A Flame Run Wild (45 page)

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That night, Liliane returned uneasily to the tower chamber. A shaft of moonlight slanted across Alexandre's face; he was looking at her as if she had transformed into a spider. With a slight shiver, she lit the candle on the table, then noticed the empty goblet and guessed who had encouraged Alexandre's loathing. "Louis has been back to taunt you again?"

"Jacques. He was most informative." Alexandre's teeth bared
in a feral snarl. "You have been his spy from the first, have you
not?"

"I worked with him. I had to—"

He cut her off. "You never seem to have choices, milady wife. Diego was your supposed reason for first 'working' with Jacques"—the shackles rattled as he jerked forward—"only you killed Diego."

Now she understood what vile accusations Jacques had made. She took a ragged breath. "In a way, I did kill Diego. Jacques threatened to assassinate him unless I—"

"I do not want to hear it," he hissed as if his head ached. "I have heard and seen too damned much of late. From now on, just stay away from me."

"You demand the truth of me," Liliane cried, "and when I give it, you will not listen! What right have you to assume my guilt when the proof is offered by such a perfidious monster as my uncle? You are even ready to believe that I would dishonor myself with Charles and, heaven forbid, with Louis! My real sin was that I gambled and lost Castle de Brueil! My sin is against the dead! If I must lose you for my sins, I will shoulder the punishment, but I will not survive your lack of faith in me. In Acre, I paid for your trust with my blood. If I have lied to you, those lies were bred of your perpetual suspicion. ..."

"Why do you think I left the castle to you?" he cut in. "I left that you might know once and for all that I trusted you with my lands, my people, my life. What would you have me think when I returned to find my wife at the right hand of my mortal enemy? Even Jacques and Louis do not trust you!"

"I care nothing for serpents who would attack their own tails"—Liliane caught the chain at his wrist—"but to be struck repeatedly by my own husband is intolerable. You think me venomous? So be it." Her head lifted defiantly. "I will play the serpent for you. I will turn your blood into a burning river in your veins until you call me witch! As I beguiled Charles and Louis, so I will torment you. As they had me, so you shall have me." Slowly, she began to unfasten his shirt.

Realizing her intention, Alexandre stared at her with startled fascination and loathing. His jaw tightened as she tugged loose his chainse. "I can tell you now, Madame, I would rather be fondled by an asp than a Signe, be she sheathed in the Devil's own charms."

"You need not fear your new Medusa," Liliane murmured. "She will not turn you into stone, but into another element entirely." Her flaring anger turned to resolution. She would make love to him tonight in the despairing knowledge that it must be for the last time. Knowing he would not take her, she would take him. Past memory of his flesh was upon her mouth, her fingertips, her body. She wanted him so fiercely that she would force him to want her in the same way. No other woman would touch him so. When he touched another woman, he would remember her, with hatred, perhaps, but also as the incarnation of passion ... of love, even if twisted out of recognition. I want him to feel Jacques's and Louis's lie! she railed silently. How may I touch him so and not love him! She traced his ribs until his skin twitched slightly.

"Ah," she whispered, "the mockery of love. It will torment us both." She moved away and undid the lacings of her bliaud, then slipped the garment over her head. The fine silk of her chainse was nearly transparent by candlelight, its filmy weave lying smoothly over the high porcelain curve of her breasts, the long line of her hips and thighs. She eased loose the lacing between her breasts so that their voluptuous swell was partly revealed, the nipples a rosy shadow beneath the silk. As if Alexandre were not there, she slipped a cloak about her shoulders, then opened the door a crack and murmured something to the guard.

Alexandre strained to hear, but he caught nothing of the few phrases that passed between Liliane and the guard. He had been unprepared for the heady, immediate sensation he experienced as she disrobed. Her body was so familiar to him, yet now she was another woman, some wicked mistress that he longed to destroy, yet who still fascinated him. He willed his body to show no sign of his interest, but he could not help wondering how long he would be able to keep up his pretense.

