“What happened to Governor Mawdud’s soldiers?” Sinjar flung over his shoulder. “They were standing guard when I left earlier this morning.”
“Our lord governor has since recalled them, O honored one, granting me full charge of your patient’s security,” the captain replied as they reached the cell. The two new guards snapped to attention, their wickedly curved scimitars held rigidly in front of them.
Leila’s cheeks grew bright red as more incensed ranting penetrated from behind the closed door.
She had never heard such foul cursing! In one breath the crusader consigned every last one of his captors to writhe in hell’s fire, and in the next he was naming all the vicious things he would do if he got his hands on a guard again. She was surprised the captain and his guards gave little notice, then she realized with a jolt that she was the only one who could understand him since he was speaking English.
“Here, see for yourself, my lord,” the captain said, opening the hinged peephole. “Your patient seems remarkably improved.” He inclined his head respectfully, raising his voice to be heard over the loud oaths emanating from the cell. “In my humble opinion, of course. I only presume as much because the crusader savagely attacked one of my guards before he could be subdued.”
“He did not kill the man,” Sinjar breathed in consternation, peering through the peephole.
“No, esteemed one. The guard lives, though he has been retired from duty until his arm mends.” Contempt crept into the captain’s voice. “This crusader’s strength is immense. He snapped the guard’s arm like a mere twig and would have easily done the same to his neck if our swords had not swayed him. It is my hope the governor’s letter of ransom is delivered soon so we might be rid of this madman.”
Listening incredulously to this news, Leila started as her father rounded on the man, his face livid. She had rarely seen him so angry.
“By all that is sacred, my patient is standing shackled to the wall!”
“Yes, a necessary precaution—”
“But hardly suitable to his recovery,” Sinjar objected hotly. “The crusader may be fully conscious, but he is not yet out of danger. His shoulder wound could open at such rough treatment. If it putrefies the governor’s ransom could well be lost.”
“He is extremely dangerous, my lord,” the captain countered, unwilling to back down. “If you had seen him earlier, you would agree. Loose in his cell, he will be like a tiger unleashed, ready to pounce upon and maul whoever enters, including his respected physicians. Governor Mawdud has put me in charge, and I deem it best that he remain shackled. Perhaps, if it would better please you, the prisoner could be chained to the cots. Either way, he must be restrained. I do not wish to lose any more of my men to this rabid beast.”
“Perhaps we could speak with him, Father,” Leila interrupted, her heart pounding. She was not surprised the crusader was already conscious. She had sensed yesterday that his strength defied that of most men.
“What are you suggesting, Leila?” came her father’s agitated reply.
She rushed on, ignoring the captain’s dark, menacing look. “I—I mean, allow me to speak with him in English. I doubt he understands Arabic. If the crusader knows he will be released as soon as the ransom is paid, perhaps he will restrain his fury and submit willingly to his confinement and our continued care.”
Sinjar did not readily respond. He seemed to ponder her offer, a deep furrow creasing his brow. Finally, after a long moment, he nodded.
“Yes, I believe it is worth a try. Offer him a choice, Leila. If he agrees not to fight us, we will remove the shackles. You must make him understand that he will jeopardize his recovery if he refuses, and that the only alternative is for him to remain as he is now, fettered like an animal.” He glanced at the captain, whose expression strongly showed his disapproval. “Open the door.”
“I cannot allow this, my lord Al-Aziz. I am in command here—”
“But not for long, I can assure you, captain, if anything happens to my patient,” Sinjar countered threateningly. “Governor Mawdud looks forward to the crusader’s ransom with great anticipation. He is already counting the one hundred thousand dinars he expects to receive from this Lord Edward. If you are responsible for prolonging my patient’s illness or, Allah protect you, causing his death, your head will roll. This I promise you.” He gestured impatiently. “Open the door.”
His cruel, pinched face growing sickly white, the captain hesitated for only an instant and then muttered, “Very well, very well.”
