A Flame Run Wild by Christine Monson Page A

was ill. He sat gingerly in the saddle as if it hurt him. In no mood to be sympathetic, Liliane pelted past him.
    Alexandre left her in the castle courtyard and rode out again to resume his unfinished task. She wondered briefly where he was going; he did not look well enough to go very far. No doubt he was just angry, for his cold seemed to have passed. She had not heard him sneezing and coughing since their wedding day.
    Once he was gone, her anger began to subside. After all, she grudgingly conceded, her boyish attire and lack of chaperonage was unconventional, and her new husband appeared to be an exceedingly conventional man. She would gain little by flying flamboyantly in the face of his social prejudices. Certainly his retinue was equally conservative, and she wanted their respect, as well. Until everyone grew accustomed to her, she must play the decorous lady. And so, to keep peace with Alexandre and his retainers, Liliane donned a smoothly draping blue bliaud that laced at the sides over a white chainse.
    Properly clothed, she set out to inspect the castle. As she descended the winding staircase, she ran her fingers along the inside wall. Upon first entering the castle, she had been determined to discover a hidden escape route. Every old castle had secret tunnels and exits in the event of a siege. She had soon noticed the stair's curve did not encompass the entire width of the tower. Another private staircase might well wind within the first. When she had been alone in the turret chamber, she had searched for a door to the secret stairs, bat so far she had found none.
    Upon reaching the courtyard, Liliane headed for the less frequented part of the castle. The rooms she had seen on her arrival were virtually the only ones intact; most of the ones on the south side at the rear of the castle were damaged. There, countless sieges and wars had left pocked walls and cascading nibble where a band of masons clambered on new scaffolding. Alexandre had wasted no time in repairing his defenses. Two of the workers noticed her and waved furtively to their foreman. By the time his head swiftly turned, she had disappeared from his view, but she knew he would inform Alexandre that she had been watching their work. He would undoubtedly think she was spying.
    Putting aside that chilling thought, Liliane went to the kitchens; they were huge, the fireplaces so sooty and poorly drafted that the food cooked unevenly. The cooks were willing and knowledgeable, but they were hampered by their inefficient facilities. While they greeted her politely, they clearly did not welcome her presence. The sturdy maids also performed their work with reasonable diligence but steadfastly avoided her. All the servants eyed her now with open suspicion, and why not, Liliane thought, when they were expected to follow their master's lead? At dinner the previous night, Alexandre had scarcely said a word to her.
    That night he did not even appear at dinner. A wave of anxiety washed over Liliane. No one else appeared to be disturbed; they seemed to take his erratic habits for granted. Had he gone wandering like his brother Jean? As the hour grew late and the fire's glow crept low upon the castle walls where she sat alone in the hall, Liliane doubted if Alexandre meant to return that night. If he did, he would not come to her chamber. The castellans were now abed and he would not hear of her "spying" until the morning.
    Lost in her thoughts, she tapped her fingers on her chair arm. The night was hers, if she cared to take it. If she were to go out alone, she must do so at night. She could not pass through the guarded gate, but there were places in the battle-scarred wall where a clever climber might wriggle through. Aye, best try her lack tonight, for she knew Alexandre's mind now. The castellan guards were just the beginning; he would make sure she saw no one alone, sent no messages to Jacques. She must see if she could get out of the castle and saddle her horse,