The Gilded Crown (38 page)

The interior of the church was still cool, the grey stones yet to absorb the heat from the blaring May sun. Spring was ending and if the soaring temperatures were a warning, the forthcoming summer would blister skin and swell limbs without mercy.

Cécile knelt before the dais where Margot's body was laid out. Beneath the veil covering the corpse a wide strip of cloth was bound around the woman's throat, her eyes closed in eternal sleep. Cécile brushed away her tears and rested her head in her hands but terrifying thoughts invaded and the prayers stilled upon her lips. Margot had died protecting her son but where was Jean Petit? Why had Anaïs taken him? Cécile's pulse sped up as she contemplated the most obvious answer. Anaïs meant to deliver the child to his father, Edward, Prince of Wales, and with Gillet ensconced in the new English court in Bordeaux, it could have terrifying ramifications. Consequences for Catherine too, for when Edward realised how she had deceived him, his wrath would know no boundaries. Scotland would not protect her.

A procession entered the church headed by the priest garbed in a black robe and swinging his thurible. Trailing him was the lead acolyte, carrying a huge gold cross, and behind him, holding lit beeswax candles and softly singing, followed several choirboys. Cécile moved from in front of the dais to next to Armand and Gabriel. She bent her head solemnly for the requiem mass. It was time to say her last goodbye to her friend.

Later that evening, in the home of Agnes de Boussey, seated around Minette's bedside, they learned the reason for the boy's abduction. Cécile's maid, head swathed in a linen bandage, sat amid a mountain of pillows, fully-conscious.

‘Scotland!' echoed Armand and Cécile at the revelation of the abductor's destination.

Minette peered from under wet lashes, looking unsure of how best to proceed.

‘Tell us, Minette. Hold nothing back for the fate of my son is at stake,' encouraged Cécile.

Minette's cheeks grew pink. ‘She said your husband, Milady, was in fact,
her
husband and father to her child.' Her colour deepened. ‘She attacked me when I repudiated it.'

‘Go on,' urged Armand, swapping glances with Cécile and Gabriel.

‘She knows the Lady Wexford has him and she takes Jean Petit to trade for her own son.' There was a collection of gasps. ‘She knows Milady's sister cannot abandon the son of a prince.' Minette dropped her head and her voice. ‘Once this woman has her own child, she is convinced she will win back the love of Monsieur d'Albret.'

‘Gillet?' echoed Cécile in disbelief. ‘She trades my son to capture my husband's affection?' She collapsed onto the end of the bed. ‘Is this woman to covet everything I have?'

Agnes de Boussey appeared at the door, smoothing a coverlet over her arm as two servants carried in a wooden pallet and bags filled with hay. ‘I thought the Madame would like to stay close to her maid and, if you gentlemen have no complaint, I'll see to a bedroll in the hayloft for each of you. Your soldiers may use the barn.' She waved away their thanks. ‘It is an honour to serve you. Now, if you have a mind, there are platters laid upon the table below.' She curtseyed and was gone.

Cécile left Minette to rest and made her way down the tiny stairs, thankful for the opportunity to privately discuss what she had heard with Armand and Gabriel. She sat at the planked table with a weary sigh and poked the escaping wisps of her short hair back under her veil. Her eyes smarted. They felt dry and gritty now that her weeping was done. Her heart felt so heavy. Her son was missing; her husband leagues away. Margot was dead. Cécile felt empty inside, weary from fighting against impossible odds and tired of fearing a woman she barely knew just because she had fallen in love with Ghillebert d'Albret.

Gabriel nudged Armand and nodded in Cécile's direction.

Armand slid next to her and took her hand. ‘Chérie,' he crooned. ‘My poor, sweet Angelique. First you give up your husband for the good of France, then your son is snatched while you play nursemaid to me. You have faced the horrors of plague, the degradation of a prison cell and looked death squarely in the face tied to a stake.' He lifted her chin. ‘You have borne so much of late and you have done it all with a warrior's strength and courage. But fear not, my love, I shall see both husband and son are returned to your arms.

Cécile met Armand's gaze and thought he looked as exhausted as she felt, and yet, within the rich azure of his eyes was the ever-present twinkle she adored, the creases at the corners a reminder of how often he laughed. ‘I will never regret my decision to stay for you, Armand-Amanieu d'Albret. May one day a woman love you as much as I do, but as your wife.'

Armand kissed her knuckles. ‘Margot spoke to me of you,' he said. ‘She told me you were a great friend at a time in her life when she needed one.'

Cécile sighed. ‘I tried to do what I could for her. And now she is gone, just like that.' She snapped her fingers.

‘Yes, it happens that way, chérie. People come into our lives and we do not know for how long they will stay or in what manner they will leave – sometimes unexpected and shocking.'

‘But, Armand,' whispered Cécile. ‘It was so unfair.'

He patted her hand comfortingly. ‘Put it from your mind, Céci. It was not your fault. You could not have foreseen such events. Margot has gone from us and she can never return. She is with God now.'

‘So what do we do?' asked Gabriel.

Armand considered. ‘I think Cécile should complete the Vicomtesse's mission.' He waved away her protest. ‘I shall go to Scotland and bring back your son. Alone, I can travel faster.' He kissed her hand again. ‘Let me do this for you, chérie, by way of gratitude for what you did for me. Let me bring Jean Petit home. You must finish what you began. Gabriel will take you and Minette to Bordeaux … to Gillet.'

