Lady Of Fire (40 page)

“Please. There are things I need to explain.”

Indeed there were.

He put his weight to the door, but though it strained and creaked, it did not give. He tried again, this time using thrust.

Fearing the lock would not hold, she closed her eyes. “Lord, I need another angel.” Preferably, in the form of Lucien.

The sound of splintering wood snapped her eyes open.

The door swung inward, hit the wall, and rebounded.

Throwing a hand up to avoid being struck by it, Gavin pushed the door away and stepped inside. Fixing his gaze on Alessandra, he paused in the middle of the room.

“You are afraid of me,” he said. “You should not be. I would never hurt you.”

Though slivers pierced her where she gripped the board, she curled her hands more tightly around it. “Is that what you told my mother—that you would never hurt her? You do not think she was injured when you stole her from my father and sent her into slavery?”

A corner of his mouth drew up into something of a smile. “You are guessing, Alessandra.”

She shook her head. “I know it was you. Just as I know you intended to also steal me from my father.”

His gaze shifted to the floor, and he stared at it as if considering her words, then he held out a hand. “Give it to me.”

“What?”

“That which you have behind your back.”

The shadows thrown by the dim lamp having revealed the board, she brought it forward. “Do not come any nearer.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you want to know why I did it?”

“I do.”

“You asked if I loved Catherine. I did. And when she chose James Breville over me—“

“You were cousins!”

He shrugged. “All those years watching her grow, waiting for her to come of age… Then Breville took her from me. And she did not even love him.”

“Neither did she love you.”

His nostrils flared. “Given a chance, she would have come to love me.”

Alessandra clenched her teeth. It would do more harm than good to throw in his face the love her mother had felt for Jabbar.

“When she wed James,” he continued, “I promised myself I would turn my heart and head elsewhere. And I was succeeding, but then Catherine summoned me. I hastened to her at Corburry, believing she meant to tell me she had made a mistake in wedding James—that it was me she loved.” His mouth bent with bitterness. “She thought I teased when I went down on my knees and kissed her hands. She laughed, said I must be serious if I was to aid her in obtaining a birthday present for James.”

Feeling his anger mount, Alessandra took a step back.

“She was oblivious to my feelings, always treating me like a brother when it was her husband I should have been.” He pressed fingers to his forehead as if he suffered pain. “While I sat beside her in the gardens as she chatted about whether a new sword or a saddle would make a better gift, it occurred to me that if she could not be mine, neither should James have her.”

“So you sold her into slavery.” Alessandra could not keep condemnation from her voice.

“She should not have flaunted her happiness! A little regret was all I asked.”

“You were her friend. How could you betray her?”

“She betrayed first!”

“But she did not know what you felt for her. You never told her.”

He blinked. “She should have known. I could not have made it clearer.”

“Except with words.”

Abruptly, he turned to the table where the lamp burned dimly. Pressing his palms to it, he hung his head between outstretched arms.

The open doorway beckoned to Alessandra, but she could not go until she knew everything. “How did you lure my mother from Corburry?”

“She did not tell you what happened?”

“Nay.”

“James was visiting one of his vassals when she summoned me. Otherwise, it would have been impossible to do what I did. Knowing I could not spirit her away without being seen, I sent her a message from James that asked her to meet him at the stream at dusk. A tryst, you see. And like a lamb, she came.”

“And you abducted her.”

He looked around. “I stole upon her and bound her up. Though I was careful so she would not know it was me, I have ever feared she might have guessed, and for that, I led Rashid and Jacques to you. If Catherine had known and told you, I did not doubt you would reveal me.”

“She never knew.”

“I guessed as much when I met you.” He straightened, pushed a hand through his hair, and stepped toward her.

Hoping to delay his advance, she taunted, “You are proud of what you did.”

He halted. “Haunted, but never proud. For an entire day, I fought the demons that plotted against her, but once the idea was in my head, they would not let it go. Do you not see?” His tone was pleading. “It was not me who did it. It was them. What I would have given to have her back the day after I sent her into slavery!”

