Majida’s face became strangely impassive, and Leila sensed at once that the odalisque was loath to answer. She knew Majida’s allegiance was first and foremost to her mother.
“Please, you must tell me,” Leila insisted, almost pleading. “Have I hurt her in some way?”
“No, young mistress,” Majida said solemnly, shaking her head. “You bring your mother great joy”—a faint smile stirred her lips— “ah, in truth, a bit of trouble now and then, but nothing that would so distress her heart.”
“Is there unhappiness between my parents?” Leila desperately hoped this was not the case. She had seen broken hearts aplenty in the opulent harems she visited, neglected wives and forgotten concubines. Another reason to be thankful for her profession. A physician was always needed. Not so a wife.
Majida reached out and gently stroked her cheek, as if sensing her unease. “Never fear, beloved one. My master’s love for my mistress is as eternal as the spring, her devotion to him like the jade oasis in the desert with its deep, life-giving pools.”
“What is it, then?”
Majida drew a deep breath, and Leila could sense she was choosing her words carefully. The odalisque seemed about to speak when a small, pale-breasted pigeon alighted on a nearby trellis, distracting her. When she met Leila’s gaze once more, Leila could tell from the slave woman’s guarded expression that she had changed her mind.
“I must go, my young mistress,” Majida said, bowing so low that the fringed ends of her veil touched the tiles. She turned and hurried away, her bare feet making no sound.
Leila had it on the tip of her tongue to call Majida back and demand an explanation for her mother’s tears, but within an instant, she was alone again.
What right did Majida have to keep her mother’s troubles from her? she fumed. Surely if it was something serious the odalisque would put aside her iron-clad loyalty and let Leila know what was in Eve’s heart. She was her daughter, after all.
Frowning, Leila poured herself a goblet of cool white wine and took a long sip, enjoying the liquid’s tart flavor. She was glad her father did not so strictly adhere to his faith’s dietary regulations that he forbade wine in his home, although he himself did not drink it. She nibbled on a meat pastry, ripe olives, and sliced pomegranate, easing her hunger pains at last. Soon she felt much better, her stomach full, the wine soothing her temper.
Perhaps whatever plagued her mother was really not so serious, Leila reasoned, lying back on the divan.
Maybe it was nothing more than the normal feelings of losing one’s daughter to the man she would marry. Leila would be moving to another house, another harem. She and her mother would still see each other, but not as often. That could certainly cause Eve pain, since they had always been so close.
It also seemed her mother became distressed whenever they talked about crusaders, and Leila determined then and there that she would not mention the barbarian again. It puzzled her that Eve was praying for him. She should really be praying for the guards who had to watch him instead.
Leila started as the pigeon suddenly left its vine-covered perch and flew off toward the citadel.
“Don’t roost in any prison windows, little one,” she murmured under her breath. If the crusader could so easily threaten to snap a guard’s neck, she could only imagine what he would do to a hapless bird who strayed too close. Probably bite off its head with his teeth!
Chapter 4
Guy stared stonily out the cell window, counting the large, square bricks in the wall next door. There were thirty-three from the flat roof to the bare ground and sixty-eight from the comer to as far as he could see toward the front of the building if he craned his neck and pressed his face against the cold iron bars. Then again, the ivy was so thick in some places that he could have miscounted—
“God’s blood, has it come to this?” he shouted furiously, slamming his large fists down so hard on the Window ledge that pain shot through his right shoulder. He grimaced, ignoring it.
He was surely going mad! Counting bricks to pass the time, pacing his cell, watching beetles drag bits of straw across the floor and red ants crawl up the stone walls. What next?
A familiar panic welled up inside him, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. Desperately he grasped the bars, inhaling deep lungfuls of air to calm himself. It smelled sweet, like flowers, reminding him there was another world outside this cell, a world he hungered to be a part of once again.
Dammit to hell, where was Leila? Why hadn’t she come back?
It had been almost two weeks since he had last seen her. His only visitors had been the Arab physician Sinjar Al-Aziz, and that obnoxious captain of the guards who seemed to enjoy reviling him and every Christian who had ever walked the face of the earth. What he would do to that sour-faced bastard if he ever got him alone in this cell …
A songbird trilled somewhere above him, and Guy looked up, blinded by the late morning sunlight. He squinted, searching the opposite roof ledge for the bird before he spied it—a white-throated nightingale.
Resting his forehead on the bars, he closed his eyes and listened to the melodic warbling, becoming more relaxed than he had been all morning. The nightingale’s song swelled and surged, rich and full, almost masking the sound of rustling vines and excited whispers
Whispers?
Guy’s eyes shot open, and he stared incredulously at a ragged young boy who was expertly scaling the wall with a billowing net in his hand, his small brown feet catching splayed toeholds on the brick outcroppings. Another boy stood below, only a few feet from Guy’s prison window, whispering brusque commands and gesturing at the unsuspecting nightingale.
Indignation seized him. “Leave that bird alone, you little heathen!” he roared, startling both boys, who looked from his barred window to the nightingale as it fluttered its wings and flew away.
