The Order of the Lily (34 page)

‘Kittens?' squealed Cécile in delight. ‘Oh Gillet, when?'

Returning his attention to his arrows, Gillet ran his fingers smoothly down a shaft. ‘I am no expert but I would say in a few weeks, probably around Noël.' He caught Cécile's expression and smiled tenderly. ‘You are making all the females in this household broody.'

She chortled. ‘Except Ruby.'

His raised eyebrows smugly suggested otherwise. ‘Oh, Inferno has finally won her attention, but I have kept them separated.' He flung a baleful glare sideways at the feline male. ‘You are more devious.' Nutmeg spun, his tail spiking to the ceiling to offer an insulting back view as he calmly padded away like a majestic lion.

Gillet looked at Cécile wistfully. ‘You are glowing, Lady Sprite. And you seem much improved of late.'

‘In truth I have never felt better,' replied Cécile, stretching.

Since Gwynedd's dismissal, the relationship between the couple had improved enormously, and with it, so had Cécile's health.

‘My strength has returned. So much that I find myself restless and crave more than laying around all day.'

Gillet abandoned his work and went to kneel beside her chair. ‘Then I have a proposition for you.' He withdrew a parchment from his doublet. Pressing the broken seal together to make it whole, he offered it for her perusal. The indentation in the wax was a rampant lion, its head turned to look back over its right shoulder, on a background of fleurs-de-lys. ‘Do you know that mark?' he asked softly.

Cécile stared at the lion surrounded by lilies, a combination of the emblems of England and France and shook her head. ‘No.'

‘It is yours, sweetheart, the seal of Holland.'

Her eyes lifted to meet Gillet's. ‘And the letter?'

‘From Lady Matilda. It is an invitation to visit Broughton.'

‘Broughton?' Cécile's heart skipped a beat.

‘I have a matter to discuss with Lady Matilda and she has asked if her niece would be accompanying me.'

‘Oh, Gillet! Is this possible?'

He cocked his head. ‘It could be, if you were to obey my instructions. Broughton is a few days' ride, but I can have a small covered conveyance at your disposal. You would be able to take your rest, even sleep, along the way. If you feel up to the task, I could take you to meet your aunt before both your condition and winter weather make travel impossible. What do you think?'

Gillet fell back laughing as Cécile launched herself upon him and covered his face with kisses.

The flag bearer rode to the front position, sitting high in his saddle as the soldiers fell in behind. The horses, armoured in shaffrons and peytrals, were draped in red caparisons as the men-at-arms clanked alongside in matching jupons. In a time when most heraldic designs incorporated intricate devices upon colourful fields, the Albrets had become well-known for their single colour devoid of all pattern. They had been ominously dubbed ‘the army of blood red.'

Cécile emerged from the manor and halted mid-stride when she saw the ensemble.

‘We ride under your family's banner?' she asked with surprise as Gillet led Ruby to her.

‘It is a formal visit,' he replied with a wry smile. ‘Supposedly we have been summoned by the Earl of Kent but the finger pushing the quill was really that of your aunt.'

‘And under these colours we are safe?'

‘Yes. Salisbury's eyes are trained upon France for one Cécile d'Armagnac. No one will think to look for her here, cosseted by Edward's allies. And even if Salisbury were to recognise you, he would think twice before attacking. We ride on official business, under the protection of my brother, Amanieu, Seigneur de Vertheuil, and your father, the Earl of Kent, himself.' He nodded towards a second flag bearer, dressed in blue, who had just placed himself alongside the Albret squire. His Holland banner took up a measure next to the red one. Gillet smiled with warmth. ‘Lady Matilda wishes her niece to arrive in one piece.'

They journeyed the first day to Maidstone, arriving mid-afternoon. Cécile was riveted by the sight of a huge fortification standing in the middle of a lake. The rounded keep was built onto the smaller of two islands, and housed the royal apartments. It was connected by a drawbridge to the domestic buildings located on the larger island. Judging by the colour of the stonework, new outer gates had just been completed, accompanied by two portcullises, while the gatehouse boasted a machicolation – a projecting upper gallery on brackets with floor openings through which boiling oil could be poured or rocks hurled at attackers.

‘Breathtaking, yes?' said Gillet, pulling up alongside. ‘Esledes is one of the finest castles in England, and your great grandfather improved it from what was an early wooden Saxon manor into his own stone palace.' A gentle mist swirled over the lake and Cécile gasped with round-eyed wonder.

‘I almost expect a lady's arm to emerge from the water, bearing Excalibur!'

‘Come,
ma princesse petite,'
replied Gillet, amused, ‘let us find an inn. Unfortunately, I am no Arthur so we must secure other accommodation.'

Much of the trip was to take the routine of that first day. They rode the mornings, arriving at their appointed destination by mid-afternoon, whereupon they dined and retired early in order to rise before dawn. By the fifth day, they turned from the main thoroughfare at Stockbridge onto the by-road to reach Broughton. Cécile was immediately struck by the beauty of the valley, the gently rising farmland to the north and the tiny village, its timbered and thatched cottages nestled in the protective comfort of the high downs like mushrooms sprouting on a bank. To the south and west, rich, chalk grasslands filled the landscape.

‘In spring, this is bedecked with flowers, cowslips and rock rose, as far as the eye can see,' announced Gillet. They wound down into the village, and Gillet pointed out the quaint church. ‘St Mary's.'

The stonework gleamed in the soft sunlight and a strange looking structure like a turret lopped from the top of a castle stood in the churchyard.