Though he spoke in riddles, Alessandra unraveled enough to understand it was not evil that drove him, but unrequited love and an unbalanced mind. “If that is true, why have you done the same to me?”

“As with your mother, I fought it, and again I lost.”

“But why harm me? I am not my mother.”

“You looked at me the way she did. You were her all over again, tearing at my heart, making me want something I could not have.”

“You wanted me?”

“I wanted Catherine. But in you I could have had her, or nearly. However, you only wanted De Gautier, as I discovered when I heard you had gone to his tent after giving me your favor.”

Alessandra gasped. “’Twas you who set the bishop upon me, you who sent him to Lucien’s tent.”

“The bishop?” He shook his head. “Nay, that would have been Agnes.”

Did he speak true? Insecure in James’s love, had Gavin's sister purposely set out to do her harm? Of course she had.

“You betrayed me with De Gautier,” Gavin continued.

“I did not. The favor I gave you was in remembrance of my mother. You said so yourself.”

Uncertainty came and went on his face. “Aye, but you led me to believe differently. Thus, with your betrayal still fresh and hurting, I had to act quickly when I overheard a conversation between De Gautier and his brothers.”

“What was said?”

“Enough to make me realize you must disappear the same as Catherine.”

“But I know Lucien sent the message that summoned me to him. It was not you.”

He smiled. “A timely coincidence. I had planned to have a message delivered to you later that night, but then De Gautier accommodated me. It was perfect, throwing suspicion on his family for the second time. And it would have worked if…”

“What?” Was her father this moment making war on Lucien?

Gavin shrugged. “I am not selfish, Alessandra. What I did to your mother and you was not only for myself.”

“You make no sense.”

“Just like Catherine, you took from another woman for your own gain.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When Catherine wed James, she not only wounded me, but Agnes.”

Agnes who had wanted James for herself.

“She loved James. It was always assumed they would wed. So what I did in sending Catherine away also helped my sister.”

Alessandra shook her head. “But what have I to do with it?”

“Melissant,” he hissed. “She was to wed the heir of Falstaff. Then you came and took that from her.”

“She did not wish to wed Vincent."

“Agnes wanted it, and if not Vincent, then Lucien would have done. ’Tis the same, can you not see? Catherine again.”

He was mad. “It is the same only because you make it so.”

“Not I. You, Alessandra. You made it so!”

Certain he was approaching an edge over which he might also take her, she did not argue further and asked instead, “Did Agnes know what you had done? Did she aid you?”

When he finally answered, his anger seemed to have dimmed. “At the time she did not know, but I told her years later.”

“And?”

He gave a bark of laughter. “She did not believe me, did not appreciate all I had done for her. Now she shall.”

“Because of my disappearance.”

“Aye. But enough of this. Tell me how you convinced the Frenchman to assist you in escaping Rashid.”

“I can answer for myself,” came a voice from the doorway.

“Jacques!” Alessandra exclaimed.

Sir Gavin cursed and, keeping her in his peripheral line of sight, turned to the Frenchman. “Where is Rashid?”

“Comfortably settled on the
Marietta
, and soon bound for the Maghrib.”

“Not without Alessandra.”

Jacques stepped into the room. “
Oui
. Alessandra stays in England.”

Gavin drew his sword. “She goes.”

“It is over, Crennan. Run, and you may escape the wrath of the Brevilles and De Gautiers. Stay, and you will become well acquainted with death.”

“I am no coward! I have never run from anything—”

“Except the truth,” Jacques interrupted.

Gavin charged.

Jacques answered, letting fly a dagger that struck his attacker’s sword arm and caused Sir Gavin to shout and drop his weapon. But it did not stop his advance, and the two slammed into the wall and went down amid flailing arms and legs.

As they fought over the dirt-encrusted floor, Alessandra searched for a means of aiding Jacques, but their violent shifting—one moment he was atop, the next Sir Gavin—made it impossible for her to correctly land a blow.

“Run!” Jacques cried.

She started to obey, but she could not leave him.

When the two rolled into the table, nearly upsetting it, she hastened forward lest the lamp overturned. But as she reached to snatch it to safety, a leg kicked the table and dropped the lamp amid rushes that burst into flames eager for the hem of her skirts.

