A Flame Run Wild (9 page)

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Liliane aweke to find Alexandre's blue eyes gazing drowsily upon her. His heavy black lashes had subtle lilac glints that made his irises such a deep blue, it was as if he regarded her from an underwater grotto. Those eyes were so like Jean's, with the same sleepy intensity, that she jumped as if she'd seen a ghost. "I am sorry; I did not mean to startle you," he murmured.

Liliane gave a slight laugh. "I am just unaccustomed to being stared at while I sleep."

"It is rude, I know . . . but you are an extraordinarily beautiful woman."

She smiled. "One you seem well able to resist."

He grinned. "You are not quite real to me as a wife. I might resist you less as one of Philip's mistresses."

"Wouldn't seducing one of Philip's mistresses be dangerous?"

"Very . . . but worth the risk, perhaps, in the case of a woman who could dazzle Merlin.''

"You are certainly complimentary this morning."

"I am alive this morning. Finding that one has escaped being fertilizer to a colony of mushrooms cheers one up." Thoughtfully, he tucked his hand under has cheek. "My nose tells me I have you to thank for my affability. No one else would have thought to put such stinking herbs in steampots. A Moorish remedy, is it not?"

Liliane put her hand on his forehead. "Do not talk so much. You are not up to it."

"I am not up to a great many things just now; however, only one is regrettable." His blue eyes followed the long curve of her, then slowly closed.

As his breathing grew regular and steady, Liliane eased the covers higher about his neck. Like Jean, he was boyish in sleep, very quiet. Although his face was worn and gaunt from the fever, he captured all her attention. When he was not suspicious and supercilious, he was most appealing. Liliane smiled wistfully. She had not expected to have the rare fortune of finding a new husband as enlightened as Diego. Alexandre was merely acting as an average male. She and Alexandre both had adjustments to make, especially since they now realized that neither of them was a fool. Still, Alexandre must have a weak spot, otherwise Charles would not have been so afraid that she might gain control of him. If Alexandre proved manageable, her task of foiling Jacques would be much easier. However, she found the idea of a manageable husband quite repellant. She might as well be wed to a sheep! Liliane peered down at Alexandre. He had survived years in the military service with Philip, the murderous brazier of the Holy, Land, and now half a night in an icy river. Such feats did not speak of weakness. With growing affection, Liliane gently ruffled Alexandre's hair. He might even survive her and Jacques!

By evening, however, Liliane began to wonder if Alexandre would survive his own overzealous castellans. The overseer of builders came twice to inform his master of Liliane's perfidious spying upon their inadequate defenses. The second time she sent him away, she advised mildly, "Given rest, your lord will see you two days hence. I much doubt that my uncle will break the peace in that time. Your defense is King Philip, not tumbledown walls!"

The master builder was sufficiently offended to bide his time for three days, and Alexandre rested peacefully, particularly after Liliane stationed Charles at the door to quell the servants' worries. Fortunately, despite his suspicions, Charles was sensitive to Alexandre's condition and gave his full cooperation.

By the third day, Liliane had to contend with Alexandre. His wiry body had been toughened to rawhide in Palestine, and it was that, as much as her nursing,'that had saved his life. He had responded well to rest and quickly became impatient at being confined to bed. When he insisted upon getting up, Liliane, used to letting Diego venture beyond his strength, made no argument. Her unspoken opinion was justified when Alexandre's knees buckled at his third step. However, Alexandre was undaunted; too much work had to be done on his fief for him to lie idle. If he could not work on his feet, he would do so in bed. He ordered the clerk to bring up the demesne accounts. Liliane was impressed that he could read and write, also that he managed to do so for more than an hour.

The master builder's visit soon interrupted Alexandre's efforts. At the burly man's request for privacy, Alexandre asked Charles to escort Liliane to the courtyard. "My lady is becoming too pale from being cloistered in a sickroom. Fresh air will do her good."

