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wall, his movements clumsy for his ankles were fettered by leg irons. He swung his manacled hands to drape loosely over his legs and, levelling his gaze, watched with surprise as Edward lowered himself against the opposite wall so they were face-to-face.
    The Prince brushed back his reddish-gold crop of hair from his brow and exhaled. The amber eyes were pensive and gloomy. ‘There was a time when you and I were friends. What happened?’
    Gillet tilted his head back and stared at the rotted beams, mottled with damp and mildew. ‘I think you know the answer to that.’ The apple in his throat bobbed. ‘Every year I light a candle for my cousin, Jean d’Albret.’
    â€˜I never meant for him to die.’
    Gillet’s smile was bitter. ‘You forgot to tell that to your butcher.’
    â€˜His enthusiasm was punished.’
    â€˜A comfort to Jean as his hide was torn from his flesh, strip by strip.’
    â€˜Your cousin played a dangerous game, Gillet. And he was caught.’
    Beneath his shirt, Gillet’s skin crawled. If he must die, pray God let it be quick. Even the stoutest of courage would fail beneath such torture.
    â€˜I could charge you with treason, the same as your cousin.’
    The Prince’s words rippled down Gillet’s spine and he forced the shudder into a shrug. He knew Edward well enough to know his best course was not to show fear. ‘Brandishing your power? You know that never scared me.’
    Edward laughed. ‘It was what I liked about you! You never yielded.’
    Gillet blinked down into his open hands. His palms were blistered raw from wielding his sword half the night. ‘Not quite. There were times when it was prudent for me to step back.’
    â€˜I always did admire your taste in women.’
    Gillet’s eyes flared and snapped to Edward. ‘You never resorted to trickery and deceit before! You knew a daughter of Armagnac would never willingly fall into your bed.’
    â€˜I watched her leave your room at the inn in Paris.’ The Prince’s lips curved upward with his musing. ‘Imagine my surprise when, between my sheets, I found her as innocent as a newborn lamb. That is what you cannot forgive.’
    Gillet’s teeth flashed in the dim haze of the lit wall sconce. ‘Armagnac will not forgive you either.’
    â€˜Armagnac is a fool!’ retorted Edward angrily. ‘Do not forget Cécile’s true blood carries the royal line of Plantagenet!’
    â€˜She doesn’t love you, Edward.’
    The Prince felt the fetid air thicken with tension and smiled with an ease he did not quite feel. The Albrets may have pledged allegiance to him but they had a mercenary fickleness, and their blood was known to be thicker than most. ‘Then it might surprise you to know that Cécile d’Armagnac did not leave France last night. She resides in a turret chamber two floors above. Perhaps I shall have another chance to make her love me. Think, Gillet. Has she ever stated outright that she hated me? She certainly did not show it in the time we had together.’
    The heat in Gillet’s body flared, burning through every limb and joint. At the same time a chill ran down his spine leaving him cold and clammy. He swallowed but his voice rasped hoarsely. ‘I do not believe you.’
    â€˜Believe it! Armagnac will not become my enemy. A healthy sum of gold can put many a wrong to right.’
    Gillet slumped, the pain in his chest a pittance to the dagger piercing his heart.
    â€˜As a gift of goodwill for returning her to me I shall spare your life but you shall be exiled to Kent until you realise how fruitless this dream of yours truly is.’ The Prince leaned toward him, his voice softening. ‘Forget her, Gillet. Cécile d’Armagnac was never destined for your bed, and I want her.’
    With a supreme effort Gillet met the Prince’s gaze. ‘Then you sever the last strand