As the captain signaled for one of the guards to draw back the heavy iron bolt, Sinjar took Leila’s arm and drew her aside.
“My daughter, say only what is necessary to this man. I do not like that you must speak with him at all. If he questions you, translate everything to me and I will tell you how to answer him.”
“Yes, Father,” Leila said, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Her fingers shook as she unfastened her face veil. “I understand.”
The crusader’s curses exploded with fresh fury as the heavy door creaked open. The two guards proceeded first inside the cell, their scimitars lowered menacingly, followed by Sinjar and Leila. The disgruntled captain, grumbling to himself, brought up the rear.
Leila peered from behind her father, her heart leaping to her throat. If she had ever envisioned a barbarian, truly she was looking at one now. This wild-haired, wild-eyed man pulling furiously at his bonds was savagery incarnate.
Standing upright, the crusader appeared even larger to her than before and dangerously powerful, so much so that she felt terribly small and inconsequential just being in the same room with him. Despite her father’s concerns she was grateful for the heavy chains at his wrists and ankles which bound his naked body to the wall. She breathed deeply in an attempt to calm her thundering pulse, but only flustered herself further when she inhaled the crusader’s sweaty male scent.
“Go on, Leila,” Sinjar urged, pulling her from behind him. “Talk to him.”
Chagrined that she had to be encouraged to carry out her own suggestion, and telling herself she was reacting most foolishly, Leila took a few hesitant steps toward the crusader. But she stopped, her knees suddenly wobbly, when he ceased his fierce struggles and leveled his arresting blue eyes upon her.
The unswerving intensity of his gaze told her everything. He was alert, lucid, and, most unsettling of all, he seemed to recognize her.
“You …” the crusader rasped.
For a fleeting instant Leila could not answer, her mouth gone completely dry. She glanced uncertainly at her father over her shoulder, then back to the crusader. She swallowed and spoke, her voice husky with nervousness.
“You are a prisoner of Mawdud, governor of Damascus …” She paused, her face uncomfortably warm, and drew another deep breath before continuing, hoping this time her voice would resume its natural timbre. The stilted English words tumbled rustily from her tongue.
“Now that you are clearly recovering, a letter of ransom will soon be delivered to your Lord Edward in Acre. Once Governor Mawdud receives this ransom, you will be released unharmed to your people—”
“Unharmed?” the crusader spat hoarsely, his gaze burning into hers. “I don’t consider torture to be child’s play, wench. You wield a smoking iron as well as any sword, and inflicted as much damage upon me, I’d swear. Go to hell, and take the rest of those heathen with you!”
Leila’s eyes widened and she nearly choked at his outburst. Her nervousness vanished, replaced by hot indignation. Torture? Was he mad? She had saved this bastard’s life!
“What does he say?” Sinjar asked impatiently.
“This … this ingrate accuses me of torturing him!” she sputtered.
“Calm yourself, Leila. What did you expect? These crusaders know little of our advanced medical skill. Their own physicians are no better than butchers. Now tell him what we discussed.”
Fighting to contain her fury, Leila turned back to the crusader. She kept foremost in
her mind the thought that she was dealing with an ignorant barbarian. It certainly helped.
“The irons were used to close your wound,” she explained tersely. “Not as torture. You would have bled to death otherwise.” She nodded toward her father. “This man is Sinjar Al-Aziz, the governor’s personal physician, and renowned throughout the empire. You are most fortunate that it is he who is responsible for your care while you remain in this prison.”
“I see,” the crusader said slowly, his tone still harsh. “And who are you?” His gaze hungrily swept her from head to toe then back again, lingering on her face.
Obviously her words had sunk in, Leila thought, growing uncomfortable again under his close scrutiny. Why was he looking at her like that? Why did she feel so funny, so unlike herself?
“Leila.” Her father’s voice eased her discomfiture, but only slightly. She quickly translated the crusader’s question.