Upon reaching the courtyard, Charles studied Liliane's pensive face in the bright sunlight. "I take it you know why the builder is with the count?"

She started to walk along the old stone wall bordering the cobblestone yard. "I know."

"Then why stay? Why not return to your family? Surely you realize that the accusations are just beginning."

"Return to Jacques? For resale? Without a dowry?" Liliane turned to Charles, her eyes alight with anger. "Why should I not just tie a stone about my neck and jump into a millpond? No, sir. For better or for worse, I have bought my place here. I am the
Comtesse del Pinal et de Brueil.
What you and your compatriots think is your affair, but be prepared to either prove your slanders or answer for them."

Charles straightened. "Do you think it wise to sound threats at such an early date?"

"Do you think it wise to bring discredit upon me, particularly over trivialities?"

He smiled grimly. "I see your point; however, the-count's people are far more willing to believe you evil than virtuous. They will see you as they wish to see you."

Liliane leaned against a column. "My only concern now is Alexandre. He is not as well as he thinks. You have far more influence with him than I, so I hope you will assist me in seeing that he does not push himself too far."

"A neat sidestepping from the issue, but yes, milady, I will try to convince the count to spare his strength, if not to share his power."

"Oh, so you think I wish to divert part of his responsibilities to myself?" Liliane cocked her head. "No, indeed. I wish to divert them to you, if but temporarily."

"Perhaps you do not realize that I am already the count's seneschal, milady."

She looked startled, then laughed. "That is true, since you were not at the wedding. I take it you were away attending to Alexandre's affairs. Well, that is good. Alexandre should accept your help quite naturally."

"The count is his own man. To predict anything about him may be courting trouble."

Liliane pressed Charles no more. She understood his reasoning well enough. He thought she meant to Win him over by offering him power as well as her favor. She looked up at Alexandre's tower window. Charles was right to be wary—her favor might soon prove a liability to him.

Alexandre was quiet when Liliane returned to the tower. She already knew that he was sensible enough to realize she could not live in the castle without being aware of the vulnerability of its fortifications. Nevertheless, she had expected him to turn against her for her covert investigating, but he had not and for some reason his quiet courtesy saddened her. Accuse me, she felt like crying. Accuse me wrongly so I will feel less guilt in wishing that Jean was here in your place!

Had she known Alexandre's thoughts, Liliane would have been far more uneasy. He vaguely remembered falling from his horse as he rode from the byre, then tumbling down the riverbank. He did not recall remounting his destrier, or any horse for that matter. The guards had found the sorrel with him, but in his dim recollection, he remembered clutching the mane of a gray horse at some point that night. Someone had been riding behind him. Now, considering his status and ability to reward his rescuer, who would have saved his life, then not lingered to be thanked? His saviour must have recognized him; otherwise, why bring him to the castle?

Alexandre watched Liliane take up her embroidery, his mind still upon his mysterious rescuer. Few serfs had horses and the only gray belonged to a former serf named Pierre le Blac, who lived in a stone hut five miles up the shore. Pierre, whom he had freed with his family for military service, just might be his man.

"Do you sing?" he asked Liliane suddenly.

She laid down her embroidery. "A little. Shall I find my lute?"

"Do, please. I have ever been a restless patient and am apt to require entertainment. The cracks in yonder wall have begun to pall."

Fetching her lute from her chest,. Liliane laughed. "When you have heard my singing, you may prefer the cracks."

Alexandre shook his head. "No fear of that. When I first occupied this chamber, I was but thirteen and still fanciful. Often when I was alone, I studied those cracks." He pointed. "That long crosswise one is the road to Cathay with its rare silks and jewels and spices. That lump is the palace of the cruel Dragon Emperor, and the shallow dip beside it is the Willow Tree Garden wherein dwells his lovely daughter."

"And is she wicked, too?" Liliane asked softly.

