A Flame Run Wild (42 page)

Alexandre's head moved slightly as the squire worked at his helm; when it came off, Alexandre's face was gray with pain, his eyes open and unnaturally dark. "The splinters," he whispered. "Gather the splinters . . ."

Thinking he meant the splinters in his wound, Liliane began to try to remove them with trembling fingers while the squire cut the lacing. "No," Alexandre gasped, "the ones on the ground. Hurry!" The squire shoved his knife into its sheath and, under Louis's black gaze, quickly gathered up bits of lance head about the wounded man.

Louis swiftly waved over some of his yeomen. "Help him."

Ten of Alexandre's men had raced ahead of Louis's men to form a ring about their fallen lord. The squire drew his knife and glared up at Louis. "Back, milord! You intrude!"

After scanning the hostile faces about him, Louis let sanity ' overrule social status and he withdrew.

Alexandre's wound was .deep but high, the deepest of the splinters forming a narrow slit. When Liliane withdrew it, the blood flowed freely. When she ripped off her cap and packed it against the wound, the blood soon stopped. She sighed with relief. "If the wound does not fester, you will live, milord."

His lips white, Alexandre made no reply as the squire helped him to a sitting position so that his padded gambeson might be stripped off. Liliane temporarily bound his wound with light bandaging so that he could be carried to their pavilion. Once inside the tent, she carefully removed the rest of the splinters. The process was painful, but Alexandre made no sound, nor did he look at her until his final bandage was tightly in place. "Oh, my love," she whispered against his cheek, "I thought Louis had killed you."

Alexandre eyed her sardonically. "I am a lucky man. Lucky in war and love. I have a wife who plays in my enemy's lap while I snap at his heels like a terrier after an elephant." His head turned from her stung face toward the hovering squire. "Let's have a look at your field scavengings."

When Liliane anxiously touched his face, Alexandre pushed himself up and held out his hand to the squire. Into his master's palm, the boy dropped several large fragments of wood backed with crumbling clay. Atop it, the boy placed a snapped off steel-capped lance point, about two inches long. "Louis's lance cap was clay," Liliane breathed in fury. "It had to break and uncover the steel head!"

One by one, Alexandre laid the fragments in her palm. "Enough evidence to suit Philip . . . and all the proof you are ever likely to have that they killed Diego."

As the fragments piled, so did realization gather in her mind. "You let Louis have a solid blow at you!" Fury and concern welled in her. "Mother of God, are you mad to bait him so? You may be killed next time!" Her voice lowered urgently. "Louis saw what the squire collected. He and Jacques do not dare let you live long enough to show it to Philip."

"So they will try again soon. Good." Alexandre settled back on his pallet. "If they are in a hurry, they will risk mistakes." With a strength surprising in a wounded man, he caught her wrist. "You made one today by putting yourself on public display with Jacques. If I should meet with a nasty end, you will be suspected of helping him arrange my death."

"I already have a black reputation. . . ."

"Enough to be caught in the middle of your own schemes. If I die, Philip will demand your head along with those of your relatives." His grip tightened painfully. "Stay away from them!"

"Is that a command?"

"Yes, the one I said I would never give you."

"I am not your vassal, Alexandre, but your wife," she reminded him quietly. "A free soul."

"I could lock you up again," he breathed huskily.

"You will not. Now please let me go; you are hurting me."

Alexandre released her. His squire invited Lords de Cortillon and de Gribes in as witnesses to view the evidence of the clay lance cap. And Liliane went out to Jacques.

Jacques and his party were waiting outside their pavilion as she approached them. "May we hope that^ Milord de Brueil's injuries are not serious?" Jacques said solicitously.

Liliane studied Louis. "Milord de Brueil will live to grow old. You were overeager, Cousin."

As Louis started forward, Jacques rose quickly from his chair. "No, Louis! Milady is overwrought. Any assistance we may give . . ."

"None is presently required, thank you, Uncle." Her eyes locked with his. "Another time, perhaps."

"Yes, of course," he murmured. "I shall inquire again within the week."

