A Flame Run Wild (49 page)

He heard Liliane cry out, barely saw the big Viking grab her before she could get to him. Mailed hands seized his arms and yanked him to his knees, then Louis forced wine down his throat. As Louis stepped away, Alexandre dully registered a glow of satisfaction in his enemy's eyes that exceeded mere brutality.

The wine is poisoned! Alexandre realized with sudden horror. The poison must work slowly, and only Louis has the antidote! He means to ensure Jacques's death, and he has achieved mine into the bargain! With widening eyes, Alexandre watched Louis offer the goblet to Jacques and the warning on his lips was stifled by bitter rejoicing. Die, you old scorpion! he thought as Jacques upended the goblet. Die, and be damned with us all! Now I have but to down Louis before I go. . . .

But Alexandre was mistaken—Jacques had decided how to use the time he had left. "I apologize for Louis," Jacques murmured as he weakly wiped his mouth with his sleeve, "but you have always been a difficult young man to deal with, Alexandre. Your father was stubborn, too. A pity you could not have been as stupid as he was; you have kept us at bay much longer than he ever could have done, for all his bloody efforts.'' His eyes turned cold. "To cap it all, we made the mistake of giving you Liliane. One might have supposed she'd be grateful to be relieved of that dotard Diego." For a few moments, his icy stare remained fixed upon Alexandre, then he settled deeper into his chair. "I think ... I think at last that I shall discover just how clever you are, milord." He caught up the goblet again. "Someone fetch a chess board and pieces."

Louis's eyes narrowed. "You're going to play chess . . . now?"

"Oh, my wits are not dulling yet, Nephew. Shall we see how fast they go?" He motioned to the guards to bring Alexandre closer to the dais. "There, sit at my feet, young milord. We will have a game with stakes you can manage, despite your recent losses. You shall wager what remains to you." He waved to the Norseman. "String Lady Liliane up to the wall there. You, Louis, fetch a crossbowman."

Heartsick, Alexandre now saw how it all was to end. Liliane might have led her uncle to his ruin for murdering Diego, but the dying Jacques did not mean to go without gaining his revenge. "Ah," said Jacques, "I see by your eyes that you have guessed the game. I hope you have kept up your chess."

Alexandre had not. Over the past years, he and Liliane had occasionally played a game, which he won more often than not. However, since returning from the last crusade in Acre, he had given most of his time to his demesne. He and Liliane had spent their hours together playing a more entertaining game than chess. Alexandre knew that Jacques was a master chessplayer.

Alexandre's eyes met Liliane's with a gaze that held all the pain and love he was feeling. Forgive me! he wanted to cry to her. Forgive me for doubting you, for those last days we might have spent together in love, not recrimination. Forget my idiotic jealousy and remember only my need for you. Forget all the years we might have had, our child, the happiness. Ah, God, he wanted to scream, curse me to hell!

Liliane's face filled with compassion, and he knew that she sensed his utter despair. But he could not give way to it, he must keep his wits, fight for time. . . . How the hell was he supposed to best Jacques until noon, or more probably, until one of them succumbed to the poison? Jacques must be weak from blood less, and he had taken the poison first. Louis was probably even now downing the antidote.

But when Louis returned, the gloating expression had left his nice; he looked nervous. Was he afraid the antidote would not work?

Jacques caught Louis's expression as his nephew set up the chess board. "Afraid that Philip will interrupt our play, Nephew? Do not be. He will not be coming to Castle de Brueil today or any other before he has feathered the Aquitaine in his cap."

"On the rampart, you were less confident."

"Any man can be undone by the heat of the moment. I admit, for a time, I was worried, but now that I have had time to reflect, my mind is easy." He smiled faintly. "You see, I know Philip better than milord Alexandre, who has been his bosom friend. Philip, in many ways, could be my twin. Ambition and practicality are his guardian devils, as they have been mine. Richard's absence in Palestine is too rare a chance for Philip to miss retaking Plantagenet lands. He will not waste a moment of his opportunity on this tiny fief. Upon my death, my lad"—he patted Louis's shoulder—"you will have everything you deserve."