“Tell him only that you are my helper,” Sinjar quietly instructed her, “and a slave.” At her shocked expression, he whispered, “I will explain later. Go on, tell him.”
She did so, almost stumbling on the words. She watched as the crusader’s hard expression grew pitying, his gaze falling to the striped zunnar wrapped around her waist.
“A Christian slave,” he stated bluntly.
Disconcerted even more by the strange look in the crusader’s eyes, Leila was suddenly eager to be done with her increasingly unpleasant task.
“My master, Sinjar Al-Aziz, offers you a choice. If you agree to peacefully accept your temporary imprisonment and not fight against him or your guards, he will see that you are freed from those chains. If not, you must remain where you are, at the risk of your life. My fa—” She stopped, realizing what she had almost revealed. “My master believes your wound could yet cause your death, shackled as you are now. It is his wish that you live, of course, so Governor Mawdud might receive his ransom.”
“How bloody charitable of him,” the crusader muttered, leaning his head back against the wall. He grimaced, sweat trickling down the side of his face, and Leila had the impression he had temporarily forgotten them in his wretched misery. Clearly his wound was causing him intense pain.
“You must choose,” she insisted, drawing him back into their discussion.
“So it seems I must,” he replied thickly. It was obvious from his increasingly labored breathing that his earlier struggles had done him little good. He met her questioning gaze, his eyes becoming glazed and feverish. “The ransom. How do I know you are telling me the truth?”
Leila could sense he was anxious for her answer. “‘Tis plain to see,” she said simply. “If you were not of value to Governor Mawdud, you would already be dead.”
Falling silent at her frank response, he stared out the barred window for a long moment. When he faced her again, he drew himself up despite his heavy chains, and she stepped back, startled and amazed by how small he made her feel. His huge size was only heightened by his commanding stance.
“Very well. I accept your master’s offer. Better that than hang here on this blasted wall.”
Relieved, Leila turned to her father. “He has agreed. He will not resist.”
“Excellent,” Sinjar said.
“He lies!” the captain exclaimed. “Son of a cur. Infidel! How can you believe him?”
“Ask the crusader his name,” Sinjar requested, ignoring the man behind him, “so the governor may have it inscribed in the letter of ransom. Also, ask him for some small personal fact that his Lord Edward might recognize. The letter must be considered authentic.”
As Leila relayed her father’s words, a hint of a roguish smile touched the crusader’s mouth, eliciting a strange flutter in her stomach.
“Guy de Warenne, crusader knight of the realm and lord of the Welsh Marches. And the comely wench who keeps me company in Acre is named Refaiyeh. She’s got a tempting crescent-shaped birthmark, the palest pink, on the inside of her upper thigh, right below her—”
At Leila’s small gasp he stopped abruptly, staring at her flushed cheeks.
“Forgive me. I almost forgot there was a lady present, and a very beautiful one at that.” The crusader’s gaze jumped to her father. “Tell your master”—he spat the word derisively— “that Edward will know it’s I when he confirms what I’ve just said.”
“Well, Leila?” Sinjar asked. A touch of amusement lit his eyes as she repeated the crusader’s words, pointedly omitting his unexpected compliment. “Good. It is enough.” He turned on the captain of the guards. “You have heard. Release my patient at once.”
The man looked as if he might protest, but he kept silent, glaring at both Leila and her father. He wrestled a jangling ring of keys from the sash at his waist and threw them at the feet of the nearest guard.
“Do as my lord Al-Aziz says. Unlock the chains,” the captain ordered grimly. As the guard retrieved the keys and hastened to obey, he addressed the other man. “Keep your swords at the ready while the patient receives his treatment. I will summon two more guards to assist you. When the revered Al-Aziz and his helper”—he shot a glance at Leila— “leave, bolt the door securely.”
With a brusque bow of his head to Sinjar and scarcely a nod at Leila, the captain stormed from the cell.
