"May I speak first with my lady?" Alexandre requested tensely.
"Why not? But mind, do not dally. Invalids are notoriously short of patience."
Alexandre walked slowly toward Liliane until they were a handbreadth away from each other. "I love you," he whispered. "Can you forgive me?"
Her hand moved as if she would touch his face, then she smiled softly. "I knew that you loved me when you came back to Castle de Brueil. We are bound together, you and I, I have no more to regret than our ending."
His whisper became almost inaudible. "You may have a chance if I can delay the end of the game." Briefly, he told her of his order to Charles.
Her eyes widened. "Milord, you are a fox worthy of my uncle!"
"I fear not. The burden may fall to you." He pressed his tips to hers, then murmured against them, "Pray tell me you have not been letting me win at chess!"
"Nay," she breathed, "I am neither his match nor yours, but I have watched him favor certain gambits. His slyness may outdo him. Never will he take a direct path if a twisted one beckons."
"Milord, you have tarried long enough," Jacques called.
Alexandre kissed Liliane passionately and without words.
Louis strode up and jerked him away. "Enough of that," he hissed. "If my uncle's archer doesn't get her, she's mine!" He gave Alexandre a shove back to the chess board.
Jacques appraised the smoldering fire in his young opponent's eyes. "A show of temper will not do, Milord de Brueil. In chess, a cool head is all."
"Speaking of all," retorted Alexandre coldly, "just what do I get out of this game? Suppose you lose?"
"Dear me, let us see. What do you say to a clear shot at Louis with that crossbow?"
"The hell you say ..." snarled Louis.
"Just teasing," purred his uncle. "Suppose I let you live until I die, Alex."
"What of Liliane?"
Jacques shrugged. "As she is relatively inconsequential to me but vital to you, you may keep each other company until Louis takes charge of her.''
"Louis is not to have her."
Jacques stirred restlessly. "You must take that up with Louis. I have finished bargaining. Begin the game." His voice held an edge that had not been there before, and Alexandre wondered just how much endurance the old man had. The bandage upon his chest was already brightly stained and Jacques's movements were becoming fitful. Was his wound affecting him or had the poison begun to take its insidious toll?
What horror was happening inside his own body? He felt nothing yet except desperation and the beginning of a headache. He stared blindly at the board for a moment, then forced himself to concentrate. He must play very well, better than he had ever dreamed of playing. Sweat prickled his brow and dampened the first chess piece he touched. Taking as long as he dared, he finally made the move.
Jacques nodded approvingly. "Good. Good choice." He flicked forward a counter pawn.
Alexandre made sure that five moves took an hour. Each time he made a move, Jacques commented on his wisdom as if judging a novice. But at the end of another hour, Jacques had fallen silent. His moves were not so quick, his manner was subdued. He had taken two of Alexandre's pieces and Alexandre had taken one of his.
Both, men were pale, Jacques clearly uncomfortable. Alexandre's headache was beginning to throb all the way down his spine. Once, when waiting for Jacques to make a move, Alexandre saw Louis rub his forehead, then surreptitiously go through the coin pouch at his waist. Looking for something? he wanted to taunt. Lost your way out of your own trap? Only when he looked at the fatigue on Liliane's drawn face, did he feel desperation. They were moving into the third hour. Every minute that he prolonged the game took its toll on her.
Jacques clipped a piece. Louis came over to the board and ran his hands through his wiry black hair. "How long are you going to take at this? It's a damned bore, if you ask me."
"No one asked you, Louis," his uncle replied. "Why not chat with the bowman about back-shooting? That should interest you."
Louis's hand halted abruptly in his hair. "Why the insinuating remarks? Haven't I looked after you?"
"After your fashion, I should say devotedly. Now be a good ogre and run along."
Louis ignored him. "Look here, I say we up the wager. For every piece you take, the bowman takes a shot."
"That is a thought."
Alexandre's hackles rose. "You agreed to a full game!"
"So I did," Jacques replied with an effort, "but then I have never been very reliable. You must admit that Louis has a point. We are progressing rather slowly. I should have thought you would be more impetuous."
"With my wife and child at stake?" Alexandre leaned forward. "Play a game fairly for once in your life, Jacques. Winning will offer twice the satisfaction."
