He smoothed her hair. "I have always wanted them; I only thought that you might not. Today, when I watched children in the street, they seemed a promise of hope, each new life a chance of making the world fresh and good-hearted, with no kindness and gallantry wanting." He paused before continuing. "Despite all our love, we have never committed to each other, rarely talked of our deepest needs; that we finally confide our want of children is the proof. Love came so easily to us that we have not seen the need of endeavoring to sustain k. We have taken love's flower and let its seeds scatter where they might in heedless trust that new blooms will ever spring forth." He touched her flat belly. "Here I will plant my seed of love with care and devotion, then watch over you tenderly. Be sweet earth to my rain and sun, and within a single span of seasons, our miracle may unfurl with all the joy of new and remembered paradise."
"Hold me close, my darling," Liliane whispered, "for I would dream of that joy and have long missed your arms about me."
Enfolding her in his arms, Alexandre cradled her. "You will stay with me, then? These little birds of gold that sing in your ears do not lead me to false hope?"
"Nay, I shall not run away again," she whispered. "Coward that I was, I am done with running. Whatever the future holds, I shall meet it, so long as it holds you."
His lips lowered upon hers and the old moon shone full upon them. A quick pulse beat between them, the rhythm of desire and impatience. Their kiss grew as hot as the moon was cool, their limbs heavy with passion, yet never did they move. The silk of Liliane's hair was crushed gold in Alexandre's dark fingers. Then, heart to heart, he swept her up with gentle yet fired intent. From moonlight to darkness, he carried her swiftly.
White linen spilled, then Liliane's ivory skin bared to Alexandre's tawny embrace. Long was their kiss, sleek and slow was their bodies' intertwining, the play of his dark fur upon her golden pelt. Secret places were caressed, tasted. All languor vanished as they conducted a trembling, delicate invasion. Passion's tender spies gained eager welcome, lured sweet treacheries that persuaded surrender. Tiny sprites of the moon danced in soft celebration upon pillow and wall, an ancient dance of lovers' joining, of conquest and glad defeat when two become one upon the field of delight.
Ghosts of lovers past seemed to hover near in the streams of moonlight, their smiles at once sad and pleased. Wraiths of myth these lovers parted in life to wander lost, only to find remembrance through living lovers' lips. Their murmurings echoed the sea waves with silken, somnolent sighs. Sweet, sweet, ah, sweet, return.
Upon this sea-sounded desert night, Liliane and Alexandre were aware only of each other. Their well-known bodies were newly formed, the pungent earth of their desire new-found and forgetful of past strife. Alexandre's ripened hardness found warm haven. Liliane threw her head back, her body arched and eager to receive his gentle, ever deepening thrusts. Their rhythm became a surging, a slipping of earth into sea. Wave upon wave of exquisite sensation washed over them, scattering their realities, renewing their need. Foam laced their bodies, spun them into one glittering rise of spume. The pinnacle was a wet, white light that hovered unbearably, only to spill at last against a beckoning shore. For a long while, they lay in each other's arms, listening, for in the sea they heard a singing harp, high and unbearably sweet.
" 'Tis Orpheus seeking his Eurydice," Alexandre murmured, burying his face between Liliane's breasts. "Poor fool. I think I should have followed thee as far as he his lost love."
"Fie on Eurydice that she lured her lover to such endless sorrow," Liliane returned softly. "Fie on me who brought you to such a despair."
"Could I choose, I would not love you less, my darling." He chuckled wryly as he turned upon his back. "Was youthful passion ever prudent?"
Liliane rose on her elbow to look down at him and affected a solemn tone. "Why, my good fellow, we have been two years married. Is not prudence merely a matter of time? Piffle to enduring passion, I say."
"What do you say?" He rose up and pressed her onto her back with a wickedly intent stare.
"Piffle," she replied in a stifled tone, "piffle, piffle ... piffle ..." He kissed her. When his head lifted, she dragged him down again. "Prudence can stay in its own mud puddle."
