A Flame Run Wild (22 page)

Ducking a pot leveled at her head, Liliane tore from the rear of the tent and down another alley. A flying lunge from behind caught her at the knees. She fell headlong into the dust. A hard hand dragged her up by the scruff and pitched her into a vacant hovel that stank of rancid grease and jumped with fleas. Before she could scramble up, Alexandre sat astride her hips, his fingers locked about her jaw. "Do you think this is a pigeon shoot? That damned toy bow is going to see you killed!"

"It stopped your being skewered!" she choked back.

With a short sound of exasperation, he dropped his punishing grip on her jaw. "My surcoat did as much as your shot. If you had missed him, that bowman would have pinned you like a plaguing moth."

"I did not miss," she retorted.

"This time." Shifting his grip to her shoulder, he rolled her over and kissed her firmly. "
Dieu
, I have wanted to do that for days!" Then, wanting far more than kisses, he swiftly unfastened her sash and threw up her aba.

Though Liliane's own blood had quickly fired, Alexandre's timing was unnerving. "Alexandre, we must not, not here! What if someone comes . . . those Saracens! What are you . . . you bastard!" Her protests turned to real anger as she realized his real intention of hobbling her knees with the sash.

Alexandre flipped down the aba and hauled her up. "I must return to the line. You have just enough slack to walk, but not enough to run anywhere, so mind your manners." He prodded her ahead of him out of the tent.

Liliane would not look at him on the way bade through the line. "You need not sulk," he said dryly. "By now, even you could not pretend you adore Acre."

"Acre is disgusting," she retorted, "and while you are here, I am staying."

"I appreciate your loyalty, my love," he replied softly, "but not your impracticality. May I ask where you slept last night?"

"In the beach dunes."

"Where any jackal and Saracen raider might trip over you." He let out a colorful oath.

"Actually, I was more concerned with being mistaken for an enemy by one of the Christian guards."

"Our guards?" He laughed shortly. "A conscientious lot, that. More likely, a drunken routier would have wandered out and peed on you." He gave her bottom a less than affectionate pat. "A bit more haste, please. Your cousin Louis should be in a great fluster by now. I would not want to miss it."

Despite their heated conversation, both had been watching Louis's harried troop spill over the earthwork down the ditch into the camp. Their faces, Louis's in particular, were scarlet as Saracen jibes followed them. The Saracen horsemen reined up just out of bowshot and, jubilantly waving their scimitars and javelins, laughed and hooted insults. From the dunes behind them cavorted half-naked dervishes and perhaps sixty rearguard riders.

By the time they came in earshot of the rout, the fat had hit the fire. "There are not so many, sire," Louis was protesting to Philip, who had furiously come to deal with the troop sent off without his command. "Let me take a few more riders and go back after the dogs!" His gauntleted hand pulled his roan destrier's head around to turn back.

"Dismount, sirrah!" snapped Philip, who detested anyone looking down at him. "You have made fool enough of yourself and the rest of us for one day!" When Louis sullenly obeyed, Philip ordered curtly, "Fetch your uncle. Methinks he is due a share of the blame."

Louis dragged off his gauntlets and set off after Jacques. "Back!" hissed Alexandre, pressing Liliane behind him as Louis neared them, but she saw Louis's sharp eyes catch sight of her. He paused slightly, his eyes narrowing, then continued abruptly along the line. "The devil's luck," Alexandre muttered. "He has spotted you with me. Ten to one, his crossbowman's already been silenced with a spear to his ribs, but not before he sniveled to Jacques about your toy quarrel. Jacques and Louis will soon put together a likely tale of your part in their ruined attack." He grasped her arm. "Come, you had best be out of here by the time Louis brings Jacques back."

Liliane could not have been more in agreement, but then she had an idea that Alexandre's conception of "out of sight" was the first boat in the direction of France. "Wait," she protested as he started toward the harbor. "Jacques probably seal Louis after the raiders' not only to impress Philip, but to provide a diversion so he might loll you. I am a witness. Why not bring me forward before Philip to confront Jacques and Louis now?"