Guy knew cursing when he heard it. He smiled wryly as the net-wielding boy colorfully vented his youthful fury upon him while clambering down the wall. He ducked just in time to avoid a handful of thrown rocks. Several stones struck the cell door, and the next thing he knew a guard had flung open the peephole.
“Silence, infidel!”
Guy sobered at the harsh command, his anger rising again like scalding bile. “You forget who is the infidel here!” he spat bitterly as the peephole was slammed shut. He turned his back to the door and leaned against the wall, rubbing his aching shoulder through the bandage.
At least he could be thankful the pain had lessened to only a fraction of what it had once been. He had no complaints as far as his injury was concerned. He was alive, which was more than he could say for the men who had accompanied him on Edward’s embassy to Anatolia.
Guy squeezed his eyes shut, hearing again in his mind the dying screams of his companions. The surprise attack had come so swiftly. Most of the men were wrenched from their horses and their throats slit from ear to ear before they could utter a sound. A few others, longtime friends, died even more hideously.
He could still hear Reginald Weller calling out to him as the older knight fought off a half dozen attackers, ordering him to escape with his life, the battle lost. Guy had tried to reach him, but he was too late. He watched in horror as Reginald was split in two by a single blow from a scimitar, the severed corpse hitting the earth in a spray of blood and chain mail.
After that, Guy could remember fighting and killing his way out of the narrow ravine and then running, running … until he found a shallow but well-concealed cave where he could hide.
Several times in the scorching hot days that followed he heard soldiers shouting nearby, and he knew they were looking for him. Finally, famished and thirsty and unable to bear the cave’s close confines any longer, he ventured out, determined to find his way on foot back to Acre. He didn’t get far.
Cursing, Guy pushed away from the wall and began to pace the cell, his anger and frustration boiling hotter with each step.
It plagued him like an open, festering sore
not to know if any of his companions had survived the surprise attack and were being held for ransom in this lousy prison, but there was no one he could ask. None of the guards understood English and neither did the Arab physician, who had been communicating with him in a curt sign language.
He had decided to conceal the fact that he understood some Arabic and could even speak a little, in the hope that he might glean information from any conversations he overheard. But so far, no luck.
The guards outside his cell were a taciturn lot, and when they did converse, they spoke so rapidly he was unable to grasp what they were saying. The same thing had happened between Leila and her Arab master when he was chained to the wall. God help him, if he could only speak with her again! Where the hell was she?
Guy winced as the bolt on the cell door was drawn back, the screeching sound grating on his nerves. Four guards rushed inside, their bright blades pointed at him menacingly. He knew this meant that the great physician was on his way to pay his morning call.
He was so sick of looking at that Arab’s face! He always thought of Leila and what she must be suffering at his lecherous hands. Truly, if there ever was a maiden in distress, it was she.
“Where’s Leila? I want to see her!” he shouted even though he knew the guards didn’t understand him. He continued to pace despite their presence, feeling like a wild, restless animal stalking its cage. “I said where’s Leila, damn you! Are you idiots? Leila, the Christian slave of Al-Aziz! “
Guy could scarcely believe it when she suddenly walked into the cell, followed by the captain, who had a decidedly gloating expression on his narrow face.
“Leila!” Without thinking he took a step toward her, but he immediately stopped when the guards surrounded him with their swords. He held up his hands. “Calm yourselves. I meant no harm.”
He listened to the lilting timbre of Leila’s voice as she quickly translated what he had said, but the guards did not relax their threatening stance. It seemed they trusted him just about as much as he trusted them, which was not at all.
“My master was called away on other duties this morning,” Leila said, glancing nervously at the captain who stood beside her. “I have come in his stead to administer your treatment.”
“I am glad,” Guy replied, still shocked by her unexpected appearance. His eyes swept over her. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming back.”
God, she was beautiful! he thought, noting her look of surprise. Her dark blue linen head veil framed her oval face, emphasizing features as delicate and ethereally lovely as an angel’s. Only the long, looped braid hanging well below her waist made her appear earthbound, for her hair was not blond but a glossy black, and so silky he longed to reach out and touch it.
He restrained himself, knowing he might well get his hand lopped off if he did. Instead he had to content himself with looking at her and inhaling her rose perfume. Yet why was her expression so somber? Something was wrong. He could see anxiety in her huge, violet eyes.
“The captain has just given me some grim news which I must impart to you,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “The governor’s messenger who was sent to Acre over a week ago with your letter of ransom is dead.”
Guy tensed. “Dead?”
Leila nodded. “Some Bedouin herdsmen found his horse wandering in the hills northeast of Acre. The messenger’s body was lashed to the saddle, his throat cut. The Bedouins guessed he’d been dead for several days, judging from the stench and the look of him, exposed to the hot sun, the flies …” She was unable to finish, her lips pressed together. She looked slightly ill.
“When did they find him?” Guy watched as she lifted her chin resolutely, swallowing hard before she answered.
“Two days ago. The herdsmen have only arrived in Damascus within the past hour to return the body to Governor Mawdud. As you can well imagine, the governor’s anger is great.” She cast an agitated glance at the man next to her. “The captain was ordered to give this news to my master as soon as he arrived at the prison, but since I am here, he insisted I should tell you now rather than wait until Sinjar Al-Aziz was also present.”
