The troubadour's song (38 page)

Allesandra lifted her chin. "It is difficult to stand here and allow your rulers to plan the complete demise of the House of Toulouse."

"Hmmm. Is that what you think? You do not know the future, madam. I believe we are trying to see it as a joining of the House of Toulouse and the Capetians."

"I cannot see it that way."

"Then I will not argue. Instead, why not look forward to the evening's entertainment." In a lower voice, he said, "There are things you can do nothing about, Allesandra. Cease trying. The

winds of fate are blowing. Do you not think that the end to this war is best for all concerned?"

She was able to look into his eyes, and she did not miss the fact that his statement held some personal meaning. But she was still too agitated and fearful of the results of this conference.

"I am not ready to think such thoughts, my lord," she said a little more quietly.

He offered her his arm. "You need be ready for nothing except to dine. That is the only thing demanded of you now."

And he gave her a look that began to undo her. She accepted his arm and let him lead her through the passage that led to the chamber where tables were set for a feast.

The French and the southerners were encouraged to mingle, but the atmosphere was stiff. Allesandra sat next to Gaucelm and listened to the music from the musicians' gallery and the low hum of conversation. From time to time, silence reigned except for the sound of fruit being sliced and wine being poured. Blanche spoke to fill the silences.

"I do recommend that our guests take time to visit the cathedral being built on He de la Cite. I am most interested in your opinion of the sculpture."

There were a few murmurs, but hardly the revelry of a normal gathering.

After the meal, the guests broke off to wander in the gardens. Allesandra accompanied Gaucelm, but she still brooded over the negotiations. And in spite of her relief at seeing Gaucelm again, and the inner longing that even her anger could not completely quell, she felt more hopeless than hopeful and kept lips pressed together as he walked with her along the rows of herbs and flowers under a blue sky.

"Tell me, madam," said Gaucelm in a tone formal enough to satisfy anyone who might hear their words on the clear air, "have you written any poetry in these last months?"

"I have been too busy for poetry," she said in a sharp voice.

She realized she was beginning to sound like a harpy. But perhaps it was fitting that Gaucelm see a side of her that was not

submissive to his charms. If he cared for her, then he would understand her qualms. He did not misunderstand her mood.

"That is too bad," he said. "The greatest unpleasantness is sometimes easier to bear if it is given expression in poetry and song."

"Oh? And did you learn this from the time you spent among us?"

"I learned that and many things."

He stopped, seized her arm and turned her to face him so she could not avoid his gaze. "Allesandra, this treaty may be abhorrent to you, but there will be a day when it is past. You will return to your lands and pay tithes to the Mother Church and taxes to the king. It is the way of the future. I know you dislike it, as do your countrymen. But unifying France is not a bad thing. As one country, all our peoples can prosper. Squabbling between nobles will stop if they all serve the same king. Can you not see it that way?"

She tugged her arm free and looked to the side. "You ask that we stop fighting. Even Raymond wants to do so. But what good are empty displays of faith and loyalty where none exists in the heart?"

"Be careful what you say," he said only for her ears. "What I am suggesting is that you accept the inevitable. You still have your own life to live. I had thought you might wish to live it in my presence."

This forced her to look at him once more, but her expression was still questioning. "How so, my lord? Will you be awarded my lands again? Am I a piece of property to be sold along with my lands?"

He gave an irritated scowl. "Your marriage is up to your overlord, the count. I planned to speak to him."

"Before you spoke to me?" The words snapped out; in her present mood, Allesandra could not stop them.

His lids lowered and he gave her a look that said he had already looked into her soul. "Words were not necessary, my lady We exchanged all the talk needed when we were at the fair in Aix, did we not?"

Memories of that sensual interlude sent a flush through her, and she glanced down in sudden embarrassment. "Perhaps we did. But that was while we were still at war." Her chin came up. "My people had not yet surrendered."

"But you had surrendered." His words were low, suggestive. There was no doubt of his meaning.

