A Flame Run Wild Read online

  "Whatever his outward behavior, Alexandre cared for you from the first," Father Anselm said quietly. "We all knew that when he gave you his stallion."

  Liliane was startled again. "His horse? The black destrier?"

  "He raised it from a foal."

  For a moment she was bewildered. Why had Alexandre not told her that the stallion was his? Then an awful thought flashed through her mind. Dio, had Jean stolen the stallion from Alexandre? No wonder Alexandre had been set against her from their first meeting. No wonder he was jealous and refused to touch her! He must have known where she had gotten the black! Had Jean enjoyed some private, perverse revenge in sending his brother an impure bride on his own horse? Had humiliated pride prevented Alexandre from telling her the truth?

  Liliane shivered in the warm sea breeze. How could Jean betray his brother and her? Now that she considered it, such a perverse joke might not be beyond his ironic sense of humor. So foul a trick would have turned any husband into a monster. When one considered all he might have done, Alexandre had shown the restraint of a saint. Jean probably never even left, but hung about to hear the explosion. When she had not been destroyed in it, he had had the gall to seduce her again! Her eyes squeezed shut with fury and humiliation. How willing she had been!

  "I have been a beast!" she blurted with such vehement, heartfelt contrition that a less charitable man than Father Anselm might have thought it false. At her barely suppressed rage and pain, Father Anselm watched her warily, taking a careful step back. "Now, now, I hope not..."

  Liliane gazed up at the priest in mute frustration. He had not the vaguest notion of why she was so upset. Taking a deep breath, she recovered her self-control. "I am sorry, Father. I was thinking of something else.'' Like wringing Jean's neck. For months, she had been tearing her heart out over a ... an unscrupulous prankster! She felt utterly disillusioned and alone. Jean, whose memory had lingered so strongly with her, must be now banished once and for all, she decided. She would be damned if she ever thought of him again. She brooded silently for a moment. "Father, did Alexandre's half brother, Jean, accompany him to the Holy Land?"

  Father Anselm looked puzzled. "Count Henri was a worldly man, but I know of his having but one child. Count Alexandre took ten castellans to Palestine. At the time, he could not afford more."

  Liliane smiled faintly. "I take it that none of them looked like him."

  Still confused by her fine of questioning, Father Anselm shook his head. "Count Alexandre's looks are hardly common."

  No, Liliane agreed grimly, one does not see those ice-blue eyes every day. Jean had certainly constructed a detailed lie. He had probably picked up his information about Palestine while hanging about the coastal inns and brothels, then fabricated a tale of war-weary valor to spend on whores and naive maidens like herself. She had given her heart and soul to a lying, lecherous thief. Disillusionment and depression weighed upon her like a boulder.

  Father Anselm's worried look was back again, she noticed. He must wonder if Jacques had pinned his hopes on a lying pretender, a heretofore unknown bastard of old Henri de Brueil's. She had better relieve the old man's consternation before he questioned Alexandre and roused a hornet's nest. She forced a careless laugh. "You are undoubtedly right, Father. When we' arrived in Toulon from Spain, some taproom drunkard bragged of being a Brueil back from the wars. Ten minutes later, he was a cousin of the Due d'Orleans.''

  The priest smiled hesitantly. "Thanks to the benevolent favor of King Philip, Count Alexandre has gained some fame of late."

  Yes, she thought, with a bastard brother trading on every facet of that fame. Sitting here feeling sorry for herself would do no good for any of them. Everyone who lived on the fief was affected by a rift between their lord and lady; the sooner peace was made, the sooner all would be more secure, if not necessarily happy. Would she ever know happiness again?

  With a sudden rush of nostalgia, Liliane gazed at the fire on the beach, recalling roasting shellfish on the shores of Malaga. Abrupdy, she stood up. "If you do not object to my inviting myself to lunch, Father, why not summon your young friends and I shall show you a good way to lure the langoustes. "

  Father Anselm's face lit up in an eager smile. "Why, of course. I should be delighted."

