A Flame Run Wild (51 page)

Suddenly Louis came up with a weapon and whipped around to face Alexandre. Alexandre fell back as Lotus snaked after him. The knife slashed out and Alexandre felt a stinging in his calf. He kicked Louis hard in the stomach with his free foot, propelling him back. Catching a glimmer of steel half buried in the pebbles, he kicked down for it. His straining fingers found the knife as Louis followed him down for another slash. Twin scorpions locked together, each with a silver stinger, they slashed wildly. The water began to show inky tendrils of blood.

Alexandre was incredibly tired. A kick to Louis's thigh pushed him toward the surface, as air suddenly seemed more important than life. Dragging Louis with him, Alexandre fought his way to the surface to relieve his burning lungs. His head broke water, and through a glaze of silver, he saw Liliane's frantic white face. Clutching the boat side, she was pleading with Olaf.

Alexandre took a quick lungful of air, then went down again to meet Louis within a breath of breaking the surface. Louis's disk thrust for his belly, and Alexandre grabbed his sleeve to prevent himself from being skewered. They wrestled together, each trying desperately to bury his blade and end the fight. The fierce struggle without air was over quickly as their muscles were utterly exhausted. Thanks to his brief gasp of air, Alexandre had a few extra seconds. Louis grew bug-eyed and broke their clinch to claw toward the surface.

Alexandre reached up after him and buried the dirk to the hilt. Louis's face looked distorted, bubbling away in a filter of scarlet. His wild movements slowed, then went slack as his body hovered like a suspended spider. Then slowly, he began to sink. Alexandre did not wait to watch his settle among the crabs. With splitting lungs, he swam laboriously for the surface, trying to drag Louis behind him. His body and mind were leaden now, growing heavier with each weighted stroke.

Dimly, he could see the water paling, but rather than growing clearer, it was blurring, beginning to slowly whirl about him like a narrowing funnel whose conduit to the surface was now a single, dwindling light. He was not going to reach that light . . . was not going to see Liliane, their baby, anything ever again but the wet, encroaching darkness that was stifling the life from him.

Then, suddenly the point of light became a big hand that fiercely hooked under his armpit. Light and air broke around him, and he was scraped over the boat's blunt-edged gunnel. Someone was tugging at his leg still in the water, and suddenly he was free. Vaguely, he could feel Liliane's hair, hear her jubilant voice as he hung on the gunnel, its edge forcing the water out of him. He choked, moved his head weakly to plead for someone to haul him into the bottom of the boat before he vomited, to no avail. He vomited.

"Wodin's eye," he heard Olaf swear, "he must have swallowed half the sea."

"Help him into the boat," Liliane pleaded with Olaf. "Can you not see there is no more water in him?"

After momentary deliberation, Olaf heaved Alexandre over the gunnel and let him drop into the boat bottom.

A saw of oarlocks sounded as the boat headed for shore. The bow hull scraped on rock, then swung as someone caught the mooring line. The boat bounced as Liliane jumped onto the rocks. The oarsman and Olaf caught Alexandre by the feet and armpits and virtually pitched him to two waiting men. He groaned as they carried him roughly up a path winding to the bluff. Behind him, Liliane was urging the men to take greater care with him. When they huffed to a flat spot on the bluff, they obligingly dropped him. Instantly, Liliane was at his side, crooning to him as if he were a baby. .

Alexandre tried to sit up, then settled for a weak pat on her cheek. "I am ... all right, darling . . . just need to adjust . . . my gills."

"Oh," she said simply, gratefully, then hugged him until he thought she would break his neck. "I was so worried! You look dreadful."

That reminded him that he was on borrowed time. "Where's Olaf?" he muttered.

"Rest a little. You do not have to deal with him now." She stroked his hair. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

He shook his head. "Thinking Philip may be ... on their trail, they will all be impatient. You talk to them; I shall talk to Olaf.'' He pushed himself up as she called to Olaf. After the Viking hunkered down by him and Liliane had gone down the bluff to work her charm on the other men, Alexandre briefly informed him about the poison.

The giant nodded. "Does your lady know?"

"No, and I do not want . . . her to know. She has had too much strain in the last few days. Much more . . . and she may lose the baby. I do not know how long I have, but . . . when I am gone, I want you to see her to Spain. If you guard her well, it will be worth your while."

Olaf grinned crookedly. "You would trust me with a beauty like that?"

"Perhaps I am a gambler."

"Guess you have to be," the Norseman observed dryly. He considered for a moment. "All right, done; but don't expect chivalry out of me. I'll get her there, but I won't coddle her." His grin flashed again. "Still, I might not be against a little nighttime sympathy former widowhood."