She looked him in the eye for a long moment at last, and could not back away. The bond between them held her there, and in spite of their differences, she knew she was not free of it. But in the late-afternoon sunlight she saw that her love for him was clouded by the other horrors that had always been between them. Even so, she laid a hand upon his arm.

"Gaucelm," she said more quietly, but with feeling. "So much lies between us. I'm not sure we could be happy."

His grip moved up to her shoulders. He did not care who saw them. "You could learn to be happy."

"If we marry," she said, "I will lose all the freedom I now have. I will bow my head to husband, Church, and king all at once."

The muscles in his jaw twitched. "I can see that my love would not be enough. You have forgotten then what we shared at Aix."

Their conversation was interrupted by Jean, who made so much noise, treading on the path and humming a tune as he approached, that Allesandra knew he was intentionally letting them know they were about to be interrupted. They broke apart. Jean gave a flourish and bowed.

"Sir Gaucelm, my lady. The music is about to begin. Perhaps you will join us."

"Of course, Jean," she said. "We will return to the hall in a moment."

He lifted a knowing eyebrow and bowed again, then he turned to retreat. Gaucelm frowned. "You are surrounded by friends. I am surprised that Count Raymond does not marry you himself. Or is that what you've been trying to tell me?"

"No, we . . ."

But Gaucelm would not let her go on. "I can see that in spite of the passion you showed me, your loyalty to your kind is more

important. I was the fool, then, to think that we could achieve happiness. Well, madam, perhaps you are right. I release you. You are free to give your hand to a powerful count who can while away the night writing poems to you."

He took a step backward, and then he left her there.

She made her way back to the hall alone, regretting the bitter words between them. A black mood settled over her, and she almost wished she'd not come to Paris at all. In the hall, she joined others of her entourage to listen to the music and watch entertainments.

Later in the evening, a light supper was served. She noticed that Raymond was absent as well as Blanche of Castille. She surmised that they had withdrawn to private chambers to talk alone. Part of Allesandra resented it, but part of her saw why they might do so. The two already knew what they wished to achieve. They might reach agreement in private and then after presenting it to the king, tell the others on the morrow that it was done.

Allesandra retired early to her chamber, prepared for bed and then sat by the window with an oil lamp and tried to read some poetry. But she found the French poets dry and didactic, and longed for Provencal poetry instead. There was a light knock on her door and she put the book aside.

Even before she answered it, she knew it was Gaucelm. He slipped into her chamber and shut the door behind him. Without preamble, he unclasped his surcoat and tossed it aside. His belt followed it.

She stood and watched, trembling at the surprise visit, sure of what he was about to do. When he had removed his shoes and thrown off his tunic, he finally spoke.

"One last time, madam? I want to make sure you will remember what you are giving up."

Then he reached slowly for her and tugged her nightdress upward. She did not protest, but raised her arms so that it came over her head. Her breath escaped raggedly at the sight of him, and her breasts tingled as he removed her shift. He bent to extinguish the lamp and then stood again to reach for her. His lips

came to join hers, and his tongue thrust inward as his fingers gently pressed, making her gasp.

Her heart lost control and she trembled violently as his manhood brushed against her thighs. Then he dropped to his knees and let his lips do the work of caressing her skin, his hands and thumbs fondling the mounds of her breasts as he explored.

Her hands were on his shoulders of their own accord as his tongue made the fires burst forth within her. Then he arose again and led her to the bed. He seated her, but remained standing before her so that her hands were on his waist. With deft and unhurried fingers, he unfastened her hair so that it fell about her shoulders and then he gently laid her cheek against his hard abdomen.

In a private rhythm that they had come to understand, she teased with her own mouth and tongue, pleasing him as he moved gently against her. His own grunts and moans of satisfaction let her know that he was full of desire.

