The Order of the Lily Read Online Free

d’Armagnac.’
    â€˜Armagnac?’ Cécile watched as the man’s eyebrows shot up with such force she thought they would fly off his face. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘You are a long way from home, Mademoiselle. What brings you so far north?’
    â€˜Cécile stayed the summer in Paris,’ offered Armand, ‘but with England’s goodwill in releasing our king, I was commissioned to Calais before I had chance to return her home. Your brother, whom she met in the city, has offered his hospitality until suitable arrangements can be made.’
    â€˜Really? How admirable of him. Paris in the winter is not to your taste, Mademoiselle?’ Arnaud’s lip curled sardonically as he offered a seat.
    â€˜No, Monsieur. The bloodshed was not to my taste.’ Cécile tipped her head in acknowledgment and gratefully took the weight from her feet. Gillet’s brother returned to his chair, bellowing for Symond to bring wine. He crossed his parti-coloured stockinged legs and rocked the upper one, a habit Cécile instantly found annoying.
    â€˜So, how is my little brother? Still licking the Prince’s arse like an affectionate lapdog and fetching royal bones from all over the countryside?’ The soft leather-padded soles swung closer and Cécile firmly clamped her mouth lest she be tempted to snap at the conceited, pointy toes.
    â€˜The last I heard he was,’ said Armand, arranging himself on a velvet cushioned stool, ‘but then, employed as envoy to the Prince of Wales is bound to keep a man busy … and rich.’
    To Cécile’s astonishment Arnaud burst out laughing. ‘I forget how well you protect my brother’s back, cousin.’ He leered at Cécile, one eye turning independent of the other. She glanced away, disarmed by this unsavoury trait, and resisted a strong urge to cross herself. Upon further inspec-tion though, she understood something she had not hitherto realised. In a family renowned for its ‘devilishly handsome looks’, vibrant blue eyes and hair of raven black, some saying the ancient Gascons of Albret had ‘sold their souls to the Devil himself,’ small wonder she had never considered Gillet connected. His eyes were of the deepest brown.
    â€˜Did you know, Lady d’Armagnac,’ Arnaud was saying, ‘that Armand visited us many times in his youth?’
    â€˜Yes,’ she replied, unsure which eye to direct her gaze upon. ‘My loss was ever your gain.’
    â€˜Ah, but of course.’ Arnaud stroked his top lip and glanced back at Armand. ‘You were serving under Armagnac at the time. It’s as well that you bring the lady yourself, Armand,’ he conceded with a strained laugh, ‘otherwise I might have thought there were hidden motives.’
    â€˜Political conjuring?’ Armand laughed in reply. ‘I vouchsafe that plays no part.’
    Arnaud’s attention was distracted as a willowy girl entered the hall. Her autumn green gown was of the finest Flemish wool and beneath a ruffled cap, strawberry blonde hair curled with discipline over her ears, held in place by a crispinette. The accompanying barbette framed the delicate features of her young, pretty face.
    â€˜Marguerite! Come, meet your cousins.’ Arnaud stood, his eyes glowing possessively as they rested upon his wife’s maternal carriage. ‘May I present the Lady d’Albret, Marguerite de Narbonne. As you can see, she has finally consented to do her duty and provide me with an heir.’ He presented the mien of a doting husband as he led her to the nearby alcove seat but Cécile’s skin prickled at his condescending tone. She slid into a curtsey as Armand bowed.
    â€˜Armand-Amanieu d’Albret from Labrit, and his maternal cousin, the Lady Cécile d’Armagnac,’ introduced Arnaud. Cécile warmly returned Marguerite’s shy smile, wondering what Gillet would think