"Lay a hand on her," Alexandre said flatly, " and I will roar up from hell to have your balls for stew meat."

Olaf threw back Ms head and laughed. "I like your spirit. I had a feeling you would chew up old Louis. By now, he's nose to nose with his uncle. There's a pair to plague each other till Armageddon!" He hoisted Alexandre to his feet. "See your lady back to Castle de Brueil. I'll see her to Spain and save my sympathy . . . unless she asks for it, mind you." He steered Alexandre toward his destrier with an ear-splitting bellow. "We're heading back to Castle de Brueil, lads! Help the lady into the saddle!"

Nineteen men obliged.

* * *

Castle de Brueil had never looked so wonderful to Liliane. The autumn color of its fields seemed to spread a brilliant carpet of welcome in the sinking sun. At its fringe rolled the indigo sea, and the sky overhead was a wash of coral and gold. Beyond a brush of pines and chestnuts hovered the castle itself, its graceful old turrets reflecting the sun as if inlaid with abalone.

Persia cannot rival that! Liliane rejoiced. She wondered how the castle could have seemed so unappealing when she'd first seen it upon the day of her wedding. She had made so many false assumptions then, and made many mistakes since; yet looking back, she might have done little differently. Now that she had gained Jacque's confession of guilt for Diego's murder, what was her future role to be? Being a wife and mother appealed to her greatly, and yet ... to say farewell to the old days of freedom would be difficult, to always wear gowns, sit at her loom and dandle her children did not altogether appeal to her, but. . . if such domesticity pleased Alexandre, she would make the sacrifice.

Her eyes shining with love, Liliane looked at him riding beside her. He needed a woman's care and soothing. She had never seen him look so bedraggled and grave, save when she had nearly died in Acre. And perhaps when she had rescued him from the riverbank just after their marriage. That day, which had promised so little, had given her so much. Since then, Alexandre had given her love, their child, and a future that offered many riches of the heart. This generation of the Brueil line might not be powerful in France, but it would have honor.

Peasants began to trickle from the fields as they approached. Having hidden from Louis and his men before, the peasantry was afraid that the mercenaries were returning to wreak further havoc. Alexandre waved them forward. "You have no more to fear," he called. "These are now Brueil men and they will not harm you. The Count de Signe and his nephew are dead."

A cheer went up and the word passed ahead of them as fleet-footed serf boys sprinted toward village and castle. The drawbridge crashed down and pennants ran up on the turrets of Castle de Brueil. From the parapets issued shouts and glad cries of those who had taken sanctuary within its stone walls after Louis's evacuation. "
Vive le comte! Vive la comtesse! Vive l'armee
!

Glad not to be set upon with scythes,
l'armee
waved its caps. To everyone's surprise, Philip loped across the drawbridge with a grinning Charles behind him. Philip caught Alexandre's bridle. "Do not look so dumbfounded. I lent Charles here a dozen foot soldiers to make the wee spark he proposed at Castle de Signe look convincing." He slapped Alexandre's leg. "You really should not assault castles by yourself. My tax collectors would have difficulty convincing the populace that I need to support an army."

Alexandre slid off his horse, affectionately caught Philips shoulder, then gave it a light punch. "I am grateful, sire, but not enough to take on any other castles for you."

Philip laughed. "I shall keep my word, but only because it is to you."

For a moment, the king gazed quizzically at Liliane. "The castellans tell me you are quite the heroine. It seems that I leave Alexandre in good hands."

Liliane, who had dismounted to gratefully embrace Charles, turned to the king. "Milord Alexandre has many faithful friends, she. Castle de Brueil will always have a warm welcome for all of them. I hope you will not leave us long for the north."

Philip kissed her hand. "I will return to give your first-born a bounce on the royal knee"—his green eyes teased hers—"so long as you name it after me."

Alexandre grinned. "Why not? Philippa has a nice ring."

As the two men chatted with Charles, Olaf edged behind Liliane. "You know," he murmured, "this isn't a bad place. Are you certain you want to go back to Spain?"

"Why should I?"

When he took her aside and told her why, Liliane nearly fainted. He steadied her elbow. "Don't make faces and screech. You are not supposed to know. The count may have vomited up enough in that boat to last for some time, and I'm not wild to go to Spain with a lot of petty amirs trying to chew each other up. Business in Andalusia, you might say, is a little too good. Now, do you know anything we can pour down your husband's gullet that might turn things about?"

Liliane's mind raced frantically over the potions and herbs in her medicine bag; but nothing served. "I have no way of knowing what Louis gave him; antidotes must be very precise."

