Fire Dance (32 page)

"Come, lady, you must rest. Your day has been long. You will sleep with me. I have found a sheet to cover the straw." He gestured toward the heap of straw that would be theirs.

"Here?"

"Of course, as you have chosen to give away the bed to Robert. Come, you are tired."

"But everyone is sleeping here."

"Aye. There is no other place, unless you have a fondness for sleeping with the cattle."

"I had not thought of that. I do not think I have ever slept in the same room with anyone else."

"Besides your husband."

"Well of course, I did mean that."

He smiled. "I have never known another person who has always slept alone. Even the king is accustomed to others about his bed chamber. I cannot think why your father would have wanted such for you."

"Fyren's reasons were his own. He saw no sense in enlightening me."

What could that mean? "That is done and gone now, Melisande. Come now, and lie down with me."

He gave no further opportunity for dispute, and guided her toward the hearth. Her wary glances he answered only with a smile, for he would no more give her the chance to escape him now than he ever would again.

"But what if Idream?"

"If you dream, lady? If you dream, I am here. That is how it will always be now. And the others, it is no news to them."

"It is not?"

"You have always been protected by those of your household. Did you not know?"

"Thomas, of course. All of them?"

"And now you are protected by me. Lie down, now."

At his urging, she snuggled herself beside him, down into the resilient straw. He pulled his purple cloak over them. She sat up abruptly.

"What is it?"

"Not that cloak. It makes me sneeze."

"What, then?"

"My own will do well enough."

"Then, mayhap we could use the both, the purple one on top?"

"But it will still make me sneeze."

"I cannot fathom such."

"Well, I do not fathom how a cat could make a person sneeze, but you say they do annoy the king that way."

"Well, then, the green cloak, only."

He tucked the green cloak about her as he eased his thigh over hers. She stiffened. He laughed, almost in a whisper, his words tickling her ear. "What is it now, love?"

"It is naught."

"Naught, she says," came a crude cackling from the dim aisles. "I'll wager it is naught."

"Not from what I've seen." laughed another.

"Tend to your own affairs," Alain retorted. "Do not mind them, love. They will make something out of anything."

Alain touched the callused pads of his fingers to the softness of her cheek, marveling at their difference. One finger stroked over the elegant curve of her golden brow, then his hand laced itself into the yellow flow of her tresses. He bent to her, kissed her lips, first gently. As her delicate hand rose to his chest in a feather-soft touch, the full force of his lust hit him, like a fearsome lance thrown by an alien warrior. She had never given him a true caress during her waking moments. And like that innocent touch of her arms about his waist when she had ridden the horse behind his saddle, it sent every part of his body stirring to intense attention.

Her lips parted for him, begging a deeper kiss, and he answered her invitation, searching, probing, encouraging her delicate response. His hand roamed down the length of her back, molded around the exquisite curve of her buttocks, and brought her body snugly against his. A great heat surged through him.

But nay. She was not ready for this, not here. Whatever experience she'd had with another, she was unaccountably naive in the ways of men and women. And her body might be responsive, but she was not ready for it. Yet.

And he was not ready to quit. Yet. With no more than a reluctant sigh, he changed his kisses to gentle nibbles as he released her, eased himself back to his place beside her. He smiled. It was but a matter of time. He would simply have to find a way to contain himself. The problem was, however, just how much of the torture he could endure while containing himself.

She watched him with her solemn blue, unfathomable eyes.

"Go to sleep, lady," he whispered, and stroked his fingers over the long, silken strands of butter-colored hair.

From somewhere within the hall, a soft giggle of a feminine sort broke through their private cocoon.

"What are they doing?" Melisande asked.

He laughed. "You do not know?"

"Oh."

"We could do that too, if you want."

Her eyes were like the hare cornered by the fox. He laughed again. She was so easy to tease.

"Do not worry yourself so, love. I will never force you."

"Never?"

"Never." And never was a very long time, that was beginning to look longer, every day. "Mayhap I would attempt to persuade, but that is altogether a different thing."

"Oh."

"Oh? What is amiss with that?"

"Nay, it is not that."

