The Order of the Lily by Catherine A. Wilson

asked Cécile, looking at the numerous enclosures. ‘Like my burgundy velvet, there are many more from which to choose.’
    â€˜The Albrets are, amongst other things, horse breeders, sweetheart, and possess some choice bloodlines. The rarest is Inferno, which is why I am thinking it time to put him to stud next year with Ruby.’ He glanced across the field to where the silver, dappled steed was prancing, and sighed. ‘But more to the point, it is to what I would settle, breeding horses fit for the stables of kings, and that beast would have set a fine seal upon my name.’
    â€˜And where do you plan for this stud to be?’ Remembering what Margot had told her of the inheritance, Cécile gazed around her. ‘Here? In Chilham?’
    Gillet shrugged his shoulders. ‘Maybe, or France.’
    â€˜France? Where in France?’ echoed Cécile, surprised by this admission.
    His smile was wistful as he regarded her. ‘My name is not an empty one. It carries property and wherewithal.’
    â€˜You would settle on Albret lands?’ she gasped. ‘But that would put you under the rule of Aquitaine. You would be under Edward’s control!’
    At the risk of spilling his ale, Gillet flung his arms wide. ‘Are we not here?’ His grin grew wider. ‘I am teasing you. This estate can go to Arnaud, with my blessing. Two years of risking my neck for the Templar Order was not without compensation. I have my own lands in Bellegarde, but they are in need of work.’
    â€˜Bellegarde? But I thought that name was just a ruse,’ she cried incredulously.
    Gillet laughed. ‘Does it surprise you, Lady Sprite, that I can earn my own way in this world without having to depend on the “sanctimonious Albrets”?’
    This was an animated side of Gillet which Cécile had not before seen, and she liked it. ‘Tell me of Bellegarde,’ she encouraged, sipping her ale.
    Gillet took a deep draught from his tankard and leaned against the tree, fixing his gaze into the distance. He spoke of the beautiful green countryside of the Loire valley, rich and fertile. He told how he planned to build a grand set of stables so he could breed a selection of horses so fine the royal Master of the Stables in Paris would ride the short journey south to Bellegarde to purchase only his animals.
    â€˜The keep is almost finished. War will return,’ he announced prophetically. ‘If not with England, then perhaps Spain. There is no glory or riches to be made in truce, and such being the case, there will always be a great need for destriers. As well as the decorative, I can breed the most serviceable beasts to carry men into battle.’ The eyes he turned upon Cécile shone with brilliance. ‘And I will need heirs to carry on my good name. An alliance between Albret and Holland has been considered highly favourable in the past. What say you?’
    â€˜Why,’ gasped Cécile, her fingers fluttering to her breast in mock horror, ‘milord, are you asking me to marry you?’
    Gillet leaned forward and raised her hand to his lips. ‘No.’ He grinned. ‘Not yet.’

    Their spirits high, they rode for home, laughing as they raced past the gatehouse. Breathless and exhilarated, Cécile drew rein outside the stables. Gillet lifted her from the saddle and, still euphoric from his ride, planted a hearty kiss on her mouth.
    Cécile blushed as she saw the head groom watching them.
    â€˜Your pardon, Llewellyn,’ Gillet coughed with embarrassment. ‘I did not see you there.’
    â€˜No ’arm done, Sire.’ He tipped his head, grinning broadly. ‘Miss.’ He nodded to Cécile. His ample frame boasted moder-ate height as he tugged his grey forelock respectfully.
    â€˜Llewellyn, meet Mademoiselle Cécile d’Armagnac,’ introduced Gillet. ‘She is my honoured guest and will be staying with us for the