A Flame Run Wild Read Online Free PDF

particularly so; he might gamble on that unpredictability. Although the odds were stacked against him, he had won on less. However, given her Current mood, she seemed bound to bolt at any moment. The rain' was letting up and unveiling the twilight. How to keep her captive was the first problem.
    Alexandre strode outside, untethered her mare and gave;tis rump a sharp slap. Her hair streaming over her back in a long golden plait, Pilar raced out in time to see her horse disappear through the dripping trees.
    She glared at his innocent face. "Just why did my mare bolt?!"
    "Wolves," he replied blandly.
    "Wolves? Wolves who broke into full cry just as you bounded from the door, I suppose." She looked mad enough to spit. "What are you doing out here?"
    "I came to fetch some wood." His smile was disarming. "The fire is low and I thought you would grow cold."
    "There, my scheming lad, you would be right," she ground out, leveling the javelin at his middle. "Cold's the word, and that's all you will get from me this night. Lift so much as an eyelid in my direction and you will be fit only for the priesthood by morn." She backed into the lodge, jerked shut the door and bolted it, then stemmed all the wooden shutters, leaving Alexandre to watch the last of the feeble sun sink.
    Alexandre swore softly as he began to shiver again. As the woods grew dark, he debated kicking in a window, then thought better of it. By the end of twilight, the rain would resume and she would take pity on him. If she did not, he would be dog sick on his wedding day. Grimly, he figured that would probably be an appropriate condition.
    For an hour, Liliane simmered. Soon the rain began again. The heavy drops against the shutters made her uncomfortably aware that Jean was being soaked by the cold downpour. Revenge was not quite as sweet as she had anticipated. But he deserves it for running off my mare! she argued fiercely with herself. Castle de Brueil is nearly nine miles from here. If I miss the wedding, all hell will break loose!
    Her thoughts left the wedding. If I leave Jean in the rain, he is bound to get sick. And he has no one to look after him. She stared at the shutters shaking with the pounding rain. Jean is silver-tongued and handsome. Though he must have women about the countryside, he lives alone in the forest like an animal . . . like a magpie appropriating another bird's nest. He has as few qualms about usurping the bird's mate, as well.
    After what seemed an interminable stretch, Liliane estimated that two hours had passed. Jean must be bitterly cold, yet after she had slammed shut the shutters, he had made no attempt to gain admittance. He might have sheltered in the leaky lean-to near the main entrance, where they had tethered her mare.
    Why not let the miserable wretch inside? He had probably suffered enough. She had her poignard and javelin; also, the bedroom door had a hefty inside bolt beam.
    As the driving rain raked the night's sullen sky, Liliane furtively opened the door.
    Her javelin poised, she called, "Jean, come in and warm yourself! You may be a villain, but I shall not murder you by inches." The only sound that reached her was the cpld slap of the rain on the forest floor. "Jean?" she called hesitantly as she stepped into the murk. The deepening mud was stiff and cold. By the time she had taken half a dozen steps, her shirt stuck to her skin. "Jean!" she yelled. "Answer me before I lose patience and leave you out here to drown like a cat!"
    He must have been on the roof, for his weight neatly bore her to the mud. She had learned much of hand-to-hand fighting from Diego's castellans, but nothing of aerial assaults. With humiliating quickness, Jean had pinioned her arms to her sides with her javelin; it dug into her ribs as he hauled her, struggling, back into the lodge. Abruptly, he wrenched the javelin from her grip and shoved her away.
    Whipping the poignard from her belt, she faced him with fury in her eyes. "Manhandle me again,