"We could split open old Jacques and take a look at his innards; he had more of the stuff than the other two."

The idea was revolting, but the moment Liliane dismounted in the courtyard, she and Olaf headed through the cheering crowd into the hall to find the remains of Jacques.

The spectacle of the glassy, bovine expression of surprise on Jacques's dead face was horrible. Unperturbed, Olaf drew his dirk. With a grimace, Liliane turned her back. Jacques had been bad enough in life; in death, he was rank indeed. She dreaded having to examine him and, closing her eyes, was quite sure she was going to shortly upheave as violently as Alexandre had done at the coast.

Just as Olaf started to carve, Kiki scampered out from under the table to greet her mistress. At the sight of the emerald and diamond necklace about the gay sprite's neck, Olaf and his intention to inspect Jacques's potbelly froze.

To hasten matters, Liliane tossed Olaf the necklace. "Please, admire the jewels later and get on with my uncle. Every moment counts!"

"All the way to thousands of livres," muttered Olaf, swiftly assessing the block-cut stones. He stuffed the necklace into his leather jerkin, then turned back to his task.

He was interrupted again when Alexandre entered the hall. He strode unevenly forward and saw what Olaf intended. "You told her!" he said curtly. Then he saw Kiki and his tone abruptly turned coaxing. "Kiki, come to me. Come, Kiki. I shall give you a pomegranate. ..."

Whether due to the patent lie or the urgency underlying Alexandre's tone just after his display of anger, Kiki stared at him and clung more tightly to Liliane's shoulder. Liliane's gentle effort to dislodge her did not help.

"Kiki, you little witch," Alexandre pleaded with growing desperation, "come to me."

"Don't frighten her," Olaf boomed at him, "and she might."

Kiki, displaying a latent fondness for aggressive males, particularly one who was defending her, scurried to Olaf. She clambered up his brawny arm and hugged him. He beamed at her. "See, what did I tell yon?" Adroitly, he felt in her little vest pocket to see if she had any more jewels about her. He came up with a tiny glass vial of Moorish design with faceted sides that did resemble a jewel. "Rubbish," he mattered and started to toss it aside.

"Stop!" Alexandre yelled with startling fervor. "That must be Louis's antidote!"

"Don't say," drawled Olaf, and handed it over. Alexandre feverishly uncorked the vial and downed its contents.

"Do you think it will help so long after you were poisoned?" Liliane asked worriedly.

"Can't hurt," said Olaf, preoccupied with Kiki. She gave him a broad, anthropoid smile and Olafs big teeth bared in delight.

"
Mon Dieu
, you two were made for each other," muttered Alexandre. He sat abruptly on the floor and stared at the empty vial. "Louis," he prayed aloud as Liliane wrapped her arms about his neck, "for once in your life, I hope you did something right."

Epilogue

L
iliane bore her child in May. "A girl!" shouted Olaf gleefully. "Alex, my rogue, you're in for it now. If the little wench looks anything like her mother, you will be fighting her suitors off with a club!"

"If she is anything like her mother"—Alexandre kissed Liliane's ear—"she will be a deal more trouble than that."

"With Kiki staring balefully, Olaf carried young Philippa out to show her off to the castellans. "Kiki is jealous," observed Alexandre. "She has been'too spoiled to take to a baby."

"Would you rather have had a son?" Liliane asked quietly as she rested upon the pillows.

Alexandre grinned and shook his head. "I never get enough of you, so another mischief-making female about the place is welcome." He squeezed her hand. "You have been sedate of late . . . and do not tell me you were too round to race about the countryside. I have been worried about you."

"I thought you wanted a ladylike wife." Liliane's voice held a note of uncustomary shyness.

"I thought so, too, once. Now that I have her ... I want back my Liliane of the forest—the prankish Liliane who laughed and could not be managed." His voice softened. "I miss her badly."

She smiled crookedly at him. "My last prank nearly cost us our fief and lives to boot. Are you certain you want such a troublesome wife?"

"Quite certain." He kissed her fingertips. "I am also certain that Kiki is going to elope with Olaf the same way Charles took to destiny's road with Philip."

Liliane giggled. "You may be right. She will detest squalling and smelly diapers. Olaf is smitten with her."

"I am smitten with her former owner." He kissed her throat, then her soft mouth.

"Oh, you mean the hairy old thief I stole her from in Massilia?" she breathed against his lips.

"I mean my Liliane," Alexandre whispered. "Is she back?"

"She is back and she is going to give you a dozen girl babies....just like her." She kissed him lingeringly.

"You miscounted, darling. The brother that can manage them will makes thirteen."

"Our lucky number." She drew him down again.