‘The columbariurn,' said Gillet, as they rode past. ‘A dovecote. And one of the more lucrative ones I have ever seen. It houses nearly a thousand pigeons so I suspect pigeon pie will be on the menu.'

They headed south on the old Roman road and Gillet pointed over his shoulder.

‘Salisbury lives just over that rise.'

Cécile shuddered but said nothing as they turned west. From here they rode onto the downs, field upon field of lush green velvet, and, in the distance, spreading out like a pretty gown in a well-formed curtsey, stood the manor of Broughton.

The large hall sat between two wings, the timbered peaks of the later additions jutting high into the sky. The sombre grey, stone wall of the middle section was slowly disappearing under a blanket of thick, clinging ivy, and the whole structure sat regally in magnificent gardens.

‘That end of the building houses the solar and the main rooms for the Earl and his family,' said Gillet as they pulled up at a distance. ‘The other end houses the kitchen, with the buttery and food storage area adjoining. The second floor is given over entirely to guest rooms, and you will see for yourself the magnificent staircase that leads to the gallery. Come. They await our arrival.'

Servants rushed from the manor to attend them. The horses were led away under the watchful eyes of Alfred and Griffith as Gillet and Cécile were escorted inside. Inwardly trembling at the impending meeting, Cécile's fear was premature. Lady Matilda was absent, attending a woman in the village. Assured that her return was imminent, the couple was shown to her solar to wait, but Griffith appeared to inform Gillet that Inferno was causing havoc in the stable. As a servant arrived with a jug of wine, Gillet took his leave.

‘Rest, sweetheart. I will attend to Inferno and await the arrival of Lady Matilda,' he said, offering her a cup of wine. ‘I shall return soon with your aunt. Amuse yourself, but don't get into mischief. You look beautiful,' he added, swooping to kiss her briefly.

At the last rest-stop, Cécile had changed into a more presentable outfit, a silver brocade gown and a soft-blue surcotte, edged with white embroidered scrolls – cloth Gillet himself had chosen. She suddenly wondered at the coincidence of wearing Holland colours.

Taking a liberal gulp of wine, she cast her eyes over the array of tapestries and miniatures, small vases and trinket boxes decorating the chamber. The furnishings were tasteful and expensive, and with a violent jolt Cécile realised that she was standing in what should have been her childhood home, an estate that would now pass to her brother, a sibling she had never met. With a deep pang of despair, images of her adopted brother, Jean le Bossu, rose before her like a ghost from the grave. An overwhelming melancholy threatened to engulf her and she drank hastily to drown the despondent feeling. Her stomach rumbled and she realised she had been too nervous to eat at the last rest-stop.

Looking for distraction before she became overset, she spied a small, gilt cage on the desk and, with a delighted gasp, dropped into the velvet-cushioned chair. The tiny azure bird eyed her speculatively and then with a dismissive chirrup, began amusing itself, swinging on the perch and dipping into somersaults, baring its beautiful yellow plumage underneath.

Cécile tapped the door and immediately it fluttered down to investigate. She opened the gate with the intention of providing a finger perch and was enchanted when the bird hopped across the desk and flew up to the rim of her goblet. It ducked its beak into the dark contents, throwing its head back as the minuscule throat contracted. The little blue tit, for undoubtedly that's what it was, dipped a few times more until, finally sated, it flittered to the desk. Cécile's amusement faded as she watched it attempt a rather staggered path over the blank parchment.

‘Oh, gracious! I think you have had quite enough. You should return to your cage.' Despite its shambling gait, the bird deftly evaded her and, Cécile, worried it would fly away, set about its capture in earnest.

‘Ha! I have you!'

She neatly cocooned the feathered scoundrel between her palms and nudged open the gilt door, depositing her quarry back into its cage. The creature collapsed, feet in the air, not moving.

‘Sacré bleu.'
Cécile hastily backed away. ‘Mon Dieu, Cécile! How could you be so stupid?' She retrieved her goblet and sipping her wine, paced fretfully, praying to Saint Francis for heavenly intervention. ‘Gracious! How fine will this appear?' Her goblet tipped as she clutched her gown, practising a deep curtsey.

‘The honour is mine, Lady Matilda. What a lovely disposition has your room. The decorations are quite extraordinary, but I think I just killed your bird. Oh, no, no.' Cécile sprang up. ‘That will never do!' She drank nervously, fanning herself with outstretched fingers. ‘What to say, what to say.' The wine jug beckoned and she refilled her cup, returning to the middle of the room. Down she went in a splendid curtsey.

‘Gracious Aunt, I am delighted to meet you. Oh! I forget, I forget! I must speak England's tongue!' Cécile thumped her forehead with frustration and inhaled deeply, switching to the Norman French. ‘My La-dy Matilda, how pleas-ed I am … to meet with you.' The curtsey was perfection, the mangled Norman-French left a lot to be desired. She returned to her own sweet French. ‘May I say how delightful is your decor, but I think, there is ill tiding afoot with your pet.' Finger poised at her cheek, Cécile considered. ‘No, no. That is no good, either. You don't “think” there is something wrong, Cécile. You
know
there is.' As she replenished her Bordeaux, inspiration struck. ‘Ah,
voila.
' She spread her skirt like flower petals blooming under full sun and sank to the floor with abject humility. ‘Lady Matilda, how wonderful to meet you, but a funny thing happened just now … well, no … it's not really funny … Actually I doubt you will think it funny at all.' She stood up and began treading the boards once more, sipping furiously. ‘Dear Aunt, were you terribly fond of your tiny bird? I have never before seen one that sleeps on its back.