A Flame Run Wild

by Christine Monson

  Alexandre had not expected so swift a turnabout. Had she seen through his charade? "Ah . . . then you agree she is not Andalusian?"

  Liliane clamped her teeth. "No more than the caliph's cousin is from Damascus." She caught up the stallion's rein and began to mount.

  Alexandre was loath to lose her company so quickly. Her hair was a shaft of sunlight, her eyes bewitching. He was impatient to make love to her again and would wait no longer than he must. Now was also a good opportunity to test her faith. His hand went quickly to her velvet-clad shoulder, halting her from mounting. "Dona, forgive my imposition, but I have taken a great fancy to the splendid stallion you ride. If you like the mare so much, particularly as she is more suited to a lady, perhaps you would consider giving me the black?"

  Give him Jean's black? Liliane's anger rose. Give this petty, greedy, prideful liar the one remembrance Jean had left her—at great sacrifice to himself? How could this man be Jean when he antagonized her so? Looking up at Alexandre de Brueil, she said quietly, "You must forgive me, milord, if I decline your offer. The stallion was also a wedding gift . . . from a dear friend."

  Unexpectedly, Alexandre felt his jaw tighten with an unreasonable surge of excitement and jealousy. Brief though her affair had been, Liliane remained faithful to Jean, a man she thought was gone from her life forever. "A dear friend, you say?" His voice held a sharper edge than he had intended, for her pensive, lovely face was filled with memories of Jean. "Dearer than your husband, who stands so close to you now?" He stepped impulsively toward her. He wanted to kiss her, to make her accept the reality of Alexandre and forget her forest lover.

  As if burned by a flame, Liliane drew swiftly back. The revulsion she tried to conceal struck him like an unexpected, punishing blow. It was obvious that she wanted Jean; Alexandre was not at all to her liking. "Then, by all means, keep the black." His words came out painfully, breathlessly. "I have other nags."

  Liliane wondered if he was intimating that he also had other women. His handsome face was taut; he was startled and hurt by her refusal. The marriage was beginning disastrously and she would have given much to correct it. But she would not give him Jean's horse. "I have planned a gift that may please you better, milord," she said quickly. "It is a rich gift and one that will outlive this stallion."

  Alexandre grimly mounted the sorrel, leaving her to manage the restless mare. "I will be much pleased, milady, if it but outlasts a Signe's affections."

  Liliane stepped back from the dancing sorrel's path. "What has my family to do with this?"

  "That remains to be seen, milady." With that, Alexandre spurred his horse and galloped back to the castle.

  Liliane slowly followed him. Matters were quickly going from bad to worse. She was not accustomed to handling men, perhaps because Diego had not required the usual feminine machinations; he had seen too much in his life to be influenced by his pride or social tradition. In comparison to Diego, this Alexandre seemed a prickly boy. Diego had readily given her freedoms beyond her sex, and she'd enjoyed a position that commanded respect. She was intelligent and fair and she'd been comfortable with servants, castellans and visiting gentry.

  What was this Alexandre like? How would her treat her? He did not impress her as being especially tolerant.

  Be fair, she told herself. You don't know him at all. Why not tour the demesne and see if he is at least a tolerable manager? You have given him control of your fortune, my girl; and you would do well to discover what he means to do with it. She mounted the stallion and whistled to the mare. As the horse trotted after her like an obedient dog, Liliane smiled impishly. If Alexandre could only see his Damascus mare now!

  Stopping briefly by the stable, Liliane handed the mare over to a hostler with grooming instructions, then she proceeded to cross the field. If upon her return, the mare's coat shone properly, Liliane would have gained a foothold in her new domain. If not, she would cuff the hostler's ears.

  Liliane was eager to explore the coast, but she thought it best to accustom herself to her prospective duties as soon as possible, as well as see to the future of her dowry. Reaching the crest of a hill, she paused to gaze over the fields toward the deep green forest where she had met Jean. Although only a few miles away, it seemed very far. The way north to the Aquitaine was still farther. How easy it would be to turn the stallion's head north!