* * *
The next days were halcyon, for Alexandre and Liliane were alone together beneath a silent sun in a serene cerulean sky. Only for meals did they summon a servant to the roof. Melons, lemons, grapes and olives mounded a brass tray beneath the canopy. The Juice was cool and untouched. Their hours of lovemaking were spangled with poetry read from Alexandre's battered book; their lazy naps were interrupted by massaging each other with scented oils. They sang, they laughed, but most vitally, they talked. Childhood secrets were told, disappointments and joys recounted. For the first time in their marriage, they were free of intruding responsibilities, free to love without hindrance.
"What goats we are," Liliane teased one afternoon as they lazed together on the pallet just beyond the canopy.
Alexandre's grin flashed white in his darkly tanned face, then he stretched in unrepentant satisfaction. "I must concede some merit to pagan bacchanalia." He popped a grape in his mouth. "Ah, gluttony and sloth." He swatted her lightly on her bare bottom. "All hail, sweet lechery."
"Had, hail." She laughed, turning over to face him nose to nose. "How many times have we made love in the last four days?"
"I have not counted." He kissed her lingeringly, "Why do we not start again, so I can bite tiny notches on your earlobes . . . and shoulders . . . and throat and—"
Liliane's giggle was cut off by the sound of voices at the foot of the steps. A clipped, imperious tone subdued Yves's oddly querulous one. She sat bolt upright in dismay. "Philip!"
As she grabbed for her shift, Alexandre snatched up his loincloth. Hearing footsteps start up the stairs, they both looked desperately about for a place to conceal Liliane, but Philip was already in view—followed by Saida. Saida's jaw dropped; Philip, more accustomed to hiding his reactions, stared at Liliane briefly, then his lips curved in a thin smile.
"I should have known that you had mots diversion than a fever, milord, but then perhaps your fever has broken, only to be replaced by another." He strolled forward and kissed Liliane's hand. "My compliments, Countess. The southern sun agrees with you . . . much better than a Turkish stain."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Liliane forced her hand to remain steady in his grasp, for like a cat playing with a mouse, Philip showed no inclination to let her go. Now he was eyeing Alexandre with a thoughtful air that prickled her neck.
"May I ask how long your countess has been with us, milord?"
"She accompanied me from France, sire," Alexandre replied evenly.
Not about to let him shoulder responsibility for her, Liliane added quickly, "I came to Palestine against my husband's wishes and knowledge, sire."
"But not without his most grateful welcome," Alexandre finished unperturbedly. Ignoring the fact that Philip was still holding Liliane's hand, Alexandre warmly clasped the other.
Philip languidly released Liliane's fingers. "Any man would be gratified by such lovely company. What a pity to dress this beauty as a lurk." He dropped cross-legged onto their abandoned pallet and waved to Saida, whose surprise had given way to sullenness. She settled next to Philip and glared at Liliane with open loathing. "You have kept your pretty secret well, Alexandre, mon ami. Am I the only fortunate who is party to it?""
"Other than Derek Flanchard, yes, sire," Alexandre lied. If Philip decided to make trouble, Alexandre would keep the men of his raiding party clear of it.
"Ah, yes, Derek the Deceased; at least, I assume he is deceased; he never struck me as the sort to miss the kill, far less the profit. Did you, by any chance, dispatch him?" Philip's green eyes held a dangerous gleam.
"He attempted to force himself on my wife," Alexandre answered flatly. "I merely relieved her of the necessity of sticking him."
"Tsk. I would not have thought Flanchard such a lec
her. His brain always seemed cast in steel. Ah, well, my mistake. I am too often misled in gauging men." After that pointed remark, Philip slid a glance at Saida, who now was draped over his shoulder: "I came, venturing to return a certain loan to you. I see I may now consider the obligation unnecessary."
"Indeed, sire," replied Alexandre. "The loan was more in the nature of a gift."
Saida, unable to comprehend a word, watched them with suspicion. Philip patted her knee. "I thank you, but I would be gratified if you would accept full repayment. The debt is more than I can endure; restitution alone will let me rest. My nights grow wearisome, my mind dulled for daily duties, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera." His set smile stated clearly: Take the bitch.
