Labyrinth (45 page)

“What manner of thing?”

“My husband found a man’s buckle in my chamber.” She made a shape with her hands. “About so big, fashioned from copper and silver.”

“I have lost such a buckle,” he admitted.

“Jehan was determined to identify the owner and publish his name. Knowing it to be yours, I decided the safest thing was to return it to your chamber.”

Guilhem was frowning. “Why not return the buckle to me?”

“You are avoiding me,
Messire,
” she said softly. “I did not know when, even if, I would see you. Besides, if we had been noticed together, it could have been proof of what once was between us. Judge my actions foolish. But do not doubt the intention behind them.”

Oriane could see he was not convinced, but dared not push the matter further. His hand went to the blade at his waist.

“If you breathe a word of this to Alais,” he said, “I will kill you, Oriane, God strike me down if I don’t.”

“She will not learn of it from me,” she said, then smiled. “Unless, of course, I find myself with no choice. I must protect myself. And,” she paused. Guilhem drew a deep breath. “And as it happens,” she continued, “there is a favour I would ask of you.”

His eyes narrowed. “And if I am not so minded?”

“All I want is to know if our father has given Alais anything of value to keep, that’s all.”

“You are asking me to spy upon my own wife,” he said, his voice rising in disbelief. “I will do no such thing, Oriane, and you will do nothing to upset her, is that clear?”

“
I
upset her. It’s your fear of discovery that brings out this chivalry in you. You’re the one who betrayed her all those nights you lay with me, Guilhem. It is only information I seek. I will learn what I want to know, with or without your help. However, if you make it difficult…” She left the threat hanging in the air.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“It would be nothing to tell Alais everything we did together, share with her the things you whispered to me, the gifts you gave me. She would believe me, Guilhem. Too much of your soul shows in your face.”

Disgusted by her, by himself, Guilhem threw open the door. “Damn you to hell, Oriane,” he said, then stormed away down the corridor.

Oriane smiled. She had snared him.

Alais had spent all afternoon trying to find her father. No one had seen him. She had ventured into the Cite, hoping at least to be able to talk to Esclarmonde. But she and Sajhe were no longer in Sant-Miquel and did not appear to have yet returned home.

In the end, exhausted and apprehensive, Alais returned to her chamber alone. She could not go to bed. She was too nervous, too anxious, so she lit a lamp and sat at her table.

It was after the bells had struck one that she was woken by footsteps outside the door. She raised her head from her arms and looked blearily in the direction of the sound.

“Rixende?” she whispered into the dark. “Is that you?”

“No, not Rixende,” he said.

“Guilhem?”

He came into the light, smiling as if not sure of his welcome. “Forgive me. I promised to leave you, I know, but… may I?”

Alais sat up.

“I have been in the chapel,” he said. “I have prayed, but I do not think my words flew up.”

Guilhem sat down on the end of the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, she went to him. He seemed to have something on his mind.

“Here,” she whispered. “Let me help you.”

She unstrapped his boots and helped him with his shoulder harness and belt. The leather and buckle fell with a clunk to the floor.

“What does Viscount Trencavel think will happen?” she asked.

Guilhem lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. That the Host will Sant-Vicens first, then Sant-Miquel, in order to be able to approach close to the walls of the
Ciutat
itself.“

Alais sat down beside him and smoothed his hair from his face. The feel of his skin under her fingers made her shiver.

“You should sleep,
Messire
. You will need all your strength for the battle to come”

Lazily, he opened his eyes and smiled up at her. “You could help me rest.”

Alais smiled and reached over for a preparation of rosemary she kept on her bedside table. She knelt beside him and massaged the cool lotion into his temples.

“When I was looking for my father, earlier, I went to my sister’s chamber. I think there was someone with her.”

“Probably Congost,” he said sharply.

“I don’t think so. He and the other scribes sleep in the Tour Pinte at present, in case the Viscount needs them.” She paused. “There was laughter.”

