Free The Gilded Crown by Catherine A. Wilson Page A

of God!’ prayed Cécile. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
    Gillet held fast, and the two men re-engaged, Gillet’s shield almost buckling under the pounding. But he returned the blows in equal measure, driven by frenzy.
    The knight with the eagle crest lunged and Gillet, slipping in the blood on his saddle, lost his shield.
    â€˜ Mon Dieu ,’ gasped Margot. But she had not calculated for the stubbornness of Gillet de Bellegarde. He dug his knees into Inferno and looped the reins over the pommel. Taking his sword in both hands, Gillet stood in his stirrups and drove a crashing blow onto his adversary’s helm. His opponent slid sideways out of his saddle.
    Cécile’s relief was short-lived. ‘Oh, by all the saints in Heaven!’ she cried. ‘What is he doing now?’
    Gillet leapt from Inferno and, foregoing the advantage of horseback, sent the steed galloping from the field. He thrust a knee heavily into the winded man’s chest and snatching the dagger from his belt, pressed it against his opponent’s throat.
    â€˜Why?’ asked Margot, stunned. ‘He has already defeated him! Why force the yielding in such a manner?’
    But there were far more words traded than a yielding merited before Gillet sheathed his dagger. As he rose and turned on his heel, he saw D’Arques, upon horseback, bearing down upon him. Gillet raised his sword but he was at the end of his strength, and wobbled like a drunken reveller.
    D’Arques let out a triumphant yell that turned into a blood-curdling scream. He landed at Gillet’s feet, sliding in the muck, his helm dented by a flying cleaver. A yell was heard above all other.
    â€˜ Bellegarde! Bellegarde! To the arms of Bellegarde !’ A horse skidded to a halt, and Griffith leapt from his mount just as Gillet pitched forward, falling to his knees.
    Griffith assisted his master upright and unbuckled Gillet’s helm as the Picardie-Berri knights whooped past. Freed at last from the barricade, the ill-tempered knights took precious little time to brutally take the field, and the Normandie-Flandre alliance fell.

    One day later the men were celebrating their victory back at the Maison de les Fleurs. Dames Violetta and Rosetta relished the opportunity to wield both their culinary and medicinal skills, and chuckled with delight at the boys’ teasing.
    Alone in their chamber, Cécile applied the last of the ointment to Gillet’s chest wound and unrolled the binding. Although the fire burned brightly in the stone grate, there was a noticeable chill in the air.
    â€˜What if she has borne fruit from your loins and you do not know it?’
    Gillet sighed huffily. ‘Who?’
    â€˜The sister of Robiérre d’Arques, of course! Why else would her brother take such vengeance upon you?’
    â€˜Ouch! Careful, woman, you are as heavy-handed as a blacksmith.’ Gillet turned Cécile’s chin, forcing her to look at him. ‘Now listen to me, and listen well. Robiérre d’Arques is as stupid as he is incompetent! His sister means nothing to me, nor does she bear any “fruit of my loins!”’
    â€˜Well then …’ Cecile sniffed haughtily. ‘What of the other man, then? The one with the eagle crest. Why will you not tell me his name?’
    â€˜Because I do not want you to worry.’
    Cécile d’Albret stopped binding and stared at her husband. ‘You feather-headed fool, Gillet d’Albret de Bellegarde! From this moment on until I am in my grave, not one day shall pass whereupon I will not worry about you, whether you tell me his name or no.’ She tied off the linen strips and snatched up her tray of medicinals.
    Gillet grabbed her wrist. ‘The man with the eagle crest was Bonneuil.’
    The blood drained from Cécile’s cheeks. Slowly, she set the tray down on the chest and sat on the bed, her voice tight. ‘Bonneuil?’ The hair on her