Only after Lord Edward, Guy, and several other knights who survived their long and brutal captivity escaped from Kenilworth Castle and joined royalist forces at Evesham to defeat Simon de Montfort was Guy able to win back his lands. Unfortunately Roger was not killed in the battle, but captured alive. He was banished for a time and his estate forfeited, but under the king’s generous peace he, too, eventually regained his family land, which bordered hard upon Guy’s.
Their friendship, however, could never be restored. Roger’s traitorous betrayal ran too deep.
If anything, their hatred had intensified over the years. Both had lost knights and men-at-arms during numerous confrontations until King Henry had intervened, forbidding them to make war on each other. An uneasy truce had hung between them since then, yet the hatred had remained, ever kindled and ready to ignite at the slightest provocation.
“Your silence tells me one thing, my lord,” Eve said with a tremulous voice, drawing Guy back from his grim reverie. “Roger is dead.”
“No,” Guy stated flatly. “He lives.” At her cry of joy, at the sight of tears swimming in her eyes again, he knew he did not have the heart to tell her of her son’s treachery.
“And he is well?”
“Yes,” he replied, wishing a bolt of lightning would strike Roger at his castle on the Welsh border even as they spoke of him.
“Then you must take Leila to him!” Eve cried passionately, clutching Guy’s arm. “She belongs in her true homeland, not here. I have prayed for a way to liberate her, but my pleas went unheard until this night. Now you have answered them. You said it yourself, Lord de Warenne. You came here to take her with you.” Her voice was filled with wonderment, and now she looked at him as if she could not quite believe he was real and standing before her. “If you had come a moment later, I would have missed you. I was just about to leave for Governor Mawdud’s palace to intercede for your life. But you are here—”
“You speak of liberating your daughter,” Guy interjected, growing more confused as he noted the richness of Eve’s garments and the glittering emerald necklace at her throat, “but you are not a slave, and neither is Leila. Yet so she led me to believe.”
Eve waved her hand impatiently. “A ruse. It was her father’s way of protecting her. He told me as much, fearing you might use her to escape if you knew her true station.”
Guy mulled over this revelation, seeing its truth. He might have tried such a stunt indeed. Then another thought of even greater import came to him.
“When I arrived in Acre, I was told the zunnar was worn by any Christian living in Arab lands … a good way for us to determine friend or foe. Leila wore such a garment when she came to the prison. Was that also a ruse?”
“No!” Eve said heatedly, clearly affronted by his obvious misgivings. She stepped away from him and drew herself up proudly. “Hear me well, my lord. When William was murdered—”
“Murdered?”
“Yes, before my eyes. Bedouin slave traders. They brought me and my newborn babe to this city, and I was purchased by Sinjar Al-Aziz, who later became my husband. As a marriage gift he offered me anything I wanted, yet I asked only that I might remain a Christian and raise Leila in my faith. This he granted from his heart, though his reason told him to deny me. Since then, God has given me great happiness in my second marriage. I love my husband and will never leave him, no matter his beliefs. But I do not want such a marriage for Leila and”—Eve paused, chewing her lower lip nervously— “and neither does she.”
Guy regarded her sharply, anger bubbling deep within him. “She is to marry an infidel?”
“Yes. It has all been arranged. Leila has no choice in the matter. She … she is most distressed. She has told me she would do anything to escape this marriage, leave Damascus, leave the country, but there was no way until now.”
“She has seemed troubled,” Guy agreed, thinking back on their encounters in his cell, “although I believed it was because of her servitude.”
“Yes, Leila does not mask her unhappiness well.” Eve touched his arm, her eyes pleading with him. “Please take her away from here. I can get you both safely out of Damascus. Take her back with you to England, to her brother. She should have a Christian marriage, as is her birthright, and a home and family in her true country. She is a virgin. Roger will have no difficulty finding a suitable husband for her. I beg of you, Lord de Warenne, upon your sacred oath as a knight, if ever there was a young woman needing your aid—”
“Do not fear, my lady,” Guy said resolutely. “It is as good as done.” Indeed, he needed no more convincing. Leila might not be a slave as he had thought, but she was truly a maiden in dire need of rescue from a heathen marriage and a barbarian land. At that moment his own personal feelings about Roger Gervais seemed inconsequential next to her wretched plight. “I will see her safely home to your son. This I swear, and may God defend my oath.”