"No one knows." His eyes were ink-blue beneath their shadowing lashes. "She has never been seen by any living mortal. Only the nightingales sing of her beauty. By moonlight, she is a wand of ivory with jeweled eyes and gleaming hair intricately woven into lovers' knots by attendant silkworms."

"She sounds a bit unreal, as if she were the creation of a clever artisan."

Alexandre smiled wryly. "That is quite possible, for she is a temptress. Any man who attempts the garden wall and looks into her eyes is turned into a lion dog of marble."

Liliane was puzzled. "A lion dog?"

"A tiny, wheezing, ridiculous creature blinded by its own hair. The Chinese keep them as lap dogs."

Liliane pensively stroked the smooth inlay of the lute. "So, the princess is cruel, after all."

"Perhaps she is a prisoner, under a spell."

Liliane cocked her sleek, golden head. "Who can break the spell?"

"A prince who sees past her cold eyes into her heart, yet still loves her more than his life. If she is without a heart, he will lose both his manhood and his life."

Her smile was wistful. "Poor prince. Better he should stop his ears against the nightingales and keep his heart."

"Then he would be a poor, cowardly prince, doomed to wander forever alone, longing for the lady of his dreams." Alexandre lifted his hand in a graceful gesture of both resignation and beckoning. "Come, then, nightingale, sing thy song. What is life without risk?"

Liliane was almost reluctant to begin playing. Alexandre's tale was mere fancy, yet the image of Jacques's gargoyle face grinning above a crimson dragon's body filled her mind. Danger stalked her, and Alexandre was better warned away . . . yet, he would never believe her if she told him, the truth now. First he had to believe in her, see into her heart and love her, just as the prince of his fancy must win his mysterious princess. Knowing this, Alexandre probably had contrived the tale to let her glimpse something of the longing for love in his own heart. For the first time, Liliane wanted to reach out to Alexandre, not some absent ghost like Jean. And so, for Alexandre, Liliane sang an ancient Andalusian song of love, a Gypsy
canto hondo
, or "deep song."

Alexandre had never heard such a song; it was mostly in Spanish, but many of the words were unfamiliar. Liliane's voice was lovely, strong and vibrant, with a passion as wild as the storm winds of the coastal crags of El Andaluz. The pitch of certain notes was Eastern, and the rhythm and tapping of her fingers against the body of the lute was exciting and exotic.

In the song, a young
gitano
—a Gypsy—fell in love with a. noblewoman who seduced him into killing her husband so she might marry a powerful duke. The jealous
gitano
stabbed her, and in dying, she swore her endless love for him in a beautiful lacrissima, as well as her eternal vengeance—promising to haunt him in every whisper of the wind and rustle of the leaves, in every sigh of the sea and crackle of his nightly campfires.

Liliane's singing fascinated Alexandre. Not everyone appreciated the earthly, unconventional style of the
canto hondo
, but he found it both terrible and exhilarating in its moodiness and passion. The teasing, taunting ardor of the two proud, wary lovers made his body tense with anticipation. The alluring, treacherous woman who captivated the
gitano
with empty promises became a victim of her own desire. Her surrender was furious and complete; his possession of her was filled with both wild triumph and foreboding defeat.

Liliane's hair had loosened from her chignon and fell across her bare ivory shoulders! Her breasts swelled beneath her cerise bliaud as her seductive voice rose in a song throbbing with passion. As she reached the crescendo, Alexandre wanted to drag her into his arms and sear her mouth and body with kisses. In the music, he heard the scream of a stallion and imagined his own cry of triumph as he at last claimed her as his wife, feeling again her softness, experiencing the strangely wanton innocence that had so maddened him at their joining.

Without thinking, he half rose from the pillows, only to hear the
gitano's
lament.

" 'In the burning embrace of hell, I am lost to heaven. This devil woman is my love and destruction. Ah, I embrace her as one damned does the ashes of his hopes and honor.' "

Perspiration chilling his brow, Alexandre fell back upon his bed. Liliane might be inviting him to take her, but she was also warning him that having her might exact a terrible price.