Guilhem put his finger on her mouth to stop her. “Enough of Oriane,” he whispered, slipping his hands around her waist and drawing her to him. She could taste the wine on his lips. You have the scent of camomile and honey,“ he said. He reached up and loosened her hair so it fell like a waterfall around her face.

“
Mon cor
.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at his touch, his skin against hers, so startling and intimate. Slowly, carefully, not taking his brown eyes from her face, Guilhem eased her dress from her shoulders, then lower to her waist. Alais shifted. The material came loose and slithered off the bed to the floor, like a winter skin no longer needed.

Guilhem lifted the bedcover to let her under and laid her down beside him, on pillows that still held the memory of him. For a moment, they lay, arm to arm, side to side, her feet cold against the heat of his skin. He bent over her. Now Alais could feel his breath, whispering over the surface of her skin like a summer breeze. His lips dancing, his tongue slipping, sliding over her breasts. Alais caught her breath as he took her nipple into his mouth, licking, teasing.

Guilhem raised his head. He gave a half smile.

Then, still holding her gaze, he lowered his body into the space between her bare legs. Alais stared at his brown eyes, unblinking and serious.

“
Mon cor
,” he said again.

Gently, Guilhem eased himself inside her, little by little, until she had taken the whole of him. For a moment he lay still, contained within her, as if resting.

Alais felt strong, powerful, as if at this moment she could do anything, be anyone. A hypnotic, heavy warmth was seeping through her limbs, filling her up, devouring her senses. Her head was filled with the sound of her blood beating. She had no sense of time or space. There was only Guilhem and the nickering shadows of the lamp.

Slowly, he began to move.

“Alais.” The words slipped from between his lips.

She placed her hands on his back, her fingers splayed wide in the shape of stars. She could feel the strength of him, the force in his tanned arms and firm thighs, the soft hair on his chest brushing against her. His tongue was darting between her lips, hot and wet and hungry.

He was breathing faster, harder, driven on by desire, by need. Alais held him to her as Guilhem cried out her name. He shuddered, then was still.

Gradually, the roaring in her head faded away until nothing remained but the hushed silence of the room.

Later, after they had talked and whispered promises in the dark, they drifted into sleep. The oil burned away. The flame in the lamp guttered and died. Alais and Guilhem did not notice. They were not aware of the silver march of the moon across the sky, nor the purple light of dawn as it came creeping through the window. They knew nothing but each other as they lay sleeping in one another’s arms, a wife and her husband, lovers once more.

Reconciled. At peace.

CHAPTER 51

THURSDAY JULY 2OO5

Alice woke seconds before the alarm went off, to find herself sprawled across the bed, papers strewn all about her.

The family tree was in front of her, together with her notes from the library in Toulouse. She grinned. Quite like her student days, when she was forever falling asleep at her desk.

She didn’t feel bad on it, though. Despite the burglary last night, this morning she felt in good spirits. Contented, happy even.

Alice stretched her arms and neck, then got up to open the shutters and window. The sky was cut through with pale slashes of light and flat white clouds. The slopes of the Cite were in shadow and the grassy banks beneath the walls shimmered with early morning dew. Above the turrets and towers, the sky was blue, like a bolt of silk. Wrens and larks sang to one another across the rooftops. Evidence of the aftermath of the storm was everywhere. Debris blown against railings, boxes sodden and upturned at the back of the hotel, newspapers pooled at the foot of the street lamps in the car park.

Alice was uneasy at the idea of leaving Carcassonne, as if the act of departure would precipitate something. But she had to take some action and, at this point, Chartres was her only lead to Shelagh.

It was a good day for a journey.

As she packed her papers away, she admitted she was also being sensible. She didn’t want to sit around like a victim, waiting for last night’s intruder to come back.

She explained to the receptionist that she was going out of town for a day but to hold her room.

“You have a woman waiting to see you, Madame,” the girl said, pointing to the lounge. “I was about to call your room.”

“Oh?” Alice turned to look. “Did she say what she wanted?”

The receptionist shook her head.

