Fire Dance (19 page)

"Thank you. I am not used to sitting."

"That will pass quickly. But more so if you begin now."

But she could not. She prayed the meal would quickly pass, instead. Yet it seemed to take half the night. God did not answer her prayers, not even the little ones.

The Norman soon left her to her misery and turned his attention to the men who sat near him. Their subdued voices left anguished silences, spaced by odd, out-of-place subjects. When the silences grew too long, he returned his attention to her.

"Mayhap the wine will help your digestion," he suggested, and poured some in the maple maser which he offered to her.

She took a sip, gave a small nod.

"A little more, Melisande. To ease your fears."

"And to ease his path," said a Norman toward the end of the table.

The Norman lord glared the man down. The others carefully studied the remaining contents of their cups.

"Alain, mayhap she would like to go to her chamber," said Chrétien.

She looked at the man, suddenly realizing she had worried at her lower lip until it bled.

"Aye," said the Norman lord. "If you will see her there, I will come shortly."

Gratefully, Melisande rose. She walked past Thomas, who stared down at his trencher. Gerard, who knew nothing of the cause of her distress, nevertheless caught her gaze with the steadfast one of his own. She tried to arrange a smile on her face for him. But she had long since forgotten how that was done, and instead bit her lip.

"My lady," said Chrétien, as they ascended the steps, "do not be so afraid. He is not a bad man. He will not hurt you. And I have heard it said by many a lass, he is more than kind."

"I care not what his conquests have to say about him, Chrétien. But you are kind, and I thank you. I only wish to be alone for a little while, now."

"Aye, of course. I could find a woman to help you."

"I need no help."

He gave her a helpless smile and returned to the dais.

As she closed the door behind her, her heart began to race. The demons returned. Like fierce, gusty winds, they flew about within her.

Flee! You must flee!

Nay! Let him come, and kill him in his sleep!

He will not sleep before he kills you! Flee!

She hated them. They captured her fears, twisted them, conquered her with them. There was nothing she could do. And she could not kill him, not even if she hated him.

And she did not hate him. It was not his fault that she had harbored secret desires for him, had believed him capable of her salvation, something no man could do. He was just a man. Just a man, after all.

But you can flee! Save yourself!

Why? So you will still have someone to torment?

Nay! Save yourself while there is still time! Hurry! He comes soon!

Her heart sped within her chest at the thought, knowing her death was imminent. But there was no place to go.

Hide in the caverns! Then you can worry about where to go!

She had married him. Would that not be enough to secure his holding? Aye, she must flee. Now. The caverns. She might even hide there for a while. None knew them as well as she did.

If only she had eaten supper. But that could not be changed now. She sped to the corner where the hidden panel was, and shoved it aside, then crawled through the opening. Before her, the twenty-seven stone steps disappeared into the maw of darkness. Her small candle flickered with each step downward.

Freedom? There was none. She only wished to cheat death until she could find a better way of dealing with it.

* * *

"She's gone. By Christ's Blood, she's gone!"

Below him, still on the dais, his knights gaped up at him. Chrétien dashed up the wooden stairs ahead of Gerard, Thomas, and Robert. They too stared at the empty chamber. Alain surveyed again the walls, floors, even the bed, for the smallest clue, but found naught.

"There's another way out. Thomas, what is it?"

"I truly do not know, lord. The lord Fyren never shared such knowledge."

"But there is a way."

"Aye, the bolt hole."

"Aye. Chrétien, watch this chamber." Had she gotten by his man, somehow?

Alain raced down the staircase, through the hall and out to the new tower. He raced through the tower's lowest floor with the rush torch he had grabbed on his way through the hall, until he reached the odd little passage the girl as Edyt had shown him.

Once there, he threw aside the barrels that hid it and stooped to pass through. Within the cavern, he slowed, following the gravelly floor until he reached the little chamber where the passage leveled. He held the torch high to scan about.

His heart sank.

CHAPTER 10

Little corridors, pits and recessions branched out, dipped and rose all around him, in all directions. A labyrinth. Alain recalled why he had not investigated the bolt hole further. It was impossible. Almost beyond comprehension.

The shaft that appeared to be most used wound downward. He walked a little way in that direction. Soon it too, narrowed, became too small for anyone to pass. He should have asked her that day to show him the rest of the way out. Now she could be long gone, and he could do nothing but send out his knights about the countryside, where every villein who knew her would shelter her.

His hope sank. With a defeated sigh he turned back.

His nose wrinkled. A smell half-remembered. The wick of a freshly snuffed candle. Tiny particles of sand fell on his arm, and he lifted the torch. Above him a foot dangled below a coarse wool garment.

