The Order of the Lily (7 page)

‘She doesn't love you, Edward.'

The Prince felt the fetid air thicken with tension and smiled with an ease he did not quite feel. The Albrets may have pledged allegiance to him but they had a mercenary fickleness, and their blood was known to be thicker than most. ‘Then it might surprise you to know that Cécile d'Armagnac did not leave France last night. She resides in a turret chamber two floors above. Perhaps I shall have another chance to make her love me. Think, Gillet. Has she ever stated outright that she hated me? She certainly did not show it in the time we had together.'

The heat in Gillet's body flared, burning through every limb and joint. At the same time a chill ran down his spine leaving him cold and clammy. He swallowed but his voice rasped hoarsely. ‘I do not believe you.'

‘Believe it! Armagnac will not become my enemy. A healthy sum of gold can put many a wrong to right.'

Gillet slumped, the pain in his chest a pittance to the dagger piercing his heart.

‘As a gift of goodwill for returning her to me I shall spare your life but you shall be exiled to Kent until you realise how fruitless this dream of yours truly is.' The Prince leaned toward him, his voice softening. ‘Forget her, Gillet. Cécile d'Armagnac was never destined for your bed, and I want her.'

With a supreme effort Gillet met the Prince's gaze. ‘Then you sever the last strand of our friendship by your own hand. You, alone, knew what she meant to me.'

Edward stood to full height and glared down. ‘Count yourself fortunate you will not decorate the courtyard! You are to depart as soon as your injuries permit. I spare you only because when you returned to my service you told me, “Give me not the matters of the crown to carry. They weigh too heavily in my pack.” Your honour is enviable, Ghillebert d'Albret, but it may also one day be your downfall.' The Prince moved to the door and rapped against the timber. He turned back to look at his prisoner. ‘With all the matters of the kingdom that have lain between us, who would have thought we would lose our friendship over a woman?'

As the Prince departed, Gillet leaned back and closed his eyes. His body was burning on the inside with the heat of a smithy's den but waves of shivering rippled his skin with gooseflesh. Edward had not taken Cécile d'Armagnac from him, not really. This time it had been his own stupid fault. She would never forgive him for deceiving her about being an Albret. Curling himself into a ball of pain, he prayed for oblivion.

Edward returned upstairs, brushing aside any regret he felt for the loss of an old friend. Instead he concentrated upon his gain but he could not ignore that Gillet de Bellegarde was a real threat. Given enough encouragement he could have the man executed instead of exiled. At least that way Bellegarde would never be a problem again, only a distant childhood memory. Cécile d'Armagnac was another matter. In order to rekindle his relationship with her, he would have to take a chance and release his erstwhile companion, lest she never forgive him the alternative.

His thoughts turned to the beautiful woman he held captive in his rooms above and the chill from the dungeon was quickly replaced by burning desire. He needed to bed her quickly and erase Gillet from her heart once and for all.

A bloodcurdling scream tore him from his fantasy.

‘In God's name, what is going on here?'

Edward pushed his way through the crowd milling at the foot of the stairs. A woman lay upon the tiled floor, Salisbury beside her. The Prince's eyes were drawn to the deep gash on Catherine's exposed shoulder. ‘Someone get the physician.
Get the physician!
' He knelt down.

Catherine clung to Edward's solid form as she tried to sit up.

Vertigo and nausea engulfed her and groaning, she rested her head upon his shoulder. She heard the scurried footsteps of slippered feet and a man of dark persuasion appeared in her vision, his pupils widening as he gazed upon her face.

‘Come, little one. You must accompany me.'

Edward watched, helpless, as she limped away, the ribbon in her hair falling to the floor as she leant against the physician.

‘What happened here?' he roared. The crowd slunk back into the shadows.

‘I was escorting her, as directed, M'lord,' mumbled Salisbury, ‘when she slipped and fell down the stairs.'

‘She slipped?' Edward's eyes narrowed. ‘Or you pushed her?'

‘M'lord! Are you suggesting that I would deliberately—'

‘For months I have listened to your petty grievances,' interjected the Black Prince. ‘Over and over again we hear you bleat about the temptress who stole your fortune and good name. Perhaps you saw this as your opportunity to take revenge.'

‘But. Sire, things are not what they appear.'

‘I gave you a simple task – escort the Lady d'Armagnac to the hall – and instead I find her lying injured at the foot of the stairs.' The Prince raised his fist and struck the knight in the face. ‘Get out, you fool!'

Salisbury reeled, wiping the blood from his lip. ‘Will you not hear me out?' he spluttered.

‘I cannot trust myself to keep my blade sheathed!'

‘Surely you do not intend to toss me aside for a cheap whore?'

‘One more word, Salisbury, and I will cut out your tongue!'

Edward marched off in the direction taken by the physician, pausing beside the guards posted at the entrance to the hallway. ‘If William of Salisbury has not removed himself from the castle within ten minutes you have my permission to use his balls for whatever sport takes your fancy!'

Salisbury stumbled to his feet, his face white with fury. He mumbled a string of curses under his breath, then spat on the floor before stomping off to his suite.

