A Flame Run Wild (18 page)

What has all this to do with the invasion of a distant country whose integrity France ought to respect? Liliane wondered, but such a question was not only impolitic, but virtually incomprehensible to a monarch preoccupied with
la gloire de la France et du roi
. Philip might love Alexandre, but he was mercilessly willing to use him to the death, see his home lost through abandonment and neglect, and deny him family and children. As with most kings, his favor was two-edged. Unfortunately, the edge that might have benefited Alexandre was proving dull, indeed.

So far, all Alexandre had gained from Philip's friendship was flattery and a short reprieve from Jacques de Signe's open attack. Philip's flattery was worth nothing and his reprieve would end the instant he left France. If Jacques used her banditti plan now, without Alexandre and his best knights as defenders, the Brueil lands might well be lost, and it would be her fault.

Dinner that night proved quite a success. Doucette jumped at the opportunity to prove that her cuisine could please a king, and her efforts had never been more artful. Had she known that Philip was normally no trencherman, especially when he was fired with a new campaign, she would have been less boastful of his royal compliments in the kitchen. Despite the king's disinterest, every morsel was devoured by his less abstemious knights and retainers, that so to the end of her life, Doucette had a fine tale to tell—one that gathered splendid additions to its menu with every passing year.

Alexandre and Liliane might as well have been served bread and water, for both had lost their appetites. For Alexandre's sake, Liliane was as charming as possible to Philip, who reponded as if he were not married. After Philip's first queen had died, he virtually imprisoned his second wife, the Danish Princess Ingeborg, and had his bishops annul their marriage so that he might marry his mistress, the Tirolese Lady Agnes.

For dinner, Liliane had worn her wedding dress, which Philip much admired. He also admired her skin, her hair and her eyes. She noticed that he was careful not to make Alexandre too jealous, but her husband seemed to play tittle mind to the conversation. His mind was miles away, probably already in searing Palestine. He laughed at none of Philip's witticisms, but Philip appeared oblivious to Alexandre's humorless distraction. Such ' was not the case, Liliane soon discovered.

She learned several things about the King of France that evening, primarily that he had a mind like a razor and missed nothing. Philip was capable of presenting whatever face he chose to get the reaction he wanted. Liliane concluded that Alexandre had already learned this. Short of being rude when he was around the king, Alexandre retreated into himself and waited Philip out, aware that sooner or later Philip would make his case. As a result, Philip usually wasted little folderol on Alexandre, most likely relieved to have a simple relationship. All he wanted to know was that Alexandre would give his life for France. Tonight's gallantry was mostly for the sake of Alexandre's bride, but his manners did not extend to allowing her to be present when he closeted himself with Alexandre for two hours after dinner.

Too restless and anxious to go to bed, Liliane saw the household settled and went to walk in the garden. The perfume of primulas, verbena and yarrow reminded her of the Moorish gardens where Alexandre would soon be in the Holy Land. More than Jacques's wolfish ambitions, she dreaded being separated from Alexandre. They had too little time together to really know each other beyond their flowering passion. Now they might be separated for years. She had perceived that Alexandre needed something from her she could not yet give him—a womanliness beyond the body she so passionately yielded him. And if Oriental females had a superlative skill, it was at' using their mysterious femininity.

Liliane did not expect Alexandre to be a monk; he would be gone too long to sleep alone. And yet, much as she was already becoming jealous of the Eastern women who might enter his life, she was aware too that the refined women would be closely closeted. He would have to turn to unfeeling street whores. Although Alexandre had spoken little of being lonely in his first experience of the Crescent, she sensed that he dreaded being isolated in a hostile land almost as much as he dreaded another brutal, pointless war. Philip did not strike her as being the foil of anyone, including the Church he had blatantly ignored when he neglected the impediment of divorce and took a second wife. In time, the Pope pardoned him, but why would Philip, of all men, bother with a Holy War, particularly in the company of Richard, whom he thought reckless?

