The Order of the Lily (3 page)

‘What gives a prince the right to play God with people's lives?' hissed Armand d'Albret. Desolately, he watched as the two people he loved most in the world disappeared into the bowels of the royal vessel.

‘Gentlemen.' The English captain was the last to leave. ‘You are free to resume your voyage though if any of your faces are sighted in Calais in the short term, you will find yourself a guest of the Prince. Adieu.' He boarded his ship and the grappling hooks were released.

‘What now?' asked Mouse, pulling his doublet back into shape and wiping blood from his mouth. He'd knocked out two men before they had subdued him.

Simon nodded to the stern. ‘Untie the crew then meet me below.'

Simon lowered himself gingerly onto the ladder and down into the hull.

‘Catherine?'

Inferno's whinny greeted him. ‘Hey, boy,' he replied fondly, limping to the great, black stallion. ‘I will see your master returned, I promise you.' He patted the broad, strong neck. A rustling of straw from behind the barrels saw him draw his knife with lightning speed.

‘Simon? Where's Gillet? Is he awake?' Cécile rubbed her eyes and yawned. ‘I thought I heard some noise but I do feel better now.'

Simon's eyes bulged. Realisation settled upon him and he roared,
‘Goddamn that girl to Hell.'

Perched atop the magnificent chalky cliffs and glinting with brilliance in the morning sun, the majestic fortification of Dover Castle reigned with authority over the bustling port below. In the harbour a vessel was docking, newly arrived from France and flying an unadorned blood-red flag. Aboard the cog Cécile d'Armagnac gazed at the formidable keep as the sea breeze whipped her veil across her pale cheeks and snapped her gown into a sail. She gripped the ship's rail, her knuckles white. Fear lapped at her breast with the same forceful constancy as the waves foaming against the foreign shoreline.

Beside her, Armand d'Albret, the man she had known as her cousin since childhood, shaded his eyes and squinted. ‘Let us hope John de Beauchamp is still in his chambers at this hour.' He nodded at the indomitable castle. ‘We would do well not to attract the attentions of Dover's constable, the Earl of Warwick. How do you feel?'

‘Well enough,' she answered. ‘Now that we have stopped sailing.' Cécile stole another glance at the fortification and willed its chief occupant to be oblivious to their arrival. His curiosity would be a dangerous thing. Her hands fell to smooth her impending motherhood, dangerous indeed.

For Cécile, the last twenty-four hours had seen more twists and turns than the Minotaur's labyrinth. The breeze could not cool her cheeks as she recalled the previous evening before mayhem had turned the night upside down and inside out. In a tiny chamber at the dockside inn in Calais, she had given herself, heart, soul and body to Gillet de Bellegarde only to have him wrenched from her arms by soldiers. She had learned his real name was Albret, and he was from the Anglo-Gascon branch dedicated to serving the Prince of Wales.

Within the space of a heartbeat her lover had become her enemy. It wasn't until Cécile had been safely delivered into Armand's custody that she learned the truth. Gillet was Armand's paternal cousin, Ghillebert, and though born into the illustrious Albret family, he was loyal to France. Simon and Gillet's companions had arrived at the boat, bearing the unconscious man and in their company was her sister. After being separated for seventeen years, Cécile laid eyes upon her sibling. But once more life played a cruel trick and both loves had been taken from her yet again. Where were they now? A stinking cell for Gillet, no doubt, to await the Prince's justice. And with no chance to repair the damage from their argument, Gillet de Bellegarde might face death believing she hated him.

And her twin? Catherine would be delivered with great haste into the arms of Edward, he believing her to be his erstwhile mistress, known to be carrying his bastard. How long could Catherine fool him and what vengeance would the Prince impose when he discovered the ruse? Simon had been furious at Catherine's foolhardiness and wasted no time in his pursuit. He, Roderick, Gabriel, Guiraud and Mouse had set sail in the ship's rowboat and headed back to France, hopeful of rescuing both Catherine and Gillet. By mutual agreement, Armand was to keep to the original plan and accompany Cécile to Chilham, the Albret family estate in Kent, where Gillet had promised she would be safe.

A seagull's vibrant squawk startled Cécile from her reverie. The ship had docked.

