The Lily and the Lion

by Catherine A. Wilson

  ‘Catherine, this is important. I expect you to follow his directions. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered.

  ‘Good, done then,’ Gillet addressed Lord Wexford.

  ‘Done,’ the stranger replied, turning his gaze upon me.

  I was instantly struck by the intensity of his stare. His eyes, though grey, shimmered in the dim light like stars against the night sky. Older than Gillet, his face was wise rather than weathered. He did not smile. His lips pursed yet there seemed a hint of amusement, perhaps annoyance, I cannot say. Struck by a deep sense of vulnerability I turned away, fearing that he had the power to peer within me, to search my soul, and I involuntarily drew a sharp breath.

  ‘I intend to ride out on the morrow. Can you have a letter ready for Cécile?’

  So I finish here, my sister. I pray for your safe keeping and beg you to take care. Now that I have found you, I could not bear to lose you.

  I do not know what to say to you of my new protector. He is certainly the biggest man I have ever seen and his girth is also reasonably expansive. He is to be housed in the room next to the one I share with Anaïs. So I am a caged animal, a lamb, sleeping in a den full of lions. I pray the Lord will deliver me.

  By your good grace, Sister Mary Catherine.

  Written from the King’s Arms, village of Aylesbury, Feast of Pope Saint Julius, 12 April 34 Edward III.

  Simon Marshall leaned on the mantel and tried not to stare at the girl. In truth, he was exhausted. The ride from the city had been far more strenuous than he remembered. Since settling in London he had spent most of his time at court, sampling exotic wines and playing sedentary games. He’d initially enjoyed the attention, flirting with politics and several attractive widows. But it had worn him down, the gossip, the innuendo, and eventually he shunned the establishment, bored and disheartened. Overweight and unable to find pleasure in life’s luxuries he had resorted to keeping his own company, ending most nights sprawled across the day bed, an empty tankard in his hand. Without purpose there was no direction, and each day followed on from the last, fatigue as debilitating as the boredom that had become his life.

  He longed for change. But when Gillet de Bellegarde had knocked at his door, had he jumped without looking? Not that he could refuse the lad, but the novice was no more than a half-starved waif, dressed in nothing but rags and as timid as a church mouse. Good Lord! What had he been thinking?

  To the righteous and reverend Sister Mary Catherine be this letter delivered.

  Dark days have been upon us. Like a young sapling bent double by the winds of destruction, Paris has withstood the storm of Edward III’s fury, and although her leaves are shredded, her roots remain steadfast. Their attack was fixed upon the far side near Porte de Buci, but unable to sack the rampart that is protected by two crenelated towers, they burned and pilfered the outlying districts.

  I am told that King Edward, frustrated at his failure to penetrate the walls, departed for Chartres but on Monday the thirteenth an immense storm bore down upon the English troops and hail the size of walnuts fell from an angry sky. They trudged across the open plain, battling fierce gales and unseasonal sleet, the towers of the great cathedral within their sight. One after another, the baggage wains tumbled in the muddy ruts, spilling precious supplies. The dispirited soldiers lost all heart. Yielding to the heavens as God’s decree, the King called a truce and our Dauphin has agreed to discuss peace. The sun shines upon the devastation but it is a pale moon to that which I have brought upon myself. I shall explain.

  With many frightened inhabitants fleeing, the owners of this inn found themselves in demand beyond their front gate, Marguerite for her midwifery talents and Philippe for his ability to restore order to the warehouses. Though I would never have admitted it to our courier, I am not entirely out of my depth in a kitchen, for as a young girl I would help at Larressingle, and so I offered my services. Monsieur de Bellegarde need not open his purse on my account.

  Guillaume set me the task of cutting loaves but a loud disturbance broke out in the street, attracting our attention as it spilled into the inner courtyard, erupting like a stirred anthill.

  ‘Oh, by all the saints in heaven,’ muttered Guillaume, crossing himself hurriedly. ‘Does it never just rain? Odette! We have more guests.’ She followed him in a wild flap of skirts and he yelled over his shoulder for me to watch the pot hanging on the cradle.