Suddenly, she saw a tall figure watching her from the shadow of the wall. Her hand moved to the poignard concealed beneath her sleeve. Although she was Alexandre's wife, she still never went unarmed.

"Never mind, Countess," the figure said softly. "I have but come to enjoy the moonlight."

The voice was Charles's, but Liliane did not relax. While she had not run afoul of his mastiffs, she and Charles were no more friends than they'd ever been. "I would prefer you left, Charles," she said quietly. "I wish to be alone."

He stepped away from the wall and came toward her. "I can imagine that you would, Countess. All your bright smiles at the king aside, you seemed rather glum at dinner." His big shoulders were imposing in the dim light cast by the courtyard torches, and he smiled oddly down at her. "Strange, I should have thought that you would be delighted. With Alexandre gone, what is to stop Uncle Jacques from descending upon this place like a wolf On a pen of sheep?"

"I have encountered very few sheep loyal to Alexandre," she replied flatly, "and you and I must stop Jacques. Take what is left of my dowry and hire mercenaries in Avignon if you must,"

"Brave words, but I really do think you hate to see Alexandre go." His tone was mocking, but not so much as usual. He sounded too defeated to want to bait her.

"I love him. If I had a choice, I would send you to Palestine in his place. I have seen you training the castellans. You know what you are doing. You would love war; it suits your suspicious nature."

Charles laughed. "Would it suit your uncle's suspicious nature to discover you are so loath to see your husband leave?

"Go," Liliane said tiredly. "I am in no mood for your idle taunts."

"Idle?" He turned serious. "Was your dowry offer idle?"

She eyed him narrowly. "I can supply castellans, perhaps six unlanded knights for a goodly time, if we find them quickly. Unless"—she could not hide a note of anger and contempt— "Philip sends the entire country to the desert."

"Who would govern those mercenaries?" Charles challenged. "You? Then have them betray the castle in a fight?"

"Choose your own men, but be prepared to answer for your decisions upon their employment to me. I would have you as an ally, Charles, not as my governor."

"With six armed knights at my command, you might not have a choice," he drawled. "I could pack you into the keep until you lost your beauty . . . and your hold on Alexandre."

"Alexandre would kill you."

"When he returned, perhaps; but he would have his land."

Liliane laughed suddenly, softly. "You are his bulldog to the bone, are you not?" Her hand left the poignard and plucked a primula. She handed it to Charles. "Choose your men and lock me in your keep when Alexandre is gone. I may lose my youth there, but not my faith to him. You may learn that he cares for more than my beauty."

Charles silently took the flower, murmuring, "If you put yourself and your fortune into my hands to protect Alexandre, you shall not regret it." His voice lowered to a whisper. "But betray him and the dogs will spurn what I leave of you."

"Fair enough. Now I state my bargain. Crush the primula upon your pillow tonight. I have brought Alexandre as much happiness as he has given to me. Wantonly destroy that happiness and until you die you will see my face whenever you smell a flower or look into Alexandre's face." With that, she left him in the garden and went to the tower chamber to wait for Alexandre.

He was late in coming. When he did, he pulled her quickly into his arms and kissed her. "While Philip rests his men, we have tomorrow and another night. By God, I shall waste no more of this one!"

His hands traveled urgently over her body and she answered him with the same abandon. A thousand nights were in his touch, with all their fevered longing, and his kisses were hard and hot. Even as he pressed her upon the bed, he was baring her. His mouth claimed hers again as he pulled quickly at his own clothing. When they were joined as one, she felt herself falling with him into the rapturous bloom of their vanishing spring—its flowers scattering as if by a blinding, relentless wind. The blossoms whipped against their faces, their fiercely driving bodies. The skies ran scarlet with fast-flying clouds, and when they soared together into the vast red sun, Alexandre's cry was like a hawk's scream.