"Because Philip would have to declare a trial, which spells delay. If I were willing to make you Jacques's target during that delay and if a Christian court would believe a Moor who has already turned his coat once, I would risk it. Unfortunately, Jacques still holds enough power to insure the dismissal of such a case. Like a tiger, he would be after you and even I might not be able to protect your pretty neck."

"But everyone knows the animosity between your families. Besides, why should a strange Moor guard your life without cause?"

"Without the bowman, we have no proof of anything, only rumor as motive." He frowned. "Unless . . . Diego's death was markedly convenient. Is there a possibility he was murdered?"

"A distinct possibility, but no proof. I believe that Louis startled his horse, but we could never find evidence."

"Jacques is not one to leave tracks." He resumed his walk to the harbor. "I shall see you to the quay."

Liliane tried to think of some way to escape him again, but they had gone no more than a hundred feet when a shout rang after them. "Ho! My lord Count de Brueil! You are wanted by the king. Bring your Moorish friend as well."

"Every imp in hell must be about today," muttered Alexandre grimly. For a moment, as if debating some excuse for disobedience, he stared back at the burly Poitevin knight who had hailed them.

"We must go, must we not?" pressed Liliane. Any risk from Jacques was better than being piled back on a homebound ship.

"Oh, yes," Alexandre said at last, his voice flat. "My lack of enthusiasm for this campaign has been duly noted by the Crown. Philip wants not only my cooperation, but my total obedience. Crossing him now could be dangerous." He waved acknowledgment to the Poitevin, then looked at her. "Buck up, sweet. I doubt if this interview will prove pleasant."

Incongruously lightened of heart, Liliane accompanied Alexandre to the spot where Louis and his men now sweated and wiped their brows under the broiling sun. The Saracens, still cheerfully yipping insults, hovered on the fringe of the dunes, while the defenders of Acre perched on their walls and brayed like gleeful donkeys. Louis's face was crimson with controlled anger. Liliane grinned inwardly. He would be far more furious if he could understand Arabic. Alexandre's lips were twitching as if he comprehended more than a little.

Philip was taking grim delight in chastising Louis for going after the enemy without orders. Liliane had learned enough of the young king to know that had the raid been successful, he might have given Louis a mere public rap and rewarded him privately. Jacques, who was now puffing into view, must have had the same idea. Unluckily for him, he was new to Palestine and unfamiliar with Saracen habits of baiting the enemy into recklessness. Purple veins stood out at his temples as he labored up the breastwork. With cold detachment, Liliane observed that he might handily succumb to an apoplexy in the desert heat before he could return to France.

Chafing under Philip's harangue, Louis's eyes settled on Liliane and turned black with fury. Under the circumstances, her Moorish garb was a goad to his temper, particularly after their encounter that morning. Out to humiliate the Signes, Philip was sparing him nothing. As an added slight, Philip let Jacques wheeze in the sidelines for some time before he recognized him. Although Philip must also have been aware of Alexandre's presence, he took no notice of him. Alexandre seemed calm enough, but Liliane could not help being fidgety, for while Jacques's attention did not linger long enough to draw suspicion, he had perused her sharply, particularly her light crossbow. Alexandre had been right in guessing the bowman would describe the Moor that had wounded him.

Just then, Philip turned to Jacques. "Well, Baron, what have you to say? This whelp is your responsibility, is he not?"

Jacques bowed submissively. "The fault is entirely mine, Your Majesty. My nephew is young and hot to prove his mettle in your service. I confess my old blood was fired by his ardor when he set out to avenge the insults the infidel enemy hurled upon the Holy Cross and your name. I had neither heart not want of spleen to restrain him." He bowed again. "I submit myself and my nephew to your will and just chastisement, asking only that you consider we are new to battle and to this hostile land."

He fawns so, thought Liliane, that one expects him to next roll over belly up at the king's foot.