“OK. Thank you.”

“Also, this came for you this morning,” she added, handing over a letter.

Alice glanced at the postmark. It came from Foix yesterday. She didn’t recognise the handwriting. She was about to open it, when the woman waiting for her approached.

“Dr Tanner?” she said. She looked nervous.

Alice put the letter in her jacket pocket to read later. “Yes?”

“I have a message for you from Audric Baillard. He wonders if you could meet him in the cemetery?”

The woman was vaguely familiar, although Alice couldn’t immediately place her.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” she said.

The woman hesitated. “From Daniel Delargarde,” she said in a rush. “
Notaires
.‘

Alice looked again. She didn’t remember seeing her yesterday, but there were a lot of people in the central office.

“Monsieur Baillard is waiting for you at the Giraud-Biau tomb.”

“Really?” said Alice. Why didn’t he come himself?“

“I have to go now.”

Then the woman turned tail and disappeared, leaving Alice staring after her, baffled. She turned to the receptionist, who shrugged.

Alice glanced at her watch. She was keen to get going. She’d got a long drive ahead of her. On the other hand, ten minutes wasn’t going to make any difference.

“A demain
” she said to the receptionist, but she’d already gone back to whatever it was she was doing.

Alice detoured via the car to leave her rucksack, then, vaguely irritated, she hurried across the road to the cemetery.

The atmosphere changed the moment Alice walked through the high metal gates. The early morning bustle of the Cite awaking was replaced day stillness.

There was a low, whitewashed building on her right. Outside a row of and green plastic watering cans hung on hooks. Alice peered in through the window and saw an old jacket slung over the back of a chair and a newspaper open on the table, as if someone had only just left.

Alice walked slowly up the central aisle, feeling suddenly on edge. She found the atmosphere oppressive. Grey sculpted headstones, white porcelain cameos and black granite inscriptions marking birth and death, resting places bought by local families
a perpetuite
to mark their passing.

Photographs of those who had died young jostled for space beside the features of the old. At the base of many of the tombs were flowers, some real and dying, others fashioned from silk or plastic or porcelain.

Following the directions Karen Fleury had given her, Alice found the Giraud-Biau grave easily enough. It was a large flat tomb at the top of the central aisle overlooked by a stone angel with open arms and furled wings.

She glanced around. There was no sign of Baillard.

Alice traced her fingers across the surface. Here lay most of Jeanne Giraud’s family, a woman she knew nothing about other than she was a link between Audric Baillard and Grace. Only now, as she stood staring at the chiselled names of one family, did Alice realise how very unusual it was that space had been found her for her aunt.

A noise in one of the cross aisles caught her attention. She looked around, expecting to see the elderly man of the photograph making her way towards her.

“Dr Tanner?”

There were two men, both wearing light summer suits, both dark haired and with their eyes obscured by sunglasses.

Yes?“

The shorter of the two flashed a badge at her.

“Police. We have a few questions we need to ask you.”

Alice’s stomach lurched. “Concerning what?”

“It won’t take long,
Madame
.”

“I’d like to see some ID.”

He reached into his breast pocket and produced a card. She had no idea if it was authentic or not. But the gun in the holster underneath the jacket looked real enough. Her pulse started to race.

Alice pretended to examine it as she cast a look around the graveyard.

There was no one about. The aisles stretched away empty in all directions.

“What is this about?” she said again, trying to keep her voice steady.

“If you could just come with us.”

They can’t do anything in broad daylight.

Too late, Alice realised why the woman who’d delivered the message was familiar. She’d similar characteristics to the man she’d seen briefly in her room last night.
This man
.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alice could see there was a flight of concrete steps leading down to the newest section of the graveyard.

Beyond that there was a gate.

He put his hand on her arm. “
Maintenant, Dr Tan
—‘

Alice launched herself forward, like a sprinter out of the blocks, taking them by surprise. They were slow to react. A shout went up, but she was already down the steps and running through the gate, out into the Chemin des Anglais.