Eve’s great relief was evident on her lovely face, but before she could offer any thanks, the sound of sandaled feet crossing the courtyard made her turn pale. Her eyes darted around the room, falling upon a large, lacquered cabinet.
“Quickly, you can hide in there until all is in readiness.” Running with him to the cabinet, she flung open the latticed doors and pushed him inside.
Guy banged his head as she shut the doors. He bit off the curse that jumped to his tongue, crouching because he was too tall for the cabinet. He pushed aside the silken, jasmine-scented garments hanging all around him to peer out the intricate wooden grillwork.
He watched Eve move to the archway where she met another woman, obviously a servant, who bowed to her. They conversed in hushed tones for several long moments, the slave woman glancing occasionally at the cabinet. It was clear to him that Eve had divulged his hiding place, which made him nervous. Could the slave woman be trusted?
His fears were somewhat allayed when the two women warmly embraced, more like dear friends than mistress and slave. Then Eve walked back toward the cabinet while her servant disappeared into the courtyard. As Eve drew closer, Guy could not resist calling out to her in a loud whisper, “Who was the woman?”
“Do not worry, my lord. I would trust Majida with my life … and I just have,” Eve whispered back through the tiny diamond-shaped openings in the cabinet doors. “Everything has been arranged. She has gone to seek out a friend of mine, a special friend who will help you and Leila leave the city. Majida is stealthy and swift. My friend should be here within the hour with his wagon.”
“A wagon?” Guy hissed, highly skeptical of such a method. “Surely we will be found out! I say we lower ourselves over the wall next to the house and avoid traveling through the city gates altogether.”
“And be swept into the Barada? If you survive the river’s swift currents, you will find Mameluke soldiers patrolling its banks when you reach the other side. No, my lord, you must leave this to me.”
Guy groaned to himself, rolling his eyes. Never before had he entrusted his hide to a woman, but he had little choice. “As you say.”
“Good. When Majida returns, I shall summon Leila to this very room. Then I will need your help, my lord.”
“Name it.”
“I will give you a sponge and a vial of sleeping sedative to hold in readiness until I signal you.”
“Why the devil do I need that?” Guy asked, frowning.
“Leila must be drugged for the journey.”
“Drugged? I was under the impression she wanted to leave Damascus.”
“She does, she does,” Eve said quickly, her voice quavering, “but I fear the excitement will be too much for her. Better she does not know what is in store. If we do not drug her, there is always the chance she may become frightened in the wagon and inadvertently give you both away. Leila is prone to tears when she becomes upset.”
“What woman isn’t?” Guy complained under his breath.
“Forgive me, my lord. I did not hear you.”
“I said we can’t have th
at.” Damned if he wanted a mewling female to contend with on their journey to Acre. Better to drug her and deal with any tears later, when the danger was past. “Very well. What do I have to do?”
“When I lift my veil over my head, which is your signal, pour the sedative over the sponge and then creep up behind her as you did to me and cover her mouth. In only a moment the drug will take effect, and she will sleep for a day or better.” Eve drummed her slender fingers on the latticework. “Oh, yes. You must wash your hands as soon as Leila is unconscious. The fumes left on your skin are potent enough to give you a terrible headache if you inhale them.”
“My thanks for the warning,” Guy said, wincing at the pain in his neck and shoulders. He couldn’t stay cramped up like this much longer. “When did you say your friend would get here with that wagon?”
“Soon, my lord. I am sorry about the cabinet, but I have nowhere else to hide you,” she apologized, sensing his discomfort. “You are as tall and broad a man as I have ever seen, other than William.” She sighed softly, then asked, “Is Roger the same?”
