Free The Order of the Lily by Catherine A. Wilson

thereabouts. “He’s supposed to be protecting me,” I told her.’
    â€˜You little shrew! And yet there I was – undoing what your improvident actions had caused.’
    â€˜And just how did you manage such a feat, milord? Did you persuade the Bailiff with your silver tongue and sugared words, as you did me for the last three months?’
    â€˜No, I told him that he stood to lose his head should the Earl of Kent find out he was drowning the good man’s daughter, sent home incognito, until Sir Thomas, himself, knew what to do with you.’
    â€˜You what?’
    â€˜Be at peace, Lady,’ muttered Gillet wearily. ‘Felton is shaking in his own skin. He would not dare breathe a word of this.’
    â€˜And Arnaud? How did he greet such profound information?’
    Gillet growled with disgust. ‘My brother has gone, no doubt to Amanieu to complain long and loud of my interference.’
    â€˜He’s gone?’
    â€˜Oui, like the cockroach he is, scuttling into the darkness.’
    Cécile’s voice softened. ‘You hold sway over your brother?’
    â€˜No!’ snapped Gillet. ‘I held a sword against his throat!’ But the recall brought a brief smile of conceit to his lips.
    â€˜What of Margot?’
    â€˜It would seem she has been abandoned to my care. Pray be that she is not so wilfully disobedient.’
    â€˜Oh Gillet, you did not see her,’ protested Cécile, her anger falling away. ‘That thing strapped to her head like she was some animal. I have never seen the like.’ Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘Her only crime was to speak to me of your family.’
    â€˜Lady,’ Gillet’s tone was cold, ‘I saw the scratches clawed into Arnaud’s face.’
    Cécile shrugged. ‘I objected to being bartered for four barrels of Madiran wine. I am worth at least six. Does his attack on me count for nothing, sir?’
    Gillet’s goblet thudded to the table. ‘By law Arnaud was within his rights. And Felton will be returning the wine. He would gladly walk on hot coals to be rid of this whole business.’
    â€˜And how did you explain this?’ asked Cécile, running her hand over her modest swelling.
    â€˜I had no need,’ he retorted dryly. ‘Apparently, it’s mine.’ Gillet collapsed onto a stool and raked his hand through his hair, defeat oozing from every pore. ‘How in God’s name am I to deal with this?’ His head lifted in sudden contrition. ‘The child, will it suffer from this day’s work?’
    â€˜Apart from being tossed like a hotcake, no, I think we have survived nicely. Thank you for asking.’
    An uncomfortable silence grew, Gillet staring at the jug of mulled wine as though it contained poison.
    â€˜And what of us, Céci?’ he finally whispered. ‘Did we survive?’

    The warmth from the fire was blasting Gillet so he unfastened his doublet, grimacing as he pulled one arm from the sleeve.
    Cécile gasped when she saw his shirt, splotched with aging bloodstains, and the thick padding beneath. ‘Your injuries!’ she cried, moving with wifely concern to help him discard the outer garment. Her intention had been to inspect the wound, but Gillet’s arms encircled her waist and he burrowed against her breasts, inhaling deeply.
    â€˜So, you remember at last that I am an injured man,’ he murmured. His breath warmed her skin and sent shivers to her toes.
    Cécile traced the large, stitched cut above his brow, the cheek below it mulberry purple with bruising. ‘Of course I did.’ Her hands slid into the raven hair and his grip at her waist tightened.
    â€˜Mercy, Cécile,’ he whispered huskily. ‘Tell me that for the burden of bearing the name Albret, I have not lost you.’ He stood and drew her lips to his. Finding no resistance, Gillet kissed her. He lifted her into his arms and, kicking the