Forcing the memory away, Simon opened his eyes, the flickering light of the candles casting long shadows on the chapel wall. Brushing his cheeks with the back of his hand, he rose with fresh determination. Lady Catherine Holland may not approve of his decisions but she had no choice. He would protect her in any way and by any means he saw fit, whether she liked it or not!
To my worshipful and beloved sister, Lady Catherine Holland, at Broughton Manor, be this letter delivered.
Dearest one, I am in receipt of your latest missive, delivered by a local boy. I can see why Gillet waited until I read your letter before showing himself. I cannot believe it. We were brazenly misled in a game of deceit. Were our feelings never to be considered? You write that I must tread lightly upon Gillet’s heart. I tell you now, for the nights I wasted weeping, I wish I had hooves shod with iron!
The next day my brewing anger manifested itself into energy. Whilst the Mesdames secured supplies in the village, I attacked their domain with the ruthlessness of a warrior on a raid. Cleaning floors and scrubbing tables, scouring pots and pans until they shone, the kitchen began to gleam like a newly-minted coin. By mid-afternoon the aroma of oatcakes permeated the air and the kettle hissed cheerfully from its hook by the fire. An army of vegetables, stripped of their coats, lay patiently awaiting execution in a pot. Returning the oven paddle to its corner and poking the freshly baked cakes with satisfaction, I turned with a sigh of simple contentment, wondering if such domestic serenity could be more than just a paragraph in the pages of my life. That was when I saw Gillet standing in the doorway.
He was clean shaven and neatly groomed, his green velvet shoulders stiff with resolve, but he had the appearance of a wrung out sheet rather than freshly aired linen. He stepped tentatively into the room, his expression taut and drawn. ‘Cécile, we must talk.’
‘Pusillanimous pig!’
He quickly ducked as a jug, half-filled with barley water, smashed into the wall above him.
Nights of endless lamentation flared from memory and anger uncoiled, as dangerous as any striking serpent. ‘Knave! Hypocrite! Licentious scoundrel!’ He sidestepped a flying missile that was Madame Duvall’s pottery bowl. ‘Whoremonger.’
His grasp manacled my wrist, forestalling the cup that was to follow. ‘At least give me the chance to explain, before Madame Duvall loses all her tableware.’
Writhing from his clasp, I fell back, spitting like a wild cat. ‘Go back to your wife. She, at least, welcomes your presence!’
He began to pace between the fireplace and the spice shelves, halting suddenly with his finger and thumb pressed tightly against his closed lids. ‘I have been living in a waking nightmare for days. You cannot think that I have not suffered also.’
‘Also?’ My chin rose to cathedral heights. ‘You mistake me, Sir, for you suffer alone.’
His eyes opened slowly, his arm falling heavily to his side. ‘But what of the words last spoken between us?’
He dodged the cup as it shattered against the timber beam. ‘What of the words you spoke to her?’
‘Damn it, Cécile! Cease your bitter bleating. Give me quarter.’
‘Oh, I’ll give you quarter!’ I grabbed the knife from the table. ‘And I know which quarter I would cut off first!’
His jaw clenched stubbornly and he clutched the shelf to steady himself, bunches of dried lavender jiggling above his head. The words were strained through his teeth. ‘The marriage was not consummated and never will be.’
I threw down the knife with a snort of disgust. ‘That you put the cart before the horse did not stop you both from getting to market.’
Gillet glared fiercely. ‘God’s sake, woman! There were no banns called nor permission sought from the Crown. The vows declared were verba de futuro, “I will take you.” Had it been real on the day, I would have used verba de praesenti, “I do take you.”’
‘You may dazzle me all you like with your Latin, Gillet, but words of intent were still spoken!’
Gillet wrenched a chair aside and strode to the fireplace. ‘You are listening with only one ear! Have you become deaf as well as blind? Did Catherine not inform you that the vows are insignificant? None of the conditions adhering to the betrothal will be met.’ He threw up his arms. ‘Christ Almighty! The whole farce was performed upon a book dedicated to the herding of elephants! I wish to God Catherine had never sent you that letter.’
‘Do not put the blame on Catherine for this mess. If you and Simon were not deceitful curs, she would not have felt the need!’
