A Flame Run Wild

by Christine Monson

  After they had quickly stripped Alexandre of his wet clothes, Liliane was glad of the guardman's presence. Alexandre's body, was identical to Jean's, arousing all her memory and longing. Like Jean, he was brown all over except for the pale band at his loins. However, now his skin had an unhealthy, grayish tinge, and his labored breathing boded ill. Liliane was worried. His illness had the look of lung fever; if so, he might easily die. If he did, she would be free of both him and Jacques, but not free of her debt to Diego ... or her compelling attraction to Jean. However unlike him in spirit, Alexandre was inextricable from Jean, and she had vowed to stand by Alexandre in sickness and in health. Now helpless and in danger of losing his life, he deserved her best care. She leaned over and gently covered him.

  The guardsman was watching her closely. She looked up at him. "What is your name, sir?" She supposed he was not used to being addressed so courteously by anyone, far less a titled lady. Under his shock of flaming hair, he looked at her speculatively, as if he suspected she might be trying to natter him.

  "Charles."

  "Just Charles?"

  "Just Charles."

  So, she decided, with that name, his fine speech and features, he is another noble bastard . . . who might well be acquainted with Jean. "How did you become sworn to my lord Alexandre, sir?"

  Charles seemed to become slightly less wary. "I was appointed his father's squire when I turned thirteen, milady. The old count was a friend of my father's."

  Wisely, Liliane did not inquire further about his father. "And you became Alexandre's squire when he was knighted?"

  "I did, milady."

  They both heard the rattle of buckets accompanied by grumbling outside the door. Liliane rose. "Well, sir, you appear to be my husband's friend. I will tell you frankly, there's a chance he may die. I shall do my utmost to see that he does not. To that end, Alexandre and I will both need your help. Be as suspicious as you like, but I warn you, do not fix too entirely upon me. You may become like a blind hound with a fine nose wasted upon his own familiar hearth when the woods are lively."

  Charles smiled quizzically. "I will remember, milady."

  At Liliane's orders, the servants hung sheets about the bed, then brought braziers to boil pots of water to steep the rose hips and herbs she had brought from Spain, until pungent steam filled the room. The lung fever, gathering its forces for days, now seized Alexandre with a vengeance. By midnight, despite massive drafts of rose-hip tea, his breathing was a gurgling rattle that had the servants crossing themselves and blaming the infernal, sweltering steam. Without the steam, Liliane knew that Alexandre would suffocate.

  His restless ravings were incoherent, mostly in Arabic the servants could not understand, for they would have found his curses on Palestine to be blasphemous. Charles, however, understood more than a little, Liliane believed. Most of the European fatalities hi Palestine had not been due to the sword, but to disease and the relentless sun. Shocked and saddened, Liliane listened to Alexandre, until without thinking she took Ins hand, that he might dimly know he was not alone in his hellish memories.

  Charles's eyes widened at her gesture, then narrowed in suspicion. Although she noticed increased antagonism, Liliane was not much worried by it. While she might not understand Alexandre, she understood Charles. He would be a hard nut to crack, but once she gained his trust, he would be soft and as priceless as gold.

  Three days passed with little sleep for anyone, particularly Liliane, who was trembling with exhaustion. She did not know when Charles slept, for he was continually at her side tending Alexandre. Charles saw right through her, Liliane thought. He sensed that she was merely performing a duty, with no love and little affection. He was wrong, but Liliane was unsure just how wrong he was. She missed Jean terribly, more,because he seemed to be with her in the form of Alexandre. In some strange, distant fashion, she loved Alexandre, but where that love began and stopped, she could not begin to say. She only knew that she wanted to love Alexandre, who could give her a full life and children; she did not want to keep hopelessly loving Jean, whom she could never have.

  Liliane found it easy to love Alexandre when he awoke and looked at her with the eyes of a child. She stroked his brow and felt its coolness. She touched his lips and found her name upon them. "Sleep now," she whispered, and he closed his eyes and slept peacefully.

  She looked over her shoulder at Charles. Expressed in his face was both gratitude and dismay at the unguarded trust for her he had witnessed in Alexandre. He smiled crookedly. "I am not sure whether to thank you or cut your throat. You are much more clever than I anticipated."

  Liliane's eyes closed wearily as she lay back on the bed. "Do you really think anyone here will ever trust me? One needs a clever head in this place. Everyone else is befuddled with fear of my family.''

  "We do not fear the Signes, milady," Charles replied sharply. "We merely know them."

  Her eyes opened. "As you do me? May your God protect you for you are deaf and blind." She closed her eyes again. "No matter. Cut my throat and count yourself prudent. Perhaps my lord Alexandre will reward you from my dowry."

  Charles stepped forward to retort, but he could see that she was already falling asleep and beyond caring whether or not he dispatched her.

