Read Online The Lily and the Lion by Catherine A. Wilson, Catherine T Wilson - Free Book Online Page B

Odette would be able to fold the badly crushed gown into some semblance of respectability. Would that I might do the same for my dignity. ‘I suppose I should thank you, Sir, for not letting my head hit the floor. ’Tis as plain as the nose on your face that you hold little regard for me.’
    â€˜I see the mouth still works. But you are right. I try not to hold anything of Edward’s.’
    â€˜I am not,’ I began but he wasn’t listening. Drawn to the shutters by a clatter of hooves, he hissed between clenched teeth.
    â€˜God’s nails! The Prince has returned.’ He spun around quickly. ‘Go! My neck is already evading one noose on account of you.’
    The image of a black horse charging down an alley, the rider drawing sword and dagger to save me, rose like a ghost from its grave on All Hallows’ Eve. I had forgotten the bravery that earned him a price on his head. ‘But, Monsieur, you do not understand …’
    â€˜Here, I suspect this is what you came for. Now go quickly, for both our sakes.’ A folded parchment with dirty edges and stitched on one side was thrust into my hands.
    â€˜Please, Monsieur, at least hear me out.’ Inexplicably, tears sprang to my eyes and with a heavy sigh he lowered his shield of resentment.
    â€˜You are right, Lady d’Armagnac, I do not understand, so forgive me.’ With the strength of Samson, he pulled me into his arms and his mouth swept down on mine. If I thought I had been struck by a thunderbolt once that night, then in his violent kiss I found the fury of the ensuing storm. His lips scorched mine, brutally forcing them apart, his tongue demanding. Behind the potency was a passion that left me breathless. Then like a searing flash of lightning it was over and I was pushed ignobly from the room.
    My cheeks were flaming and I laid my cool palms against them, inanely staring at his door, unable to find both breath and reason for his unprovoked assault. A creak sounded in the hallway and quickly I fled to my chamber. Safe within the confines of my room I threw myself upon the bed, wantonly comparing my first two lovers’ kisses, both possessive but one playful and enticing, the other forceful and desperate. It was obvious that Monsieur de Bellegarde no longer considered it necessary to remove me from this inn. My hand strayed to the rubies at my throat. But I could not remain. Edward of Woodstock was my father’s enemy! How in heaven’s name had I placed myself in such a precarious situation?
    The answer was simple. I had not. Monsieur de Bellegarde’s refusal to return me to the palace had caused this plight. Surely then, he had an obligation to fulfil. I must therefore press my case before him, and by the following evening.

    With the familiarity that had grown between us, Odette sank onto the stool in my chamber the next morning, her face illuminated. I observed with a sinking heart my note still in her possession. ‘Ooh … he is so fair of face.’ Eyes sprinkled with faerie dust caught mine. ‘God has given him grace but, Sacré Cœur , it is not right that one man should be so pleasing to the eye!’
    Directing my look of disgust pointedly to her hand, Odette’s feet came back to earth.
    â€˜He was just leaving on an errand. I had to run to catch him as it was.’ Her arm extended my invitation. ‘He said he would try to find a convenient moment to collect your letter before he departs.’
    â€˜Why did you not give him this?’ I held up my morning’s labour, the note pleading an audience and my only chance to set my world to rights.
    â€˜ Zut ! His black monster of a horse was snorting like a devil and stomping grain into flour. I was too scared to get closer. But I did manage to return Madame’s dress. She will never know.’
    My tight smile of thanks was less than Odette deserved, but she hardly noticed as she floated away on borrowed