Liliane was ravishing and clever, as well as furious. Caught between anticipation and revulsion, he wondered just how far she would go to crack his control. Had she ordered the guard to bring up a few nasty toys from the torture chamber to ensure his humiliation? Alexandre's mind hardened. He had never been able to look at her without desire, and well she knew it. However, tonight she would lose her little game.

Liliane wandered to the window as if thinking to herself. Concealing her body, the cloak's heavy scarlet wool served to make the purity of her profile, her paleness by moonlight an ethereal vision, yet the ripeness of her body sang of the earth.

How irresistible she looks, how easy she was to love, Alexandre thought in sudden anguish. She is the magic of dreams, yet my dreams of her have turned to nightmares. She had cause to hate me for my treatment of her in Acre; for that, I could grant her some desire, for revenge, but no; she contrived my downfall long before she first saw me. Did she know me, that first day we met in the wood? Did she know me then and mark me for cold seduction, only to achieve my destruction? Bittersweet memories swept him with bleak force, and he cursed himself. She has touched me not and already I am tormented!

Then Liliane turned to him. In her face he saw a mixture of sadness and mockery, whether for him or herself, he could not tell. "Alas, my love, that we are brought to war, where peace was our craving," she said softly. "Cruelly, we wreak havoc with each other and curse our meeting; yet we are joined for good or ill, and only death shall part us."

She came to him and touched his shoulder as if greeting a friend or bidding him farewell. "I shall counter thee with a woman's weapons. If thou are the victor, I shall not rail against fate, for I will have been vanquished by a man, fully courageous and courteous. To die for such a love is no dishonor; perhaps it is an end to be sought." Her hand dropped lightly to his chest. "Into the fray, my love."

"Give this up, Liliane," he whispered. "We are finished."

"Nay." Her fingers trailed caressingly down his flesh. "We have but begun." She went away from him men and sat on the bed. He watched her, wondering what she was going to do. She did nothing except look at him with a brooding, almost detached expression.

In time, the guard returned. A cowed servant entered with the copper bath, three more with waterpails. One of the servants was Yves, who shot a quick look at his pinioned master, then lowered his head.

If only someone could get to me and shear these chains, thought Alexandre. Water splashed into the tub and the relief he had felt upon first seeing the tub came over him again; at least Liliane had not ordered up hot coals. The servants departed and they were alone again.

Then Liliane bathed, her body luminous in the moonlight.
First she dropped the woolen cloak, then slipped off the chainse
quite naturally, as if he were not there. With a tightening of his
groin, he watched her step into the tub and shiver at the water's
chill. Her hair was a pale red-gold stream down her back, curving to her buttocks; the vee between her thighs was a beckoning
glow.

She was beautifully feminine, with all a woman's gentle curves. Within her was his child, his immorality, part of his soul. She had taken him inside her and he had loved her unbearably. Even now, he wanted to touch her so much that his fingertips spread beseechingly even as his mind recoiled. All satin sheen was she, ivory and gold . . . witchery, witchery. Pride and lust, thou art man's damnation, and I am the lowest of fools for wanting her yet.

Liliane looked up, saw his luminous eyes, and her own grew bright, as if candles had been lit within them. She leaned her head back against the curve of the tub and, with a trace of shyness, touched her breasts like a young girl first discovering her blossoming. The peaks glistened, her nipples hardening under her delicately exploring fingers. Alexandre felt a rising heat in his loins and the inevitable swelling of his manhood. His heart was beginning to beat too quickly, the braies that covered him concealing too little now. He tried to concentrate on the manacles chafing at his wrists, twisted his arms to make the irons cut, but with the pain came a heightened awareness of his senses, so quickly inflamed by the cool, naked vision who tempted him with such seeming innocence.

Under his hot eyes, Liliane rose from the water; it streamed down her skin in a diamond sheet as she stepped from the tub and walked slowly toward him. Her fingers were cold as she touched his bare skin, growing warmer as she slipped back his chains. Her lips teased his flesh, his sides, his armpits, then trailed to his nipples. He gasped as her tongue, small and pink, tasted him with exquisite delicacy. His nipples hardened and his hands locked upon the chains. "Leave me!" he whispered harshly. "Cut my throat, if you must, but cease this shameless mockery!"

