A Flame Run Wild (11 page)

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The next morning Alexandre examined the castle base beneath the breaks in the wall. He found Liliane's tracks on both sides, and some holes and scratches in the lowest gap. As his fief bordered near the Alps, Alexandre was no stranger to mountaineering. Liliane had obviously used some sort of rappelling tool. Had he not once seen her expertly spear a fish, he would not have believed a woman to be so audacious and capable. Searching her chest in the master chamber, he found nothing and returned the contents so that they appeared undisturbed.

After giving the derelict wall guard a ferocious dressing down and a six-month bout of armor polishing at dawn with the squires, Alexandre summoned Charles. "I need someone I can trust to keep his eyes open and mouth shut on the north wall night watch for a time. Will you take on the task?"

Charles's brown eyes narrowed. "Of course. Do you expect trouble?"

"Indirectly." From the tower window, Alexandre pointed out the gaps. "I want all the holes filled except for the two lowest ones at right. If anyone tries to get in or out of them, don't try to stop them, but come posthaste to me."

"Done."

The snare was arranged; now for the bait.

Four days later, Alexandre had a scullery boy slip a message to Liliane while she was working at his mother's old loom. The boy nervously twisted his grimy hands. "The gentleman said you would give me a silver penny,
Madame la Comtesse.
"

"What gentleman?"

"A dark, rich gentleman about so high"—he indicated—"with shoulders so."

Louis, Liliane decided. Except that Louis would not send a message this way. Jacques claimed that he had no agents in the castle, which might well be a lie, but he had also insisted that the tree would be their sole vehicle of exchange unless he heard differently from her. She handed back the message unread and gave the boy his penny. "Take this, boy, but bring me no more messages from strange gentlemen. Give them instead to my husband, the count, with my compliments." Whether Alexandre or Jacques had sent the note, she would not be caught is the middle of their maneuvers.

Alexandre, having half expected her to refuse the message, rewrote it, then invited her to a private dinner in their room. For the occasion, Liliane wore her finest garments and maintained a steely composure even when he served her the opened Louis' message upon her plate. "A gentleman wishes an assignation," he observed laconically.

"Indeed?" Liliane daintily removed the message from her plate. "No doubt you will discourage the reckless fellow?"

"I leave that to you, milady." Alexandre lounged back in his chair with feigned carelessness.

Liliane took up her goblet. "Surely my refusal to accept his petition should be discouragement enough for this mysterious suitor, milord."

"Were I susceptible to your charms, milady, it would not discourage me." Alexandre smiled humorlessly. "I bid you read the letter, milady, and answer as you see fit.".

With a patient shake of her head, Liliane did as Alexandre ordered, only to feel as if the parchment had exploded under her fingers. It was not a "Louis" note but a message from Jean! In French was scrawled, "England looked cold, after all, so I shall wait where it is warm. Come fishing."

Alexandre watched Liliane's fingers tremble. "Afraid you will catch a shark?"

I live with one, Liliane thought angrily. Why should I be afraid of another? She tossed the note back on the plate. "This note makes absolutely no sense and it is unsigned. It might have been sent by anyone."

"Anyone who can read and write that is. At Castle de Brueil, that would include Charles, who is far from fond of you; my clerk, who loathes women in general; and Father Anselm, who loathes only deceit—and spies and faithless women would seem to fell into that category."

Outside in the turret, Jacques's spy placed his ear closer to the bedchamber door. An unknown element had come into the game! He had altered his own report to Jacques so that it matched Liliane's. Had either of them told Jacques the truth about Alexandre's defenses, he would shortly have had to seek new employment. Having but lately come to his treacherous trade, the spy was not yet expert, but he was steadily becoming more adept. To successfully doublecross a master of intrigue as seasoned as Jacques de Signe took solid skill which he was diligently trying to acquire. He was delighted by Liliane's arrival, for she could be used to keep Jacques dangling; that she was betraying Jacques as well was of no consequence. He could easily ensure that Liliane appeared trustworthy to Jacques for as long as it was to his advantage, then he'd trip her up and raise his price.

If he discredited her now, she would be useless to him. The spy listened carefully. Alexandre seemed to think that Liliane had a lover, and he was now baiting her. Just as Alexandre started to speak again, the spy heard Liliane rise from her chair.

"If you fancy duplicity at every turn, milord, you will fret yourself into an early grave long before any enemy can put you there!" With that, the spy heard her go to the window, swiftly followed by Alexandre. A rousing quarrel ensued, the words flying so quickly that they were hard to make out. The spy sighed. At this rate, Liliane would not long be married to Alexandre.

