Fire Dance (36 page)

"The night is cold, love. Shall I draw the bed curtains?"

"Nay. I do not like them."

"Aye, I have noticed you do not use them. Yet are you not cold at night?"

"But when the curtains are drawn, I think I cannot breathe. Only leave the candle burning."

As he slid his strong body beneath the quilt, the glow of his skin dimmed from the gilt of the candlelight to silver in the shadows. He snuggled her closer. His luminous black eyes seemed ready to mate with hers.

"But I will have you, anyway, Melisande."

"Nay," she answered nervously.

"Because you will give yourself to me."

"Nay."

"You will, for you desire me nearly as much as I do you."

"Nay, it is not so."

"It is not, you say?" His eyes glowed with wickedness. He pressed the length of his body against her side, draping one muscular thigh over her leg, forcing his knee between both of hers. He nuzzled at her throat with secret whispers laced with tiny bites. She moaned and pushed against him.

"You said– "

"I said little enough about persuasion, love. This is persuasion." He captured her mouth with sweet lips and tongue, held her hostage with the plunging depth of his kiss.

He would soon control her entirely. She would lose everything because she would give it away. She must stop him! Yet if she might just savor this moment firs- His hands cupped over her breasts, and fingers found hard nipples waiting for them. A whimpered cry escaped her as a core of fire shot through her.

"Nay," she pleaded, and frantically pushed against him.

He stopped. Sat up on the bed, watched her as she coiled away from him. He read her thoughts, she was sure. Yet, he did not know. Must not know.

"Very well," he said in a resigned tone, and lay back down onto the feather mattress.

Ah, she wished she might just tell him all, let it be done with, for she did not want to see him suffer. She had heard men suffered. It was worse than a dangerous wound, some said.

"Melisande, I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you. I will not tease you anymore."

Teasing? Nay, even more now, she did not understand what it was he called teasing.

"You did not frighten me."

"I know fear when I see it. What is it that frightens you so, love? You do not truly think I will hurt you?"

What could she say? He said he would not hurt her, but he did not know how sorely he would be tried.

"Tomorrow," she said.

Once again he drew her into his arms and touched a kiss against her forehead.

"It will be a long night," he said.

And what would she tell him tomorrow?

* * *

She bolted upright, taut as a bowstring.

"He's here!" she gasped.

Instantly, Alain sat up and took her into his arms.

"It's a dream, love. It is but a dream."

"He's here. I know he is!" She trembled, her hand squeezing his arm.

The candle had failed. Alain could see nothing in the room's utter darkness. "It is only a dream, love. Wake up, now, and it will go away."

"I am awake."

"No one is here but you and me. I will relight the candle."

"Nay, stay with me. You are right, it is but a dream. I am sorry. I did not mean to wake you."

He smiled, then remembered he could not see him. "Have you forgotten? This is my place. I am your husband. I mean to always be here, so that you need not fear the night anymore."

"I know not why you are so patient with me."

"I do not find it hard. But let me light the candle again."

"I do not need it. Only, please, just stay with me."

Alain urged her back down to the warmth of the feather mattress, and once again brought the down quilt up to her neck and tucked it in. He adjusted his arm about her and lay back onto his own pillow. It was progress, of a sort, that she now woke and recognized her dream for what it was, only the wildness of her own tortured mind producing the terrors of the night.

He leaned back and watched the darkness.

The darkness moved.

CHAPTER 18

The hairs on his neck bristled. The darkness was nearly total. Whoever was in here could not see any better than he could. Alain rolled to his back, removing the arm that encircled Melisande's waist, reached behind him for the dagger hanging on the bedpost, and eased it into his hand.

With his other hand, Alain grasped Melisande's hand, slowly moving it until she could feel the shape of the dagger in his right hand. She took in a sharp breath. He rolled to whisper in her ear, nuzzling at her affectionately.

"Be very still."

"Aye," she whispered.

"Go to sleep, love, all is well," he said aloud.

He lay upon his back, right hand crossed over his chest, clasping the dagger and poised to strike. The assassin would come for him, for he would have to be killed in order to get to her. He forced his lungs to breathe like a sleeping man as he waited. Still, he saw nothing, nor heard. But the room smelled of another occupant. He held still, poised for battle.

A movement. So slight, he wondered if he imagined it. Nay. It was there. He squeezed her hand, released it. The darkness between him and the shuttered window deepened. The shadow within shadows grew denser. Nearer.

