she was travelling to her brother, Gaston de Foix. Not only was Foix Jean d’Armagnac’s enemy, he was the man responsible for the ruination of Gillet’s own life two years ago. And Rosslyn had unwittingly provided him with information. A name mentioned in passing, with no knowledge of the familiarity to him – the one man who might be able to help him. And better yet, this man was currently in Arras. The gamble had paid but he had risked losing Cécile’s … friendship. Would any of it matter then? His head sank into his hands and he sighed. He was so tired of feeling thwarted on all sides.
To the very good lady, my sister, Cécile d’Armagnac.
With my parchment before me, my quill at rest, the bright afternoon sun cast its warm glow over the room provided for me at the Shalford Inn. Three weeks have flown by but we are safe at the inn, the news reaching us that Broughton was under observation. However, my guardian feels it might be time to make our move. Moleyns’ men have dispersed but the latest information indicates that new searches are being conducted closer to this area.
My thoughts were of you and Gillet, your latest missive in front of me. You should have reached Arras by now. Though my surroundings remain the same I am so very changed, in spirit, heart and just at present, thanks to Anaïs, in appearance also.
Three days ago, rising late to the cries of my stomach, I went in search of nourishment. The taproom was completely empty, benches piled atop the scrubbed tables, yet I could hear a murmur of voices and, turning towards the scullery, I was surprised by Lord Simon, tankard in one hand and a large piece of bread in the other.
‘At last,’ he beamed. ‘You must be hungry.’ Setting a heavy bench upon the flagstone floor, he indicated for me to sit and squeezed in beside me, calling out over my shoulder. At his beckoning a girl of no more than ten or eleven years danced into the room. ‘A platter and a jug of ale,’ he instructed. I watched her red curls bobbing as she skipped away towards the kitchen.
‘I’m sorry your brother has had to close the inn on our account,’ I said, my voice echoing around a room that would normally play host to passing travellers.
‘Yes, well, it was the safest way. Mention the word “contagion” and you find yourself keeping your own company quicker than it takes to sneeze. I suppose you look forward to more stimulating companionship at Broughton.’
I blushed beneath his scrutiny. ‘The last weeks have been no hardship,’ I whispered softly, feeling my cheeks blaze.
His face, much strained of late, eased into a smile as a young woman, not much older than I, returned with a tray containing cheese, bread and ale. My stomach rumbled with approval but I resisted the urge to begin, waiting instead for Simon’s lead.
‘Anaïs is not to join us?’ I half-heartedly inquired.
‘No. I am told that she is asleep. Let us hope that she remains that way for some time.’
‘Do you have any proof yet that it was she who betrayed us?’
He frowned, lowering his cup. ‘No, but I am certain.’ The resignation in his voice gave me the impression that he somehow blamed himself for this. ‘Do you recall the day I allowed her to attend the market for cloth?’
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