Free The Lily and the Lion by Catherine A. Wilson, Catherine T Wilson

wings.

    Thankfully left to my own devices I have spent the day labouring over this letter which now I must finish with all speed.
    Odette returned mid-afternoon, bearing a tray and news that my presence was required in the parlour. Fleet of foot and thinking my prayers answered, I ran downstairs to discover it was Edward who summoned me. I sank into a deep curtsey as his manservant was dismissed, the sound of the wooden rings dragging the curtain across the rail grating on my overset nerves.
    â€˜Your Highness?’ I offered pragmatically.
    Edward leaned back in the chair, hands flat upon the parchments littering the table, his expression guarded. ‘Ah, Lady d’Armagnac. I see that you have learned my identity. Our mutual courier, no doubt. No matter.’ Permission was given to rise by a curt nod. ‘You are quite an enigma, Lady.’ His fingers curled around two documents. ‘And I find my curiosity undeniably piqued.’ His left hand rose in the air, shaking its contents. ‘Here I have received, only today, word from one of my subjects, My Lord of Salisbury.’ His arm fell to the table but his other rose in its place. ‘And here, a dispatch from the authorities of Paris, signed by a Monsieur Lunoir.’ His eyes snapped to mine. ‘Interestingly, both these missives concern you .’ The Prince regarded the letters, his tone playing with sarcasm like a cat toys with a mouse. My stomach rolled. ‘It would seem that my courier has placed himself in a predicament,’ he said with a forced laugh of amazement, ‘thwarting attempts by one of my most loyal knights. You have my court in disarray, Mademoiselle!’
    The Prince perched himself upon the corner of the table and, folding his arms, cocked one eyebrow. ‘The Dauphin, by all accounts, is also searching for you.’ His hands shot into the air. ‘And yet here I find you dressed as a maid at an inn, the jewel in Armagnac’s crown. But wait!’ He made a great play of shuffling through the leaflets, extracting the uppermost with feigned bravado. ‘It seems that Lord William has stumbled across something.’ His eyes rolled over the vellum, a nail stroking his top lip before he exclaimed triumphantly. ‘Here!’ Warrior fingers slapped the evidence. ‘A waif at Denny Abbey has a sister.’ He turned to glare at me. ‘One Cécile d’Armagnac.’
    Clothed in riding attire, the cyclas conspicuous in the motley colours of England, the golden lions on his chest regarded me as fiercely as their master. I felt like a trapped doe, waiting for them to spring and rip out my throat.
    â€˜Now I ask you, Lady, what am I to do?’
    I collapsed onto a nearby stool, all hope of escape evaporating as surely as dawn’s dew under the morning sun. ‘May it please you to send me to my father?’
    Silence ensued, the moments dragging on.
    â€˜No, that does not please me. Since I cannot hold your virtue to ransom, Comte d’Armagnac may not appreciate me sending him soiled goods.’ At my gasp, he added with a tight smile, ‘I watched you leave Bellegarde’s room last night, Mademoiselle. Never has a maid looked more tumbled and, trust me, I have seen a few. If you were so desirous of company you had but to await my return. I could have finished what I started.’
    Were it not for my helplessness, the incongruity of this could have made me laugh outright. Master Courier breathed flames like a dragon for thinking me Edward’s mistress, and now the Prince of Wales was like a sulky child deprived of his favourite toy. Fed up with being tossed like a ball between them, I stood. ‘Then send me back to the Dauphin and I will answer to him for my honour.’
    The boards creaked under the weight of his steps and Edward clamped my shoulders in his grasp, the gentle breeze of his breath ruffling wisps of my hair. I wondered if he could feel me trembling.