The Lily and the Lion Read Online Free PDF Page B

palace?’ He halted, his eyes filling with horror. The colour drained from his cheeks and numbly I followed his gaze. A dark red stain was quickly spreading at my waist, the culprit dagger lying at my feet. It was only then did I feel the pain.
    His outline blurred and a cry was the last thing I remember. ‘Cécile! Dieu, non !’
    I awoke to find Monsieur de Bellegarde sitting at my bedside, quietly talking with a woman of later years. With a warrior’s alertness he sensed I was conscious and his smile was at least gentle. ‘How do you fare? No, do not move.’
    I ceased my attempt to sit upright as agony clawed at my side. ‘Where am I?’
    â€˜You are at the Thorn and Thistle , a well-respected inn on the outskirts of Paris, not far from the Church of Saint Nicholas, and this is Marguerite. She and her husband have agreed to keep you here until I know what to do with you.’
    â€˜What happened?’
    â€˜Not now.’ He laid a reassuring hand upon my arm. ‘Rest. We will talk soon. Marguerite will send her maid, Odette, to you.’ They left the room and I stared at the low oak beams, trying to place the pieces of my memory in order.
    Odette arrived bearing a cheery smile and a tray with a steaming bowl. Eagerly I fell upon the potage, sparing a glance for my sparse surroundings. There was no clothing chest.
    â€˜Does Mademoiselle require anything further afore I go?’ bobbed Odette.
    â€˜Oui,’ I replied, ‘where are my clothes?’
    â€˜Monsieur de Bellegarde ordered them to be burned.’
    â€˜Burned?’
    â€˜Oui, Mademoiselle. By all accounts, there was too much blood.’
    I lowered my spoon and sighed regretfully. The rose gown had been a sin of vanity, and my favourite. ‘Was it really so irreparable?’
    The maid twisted her face contritely and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I cannot say, Mademoiselle, for I did not see it. I was at the market when the Monsieur brought you to the inn.’
    â€˜So another maid attended me?’
    Her squirrelred hair brushed across her shoulders in denial. ‘Oh non, Mademoiselle. This is a small inn with only Guillaume the cook, myself, Madame and Monsieur.’
    â€˜Ah. Madame Marguerite removed my gown. Then I shall ask her.’
    Her mouth slid sideways. ‘You could ask but I do not believe she saw it. Madame entertained an important guest in the salon. Monsieur de Bellegarde brought you in through the back door and straight up to this room. Excuse me, Mademoiselle.’ Odette, curtseying quickly, departed before I chanced my next question. I was left to muse upon her words, the only possible conclusion setting my cheeks aflame.
    The object of my embarrassment visited me later that afternoon. He threw his cloak over the stool and, ignoring its seating capabilities, perched upon the bed, his brows ferociously knitting together. ‘How much do you remember?’
    I winced, trying to recall. ‘I would say … all of it. It would appear, Monsieur, that you seem destined to save me from pigs. Perhaps your true calling is a swineherd.’
    His eyes flashed venomously. ‘Do you enjoy courting danger, Mademoiselle?’
    â€˜It might be nice to court something,’ I snorted.
    â€˜I can see you do not appreciate the seriousness of this situation. Obviously I did not make myself clearly understood when I told you to remain within the palace walls.’ He emitted a sigh of annoyance and his expression was one of a parent about to deliver a speech to a wayward child. I had seen it many times. Cutting off his forthcoming diatribe, I gritted my teeth and launched my defence.
    â€˜I remained in the company of others as you suggested. How could I possibly have foreseen such an occurrence? Salisbury is in England for Heaven’s sake. Oh, the Devil take it!’ My fist thumped the bed.
    â€˜I should take my belt … Good Lord, woman! What is that absurd face