“How do you know my name?” Leila cried sharply, growing more alarmed. “I demand that you tell me what is going on!”
Clearly stunned by her outburst, Refaiyeh seemed at a loss to answer her. Her silver bracelets jangled as she twisted her hands in her lap. “You’re safe, Leila, and in Acre—”
“So she’s awake at last,” a deep male voice said from the open doorway. Both women started in surprise. “Thank you for watching her, Refaiyeh. I’m sorry I was gone so long. The markets were crowded this afternoon.”
“Lord de Warenne!” Leila gasped, the room snapping into sharp focus. She felt the blood drain from her face, her rampant heartbeat like thunder in her ears. What strange trick was this?
Her eyes darted over him, from the rugged contours of his clean-shaven face to his foreign clothing, a white calf-length garment emblazoned with a large red cross over a black long-sleeved tunic, hose, and black leather boots. Gone was the bearded and bare-chested prisoner dressed only in sirwal, and gone was the wild fury and desperation she had last seen in his eyes. This man exuded authority and confidence … and he was smiling at her!
Refaiyeh rose from the bed, sighing with relief. “Leila is upset, Guy,” she said in heavily accented English, moving toward him and placing her hand with familiarity on his forearm. She shook her head in confusion. “If not from what you had told me, I would swear she has absolutely no inkling of why she’s here.”
“The drugs, Refaiyeh,” Guy said, looking at Leila’s wide-eyed, stricken expression. “She’ll be fine. Perhaps you might prepare a light meal for her.”
“Of course.” Refaiyeh turned to the slave girl, who had stopped scrubbing the carpet and was watching everything with rapt interest. “Come, Hayat.”
The girl jumped to her feet and ran after her mistress, and Guy closed the door behind them. He strode across the sunlit room and stopped beside the bed, enchanted by the lovely sight Leila made with her black hair streaming around her in a silky cascade. He still could not get over the incredible length of her hair.
His dreams last night had been filled with erotic visions of Leila’s lithe body wrapped in her ebony tresses. Looking at her pale, exquisite beauty now, he felt a familiar heat rising in his loins, but he quickly steeled himself against it. Such feelings were unseemly for a guardian knight, and Leila was an innocent virgin, doubly worth his protection.
Sweet Jesu, the weeks ahead would be hell, Guy thought honestly, staring at her parted lips.
It was a good thing he had Refaiyeh to ease the lust which had built inside him over the past weeks or he would have an even more difficult time once he and Leila left Acre.
“I’m glad to see you are awake,” Guy said gently, noting the two spots of high color on her cheeks. “For a while I thought I might have to call a physician. I believe I poured too much of that foul-smelling liquid on the sponge.”
“That was you?” Leila blurted incredulously. “In my mother’s apartments?” She tensed when he nodded, a hundred questions flooding her mind, along with a glaring realization. “You escaped from the governor’s prison. How?”
“You don’t want to hear about it,” Guy said, his expression becoming grim. “I knew something had gone wrong the moment your father mentioned England, but I didn’t have a chance until—”
“My—my father?” Leila cut him off, stunned. She felt her face grow hot, not believing what he had just said. “How do you know this?”
“I know a great deal about you, Leila. I know you are not a slave, although you are Christian. And I know you were soon to marry an infidel, which your mother told me was causing you great unhappiness.” The hard lines in his face eased, and his voice took on a husky, intense quality. “You no longer have to fear, my lady. That blasphemous wedding will never take place. Tomorrow a ship will take us to France, and then we’ll journey from there to England. Once you are in your brother’s care, he will no doubt arrange a pleasing marriage for you.”
So great was Leila’s shock, it took a long moment before she could even bring herself to speak.
“You are mad,” she finally rasped, her thoughts spinning in horrified confusion. “My mother would never have said such a thing about my marriage to Jamal Al-Aziz. She knew I was happy … no, not just happy. Ecstatic!” She sat up, her whole body trembling as her voice grew shrill. “Oh, God, you killed them, didn’t you? My mother and Majida. You murdered them after you drugged me!”