For a moment, Louis's suspicion overshadowed his greed. "Why suddenly so eager to see me your successor? A mere ' wound will not stop you; you will live another twenty years."'

Jacques sighed. "Boy, I am in such pain that another twenty minutes seems a burden." He noted the bowman's entry. "You, young Alex, are you ready to begin our game?"

"May I speak first with my lady?" Alexandre requested tensely.

"Why not? But mind, do not dally. Invalids are notoriously short of patience."

Alexandre walked slowly toward Liliane until they were a handbreadth away from each other. "I love you," he whispered. "Can you forgive me?"

Her hand moved as if she would touch his face, then she smiled softly. "I knew that you loved me when you came back to Castle de Brueil. We are bound together, you and I, I have no more to regret than our ending."

His whisper became almost inaudible. "You may have a chance if I can delay the end of the game." Briefly, he told her of his order to Charles.

Her eyes widened. "Milord, you are a fox worthy of my uncle!"

"I fear not. The burden may fall to you." He pressed his tips to hers, then murmured against them, "Pray tell me you have not been letting me win at chess!"

"Nay," she breathed, "I am neither his match nor yours, but I have watched him favor certain gambits. His slyness may outdo him. Never will he take a direct path if a twisted one beckons."

"Milord, you have tarried long enough," Jacques called.

Alexandre kissed Liliane passionately and without words.

Louis strode up and jerked him away. "Enough of that," he hissed. "If my uncle's archer doesn't get her, she's mine!" He gave Alexandre a shove back to the chess board.

Jacques appraised the smoldering fire in his young opponent's eyes. "A show of temper will not do, Milord de Brueil. In chess, a cool head is all."

"Speaking of all," retorted Alexandre coldly, "just what do I get out of this game? Suppose you lose?"

"Dear me, let us see. What do you say to a clear shot at Louis with that crossbow?"

"The hell you say ..." snarled Louis.

"Just teasing," purred his uncle. "Suppose I let you live until I die, Alex."

"What of Liliane?"

Jacques shrugged. "As she is relatively inconsequential to me but vital to you, you may keep each other company until Louis takes charge of her.''

"Louis is not to have her."

Jacques stirred restlessly. "You must take that up with Louis. I have finished bargaining. Begin the game." His voice held an edge that had not been there before, and Alexandre wondered just how much endurance the old man had. The bandage upon his chest was already brightly stained and Jacques's movements were becoming fitful. Was his wound affecting him or had the poison begun to take its insidious toll?

What horror was happening inside his own body? He felt nothing yet except desperation and the beginning of a headache. He stared blindly at the board for a moment, then forced himself to concentrate. He must play very well, better than he had ever dreamed of playing. Sweat prickled his brow and dampened the first chess piece he touched. Taking as long as he dared, he finally made the move.

Jacques nodded approvingly. "Good. Good choice." He flicked forward a counter pawn.

Alexandre made sure that five moves took an hour. Each time he made a move, Jacques commented on his wisdom as if judging a novice. But at the end of another hour, Jacques had fallen silent. His moves were not so quick, his manner was subdued. He had taken two of Alexandre's pieces and Alexandre had taken one of his.

Both, men were pale, Jacques clearly uncomfortable. Alexandre's headache was beginning to throb all the way down his spine. Once, when waiting for Jacques to make a move, Alexandre saw Louis rub his forehead, then surreptitiously go through the coin pouch at his waist. Looking for something? he wanted to taunt. Lost your way out of your own trap? Only when he looked at the fatigue on Liliane's drawn face, did he feel desperation. They were moving into the third hour. Every minute that he prolonged the game took its toll on her.

Jacques clipped a piece. Louis came over to the board and ran his hands through his wiry black hair. "How long are you going to take at this? It's a damned bore, if you ask me."

"No one asked you, Louis," his uncle replied. "Why not chat
with the bowman about back-shooting? That should interest
you."

Louis's hand halted abruptly in his hair. "Why the insinuating remarks? Haven't I looked after you?"

"After your fashion, I should say devotedly. Now be a good ogre and run along."

Louis ignored him. "Look here, I say we up the wager. For every piece you take, the bowman takes a shot."

"That is a thought."

Alexandre's hackles rose. "You agreed to a full game!"