  With a sigh, Liliane brought her attention back to the problem at hand. She knew the perimeters of the Brueil demesne, for Jacques had shown her maps. Except for the encroaching Signe fief which bordered perhaps fifteen miles from Castle de Brueil, Alexandre's fief ran northeast in a finger from the sea nearly to the French Alps, east beyond the village of Cannes and west over a day's ride toward the Italian kingdom of the Lombards. Squabbles with the city-states of Italy had many times changed the western border, but the Brueils, who were invariably fighting someone, had always retrieved their own. Scrappers, she judged, and Alexandre de Brueil was the worst!

  During her ride, Liliane tallied up repair costs in her head. Due to Alexandre's absence in Palestine, many of the fields were overgrown, the vineyards were parched and one of the nearby village wells had caved in. He had made a valiant beginning, but all the work would cost a fortune: a generous share of her fortune. Oh, he needed money badly enough. From a practical standpoint his marriage investment would be a good one. The greening land which swept to the seas was lovely and fertile, the forests were thickly timbered and not too much depleted from centuries of wood fires. Most of the serf gardens were plowed for planting. The villagers, like the castellans, were reasonably well fed and not surly from mistreatment, although they were naturally wary of her. They had heard that their master had married a Signe, and like him, they had no love for their predatory neighbors. Anxious to assure herself that Alexandre was a humane ruler, she had greeted them pleasantly and introduced herself. While the serfs were polite, she received few smiles and a good many sober stares. She was sure that the news of her visit would soon reach the castle.

  Indeed the news of her roving reached the castle before she did. Tired and dusty, Liliane went to her chamber with just enough time for a bath before dinner. The maids were disgruntled. All these baths were a bother. The master had acquired the habit of excessive scrubbing in the Bast; must they now lug water for their new mistress, as well? Perhaps when the novelty of her honeymoon wore off, she would be back to a sensible schedule of one or two a year.

  Tossing off her riding clothes, Liliane ignored their muttering as they placed a yellow cloth screen between the copper tub and drafty windows. She was relieved that Alexandre kept sufficient provisions for bathing—she had expected no more man a wooden keg and lye soap. Both the patterns stamped on the tub and the one woven into the screen fabric were Moorish, and the fine soap was scented with sandalwood. He had probably found these things in the Crescent markets. In a castle where she had seen little furniture other than the great hall's carved chairs, benches and truncheon tables, to have such splendid bath equipage was a great luxury. However, she now noted that Alexandre's bed was big and comfortable with a few scattered Eastern pillows. Two Roman-style chairs rested by the fireplace, and a wonderful Damascus rug covered the floor's cold stones.

  In truth, Liliane thought as she settled into the water, the gray stone set off the bright Eastern colors beautifully. The room exuded a sophistication that she had long ago discovered in Andalusia with its wonderful architecture and splendid mosaics. She missed Malaga's pine-softened crags and surf-pounded beaches. She missed the lemon-scented vales and twisted olive trees; the dark-eyed, ivory-skinned people with their flowing Moorish robes and intricate customs. Sniffing Alexandre's lovely soap made her remember the scents of the bazaars and perfumes of veiled women and . . . Dio, she wanted to go home.

  Wishing the serving women would go away, Liliane closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the women had left and Alexandre was staring down at her. She had not yet used enough soap to cloud the water, and she had to
force herself to lie still under his brilliant gaze. His eyes held a fierce hunger and he seemed to be holding his breath. He was poised between flight and fascination as if he had been surprised by some danger.

  Alexandre was her husband and she must make him so in feet, thus they might make a beginning. That they should live separately was wrong. If she could seduce him, soften him with womanly wiles, they might have a fruitful life together, if not the passion of chosen lovers. They might have children . . . and hope. She must lure him into forgetting his reservations. Strangely, the intensity of his blue eyes disturbed her as Jean's had done, made her feel that she was looking at Jean. She wished fervently that he was Jean so that he might take her, wet and slippery, up into his arms and kiss her with that velvet mouth and make her forget . . . that she had married Alexandre.