“Close,” Guy answered tersely, then quickly changed the unsavory topic. “What of your husband, Al-Aziz? Do you expect him soon?”
“No. No. ‘Tis a most fortunate thing. Tonight he spends with his second wife … though Leila did say he wished to speak with her when he returned from the hospital.” She appeared momentarily concerned, then shook her head. “Ah, either way, he will not come home until very late. A great physician’s life is a taxing one.” She fell silent, leaning her shoulder lightly on the doors.
“What will you tell him, my lady, when he discovers Leila is missing?”
“I do not know,” she replied simply, meeting his eyes through the ornamental grille. “Perhaps I will tell him the truth. It is hard to deceive one who knows your heart as if it was his very own.”
“That is insane!” Guy blurted, not believing her. “You must come with us. I cannot leave you here, thinking you might be imprisoned or worse—”
“No, I have told you, my lord. My place is here with my husband. As for my fate, whatever I decide to tell him about this night … we are all in God’s hands.” A small smile curved her lips. “I must go now and get the sedative from Leila’s medical supplies. Majida told me she was still in the baths. Perhaps you might try resting on one knee for a while instead of hunching over like that. I will return shortly.”
Guy followed Eve’s suggestion as she turned and walked gracefully from the room, her gauze-like garments shimmering in the lamplight. He leaned his head on the side of the cabinet and closed his eyes, sighing heavily.
What a strange day this had been, fraught with more unsettling surprises than he could ever have imagined when he awoke that morning. And there was every indication that the day would continue its chaotic course. Soon he would be rumbling across a city swarming with soldiers in some sort of wagon with a drugged young woman who was none other than the sister of his worst enemy and the adopted daughter of the most renowned physician in the Arab Empire!
If he had any guardian angels, he seriously hoped they were watching.
Chapter 7
Leila glanced up from her book of Persian poetry as Majida entered the room and hurried over to the divan where she was reclining on a half dozen soft pillows.
“Forgive me, O my young mistress,” the odalisque said, her hand pressed over her heart. “It is growing late and I do not mean to disturb your hour of solitude, but your beloved mother has requested that I escort you to her apartments.”
Surprised, Leila lowered the book to her lap. “I thought she had gone to Governor Mawdud’s palace. Is something wrong? Is Mother ill?”
“No, no, dearest one, she is well, but she has changed her mind about visiting our lord governor. She merely wishes to speak with you before she retires for the night.”
Leila frowned. Eve changed her mind? That was indeed odd. Once her mother decided to do something, she rarely swerved from her purpose. And why was Majida looking at her so intently, as if she were memorizing every line of her face? The odalisque’s gray eyes were misty and red-rimmed as if she might have been crying, and her hands were trembling slightly. “Majida, what is troubling you?”
The odalisque started at her question and backed away, bowing. “I am tired, my young mistress, nothing more. Your devoted Majida grows older with each passing day, do not forget. Please, your mother awaits.”
Leila sighed softly as she flung aside the light coverlet and rose from the divan. She left her book lying open on a cushion and marked the page with a flat brass ornament shaped like a tulip, determined that she would finish reading the lengthy poem when she returned to her room.
“If you will kindly wear this,” Majida said, holding up one of Leila’s plainer robes made of dark blue linen. “The air has grown cool this night, and you are hardly dressed to withstand its chill.”
Leila glanced down at the clothes she was wearing, a lavender silk thob with a V-shaped collar embroidered in silver thread, and matching sirwal. The iridescent fabric was so sheer she could see her rose-pink nipples and the pearly whiteness of her skin through the lightly embroidered bodice.
“Very well, Majida, I will wear the robe,” she agreed, bringing her long, beribboned braid over her shoulder and shrugging into the garment. She tied the proffered sash around her waist, adding, “Though I am only going across the courtyard.”
“And shoes, my dearest Leila.”
Leila stared at the odalisque. Majida hardly ever called her by her name unless she was frustrated by Leila’s stubbornness, which had happened often as a child. But the odalisque hardly looked angry now. Majida seemed nervous and distressed, as if she might burst into tears at any moment. For that reason Leila slipped on the soft leather sandals laid at her feet, whereas otherwise she might have objected.
