The Lily and the Lion Read Online Free Page B

pork on the morrow, she may be willing to overlook this day’s misfortune.’
    The huntsman offered a reverent bow and departed in the direction of the baying hounds as fast as his legs could carry him.
    Monsieur de Bellegarde retrieved my fallen apparel and his own bruised hat. He extended his hand to assist me down and, to my surprise, courteously kneeled to replace my footwear. So, this horse could be led to water but would drink in his own time.
    â€˜My apologies for your hasty removal, Demoiselle.’
    â€˜Why Saint Geneviève?’
    His sharp glance tilted upwards. ‘Pardon, Mademoiselle?’
    â€˜You told the huntsman to offer prayer to Saint Geneviève. Why her?’
    â€˜She is the Patron Saint of Disasters.’
    â€˜Oh,’ I murmured, re-pinning my cap and veil.
    A beguiling smile gave birth to tiny dimples upon a face that belonged to Narcissus. ‘Perhaps you have need of her, judging by those tears I witnessed earlier.’
    Aware that his fingers lingered insolently at my ankle, I deftly removed my foot and stood. ‘My needs are not your concern, courier, and it was but dust in my eye. Your intervention with the pig, however, was fortunate.’
    He stood, towering over me, and nonchalantly straightened my cap. ‘I see gratitude is seated well below the salt at this court’s table. If that is what passes for thanks in these parts, then you are welcome, Milady. May I?’ He held out his hand expectantly and I realised I still held his leather pouch.
    â€˜Oh! Of course.’ I thrust it at him and he tucked it under his arm.
    â€˜Perhaps there is somewhere safer we can talk?’ His voice lowered to a conspirator’s tone. ‘I carry urgent news from your sister for your ears alone.’
    â€˜My sister? Good Lord, what could be so important from a convent?’ I pointed in the direction of a walled garden laced with lavender bushes and, intercepting a maid on her way from the buttery, instructed her to serve us refreshment. ‘You said you travelled fast,’ I offered. ‘You must be thirsty.’
    â€˜It is an honour, Lady, to be served by your hand and in such intimate surroundings.’ His cocked eyebrow sent heat rushing to my cheeks.
    â€˜You said the news was private. Besides, my liberties at court have not yet been withdrawn so I take them whenever I can. And if, in doing so, I shock the good ladies, so much the better.’
    He masked a grin as we seated ourselves, before opening his pouch and sliding a parchment across the table.
    â€˜Read the first page. Then we can talk.’
    I felt his steely gaze upon me as I examined it. ‘This says she was attacked! The Lady Mary also,’ I gasped.
    His eyebrow lifted arrogantly. ‘You were expecting the Pater Noster? Your letter was intercepted, so now your whereabouts is also known.’
    â€˜But what has this man to do with me?’
    He signalled for silence as the maid drew close with our tray. Unlike her hurried approach, she unloaded her fare between us with painstaking slowness, her lashes fluttering hopefully at my companion. My cauldron of impatience brewed over and I removed the last two dishes myself and tartly dismissed her.
    The courier’s sable gaze slid from her departing pout to me and with astute regard he leaned back, the corners of his mouth twitching as I manœuvred a large piece of pigeon pie towards him. ‘William Montagu, the Earl of Salisbury,’ he began, ‘is a powerful man and stands high in King Edward’s retinue. He is not one to cross lightly.’ He paused to pour two cups of wine. ‘The wild boar lives by instinct alone and that animal earlier would have gored you without mercy. It was driven by fear and necessity, the fear of capture and the necessity to survive. Such thinking is deeply rooted in base creatures.’
    â€˜And?’ I retorted, my skin prickling at the memory.
    â€˜That foul