"For a patient man, you were never given to delay, Uncle.
Au revoir.
Louis ..." Liliane dropped a deep, mocking curtsy and left them staring at her back.

She had no choice now. She had to deal with Jacques, just as be had to chance her willingness to betray Alexandre. Alexandre had forced both their hands.

* * *

The morning after their party returned from the tourney, Liliane met early with Charles for a ride. "I have to move now," she told him. "We have talked privately in these past weeks of i this possibility. Do I have your support?"

"The tourney does speed things," he agreed grimly. "Aye, I will help and so will my guardsmen. I just wish we had a way to snare Jacques, as well."

"If we yank enough fangs from his jaw, he will have to back off, at least long enough for Philip to finish the kill. Jacques will probably make a run for Italy. He should be satisfied with poaching upon the pope. Clement cannot abide Philip, as he minks a united France cannot but feed upon Italy."

She led Charles directly to the blasted oak and let Kiki fetch the tube. This time her note was gone and in its place was a scrap of parchment which said simply, "Name the time and place."

She wrote a note and showed it to Charles. "This Sabbath dawn. The postern passage under the south wall. Dress as Italian mercenaries." Below the writing, she added a tiny map.

Charles studied it with a small smile. "You did more than go over the wall last year. That postern gate and tunnel system must have taken you some time to explore.''

She laughed dryly. "I did not find the entrance from the old tower passage for a whole year. I seem to have a certain affinity for tunnels, perhaps due to a legacy from my scuttling relatives. Blood tells, they say."

Charles studied her speculatively. "I hope not; otherwise, I am betraying the best man I have ever known.''

"You will not be sorry, Charles."

He said nothing, but when they passed the castle on the way to the shore and saw Alexandre watching them from the tower window, she knew that Charles was already sorry.

* * *

The cleric, Antoine Fremier, swore moodily as he peered up into sunlight rising through the branches of the oak. He was becoming too plump to climb trees at his age. He scrambled up to the hole where the message cylinder was hidden and pried it open. As he surveyed the parchment inside, hue sulky frown became a calculating smile. Finally he had the weapon for which he had been waiting so long and patiently.

Baron de Signe had nearly had him killed when his niece had informed him of the altered notes. Fremier had narrowly escaped with the desperate rebuttal that Liliane was lying to see if Jacques had set a spy on her. Despite Louis's prods with a heated iron to his ribs, Fremier doggedly kept to his story. At length, either believing him or not wanting to risk suspicion at having a new face in Alexandre's household, Jacques had sent him back to Castle de Brueil. Every time Fremier salved his burns, he anticipated the day he would be recompensed for them.

He tugged out a new bit of parchment from his waist pouch and rewrote the note. He carefully folded the original and tucked it into his pocket.

* * *

Alexandre suspected that Liliane was contriving some plan when she was so long gone riding with Charles. He could question them until kingdom come without their telling him what they meant to do. He could imprison them in the dungeon, but Liliane had been right; he would not go so far. He could either have them spied upon,-which turned his stomach, or he could beat them at their game by moving first. Whatever her intentions, Liliane had turned them all into antagonists, and he was odd man out while she allied with Charles.

Charles had fallen in love with her; could she not see it? Or did she not care? Alexandre rubbed his brow. His head was beginning to ache as it had when she had been ill in Acre. They had so nearly lost each other. . . .

His hand stopped. Perhaps they had lost each other. Perhaps something subtly vital to their love had died, only he had been too relieved and happy to be aware of it.

Once the phantoms of doubt began, they multiplied, although he tried to banish them. Liliane was not the daring, reckless young bride he had first known; she was quieter now, older. If she had been calculating before, she was better at it now, with implacable determination. War had changed her, he had changed her. He had deserted her once; had she ever really forgiven him at heart? In his arms, she was more passionate than ever, but was she lying to herself, lying to him? Was she turning to Charles for that something that he could not give her? After all, she had not wanted to marry him in the first place; duty had bound her to him and might be keeping her with him now. She carried his child; that would be enough to chain her to him.