  Half an hour later, the squealing, laughing children had overcome their initial suspicion and shyness. Hip high in the water, Liliane and her companions were ranged along the waterline, where they had smeared bait on the rocks. The spit was soon strung with roasting shellfish, which had been attracted to the heavy, irresistible fish scent. For the next two hours, Liliane forced herself to forget the pain Jean had caused her, remembering only the carefree life she had once known in Spain.

  She was good with the children, disarming them easily with her tales of adventure in Spain as she cinched up her skirts for wading in the tidal pools. She loved the children, loved their prattling, mischievous company, and they knew it. Once she caught the priest looking at her with a gentle, much relieved countenance. He was an absurd sentimentalist and naively shared confidences to the point of being dangerous to Alexandre, but he was also a good, loyal man. She liked him.

  They spent a leisurely lunch and glutted themselves with shellfish, folktales and joking. Afterward they tried a game of blind-man's bluff but were too full to play long. As the children gamboled in the low surf, Father Anselm and Liliane sat on the beach. They chatted companionably for some time, and as Liliane finally rose to return to the castle, Father Anselm told her quietly, "You seem happy today, my lady. While I do not flatter myself for that, should you ever need my help as a priest, I am at your service. I fear difficult days lie ahead for you."

  Liliane touched his hand. "I should be grateful for your friendship and advice, Father, but do not fear for my soul." She nodded to the children poking their toes in the sand. "With their hope and innocence, they symbolize my religion."

  He was unoffended, bat let her go with a small admonishment. "Even children do not find it easy to be good, and perhaps they blame themselves more when they are not. Be kind to yourself as well as to others. Often you will find good where you least expect it."

  Wondering if he were referring to her or Alexandre, Liliane bid him and the urchins a reluctant good-bye. She did not relish leaving their lively company for the tense atmosphere of the castle. Alexandre would be bound to wonder where she had been for so long, but if he lost his temper, this, time she at least had a verifiable excuse for her tardiness. Nearing the old Roman aqueduct, she was not surprised to see him riding out to meet her. She was surprised to find him uninquisitive and pleasant.

  "I hope you had a good ride." His blue eyes held amusement at her wet skirts and bare feet. He patted a saddlebag. "Doucette has grilled us a brace of doves for lunch. I thought you might be hungry."

  "I have dined, thank you, and very well, too." She explained the impromptu picnic with Father Anselm and the children.

  Alexandre looked envious and disappointed, "I have been laying stone on the east wall and perspiring all morning. I wanted to roll like a pig in the mortar and cool off."

  "Why not take a swim?" She nodded toward the river in the shadow of the aqueduct. "If you have wine in that saddlebag, I will keep you company afterward while you eat."

  He brightened considerably, then gave her a roguish grin. "Why not join me for the swim?

  She could not help grinning back. "Perhaps another day, thank you."

  "At any rate, the swim must wait. I am expected at the village to present a christening gift to a new babe. The boy's parents will be much honored by your added presence."

  Liliane doubted if the serfs would be so delighted, but as she had already accepted Alexandre's company, she could not very well decline it now. Also, such simple ceremonies were an important part of her duty as chatelaine to the people.

  As she had expected, the villagers were not pleased to see her, but Alexandre's warmth and delight with the newborn and his generosity to the parents greatly th
awed the chill. Watching Alexandre tenderly hold the child in his arms, Liliane felt an unexpected wave of warmth for him. She sensed that his fascination with the babe was not pretense, that the glow of affection in his eyes was real. He will be a good father, she thought, if ever I give him children.

  After returning the child to its parents, Alexandre did not immediately leave the village. Leading his destrier, he walked among the serfs with Liliane at his side, pausing to talk to many of them. He asked about their concerns and comfort and whether they thought the sprouting grain needed more rain and if the rabbits were plentiful. Although she had never accompanied him on his regular rounds of the estate, Liliane now realized that he was as familiar with the serfs' daily lives as his own; he shared their ailments, complaints, loves, bereavements and prosperities. She doubted if they confided so much to Father Anselm. She could sense that they were not so open today as they must have been on other days, and she stayed back at first to encourage them to speak freely. However, Alexandre often drew her forward as if to make clear to the peasants that she was as responsible for them as he was. Sometimes they fell silent or responded to her questions with a trace of defiance. Count Alexandre has earned his place with us, they seemed to say to her. No Signe will ever deserve the allegiance we pay him. Liliane sighed—she had anticipated no other reaction.