  I peered out at the soldiers leaping from the backs of their horses. With a sigh I returned to my task and thus engaged did not see the man enter. I was alerted to his presence only when two hands encircled my waist and slid upwards. Enraged by the audacity of this bourgeois I swung around sharply, my resentment finding retribution in a hearty slap to his face. I am afraid that I knocked him off balance, sending his stylish liripipe hat hurtling to the floor. His eyes blazed as his palm flew to his face, whilst I stood shrieking like a fishwife.

  ‘How dare you, Monsieur! Do you think me a common kitchen maid for you to fondle so?’ Quite forgetting my borrowed garb, I brandished the bread knife like a sword. My handiwork was displayed prominently upon his cheek, the red blotch spreading to humiliate the tiny, jagged scar upon his other. Dressed in a black tunic and padded chausses with a dusty riding mantle flung carelessly over one shoulder, he had a rugged appearance that marked his unquestionable virility, and though not old he had seen more summers than I.

  ‘Wench! Do you not know who I am?’ His Parisian French was flawless and delivered in a cutting tone that did not endorse my assumption of his status.

  I threw back my shoulders. ‘Monsieur, I neither know nor care. How dare you treat me in such presumptuous fashion!’

  An amused smile played around his mouth as he observed my invidious, warlike stance and primitive weapon, until at last he burst into raucous laughter, his knuckles settling upon his hips. ‘You look like a feisty cockerel ready to take on an intruder to his hen house.’ He dipped into a mocking bow, draping his cloak regally across his chest. ‘A thousand pardons for ruffling your feathers, little bird. If you are not, as I supposed, the kitchen maid, mayhap you should inform me to whom I owe an apology.’ Standing a good head taller than I, he appeared to be the one crowing.

  It was time to wipe the insolent grin from his face and I stuck my chin out haughtily. ‘You, Monsieur, are addressing Mademoiselle Cécile d’Armagnac, daughter of Comte Jean d’Armagnac, and you may yet pay dearly for your unacquainted dandling and brazenness!’

  His eyes fastened intently upon my heated face and with a good deal of satisfaction I watched the supercilious smile dwindle. His brows knitted fiercely.

  ‘Armagnac?’ His breath whistled between his teeth. ‘Oui, there are not many unfamiliar with the great Gascons from the south. As you say, Mademoiselle, I am in need of redemption but kindly spare a thought for my predicament.’ Stepping forward, he removed the offending instrument and, turning over my hands, ran his thumbs pointedly over my smooth palms. ‘How is it that so fair a maid under such a notable banner occupies her time dressed as one in service? The last I heard, Venetian cloth merchants were still docking at Marseilles.’

  I pulled away from his grip and self-consciously smoothed my borrowed apparel. Beneath his cloak, his own clothing, by comparison, was of extremely good fabric, his dark velvet doublet embroidered with gold thread and the elegant emerald ring on his finger bespoke lordship.

  ‘By which road have you come, Milord?’ I spluttered. ‘I am told the damnable English have wrought terrible destruction on our fair city. King Edward cares not who his war inconveniences, nor how, and through unforeseen circumstances I found myself locked outside the city walls. I am reduced to wearing rags and engaging in menial labour to pay for my keep.’

  His spontaneous smile was one of perfection, a gentle sloping of two pink lips over teeth of the finest ivory. He lifted one of my hands. ‘And did I not say only recently that Paris was like a beautiful woman, and to set fire to her hems would only cause her t
o stamp her foot in anger? I believe, dear lady, that you are my Paris personified.’

  My heart jumped to my throat as his lips gently brushed my fingers. ‘Please, allow me to rescue you from your current plight and to correct the offences that I have committed so appallingly by asking you to join me for supper tonight. It would be my utmost pleasure, Mademoiselle Cécile d’Armagnac, to enjoy your company further.’

  Cheeks aflame with delight and noting his well-proportioned thighs as I modestly lowered my eyes, I accepted. After such a gallant proposal, how could I not?

  He retrieved his fallen hat and peered into the courtyard. ‘I seem to have arrived at an inopportune time.’

  ‘I am sure that a room can be spared, Monsieur, for a man of such importance as you.’

  He spun around with a generous smile. ‘I am sure it can.’ He bowed confidently. ‘Lord Stock at your service, Mademoiselle, and I retract my comment about ill timing. Something tells me this was most opportune.’ It was at that moment the pot suspended above the flames decided to boil over.

