The troubadour's song (18 page)

Passion aside, Allesandra was still loyal to her cause. And now she plotted to leave and go to Raymond's side. They must defend Toulouse at all costs. The disaster at Muret must not be repeated. The survival of Languedoc was at stake. If she must live with a maddening desire for a man who was an enemy, so be it.

After the meal, she rose to begin the entertainments. Gaucelm was civil to the troubadours and bade them play. Allesandra had cautioned them to sing the least dangerous of their songs, songs of spring and of forlorn love. Keep Gaucelm and his soldiers guessing for whom each lovesick troubadour made his verses.

But when she returned to the dais and risked a glance at Gaucelm's handsome face, deep in thought, she could tell his mind was not on the entertainment. Fearing the worst, she smiled nervously at him and took her seat while the minstrels played and clapped.

Gaucelm's long fingers lay along his chair arm, his sinewy arm half covered with the folds of his robe. His body was nonetheless taut for being garbed in linen tunic and silver-embroidered surcoat, and even to sit next to him in a straight-backed chair made her aware of her need. If she shut her eyes for one brief moment, she could envision being next to him between linen sheets, their skin drinking in each other's. She opened her eyes, the throbbing in her veins a threat to what she must do. Her voice shook as she ventured a question.

"My lord seems distracted," she said. "Does the music not please you?"

His eyes grazed her face, and for a moment the veil lifted. "It is pleasing. Forgive me if I do not seem attentive."

Her breath was shallow, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. "On what does my lord ponder?" she risked asking.

His eyes cleared, opened wider, and then a spasm of bitterness crossed his face. He glanced briefly at her mouth, the body that had lain beside him, and then armored his expression with determination, gazing back at the musical frolic below. His words pierced her heart, so sharply did he utter them.

"On treachery, loyalty, risk, danger. All the elements of war."

She swallowed and waited until she could speak steadily. "Are such things a threat now, my lord?"

His grip on the carved wooden chair arm tightened, and his mouth tensed. "That depends."

She should say no more and so fell silent. Neither did she trust herself to stand. If she was thus affected, how could she carry out what she intended to do? And yet she must tear herself from his side as quickly as possible. When she did not see him, it was a little easier to remember who she was and what he represented.

Somehow the day passed. To their credit, the troubadours carried off their part well, challenging each other to improve upon their songs. But to the practiced ear, the music lacked warmth, the instruments were played without inspiration. The performance distracted but did not uplift. Too much wine was consumed in hopes of masking their failings. Only Allesandra noticed that Gaucelm did not drink anything but water.

By evening the hall was cleared. Guests and soldiers alike retired to rest or stretch their limbs outside before the fires would be lit and supper laid. Allesandra sought out her friends, for she'd had all day to make her plans.

"We must not give the appearance of going," she said. "Therefore, you must leave your mounts here. There is another way outside, but we must carry arms and supplies with us. Be ready after supper. I will come to the guest chambers. They will not be watched, since the Frenchmen believe you to be working on your songs."

"We will be ready," said Jean, to which his companions nodded. "And we will be armed."

There remained one problem. When Gaucelm had taken over the great chamber, he had not given Allesandra time to remove any personal belongings she kept there. Once he'd learned of her poetry, she had taken some of the writings to the women's chamber for their amusement. But of other valuables that would come in useful now, he had not given leave for them to be removed.

His guards would keep her out of the great chamber when he was not in it. There was only one way to gain access when he was there. She approached the sergeant-at-arms, standing with arms crossed beside the door.

"I wish to see your lord," she said.

The man knocked on the door, and after being bid to enter, opened it to step in and announce her. There was no delay. Gaucelm looked up from where he was writing on a sheet of parchment at the round table in the center of the room. His retainer was just finishing lighting the oil lamps since the light from outside was fading.

"I'm sorry, my lord. I interrupt."

"I have just finished. Please enter."

When he laid the quill aside, he seemed also to lay aside whatever care it was he was writing about. He leaned back in the chair and gave her his full attention.

