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.
CHAPTER 51
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.
She explained to the receptionist that she was going out of town for a day but to hold her room.
“You have a woman waiting to see you, Madame,” the girl said, pointing to the lounge. “I was about to call your room.”
“Oh?” Alice turned to look. “Did she say what she wanted?”
The receptionist shook her head.
“OK. Thank you.”
“Also, this came for you this morning,” she added, handing over a letter.
Alice glanced at the postmark. It came from Foix yesterday. She didn’t recognise the handwriting. She was about to open it, when the woman waiting for her approached.
“Dr Tanner?” she said. She looked nervous.
Alice put the letter in her jacket pocket to read later. “Yes?”
“I have a message for you from Audric Baillard. He wonders if you could meet him in the cemetery?”
The woman was vaguely familiar, although Alice couldn’t immediately place her.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” she said.
The woman hesitated. “From Daniel Delargarde,” she said in a rush. “Notaires.‘
Alice looked again. She didn’t remember seeing her yesterday, but there were a lot of people in the central office.
“Monsieur Baillard is waiting for you at the Giraud-Biau tomb.”
“Really?” said Alice. Why didn’t he come himself?“
“I have to go now.”
Then the woman turned tail and disappeared, leaving Alice staring after her, baffled. She turned to the receptionist, who shrugged.
Alice glanced at her watch. She was keen to get going. She’d got a long drive ahead of her. On the other hand, ten minutes wasn’t going to make any difference.
“A demain” she said to the receptionist, but she’d already gone back to whatever it was she was doing.
Alice detoured via the car to leave her rucksack, then, vaguely irritated, she hurried across the road to the cemetery.
The atmosphere changed the moment Alice walked through the high metal gates. The early morning bustle of the Cite awaking was replaced day stillness.
There was a low, whitewashed building on her right. Outside a row of and green plastic watering cans hung on hooks. Alice peered in through the window and saw an old jacket slung over the back of a chair and a newspaper open on the table, as if someone had only just left.