  ‘Here it is!’ Odette rushed into my room and laid the folds of bright red damask reverently over my bed as if it were the robe of Christ.

  ‘Oh!’ I gasped, running my finger over the fine embroidery. ‘The neckline is so low.’

  ‘It is rather scandalous,’ she breathed, her hand hovering above the lavish material. ‘The latest fashion in London, introduced to court by the Maid of Kent so the trader said, but Madame won’t wear it. Monsieur Philippe was full of ale at the time and did not come home all night. Scarlet cloth is outrageously expensive so the dress stays buried out of spite.’

  ‘Mayhap we should not do this.’ It had sounded a good idea when Odette first suggested it but I was having second thoughts.

  ‘À Dieu ne plais! You cannot go to dinner with a lord in those clothes.’ Her eyes rolled with mock horror as she spun me around and began to unlace my gown. ‘Besides, Madame will never know. She won’t return until tomorrow and I will have it back in her chest by then. Now stand still.’ Odette carefully scooped up the material and darkness engulfed me as the sumptuous layers fell to my feet.

  ‘There,’ she crowed with satisfaction, clasping her hands with childlike glee. ‘It’s perfect!’

  ‘It’s a little big.’ I slid the disobedient seam back onto my shoulder.

  ‘Non. It is just the cut. Keep your shoulders back. That’s it! Now go. Go! His lordship is already waiting.’

  I entered the inn’s private salon to find Lord Stock staring dispassionately out of the front window casement. He closed the shutters and shook his dagged sleeves into place, turning with a deep frown. I swept into a curtsey, noting that the table was set with the inn’s best pewter and plate.

  ‘I see the evening hours are kinder to your wardrobe, Mademoiselle,’ smiled Lord Stock. He proffered his arm invitingly. ‘Lady d’Armagnac, you are breathtaking.’

  In black silk chausses and richly embroidered murrey-coloured velvet adorned with an amethyst studded gold chain, he exuded nobility. Was he a knight, perhaps? He certainly looked as though he would be comfortable astride a horse.

  ‘Milord, you flatter me.’ I thrilled with pleasure as he kissed my hand.

  ‘Call me Édouard.’

  Over a magnificent repast of duck, roast game, preserved figs and several cheeses, Édouard and I talked long into the evening. He encouraged me to speak of my beloved family, and was graciously amused as I prattled endlessly of my loving childhood. By an unspoken, mutual agreement, we disregarded the war as too tenuous a subject, but as the hours wore on I was sure he was a liberator of some distinction, even though he had not boasted any of his own achievements. He had about him a hidden strength, a determination, and the only useful fact I learned was that he was not married.

  Flushed with Burgundian wine and exhilarated by his charm, I was overcome when, at a nod, his servant discreetly left the room, and Édouard pushed a tiny wooden box across the table.

  ‘Lady d’Armagnac … Cécile, it would be my pleasure to have you accept this gift as an apology, and a token of our friendship. I would be in your grace, lady, and have you accept mine.’

  With a startled cry, I opened the lid to reveal a necklace heavily wrought in gold and set with three startling rubies, the size of which could compete with those of Duc de Berri.

  ‘Monsieur … this is superb, but you cannot expect me to accept it.’

  ‘A clam without a pearl is naught but an empty shell. What good are glorious jewels if they cannot adorn the fairest lady in the land? Accept it, Cécile, by way of atonement for my behaviour earlier.’

  ‘Sir, it is too much!’

  He lifted my fingers to his lips and kissed them gently. ‘Any less would be an insult to your beauty.’ He let go and reached for the box. ‘But I shall not press you.’

  ‘No! Wait.’ My hand landed atop his and understanding flooded his eyes.

  ‘You feel the scale weighs too heavily on one side. What would it take, Mademoiselle, to see the matter balanced?’

  I modestly lowered my gaze. ‘Had you stolen my first kiss, Sir, I would have felt the injustice deeply. Such an impropriety would have indeed required serious reckoning.’