Then with his practiced mastery, he lowered himself, his knees against the feathered mattress, and entered her. They joined together, and her own erotic sensations flowed unhindered. Her breath panted to the same rhythms as his thrusts. Then he hunched over her, bracing himself with his hands on the bed in the final moments when his seed spilled into her.

For a few moments they breathed heavily. He leaned down to take one nipple in a moist kiss that sent a bolt of lightning to her womb. Then he pulled himself away and inhaled a long breath. He stood before her in the shadows.

"There, madam, I have given you everything of myself that I can. If you have a child with Count Raymond, who will be able to prove it is not mine?"

His words stunned her, so that she lay, braced on her elbows, her mouth open, but staring at his silhouette in the dim moonlight. Her heart still pounded from their passion, and it took time for her poor mind to arrange the words so that they made sense. By the time she had understood what he'd said, he had replaced his clothing. He sat to put on his shoes.

"You can't mean that," she finally said.

"Oh, but I do."

She sat up, reaching for her nightdress. She had been powerless against his charms, and he had claimed her. She still felt sorry for the bitterness that had passed between them in the garden, but now this. Was this his vengeance?

She stood up, trying to summon words to accuse him. But he was out the door before words would come, and she was left with the shattered feeling that they had come to a terrible end. The slippery wetness trailed down her thighs in ironic witness to what he had done. She had taken no precautions before any of their lovemaking. It was possible that his seed would take root in her.

Perhaps she had not cared before, thinking that if such came to pass, it would only be evidence of the love they bore each other. But now he meant to claim her in a different way. Thinking that she was destined to do her duty and wed Raymond, Gaucelm meant to have the upper hand. If Raymond bedded her very soon, there would always be the possibility that the child was Gaucelm's.

"Fool," she muttered to the door that had closed behind him. And she saw the mistake she had made.

If she were with child, she would be forced to marry Raymond or some other southern lord for appearance' sake. For now that her arguments had offended Gaucelm, it was doubtful that he would come running back to her, even if she humbled herself to him.

Twenty- three

When morning came, Allesandra had to drag herself from bed. The skies were heavy with rain, and the gray mist seemed to penetrate her heart. She let the maids dress her hair and help her dress, but she dreaded another conference.

The moment could not be put off forever. And when it was

time, she went into the hall, half hoping she could make herself somehow invisible, especially to Gaucelm, should he be there.

But he was not there. She broke her fast on bread and cheese with Raymond and their entourage. Then when the tables were broken down, they were instructed to join Blanche of Castille in her private chamber. The musicians stayed behind, only Raymond and the other southern counts went in, along with Alle-sandra, because of the effect any decision would have on her lands.

But when they assembled around the heavy, square table at which Blanche was seated, Allesandra perceived that all the real negotiating had taken place last night, probably in this room behind closed doors. What Blanche and Raymond said now were mere formalities. When Blanche returned to the point about the marriage between Raymond's young sister and the king's brother, she sent a stinging glance at Allesandra.

But Allesandra had already given her opinions to her overlord and held her tongue. Her head throbbed, and the bread and cheese she'd eaten only sickened her stomach. She wished nothing more than for the formalities to be over with. She wished fervently to be away from Paris and back in her own demesne to let all that was familiar comfort her.

"The king has been informed of these arrangements," Blanche said to Raymond so that all could hear. "And he agrees. If you are prepared to sign the treaty, we will proceed."

Raymond nodded his head. "Let us read over the wording alone," he said. "We will sign the document this afternoon in front of witnesses."

"Very well."

One of Blanche's knights stepped forward to hold her chair while she arose. "My scribes will prepare copies of the treaty. Bishop Frosbier will announce the betrothal of Jeanne and Al-phonse. Until that time, the king invites you to make whatever use of the palace and stables you wish."

It was done then, the peace was ratified. But Allesandra carried her forebodings with her from the room as they all retreated into

the hall. She and Raymond stopped near a window cut in the thick stone, where a shaft of sunlight brightened the floor.