"If you insist, sire." Alexandre replied grimly. Saida's return could only cause trouble . . . and delight Philip. The trouble was already beginning, for Liliane had disengaged his hand.
"Do you like Acre, Countess?" Philip inquired sweetly as he observed Liliane's sudden coolness.
"Very much, sire, now that the siege is over."
"I confess that I find the city dull these days, but then I lack a woman's liking for peace.'' He rose and kissed her hand again, then purred over her signet. "Enjoy your stay, Countess, but mind you stay out of the sun; it ages European ladies." With a touch of his forehead to Alexandre, he trotted down the stairs.
That she had been abandoned quickly dawned on Saida. She ran to the wall to glare down into the street as Philip joined his retainers. A string of Saracen oaths were cast upon their heads, drawing a peal of laughter from Philip. With a kiss of his fingers, he turned his back on her. Saida rounded on Alexandre with an explosion of Arabic.
Sighing, he summoned Yves. "Fetch Raschid. Tell him I have a young lady here who is ripe for a business proposition."
In less than two hours, Saida was out of Brueil hands and into Raschid's. Neither Raschid nor his new acquisition was eager to long remain partners in trade. She was miffed that having been a king's concubine had not sufficiently impressed Raschid, and he knew a virago when he saw one. "I'll rent her out," he confided. "I know a rich merchant who loves to be browbeaten. He misses his dead mother."
That night, as Liliane dined with Alexandre on the rooftop, she toyed uneasily with her food. "What do you think Philip will do about my deceiving hint?"
"Our deceiving him." Alexandre grimly plunged a knife into a pear. "I do not know. Something. He has got a long, vindictive memory." The pear split. Alexandre gazed thoughtfully at the two halves. "Just now, I think he has other things on his mind. He is bored and he did not come to Palestine just to tag after Richard. If Richard is getting all of the glory from this campaign, what does Philip want, besides distracting Richard from carving up France?" He pronged a pear half and offered it to Liliane. "We had best make the most of our holiday, darling. I have a feeling Philip is about to drop a little rain on Richard's head that may wet us all."
Alexandre soon proved correct in his prediction. A few days later, a summons came from Philip. "You are wanted, milord," a stubby page informed Alexandre. "The king is ill."
In that moment, Liliane saw in Alexandre's concerned face his affection for Philip. Despite their differences, they had traveled many long roads together. Alexandre is stronger than his father, she reflected. He is loyal to those he loves, and so wins their loyalty. He treats weak and strong alike, and is fair when he need not be. Ah, Diego, I have been blessed in being wed to two such men. I wish you could have known Alexandre; he would have been both friend and son to you. Keep him from Philip's webs; let not his faith in Philip's friendship return a fatal reward.
* * *
Alexandre found Philip wan and listless upon his royal couch. His pallor smacked of fever—the kind that came and went, draining a man until he died of it or was weakened until any passing illness could kill him. "My liege, I am grieved to find you so," Alexandre fold him huskily. "I am at your service."
At Alexandre's taut, worried face, Philip smiled affectionately. "I rely upon you, mon ami, as ever. In a sea of false friends, you have been my secure harbor." He patted the coverlet. "Come close to me and listen." When Alexandre had done so, Philip murmured, "Go to Richard and tell him that I am ill. So far, I have kept my condition close secret lest rumor run amok. My physicians tell me I have the shaking sickness, which will prove fatal if I remain in Palestine; therefore, I must return to France." Alexandre's expression turned a trifle wooden, and Philip added reassuringly, "I am aware this is a mission no man could relish, but Richard, for all that he may rail and be suspicious, will believe you. He is a good judge of men and has marked you well. He knows you would not lie to him, even for me." He paused, his eyes closing for a moment. When he looked up at Alexandre again, he said quietly, "I shall not force you to this; I but ask you as a friend."
"Sire, when you might ask my life and be willingly granted it, I would not refuse you." Alexandre's eyes were level. "I have but one request, in hope that your condition may possibly be cured. A certain Saracen physican, in my experience, is greatly skilled. If I might have your leave to summon him ..."