  Alexandre wondered what Liliane was thinking as she lay mere so still and silent, her hair hanging in damp strands to the floor. He wanted to wind it around his fingers, kiss her soft, blooming mouth and watch her eyes change, their smoky fires shimmer and flare. The water surrounding her pale body was glinting in the setting sun's long shafts of rusty rose and gold. She was softly rounded, blue-shadowed, mysteriously enticing. The peaks of her breasts glimmered just beneath the amber water. You are mine, he thought: by law, by your own consent and by your heart whose warmth I have known, whose racing pulse I have kissed when I made love to you. You are mine, mine. But even when he started to reach out to her, he knew she irrevocably belonged to Jean.

  Alexandre's jaw tightened as he tore his gaze from her, searched for some distraction to block his mind from his body's urgent demand. His attention was caught by her small pile of clothing. "A fair long ride you had today," he commented tersely. "As you do no know the land, I had thought of sending out searchers."

  Although Liliane yearned to wrap herself in the towels nearby, she managed to remain still and shrug casually. "There was no need. I am accustomed to finding my way in unfamiliar terrain."

  Alexandre fidgeted, still not looking at her. "Apparently. I should not have thought the Andalusian Moors so forgiving of ladies wandering unattended. Do the women there not go in veils?" Somewhat perturbed that she had made no effort to cover herself, he gave her body a thorough perusal, a mocking glint in his eyes,

  "In veils," she replied evenly, "and often accompanied by eunuchs."

  Alexandre flushed at her inference. "You will find few eunuchs in King Philip's France, milady," he shot back. "While my fief is fairly safe, you would be wise not to go without escort." Glancing at her piled clothes he added, "Also, I do not know your habit in Spain, but in France, ladies of birth do not flaunt their charms in male dress."

  Liliane sidestepped the challenge. "So you think me charming, milord? I confess I had begun to wonder." With a deliberately arch glance, she rose from the bath and held out her hand. "As my ladies are unavailable, would you mind giving me my robe? The silk one, over the chair."

  He was sorely tempted to catch her hand, throw her over his shoulder, haul her to bed and tame her impudence. Was she trying to seduce him, to bait him into bed and whatever snares she could devise? "You do well enough, Madame, but do not take on airs." He tossed her the robe. "I may have married you, but I have no reason at all to trust you, only to end some night with your poignard in my gullet."

  Liliane slowly stepped, into the gold-embroidered violet robe and wound it securely about her. "Blunt words, sir. Do you propose to evade my wicked schemes by celibacy till death do us part? Surely, a more congenial arrangement might be devised."

  "Celibacy?" His eyes full of her, Alexandre laughed without mirth. "I am not the one with a foul reputation, Dona. I shall not suffer unduly for company."

  She swept the trailing robe into her hand. "And what do you propose I do?" Her lashes flicked up teasingly. "For entertainment, that is?"

  Alexandre, angry at her attempt to play the wanton, snapped, "Why not try being a lady for a change?"

  Liliane's temper kindled and her eyes flashed with anger. "You have no cause to assume me unchaste!"

  His eyes narrowed. "Have I not? Even your uncle and cousin do not know where you spent your wedding eve. Would you care to enlighten us all?"

  Liliane paled. Had Alexandre somehow talked to Jean? How could he know? Unless . . .

  Alexandre saw by her distraught expression that he was pushing too far. He had to retreat unless he wanted her to guess the truth. "Do not worry," he said slowly. "Your secret, whatever it is, is safe ... for the time being. But I warn you, play me false and you will regret it. That you are my wife matters naught; I will brook no traitors."

  "Perhaps you see traitors where none exist," Liliane whispered, turning away. Alexandre knew that Jacques had given her orders to spy, but he could not know that she had no intention of serving Jacques's ends any more than she must. Achieving justice for Diego's murder was proving much more of a burden than she had anticipated.

  Aware that he had hurt Liliane, Alexandre wanted to comfort her but he knew that she must be warned not to meddle in his affairs on behalf of her family. He did not want to be forced to punish some treacherous act, and the idea of sending her back to her relatives was repugnant. If only he could tell her how glad he was that, devious or not, she was his bride.

  He came up behind her, his lips close to her ear. "Prove me wrong, Liliane, and I will make you happy. You will want for nothing that is in my power to give."

