A Flame Run Wild (40 page)

* * *

Alexandre found Philip wan and listless upon his royal couch. His pallor smacked of fever—the kind that came and went, draining a man until he died of it or was weakened until any passing illness could kill him. "My liege, I am grieved to find you so," Alexandre fold him huskily. "I am at your service."

At Alexandre's taut, worried face, Philip smiled affectionately. "I rely upon you,
mon ami
, as ever. In a sea of false friends, you have been my secure harbor." He patted the coverlet. "Come close to me and listen." When Alexandre had done so, Philip murmured, "Go to Richard and tell him that I am ill. So far, I have kept my condition close secret lest rumor run amok. My physicians tell me I have the shaking sickness, which will prove fatal if I remain in Palestine; therefore, I must return to France." Alexandre's expression turned a trifle wooden, and Philip added reassuringly, "I am aware this is a mission no man could relish, but Richard, for all that he may rail and be suspicious, will believe you. He is a good judge of men and has marked you well. He knows you would not lie to him, even for me." He paused, his eyes closing for a moment. When he looked up at Alexandre again, he said quietly, "I shall not force you to this; I but ask you as a friend."

"Sire, when you might ask my life and be willingly granted it, I would not refuse you." Alexandre's eyes were level. "I have but one request, in hope that your condition may possibly be cured. A certain Saracen physican, in my experience, is greatly skilled. If I might have your leave to summon him ..."

"A Saracen?" Philip laughed faintly. "Even if I were to approve him, my nobles and subjects would not. Had he the best intentions in the world, if I died under his care, his life and that of a great many Saracens would be exacted in retribution. The political atmosphere of this entire area would change, all future treaties by compromise rather than slaughter made nearly impossible. No,
mon ami
, your Saracen is out of the question." He extended his ringfor Alexandre to kiss. "Go now, with my apologies to King Richard."

Alexandre kissed the ring.

* * *

Richard was furious at the news of Philip's intention to abandon the crusade. Not only was he losing his strongest ally, he would be releasing him to scheme and consolidate his dynastic power in France. Richard had won the first stage of his campaign in Palestine; both his prestige and ambition were committed to winning the rest of it. He could not leave now to watchdog Philip in Europe.

"Philip is sick? God's blood, I smell a jackal at work," Richard snarled. "Philip is likely as weedy as I am, with a wench under his bed! Sick, my arse!"

"He seemed so to me, sire," Alexandre replied quietly. "His majesty shows all the symptoms of the shaking sickness."

"Bah! Any quack physician can make a man ill; the cure is the catch." Richard impatiently paced his pavilion while his chancellor stood out of his way. No man who valued his position would want a share of the decision Richard contemplated. Finally, Richard's red head swiveled. "I shall see your royal patient myself, milord. Out of my way!"

Richard stormed to Philip's tent, Alexandre following closely. When the English king emerged sometime later, his face was black with anger. "Go, damn your eyes!" he stormed at Alexandre and the waiting courtiers. "Begone and bad cess to your lily-livered hides!"

Liliane was reading the poetry book by a nearly guttering candle when Alexandre entered their bedchamber at the villa. "What has happened?" she asked, seeing his closed face.

"We are going home," he replied simply.

Chapter 15

~

Home

Castle de Brueil

October 2, 1191

A
fter less than two months of Philip's illness, Liliane and Alexandre rode through the portal of Castle de Brueil. Cheers rose from the battlements; serfs and children ran shouting behind them. Everywhere, varicolored bits of cloth waved in glad greeting, and Kiki, perched on Liliane's pommel, cluttered with nervous excitement and waved her little cap.

Charles, with Father Anselm in tow, strode out into the courtyard to meet them. His face filled with gladness, Charles caught Alexandre's bridle, then his hand. "Welcome, milord! Provence has been a weary place without you!"

" 'Tis good to see you, my friend, and you, Father Anselm," Alexandre replied warmly. "During these past months, I have greatly felt your loss. Lady Liliane and I rejoice to be home."

While Father Anselm burbled his welcome, Charles's gaze flicked to Liliane in her Eastern samites and Massilia velvets, then grew chilled. "My lady." He bowed with elaborate politeness. "We feared you dead."

"Your concern is heartening, sir," Liliane returned lightly, "but I am doughtier than I look."

Alexandre chuckled, then slid off his destrier. "Milady has been adventuring in Palestine," he murmured to the two men, "and grown cocky. You must be patient with her airs; few women have endured such dangers and lived to prate of them."

Charles eyed her warily as Father Anselm asked, astonished, "Milady followed the crusade?"