  He removed the necklace from its silken bed and moved behind me, his voice husky as he slid it over my throat. ‘Steal your first kiss? From where I come, they hang thieves.’ He raised me from my seat, his palms capturing my face. Mesmerised by his enigmatic aura, I felt nineteen years of curious longing slowly unfurl. Armand and I had spent one delightful summer discovering a kiss that belonged to us alone, and although it exceeded that of siblings, it remained youthfully innocent. I suddenly found myself yearning to know a true lover’s kiss.

  ‘Prepare your noose, Lady,’ he whispered, ‘but I warn you. This thief shall not die on your gallows for naught.’

  Édouard’s lips alighted upon mine and I closed my eyes. A wave of tenderness rose to the surface, then gushed forth like a newly tapped spring. His mouth pressed firmly, his tongue crossing forbidden boundaries as he possessively drew me close. I swayed as his lips crept to my neck. Mon Dieu! Is this what it felt like to be seduced by a god from Olympus? No wonder so many earthly maidens fell beneath their spell. My eyes fluttered open and with a will of their own, my fingers slid into his golden hair. Yes, he could have passed for one of Zeus’s own.

  Playing traitor to good virtue, my sleeve slipped from my shoulder and I drew breath sharply as his fingers caressed the exposed skin, playing me as though I were a harp. One tug and my disobedient gown gave way. I thought I would faint with sheer pleasure as he kissed a trail to my breast. My eyes flickered open and I saw two men staring their fill. At my gasp of horror Édouard’s head flew up, and exclaiming an oath of annoyance he discreetly turned me. ‘A little discretion, gentlemen! You can see that I am engaged.’

  ‘Your pardon, Sir,’ said his servant, bowing from the waist. ‘An urgent dispatch has just arrived. It requires your immediate attention.’

  With a jingling of spurs, his companion stepped forward and on bended knee, offered his parchment. ‘In his defence, Sire,’ he announced dryly, ‘your man knocked thrice.’

  At the sound of his voice, I spun, my gown now safely back in place. ‘Monsieur de Bellegarde!’

  Édouard stared at me in amazement, then locked eyes with the messenger. ‘You are known to one another?’

  The raven head lowered respectfully. ‘Milord, as you know, my last communiqué was delivered to the palace. Whilst there I had occasion to encounter the demoiselle.’ His gaze lifted and was drawn to my necklace. Shock flickered over his face and his granite eyes clashed to mine. ‘As to knowing the lady, I can make no such claim.’

  Édouard smiled and paced away to read the parchment, one finger poised at his top lip, and I had a strange feeling that more words than I’d heard had been spoken between them.

  Monsieur de Bellegarde stood, his glance one of withering disgust. Incensed, I stiffened and would
have returned fire but the cur deliberately turned his back.

  ‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ said Édouard, coming towards us. ‘You were right to bring this to my attention. Rest assured I shall act upon the instant.’

  He discharged them with a nod and as they left Édouard pulled me into his arms, his mouth pressed to my temple.

  ‘Cécile, my sweet. Forgive this untimely intrusion, I must go, but not before you assure me that you will dine with me tomorrow evening.’

  My eyes fell to the letter still in his grasp. ‘It seems that you are an important man, Édouard.’

  His hands captured my face and he kissed me lightly. ‘To some, maybe, but to you, Lady, let us just say that your thief will return on the morrow. His plunder was interrupted and he intends to steal so much more, including your heart. Keep the necklace.’

  He departed hurriedly, and finding myself alone I poured a cup of wine and stared into the flames, my fingers gently stroking the rubies. Had this man come into my life for a purpose? My thoughts tumbled from him to the messenger with angry eyes. Or had this courier been fated to intervene? I blushed as I realised the extent of what he must have seen. Servants were trained to look away, but this man? As my cup emptied, my humiliation grew and by the time I could see the bottom of my third goblet I felt the need to justify myself. Determinedly I went in search of Odette. If Bellegarde had been bestowed a room, she would know which was his.

  Standing before the door, it was too late to have second thoughts as my curt knock was promptly answered. I pushed my way unceremoniously into Monsieur de Bellegarde’s chamber. His face conveyed complete astonishment as he closed the door behind me.

  Heavy saddlebags were dumped next to the bed, his doublet recklessly sprawled beside it, and each boot lay in a corner as if thrown against the wall in angry derision.