A Flame Run Wild Read Online Free PDF Page B

you lawless churl, and you will be using your guts for braielaces!"
    "I would not touch you again for pay!" Jean snarled. His narrow face was startlingly white with cold and anger; his quivering lips were purple. "You are entirely safe, mistress. Had I intended rape, my interest has long since withered, I promise you." As she began to retort, he put up his hand and snapped, "I only ask two things of you: be silent and da not block the fire!"
    Warily, Liliane gave him a wide berth as he stiffly edged to the fireplace. Dripping puddles and leaving muddy footprints, Jean moved like an old man. Without looking at her, he hunkered down and stretched his shaking hands to the warmth. A violent bout of trembling seized him and he wrapped his arms about his chest. Liliane backed away silently. In an instant, the pointed javelin was aimed at her. "Where are you going?" he hissed.
    "Something dry may be left in the bedroom chest," she retorted, "unless you wish to stay sodden."
    "Ha! My only wish it to wring your neck, and yours is to bar that door between us." His arms tightened about his ribs. "For once we are in some agreement—in wanting to see the last of each other. Begone and cower in peace. Your chastity can shrivel like your heart."
    Disgusted, Liliane thrust the poignard in her belt. "Were I heartless, you would yet be rotting in the rain. And as for chastity, look to your own tattered virtue before you preach at me." She stalked to the bedroom and rifled through the chest. Only a ragged pair of braies were left. She pondered what to do. She should just toss Jean the braies and bolt the door, but the wood supply for the fire was scant. To keep warm, he would soon be driven outside to replenish the wood, thus getting wet again. After their adventure in the rain, she was chilled herself. Finally, she went out to the main room and handed him the braies. He looked more miserable than ever, and she could see his shoulder blades jutting sharply beneath the wet chainse. "These are the last of the dry clothes. You said there was brandy wine. Has this place a wine cellar?"
    Alexandre laughed shortly. "You must think that this Alexandre de Brueil wallows in luxury. His cellar hold rotten potatoes and one jug of sour brandy wine."
    Lilian explored the cellar and found that he was right; however, after searching the dusty shelves, she discovered a few strips of venison remaining in a lidded crock. After lugging the jug to the fireside, she gave Jean the lion's share of the venison. "Chew that to ease the bile in your belly."
    He regarded the salted strips with distaste, then began to gnaw one, a resigned expression on his face. Liliane unplugged the brandywine and took a swallow. Making a face, she handed him the jug. "It's nearly vinegar, but it will fight the cold."
    Alexandre took a swig, and gasped, his eyes watering. "That's fit for imps!" Quickly, he stripped off his chainse and rubbed his arms and shoulders. Knowing that he would proceed to pull off his wet braies, Liliane hurried to fetch the bed's woolen blanket. He had pulled on the dry braies by the time she returned. Sagging well below his narrow middle, they seemed to be in danger of falling off him entirely. She threw the blanket over his bare shoulders. He muttered, "Solicitous wench," as he caught the blanket close about him and took another gulp of the brandywine. He choked and began to cough.
    Consolingly, she patted his back. "Drink slowly. The devil will have you soon enough."
    Alexandre shoved the jug at her. "See to yourself. You are as wet as I am."
    Without argument, Liliane shared his brandywine. She had dry domes in her saddlebag, but she couldn't risk getting them dirtied; she was to be married in them on the morrow.
    Before long, both the woodpile and the wine were much depleted. Somewhat mistily, Liliane gazed at Jean. "Well, I am warm, but I am tipsy. In the firelight, you are beginning to turn a pretty lilac."
    Solemnly, Alexandre inspected his hand. "I must