‘Does it not count that when I learned of her actions, I was on the road within hours to come to you?’
‘Why? Think you have unfinished business here? Go back to your wife, Gillet. In fact, go back to all your sluts!’
‘You ungrateful bitch!’ He stepped toward me, his open palm rising menacingly only to curl into a fist of frustration. ‘Aagh! I have risked my neck for you time and again. How dare you stand there and condemn me for deceit when you are no better! Your self-righteous belly is germinating royal seed! Did you shrill this loudly at the Prince? Or did you moan and groan as you spread your legs, only to scream rape afterwards?’
‘You bastard.’ I struck his cheek with all my strength. It was enough to unbalance him, tilt him sideways in the same manner as had our relationship.
He collapsed onto a stool before the hearth and cradled his head. ‘Cécile, I am sorry.’ A torture rack of silence stretched the seconds into minutes. When he spoke, it was in a grave tone. ‘Anaïs will soon discover she has been duped. She will inform the Black Prince of your whereabouts. You are no longer safe here and it is my fault that she will strike. I could have continued the pretence of marriage but when I discovered Catherine had written, I rode back here.’ He glanced up. ‘I chose you above all else. Anaïs will betray us. If she succeeds Simon will end up sunk in the Thames with a rock in his belly, Salisbury will have Catherine and you will be turned over to Edward.’ His head lifted to meet my gaze. ‘And all because I love you.’
My heart began to pound. My legs buckled beneath me and I slumped onto the bench. ‘And you? What of you?’
His words resonated the hopelessness he felt. ‘My darling wife knows enough to have me hanged, drawn and quartered. I will be rotting in a cell awaiting a traitor’s death, whereupon my limbs will decorate each gate of London and my head will be driven onto a spike for the bridge.’ He sighed heavily. ‘She threatened all of this to force our nuptials. That is why Simon suggested we perform a false ceremony. We had to gain time.’
‘And yet you risked all to come here?’
‘Yes! Because I could not bear to have you think I had deserted you in your time of need. Yes,’ he rose, ‘I have foolishly put us all at risk and I am not proud of it. But when it comes to you, Cécile d’Armagnac, it seems I lose all reason.’ He strode to the board and poured a cup of wine, draining it in a gulp. Refilling his, he poured a second and held it out. ‘You are a test to my sagacity, Lady.’
Even Actaeon, the ancient warrior hunted to death by his own hounds, could not have looked more desperate. ‘I need some air. Drink up. Armand told me there was a wood-land nearby that you would enjoy.’
With some balance restored to our senses, I found myself being guided from the back of the rose garden, down a winding path no wider than a bridle track. Bordered by tall hedgerows of hawthorn, it led to a clearing of immense beauty. Soaring pines tickled the sky, the thickly interwoven branches overhead dangling the sun’s rays in ribbons of pink and gold. A pebbled bank, clustered with meadowsweet, dipped into a stream, tiny waterfalls bubbling along the meandering curves and cascading into a deep pool. A large, flat rock hid beneath the trees, a proud pagan altar, shrouded in clinging bryony. On both sides moss and lichen-embossed logs sprawled like carelessly placed church pews on a thick carpet of leaves dusted by wild strawberry flowers.
‘Armand discovered it and thought it would please you. He made me promise to bring you here.’ Gillet smirked
indulgently as I gaped, my hands clasped childlike beneath my chin.
‘C’est magnifique. ’
‘Oui, a perfect home for a sprite.’
He spread out a blanket beneath the leafy canopy and beckoned for me to join him. ‘Now let us sit and talk rationally. Why did you not tell me that you were carrying Edward’s child? We were together for weeks and yet you said nothing.’
I clenched my hands to keep them from trembling. He reached out to take one and encased it in his. ‘Why did you not say?’
‘At first I was hoping that my fever sickness had prevailed and my body needed time to heal. By … by the time I knew for sure, I also knew I had feelings for you.’
‘That still does not explain why you kept it hidden. Lady, do you not know the risks you took? The endless hours on horseback alone …’
‘I was scared, Gillet. I still am, but no more so than to lose you. Do you not remember? You rejected me at the monastery for having been used by Edward. You were disgusted with me. I was terrified to reveal that the seed you so despised had taken root.’
