The Order of the Lily by Catherine A. Wilson

man’s hands on her body was sickening, yet he knew he could not let his feelings interfere with his role. He was her protector who had vowed to never again fall under the spell of a woman. Not that Catherine was anything like other women he had known. There was nothing conniving or false about her. She was simply incapable of lying. And he adored that child-like quality. But perhaps adoration was all it was. Or did he feel something more?
    He swirled the remainder of the ale in his goblet. He would never be able to forgive himself if he failed her the way he had Amina and Rassaq.

    Catherine stared in awe at the gown held aloft by the maid. The deep red tones seemed to change hue, creating shadows as the skirt danced in the dim light of the candle. The neckline was beaded with tiny stones that ranged in colour from pink to purest white, each individually cut with precision and skill.
    â€˜You are required to attend tonight, milady,’ informed Tariq. ‘I have explained to the Prince that you cannot partake of the entertainment and under no circumstance can you dance.’ Tariq held open the door to allow the twittering maids to depart. ‘He insists that you join him for dinner.’
    â€˜What am I to do?’
    â€˜I am sure Allah will light the way.’
    Catherine fingered the magnificent gown and blinked backed tears. It had been four days and still she had received no word from Simon. Perhaps he was injured, or worse, captured, and if that be the case, she must resign herself to her fate. Her only consolation was news of Gillet’s departure for Kent.
    â€˜You must remember to keep this dry and use the powder I have made for you,’ Tariq explained as he examined the healing wound on her shoulder. ‘The stitches will need removal in five days’ time.’
    Catherine’s eyes widened with fear. ‘You are leaving?’
    He ignored her question. ‘I have been directed to inform you that an escort will arrive at the strike of the evening bell. You must be ready.’
    â€˜Thank you, Tariq.’ Tentatively she placed her hand over his and peered into his dark eyes. ‘How will I ever repay your kindness?’
    â€˜Do not get caught, as it would be very difficult to explain my involvement in this deception.’
    The strange physician had been the only anchor in the storm that crashed around her. Surely she would have long since faced the wrath of the Black Prince, but for this man’s presence. He had visited her daily and kept her informed of matters in the castle. He bravely carried her message of hope to Gillet. He paid handsomely to ensure the maids’ silence, and had kept the Prince from her room, placing himself between the solid oak door and the royal temper. From now on she would be on her own.
    â€˜Dry your eyes and make ready. Your ordeal is about to end.’ He placed his finger against his lips and winked. Suddenly the message became clear. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, her melancholy forced aside by a sense of excitement.
    â€˜Now, get dressed. We do not have long.’ He bowed formally and then opened the door just as the maids returned.
    Catherine was immediately on her feet and allowed the servants to dress her in the ornate gown. She rejected the headdress as it would only hamper her escape opting instead for a simple veil and circlet. The ensemble did not include a cloak, so she retrieved Cecile’s, then joined Tariq who was patiently waiting in the hallway.
    She grasped his proffered arm and he leaned towards her.
    â€˜It has been a pleasure to serve you, Mademoiselle.’
    â€˜And it has been mine just to know you. I cannot thank you enough.’
    â€˜Do not thank me yet,’ he smiled, ‘for there may still be obstacles to face.’

    Hidden in a recess of the bailey, Simon ripped the tiny bells from the sleeves of his jester’s garb and tossed the noisy decorations down a