When at last they were both still, Liliane looked up into Alexandre's face. He wore a strange expression and his eyes were an almost eerie violet. He caught her hair tight in his hands. "I could kill him," he whispered. "Forswear faith and kill Philip. He has a thousand men, younger, braver men than I, their eyes still shining with untarnished, untried faith in him. Let him turn to them, for I am weary of him and all the rivers of blood that follow him. He still believes that nothing can come between him and me, not even the woman I love. But you, this land—by God, peace!—all deny him. . . ."

His eyes held their wild light for another moment, then he laid his head upon her breast. "All, all deny him, yet I will never say him nay. Why? For my children, that he will not wrest away their inheritance? I know not. I know only that I fight no more for pride."

Liliane held his face in her hands. "You cannot deny Philip unless he first denies you. Before all of France, he has put you at his right hand and he cannot let you relinquish that position without having his pride and friendship publicly slighted. Turn from him now and he will destroy you." Her hand pressed hard. "But know this, my darling: go to Palestine and you will have Charles and me at your back. You are no longer poor; you have a wife and friend who love you, as well as the favor of the king. You do not go to war alone this time. My every waking thought will be with you." She kissed him. "Come home to me, I beg you."

"Marry how many wives he will," Alexandre breathed, "Philip will never find such a one to love as you. If only you could come with me, I would show you the desert on a starry night when all the sands seem to heave in a white sea and the palm trees whisper their dry prayers on the unbroken wind. Come to me in my dreams, my beloved Liliane, and we will be one again as the doves of Solomon."

Then they were one, man unto woman, as the first mating of living things upon the earth, that eon upon eon extended creation.

The next morning, as soon as the men left for their hunt, Liliane rode to the oak to leave another message in the cylinder. The first note was still there. Deciding that the banditti idea had best wait, she removed the note, men noticed that the parchment was of a lesser quality than the one she had used. Upon a close examination of the note, she discovered that it was not her own. The script and wording were similar, but the suggested date for the attack had been moved up, possibly to take advantage of Alexandre's absence before the castle could be reinforced.

Liliane had been right about the spy, and now she knew it must be someone who could write. Any one of the castellans could be hiding his scholarship, but the obvious suspects were Father Anslem, Premier and Charles. She dismissed Father Anselm and Charles, but the clerk was a possibility.

She would let Jacques take care of the problem, by telling him
the message had been altered. Assuming the spy was his, her
loyalty would be affirmed and he would be forced to recruit a
new infiltrator. A new face in the castle would instantly come to
her notice.

Liliane added a line to the note in the cylinder, which Jacques's man was due to pick up that afternoon. When she had finished, the message read, 'The king has arrived. An invitation to Castle de Signe might be in your favor. If such an invitation does not arrive at Castle de Brueil by sunset, I shall assume my message has been altered as were the rest of our communications.'

Jacques's invitation to Philip arrived at sunset while Liliane and Alexandre were closeted alone with the king for an aperitif before dinner. "The ingratiating, self-seeking weasel," muttered Philip, throwing the message into the fireplace grate. Apparently, Alexandre had assured him that Liliane had little love for her uncle, since he took no care to hide his contempt.

"My uncle is an exceedingly rich man, Your Majesty," Liliane observed softly. "Possibly he will offer a contribution as well as armed men for your campaign."

Philip peered at her, then his mouth curved in a vulpine smile. "Never make your wife angry, Alexandre. She has a brain as well as a pretty face. She will either make you rich or cost you your head." Casually, he sipped his aperitif. "I had already planned to visit your uncle, Countess. Kings cannot be particular about the purses they pick. I had intended to surprise him . . . but, then, I have an idea you reminded him of his manners."

Liliane and Alexandre glanced at each other. Philip's contempt of Jacques had been just another empty show, a pandering to their emotions. Certainly the pockets Philip picked were rarely repaid. That he now made his real intentions clear was a warning not to toy with his favor. "Do not fear, Countess," Philip drawled. "I am not angry, so long as you remember that men, particularly kings, like to lead, not be Jed"—he stroked her cheek—"be the carrot ever so lovely."