The Lily and the Lion Read Online Free Page A

all three.

To the reverent and esteemed Sister Mary Catherine, my greetings do I bestow.
    Your courier arrived, a most handsome man and pleasing to the eye. A pity the same cannot be said for his manners.
    Unaware of your fate, I was caught at an inconvenient moment in the palace rose garden. I had feigned a megrime to escape the frivolous twitterings of the ladies’ embroidery circle, my temper as ragged as my stitching. A bee, diligently collecting his pollen, was politely listening to my tirade as I sucked my needle-pricked fingers.
    â€˜Silly, vicious cows! “Have you heard,”’ I mimicked, ‘“the Duc de Berri has taken a preference to spring lamb? Apparently the mutton is tainted.” Do they think me made of stone that I should not bleed?’ Sniffing away the threatening tears, I jumped as a voice sounded behind me.
    â€˜Mademoiselle d’Armagnac?’
    â€˜Who wants to know?’ Piqued that I had been observed, I hastily wiped my cheeks and turned. A dusty-cloaked man with mud-spattered boots stood back a few paces. His mouth fell open with the discretion of a village idiot and he rubbed his eyes. ‘Well? Speak your piece, fellow. Were we not standing upon grass you would hear my foot tapping.’
    â€˜I … I was told that I would probably find the Demoiselle d’Armagnac in the rose garden.’
    â€˜And so you have, but do I wear two noses that you must stare at me thus?’ I noted his courier’s pouch. ‘Is your back broken, Monsieur, that you cannot bend at the waist?’
    A flash of anger illuminated the dark eyes, but one knee went to the ground submissively, his black hair, worn long, falling forward as he removed his hat with the fashionable upturned brim. His head bent in a minimal gesture of respect.
    â€˜Your pardon, Mademoiselle, Gillet de Bellegarde, at your service. I have travelled hard to reach here expeditiously and was temporarily dazzled by the sun.’ As he rose his gaze focussed into the distance behind me, a ripe expletive preceding his yell. ‘Swine!’
    Before I could question this unsavoury behaviour, I was seized and thrust high into the air, my veiled cap and silk slippers tumbling to the ground. Strong arms closed around me like a vice as a great, acrimonious beast, snorting and spitting, stampeded the grass where I had stood. A strong, repugnant odour accompanied this black spectre and, fearing Hell had spewed forth a demon, I screamed and buried my head into the man’s neck. A refreshing scent of sandalwood emanated from his skin, absurdly reminding me of home. He deposited me on a nearby bench and, thrusting his leather pouch into my keeping, drew his sword. The ignoble swine charged. Dodging, the man swung his blade and neatly sliced the boar’s back. The courier struck again and the animal pivoted, squealing loudly. Beneath two protruding tusks its lips spewed a white foamy lather. Reeking of blood and sweat, it turned and fled.
    â€˜What in the Devil’s name is going on here?’ he bellowed. ‘Hoy, you there!’
    â€˜Oui, Monsieur.’ The palace huntsman was running towards us, his liripipe in full sail and his chausses torn at the knee. He arrived breathless and bowing profusely. ‘Monsieur, I know not how it escaped. This has never happened before.’ He glanced at me, perched on the seat, shivering with fright. ‘A thousand pardons, Milady. I assure you, the beast was securely penned, awaiting slaughter.’
    â€˜Obviously not,’ growled my surly saviour, wiping his sword and sheathing it with disgust. A group of stable boys, armed with pitchforks, nets and yowling dogs, clamoured past in pursuit. ‘I should offer prayers to Saint Geneviève were I you, my friend, for you are lucky that the Demoiselle was not injured.’ He glanced at me with an impudent smirk. ‘However, were the Lady’s trencher to hold the most succulent slices of