Jacques's lips curved maliciously. "Seeing my treacherous niece with an arrow in her throat will give me sufficient satisfaction, milord. Watching your face when that arrow flies home will crown the pleasure. You play well, too well to fall back upon chivalry. You have discredited me and my family, turned all of France against us—"
"Your repeated treacheries and assassinations did that, Jacques. Do not pretend your lack of guilt so close to Judgment; 'tis another sin upon the many."
"Then what is one more sin? I like my comforts. Heaven offers only stiff saints and board beds. Satan will not keep me in hell, but send me again into the world to plague it in his name."
"Is Louis so sanguine about answering for his evil?" retorted Alexandre. "His end may be at his heels, for all he knows."
Jacques chortled at Louis's stiffening face, then went into a coughing fit. Limply, he raised a protesting hand. "No more of that! I shall die early of amusement. Picture Louis . . . pricked on Satan's fork." He jabbed Louis in the ribs. "Squirm, you puny miscreant!" Then his mood abruptly altered as the agony in his chest reminded him of the passing time. "Bowman, take heed. The next chesspiece I take will put an arrow . . . through my niece's hair. Should you miss, welladay."
His teeth clenched, Alexandre applied himself to the board, but Jacques's deadly warping of the rules had its effect. He forfeited his next piece.
Alexandre held his breath as the blunt bow drew back; its arrow sped and shivered amid the shimmer of Liliane's hair, an inch from her ear. Alexandre let out his breath. Thank God, the bowman was a good shot! Liliane was white as a new linen chainse, but she had not batted an eye. He forced himself to empty his mind of all distractions as his gaze raked Jacques's field of pieces. In pouncing on one of Alexandre's bishops, Jacques had left one of his knights open: in another two moves, Alexandre had it.
Jacques blinked as if forcing his attention, then sighed. "More wine, Louis. Our young stag waxes keen."
Hastily, Louis brought the wine. "May I be excused for a time, Uncle? 'Tis near noon and I really should check the guard."
Jacques shot him a sidelong glance. "And miss the moment you have been panting for? Or is it something else that makes you impatient?" He nodded to the Norseman, leaning bored in the corner. "Stop paring your fingernails with that ax, Olaf, and see to the guard. My nephew is keeping me company." His reptilian gaze slid again to Louis. "I should not wish to die without my loving successor at hand, should I, Louis?"
With a cynical look at Louis, Olaf went to see about the guard. As the game dragged on, Louis began to sweat a little more than Alexandre. Jacques noted his discomfort. "Fie, Louis. You wanted my power, did you not? Badly enough to set that wizened clerk on me ... ah, yes, do not squirm; I noticed your little . . . tete-a-tete with him on the battlement, despite my . . . preoccupation with milord Alexandre here." Jacques smiled, a ghastly smile now, twisting his features with his fatal pain and ebbing strength. "Now you will have to handle any future complications with Philip all by your slug-witted self. Uncle will be safely dead and free to haunt you."
When Louis looked swiftly about to see if they were alone, snaking his hand to his dirk, Jacques croaked, "No need, my newt, I shall be dead before t
he hourglass empties . . . and you will rule all you survey. I want only to see Liliane . . . precede me from this world. An angel to heaven, a devil to hell. All we waiting demons shall work for your ruin, Louis, and be assured, if we do not mangle you upon this earth, you will ... be ours beyond it."
Jacques moved his queen, and with a grim smile of triumph, Alexandre claimed it. Jacques's brow puckered. "I must... be losing my touch. My mind wanders under a cloud . . . black and foul. I have you, though, Brueil. One last move . . . and your king . . . and lady are mine." He reached heavily for the piece, then his hand dropped helplessly. "I . . . cannot. Louis, Louis . . . move my bishop to . . ." His rheumy eyes began to drift. "Kill her . . . now. Now ... I cannot wait . . ."
The bowman nocked a new arrow and drew back. Louis abruptly waved him to lower the bow. "Sorry, Uncle, but I have better use for the bitch in my bed . . . and you've lasted long enough." Slipping out his dirk, he lurged with brutal force at Jacques's paunch, sinking it deep. Jacques's mouth sagged open as his last breath left him even before the dirk touched him. Louis wrenched the weapon out. "Damnation! The old dog was lucky to the end!"