"Indeed she did, and saved my life more than once, but that, you will keep to yourself for sake of her safety, as will the men who accompanied us." Alexandre held out his wrist to Kiki, who scampered up his arm to perch on his shoulder. "For all you know,
mes amis
, Liliane was homesick for Spain and these past many months enjoyed the Malaga sun." Alexandre swept Liliane down from her saddle and thoroughly kissed her. "My wife is a ravishing Tartar and I am a lucky man."

Over Alexandre's shoulder, Liliane's amused eyes met Charles's and Anselm's. "You must be patient with my lord's airs,
Messieurs
. We are expecting a baby."

Anselm's eyes widened. "My lord, an heir?"

"Perhaps an heiress," teased Liliane.

Alexandre whirled, still clasping Liliane to his side. "Perhaps twins—triplets! I vow we shall have a baker's dozen before we are done!"

Looking up at him with love shining in her eyes, Liliane laughed. "Darling, I am not that much of a Tartar!"

Father Anselm beamed. "I cannot tell you how delighted I am that you are presenting milord with even one child. He has always wanted a family!"

Alexandre caught Charles and Anselm by the shoulders. "Come into the hall and we shall tell you of our travels. You will be far from bored, I promise."

As they passed into the castle, Liliane looked up at its mossy ramparts with a fondness she had not expected. Having been relegated to the occupation and maintenance of men, the great, cool rooms were as Spartan as ever, but spotless. Charles had evidently run the castle as a military garrison.

Within these walls Liliane had known hard times and good. That which she had once fled, she now welcomed, and dreaded only Alexandre's absence. How long would they have before Philip summoned him again? Wise enough not to press Alexandre's defiance, Philip had let him return for leave to Provence instead of commanding his company north to Paris. Aboard the royal ship, Philip had been charming to them both, but he spent most of his time in his cabin conferring with his ministers. Every day, he seemed less ill, and his color improved although he scarcely saw the sun. Once in France, Philip's energy and ambition were fairly tangible. In Richard's absence, he had plans to expand his power, and Liliane had no doubt that Alexandre was part of them. When the royal retinue left Massilia the morning after their arrival, Liliane began to count the days until Philip's summons came.

Once the servants were greeted, the retinue dismissed, and Alexandre and Liliane were alone with Charles and Father Anselm in the hall, Alexandre left out no detail of Liliane's courage and loyalty in recounting her determination to guard him from both enemy and assassins. When the account was over, Charles sat quietly for a considerable time, seeming to daydream while Father Anselm pounded Alexandre and Liliane with questions about holy places and relics. The priest was particularly fascinated with Kiki, who flirted with him outrageously. Liliane was surprised at the priest's innocent envy of their vivid adventures, for she had thought his interests lay mostly in full porringers. She was far more surprised at Charles when he stood finally and bowed again to her, this time without mockery.

"My lady, I welcome you back to Provence with all my heart," he said simply. "I will guard you and your children with my life."

Startled, Liliane sat quite still, then slowly, as she realized that he was deeply earnest, a quiet delight filled her face. She rose and softly kissed Charles on both cheeks. "My lord and I count ourselves greatly fortunate to have such a friend, sir. From this moment, you shall be as my brother."

A flicker of shyness in Charles's eye suggested to Alexandre that his friend might be hard put to sustain a brotherly detachment, and why not? In the sunlight slanting from the southern windows, Liliane looked like a vision woven in gold. Her shimmering blond hair, caught in its gilt and emerald filet, hung in a heavy braid that tempted a man's fingers. Her lovely face, which had been tranquil, was now flushed, her amber eyes bright with emotion as she faced Charles. This was a woman to love. He wanted Charles to love Liliane, but he envisioned that love as the chivalrous adoration one might pay to an untouchable goddess, not the need and desire of another man's wife. For all his cool calculation, Charles was impressionable; once his loyalty was given, it was wholehearted and passionate. Charles was lonely, his only prospects in the world linked to the Brueil demesne. He must take care that Charles was not led into unhappiness through his new devotion to Liliane.

Firmly casting aside his jealousy, Alexandre grasped Charles's shoulder. "Guard my family with my full trust and gratitude,
mon ami
. With God's good grace, our children will prosper here and endure for many generations to come." He turned. "May we ask your blessing, Father, upon our venture?"

"You have it most heartily, milord." The chubby priest beamed. "I look forward to baptizing a great many babies for you and milady. Bless you, I say; bless you all!"