  Alexandre gave practical advice on several problems and promises of assistance where warranted, then he handed Liliane up into her saddle. As they rode out of the village, she was pensive. No priggish martinet could have won the affection she had seen that the villagers held for Alexandre. Diego's people had also followed him with a loyalty that bordered on fanaticism. Diego had given her a place in their hearts, but if she were to be happy among Alexandre's people, she must win them herself.

  Upon their arrival at the ancient aqueduct, Alexandre stripped off his clothes without coyness. When he saw her surprised expression, he challenged, "You saw me unclothed when I had lung fever, did you not?"

  "A limp flounder is scarcely comparable to a lively salmon," she retorted lightly. She could not deny that Alexandre had a beautiful body, particularly in the green shadows of the river woodland. Lean, brown and compact, with long legs and fine shoulders, he had a tight, perfect rump, and moved with a careless, fascinating grace. For a prude, Alexandre was certainly unconcerned about his nakedness.

  He waded into the river, then dived into the deeper midstream below the aqueduct arches. He was as agile a swimmer as an otter, his brown skin glistening as he shot through the water. He must swim a good deal to keep so sleek, Liliane mused. Most knights developed knotty, heavy muscles, broadswords requiring great strength and endurance. Also, for one who had spent the past eight years at war, he had very few scars. A sword had scarred the ribs beneath his heart, and another stash had marked his left forearm. A shield battered down had likely left him open to any enemy attack. Despite his scars, he was beautiful. He must be quick and deadly with a sword to have survived so long, she decided, for he had not the bulk to sustain the usual extended hand-to-hand combat required by broadswords. Alexandre's best weapon would be a scimitar capable of slitting a man's gullet before he could swing a heavier European weapon.

  Alexandre rose from the rushing stream, pausing to shake his wet, dark auburn curls. The current foamed about his groin, and with a start, Liliane realized that he was aroused, his manhood rising from his body. He laughed when he saw her face. "Sorry, my titillation is due to the water bubbles." Then he added, just audible over the sound of the rushing water, "but you do look lovely, sitting in that chartreuse light. Simple garments like the blue chainse and wimple you wear become you better than elaborate ones." He emerged from the water and slowly walked toward her. He hunkered gracefully down in front of her and touched her left ear. "One day, I would like to put a single pearl . . . there . . . like a teardrop."

  Liliane was uncomfortable, keenly aware of Alexandre's bare skin, his mesmerizing blue eyes and the open invitation between Ins thighs. She flinched, a small, startled gasp escaping her as he traced the soft skin beneath her jaw. "I ought to replace at least one of your tears," he said softly. "I have made you very unhappy, haven't I?"

  "You are not altogether to blame," she whispered, then hesitated. "I think I understand more now than I did at the beginning. Why did you not tell me the black was your horse?"

  A startled flush suddenly stained his cheeks. She could tell that he was casting about for an explanation; when it proved elusive, he looked away and his voice grew soft. "Ah ... I thought you might be embarrassed. You could have had a fall from your own horse and found mine grazing ..."

  "Wearing a bridle and saddle?" she prodded gently.

  Alexandre was silent for a moment, then he sighed. "You have nothing to explain, Liliane. We were, not married then, and besides, the whole marriage arrangement was not of your choice. No matter how you rode into my life, I am grateful to have you here."

  She searched his eyes. "Even when you must know that Jean gave me that horse?"

  A blank look came over his face, perhaps a shade too quickly. "Jean?"

  "Your half -brother.''

  "Liliane," he said slowly, "I have no brothers and that is God's truth."

  Strangely enough, Liliane believed him. Quite possibly he did not know about Jean ... or did not want to know about him.

  As if to avert more questions, Alexandre rose quickly and put on his braies. Silently, she watched him pull his chainse over his damp shoulders. It stuck to him and, rising from her seat on the moss, she helped him ease it down. "Alexandre, at the time I married you, I was in love with another man."

  He paled slightly. " 'Was?"

  "I learned he was a thief and a liar.''

