A Flame Run Wild (12 page)

* * *

Near midnight, Liliane slipped into her dark cotehardi and hose, then tucked her long hair up into the cotehardi hood. Just as she was strapping the silk cord about her waist, she heard a faint scratch at the door. Her heart seemed to stop for an instant, then its quick pounding reverberated in her ears. Another scratch, more insistent, sounded at the door. She stood frozen. A final scratch came, then an ominous silence reigned.

Liliane waited for nearly an hour before she opened the door a crack. No one was in the tiny hall. She eased the door open and stepped out, only to feel something brush against her foot. She stooped to pick it up, then stepped back into her room and rebarred the door to examine her find by candlelight. Two hawk feathers were bound together by a fine, black strand that looked like silk; it was horsehair. She frowned, puzzled, then smiled as she realized her mysterious gift must be from Jean. The hawk feathers symbolized their brief freedom together; the horsehair came from the mane of Jean's black stallion. Liliane's spirits soared, Jean was alive!

But the next moment, her spirits sank. Nothing had really changed, for all that lay ahead was the promise of empty years. To keep her honor, she must not see Jean . . . and yet he must be warned that his brother suspected her of having a lover and that further communication between them might prove disastrous. Jean must leave.

* * *

Some time later, Charles made his report to Alexandre. "Lady Liliane has gone through the south wall. The watch spotted her just after I did, when she was climbing down the outside wall. I had to stop him from putting an arrow through her." His tone suggested that he had been sorely tempted to let the arrow fly.

Alexandre clapped him consolingly on,the shoulder. "You did well,
ami
. Do not worry; this will be milady's last night to prowl abroad. Have the workmen seal those last gaps in the wall at dawn." He headed for the stable.

Eyeing Alexandre's sheepskin vest amid ragged clothing, Charles tagged after him. "Going fishing?"

Alexandre flung a saddle blanket on the sorrel. "In a manner of speaking. A goldfish may not be sporting game in a garden pond, but "—an odd smile played around his mouth—"in the wild, it is another matter."

Charles handed him the saddle. "You may not find your goldfish alone, you know; sharks are likely to accompany this one."

"Not tonight," Alexandre replied shortly. He cinched the saddle and checked the bridle. For once, I am going to have my wife all to myself, he thought grimly.

But as he galloped off into the night, Alexandre was not as confident as he had pretended to Charles. Uncertainties darted like startled deer through his head. His concerns were overshadowed by one overwhelming fear—what if he could no longer be Jean? Jean was carefree, with a light tongue and light touch, while Alexandre had become suspicious, humorless and quick to take offense. Pulled this way and that by his bewildering emotions, he had adopted the role of a sober lord of the manor as his only security. How could he be able to play the rustic Jean convincingly enough to deceive Liliane? His appearance tonight before Liliane might well be disastrous. Muttering an oath of exasperation as he entered the forest, Alexandre suddenly spurred his sorrel, effortlessly jumping a fallen tog. He had better be waiting for Liliane at the lodge, not galloping in late on a horse she'd surely recognize. That was his last thought before the sorrel slipped as he landed, dumping him into icy nothingness.

A shiver crept along Liliane's spine as she spied a faint light glimmering through the dark trees. In moments, she had reached the clearing of the old hunting lodge, leaving the safe canopy of the forest behind her. Although the July night was warm, she suddenly felt cold and exposed. The stars were clear and close, the trees scarcely stirring in the gentle breeze blowing across the moonlit lake. She could hear only the lapping of the water on the shallow shore, the faint crackle of sparks from the old stone chimney. The snapping fire and the sighing wind brought back vivid memories of the night she had spent with Jean—the warmth of his body, his mouth as they lay by the fire. Her heart knotted painfully in her breast. Tonight, there must be no blissful joining of their bodies; there could be only parting and a loss even harsher than before.

Liliane dismounted and tied the black to a branch with trembling hands. There was no need to stable him; she would not stay long. If Jean would see her to the edge of the wood, she could walk the rest of the distance to the castle by daybreak, thus leaving him his stallion. Liliane hesitated. Far from having her longing dulled by time and distance, she had missed Jean more with each passing day; now her anticipation was unbearable. As she slowly lifted the door latch, she wondered, with the world to wander and new women to divert him, had Jean missed her half so much? She took a deep breath and opened the door.