Alessandra jumped back. The acrid scent burning her nostrils, she looked to Gavin and Jacques who continued to fight as if unaware the room would soon be engulfed and them with it.

She flung the board aside, bent, and grabbed the first shoulder that came to hand. “Cease! The room is afire!”

A fist struck her temple and knocked her backward. Dazed, she lurched up onto her hands and knees, but as she crawled toward Jacques and Gavin, fire rushed into her path.

“Jacques!” she screamed. “Gavin!”

“Alessandra!”

She jerked her chin around, and through the billowing smoke, saw the figure of a man burst into the room. Lucien.

She made it to her feet and fell into the arms he wrapped around her. Then he was lifting her against his chest.

“Jacques!” she protested as Lucien ran for the door.

“I will come back for him,” he said and traversed the smoky corridor and stairs.

The air outside struck Alessandra as wonderfully fresh and clean, though it had not seemed so earlier. Looking up, she saw a crowd had gathered before the inn.

“Your daughter,” Lucien said, setting her to her feet before James who immediately pulled her close.

“Are you well, Alessa?”

She coughed, nodded, peered over her shoulder. And saw Lucien plunge back into the burning inn. Gasping, she tried to pull free.

James hugged her nearer. “He will come out.”

He could not know that, and it did not seem likely when flames burst from the window of the room she had shared with Jacques and Rashid.

Whimpering, she turned her face into her father’s chest.
Dear Lord,
she silently prayed,
bring Lucien out. And Jacques. Even…aye, even Sir Gavin.

“Accursed Gavin,” her father muttered. “By blood, he will answer for his every crime against me and mine.”

Then he had learned his brother-in-law was responsible for her abduction. And likely Sabine’s.

“And Agnes,” he choked. “Agnes…”

Gripped by his pain, she tilted her head back and met his gaze.

“Did Agnes have a hand in it?” he asked.

That Gavin had told Agnes of what he had done all those years ago seemed no longer relevant. Too, he had said his sister had not believed him. As there was no need to ruin more lives, and Agnes should not be made to suffer for her brother’s sins, Alessandra shook her head. “Nay, Father, she did not know.”

Hope flickered in his eyes. “You are certain?”

“Sir Gavin voiced his regret that his sister was unaware of what he had done for her.”

She felt a breath of relief go out of her father.

A shout brought her head around. Though Lucien’s face was smudged black, his hair singed, never was there a more welcome sight than that of him emerging from the inn with a man over his shoulder.

Alessandra pulled out of her father’s arms and ran to where Lucien gently lowered Jacques to the muddy street.

“Stay back!” he snapped.

Ignoring him, she sank to her knees beside him, and saw the reason he did not wish her so near.

Jacques was badly burned, his beautiful clothes charred and smoldering, face red and puckered where fire had tasted him, and the eyes he opened to peer at her were glazed.

“Forgive me?” His mouth trembled violently as if he attempted one of his charming smiles.

“Of course,” she exclaimed. “Completely.”

He raised a hand toward her, but it fell to his abdomen.

Alessandra entwined her fingers with his. “You will be fine, my friend.”

“No,
cherie,
I will not.”

“Do not—”

“Did you know I have never lain with a woman? Never.”

Alessandra swallowed. “I did not know.”

“Were I man enough, methinks you would have been the first.”

She glanced at Lucien, saw the displeasure upon his face, and returned her gaze to Jacques.

“Tell me,” he rasped, “could you have loved me?” His plea was followed by a bout of coughing.

Lucien silent beside her, Alessandra leaned down and said, “I could have.” It was a lie, but he was right. He would not be fine.

“That”—he gasped—“is the sweetest lie I have ever heard. It makes me…very happy.” His lashes fluttered down.

It seemed a long time before Alessandra or Lucien moved, but when they did, Jacques had passed. Oblivious to his audience and the clamor of men running for water, he bore silent testimony to bravery gone awry.

Face wet with tears, Alessandra looked up at Lucien, and only then realized he had brought out only one man. “Sir Gavin?” she asked.