  Liliane wanted to turn to him, for he sounded so much like Jean that her heart was torn. "But how long will you trust me, Alexandre, when any passing breeze might rouse your suspicions? I foresee nothing but your disillusionment."

  He touched her hair. "Do you suggest I trust you?"

  "I suggest you do not judge when I have done you no ill."

  No ill, he thought. When you have brought me nothing but confusion and a troubled heart? And yet. . . and yet... I had not thought to know love in my life. So much time has passed, so many weary roads have I traveled in fighting other men's battles. And when I so desperately needed peace, I was forced into this marriage, one that promised only emptiness with a stranger. Then you come, my bride and temptress, my eternal torment. If this is love, my hope of peace is forever gone. He stroked her hair. Stay. Stay and take whatever peace I have left. Make my days restless with longing, turn my ambitions to dust; only kiss me as you did one rain-swept night when the fire and the moon were spent, and ancient lovers danced round us. . . .

  Liliane thought that Alexandre was about to make love to her. She hoped for it and at the same time dreaded it. Ah, the cruelty of being doomed to live with a man in the haunting image of her lover. But Jean's spirit was gone, gone forever like a far-off hawk. Liliane became breathlessly still when Alexandre touched her shoulder. When he turned her around to face him, she offered no resistance.

  Alexandre saw the waiting in her eyes. She was soft in his arms, but the waiting was terrible. If he kissed her now, the passion within her would be lost forever. Although she did not hate him, she was ready to endure him and this knowledge cut him to the core.

  Tell her! Par Dieu, tell her the truth! But he could not. For the sake of generations of his family and the defense of their demesne, he could not. If she knew he was her Jean, she would know her very nearness made him go weak in the knees. He must first test her loyalty and prove her useless to the Signes— they must give up any idea of using Liliane to undermine the de Brueils. If he could also persuade her to like the part of him that was Alexandre, he might reveal himself entirely. Not bedding her gave him a valuable way to manage her. If he did not consummate their marriage she knew he could always get rid of her if she gave him too much trouble. She did not have to know just how much trouble it would cause him not to pull her into his arms—and into his bed. "Shall we go down to dinner?" he murmured. Liliane looked startled, then dismayed. Not for want of his attentions, he warranted.

  "Milord. If you will give me a moment to dress?"

  The robe dropped
to the floor and his resolution almost went with it. She could not continue to bait him if he was to keep his hands off her tonight and the nights to come. His mind in a whirl, Alexandre adopted a tone of prudery. "Madame, if you know not modesty, pray learn its virtue or I will send you for instructions to the Sisters of Avignon!" Nearly driven to desperation, he swiftly left the room.

  With a low, heartfelt cry of frustration, Liliane kicked the bath bucket over.

  Chapter 4

  ~

  The Intractable Lady

  Castle de Brueil

  Next day

  Liliane was up at cockcrow to continue her inspection of the demesne and to explore the beach. To her chagrin, when she went to the stable for her stallion, two castellans mounted to accompany her. An attempt to dismiss them would avail her little; they took their orders from Alexandre. By noon, she had completed her tour but refused to ruin her first enjoyment of the beach by towing a pair of burly bodyguards with her. Demurely pleading a call of nature, she directed her stallion into the small woodland bordering the village near the castle. In minutes, she emerged from the other side of the wood and galloped down to the shore.

  The castellans waited for some time before sheepishly reporting to Alexandre. They found him troweling mortar and resetting stones in an old byre, and their reception was blistering. Leaving them to finish the byre with its muck and stench, Alexandre rode off to find his errant lady.

  When Liliane looked up to see Alexandre pounding down the beach on his big sorrel, she knew she could outrun him on the black; but to do so would only be foolish. She wanted no one with her now, wanted to hear no human voice. For this brief moment, she had harkened only to the singing voice of the turquoise sea, the same sea that touched Malaga, her home with Diego. Across the shining black pebbles, Alexandre came surely and swiftly. The shore line was irregular, not so rocky as Malaga's, but with steep cliffs rising above calm inlets, protecting the smooth beaches from the fierce storms. This gold and blue shoreline was giving her a peace that she was not eager to have disturbed.