The face that turned to her from the fire wore an expression that was bewildering. Anguish, relief and passion distorted his features so that for a moment she wondered wildly if this could be her Jean. He had aged; his boyishness was gone. He was as distraught as she. Relief mixed with pity as she saw that their brief tryst had cost him as much unhappiness as it had her.

"Oh, Jean," she sobbed brokenly. "Oh, my darling, I am sorry!" In another moment, she was in his arms, pressing kisses upon his face, clinging to him as if the world might crash from beneath her feet if he should move away. With a stifled groan, his mouth came down on hers. His kiss was harsh, urgent, taking her breath, her tears, making her need for him soar like the night's bright new stars. His hands that had tangled in her hair now roamed feverishly. His desire enflamed her; the roughness of his beard-stubbled jaw as he buried his face against her throat filled her with raw excitement . . . and the gradual, needling thought that only short hours ago, Alexandre had kissed her so, with the same demanding hunger. With a gasp, Liliane pulled away. "Jean, no ... we must not! I came only to warn you—"

"Of what?" His voice was hoarse and muffled against her throat. "What more need I fear when my soul is gone?" He lifted his head only to bend down, giving her another kiss that made her faint with an intense longing to forget everything but the warm hardness of his body, the heat of their desire. His lips grazed her ear. "You have taken my sanity, my honor . . . witch, witch . . . adorable, hateful, faithless witch . . ."

In desperation, Liliane turned her head away. "Were I faithless, I would not have come tonight. Oh, Jean, you must go! He knows ..."

His hands dropped from her as if he had been burned. She suddenly realized that his clothes were nearly soaked, his left shoulder and back smeared with mud. A trickle of blood appeared just above his hairline. "He knows what?" His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "I assume you mean your cuckolded husband, Alexandre?"

Distraught, Liliane ran her hand through her hair. Why was he so muddied and hurt? Why did he stare at her so strangely, almost as if he hated her? "Please do not tease. What's happened to you? Your head? Your clothes?" She caught at his sleeve. "Has Alexandre set his men upon you?"

He laughed shortly. "Why should he? I am no one. I might as well not exist."

"To Alexandre, you are very real. He does not yet know who you are, but he will soon, unless you leave."

He studied her. "Oh, I think Alexandre knows me well enough. As if he walked in my skin, I wager he imagines every silky inch of yours that I have touched. In his dreams you lie in his arms, he caresses your soft hair, your breasts so pale and smooth, traces the curve of your smile . . ." He turned abruptly away. ''Alexandre may be sometimes difficult, but he has a name, position. Why the hell are you here with me?"

Liliane bit back the fatal, useless words that sprang to her lips. If Jean knew how she had missed him, knew how unhappy she was, he would not want to go away and leave her again. But leave he must. "We shared a night I shall never forget," she said softly. "When I am old, I shall remember a beautiful youth who took my innocence and left me the poetry of his passion. Tonight I came only to, warn you that your-life is in danger. I owe you that little, at least."

He cocked his head, his blue eyes sharp and spearing her with his intense gaze. "Do you care nothing for Alexandre?"

"Before God and the law, he is my husband; that bond may not be broken."

"I did not ask you that."

"My life with Alexandre," she replied softly, lowering her eyes, "is none of your affair."

A wild frustration seized Alexandre. His warring emotions were like pincers tearing him apart. When he first saw Liliane standing in the doorway, he was Alexandre, confronted by proof of her betrayal. Then she flung herself into his aims, and he knew only that now he might finally have her, that he had to have her. Yet, when she pulled away, it was Jean she rejected; Jean, who was jealous. He was quickly losing his sanity! "What affairs are mine?" he snarled. "This sort? The sordid sort? Will you play the lady for Alexandre and the world, yet moon in your heart for the sinful bed of a thief? Will you cheat all and leave none in peace by being a hypocrite?" Liliane had become deathly pale, her eyes wide and pleading, but he could not stop. "Does being a whore in your thoughts and dreams add a certain fillip to your superficial virtue?"

She slapped him then, an expression of horror and disillusionment upon her face. What had come over her Jean, the man who had once beguiled her so? Choking back the tears, Liliane whirled and stumbled toward the door. He caught her before she could take another step, his hands hard on her shoulders, pulling her close.

"Do not go," he whispered. "If I lose you tonight, it will be forever." He turned her to him. Unresisting, she was limp in his arms, her face wet with tears. "Stay," he pleaded hoarsely. "Stay a little and leave me not so quickly to the hideous, lonely years. If you will not let me love you, at least talk to me. Without you, this fleeting spring has seemed a century of frigid winter. All that was once dear to me is now frozen and remote, all my hopes an empty waste. . . . Liliane, look at me. . . ."