"You're not," drawled the Norseman, leaning against the jamb of the hall's great doors. He strolled into the hall. "A fire is roaring to the north. Castle de Signe appears to be going up like a dry tree."
Louis whirled on Alexandre as he waved to the Norseman to bind his wrists. "What are you up to?"
"Nothing, at the moment. As you can see, my hands are now tied," replied Alexandre. "Philip's, on the other hand, are not."
"He's attacking Castle de Signe?" cried Louis. He pounded past Olaf to the battlement.
As soon as Louis was gone, Alexandre addressed the Norseman. ''Free me and you will be richly rewarded."
"With chickens?" the Viking mocked, studying Alexandre's waxen face. "From what I've seen, that is all you have to spare."
"I have jewels hidden away," put in Liliane. "More than you will ever see tagging after Louis. King Philip is Count Alexandre's loyal friend and he outnumbers Louis; he will kill you all."
"I've seen no kings—just a fire," Olaf said lazily. "Anyone can start a fire." He grinned. "I haven't seen any jewels either. You will have to tell me where they are."
"Cut us loose," urged Liliane, "and I shall show you."
The Norseman shook his head. "That's asking me to put the cart before the horse. When I'm bought, I stay bought, unless somebody flashes a better price before my eyes." His teeth flashed again, his smile wide and friendly.
Liliane turned in desperation to Alexandre.
"Kiki," he said slowly, wearily. "Summon Kiki."
As she realized what he meant, Liliane's face brightened. She trilled a high whistle, then made a series of clicks with her tongue. When a few minutes passed and nothing happened, she repeated her call. A wary frown furrowed the Norseman's brow. "Who's Kiki?" he demanded, shifting his battle-ax from his shoulder to poise at the ready.
"Possibly the source of your better price," replied Alexandre, He stealthily tested his bonds; they were not only secure but cutting into his swollen wrists. Thanks to Louis's poison, the ache in his head had spread throughout his body. "At any rate," he advised the Viking, "Kiki scarcely reaches your knees, so you can relax your weapon.''
The Norseman did not budge. A moment later, a small furtive creature edged into the room. After wringing its hands for an instant, it darted for Liliane and scurried to her shoulder, where it peered with worried eyes at the startled Norseman.
"This," Liliane told him, "is Kiki." She rubbed her cheek against the monkey's fur, then drew its attention to the brooch at her shoulder. "I want another jewel, Kiki," she murmured. "Another pretty, just like this one. Bring, Kiki. Fetch ..." The monkey slithered to the floor and was off.
The Norseman lit out after her, but he was back almost immediately, shaking his head ruefully. "That's a quick beast. What in Wodin's name is it?"
"A monkey," Liliane told him. "A pet from the Crescent."
"Fancy that. I have heard of those things . . . monkeys." While the Viking mused, Louis returned.
He strode furiously up to Alexandre and slapped him. Alexandre's blue eyes flared wickedly. "Cut me loose and try that!" In answer, Louis slapped him again. Alexandre's foot hooked his ankle and dropped Louis onto his backside. Louis jumped up, his dirk snaking from its sheath. Olaf quickly stepped between them, his ax blade diverting Louis's lunge at Alexandre's throat. The ax blade gave a brief, sweet ring that ended in a grate of steel.
The Norseman grimaced but blocked the raging Louis's blade again. "A fit of spite won't do now," he told Louis flatly with a cooling look in his eye that caused the other man to hesitate. "If you have trouble with your king, keeping Brueil alive may be our only way out of it."
"You take orders from me!" spat Louis. "Not the other way around. I'll have you spitted—"'
"Will you now?" Olaf's eyes narrowed. He moved ominously forward as Louis, backed up. "You're making one mistake after another, aren't you?"
Louis seemed to reconsider his position. "I was angry," he said sullenly. "For two years now, Brueil has caused me nothing but difficulty."
"I can imagine," drawled Olaf. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Kiki returning to Liliane. Emeralds and ice glittered about the monkey's neck. With a nod of her head, Liliane motioned the monkey to stay out of sight. Instantly, Kiki disappeared under the trencher table. Olaf appraised Louis's nervousness, Alexandre's now icy calm. "What do you make of the fire, Milord de Signe?"
"Castle de Signe appears to be burning," Louis answered reluctantly. "I've sent a man to be certain."