  Weary as she was, Liliane was lovely, with her shining blond locks so near Alexandre's dark curls that their hair tumbled together. Because of her cleverness and beauty, they will soon think as one, mused Charles. Struggle as he may, Alexandre will become besotted with her and that will be the death of him.

  And what of you, Charles? he asked himself. Are you, too, already besotted with the wife of your liege lord? Cut her throat and be hanged for it. Alexandre can live and hope for happiness.

  Charles fully understood Alexandre's susceptibility to Liliane. At five, Alexandre had lost his mother and two-year-old sister in one of the plagues that repeatedly scourged Europe. His father, Henri, was rarely at home. He was usually involved in some military campaign, either for King Louis or his own adventurous ambitions. When he was at home, he overwhelmed his lonely son with hearty, bullish affection and demands. He expected the shy, slender stripling to be strapping and aggressive. "Scare off the dogs, boy. Roar at 'em like a lion and give 'em the back of your fists." Fortunately, Alexandre was strong, both in his wiry frame and his will. The old man had not broken him, but he had left several dents. Alexandre, who never cared to be a soldier, was thrown headlong into the violent adventures his father adored. He hated slaughter, the waste, the stupidity; yet all along, he had remained loyal to his one bond of love—his father.

  Alexandre and Charles became closer than most boyhood friends. When old Henri shoved his fist down a dog's throat once too often in Burgundy and had it fatally bitten off, Alexandre inherited the estate he had run from the age of thirteen. Alexandre had shrewdly stretched Henry's war booty further than his clerk nought it could possibly go. However, Alexandre made the mistake of applying to King Louis for monies owed his father for loans and knightly service, and when they were not forthcoming, he went to Paris to demand them.

  In Paris, he met Philip, who at the tender age of fifteen had already governed France for a year in his ailing father's place. Brilliant and dangerous both in intrigue and war, Philip meant to unite all the warring factions of France under his rule. He was in the midst of recruiting officers for a fight in Flanders when he met the audacious, stubborn Alexandre. Finding the young man charismatic, attractive and persuasive, he allowed him to pry from the royal coffers a portion of the monies due him, and thereby hired him into service to the crown. "As I am raising a campaign and cannot pay you the total now, help me put down the rebels," he cajoled Alexandre, "and you shall have all your gold and more."

  To Alexandre, the offer had been irresistible. He would gain the active battle experience necessary to all landed seigneurs and enough money to allow him to spend the rest of his days without having to use that experience.

  Alexandre performed valiantly in the
Flanders campaign, yet somehow he did not earn enough in booty and pay to return to his fief; Philip shrewdly saw to that. Alexandre was no idiot; after another campaign, he perceived Philip's ploy. By then, however, Philip had infected him with the fever of duty, patriotism, friendship and the desire to see France unified and strong so that her safety would be insured. Time and disillusionment had killed those dreams. In strength lay a margin of safety, but there was no guarantee. One battle led to another, and at last he knew that the fighting would never end. One day, Alexandre found himself frying in the Holy Land for no reason other than to uphold Philip's reputation.

  Charles, although trained as a squire and ambitious to win a knight's spurs, had not accompanied Alexandre. Alexandre left him to manage the Brueil demesne. Honored, Charles was adept at his task, but he never told Alexandre that he longed to be in the military. Each time Alexandre came home, Charles found him more withdrawn, torn as he was from the roots that gave him sustenance and strength.

  Liliane could have no idea how dangerous she was to Alexandre now. Alexandre desperately needed a home and children and, most of all, a woman to love who would love him in return with all her faith and strength. Liliane's beauty was breathtaking; she was the sort of woman a man dreamed of in deserts and high places. Wildly desirable, she would be all too easy to love. In the last days of Alexandre's illness, Charles had seen she was also strong, intelligent and resilient. She was the wife Charles would have chosen for Alexandre, except for the one fatal flaw of her birth and upbringing. Charles had sometimes dealt with the Signes in Alexandre's absence; they were vipers who wouldn't rest until they saw Alexandre dead. Now one of them lay in his lord's bed. Charles strongly suspected that Liliane had merely saved Alexandre for another day in order to gain his trust. She might simply be ensuring that he completed the worst of the repairs on his fief before her family appropriated it.

  Charles half slid his dagger from its sheath, but one thought made him hesitate. What if Liliane had acted honorably? She professed little love for Alexandre, yet she'd spared nothing for his care. Such dispassionate diligence might be expected if she had an ulterior motive, but what if he was wrong in his assessment? At times, he had glimpsed a tenderness in her, almost as if she wished for a like response from Alexandre. If Liliane were good, to destroy her would be heinous wickedness, yet to let her live posed a great danger to himself. She now knew that he was her enemy. If she gained sway over Alexandre, she might bring about his dismissal, even his destruction.

  Finally, Charles shoved his dagger back into its sheath. He would give her a little time to show her spots before he flayed them off her.

  * * *

  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 co
lumn. "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?