Now Guy looked stunned, then angry, his blue eyes darkening to steely gray. “Of course I didn’t kill your mother or her slave. Those drugs have addled your reason.”
“My reasoning is fine! Murderer, it is you who are mad! How else could I have come to this place … Acre” —she spat— “if not by foul play? How else could this be happening to me?”
“I’ll tell you how,” Guy said, resting his weight on his knuckles as he leaned on the bed, so close to her that Leila instinctively drew back, terrified. “I rescued you at great risk to my own life and your mother’s. I have never met a woman braver than Lady Eve. It was her idea to hide us in a wagon loaded with corpses so we could safely escape Damascus, and it was her idea to drug you so you might be spared the horror of such a grisly experience. And it was her emerald necklace that bought us horses to bring us here.”
“No … that cannot be true!”
“Not true? It’s as true as I’m standing here before you, a free man instead of a headless corpse rotting in an unmarked grave. As true as the jewels Lady Eve gave me to pay for our passage to England.”
Leila continued to shake her head in disbelief, which seemed to anger him all the more. He began to shout, his handsome face livid. “By the blood of God, woman! Even now your mother might be imprisoned for the part she played to help you. She told me it was what you wanted! “
The room resounded from his thunderous outburst, each of them staring furiously at the other.
Eve would never have done this to her! Leila thought desperately. This was a nightmare. A bad dream. She dug her nails into her arms so hard she cried out in pain, glancing down at the deep imprints she had left in her skin. They were real, the pain was real, Guy de Warenne was real. Then his fantastic story must be
“No, I don’t believe you!” Leila shouted as she threw back the satin coverlet and sprang from the bed. She dashed toward the door but frantically checked her path when he began to follow her.
“Leila …”
“Murderer! Stay away from me!” she cried, rushing back to the bed. She grabbed the crystal pitcher from the table and upturned it like a weapon, the cold water sloshing down the side of her body and soaking her silken clothes. She scarcely felt it, so great was her rage. “You lie, you … you filthy barbarian! You killed my mother and kidnapped me!” She waved the pitcher threateningly. “I demand you release me at once! I want to go home … to Damascus!”
Guy wished there was some cold water left in that bobbing pitcher to splash on his face. He had never heard such lunatic ranting. His head was beginning to pound. What the devil was she talking about? Surely the drugs …
“Get back into bed before you collapse,” he ordered, noting she was swaying slightly, her forehead furrowed with pain.
He also noticed her pink, puckered nipples beneath her sodden silk dress and the delicious curves of her hips and thighs where the transparent fabric clung provocatively. He stared hungrily, unable to help himself. Why did she have to be so damn lovely?
Another pounding began anew in his lower body, much different from the one in his head. He gritted his teeth, reminding himself again of his sworn duty, but it took greater effort this time to quell his burgeoning desire. There was something about sheer wet clothing molded to female flesh that could drive a man wild, and this woman’s body was perfection.
Leila must have sensed his discomfort, or perhaps even seen the swelling below his sword belt, for she yanked the coverlet from the bed and held it in front of her breasts. Her gaze grew wider, angrier, and he thought for s
ure she was going to loft the glass pitcher right at him. He tensed, ready to dodge.
“Put down the pitcher, Leila, and get into bed,” he commanded again, but she only lifted it higher. “If you don’t, I swear I shall come and take it from you myself and force you into the bed!”
She blinked, her expression uncertain as she weighed his dark threat, then she spouted, “Barbarian! Come near me and I’ll crack this right over your skull!”
“Very well.” Guy strode around the bed, ducking to the side just in time to avoid the hurtling pitcher which barely missed his head. It crashed to the floor behind him and shattered into a thousand glittering shards.
“Bastard! Murderer! Beast! Stay away from me!” Leila screamed, jumping onto the bed as he lunged for her. She tried to scramble across the wide mattress, but he caught her leg and no small amount of her hair, easily pulling her back. “No! Let me go!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, gasping for breath and wincing at the pain in her scalp. She tore desperately at the linen sheet, dragging it with her as he grabbed her around the waist and spun her around to face him.