Guy felt an icy coldness growing in the pit of his stomach. “What about the letter of ransom—”
“It was not found on the body.”
Guy absorbed this news, his mind racing. If the messenger no longer had the letter, then it must have been stolen, or lost. Surely it could not have been delivered to Edward. He and Guy were as close as brothers. Edward would never …
A chilling realization struck him. “The governor thinks Edward had the messenger killed, doesn’t he? That it’s Edward’s way of saying he refuses to pay the ransom.”
Leila was amazed. The crusader’s perceptive response was hardly what she would have expected after the enraged shouting she had heard from him just before she had entered the cell. Hardly what she expected from looking at him, either.
He appeared even more the barbarian with his dark, heavy beard and dirty sirwal. His slightest movement screamed the strength he possessed, proof of his swift recovery since she had last seen him. She also sensed a desperation in him which made her very thankful for the guards’ wary protection. She had no idea why the crusader would have been demanding to see her, but she certainly wasn’t going to ask him.
“I do not presume to know the governor’s mind,” she replied, “but yes, so this unfortunate event could be interpreted. Yet Governor Mawdud—”
“You tell your high and mighty governor for me that Edward wouldn’t leave me to rot in this stinking prison!” Guy stated fiercely. “For one thing, he’s no cold-blooded killer like the butchering lot who set upon us in the Lebanon mountains. Thieves could have murdered the governor’s messenger, native Christians, rival Arabs, anyone! It matters not that the letter of ransom was missing. There is no proof that Edward ever received it.”
Guy’s vehement words echoed in the small cell and thundered into his brain. He felt he was fast losing control. He glanced at the open door, weighing his odds.
“Ease yourself, Lord de Warenne,” he heard Leila say. “If you would only allow me to finish.”
His gaze riveted back on her face, and he wondered sarcastically what other good news she had to share with him. Then he chided himself, knowing she was but a slave and doing what she had been charged by the captain.
“I’m listening,” he replied tightly.
“Governor Mawdud has sent another messenger to Acre within this very hour, and not alone. A full complement of Mameluke soldiers travels with this messenger to protect him. In his benevolence and wisdom, Governor Mawdud believes it is unlikely Lord Edward would so wantonly throw away the life of one of his knights, just as you say. He has granted your prince one more chance to pay the ransom.”
The words “one more chance” sounded too damn ominous to Guy. He had no intention of waiting around to see if anything happened to the second messenger.
Leila was here. He could finally ask her for her help. He had no doubt she would jump at the chance to leave Damascus with him, and he could do no less as a knight bound by the sacred code of chivalry than see her safely to Acre. Perhaps they might somehow manage to escape together tonight.
“You must ask your master Al-Aziz to thank the governor for me,” Guy said, choosing to appear grateful. Better that than show the frustration and impatience that were eating him alive. The captain seemed positively incensed he hadn’t attacked them at this news, giving him the opportunity to force Guy into shackles again. He sensed the bastard might still do so at the slightest provocation, which would only thwart any attempt to escape. “I am certain the governor’s decision will be well rewarded as soon as Edward receives the letter of ransom,” he added.
Leila spoke with the captain, but so fast Guy couldn’t understand what they were saying. God’s bones, he should have practiced his Arabic more diligently! Then she turned back to him, gesturing to the cots.
“If you will sit so I may see to your wo
und.”
As he did so, the guards moved with him, their deadly blades a hair’s breadth from his body. But they backed off a little when Leila uttered a few sharp words, which surprised him. She was certainly spirited for a slave. Perhaps her position within the renowned physician’s household gave her some special status.
“What did you say to them?” he queried as she began to swiftly unbandage his shoulder. She was standing so close to him that her perfume enveloped his senses, heightened by the heat of her body. He felt an overwhelming urge to draw her into his arms, but somehow he managed to restrain himself. “Maybe I could try it on the bastards when they get too close.”
“Has the wound been causing you any pain?” she asked, ignoring his question. She pressed gingerly around the purplish red scar.
Guy shook his head, deciding not to waste any more time. He had no idea how long the captain would allow her to tend to him before she was escorted from the cell.
“Tell me, Leila. Have you been treating any others like me in this prison?”
Her fingers ceased their gentle prodding for the briefest moment, but she kept her head lowered, not looking at him. “No. The rest of your party perished.”
Guy felt gut-twisting grief at her terse pronouncement. He shot a dark glance at the four guards and their morose commander. They were all watching him closely, their knuckles white where they clutched their swords. It was men like these who had slaughtered his friends. He swore that somehow he would avenge their deaths.
“Your wound is healing well,” Leila said, relieved she was almost finished with her task. She was anxious to leave the cell. This encounter with the crusader had been most unsettling and unlike anything she had expected. Their exchange and his restrained reaction to her unpleasant news had made him seem so much more than a mindless barbarian, and she could not help but feel pity for him. Perhaps he did not realize how close he was to being executed. “I don’t think you’ll need bandages anymo—”
Captive Rose Page 6
