Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

His eyes narrowed. “And if I am not so minded?”

“All I want is to know if our father has given Alais anything of value to keep, that’s all.”

“You are asking me to spy upon my own wife,” he said, his voice rising in disbelief. “I will do no such thing, Oriane, and you will do nothing to upset her, is that clear?”

“ I upset her. It’s your fear of discovery that brings out this chivalry in you. You’re the one who betrayed her all those nights you lay with me, Guilhem. It is only information I seek. I will learn what I want to know, with or without your help. However, if you make it difficult…” She left the threat hanging in the air.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“It would be nothing to tell Alais everything we did together, share with her the things you whispered to me, the gifts you gave me. She would believe me, Guilhem. Too much of your soul shows in your face.”

Disgusted by her, by himself, Guilhem threw open the door. “Damn you to hell, Oriane,” he said, then stormed away down the corridor.

Oriane smiled. She had snared him.

Alais had spent all afternoon trying to find her father. No one had seen him. She had ventured into the Cite, hoping at least to be able to talk to Esclarmonde. But she and Sajhe were no longer in Sant-Miquel and did not appear to have yet returned home.

In the end, exhausted and apprehensive, Alais returned to her chamber alone. She could not go to bed. She was too nervous, too anxious, so she lit a lamp and sat at her table.

It was after the bells had struck one that she was woken by footsteps outside the door. She raised her head from her arms and looked blearily in the direction of the sound.

“Rixende?” she whispered into the dark. “Is that you?”

“No, not Rixende,” he said.

“Guilhem?”

He came into the light, smiling as if not sure of his welcome. “Forgive me. I promised to leave you, I know, but… may I?”

Alais sat up.

“I have been in the chapel,” he said. “I have prayed, but I do not think my words flew up.”

Guilhem sat down on the end of the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, she went to him. He seemed to have something on his mind.

“Here,” she whispered. “Let me help you.”

She unstrapped his boots and helped him with his shoulder harness and belt. The leather and buckle fell with a clunk to the floor.

“What does Viscount Trencavel think will happen?” she asked.

Guilhem lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. That the Host will Sant-Vicens first, then Sant-Miquel, in order to be able to approach close to the walls of the Ciutat itself.“

Alais sat down beside him and smoothed his hair from his face. The feel of his skin under her fingers made her shiver.

“You should sleep, Messire . You will need all your strength for the battle to come”

Lazily, he opened his eyes and smiled up at her. “You could help me rest.”

Alais smiled and reached over for a preparation of rosemary she kept on her bedside table. She knelt beside him and massaged the cool lotion into his temples.

“When I was looking for my father, earlier, I went to my sister’s chamber. I think there was someone with her.”

“Probably Congost,” he said sharply.

“I don’t think so. He and the other scribes sleep in the Tour Pinte at present, in case the Viscount needs them.” She paused. “There was laughter.”

Guilhem put his finger on her mouth to stop her. “Enough of Oriane,” he whispered, slipping his hands around her waist and drawing her to him. She could taste the wine on his lips. You have the scent of camomile and honey,“ he said. He reached up and loosened her hair so it fell like a waterfall around her face.

“ Mon cor .”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at his touch, his skin against hers, so startling and intimate. Slowly, carefully, not taking his brown eyes from her face, Guilhem eased her dress from her shoulders, then lower to her waist. Alais shifted. The material came loose and slithered off the bed to the floor, like a winter skin no longer needed.

Guilhem lifted the bedcover to let her under and laid her down beside him, on pillows that still held the memory of him. For a moment, they lay, arm to arm, side to side, her feet cold against the heat of his skin. He bent over her. Now Alais could feel his breath, whispering over the surface of her skin like a summer breeze. His lips dancing, his tongue slipping, sliding over her breasts. Alais caught her breath as he took her nipple into his mouth, licking, teasing.

Guilhem raised his head. He gave a half smile.

Then, still holding her gaze, he lowered his body into the space between her bare legs. Alais stared at his brown eyes, unblinking and serious.

“ Mon cor ,” he said again.

Gently, Guilhem eased himself inside her, little by little, until she had taken the whole of him. For a moment he lay still, contained within her, as if resting.

Alais felt strong, powerful, as if at this moment she could do anything, be anyone. A hypnotic, heavy warmth was seeping through her limbs, filling her up, devouring her senses. Her head was filled with the sound of her blood beating. She had no sense of time or space. There was only Guilhem and the nickering shadows of the lamp.

Slowly, he began to move.

“Alais.” The words slipped from between his lips.

She placed her hands on his back, her fingers splayed wide in the shape of stars. She could feel the strength of him, the force in his tanned arms and firm thighs, the soft hair on his chest brushing against her. His tongue was darting between her lips, hot and wet and hungry.

He was breathing faster, harder, driven on by desire, by need. Alais held him to her as Guilhem cried out her name. He shuddered, then was still.

Gradually, the roaring in her head faded away until nothing remained but the hushed silence of the room.

Later, after they had talked and whispered promises in the dark, they drifted into sleep. The oil burned away. The flame in the lamp guttered and died. Alais and Guilhem did not notice. They were not aware of the silver march of the moon across the sky, nor the purple light of dawn as it came creeping through the window. They knew nothing but each other as they lay sleeping in one another’s arms, a wife and her husband, lovers once more.

Reconciled. At peace.

THURSDAY JULY 2OO5

Alice woke seconds before the alarm went off, to find herself sprawled across the bed, papers strewn all about her.

The family tree was in front of her, together with her notes from the library in Toulouse. She grinned. Quite like her student days, when she was forever falling asleep at her desk.

She didn’t feel bad on it, though. Despite the burglary last night, this morning she felt in good spirits. Contented, happy even.

Alice stretched her arms and neck, then got up to open the shutters and window. The sky was cut through with pale slashes of light and flat white clouds. The slopes of the Cite were in shadow and the grassy banks beneath the walls shimmered with early morning dew. Above the turrets and towers, the sky was blue, like a bolt of silk. Wrens and larks sang to one another across the rooftops. Evidence of the aftermath of the storm was everywhere. Debris blown against railings, boxes sodden and upturned at the back of the hotel, newspapers pooled at the foot of the street lamps in the car park.

Alice was uneasy at the idea of leaving Carcassonne, as if the act of departure would precipitate something. But she had to take some action and, at this point, Chartres was her only lead to Shelagh.

It was a good day for a journey.

As she packed her papers away, she admitted she was also being sensible. She didn’t want to sit around like a victim, waiting for last night’s intruder to come back.