A Flame Run Wild (23 page)

Everyone bowed as Philip departed for his barricade, then returned to their positions. The capable Lisle appeared to be ruffled at being demoted to a more distant position from the king, but all in all, took his reassignment with scant fuss. "He's privately relieved," observed Alexandre to Liliane as Lisle withdrew his men. "Philip's is the safest, dullest position on the whole line. Unless the Moors attack from the desert, we will be yawning the siege away until Richard arrives." He led her to the new position.

"Being appointed to Philip's left is a great honor, is it not?"

"Yes, and in these circumstances, the least welcome to a soldier. Still," he paused, "this position is best for your protection as well as his and mine. With the king so close, Jacques will not dare try another such attempt on my life. By being assigned to my command, Louis is now hamstrung, as well. Another 'accident' would be too obvious. You were assigned to me as extra insurance."

"So Philip has proven your friend, after all."

"He has use for me," Alexandre replied quietly. "A king cannot be a friend as other men, yet by his lights, he loves me."

Liliane looked up at him. "I love you, too, without Philip's reservations. Let me stay."

Alexandre's eyes filled with tenderness, then bleak regret. "No, sweeting. Your place is in France."

"My place is with you," she pleaded. "Please, Alexandre, do not send me away. Thoughout history, many women have put on male dress and attended their men in battle. Who knows when you will return to France again or where Philip's whim will take you next? Shall we always live apart?" She touched his sleeve. "I should rather risk an early death than such long years of separation. I am not so brave as you may think."

"Nor am I," he replied softly. "I could not bear to see you die upon some bloody, wretched field as this. Be generous and kind as you have always been, Liliane, and press me no more about such dangerous folly."

Seeing the strain upon his lean face, Liliane fell silent, despair creeping over her as the day wore on. She had not admitted, even to herself, how afraid she was to return to France alone. The loneliness and suspicion that awaited her at Castle de Brueil seemed unbearable. Aye, she might have come to Acre to protect Alexandre, but she also craved his protection and companionship with an intensity she had not realized. She might endure living with the celibacy of a nun for as long as was required of her; but to live without him altogether conjured up a desert of such bleak horror that the wastelands of Acre seemed a lush garden.

The sun lowered, casting a bronze glow upon the city walls and the pale dunes. The sea was copper-flecked lapping at the horizon's lilac and russet clouds. Never had Liliane seen such a glorious sunset as in Acre, and she thought bleakly, that she never would again, for as the swiftly dropping night banished the twilight's brief whisper, Alexandre escorted her to the harbor. Just beyond the camp, he purchased a long, striped mantle from a vendor and cast it about her. "Keep to the walls," he admonished. "That camel drover and his friends will have clear memories of you."

While he took care not to choose the quay where they had encountered the drovers, they had not gone ten feet beyond shore when Liliane noticed that one of the men loitering on the quay belonged to her uncle's service. His obvious purpose gave her a desperate idea. After all, she would not bellying about the danger, but merely exaggerating it somewhat. She urgently tugged at Alexandre's arm. "Alexandre, that fellow over there is in my uncle's employ."

Careful not to display undue interest, he slid a glance toward the man. "Are you certain?" While aware Jacques might have set an assassin on her, he gave her a canny stare. "Or are you up to your games again?"

"Alexandre," she protested vehemently, "I vow that you may place me aboard whatever ship you like and that man will follow."

"We shall see soon enough." He took her arm. "Stay close to me." They strolled past the loitering man. As if on a pull string, he quickly followed mem.

"Now do you believe me?" she hissed. "Jacques cannot afford to let me live. I saw his assassin try to kill you."

Without reply, Alexandre eased up to the captain of a merchant ship. Their pursuer drifted in behind them.

Alexandre's hand slipped to his sword hilt. Another man, is Portuguese dress, appeared from the shadows. Liliane's stomach knotted. She had not counted on having her story quite so forcefully confirmed. "Keep moving," Alexandre whispered through stiff lips. "We are just out for an evening stroll. When we reach the street, split,"

Split! she thought fearfully. Why not serve me to them
au jus
?