She finally raised her head, her lovely, amber eyes filled with yearning and sorrow. "How little did we think that one heedless night, might lead to so much unhappiness! Did some cruel fairy bewitch us and haunt our deams with ephemeral visions? And now even sweet memory has turned bitter! We have come to hate the very cause of our distress."

Alexandre knew then that the impostor Jean could not, must not, survive this night if he and Liliane were to have any chance for a future—yet to destroy Jean was to destroy the part of him she loved. There was no choice; he had to risk everything. "Have you so little hope for happiness with Alexandre?" When she did not reply, he pressed further. "Tell me, Liliane. Alexandre is not a monster, but a man who needs love like any other. How could he not care for a woman as entrancing as you? If he seems slow to respond, give him time. He has much to overcome because of his hatred of your family. How can he be sure that you have not come to destroy him?"

"I mean no harm to Alexandre. As I have sworn fealty and faith to him, I would protect him with my life, but I . . ." She hesitated, as if afraid to say too much. Turning toward the fire, she continued, "Alexandre is a jealous man, Jean, and he has just cause; that much you must already know. Our first message was intercepted; it brought me wild delight, but stronger fear. Alexandre has power, Jean, which you have not. He can destroy you."

"And you," he added quietly.

"And me, though not with a sword, perhaps." She took a long breath and went on, her voice steady, "Have you ever considered what might happen if Alexandre divorced me and I were returned, dowerless, to my uncle?"

"A third marriage in a backwater village?"

At his sardonic tone, Liliane looked up at him. "A good deal worse. I much doubt that my husband Diego died by accident."

He frowned. "You think Jacques will kill you?"

"If he considered me not only useless but a threat to him."

Alexandre studied her. She had not mentioned the danger she had run in braving the castle wall again to meet him. He had noticed her damp clothes, and the thought of her difficult escape filled him with awe. She had also said nothing of her sterile, loveless marriage. Obviously, she feared he might linger if he knew too much. He wrapped her in his arms; tucking her head beneath his chin. "Do not worry; after tonight, you will have naught to fear from me. 'Tis time you and Alexandre had a start without a ghost hovering between you."

"Where will you go?" she asked brokenly.

"I do not know. Wherever ghosts go, I suppose—oblivion."

Liliane's eyes widened with apprehension. "Oh, Jean, you will do nothing foolish?"

"No, no," he soothed her. "I will simply fade from your life. But no matter where I go, I will not be far away. Some part of me will always linger with you . . . unless"—he tilted her chin up—"you forget,me."

"How can I forget?" she whispered, then could not stop the words. "I love you."

Feeling as if his heart might break, he touched her lips. "Love Alexandre. We are not so very different, he and I. Do not waste your life living in memory. Alexandre is real; he is your present and your future. I am but a passing whisper of yesterday."

You are nothing like Alexandre! Liliane wanted to cry. I have tried to love him, but 'tis easier to love a lump of metal. You are human warmth and tenderness, and I shall freeze outside your arms! Involuntarily, she moved closer to him.

He hesitated, then his arms tightened as his lips grazed the side of her neck. "Ah,
Dieu
, 'tis hard to be noble," he whispered harshly.

When he kissed her lips again, Liliane knew she could deny him nothing. His lips devoured her like a flame run wild, her body molten where they touched. At her moan of defeat, Alexandre's breath came hard against her flesh. In one movement, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He set her gently upon the bed, then with feverish fingers loosened her clothing, sliding it swiftly off her body. His mouth sought her bare flesh as though he were starved for her eager warmth.

Liliane locked her arms about his neck, her passionate response banishing any last thought of restraint. He broke away for an instant to undress, then embraced her again. She felt his manhood press hot and rigid against her body in the darkness. He buried his face against her pearl-white breasts, trailed burning kisses across her smooth stomach. Then, unable to wait any longer, he entered her. His gasp of pleasure mingled with hers. So many nights of wanting each other had culminated in this one wild moment. Alexandre's lips played over Liliane's throat and face as he filled her. She was so soft, fit so perfectly—it was as if their souls had joined as well as their bodies. An unearthly music seemed to spin away the harsh world. Their hearts and blood pulsed to that impatient music. Their driving rhythm quickened to a high pitch, a piercing vibrato of naked desire that swept to a dazzling crescendo. The after-echoes of their passion drifted over them like a faraway, lilting harp.