She dropped the sheet and raised her clenched fists to strike him, but at the dangerous look in his eyes she was suddenly swept by terror. The crusader had murdered her mother and Majida. He could easily do the same to her. Glaring at him, she lowered her arms, their faces so near his breath fanned her flushed cheek, burning her skin.
Leila had never been this close to a man.
She could feel the warmth of his powerful body emanating through his clothes. Her nostrils flared at the scent of him … sweat and sandalwood. She did not pull away, in that spellbinding moment drawn to his heat, his smell, as inexplicably as a moth to a searing flame.
She met his eyes, seeing in those stunning cerulean depths a will as strong and determined as her own. Becoming flustered, she dropped her gaze to his mouth, watching as he moistened his lips with his tongue. Unconsciously she licked her own lips, then glanced back at his eyes as his mouth curved into the smallest of smiles. She saw a flash of humor and something else, something that sent shivers down her spine. It made her want to slap him. Hard.
But before she could, he tossed her onto the mattress. “Cover yourself.”
As Guy walked to the foot of the bed, Leila grabbed the satin spread and angrily tucked it around herself, bringing the embroidered edge up under her chin.
“Listen well, my lady,” he began in a low voice, staring into her defiant gaze. “I am no murderer. I would like to think it is the drugs speaking through your lips, but I am beginning to believe I have been misled. As I already told you, your mother claimed you wanted desperately to leave Damascus and the marriage that had been arranged for you with an infidel. From your vicious display of temper, it seems that this is not the case.”
“No, it is not!” Leila declared vehemently. “And I can assure you that the drugs have sufficiently worn off so that I know this is not a nightmare, though I wish it was one! If my mother did help you, and I can’t imagine why she would have—” Leila paused, recalling like a flash Eve’s lingering melancholy, and then just as quickly brushed it off. But before she could finish, Guy broke in, his tone harsh.
“Your mother said it was your birthright that you should have a Christian marriage. A home and family in your true country, to quote her exactly. Perhaps that explains Lady Eve’s motives.”
Stunned, Leila remained silent as everything suddenly became clear in her mind. Terribly clear.
It was the marriage. It had to be. Her mother did not want her to wed Jamal.
That would account for Eve’s unhappiness during the past weeks, the haunted look in her eyes, her hesitation in sharing news of the wedding date, her tears. And now it accounted for Leila finding herself in this dreadful predicament. Well, she would not stand for it!
“Whatever my mother’s motives, she was in error, Leila stated coldly. “I have no desire whatsoever to go to England with you or anybody else, and I certainly have no wish to allow a brother I have never known to decide my fate. Why would I possibly want to leave the country of my birth for your barbaric land? Damascus is my home. I have been very happy there. Jamal AI-Aziz is to be my husband. I demand you release me at once so I might return—”
“Your desires, wishes, and demands are of no concern to me,” Guy said with little emotion. “It is to your mother’s I have sworn.”
“What do you mean?” Leila asked, feeling apprehension at the grim set of his jaw.
“I made a vow to Lady Eve that I would see you safely to England and your brother, Roger Gervais, and so I will.”
“No,” Leila breathed, her heart beginning to race. “This cannot be happening …”
“My oath is sacred. It cannot be undone. If, when we reach England, your brother grants that you may return to Syria, then so be it. That decision is not for me to make.”
“No!” Leila cried. “You do this against my will. You are kidnapping me!”
Guy shrugged dispassionately. “Call it what you like, my lady. Tomorrow we sail for France, the first leg of our journey. I have bought you some new clothes. I will bring them to you later when you have calmed down.” His gaze fell to her beautiful breasts, for the coverlet had fallen into her lap. His desire to caress her smooth flesh was overwhelming, and he decided it was best he leave. “You certainly can’t travel like that. It will be hard enough protecting you from the shipboard rabble without your displaying yourself for all to see.”
Leila glanced down at her sheer bodice and then back at him, feeling her cheeks grow red with fury.