Cécile sighed. ‘It was the Vicomtesse's intention that I should intercept Gillet upon the road. He must be well and truly ensconced within the Bordeaux court by now. How am I to gain admittance? I cannot present myself as the Lady d'Albret, nor can I use the name of Bellegarde. How am I to enter this English realm?'

Armand grinned cheekily. ‘The answer is simple, ma chère. You go in as yourself, your true self – the Lady Cecily, daughter of Sir Thomas Holland.'

The Bishop's Palace
Bordeaux, France

Arnaud-Amanieu d'Albret, the new and much younger Vicomte de Tartas, stood with his back ramrod straight and his hands clasped behind him as he stared out of the small window. He was taller than most, his black hair brushing the neckline of his scarlet and blue doublet, his lithe body strong and muscular beneath the quilted layers.

Gillet breathed the aroma of lavender as he entered the chamber. The room was elegant and richly splashed with gilt. Exactly what one might expect from a bishop's palace.

Arnaud-Amanieu turned and smiled. It was a handsome smile that reached his eyes; the kind for which the Albrets had become well known. ‘Ghillebert!' He held out his arms and kissed Gillet on both cheeks. ‘You look good.'

‘As do you, Arn,' reciprocated Gillet, using the short form of address only relatives dared to express. And, as Gillet's two older brothers had the same names singularly, Arnaud and Amanieu, it kept things simple between cousins.

‘How is that rascal younger brother of mine?'

‘Armand?' Gillet's chuckle was one of affection. ‘He keeps pace.'

Arnaud-Amanieu offered a seat at the small table and filled two cups with wine. He raised his in a salute. ‘To Albret blood – thicker than water, thicker than wine.'

Gillet swung his cup into the air and nodded. ‘Thicker than water, thicker than wine.' He'd always liked Armand's brother, who was only three years his senior.

Arn sat down with a grunt. ‘Do you remember that time we tried to get Armand drunk?'

‘Tried?' scoffed Gillet. ‘I remember quite well we succeeded.'

Arn laughed. ‘Did you ever tell him how we managed to stay sober?'

‘By throwing the contents over our shoulders as he downed his? No, I never told him.'

Arn stretched out his long legs and sighed. His expression became serious. ‘I know why you are here, Gillet. Or at least, I can guess. I know from where you have come.'

Gillet raised a brow. ‘You are kept very well informed.'

Arn leaned over in a lazy sprawl. ‘It suited Guitard to stay with the English and, for now, it suits me too.'

At the reminder of the death of Arn's older brother, a shadow passed over Gillet's face. ‘I was very sorry to hear of Guitard's passing, Arn. I hope he did not suffer.'

Arn nodded. ‘Thank you. God blessed us insomuch as he did not linger.'

‘But,' continued Gillet, ‘as to my presence here, you have not even heard my words.'

Arn scowled. ‘I have no need. The Dauphin is without funds. He is struggling to raise his father's ransom and we both know King Jean le Bon sold his youngest daughter, Isabella, in marriage for such coin. Do you think the Crown has money to recruit us as well?' He inclined further. ‘Gillet, the only way I can ensure food in our people's mouths is to make sure the Albret army is paid. And right now, the English are the ones with coin.' He drew away. ‘It really is that simple.'

Gillet nodded with a sigh. He had not really believed Arnaud-Amanieu d'Albret would accept the proposal he carried folded within his doublet and for the very reasons his cousin had just laid bare.

‘It's not all bad,' said Arn, ‘as you must well know.'

‘Yes, but be careful, all the same,' replied Gillet.

Arn laughed. ‘I have no wish to become the Prince's confidante. Too many die that way. Besides,' he drew himself up, ‘I am Gascon.'

‘Yes, well, the favourite of the Prince's grandfather was a Gascon – Piers Gaveston. That did not count for much in the end.'

Arn's smirk widened at the unintended pun. ‘Yes, well, we may never know if the stories of their persuasions were true but take heart. I do not plan on sleeping with Edward!'

Gillet smiled bleakly and twirled his cup. ‘You need have no fear of that. I am well-versed in Edward's tastes and they do not lend themselves to our gender.' He looked up into his cousin's bright cerulean eyes, the mark of ‘Albret' along with the black hair, and he grinned. ‘No matter how pretty you are.'

Arn's teeth flashed but his ice-blue gaze was serious. ‘Keep Armand and Guiraud safe for me. Tell them to be vigilant in guarding the sally-port door. Unlike our jest on Armand that day, I do not disregard or throw any of you over my shoulder now. We are all Albret. Come, burn that communiqué you hold in the grate. I'll not have you arrested for treason over me.'

Gillet nodded and the moved to the fireplace as Arn took up a candle.

‘Enough politics,' continued Arn, ‘stay awhile and visit with me at Blanquefort court.' His eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘You never know what titbit may fall upon your ears. Tell me, have you seen your brother Arnaud yet? He told me I would see you with a mademoiselle upon your arm, but he would not mention her name.' Arn left the ashes in the fireplace and refilled their cups. ‘So who is she?'