Fire Dance (38 page)

She smiled again, suddenly reveling in the perfect rightness of its fit upon her face. She knew now what she would do, and at last, how she would do it. Finally, she gave her answer.

"The purple cloak," she said.

CHAPTER 19

Alain bolted up from the bed, lost his balance at its edge, and nearly slid to the floor. He stared. "What?"

"The purple cloak," she repeated, as if it made perfect sense.

"You detest the thing. What do you want it for?"

"It does not matter. You have promised me whatever I ask."

"I did think you meant something logical, mayhap, the moon."

"The moon? But why would I ask for something impossible?"

He had forgotten for a moment that she had no sense of humor. His sarcasm went the same way of teasing. Over her head. But the cloak? When she had made such a great show of dislike?

"Is it because it was your mother's?"

"Nay. For Fyren gave it to her."

"And you despise your father. Aye, that I understand. But why do you want it?"

"I do mean it ill, if that is what you ask."

He sat back on his heels, on the feather mattress beside her. "Melisande, I do not mean it as an insult, but you do strange things. And of all the strange things you have done, this is the strangest."

"Think of it as a superstition," she replied.

Then she did not mean to tell him. And she was stubborn enough that she would not. He would more likely find out by accident than from insistent probing. Well, it did not matter. He would truly give her anything. He would indeed give anything for the way she smiled at him.

Aye, a smile. She had at last given him a smile. And a few moments before, he had kissed real tears from her cheek. Both were more precious to him than anything he had ever owned. If she wanted the cloak, for whatever reason, she would have it.

"It is yours, lady," he said, and once again drew her into his arms. "And you are mine," he added.

"Aye." She nestled perfectly against him. A perfect, warm, and loving fit that made his body stir all over again.

He would happily stay in bed with her all day, were it not for the sudden pangs of emptiness gnawing at his stomach. A strange sharpness to them, stronger he had felt before.

"But come," he said, "my stomach feels as empty as a starving hound's. Mayhap we can steal a bite before mass."

He gave her a quick kiss to urge her to hurry, for his stomach seemed to be getting emptier even as he spoke. He hurried over to the peg where he had hung his tunic and lifted it from there. Pain struck his head like a hammer, and whirled around inside his skull. He leaned against the wall until it went away. A passing thing. The morning's strenuous exercise, mayhap.

She had seen it. He saw that in her face. Well, it was gone. He gave her back a silly smile for her worried frown.

When he finished with his tunic and hose, he helped her with her laces, and ran his fingers lovingly down her sides as a remembrance of what they had just shared.

"I'll have you back in this bed before nightfall," he warned her, as he escorted her out the door onto the balcony.

Once again she rewarded him with an adoring smile. "I knew not that a woman could feel that kind of pleasure," she replied. She laid her hand atop his arm as they walked, this time with her fingers moving in minute caresses.

"You did not? Then there is much more for you to learn. I think we will suit each other

well."

"I suppose it must be considered a sin to have such great fun."

"The priests say it is. But what do they know? They are the ones who vowed to be celibate, not we."

She laughed. Barely a double-syllabled chuckle. But she laughed. He felt as if he were king of all Christendom.

Then he collapsed to the balcony floor.

* * *

She screamed and screamed as she caught him, grappled for a hold before he tumbled down the balcony's steps. He hung limp and heavy in her arms, and she knotted fists of his tunic in her hands, but his heavy body was quickly slipping from her.

"Someone come! Someone help me!" she cried. "Help me!"

Gerard burst through the chamber door. He bounded for the steps and shoved her aside as he grabbed at Alain. The Norman's head lolled backward, and his eyes rolled about in their sockets.

"What is it?" Gerard demanded. "A wound we did not see?"

"No wound," she replied. "I know not what it is."

But she knew. She had run out of time.

Chretien came running, his eyes wild at the sight of Alain draped limply over Gerard's shoulder. He raced for the door to the middle chamber and threw it open. Gerard carried him through the door, and eased him onto the bed.

"What has happened?"

"He collapsed. I came when I heard the lady's screams."

"Lady?" Terror clung to Chrétien's eyes.

"Aye. I think I know the malady."

"Can you cure it?"

"I know not. It is a dangerous one. You must make him do exactly as I say, and hold him down if he does not stay in the bed, for he must rest."

"Whatever you ask, it shall be done," said Chretien.

It would look strange to him, she knew. But she must take the chance that he would accept her word.

"We must take all his clothes and wash them in water, as hot as can be done. If they shrink, so be it. We can always make more. The sheets, too. And I want him bathed in warm water, three times each day. The water must be discarded."

What else? What would draw the poison from his body?

"Milk. He must have as much milk as we can get into him. But naught else. Save broths, mayhap a little bread."