The horses were fastened, one by one, into a giant sling and lowered into the water as crewmen bobbed amongst the waves, waiting to swim the animals ashore. Inferno, Gillet's black stallion, attracted admiration from some curious onlookers, but most locals gathered to inspect the barrels of celebrated Gascon wine. The horses were rubbed down and saddled.

The small riding party, consisting of the eight men-at-arms Gillet had provided, took pause outside the fishmonger's for Armand to adjust his stirrups. Cécile's veil fluttered like a pennant in full flight and the last hint of sea spray sprinkled the air as the horses, eager to stretch their legs, pranced impatiently. From behind the counter, hedged with barrels of fresh, salt and pickled fish, a portly woman glared. Her cheeks bulged over a tight barbette and she sniffed with disdain at the sight of a woman riding astride.

Cécile shifted uncomfortably and chose to observe the surrounding countryside. It was a serene tapestry of variegated green hills rolling down to slide over the glistening cliffs. The lush paddocks were dotted with white, fluffy specks, a far cry from the barren, war-cindered fields she had ridden in France. England's truce had come too late for some. Winter would see a populace of French bellies go hungry. A nearby lamb, separated from its flock, lost and alone, bleated miserably. Cécile knew the feeling. She glanced over her shoulder for one last look across the sea, and sent a prayer to St Antony, worker of miracles, for the salvation of Gillet and Catherine, and her own speedy return to her beloved homeland.

His stirrups adjusted, Armand mounted Inferno, but the horse, aware that his owner did not occupy the saddle, tossed his head savagely and kicked. ‘Whoa, boy, whoa,' soothed Armand. ‘Good thing he and I are old friends.' He grinned, rubbing the steed's neck. ‘'Tis rare he will suffer another upon his back.'

Cécile reached over and fondled the stallion's ear. ‘He is like his owner – proud, fickle and full of bad temper.'

Armand laughed. ‘Now that is a charred pot calling the cauldron black!'

The fishwife was busy weighing a basket of eels but Cécile could still feel the sharp stab of her accusing stare. ‘How long before we reach the Albret manor, Armand?'

Armand tested the length of his stirrup and noted the sun's position. ‘We should be there by mid-afternoon.' Inferno snorted and sidled a nearby gelding, impatient to be off. ‘That's if I can hold Inferno in check.'

‘He knows the way then?'

‘Gillet often called into Chilham when making deliveries between France and England. It is also his responsibility to take charge of the family estate during the winter quarter if his duties permit. His eldest brother, Amanieu, resides there during the summer months but the manor should be empty now, save for a handful of servants. Do not worry,' he added, noting Cécile's frown. ‘You will be safe and even when the Prince discovers he has been cozened, he will never think to look for you under the roof of his own Gascons!'

‘What if one of Gillet's brothers should come calling?'

‘They won't. And anyway, as far as they are concerned, you are Cécile d'Armagnac, my cousin.' He glanced at her thicken-ing waistline, hidden beneath the folds of her cloak and his eyes grew hard. ‘They need not know you carry the Prince's bastard.' With a burst of petulance his nature not often displayed, Armand dug his heels into his mount. Eagerly Inferno leaped to the fore.

By early afternoon, a tired group rode over the drawbridge leading to the manor's gatehouse. The long hours of the previous day and the tension of escaping France were beginning to take their toll. Round-shouldered and drooping in her saddle, Cécile forcibly straightened as admittance by the gatehouse porter was granted.

They rode up to the main house, a grey stone construction in the shape of a letter H, the east and west wings poised at either end of the hall like huge bookends. A set of massive oak doors opened and, like bees disturbed from a hive, a swarm of servants flew out.

Armand dismounted and passed his reins to the gap-toothed stable boy. ‘Alfred, see to the housing of the soldiers and make sure Inferno is well stabled.'

‘At once, milord.'

A silver-haired servant with bandy legs hobbled his way over the cobblestones. ‘Milord Armand! What a surprise! We saw your troop's banner from the road but if you sent forewarning of your arrival, sir, none arrived.' He eyed the black stallion as it was led past, the question dying on his lips as Armand crushed the gnome-like creature in an affectionate hug.

‘Symond! My good friend! I trust this will not be too much of an inconvenience?'