Over the next few weeks, the hostility between Alexandre and Liliane hung like a thundercloud over the household. The couple never fought before the servants, but many a battle raged behind closed doors. Jacques's spy was a trifle perplexed. Alexandre seemed convinced that Liliane had a lover, but so far, he himself had seen no evidence of her dalliance. Was Alexandre sharper than he'd thought, staging a jealous show to pave the way for formally accusing Liliane of infidelity to the Church and Crown— and ridding himself of her?

Chapter 5

~

The Irresistible Bait

Castle de Brueil

June 1189

A
s the golden balmy days of early summer passed, Liliane became increasingly miserable, and it seemed that Alexandre was bent on making her so. Not that he continued to bait her. After the first few days, he withdrew into himself with a brooding tension that promised ill when he finally exploded. All that she might have accomplished in her marriage was now lost. She was off balance, her hopes for a happy marriage dashed. Nothing remained for her but deadly duty.

Liliane was especially wretched now that she knew Jean had returned. Although her entire being longed for him, she dared not go to him. Not only was she too aware that to be discovered together was a terrible danger, but her strict sense of honor prohibited her willful pursuit of Mm. Outweighing her moral and practical reservations was her fear that she might weaken in her determination to win justice for Diego. Yet day by day she endured Alexandre's bitter silence, his wordless accusation and reproach, and she wondered with growing despair how she would ever make matters right. With Philip's influence and support, Alexandre might very well divorce her, whether or not he could prove just cause. Women had few legal rights—even less against a royal favorite! Without her dowry, which Alexandre might well retain, Liliane was powerless.

Liliane anxiously awaited the monthly word from Jacques that might give her the means to ruin him. Then she would either prove her loyalty to Alexandre or, if he continued in his hostile treatment of her, she could complete her mission of gaining justice for Diego, then seek a divorce and return to Spain. One feint hope illumined that prospect, but to think that Jean might accompany her into poverty was foolish. Besides, in Alexandre's present frame of mind, he might well have answered Jean's note with word of her death . . . and it would be better for Jean if he had! At that thought, Liliane's heart twisted like a broken harp string as she bent over the tapestry she had begun for the barren great hall.

While she worked, another terrible possibility taunted her. What if Alexandre had forced the messenger boy to reveal the man who had sent him? What if he had devised some way to lead Jean into a trap? If so, Jean might already have been discovered! What revenge would Alexandre take for her infidelity with his own brother? A sick fear haunted her. Had Jean been found in the lodge? Had Alexandre killed him? She should have immediately warned Jean to fly from danger, yet she would have most certainly been caught, and Jean would have been more at risk than ever.

Liliane knew that she was being watched, and not just by Alexandre's two aunts, who plied their needles at her side. To visit and inspect the bride, the women had paused on their annual jaunt to Aries. Their dislike and general mistrust of the Signes were barely masked by chill politeness. The way their needles stabbed the long expanse of the tapestry made Liliane think they wished they were stabbing her. It was obvious that her rich wardrobe and striking beauty had excited their open envy and disdain. Liliane was unaware that Alexandre had forbidden them to criticize her to him and his household. She knew only that she was miserable and that Jean's life was probably in grave danger.

Two days later, Liliane's heart jumped to her throat when Alexandre burst unannounced into her room while she was brushing her hair. Since there had been few female servants in Diego's essentially male household, she liked to braid and pin up her own hair. The sun Was setting, gilding the distant forest treetops that beckoned daily to her. Alexandre wore a fixed smile that seemed incongruous with the odor of brandy that clung to him. He moved with taut restlessness around the room, his chainse open to the waist and stuffed carelessly into his braies. He gave her a sidelong, curt nod, seeming to look for something, yet his eyes fixed upon nothing, not even her. His gaze seemed drawn to the west turret window and its waning sun. His anexpected entrance and distracted air made Liliane uneasy. "My lord," she murmured, pausing with her brush in her hair, "did you want something?"

Alexandre half turned to stare at her. "I want a wife," he said bitterly. "I do not want an opponent, I do not want a woman whose soft flesh might as well be made of armor, a woman who yearns for another man and lies with every breath!"

"I have been faithful beyond all duty. Why do you yet accuse me?" she whispered.

Alexandre moved to stand over her and, grasping a lock of shining hair, began to slowly twist it in his fingers. "Because at long last, I know what is in your heart." His eyes were as dark as ink. "Poor Alexandre, hope and connive as he might, has never had a chance. Your heart was gone before you ever set eyes on him. Given the whisper of a chance, you would fly from him as if he were stinking carrion." His fingers tightened, pulling her hair painfully. "To whom would you fly? To a lover who offers a delusion of ecstasy? Why dream of a phantom when you can be touched by reality?" His fingers locked in her hair. He drew her roughly to him, forcing her head back and arching her throat to his slowly lowering mouth . . . searing her white flesh with the brand of his kiss. His hand drew down her robe, caressing her neck and shoulders, stopping at her breast. She gasped and went rigid, her heart pounding. There was passionate excitement in his touch, yet a frightening ferocity, too, as if she were an obstacle to be conquered, possessed. As he pulled her up against him, gone was the moralist, the martinet; in his place was a man whose blue eyes burned with desire.