For Alexandre and Liliane, the next weeks were spent in inspecting their fief. Charles had done his duty well. The crops had been good this year; the larders and storage sheds were full, and the hay was already stacked in the fields. The stock appeared to be sturdy and well able to endure the mild Mediterranean winter. The serfs were healthy and, while satisfied with Charles's rule over their affairs, happy to have their kindly master home.

In view of her pregnancy, Liliane was greeted with subdued courtesy rather than the silent hostility she had once suffered. Now, at least, she had the devoted loyalty of Alexandre's men-at-arms, who curtly reprimanded any imagined slight, to the bewilderment of the peasantry. As Alexandre had been in Palestine and Liliane supposedly in Spain, gossipers had begun to murmur that her child might not be his. Thanks to her new allies, those rumors were swiftly doused and, as she was so recently pregnant, the gossip could claim no foundation.

Each day, when their duties were done, Alexandre and Liliane took long rides upon the beach. Despite its rocky irregularity, the coast reminded them of sunny Acre as it might once have been in time of peace. "I often expect to see Acre's walls looming over my shoulder when we turn homeward again," Liliane told Alexandre one evening. "Castle de Brueil seems so small, so soft with age and ivy. Here, hounds instead of jackals clarion after rabbits, and the forests, lush even in their autumn cloak, make the pale, eternal desert seem a dream from another world." She looked into his eyes. "Now I know why home has meant so much to you. After I first went to Diego at Malaga, I was rarely more than a few days' ride away from my childhood home. I took being there for granted. Now I see Castle de Brueil as one of my children: precious, a little fragile, and in need of my love and protection."

Alexandre laughed softly. "So this crumbling old wreck is your child. How maternal you have become." He reined in his destrier, and, puzzled, she halted her own mare to watch him dismount. He lifted her down from the saddle. "Come, mother of the world, and walk with me. We had little enough chance for strolling the beach in Acre."

He led her for some distance in companionable conversation, then wandered to the water's edge. The lap and curl of the waves was gentle, its sigh soft. "Like a baby's gurgle," Alexandre murmured, his hand tightening on Liliane's. "Have I thanked you today for giving me a child?"

Liliane laughed, then laid her head on his shoulder. "You have, sir, just this morning, as you do each and every morning when you make love to me. 'Thank you, darling, for our child,' you say solemnly, as if you had nothing to do with the gift. Then you make such loveliness for me while the sun warms our bed. . ."

"Say you so solemnly, as if you had nothing to do with our lovemaking." He turned to wrap his arms about her. "I adore you." He kissed her softly, then with rising need. "Shall we make our loveliness here under the sky, with the sea to sing to us and lullaby the babe?"

"Aye, my lord," she whispered. "Love us both. We welcome thee with all our hearts and rejoice in thy affection."

She tugged his head down and kissed him with such longing and fervor that his body fired as if he had touched a flame. Sweeping his cloak about them, he drew her to the sand. Their lips met again, gently, then fiercely, their bodies growing impatient, their wills pressing back the impulse to thrust away their clothing and join with the urgency that would make their love-making too brief a blaze.

They had learned to savor each other, to let each caress build the coals of their passions slowly to a white heat. Alexandre parted Liliane's clothing and his own as if baring the secrets of the magic between them. She was warm silk against him, her breasts as round beneath his lips as the glorious fruit of Persia. Honey was in her mouth, between her thighs; in his manhood was a leaping fire, eager to set the sweetness of her aflame. His mouth covered the sensitive peak of her breast, sucking it to a taut, bursting point against his tongue. Liliane moaned softly, her fingers sliding along the length of his hardened shaft, tightening rhythmically with his quickened breathing.

Their caresses became a pulse, swelling to an almost unbearable ache. His lips trailed her armpits, beneath her breasts to her belly, his fingertips teasing the secret heart of her, probing gently, exquisitely to trace the path of their desire. When at last, she trembled and cried out softly her need of him, he let her guide his hardness into her soft depths, find her arching passion, her welling response to his slowly deepening thrusts. Their bodies moved as one, melted together. She wrapped herself about him, her lips brushing his chest until he was driving without restraint, with shivering sensation, with ecstasy that seared them both. Her breath, warm and damp, came quickly against his neck, her cry of rising excitement peaking, matching his own. He gasped, shuddering as his body spent itself in falling flame and left him supine in her close embrace.

"I could not hear the sea's lullaby," Liliane confessed with a smile to her lover a little time later. "Our bodies were singing too loudly.''

"Good sea, we beg your pardon," Alexandre called to the surf. "Do give us leave to try again." With a wicked grin, he began to softly whistle in Liliane's ear. Giggling, she feigned an effort to push him away, but as his lips covered hers, she gave a happy little sigh and tugged his cloak over their heads.