Edward gazed down upon the pale face and his hand curled into a fist. He really would have that bastard castrated if she suffered.

The soft-spoken physician pulled up the bedcover and relinquished his place at her side. ‘I have given her a sedative, Sire. She sleeps with peace.'

‘Her wounds?' demanded Edward.

‘Are superficial, milord.' Tariq discreetly moved to the chest where his cups and potions were strewn.

Edward sat down upon the bed and brushed aside the hair on Catherine's forehead. He leaned forward and kissed her gently. ‘God willing, Cécile, we shall be together soon,' he whispered. Then he stood. ‘Alert me the moment she wakes.'

Tariq bowed as Edward quit the chamber.

Catherine tried to focus on the scene above her. The hazy blue sky shimmered into the outline of a damask bed canopy and the distant fields and flowers became the stitched tapestries lining the stone walls, the forest floor beneath nothing more than a decadent swathing of fur rugs. She had fainted, of that she was sure. Her eyes widened as a tall, dark -skinned man, his scalp covered with a tiny wool cap, bent over her.

‘This has certainly been a night of surprises,' he announced, resting his cool fingers upon her forehead. ‘Fear not, Madame. My name is Tariq and I am the Prince's physician. Do you recall taking a fall upon the stairs?' At her nod, he perched on the bed to count her pulse. Satisfied with the beats he folded his arms within the wide sleeves of his blue silk tunic that was gathered by a gaudy yellow sash. ‘You suffer no broken bones but I stitched a deep cut on your shoulder.' He studied her closely, arching one brow. ‘I should also mention that you have given birth to a fine, healthy pillow.' He watched the startled eyes flood with fear and patted her hand. ‘Perhaps you should start by telling me your name and why it is that the Prince thinks you are the Lady Cécile. I am honour-bound by my profession to keep your confidence and I seek news of your twin's health.'

Catherine looked up at the lean apparition and feeling the warmth emanating from his somewhat mischievous smile, she shyly returned it. ‘My name is Catherine Pembroke. How did you know that Cécile is my twin?'

‘Ah, I saw your sister recently and the child I examined was very much flesh and blood. I was also called to attend upon a certain Gillet de Bellegarde earlier this night. He told me he hoped Cécile was on her way to England.'

‘And God willing, she is, sir,' answered Catherine sliding up the bolster and groaning with the effort.

‘Please call me Tariq,' he said, assisting her to sit up. ‘Easy now.' He offered a cup of wine.

Catherine drank thirstily, returning the goblet to his keeping as she murmured, ‘My sister once sacrificed herself for me and now I have been able to return the favour. I did not wish for her to fall back into the hands of the Black Prince.'

‘So you took her place? That was very brave, Mademoiselle, but for how long do you think to trick his Grace with this pretence?'

‘I had foolishly hoped long enough for Gillet to escape or be released.' Catherine grasped Tariq's sleeve. ‘Please, the Prince must not learn of this.'

Tariq regarded her sternly. ‘Your sister's health is fragile, as I informed her. But yours will be no less so when the Prince learns his heir is nothing more than goose feathers, Mademoiselle.'

Catherine leaned back against the pillow and winced as she moved her arm. ‘In truth, I gave it no thought. I had but a moment to make my decision and my sister had no choice in the matter.' She blinked up at him, her blue eyes wide. ‘I could not let him take her again. She would not survive. Please,' she begged, grasping his hand, ‘Will you not help me?'

Tariq smoothed his pointed beard. ‘You place me in a difficult position, Lady Catherine.'

‘I am sure Lord Wexford will come for me. The Prince must not find out that Cécile is in England. Please, Tariq,' she whispered softly, ‘will you not help us?'

‘I will be at great risk to do so but I am not unsympathetic to the situation and I spoke at length with Monsieur Gillet.'

‘Gillet must be told that I am not Céci or else he will never leave for Kent. And, most important,' she grabbed his sleeve, ‘he must learn that my sister loves him still.'

Tariq collected the small pillow and paused. ‘With that much I can help you for I must tend his wounds daily. But even if he is released tomorrow, he will not be well enough to travel for at least a week. How do you suppose to keep the Prince at bay?'

‘I do not know. Deception is not an art I practise well,' sighed Catherine.

‘I am bound by oath to save lives,' said Tariq, considering the bolster in his hand. ‘But all too often we lose one.' His sharp eyes lit up and fixed upon the woman in the bed. ‘Might I suggest, Lady Catherine, that your fall may yet have a most serious consequence. Under such circumstances I would suggest that the mother-to-be requires rest, lest any further harm come to her unborn child. No visitors but for the daily attendance of her physician.' He smiled conspiratorially.

Catherine stared at Tariq, her voice falling to a whisper. ‘It would keep the Prince from my bed for now, but I am sure Salisbury suspects the truth. What are we to do if he chooses to share his suspicions?'

The man before her bowed. ‘My daughter, to reach an oasis first you must tread across the hot sands of the desert. To succeed, you must have faith. Perhaps together we shall take one step at a time? For now we must ensure his Grace does not discover the difference between twins.'