The scent of a man, a big one. The almost silent sound of air, breathing in, out. The slight crack of a flexing arm. Closer. There.

With a wild shout, he lunged, guided by instinct. A grisly scream rent the silence. Bone cracked, tissue collapsed beneath his blade. He leapt up, shoved blindly against a heavy male body that staggered back from his fierce thrust.

"Run, Melisande! Run!"

He slashed out again, again caught flesh that yielded beneath the blade. The cry of victory burst from him as he wrestled the weakened opponent to the floor.

Light. Gerard burst through the door between the chambers, holding a rush light torch, freshly sizzling from new fire. Chretien came through the other chamber's door, a torch in hand. Warily, Melisande reached his side, then bent over the sprawling, bleeding body.

"Anwealda," she said, and her tone had a note of flat satisfaction to it.

Nor was he surprised. He had taken too many victories away from Anwealda not to expect retaliation.

"You are well, lady?"

"Aye. You?"

"He had no chance to strike. How did you know?"

"I cannot say. Something woke me. Mayhap a noise."

"I sleep lightly. I would also have heard."

"Well, something. A smell, mayhap. Aye, I think it was the smell of a candle just snuffed."

It could have been. Yet, she had known someone was there, not merely that a candle had gone out. Had she a special gift? It was said the Celts had second sight. Did Saxons? Or perhaps, like him, she had detected the man's scent. It was not particularly subtle.

"It is unimportant now," he said. He leaned over the dying man, saw a feeble word form on the man's lips.

Again Anwealda struggled to say something. He bent lower.

"Witch," said the man, then his body went limp.

Alain knelt to close the staring eyes, then stood.

"How did he get in here?" Gerard asked. "He could not have slipped past the gate."

"The bolt hole," Alain guessed. "He must know this hall as well as any. Lady, do you know?"

She shook her head. "But if any could, it would be he. Fyren would have told him. He had Fyren's ear."

Several knights gathered on the balcony beyond the door, shoving each other aside, gawking into the chamber.

"Remove him," Alain said.

Several came forth to carry away the body.

"Well, we have only Dougal to worry about now," Chretien said. "And I think he has little heart to fight if the others are gone."

"Anwealda's knights will go to Dougal," said Gerard, "but it will matter little. I count those he has lost, and it is too many."

"Thomas, send to Rufus in the morning," Alain said. "He must know of this."

"Yet," said Chrétien, "do not grow too cocky or careless. This war is not yet won."

Alain smiled, once again admiring Chrétien's caution. If Anwealda had had such a man among his own, he would still live, and mayhap even be the victor.

"Aye," he replied. "'Tis wise to not count the chickens before they are hatched. Tomorrow, have the bolt hole blocked. We will not count the war won until Rufus sits in Carlisle and the last enemy alive has pledged to him."

He looked again to Melisande, who stood behind him. "Do you sleep now, lady?"

"Mayhap. Aye, I can."

It was cue enough. The knights departed, leaving only them. Alain relit the candle. He took his bride in his arms, wishing more than that, but content if he must be. Her head rested wearily against his chest.

"I have never seen so many naked men at one time," she said.

And he laughed, for he had been far too engrossed in the struggle to notice the lack of dress.

"Tonight you have saved me, lady."

"I did naught but cry out. It was you who saw him in the dark, not I."

"But I would have seen naught, had you not cried out. And with Anwealda gone, much more is resolved. Tonight it is I who owe the debt to you."

He led her to the bed. Tomorrow, he would tell her. And then either she would hate him, or she would understand. But he would not have her fear him any longer.

* * *

With the grey dawn came a light rain, plunking its music on the lead roof. She had grown accustomed to the snug warmth of his body next to hers, and roused slowly, vaguely becoming aware that she lay contentedly in Alain's arms, stroking his–

She stiffened with the sudden realization of just what she was stroking, and the reason for the ecstatic moans that had awakened her. Her eyelids flew open.

His eyes shone in the glitter of the guttering candle as he watched her. That familiar glint of mischief was gone, replaced by lust. And same yearning desire that she saw in him filled her. She yanked her hand away abruptly, and locked it firmly in the other hand, as if it might rebel and spring free again.

"Do you never sleep, lord?" she asked to disguise her true feelings.

"I sleep, save when being fondled by a beautiful woman."

"I did not– "

"You did. You need not stop. I do not want you to stop."

She rolled away, horrified at how she had betrayed herself.