The Order of the Lily by Catherine A. Wilson Page A

winter.’
    â€˜Pleased I am, Miss.’
    â€˜As am I, Llewellyn,’ answered Cécile, but it was the young, dark-haired woman, hiding in the shadows close behind who captured her attention. Clothed in a deep green gown, the girl was fair skinned, dark lashes lacing her hazel stare, cheeks the colour of ripening peaches, and thick lustrous curls to her waist. Memories of Rosslyn de Caux sprang to Cécile’s mind and she groaned inwardly. But this girl was even more beautiful than the widow. She was youthful and, worse, she had stars in her eyes as she gazed with fixation at Gillet. A shiver ran down Cécile’s spine.
    â€˜Llewellyn ap Ynyr is our horsemaster, sweetheart, and though Welsh, the best in England,’ puffed Gillet as he pulled up Inferno’s girth strap to release it. The girl’s gape grew to owlet proportions when she heard Gillet say ‘sweetheart.’ Her gaze shifted and Cécile felt herself pinned beneath the burning hatred. The girl wheeled around and fled.
    The movement alerted Llewellyn and he swivelled, scratching his scalp. ‘Gwynedd? Damna girl! Where is she gone to now?’
    Gillet looked up sharply. ‘Gwynedd is still with you?’ He laughed uneasily. ‘I thought she would be married by now.’
    â€˜Agh!’ Llewellyn hawked and spat into the dust. ‘Not as though she’s no’ been offered, like. She’ll not accept any o’ them. Says she’s awaiting, but for what I know no’ for sure. She’ll be apleased to see you though. Ah, Trefor.’
    A young lad, foal-lanky and freckle-faced, emerged from the stable, grinning from ear to ear. He sprang forward to take Inferno’s reins. Gillet winked and ruffled the unruly mop of curls. ‘Take the Mademoiselle’s horse but check first,’ he advised. ‘The lady may wish to groom her own mare today.’ He bent closer to the lad, ‘And don’t stare into her eyes or she’ll turn you into a toad!’
    â€˜Gillet!’
    Gillet laughed and clapped the boy on the shoulder. ‘The Welsh are a superstitious lot. Céci. They will believe anything. What say we look at stable,’ he directed to Llewellyn. ‘How fare the plans for the extension?’
    â€˜Might be best if you look for yourself, Sire.’
    The men proceeded down the aisle, their discussion shifting to the suitable feed mixes as Gillet stabled Inferno. They disappeared round the corner of the L-shaped construction, their voices receding from earshot.

    Cécile set to work brushing the dust from Ruby’s coat, the mare whickering across at Inferno. She thought about what Gillet had said – allowing Ruby to breed with the stallion next season – and was pondering this outcome when a harsh, guttural voice startled her.
    â€˜Ye will no’ warm ’is bed very long.’
    She glanced up to find that Gwynedd had not fled far. The girl leaned over the railing, her tawny eyes flashing animosity.
    â€˜I said, ye will no’ warm ’is bed very long.’
    Cécile’s smile stretched tight as she tried to overcome the sudden thudding in her chest. ‘Your pardon, Mademoiselle?’
    â€˜Ye heard aright.’
    â€˜Oui, I heard, but I fail to see how you could know such a thing.’
    Gwynedd pressed forward, her voice low and malevolent. Ruby shifted nervously. ‘Whsssk! I know it. ’Tis no’ fer naught that I cast me magic. Afore long, less an’ less ’e will be wantin’ ye.’
    Cécile felt an eerie rippling over her skin, and Ruby stamped her leg, moving irritably beneath the brush strokes. The muffled voices of the men were returning and Cécile sighed with relief. Gwynedd heard them too and jerked back.
    â€˜I give ye fair warnin.’ I’ll be replacin’ ye soon enough!’
    â€˜Oh!’
    The brush fell from Cécile’s grasp to the ground and as she bent to retrieve