"No!" Liliane gasped, twisting away from his broad, muscular chest, the hardness that pressed demandingly against her. He abruptly released her and she stumbled, nearly felling against the bench.

"Save yourself, then," he growled, his words slurring angrily. "Let all that beauty and passion turn to dust while you wait for a man who no longer exists!"

Dazed with pain at her rejection, Alexandre stumbled blindly from the room. Although he had half anticipated her refusal, he'd still pursued her like a doomed bull taunted by a red scarf. He should not have had so much wine; he should not have crashed recklessly into Liliane's room. But his savage need for her had driven him on. He had let his devious secret and the resulting misunderstanding go on so long that everything seemed tangled into a hopeless knot. Although he was cunning and successful at planning battles, he'd contrived a tactical mess at home. He might sever the knot once and for all by telling Liliane the truth, but now he doubted if even the truth would help them. While Liliane might betray Alexandre, he had learned that she would not betray Jean, At first he had thought she was merely protecting herself, but now he realized she wanted Jean to get away safely. She loved him! Alexandre thought grimly how ironic it was that his alter image had practically sabotaged his marriage.

As Alexandre wandered listlessly in the garden, he found it hard to believe that he had once made love to this cool stranger. To believe that she had melted like honey in his arms, that she had been passionate, innocent—his love alone. It was a love he had to find again or risk losing his sanity. If she would not come to him as Alexandre, would she come to him as Jean?

A choked laugh escaped from his lips as he stared down into the rose-covered well by the garden walk. His reflection rippled as a pebble from the well wall fell into the water. Perhaps he was already losing his mind! Alexandre had become as much a fiction as the fey Jean. Who was he, this shadowy man, scarcely more real by sun than by moon? He no longer had substance; he had become an empty pretender, moving from one pretense to another.

Alexandre remembered sitting late one evening with Liliane before the fire in the great hall perhaps a month after the wedding. Their silences were long; her finely chiseled face wore a remote expression. "Have you ever been in love, I wonder?" he had asked in a sardonic voice covering the longing he felt. Her eyes had widened; she seemed startled, frightened, almost sad for an instant, and he had wanted to take her in his arms, to reassure her with his gentle caresses. He'd wanted to show her that real love was not as elusive as she thought—it would come again.

She had then startled him. "I loved Diego."

Not realizing how unhappy she must have been, he frowned. "Was he not old enough to be your grandfather?"

"He was a great man. A good man. So kind and patient I could never imagine his having savagely fought the Moors for twenty years." She smiled slightly. "According to his castellans, he was ferocious in battle, with strong arms that could wield a battle-ax and swim across the Quadaquavir River in armor."

Alexandre poked at the logs in the fire. "He sounds formidable, but what did you ever talk about?"

"He saved me from being married off at fourteen for barter. Had he been the dullest man in the world, I would have hung on his every word. As it was, he was a fine scholar and far from dull."

"Pity you have had to step down in life," he remarked dryly.

"I did not expect another Diego, but"—her eyes twinkled mischievously—"neither did I expect to have to reassure a man of twenty-six about his comparison with a man of sixty-eight."

Alexandre flushed scarlet. "I assure you I am not jealous."

But he had been. He had been jealous of the soft glow Diego's name brought to her eyes, the gentle tenderness that slipped into her speech. An old man and a lowly poacher had been able to touch her heart while he, Alexandre, could not. He felt more alone with this lovely woman at his side than he had felt even in the sighing desert wind of Palestine's nights.

Upon taking her as his bride, he had begun to dream of Liliane as one, his lips cracked with thirst, he had dreamed of white-foamed rushing water during the siege of Jerusalem. Now he saw her dancing in white and silver veils so gracefully that his throat grew dry, his hands reached out to touch the silky warmth of her, only to find the cool stone of the courtyard well. In its deep, dark depths, he was the only illusion.

The last of the sunset was disappearing, casting the castle walls in rust and gold, just as it must now be turning to russet flames the forest of Jean and Liliane. If he became Jean once more, he might lure Liliane there again. However, if she gave herself to him, he'd have won a hollow victory—he'd know for certain that it was Jean she loved, not Alexandre. Foreboding and despair overwhelmed Alexandre. Catching up a stone from the cobbles, he hurled it into the water. His image shattered, swiftly fading into gathering darkness.