Alexandre turned his mind to the nagging ache of his wounded shoulder to distract himself from his mounting doubts, but they danced about him like relentless imps. She loves me! he wanted to shout. She is only concerned for my safety and the preservation of our people! She cares nothing for Charles but as a friend. But Alexandre was no longer sure. If she wishes to be free of me, he vowed grimly, I will neither hold her nor let her risk her future by meddling with her uncle to protect me.

He called the head guard to the tower chamber. "What do you know of your captain's plotting with milady against Baron de Signe?" he asked bluntly. "Is anyone else involved?"

The man gave him a blank look. "I know nothing of any plot, milord."

Although he was certain the man was lying, Alexandre let him go without reprimand. Liliane had made his men-at-arms her partisans. He wished he had his hands about her adorable neck.

He rose from his chair, donned his riding clothes and strung his crossbow over his good shoulder. He went down to the guardroom and summoned twenty men to arm themselves. The lieutenant hurried after him as he went to have his own destrier saddled. "My lord, where shall I tell Captain Charles you have gone?"

"Hunting." He left the lieutenant staring after him.

Alexandre and his men were gone by the time Liliane and Charles returned from their ride. "Milord knows we're up to something behind his back," the head guard quietly informed Charles and Liliane as they dismounted. "He took out a third of the men, armed like boars and not hunting as he said. He is not likely to use a crossbow on deer."

"He is trying to draw Louis out before we do," Liliane said worriedly. "Do you think Louis will be on the prowl in the forest if he believes he has certain access to the castle?"

"I do not know," replied Charles, "but if he does not see milord out baiting him as usual, he will suspect a trick. We will just have to sit tight until Sunday dawn."

And so they did, but without Alexandre's company. When two days passed without his return, Liliane frantically sent out his squire to look for him. "Milord is well enough," the boy reported upon his return, "and sends his greetings. The hunt occupies him very well, but he has seen no game, I think."

"No sign of Louis, eh?" mused Charles.

Liliane was not listening. "Greetings! Is that all he sends?" she railed. "Not a single word of affection? Does he not know that what I do, I do for him?"

Charles sent the squire away, then turned to Liliane. "Can you really blame Alexandre for resenting your interference?" he asked quietly.

Her hands knotted together as she paced the hall. "No . . . no, I cannot blame him. He is right to be furious. ..."

Charles followed her. "Do not blame yourself. You can follow no other course than you have done, if your uncle's power is to be destroyed. He must commit a large force to our trap on our terms, at our time. You were the only one who could have achieved that. Alexandre is concerned for your safety, yes, but I think he is also concerned that you and I grow too close in this endeavor.''

"But he knows I love him! Why should he be jealous?"

Charles gazed at her spill of shimmering hair, her flushed cheeks, her eyes bright and wide with surprised indignation. "Because he has reason to be jealous, milady. If you were not married and I were landed, I would pay you suit." He laughed briefly at her dumbfounded look. "Of course, you would pay me no attention, as you have paid my mooning no heed these last weeks, for I doubt if Dame Fortune would be so generous as to erase Alexandre's claim to your heart." His amused look turned wistful. "Alas, he has it all and I am too late. He knows me better than you do and sees my disappointment."

"Charles," she whispered, "I am sorry. I never meant . . ."

He shook his head. "You never knew, but do not fear; I love Alexandre, too. When this business is done with your uncle, I shall leave Provence."

Liliane went to him. "Charles, do not. It is not necessary now. This is your home."

"Nay, that it has never been, for all your husband's kindness.

" 'Tis time I sought my own way, my own place. I am no farmer, milady . . . and less a poacher."

A mischievous glint had entered Charles's eyes, and Liliane suddenly wondered how much he had guessed of her and Alexandre's meeting prior to their wedding. She had no time to pick his brains for he kissed her hand and headed from the hall. "Forgive me, milady, but I must see to the postern gate lest your cousin find it plugged. A pity that we cannot allow him to drown in Brueil muck."

Why do I have the horrible feeling that we are all drowning? she wondered.