“Clearly a man who does not recognize his place in life,” Sinjar said dryly. “Most unwise.” He hurried forward as the freed crusader gripped his shoulder and slumped against the wall. “Help me lift my patient to the cots!” Sinjar called out sharply to the two guards just entering.
Leila readied the bedding, plumping pillows and drawing back the blanket as the crusader was half dragged across the floor. He collapsed upon the cots, heaving a ragged sigh. His eyes met hers as she brought the blanket up to his chest.
“I need braies.”
“Braies?” she asked blankly.
His dry laugh was a painful rattle in his chest. “Trousers. I’m not used to appearing unclothed before a lady—unless, of course, she is too. I’d wager you’ve seen more of me than many a wench I’ve bedded.”
“I—I’ll see what can be done,” Leila said, shocked by his candor.
Within the harem sensuality was openly discussed, but she had never heard such a statement from a man. She wondered curiously just how many women this crusader had taken to his bed. Judging by his overwhelming masculinity and those stunning blue eyes, she guessed five score or better. No doubt his sexual prowess rivaled that of any sultan with a harem at his beck and call.
“Do not converse with him, Leila,” Sinjar admonished her, frowning as he concocted a syrupy medication. “Tell him that this medicine will help to ease his pain and then say nothing more unless I give you leave to do so.”
“He was asking for sirwal, ‘tis all,” she replied, affronted by the coldness in her father’s voice. She knelt and rummaged in one of the leather bags so he might not see that she was blushing from her carnal imaginings.
She found fresh linen and ointment and busied herself with changing the crusader’s bandage. All the while he watched her, even when her father administered a large dose of the syrup, but she refused to meet his eyes, concentrating very hard on her task instead.
She noted that the swelling around the wound was beginning to recede, despite the rough handling he had received and his own futile struggles. She wondered if he would remember his stay in Governor Mawdud’s prison whenever he looked at the scar, and perhaps even remember her
Whatever was she thinking? she chided herself, throwing the unused bandages into the opened bag. What did she care if this barbarian remembered her or not? She would certainly forget him!
“I’m finished,” Leila said, glancing at her father as she rose to her feet.
“As am I,” Sinjar responded. “Tell him he must rest and eat as much of his meals as he possibly can stomach. We will return tomorrow morning, and each morning after, to check on his recovery.”
She spoke as her father bade her, the words practically running t
ogether in her haste to be gone from the cell and this man’s unsettling scrutiny. Remarkably, her English was coming much easier to her now.
“Then I shall look forward to the morrow … Leila.”
Stunned to hear her name upon the crusader’s lips, uttered with a deep huskiness that she found wholly disconcerting, she could not leave the cell fast enough. She leaned against the cool wall outside, and was relieved when her father shortly followed.
Leila attached her face veil with shaking fingers and remained silent until she and her father had left the prison. A single question plagued her. She blinked in the bright midday sunshine when they first stepped outside, then proceeded along the sloping street only a short distance before she blurted, “Why a slave, Father? Why?”
Sinjar stopped and stared into her eyes, his expression deadly serious. “A necessary ploy, my daughter. If the crusader deems you are unimportant to me, he will not attempt to use you to gain his freedom. You saw how furious he was when we first entered the cell. Men such as he chafe at captivity and consider desperate acts when confinement becomes unbearable.”
Leila felt a chill. “Desperate acts?”
“An improbability now—at least I hope it is so,” Sinjar replied. “If the crusader believes you are only a slave, then he must also believe we would cut him down long before we came to your rescue, should he try to bargain his way to freedom by threatening your life. Such a rash move would get him nowhere.” He clasped her arms so suddenly that she gasped. “But I tell you this, Leila. Governor Mawdud’s ransom is lost if the crusader so much as touches you.”
She was stunned by the raw vehemence in her father’s voice. It was at times such as this that she realized how much he loved her, no matter that she was his adopted daughter and a Christian.
“If Jamal were home from Cairo, I would have him assist me in the days to come rather than expose you to possible harm,” Sinjar continued grimly.
Captive Rose Page 4