"I mock thee not," she answered quietly. "I do but love thee." She knelt, and her fingers found the fastening of his braies, loosened the lacing. "Believe, my love . . . believe . . ." she whispered as his maleness swelled free against her burning cheek. Then her soft velvet mouth found him, took him until he cried out in hatred and in love. His fountaining arched in the dim light even as his body arched like a whip. I am my own lash, he thought as the darkness closed about him. She rends me with my own heart's blood.

That night was like no other they had known. Alexandre wanted Liliane as a burning brand seeks the flesh, but she was elusive, ever beyond his grasp, even as she touched ham intimately, so intimately and completely that no part of him could be kept from her. By dawn, he trembled when she pressed him against her, his exhausted body still like a wire, drawn taut with desire. Her breasts were soft against his loins, and when she kissed his lips, he bit her and drew blood, only to find that blood upon his aching manhood when she made love to him again. Craving burned him, and although the floor beneath them was slippery with his seed, he was unsatisfied. He wanted to bury himself in Liliane like a sword, destroy her as she had him. He wanted to feel her flesh yield in his quick hands, wanted to drive hard and hot within her treacherous, quivering body. Let me have her but for a little time, he screamed silently to whatever devils might listen. Give her to me!

At length, he had a more banal urgency than lust. "For pity's sake, Liliane, have Yves bring a chamber pot. I am fit to burst."

Liliane smiled slightly as she slipped on her robe and ordered up the pot. Yves placed it discreetly at Alexandre's feet, his eyebrows raising only slightly at his master's appearance. Alexandre cut a scathing look at the guard who watched them. "Must I not only take a public piss at a target, but pelt it with droppings, as well?"

The guard grunted, then grudgingly unshackled his wrists. "Three more guards are outside the door. Try anything and well have your gizzard for breakfast."

''Life among the cannibals," Alexandre observed to Liliane, "would suit you very well, my dear." He rubbed his wrists, picked up the pot and took it into the tiny, curtained alcove. The guard caught his shoulder, checked the pot, which was half full, then the alcove, which was empty. He shoved the curtain closed. A moment later, Alexandre emerged from the alcove and bowed. "Thank you for your patient attention." He thrust out his wrists for the shackles, a sardonic light in his eyes as he jerked his hands away defiantly.

For a moment, the guard looked tempted to strike him, but thought better of it; perhaps because he had orders to leave Alexandre to Liliane. Judging from the circles beneath Alexandre's eyes, she evidently had attended to her task. The guard shackled Alexandre and, to vent his irritation, shoved Yves out of the door and slammed it.

"Do not anger them too much, Alexandre," Liliane said quietly. "They are tired and on very short leash."

"I have not had so fatiguing a night since the age of thirteen when I discovered a randy boy and rabbits have much in common."

Liliane laughed. "Do not boast, darling. Pursuing the peasant girls at your first breath of puberty was not admirable."

"Amusement is rarely admirable. If I survive being married to you, I shall dissipate without an ounce of remorse." His fingers waved idly. "Ladies, come one, come all. I shall not love you, but by God, I shall make you sing contralto!" His eyes mocked her. "To sleep, my sweet, and dream of me among choirs of bawds resounding your requiem."

Her smile faded, and her eyes darkened with hurt and regret. "Wherever I shall be, rest assured that I dream of thee," she replied softly. With the cloak wrapped about her, she lay down on the bed and snuffed out the candle.

In the last moment before the candle" went out, the image of her golden lace was emblazoned on his mind. The curve of her cheek and lips, the slight shadow her lashes made beneath her eyes lingered when all was darkness. I might bray for bawds, he thought in desolation, but my whole soul covets angels, for my ruined love is the incarnation of their sweet beauty. All women, whether low or divine, shall bear her face for me. When I die, I shall see her yet as the last I shall know of loveliness. He closed his eyes and the shining image of Liliane's face touched his; her eyes became his, her lips curved against his breath.