"Milk?" Chretien looked dubious.

"Milk. No wine nor ale. We must work the bad
humours
from his body."

"And this will cure him?"

She bit on her lip. Would it? Or was she already too late? In this way, she had lost her mother, for she had not recognized the poison soon enough. But at least his skin did not yet have the horrid tinge of yellow.

"I know not. But do not waste any time."

Alain murmured a small groan at the sound of her voice, and his eyes opened, looking confused.

"What happened?"

Melisande lifted his eyelid with her thumb to study his eye. No yellow tinge there, either. "It is a malady I've seen but once, lord. It will pass if you will let me treat it."

"It is naught but an empty stomach, lady. Let me up."

Her fearful glance swung to Chretien, begging his help.

"Nay, Alain. It is not a simple thing. You must follow her instructions, else I fear for you. You are not one to faint like a lady in her first months."

"It is naught, I say. Let me up."

Chrétien's big hand lashed out and held the lord down at his chest. "I will knock you flat if I must. But you see, you have not even the strength to resist my hand. It is not like you, for you should have cold-cocked me by now. I think she is right, Alain. I will not lose you for your stubbornness."

"I, too," said Gerard. "And I can call upon any in this hall for help."

Alain gave them a disgusted frown. He sighed. Melisande knew she had won the first round. She suspected she was not the only one who had noticed the odd, occasional trembling of his hands, sporadic loss of balance and headaches. She had seen the worried look on Chrétien's face, and had known he, too, sensed the weakness in a normally strong man. She had not understood before now what that weakness could have cost him in battle.

She had to treat him, yet at the same time she had to get rid of the cloak before he changed his mind. If Fyren had not lied, then he might at any time demand it back from her, being unable to break the eternal bond to it that would destroy him.

What was sorcery, and what was not? Was this? Her mother had wound herself in the cloak, clung tenaciously to it until her last breath, when Melisande had finally pried it from her fingers. She would not let Fyren claim Alain, too. Never!

She sat beside him, keeping watch next to Chretien, who refused to leave the chamber. Kitchen women brought up buckets of hot water and the little soap pot from the bath house. The bed was stripped beneath him and clothes from him while he remained in the bed, grumbling indignantly. His dignity was of little importance to her now. He balked at the milk. It did him no good. Chretien offered to funnel it down him.

"I am hungry, lady. I want a decent meal." he demanded.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, and stroked suggestively at the hairs on his chest. "In three days," she said, "you may have a real meal again, and everything else you want, if you do as I say. If not, you may never have one again. Or anything else."

She allowed her hand to stray provocatively beneath the covers just far enough to be sure he got the point.

"Melisande."

She flipped her eyebrows. "Everything," she said with a sly grin. Aye, it was not fair. But she had to use everything she had now. If only she had not waited so long.

* * *

It was called the Butter Tubs. A great hole in the ground that went straight down into emptiness. Common word had it that it was a hole into Hell, but she did not believe that. A person could stand by and listen until rocks hit the bottom, and Hell must surely be much farther down.

Still, it gave her pause. No one knew how deep the hole was, only that it seemed to go straight down into the earth. If it did go all the way down to Hell, she could be giving the Devil back his own hideous prize.

But if there were such a hole into Hell, Satan would come up it every day. Everyone knew Satan did not want to be in the Hell he had made. He only wanted souls to join him there in misery.

The bottom of the Butter Tubs was the only place she knew where she could be certain no human being would ever go.

But how to get out of the castle? Gerard and Lynet had her chamber, where the hidden passage was, and the bolt hole was blocked. There was no other way, then, but to walk out the gate, as if it were something she did every day. She would claim to search for herbs for the lord's malady.

She found a basket to carry the detested cloak and a bundle of food for the few days it would take to get there and back. She wandered down through the village, talking to whoever stopped her to ask of their kin who had gone with Hugh to build and defend the new motte. She told them she had seen it, and they were safe within it. She hoped she did not lie.

She made for the beck, then hid herself among the trees that lined it. There were few to see her, for these days few strayed from the safety of the village and its castle. When darkness came, she was long gone.

By the light of the half moon, she made her way south along the road toward Gerard's castle, keeping the river in sight. Several miles farther, she turned at a crossroad to the east and hiked up into the rugged fells.

Her strength began to flag, and she stopped to rest. From her food bundle, she pulled the cheese and bread she had cut for herself that morning, and savored small portions of each. She wrapped herself in her green cloak against the chill night air, lay back against the dark rock and rested her head. But she dared not tarry long. By morning, Alain would be enraged. He would add up all the lies she had told him, her desertion, and now, the missing cloak. And he would send his knights to patrol every inch of his demesne until she was found.