"What did you wish to see me about?" he asked.

"I.. ." she hesitated. "I simply wished to see you."

Her cheeks burned as she turned to walk slowly toward the tall window, with shutters pulled back to admit the fading twilight. She heard the chair scrape, and then he was beside her. He was not touching her, but she could hear his breathing. His voice was less strained and was tinged with a touch of emotion when he spoke.

"And I you, madam."

He reached slowly for her hand and lifted it to his lips. When he rested his mouth there, he did not hurry. Her heart twisted inside her as he kissed the hand and then turned it over to kiss her wrist, then her forearm.

She gasped a quick shallow breath as he put his other hand

on her shoulder and then moved closer to her. When he spoke, he seemed to utter her own thoughts.

"My lady, I rue the circumstances that brought us together. I rue the duty that will take me from your side. If these were peaceful times, we might enjoy each other publicly. As it is, we cannot even trust each other."

She trembled at the truth of his words. Why deny them? Still, she had enough presence of mind left to perceive that he seemed to be talking about going away, and she tensed. Was he going to join his general? Perhaps she could learn something that would help Raymond.

But his kisses put her mind on other things, and then she was in his embrace, kissing his face, her fingers running through his hair as she indulged in his affections.

"Allesandra, my love. I want you desperately."

She hardly had to answer, for her own responses were showing him. She had known when she'd walked into this room what would happen, but she had perhaps been fooling herself about the intensity of their mutual need.

She did not resist when he led her to the bed. She responded willingly when he threw off his tunic and then disrobed her. If this had not been her purpose in coming here, still she had not expected to keep from him once she was here.

He held nothing back and yet was just as gentle as before. Wild urges were not restrained, and when he touched her, she yielded, her body an instrument upon which he played. She tasted of him, relishing the salty, masculine sensation of him. And she thrilled as his lips and tongue taunted, teased, aroused her. The intimacy was maddeningly ecstatic, the feel of his hard muscles fulfilling her in every way. The hunger for a man's love that she'd kept within herself these years poured forth, as they both gave voice to their need and their pleasure.

He lay beneath her so that her hair formed a curtain around their faces. Her breasts grazed his chest. Their kisses set them both on fire. Then he set her on her knees above him so he could feast his eyes on her body.

He made love as a man possessed, holding her fast against

him long after their climax was complete, as if not wanting to be torn from her. Then he lay her on her back and kissed her possessively as if wanting to imprint his claim on her. When at last he raised himself on his elbow, he let his finger drift along her brow and through her hair spread on the pillow.

"Stay and sup with me," he said finally, a wistful smile upon his face. "We've worked up an appetite."

"Gladly," she replied, looking into the eyes that seemed to devour her, while her own heart beat with the knowledge that she was truly his prisoner in more ways than one.

He ordered that supper be brought and then they took their time draping themselves in their tunics once again.

"My lord, I used to keep a brush and some things here. Will you give me leave to collect them? The better to improve my appearance for you."

His hand drifted to her face, and then his finger lifted her chin.

"You are lovely as you are, your hair all disarranged. But of course you may have your belongings. Where are they?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "There, in the chest. And in a jewel case with the books in the cabinet."

He smiled indulgently as a man who loves, and she tried to hide the guilt she felt. Still, as he started to walk away, she grasped his arm. "Gaucelm . . ."

He paused, looked back, the love still in his eyes. "What is it?" His words were soft, kind.

"I . . ." but she broke off, turned away. "I do not know . . . Nothing."

He reached for her and turned her in his arms. They faced each other, passion and hopelessness mingling in the muted lamplight.

"I know," he said softly, bending to brush his lips ever so lightly across hers. "I know."

A knock sounded, they broke apart, and then a retainer brought a wooden tray. A second man cleared the table, spread a tablecloth on it, and set the food down. Carafes and goblets were brought in. While the meal was being laid, Allesandra opened the trunk to find brush, scarves, other feminine items.