“There. Satisfied?” she asked with an indulgent smile.
Majida only nodded and left the room, leading the way as Leila followed quickly after her, growing more perplexed.
In the courtyard Leila paused briefly and looked up into the sky, drinking in the jasmine-scented air. How beautiful was the night, the heavens so black and deep, the stars like many-faceted diamonds, sparkling and twinkling. She might have stood there longer if Majida hadn’t tugged impatiently on her sleeve.
“Will you make your mother wait all the more, my young mistress? Come!”
This time a sharp retort flew to Leila’s tongue, but Majida disappeared into her mother’s apartments before she could utter it.
Whatever was going on? she wondered, walking through the archway. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, for the lanterns had been turned down to barely a flicker, she saw Eve standing in the middle of the room by a low table spread with a light evening repast. Majida was at her side.
“What is it, Mother?” she asked as Eve came to meet her, taking her hand.
“Come and sit with me, Leila,” her mother answered, leading her to the far side of the table and seating her on a plump floor cushion facing the open archway. Eve knelt on the cushion directly opposite her and began pouring red wine from a silver flask, offering Leila a goblet. “Drink with me, my daughter. It has been a long and trying day for us both.”
Leila stared at the goblet blankly, thoroughly confused, then back at her mother, who was lifting her gold-embroidered veil over her head. Tears had sprung to Eve’s eyes, and a few trickled down her pale cheeks.
“Mother?” Leila began to rise just as she heard footfalls directly behind her. She turned her head and saw a huge, dark-robed shape at the same moment that a wet sponge was pressed over her mouth. “Mother!” she screamed, but her cry was muffled as she inhaled sickly sweet fumes and swallowed the bitter liquid oozing past her lips. Dear God, she was being drugged! But by whom? Why?
Her frantic struggles were no match for the steely arms that held her. Desperately she raked her fingernails across the large hand holding the sponge and heard a deep male voice curse lou
dly. The room began to swim before her eyes, and she knew she was fast losing consciousness. She stared wild-eyed at the fading figure of her mother, who was holding out her hands helplessly.
“I have done this for your sake, Leila. Always remember how much I love you,” she heard like a pleading echo in her ears as the room grew dimmer and dimmer … fading into blackness.
“She’s out,” Guy said, holding Leila’s slumped figure against his chest as he tossed the sponge in the silver bowl Majida held out to him. He laid Leila gently on two cushions he kicked together, then glanced at a shaken Eve while he washed his hands in a larger bowl filled with sudsy water. “Are you all right, my lady?”
“Yes,” she whispered, swallowing back her tears. Guy dried his hands and handed Majida the damp towel. “You can still reconsider—”
“Never,” Eve said, her voice growing stronger. “Never. Majida, remain by the door and call out if you see anyone coming. Anyone … Suhel, Nittia, Ayhan … God forbid, my husband …”
“Yes, my mistress.” Majida fell on her knees and kissed Leila’s forehead, murmuring in Arabic, “Sweet Leila, dark as night. Do not forget your beloved Majida.” With a heartfelt sigh, the loyal odalisque jumped up and hurried to the archway, rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her caftan. “The courtyard is empty, mistress.”
“Come. This way,” Eve said, gesturing to a brass-covered door inlaid with silver. She ran ahead, pushing it open to reveal a flight of wooden steps. “My roof terrace.”
Guy scooped Leila’s limp body into his arms, marveling that she was so light. He strode to the door and up the stairs with Eve close behind him. He cautiously stepped onto the corner terrace, gratefully noting the vine-covered trellises which would hide their furtive activities from prying eyes.
“Over here,” Eve whispered, going to the rounded roof ledge. “My friend is waiting below in the side alley.”
As Guy peered over the ledge at the ground looming some sixteen feet below them, he was relieved to see a wagon pulled up beside the wall and a burly man in monkish garb standing on the driver’s bench, his arms outstretched. But what was that god-awful smell?
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