He sighed remorsefully. ‘I have long been sorry that I spoke those words. I was angry, Cécile.’ His hand slid to nestle my cheek. ‘So angry. I would have given much to have been your first, sweetheart.’
‘I’m sorry, Gillet. If it is any consolation, it was not my choice to go to Edward. He threatened your life and to compromise Catherine. At the time my virtue seemed a meagre price to pay.’ My lashes became awash with tears. ‘I never imagined that I would …’ From somewhere deep inside a knot that had been twisted for weeks suddenly unfurled and let go. I succumbed to grief at long last.
Gillet pulled me into his embrace. ‘Cry it out, Céci. And when the tears are done, we will decide what course must be taken.’
‘Why does God smite us so?’ I sobbed. ‘Anaïs carries your child and I will bear Edward’s.’
‘Hardly the love lauded in a troubadour’s ballad, is it?’ he sighed.
When I finally wiped my eyes Gillet tilted my chin and kissed me, a soft, tender kiss that carried warmth and hope.
‘Cécile, I want you to understand something. If I could offer you my name, I would do so right now but I cannot. Do you understand? It’s not that I would not, it is that I cannot.’
My heart sank. ‘Why can you not?’
Gillet exhaled heavily and, leaning back against the bark, searched the sky. ‘For the last two years, I have danced to King Edward’s tune to keep my neck from a noose. I am wanted in France by the authorities for participation in the Jacquerie uprising, but I am wrongly accused.’
I gasped in horror. Who had not heard of that terrible rebellion two years ago where innocent peasants had been tortured and killed? ‘You were there?’
‘I was on leave from my soldier’s duty visiting an old friend in Saint Leu when the violence erupted. They stormed the manor, searching for weapons. Then some fool threw in a lighted torch. I was outside, trying to prevent them from stealing the horses, when I was struck from behind.’ He shifted uneasily, his voice wavering. ‘When I regained my senses, the house was engulfed in flames.’ Gillet swallowed and heeled his moistened eyes. ‘God have mercy, Cécile, there were five children asleep in their beds and sometimes I can still hear the screams. I tried, God knows I tried to get inside, but …’ His voice broke and he coughed.
‘Go on,’ I urged, gently squeezing his arm.
‘I rode like a madman to Meaux, where I knew the Dauphin and his court were in residence. I had thought to forewarn them but I was too late. Violence had already broken out on the narrow bridge that connected the fortress to the town and the road was impassable, teeming with a panic-stricken mob as bloodied bodies of innocent peasants lay ignored. As I checked for living souls I was arrested by the captain of the guard, an enemy of your father’s who recognised me, Comte Gaston de Foix.’
‘Foix!’ I cried in revulsion.
His hand swept over his beading brow. ‘Oui, Foix. I spent a month in a filthy pit, my gaoler a creature who took much gratification in daily beatings and torture.’ He shuddered. ‘Then Charles of Navarre invited the leader of the Jacquerie, Guillaume Caen, to come out of hiding for a parley. Navarre promised to storm the prison and rescue Caen’s followers, in return for his allegiance against the Dauphin. When Guillaume revealed himself at the appointed time, he was seized. They forced him to wear a crown of red hot irons before they beheaded him. With both Navarre and King Edward attacking the French throne, the Dauphin sent orders to execute the rest of the Jacquerie prisoners.’ Gillet’s eyes glazed with the sickly memories. He whispered hoarsely, ‘I thought my time had come.’
‘This is terrible!’ I reached out but he stayed my hand.
‘Non! Let me finish before you decide to offer comfort. Bertrand du Guesclin was Captain of Pontorson, in Brittagne, and held the garrisons at Mont Saint-Michel and Montagu, where I had been serving. He had ridden to Paris to see the Dauphin and demand the back pay for his soldiers. Rather than lose support of du Guesclin’s army, the Dauphin agreed to his demands. But Bertrand had heard of my capture and, keeping our French Prince suitably distracted, he had one of his most trusted companions organise my escape.’ His dark gaze met mine. ‘Comte Jean d’Armagnac.’
‘So that’s how you know my papa!’