"Come now, love. What is amiss?"

"Oh, it is naught. I suppose you are– oh, it is naught."

"I do not believe it. Something disturbs you, and I will know what it is. I will badger you until you tell me. Mayhap I will tickle you until you tell me."

She tensed, clearly not wanting to be tickled. "It is only that I think, mayhap you do not find me attractive."

"I do not? Where did you get such a notion?"

"I– you do not– oh, it is not important."

"It is important to me."

"You do not demand your rights."

Alain repressed his chuckle. "It is true, I do not. But what has that to do with it?"

"But a man must– must he not, if he is aroused?"

He tried not to laugh, it escaped anyway. "Nay, lady, it is not true. And whatever man told you that, lied. Or, I suppose some men cannot tell the difference between what they must have and what they merely want."

"Oh."

It was time for a little persuasion. He took her hand from where it rested at her side, and guided it down the length of his body to touch his erection. She jerked back, but he would not let her go. "Do you know what this is, love?"

"Aye." A twinge of nervousness echoed through her voice.

"And know you what it means?"

"Aye."

"It means that I am attracted to you, am aroused by your presence."

"Aye, I'd say he is, all right," said a low, anonymous voice.

"Leave them alone, Merle. Have you not seen a nervous bride before?"

"Not for long!"

A rumble of male cackles swept through the outer reaches of the hall, punctuated here and there with a feminine bleating sort of giggle. Alain decided he'd best find a more private occasion to educate his lady. But let her think on it.

"Another time," he whispered, and gave her a last kiss. "You must sleep now."

* * *

Fire.

Fire leaping, dancing, cavorting like demons. Great, evil tongues of it, lapping at her feet. And she, cold and dark in their midst. Circling, swirling, laughing, screaming. Dancing demons leering, beckoning.

She wanted to scream, run, hide. But there was no place to go. The flames-tongues-demons surrounded her, blocked all retreat.

Save me.

She was alone. Nay, she was overwhelmed with malicious beings.

"I will come for you, Melisande."

The lapping tongues whirled about her, melded into a face.

Fyren.

Nay, you are dead.

"I will come for you, Melisande."

You cannot. You are dead.

"You are not rid of me so easily. Did you think you would escape me?"

You are dead. Dead!

I will come. You cannot escape. Have you forgotten who I am?"

You lie. You are merely a man. You are dead.

I am Satan's spawn, and you will never escape me. I will come for you, Melisande."

Nay! You're dead! You're–

Come love, wake now. It is only a dream. Wake, love."

"Nay! You're– "

"You are safe, Melisande. No one will hurt you. I will never allow it. Wake for me, love."

The arms around her were gentle, comforting. His eyes, gentle, too, black and deep. Alain.

His lips, tender, sweet. Voice low and gravelly, soothing and enticing. Alain. Her husband.

"It is but a dream, love. You are safe. Wake for me, love."

"Alain." Her love.

He smiled. "You see? All is well, now. None will hurt you. Are you awake?"

"Aye."

Her heart still hammered in her chest, she still gulped shallow breaths. Nay, all was not well. Not just yet.

"Come then, lie down with me. You can sleep now."

"Nay." She couldn't. "Nay, not yet."

If she lay down again so soon, the dream would recapture her. She knew it. Fyren reached up from Hell to grab her. He would pull her down to him through the dream. Melisande leaned into Alain's chest, absorbing his protective embrace as if it flowed around and into her while she still trembled.

"Do you remember it?"

Remember? It was there, yet elusive. The edge of the dream receded, beyond her grasp, slipped away. Left only its ugly imprint.

She shook her head. "It is gone."

"Then let it go. A dream cannot hurt you, love."

He did not know. A dream could burn, char. Destroy.

Fire.

"Fyren."

"You dreamed of Fyren? What?"

"Fire. I know not, just fire."

"Fire? What is there in fire that reminds you of him?"

“I will come for you.”

"He is from Hell."

Alain's embrace strengthened, and he massaged her back slowly. His lips nibbled at her in soft caresses.

"He was no more than a man, love, and he is dead."