“For the last time, I tell you I won’t go with you—”
“And for the last time, my lady,” Guy said as he strode to the door, looking at her over his broad shoulder, “I say you will!”
He left the room, slamming the door behind him so hard that she couldn’t possibly misunderstand the vehemence of his words.
Leila heard a bolt slide across the door, and the finality of it proved too much for her. She looked frantically around the room, along the floor, at the sparse furnishings, searching for anything with which to pound on the door. She found it in the small copper table next to the bed.
Springing from the mattress, she seized the metal tabletop from its wooden stand, paying no heed as the crystal water goblet crashed to the floor. She ran to the locked door and began pounding wildly, screaming, “Damn you, de Warenne, let me out! I won’t go with you! I won’t, I won’t! You can’t do this to me!”
She shouted and hammered until her ears rang with the noise, but still no one came to the door. Exhaustion finally swept over her and she crumpled to the carpet, overwhelmed with despair.
Ah, how cruelly kismet had turned against her! Now she was the prisoner, the unwilling captive.
God help her, what was she going to do? Everything was slipping like desert sand through her fingers … her hopes, her dreams, the bright, perfect future she had envisioned as a respected physician and wife to Jamal Al-Aziz.
“No. You can’t just stand by and let this barbarian ruin your life,” Leila whispered to herself. “Think, Leila! Think! There must be something you can do.”
She slowly raised her head and spied the two high windows covered with intricate wooden grillwork on the opposite wall above the bed. The bright sunlight outside seemed to beckon to her, a promise of freedom.
A flicker of hope kindled within her. If she could reach the windows, maybe, just maybe …
Chapter 9
Guy breathed in Refaiyeh’s musk perfume as she slept in a state of contented satiation, her voluptuous, body nestled against him. Though he himself was not wholly satisfied, the aching fullness in his loins had been eased. There was nothing like anger to fuel a good bout of lovemaking.
Yet Refaiyeh had nothing to do with his anger.
She had been preparing Leila’s food tray when he found her in the kitchen, and she had seemed to know instantly what he wanted. After shooing Hayat outside into the walled garden, she
had smiled seductively at him, and that was all the invitation Guy had needed.
He had taken her right there on the lacquered kitchen table, rocking it so violently that grapes, figs, and olives had bounced from bowls and tumbled onto the tiled floor.
Guy smiled wryly. After that, he and Refaiyeh had retired to her private bedchamber where they had rutted and sweated until she had cried out she would have nothing left for their last evening together if they did not stop.
So he had stopped, although he could have kept right on going in a vain attempt to force his unsettling encounter with Leila from his mind. It had never happened before that he took one woman in his arms but could not stop thinking about another. It was a most disconcerting preoccupation.
When he smelled Refaiyeh’s musk perfume, he wished it was a far more intoxicating damask rose. When he looked into her dark eyes made liquid with desire, he saw another gaze, one of flashing amethyst filled with fury, disbelief, and spite. When he sank his body in Refaiyeh’s, he imagined Leila’s white, white skin, satiny smooth beneath his touch, and her glossy black hair slipping through his fingers …
Cursing softly, Guy rubbed his eyes as if to dispel the wanton sensory images. God’s blood, their journey had yet to begin! He would make his life a living hell if he didn’t stop thinking of her in this way.
Like the living hell he had made of Leila’s life.
Yes, he had seen that in her stunning eyes, too, but he had sworn to take her to England, and he could not rescind his vow. A knight’s oath might as well be written in blood for its inviolability.
Yet would he allow Leila to return to Damascus and this Jamal Al-Aziz even if he could forswear the vow he had made to Eve Gervais? No. A Christian woman had no place in that heathen city. It was bad enough that she considered Damascus her home, Syria her country, and England nothing more than a pagan land. Hadn’t Eve told Leila anything about her true homeland? He had the distinct impression she had not.
Guy pounded his fist upon the mattress. No, he was doing the right thing. Leila would be better off in England, and he was not going to question his judgment any further!
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