Still, when they arrived back on shore, she obediently turned toward the camp, but took care to stay near shore. With the Portuguese trailing her, the silent alleys were no haven. The first man had followed Alexandre. Within the length of two streets, Liliane heard the pursuing footfalls grow quietly closer. Her heart hammering, she silently slid out her scimitar. A sound came swift and slippery behind her. She whirled to see Alexandre easing the dead Portuguese into a deserted alley. Looking about to make sure that no one had seen the assassin's disposal, Liliane followed Alexandre into the alley. He was neatly seating the Portuguese against a wall. "
Dio
, you did not stab him in the back?" she breathed, both relieved and horrified.

"I tapped him on the shoulder first," her mate replied laconically.

"Where is the other one?"

"As the day's crowds from Acre eased their rush to the Pit at sunset, he has reached hell by now."

Liliane surveyed Alexandre with new and uneasy respect. "You never waste much time accomplishing this sort of thing, do you?"

He cocked his head thoughtfully. "In truth, considering the peril of delay, I do not think I am overquick. My father, now, was hasty. At forty-one, he died old for a soldier in a squabble with a fellow knight over pillage. By the time he finished swearing at the rival and drew his dagger, the knight's poignard was sticking from his liver." He smiled grimly. "A trifling prick, but to the point."

"You did not much like your father, did you?" she observed quietly as they scanned the alley's mouth, then went to check the shore's crumbling street.

"He was greedy and brutal, with no use for my mother except in bed when no more likely female was within reach. He had no liking for children, and home was merely a property to fight over. He hated kings and loved war."

Alexandre's emotionless tone saddened Liliane immensely. How Alexandre must have been hurt in those early years! "Your father expected you to be like him," she murmured as they watched the deserted street. "Philip sees in you the same frightful boar, only sauced with intelligence and obedience." She moved into his arms. "My poor love, you have never been free, have you?"

His arms closed about her. "Bound by homage and honor, who is free? Richard's a slave to his temper and Philip is ruled by ambition. All men may be free one day, Liliane, but that day is not now." He kissed her softly. "I should like to shock Philip very much this night by taking Prince Jefar el din to bed."

Liliane giggled. "I do not know for sure, but Philip might not be much shocked, I think, and Richard even less."

"Shame"—he touched her lips—"for a lady to whisper such wicked gossip."

But even as he kissed her, a tiny, troubling thought flicked through her mind. Gossip had long whispered that Richard and Philip had once been lovers. Philip had since proven his attraction to women, and yet . . . might he not only love Alexandre as his friend, but in some perverse way, be in love with him? Alexandre's passionate lips told her well enough that such an attraction would not be reciprocated, but love was so near to hate. Philip might not be fool enough to reveal untoward desire to Alexandre, yet what would Philip do if Alexandre thwarted him in some other way? A spurned woman could be more vicious than any man—and was not Philip now much like a rejected woman? He still had the ability to keep Alexandre bound to him, but if Alexandre should ever break that bond . . .

Alexandre's kisses were not letting her think. Her head was whirling and she clung to him, heedless of danger and discovery.

His hands moved freely, ardently upon the softness of her body beneath the aba, and she felt the urgency of his desire pressing hard against her thigh. Had he claimed her there in the dust, she could not have said no. She leaned close to him, felt his heart beating, racing, her own need matching his. "We cannot stay here," he breathed huskily. "I am fair to burst."

"Take me to your tent," she whispered eagerly. "I am burning, too, my love, and past waiting."

An expression of tense sobriety came over his face, and her heart sank. "You will not send me to France now?"

Slowly, worriedly, Alexandre shook his head. When at last he spoke, his voice was harsh, his desire laced with frustration and anger. "Now? No, I dare not. More of Jacques's thugs may be out around the harbor. Neither you nor I can know them all. The overland caravans will be watched, as well, and I will not send you alone in some cockleshell or caravan where Jacques may have set his villains. Foul as Acre may be, you are now safer with me here." Abruptly he lifted her chin. "But play no more games. You have caused me trouble enough. For your protection, my word will be law from this moment. Swear it!"