Philip, weaned on hypocrisy, was cynically prepared to soothe the culprit into assuming himself forgiven. Such ambivalence tended to keep said culprit both cringing and fawning, too off balance to pose a threat in the future. "While I appreciate holy zeal and warlike fervor, Count de Signe will do well to immediately acclimate himself and his following to military procedure and deference to my royal command. Any further transgression of this nature must be punished severely. 'Tis not well for the infidel to observe division among our ranks. For this offense, your nephew will be fined one hundred livres." As Jacques winced, Philip turned with seeming idleness to Alexandre. "As for other matters . . . Count de Brueil, have you anything to add to this discussion?"

Jacques and Louis looked at each other uneasily.

"Nothing, sire," replied Alexandre.

"No? Some rumor floated to me that you have a grievance with your uncle-in-law this day. If so, animosities must be aired. I will have no brooding and ill will among my leaders." Philip gave a half paternal, half mocking smile. A young page, his eyes wide and wary as a hunted fox's, stood tensely just behind him. He was dust-covered with a scrape down his cheek, and blood trickled down his bare arm from a bandage high under his sleeve. Unlike the other young fops who hung about Philip's coterie, this one had seen fighting and possibly more. Jacques did not seem to have noticed the page; Liliane ardently hoped not, lest the boy run afoul of Louis.

"I assure you, sire, the Baron and I are on peaceful terms," answered Alexandre.

War has just not been openly declared, Liliane amended silently.

"That is good to hear," returned Philip easily. "Hereafter, it is my will that Lord Louis gain battle experience under your practiced command. I believe he will be less inclined to attempt ill-considered maneuvers."

Louis whitened, both in anger at the assignment and fear at Philip's inference. Jacques's pudgy features had taken on the clammy pallor of a fish's underbelly.

Alexandre bowed, hiding whatever feelings he might have entertained on Louis's inclusion to his tiny force. "Gladly, sire, will I undertake to train my cousin-in-law. I have no doubt he will learn quickly to guard his rashness and bring credit to France."

Louis, chafing at Alexandre's dig, jerked into a bow. "I am at Your Majesty's command."

"Good," Philip replied pleasantly, "then the matter is settled." His interest swung around to Liliane. "Now we must attend to courtesy. Count de Brueil, will you introduce your friend?"

Alexandre, who would have much preferred his "friend" to be ignored, reluctantly motioned Liliane to step forward. "Sire, I have the honor to present Jefar el din of the Siwans, now a loyal defender of the faith."

"A title our ally, King Richard, claims," murmured Philip. "Welcome to our service, Jefar el din."

"With respect,
Melek
Philip,
effendi
, I am Prince Jefar," corrected Liliane as she salaamed. She disliked the look on Louis's face. He knew now that she had lied this morning about knowing Philip. Also, her company with Alexandre must suggest she had been spying upon their tent. Best she did not slip too far from an appearance of respect.

"You are far from your people, Prince Jefar," observed Philip. "May I ask what has brought you such a distance?"

Ignoring the cynical faces of the surrounding knights, she offered her tale of her family's conversion and ultimate massacre.

"I see," Philip said at last. "So your presence is due to personal as well as religious cause. May I ask how you became acquainted with Count de Brueil?"

"Prince Jefar rendered me a service, sire," Alexandre put in quickly, "when I was ill at sea." His voice lifted slightly. "He may have saved my life."

"A grateful misconception, surely," Liliane murmured with a quizzical smile. "My lord was but seasick."

A ripple of laughter went about the gathering at Alexandre's flush; Philip laughed loudest of all. "So, my lord Alexandre, It appears we all owe your friend a service. Prince Jefar must be ever at your side during this campaign to assure us of your continued good health." He grinned at Liliane. "Your Highness, are you willing to accept Count Alexandre's command?"

"Most readily, sire." Her lips twitched slightly in an effort to suppress her elation, for she was too well aware of Alexandre's discomfiture.

"So, my lord Alexandre," observed Philip puckishly, "you are twice fortunate today." He gave a casual wave of his hand. "Back to your posts, gentlemen. We have dallied enough and owe the infidel thrice a harrying for this respite." Briefly he turned with a murmur to Alexandre. "Take Lisle's place to my left, Alexandre, and keep sharp. Both my neck and yours may depend on it."