But while Gaucelm was occupied in talking with his sergeant-

at-arms outside, she had time to find what she was really looking for. A jeweled dagger in its sheath and gold coins in a satin purse. She stepped behind the bed curtain and tied both to her waist beneath her tunic.

When Gaucelm again turned his attention to her, she was brushing her hair. He stopped to gaze at her, one foot on the step beside the bed. Then he held out a hand.

"Come. The food awaits."

Dinner was subdued, as each reflected on private thoughts, weighted and wary of that which kept them apart. Gaucelm seemed as reluctant to talk as she. Belatedly, she remembered her role as spy and made an attempt to learn his plans, deciding that the best approach was a bold one.

"They say Simon de Montfort is on the move. Will you go to join him?"

Gaucelm leaned back and regarded her. "And how is it you learn of this?"

His question did not threaten her. "Gossip travels, my lord. Have you not noticed the way word seems to spread on the very wind, faster than a messenger can deliver it? Such is the way of news."

"Hmmm. Then no doubt your sources are as reliable as mine. I have not yet decided upon my plans."

She heard the note of irony in his voice, even if his words were serious. Again her heart felt heavy. If they had met under other circumstances, perhaps this would have been the man who would put his suit to her. But she had to remind herself that they would not have met had he not come south with the conquering army.

After the meal, she feigned a yawn. "I fear the festivities have undone me. I hope you will excuse me early tonight."

He lifted a dark brow. "Indeed, these activities have tired me as well."

She did not miss his meaning and felt the color in her cheeks.

"However," he added, "I have demands on my time, and so do not mind ending the evening early. It has been most satisfying."

He scraped his chair back across the woo'den floor and came

to escort her to the door after she'd gathered her belongings. The dagger and coins still rode safely at the girdle beneath her tunic. As she lifted her face to his, she saw the lines of responsibility drawn across his brow again. As he touched her cheek, there was a trace of wistfulness about his eyes. Unspoken knowledge passed between them, and she knew she would have to force herself through the heavy door. For once on the other side, she would again wear the coat of enemy.

"Good night, my lord," she said.

He kissed her brow. "Sleep well."

She passed through and did not look back as she took the passage and then the stairs to the women's quarters. Isabelle and Marcia looked up from their work as she hurried across to the niche that was now hers. She motioned to them to follow her and then put a finger to her lips to caution them.

"Here, help me undress."

They saw the dagger and the money pouch and looked at her with questions in their faces.

"If you do not know what I am about," she told them, "then you will not be lying when you tell the soldiers tomorrow that you do not know where I've gone."

Isabelle drew her mouth into a line of concern. "You are dressing for traveling and you take with you a weapon and money. We can guess where you are going."

"Yes," she said. "You can guess, but you will not know."

As she threw her mantle about her shoulders, Marcia voiced her concern. "Pray, you are not going alone."

"No, but you will find out soon enough who accompanies me.

She made her way to the guests' chamber without hindrance. When she entered the room, Jean turned and crossed to her.

"My lady, you've come."

The genial troubadours were now fierce-looking knights, garbed in mail hauberks over which they wore their brightly colored surcoats. Swords and daggers were fastened at girdles at their waists, and she'd no doubt that other knives were secreted

in boots. Plain brown mantles with hoods were tied at the throat to drape across their shoulders.

"You'll have to leave your musical instruments here," she said. "Where we are going, you will not need them."

Christian turned and gazed sadly at his lute. Then he crossed to it and lifted it up to kiss its long neck. "It is a fine instrument, I hope to see it again."

But after that one show of sentiment, he joined the others in picking up their helmets. For these men were knights as well as troubadours and never hesitated to help a lady.

When she judged that it was safe, she led them as quietly as possible along the passage to the stairs. They huddled at the top to listen for any guards. But most of the garrison was still in the hall, enjoying their wine to the music of the jongleurs who had stayed behind to play. The group hurried down a staircase to the kitchens and waited until Allesandra judged that it was safe. The cooks and servants in the kitchen were all loyal servants of hers.