Her eyes looked into his. "When my safety alone is at risk, I shall obey you in all things, but if you are in jeopardy,
mon
brave, expect no docility."

He kissed her again, hard. "I will remember." Then he quickly led her through the harbor maze to his tent in the sprawling encampment. To evade the stench of crowded humanity and the nearby marsh, he had chosen a site beside Lisle on the fringe of the camp closest to the sea. Its placement afforded more privacy in their comings and goings, but was more vulnerable to Jacques's villains and Saladin's raiders. She was not sure which was more to be feared. Before they came in sight of the tent, Alexandre drew his sword and bade her unsheathe her scimitar. "I ordered guards set, but the place is bound to be watched by your accursed uncle's men. Keep to my right. If you spy anyone, raise enough racket to stir the dead."

Alexandre ventured forward into the shadowy, soft shapes of the massed tents. Without a moon, all grayed to treacherous monotones. The tents thinned, with wider patches of sand visible. To escape the stifling tents, a few sleeping forms lay like driftwood in the open stretches. Dying coals from faded camp-fires peered through the darkness like the hot, malevolent eyes of waiting demons—a single eye here, a colony there. Grown accustomed to the murkiness, Liliane was now better able to define shapes. Nothing moved. Only the sea rustled up on the shore. Then she sensed that a coal's light had suddenly been smothered. Her attention focused on the spot. When two more coals disappeared, she touched Alexandre's rigid shoulder. He had seen it, too.

"Yell!" he hissed.

Her nerves shot, Liliane yelled at the top of her lungs, with Alexandre's baritone clamor sounding as his sword lashed out. Toppling pots clattered and tent cloth tore as the startled assassin stumbled back. Thinking that Saracens had attacked, the sleepers on the sand reared up clumsily with furious oaths and fumbled for weapons. Warned by his master to absolute secrecy, the assassin fled now that all hope of secrecy was shredded. Liliane whirled as soft footsteps faded away behind her. She and Alexandre did not discover who else might have been lurking in wait, for the nearby tents were spilling their occupants, and the camp was rousing in a progressive wave of activity.

Alexandre briefly caught Liliane's wrist. "Come, follow me." In moments, they saw the guards stationed about Alexandre's large green tent emblazoned with his leopard and unicorn device. Too experienced to leave their stations, the guards held weapons at the ready. Alexandre called softly, "Yves,
c'est moi
. I have a friend with me."

The little Gascon relaxed, but others did not, waiting guardedly while he walked forward. "Advance, my lord. " 'Tis an unfriendly night. I am glad to see you returned safely"—his tone altered with a note of displeasure as he spied Jefar el din—"but if you will forgive me, my lord, this Moor will attract more unpleasantness.''

"Prince Jefar speaks good French, Yves," Alexandre replied quietly. "You will all treat him with courtesy. He saved my life from a Signe arrow today. If he needs protection now, he shall have it."

Yves flushed as the others gathered round. "So that's what half that fuss was about when King Philip grilled the baron and his whelp. We are promised a lively time, milord."

Alexandre grinned. "Boredom ages a man, non?" He strode to the tent.and drew open the tent flap. "Prince Jefar will be residing with us. You will obey him as you would me, and guard his life as you would your own.
Alors
?"

Grudgingly, Yves and the castellans nodded.

Liliane smiled at them as she walked to the tent. "I hope to put you to little trouble, gentlemen. I, too, should like to grow old."

As she ducked into the tent, she murmured to Alexandre, "Are you not going to tell everyone the attack was a raise alarm?" Torches were flaring outside the tent as the clamor and bustle of the aroused crusaders continued.

"Not I." Alexandre followed her into the tent. A dry chuckle issued from the darkness as he prowled for a candle. "I have no wish to be sworn at for an idiot. Our neighbors will be as edgy as cats for the rest of the night: as fine a protection as we could want." He groped around in the dark for another few moments, then muttered, "Oh, the hell with it." His arms slid around her, his lips moving over her cheek to the corner of her mouth. "You are trembling."