  He blanched even more and his voice grew dull. "And you want nothing more to do with him?"

  She wondered why he sounded so disappointed. "No, I will not see him again . . . but I must apologize for having cheated you of the bride you must have expected."

  Now he looked relieved! "Oh, that is no matter," he returned with a curious smile. "In fact, I was in love with another woman."

  Liliane's heart gave a painful lurch. "Is that over?"

  "In a way"— he gave her a wry smile—"it scarcely began." His eyes captured her. "But now that I have you, you will find me both ardent and faithful."

  If Liliane had some doubt of the latter intent, she was left little doubt of the former. Before she could protest, Alexandre pulled her close and kissed her, softly but with stirring resolution. She felt an unexpected tingling, and just as she realized that his kiss seemed painfully familiar, he released her. His blue eyes were dark with promise.

  Liliane wondered what might have happened if he were not already dressed. Afraid that he would not quickly dispense with such an inconsequential obstacle, she moved hastily out of his reach. "Are you not going to have your lunch?" She hurried to his horse and pulled food and a bottle of wine from his saddlebag. "Oh, a good brandy wine," she chattered as she fished for the crockery mugs she had spotted deeper in the bag. "I had nothing to drink with the langoustes. This looks wonderful." She thrust everything into his arms.

  With an amused smile, Alexandre laid napkins on the bracken and spread out the small picnic. "Why not have a taste of the doves, as well? Langoustes are little more than an appetizer."

  "Oh, no, thank you, I ate far too many of them this" morning." Feeling like an awkwardly polite child," Liliane seated herself a short distance away.

  He sat down, poured a little brandy wine in his mug and tasted it. "So-so," he commented with a faint grimace. "Doucette doesn't believe in wasting our best on saddlebag jaunts."

  Or me, thought Liliane.

  Alexandre poured a cupful for her, then himself. She did not notice anything wrong with the brandywine, but then her palate was not accustomed to Italian wine. She was more accustomed to Spanish aqua vini, but usually drank only water arid strong tea in the Moorish manner. Feeling unaccountably nervous, she drank the win
e too quickly. He glanced at her cup, then suggested as he refilled it, "You have quite a thirst . . . still, it is hot today. Do you not think you should savor your wine more slowly?"

  "Oh, I am used to it," she replied quickly, then felt foolish, remembering. If she had not drunk so much brandywine that first night at the hunting lodge with Jean, she might not have been so easily seduced. Fortunately, she need not worry about Alexandre; he filled her cup only half full.

  As he ate and made light conversation, Liliane sipped her wine slowly, yet she already felt, its heady effects and the noon heat. Staring at her cup and simmering in her wimple, she sat for some time, scarcely listening to Alexandre. At length he reached out suddenly and pulled the wimple off, then swiftly unfastened the throat of her chainse. When she looked at him warily, he grinned. "You have never bowed to propriety before; why suffer for it now?"

  "I thought you demanded propriety. You have disapproved my lack of it often enough," she replied a trifle tartly, tossing back the honey-blond hair that curled around her shoulders.

  "I was a prig, was I not?" he replied easily, then he leaned back and laid his head in her lap. His expression was trusting and a little wicked. "You will continue helping me to relax? Good behavior can be wearing, non?"

  In answer, Liliane poured more brandywine and quaffed it. Soon she was not only relaxed but nearly incapable of thinking clearly about anything but Jean's perfidy. She knew he had loved her, and that his pain at leaving her had been as real as her own. Had his vengeful joke turned on him and left him as bereft as herself?

  Dizzy with brandywine, Liliane wanted Alexandre out of her lap. His comment about being good had piqued her. It was so difficult to be good. She did not think she could be really bad. She had been bad with Jean, but at her worst, she had been wonderful, her body and mind floating when he touched ... as he was touching her now with his gentle, teasing fingers, kissing her lightly with his soft laugh. She was looking into his blue, fathomless eyes, then falling into them, and he was ink-blue all around her, darkly enveloping, making her senses sing as he caressed her. His mouth was growing hot, hotter than the wine, and that hot wine was coursing through her veins, bubbling like the bubbles that had teased him in the coursing river. His lovely, long manhood was eager and wanting her.