All of a motion, he dropped the torch and scrambled up the rock face after her. If she reached the narrow slit above her before him, all was lost. His large body would never go through that hole. He lunged, caught the foot. A shriek echoed through the cavern.

"Give over, lady. You will only hurt yourself."

She grappled for the rock above her, and cried out as he pulled her down. He latched both hands onto her arms and pressed her hard against the sloping rock wall with his body.

"You struggle in vain, lady. You are my wife. It was decreed by Rufus, and naught will change that."

He gave her no chance to reply or resist, and hauled her along behind him up the incline of the passage. At its top, he shoved her through the low hole, still holding her wrist tightly.

Once outside the tower, Alain pitched her over his shoulder, ignoring her cries, carrying her as he would a sack of corn across the bailey, through the hall. Up the wooden stairs, and through the open door to her chamber. To the bed, where he flung her down like that same sack of corn.

Melisande scrambled away and drew herself up tightly against the headboard, her eyes huge and round, while she pushed herself sideways toward the bed's opposite side.

"Now, lady, what is it to be? A fight? You cannot win."

"No, please!" She scooted off the far side of the bed, flung herself against the wall. "Please!"

"Please? Just what is it you intend? Do you think I shall just step aside and allow you to make such a fool of me?"

"I didn't mean– "

Her glance flew from side to side, seeking an opening where there was none. Alain caught her again, this time about the waist. She screamed, her voice like the high squeal of a rabbit set upon by hounds, and thrashed as he fought to keep his hold.

"No!" she cried, and her words trembled as she writhed against his grip, struggling, frantic.

Christ's Blood, what terrified her so? He had never meant it to be like this. Somehow, he had to bring her back to her senses. He tightened his hold about her waist and arms, but the more he tried to subdue her, the more terrified she became. Desperate, he threw her down to the bed, landed on top of her.

"Be calm, Melisande. I tell you, calm down. There is not reason to fear. Melisande, I will not hurt you, do you not understand?"

She did not. She had stopped making words. Now only incoherent squeals and gasps, like a dying rabbit, came forth. She no longer fought, merely shook in his arms.

This was wrong. As wrong as anything he had ever done. He had meant only to subdue her, but the harder he tried, the worse it got.

He lowered his voice. "Melisande, Melisande, listen to me. Can you not hear me? I do not want to hurt you."

Her body trembled, and her only sounds were whimpers.

Alain rose away from the bed, stood, stared helplessly at the shaking girl before him. She rolled to the side and drew herself into a tight ball, the way a turtle shrank into its shell. Expelling the long breath he had held, he lifted the down quilt that had been kicked aside and tucked it in around her. He let himself out through the door between the two chambers.

By God's Sweet Breath, what was this? Was the girl mad?

No, she was not mad, only terrified. And Chrétien was right. He had done nothing but bully her. She must have thought he was going to rape her. Oh, of course, he knew a husband could not rape his wife, not under either common or king's law. But he doubted it would feel any different to her.

He had to get out of there, out of these chambers, go where he could think more clearly. Out the door, across the balcony, down the stairs. Below, the knights all sat around on benches not yet put away, all considering the floor as if something compelling lay there. All except Gerard, whose blazing brown eyes threatened a fight to the death.

Alain only shook his head. "She is not harmed, Gerard. Only frightened. Too frightened of me. anything. You may go to see her, if you think it will help."

But Thomas took Gerard's arm before the man could dash up the stairs. "I will send a woman. Nelda will go."

Gerard's reply gritted through his teeth. "By Christ's Blood, De Crency, I am bound to my vow only while she lives. Should she die, now or ever, you will face me. That I owe myself."

There was no point in the argument. Were he in Gerard's place, he would do the same. But he had never thought he would be in this position. He threw the purple cloak over his shoulders and trudged out into the night. A soft drizzle had begun to fall, and the night seemed oddly warmer for it. Chrétien came up beside him as he walked, silent, beside him.

Alain scanned over all the things he had missed this day because of a discovery he almost wished he had not made. The progress of the curtain wall, and that of the new tower. The open floor from which Jean Nouel had fallen to his death was now finished. This place, all he had ever wanted, seemed suddenly meaningless.

Alain mounted the stone steps to walk along the completed portion of the curtain wall. He usually liked coming here, to see the hawks at dawn, the larks of an evening, soaring over his domain. His at the price of a woman barely more than a child.

"You were right, Chrétien. I could have done things differently. They love her, don't they?"

"Aye, they all love her. She would make a fine martyr, too. Best to watch for a dagger in your back, Alain."

"I've not hurt her, though by God's Breath I did learn how a man might come so close."