‘It was a risky plan but du Guesclin and your father enlisted the aid of a society of knights that has remained underground and secret for many years. In better days, they were known as the Templars. I was snatched away from under the Dauphin’s nose, hidden in basements, smuggled out at night and eventually delivered to Mont Saint-Michel, but God’s mercy, I was alive. From there my passage was arranged to England, where I was placed into the service of Mary St Pol.’
‘Oh, Gillet!’ I ached to pull him into my arms and ease his terrible pain.
‘It was a double-edged sword,’ he said, shaking his head,
‘and I was to pay for my rescue. I was introduced into the English court by Lady Mary and each time I crossed into France it was as a diplomatic envoy under the protection of King Edward.’ His fingers lightly brushed down my cheek. ‘You see, the Black Prince would never have given me to the Parisian authorities as he threatened, but what Edward and his father-king did not know was that Mary St Pol still carried loyalties to France. I supplied Bertrand du Guesclin and Jean d’Armagnac with information in return. That was how the Comte eventually learned of the existence of your sister.’
‘So it was you! But you have more roles than an entire cast of actors in a play.’
‘Oh oui, and I have yet to hear any applause.’
‘And Anaïs?’ I asked, my thoughts back at Denny Abbey. ‘How did she become enmeshed in this?’
He kicked at a stone lying near his toe. ‘One of life’s ironic coincidences. Anaïs was a maid in my family’s household but her infatuation with me became an embarrassment to everyone. She was dismissed. The Albrets are well known to Lady Mary St Pol as is her charity for taking in life’s unwanted. When I arrived at Denny Abbey and found Anaïs in employ, she seemed more subdued, and content to just be a friend. I did not realise she still harboured affection for me. I think she believed that my fall from grace meant I would accept her as an equal. A dream she had nurtured for years was about to come to fruition.’ His hand slid up to cup my chin. ‘But she cannot hold a candle to you, my sweet.’
‘So Anaïs knows you are wanted for treason on French soil?’
‘Yes, and also that I am a traitor to the throne of England. I never thought she would use it against me, but she made it plain on this last visit that if she cannot have me, she will see to it that no one can.’ Coaxing a wayward curl from my braid, Gillet twirled it around his forefinger. ‘Especially you, sweetheart. She fears you most of all.’
My stomach curdled as I realised the strength of Anaïs’ power. ‘Then she can denounce us all, and it would mean certain death for you and Simon.’
‘Yes, so we must stay one step ahead of her.�
��
Gillet eased me into his embrace and softly pressed his lips to my forehead. ‘Until King Jean grants me an audience and withdraws his son’s erroneous charge, my future is forfeit. I cannot gain permission to marry. For now I have nothing to offer you but my protection and love. And I do love you, Cécile d’Armagnac.’
‘And I, you, Gillet de Bellegarde.’ He kissed me again but I broke it with a giggle. ‘Do you remember the charging boar at the palace the first time we met? How you placed me on that bench out of harm’s way?’
‘Oui.’
‘I spent long years wishing for love to sweep me off my feet. I did not think it would happen so literally!’
‘And your nose was so far in the air,’ he chuckled, ‘it was all I could do not to put you across my knee and paddle your backside. I found it hard to believe Jean d’Armagnac had raised such a pretentious creature!’
‘Must be the residual Angevin blood clogging my Plantagenet veins,’ I laughed. ‘Oh!’ I stared, wide-eyed with wonder. ‘Gillet, I have French blood after all. The Plantagenet lines descend from Angevin blood! French!’
Gillet laughed. ‘Angevin! That explains your temper then.’ He planted a kiss on my nose. ‘French or English, it matters not to me.’
‘At least it has been confirmed that Joan is my mother but thank the heavens I am not the offspring of Salisbury.’
Gillet froze. ‘What?’
‘Of course!’ I gasped and sat up. ‘You do not know! Catherine discovered that we are the daughters of Thomas Holland, Earl of Kent, but our mother, Joan, was forced to marry Salisbury bigamously in his absence. It is true! The old Earl of Salisbury hid us, telling no one, so as to cover Joan’s first marriage.’
‘Thomas Holland? Good Lord! I spent seven years in the service of John de Warrene, the Earl of Surrey. My page and squire duty was to the Lady Isabelle, de Warrene’s official mistress, and also sister to Thomas!’
The Lily and the Lion Page 32