"A Saracen?" Philip laughed faintly. "Even if I were to approve him, my nobles and subjects would not. Had he the best intentions in the world, if I died under his care, his life and that of a great many Saracens would be exacted in retribution. The political atmosphere of this entire area would change, all future treaties by compromise rather than slaughter made nearly impossible. No, mon ami, your Saracen is out of the question." He extended his ringfor Alexandre to kiss. "Go now, with my apologies to King Richard."
Alexandre kissed the ring.
* * *
Richard was furious at the news of Philip's intention to abandon the crusade. Not only was he losing his strongest ally, he would be releasing him to scheme and consolidate his dynastic power in France. Richard had won the first stage of his campaign in Palestine; both his prestige and ambition were committed to winning the rest of it. He could not leave now to watchdog Philip in Europe.
"Philip is sick? God's blood, I smell a jackal at work," Richard snarled. "Philip is likely as weedy as I am, with a wench under his bed! Sick, my arse!"
"He seemed so to me, sire," Alexandre replied quietly. "His majesty shows all the symptoms of the shaking sickness."
"Bah! Any quack physician can make a man ill; the cure is the catch." Richard impatiently paced his pavilion while his chancellor stood out of his way. No man who valued his position would want a share of the decision Richard contemplated. Finally, Richard's red head swiveled. "I shall see your royal patient myself, milord. Out of my way!"
Richard stormed to Philip's tent, Alexandre following closely. When the English king emerged sometime later, his face was black with anger. "Go, damn your eyes!" he stormed at Alexandre and the waiting courtiers. "Begone and bad cess to your lily-livered hides!"
Liliane was reading the poetry book by a nearly guttering candle when Alexandre entered their bedchamber at the villa. "What has happened?" she asked, seeing his closed face.
"We are going home," he replied simply.
Chapter 15
~
Home
Castle de Brueil
October 2, 1191
After less than two months of Philip's illness, Liliane and Alexandre rode through the portal of Castle de Brueil. Cheers rose from the battlements; serfs and children ran shouting behind them. Everywhere, varicolored bits of cloth waved in glad greeting, and Kiki, perched on Liliane's pommel, cluttered with nervous excitement and waved her little cap.
Charles, with Father Anselm in tow, strode out into the courtyard to meet them. His face filled with gladness, Charles caught Alexandre's bridle, then his hand. "Welcome, milord! Provence has been a weary place without you!"
" 'Tis good to see you, my friend, and you, Father Anselm," Alexandre replied warmly. "During these past months, I have greatly felt your loss. Lady Liliane and I rejoice to be home."
While Father Anselm burbled his welcome, Charles's g
aze flicked to Liliane in her Eastern samites and Massilia velvets, then grew chilled. "My lady." He bowed with elaborate politeness. "We feared you dead."
"Your concern is heartening, sir," Liliane returned lightly, "but I am doughtier than I look."
Alexandre chuckled, then slid off his destrier. "Milady has been adventuring in Palestine," he murmured to the two men, "and grown cocky. You must be patient with her airs; few women have endured such dangers and lived to prate of them."
Charles eyed her warily as Father Anselm asked, astonished, "Milady followed the crusade?"
"Indeed she did, and saved my life more than once, but that, you will keep to yourself for sake of her safety, as will the men who accompanied us." Alexandre held out his wrist to Kiki, who scampered up his arm to perch on his shoulder. "For all you know, mes amis, Liliane was homesick for Spain and these past many months enjoyed the Malaga sun." Alexandre swept Liliane down from her saddle and thoroughly kissed her. "My wife is a ravishing Tartar and I am a lucky man."
Over Alexandre's shoulder, Liliane's amused eyes met Charles's and Anselm's. "You must be patient with my lord's airs, Messieurs. We are expecting a baby."
Anselm's eyes widened. "My lord, an heir?"
"Perhaps an heiress," teased Liliane.
Alexandre whirled, still clasping Liliane to his side. "Perhaps twins—triplets! I vow we shall have a baker's dozen before we are done!"
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