The Lily and the Lion Read Online Free PDF

wrist was manacled by strong, wiry fingers.
    â€˜Help a blind man, would ye?’
    I looked up to a bulbous nose that was surrounded by a hideous assemblage of scars. The colour of one eye was hidden behind a milky white glaze and the other stared, unseeing. His shirt was splotched with food stains and his offensive odour proclaimed his beggarly status. My mouth curled with distaste and I tried to undo his grip.
    â€˜Let me go!’
    â€˜Have pity on one less fortunate, kind lady. Cast your sight about and tell me if you see a tall man.’
    â€˜A tall man? Sacré Bleu , there are dozens of tall men, you fool.’
    â€˜No, this one should be waiting by the smithy’s sign. That be a red hammer on a black anvil.’
    â€˜Yes, yes, I see the sign but there is no man waiting foreby.’
    â€˜Is it far? Can you point me in the direction?’ One hand feebly reached into the air, striking a passer-by. A torrent of expletive disdain was hurled at us and I suddenly pitied the helpless man. Casting a gaze over the velvet, I sighed. It could wait a little longer. ‘Here. I shall take you. It is not far.’ I folded his arm over mine.
    â€˜Bless you, my child. And may the good Lord bless you, too.’
    A measure of patience was required as we negotiated the crowd. He shuffled alongside and as we drew close he tripped and grabbed my arm with his other hand. ‘Is he waiting at the side, lass? Down the alley.’
    â€˜Yes, yes, I believe he is. We are almost there.’ A moment was all it took. His grasp tightened and he pushed me, his sightless eye miraculously rolling to focus.
    â€˜Now!’
    A heavy canvas bag was pulled over my head and I was lifted bodily, my teeth threatening to rattle loose as the running steps painfully jolted the breath from my chest. It rekindled the terrifying memory of the first time I had ever ridden a horse. A disobedient five-year-old, the adventure had landed me face first in a ditch, and my mama’s best headpiece, her treasured barley wreath, was completely ruined. I had closed my eyes in terror and bumped past six haystacks before losing my grip on the mane. I could only pray that whatever beast held me now, I would land with my head intact a second time.
    When my world righted itself, I was winded but whole. The covering slid off, but not before my arms were twisted roughly behind my back. Spitting husks from my mouth, I found myself in a stinking, shadowed courtyard, girt by crumbling buildings. The ground underfoot was a quagmire of slops and refuse but not even Saint Antony’s pigs, permitted to rummage the streets of Paris, would dare poke their noses in here. Beggars’ quarter! Something flashed and a sweaty palm was clamped over my mouth as a blade swung into view.
    â€˜Scream and I shall slit you where you stand.’ The charlatan’s good eye slid down my body, his lips scrunching with a slow whistle. ‘Ooh, you’re a beauty.’
    A loud guffaw sounded above my head. ‘Yeah, an’ I reckin she’s just wet far ya!’
    Unable to breathe, my fear manifested into righteous anger and I resorted to the weapon of my childhood. I bit him. But the gormless lout who held me was not a child from my past and with a ripe oath he clubbed my ear.
    The next happened in a blur. A heavy pounding thundered towards us and I screamed as rearing hooves dashed within inches of my head. A sword hacked and the grip on my arms fell loose as my captor slumped to the ground. Dazed, I looked up to see Monsieur de Bellegarde, his face a mask of rage, fling himself upon the second of my abductors. His horse continued to stamp at the lifeless form at my feet as the two men rolled to the ground in a succession of grunts and flailing fists. A moment later, Monsieur de Bellegarde triumphantly withdrew his dagger.
    He stepped over the limp carcass, wiping his cut lip, spitting blood and fury. ‘Did I not tell you to remain at the