"So I did," Jacques replied with an effort, "but then I have never been very reliable. You must admit that Louis has a point. We are progressing rather slowly. I should have thought you would be more impetuous."

"With my wife and child at stake?" Alexandre leaned forward. "Play a game fairly for once in your life, Jacques. Winning will offer twice the satisfaction."

Jacques's lips curved maliciously. "Seeing my treacherous niece with an arrow in her throat will give me sufficient satisfaction, milord. Watching your face when that arrow flies home will crown the pleasure. You play well, too well to fall back upon chivalry. You have discredited me and my family, turned all of France against us—"

"Your repeated treacheries and assassinations did that, Jacques. Do not pretend your lack of guilt so close to Judgment; 'tis another sin upon the many."

"Then what is one more sin? I like my comforts. Heaven offers only stiff saints and board beds. Satan will not keep me in hell, but send me again into the world to plague it in his name."

"Is Louis so sanguine about answering for his evil?" retorted Alexandre. "His end may be at his heels, for all he knows."

Jacques chortled at Louis's stiffening face, then went into a coughing fit. Limply, he raised a protesting hand. "No more of that! I shall die early of amusement. Picture Louis . . . pricked on Satan's fork." He jabbed Louis in the ribs. "Squirm, you puny miscreant!" Then his mood abruptly altered as the agony in his chest reminded him of the passing time. "Bowman, take heed. The next chesspiece I take will put an arrow . . . through my niece's hair. Should you miss, welladay."

His teeth clenched, Alexandre applied himself to the board, but Jacques's deadly warping of the rules had its effect. He forfeited his next piece.

Alexandre held his breath as the blunt bow drew back; its arrow sped and shivered amid the shimmer of Liliane's hair, an inch from her ear. Alexandre let out his breath. Thank God, the bowman was a good shot! Liliane was white as a new linen chainse, but she had not batted an eye. He forced himself to empty his mind of all distractions as his gaze raked Jacques's field of pieces. In pouncing on one of Alexandre's bishops, Jacques had left one of his knights open: in another two moves, Alexandre had it.

Jacques blinked as if forcing his attention, then sighed. "More wine, Louis. Our young stag waxes keen."

Hastily, Louis brought the wine. "May I be excused for a time, Uncle? 'Tis near noon and I really should check the guard."

Jacques shot him a sidelong glance. "And miss the moment you have been panting for? Or is it something else that makes you impatient?" He nodded to the Norseman, leaning bored in the corner. "Stop paring your fingernails with that ax, Olaf, and see to the guard. My nephew is keeping me company." His reptilian gaze slid again to Louis. "I should not wish to die without my loving successor at hand, should I, Louis?"

With a cynical look at Louis, Olaf went to see about the guard. As the game dragged on, Louis began to sweat a little more than Alexandre. Jacques noted his discomfort. "Fie, Louis. You wanted my power, did you not? Badly enough to set that wizened clerk on me ... ah, yes, do not squirm; I noticed your little . . . tete-a-tete with him on the battlement, despite my . . . preoccupation with milord Alexandre here." Jacques smiled, a ghastly smile now, twisting his features with his fatal pain and ebbing strength. "Now you will have to handle any future complications with Philip all by your slug-witted self. Uncle will be safely dead and free to haunt you."

When Louis looked swiftly about to see if they were alone, snaking his hand to his dirk, Jacques croaked, "No need, my newt, I shall be dead before the hourglass empties . . . and you will rule all you survey. I want only to see Liliane . . . precede me from this world. An angel to heaven, a devil to hell. All we waiting demons shall work for your ruin, Louis, and be assured, if we do not mangle you upon this earth, you will ... be ours beyond it."

Jacques moved his queen, and with a grim smile of triumph, Alexandre claimed it. Jacques's brow puckered. "I must... be losing my touch. My mind wanders under a cloud . . . black and foul. I have you, though, Brueil. One last move . . . and your king . . . and lady are mine." He reached heavily for the piece, then his hand dropped helplessly. "I . . . cannot. Louis, Louis . . . move my bishop to . . ." His rheumy eyes began to drift. "Kill her . . . now. Now ... I cannot wait . . ."