"Expecting a siege there?"
"Of course not! Philip was supposed to be in Paris!"
"How many men will he have?"
"Enough to take Castle de Signe," Alexandre answered for Louis. "He had forty knights and three hundred soldiers with him at Avignon. Your best chance is escape by sea."
"I'm not going to run!" snapped Louis. "Do you think I'm going to settle for nothing? My man will be back in less than two hours, and then I'll decide!"
"In that time, we could be well out at sea," observed the Viking, "or we could be caught here like rats in a trap." "We wait," said Louis stubbornly.
Olaf shrugged.
They waited until Alexandre felt as if a knife was being driven into his skull and his bones were cracking. Liliane had been cut down, and she was sitting on the steps of the far side of the dais. She was beginning to watch him intently, and he knew she sensed that something was wrong with him. She was trying not to let Olaf and Louis guess her concern, for they would misinterpret it and doubt Philip's presence. Just now, Alexandre's pretense of calm was undermining Louis's resolve more man any verbal insistence would have done.
However, Alexandre was dying by fractions and keeping the pain from his face was becoming nearly impossible. And all for a futile purpose. The most his and Liliane's ruse could do was keep them alive until Louis's man arrived with the news that Castle de Signe was intact and not a royal pennant was in sight. At least, Alexandre reflected grimly, the pacing Louis was being distracted from Liliane. When that distraction vanished ...
The time trickled slowly by. Louis's face grew pinched, his circuit about the room taking him with increasing frequency to the north windows. Sometimes, after staring at the spreading smoke over his fief, he pressed his forehead hard against the stone for minutes at a time. His jaw was rigid, a line of pain furrowing between his brows. At length, the Norseman glanced at him. "Not two hours, you said? By my reckoning, your man's had nearby three."
"More than enough time to be back," observed Liliane. "Your spy is either captured or dead, Louis."
Louis shot her a venomous look. "Perhaps he's just been delayed. His horse could have taken a spill, gone lame ..."
"And, as Uncle Jacques said, the moon could stream curds and whey." Liliane turned her attention to Olaf. "Do we go on waiting?"
He leaned on his ax.
"Ask Milord de Signe. He will be first to hang if he gives the wrong answer."
"Well, Louis?"
Louis stared at her blackly, then rubbed his forehead; it was the same pasty hue as Alexandre's, and his jaw was rigid with pain.
"Make the coast, Louis, and you have a chance," Alexandre baited hoarsely. "You can go to Italy. Stay here and you are as dead as Jacques and me."
For a moment, Louis looked taken aback, then his eyes narrowed as he realized that Alexandre must have guessed about the poison. He gnawed his lip as he fingered his dirk. "Very well," he said at last, "we go."
A quarter of an hour later, with Liliane mounted on the saddle before him, Louis abandoned Castle de Brueil. Behind him rode the bound Alexandre, and Olaf and the hired mercenaries, followed by ten of Louis's knights and a stream of hurrying foot soldiers. Across the dry fields, a trail of dust rose and filtered away to the north, where it mingled at last with a dirty cloud of smoke.
They arrived shortly at the sea where Cannes, a small fishing village that had remained almost unchanged since Phoenician times, clung to the rocks. Louis reined in before the wind-battered hut of the village elder. A middle-aged man hurried out and squinted up at him. "How may we serve you, great lord?"
"Boats," demanded Louis. "We must have all your fishing boats."
"What then will we use for our fishing?" protested the elder. "Our livelihood depends on our boats."
"Your lives depend on giving me what I want," Louis roared. "Where are the boats?"
The elder waved at the empty beach, then pointed at a single, ancient fishing craft beached below in the rocky village inlet. "Out. All the boats are out after the day's catch. That one is unreliable in heavy seas."
"I'll take it." Louis pounded off toward the boat, his band trailing after him. Women and children scattered from the stretched nets they were repairing on the rocks as the horsemen and scrambling foot soldiers threaded down the paths trickling to the inlet. Louis reached the boat first.
The Norseman remained upon the higher rocks with a bowman he had ordered to his side. "Milord de Signe," he called down when Louis had dismounted and dragged Liliane from the saddle. "That boat will hold only six people. Who will go with you?"
A Flame Run Wild Page 45