She took a pastry and eagerly bit into it, the almond paste the most glorious thing she had ever tasted, even sweeter than she remembered from home. She quickly finished the confection, licking her fingers, and went on to another. All the while Guy watched her with a pleased expression on his face.
“Aren’t you … going to eat?” she asked, knowing it was ill mannered to talk with her mouth full but not caring. “Or are you just going to keep staring at me?”
He laughed, a deep burst of sound that made Leila giggle in return. It felt so wonderful to eat again and not to feel she was going to lose her meal as soon as she swallowed. Or perhaps it was the sugar making her giddy. Who could say?
Guy took a long draft of wine, thinking he could stare at her for the rest of his life. To see her smiling and laughing was like a dream come true. He wished her laughter would never end, so much so that he was afraid if he said the wrong thing or made the wrong move she would stop.
So he said nothing, only cut into the bread and offered her a thick slice with a generous slather of soft cheese on top. They ate in companionable silence until nothing but crumbs and chicken bones remained on the table and a second bottle of wine was empty.
“Is there no more?” Leila asked rather tipsily, upturning her empty goblet and giggling.
“No, my lady, the wine is gone,” Guy lied, using his foot to push a bag filled with more provisions further under his berth.
“Oh.”
He had to stifle a chuckle. Leila had drunk only three goblets of wine to his many, but he guessed from the pretty flush on her cheeks and her occasional hiccoughs that she had had little experience with the libation, or at least in imbibing so much of it. It looked to him as if what she could really use was some fresh air.
“Would you like to take a walk on the deck, Leila? It’s going to be a lovely evening. I’m sure the sunset will be spectacular.”
“Could we?” she asked, her eyes brightening with excitement as she rose eagerly from her berth. She swayed slightly. “I love sunsets.”
Guy’s heart seemed to leap in his chest, and he groaned inwardly, longing to crush her in his arms. God in heaven, what this woman could do to him with the simplest glance, the merest smile! It was beyond his understanding, her effect on him.
“Come with me.” He took her hand, exulting in the warm pressure of her palm against his own. Keeping his head down, he led her from the cabin, through a narrow hall, then up steep stairs and out into the early autumn sunshine.
His guard went up immediately when he found that other passengers had entertained the same idea, and he was glad he was wearing his sword belt. He didn’t think this assorted group of peasants and merchants traveling to Lyons would cause any trouble, but one could never be sure. He carefully steered Leila across the deck toward the portside railing where they could be alone.
“How green this country is … the trees, the grass … like an oasis,” she murmured, leaning against the railing.
Guy braced his arms on both sides of her, his chest against her slender back, his chin just above her head, fearing she might stagger and fall if he did not confine her movements. Reveling in their closeness, he followed her gaze to the shoreline. “Yes, but you’ll find no desert beyond those trees, nor are there any deserts in England.”
The minute the words were out he regretted them, for he felt her body tense. Yet she did not turn upon him with angry eyes and biting words, as he might have expected, leading him to believe the wine had softened her temper. She only shook her head slowly.
“‘Tis so different from my home. So different.”
“Tell me about your life in Damascus, Leila,” Guy urged her gently, taking advantage of her relaxed mood. He yearned to know more about this exotic woman. His fascination for her was like a raging thirst that could not be slaked. “What did you do when you weren’t working at the hospital or visiting your patients in the harems?”
“Oh, many things,” Leila replied wistfully, staring out over the river. She was surprised Guy would be so interested in a world he seemed to disdain. She was also disconcerted by how closely they were standing together, his body warm against her back, yet she was not inclined to move. She felt a little dizzy, a pleasant sensation. And strangely enough, she found their conversation pleasant, too. It was nice not to be shouting and disagreeing for once. “I would read or play the lute,” she continued, “or practice my calligraphy—”
“Calligraphy?”
“A very beautiful form of handwriting.”
“Ah, and what else?”
Leila smiled to herself. “One of my favorite pastimes is to write poetry.”
“Really! Then we share a common interest. I, too, compose poetry.”
Thoroughly astonished, Leila twisted slightly and looked up at him. The warmth in his startling blue eyes made her heart jump. “You do?”
“Knights do know how to read and write, my lady, though perhaps they have little time for it,” Guy explained, smiling wryly. “I have been working on a book of poems for years. Many knights compose verses, especially those inspired from youth by heroic legends of the past. My education was more extensive than most, by my own choice. My passion for studying used to irritate Ranulf to no end, but he allowed it because I excelled on the training field.”
Leila’s curiosity was fired by these revelations.
She could hardly believe it! She would never have thought this barbarian would have a scholarly bone in his massive body, nor the sheer love of creative expression that poetry demanded. She actually felt chagrin at the blind prejudice she had nurtured. How strange that she hadn’t guessed from his innate intelligence that there was much more to him than brute strength. So much more.
“What subjects did you study?” she asked, flushing as he stared into her eyes.
“Mathematics, astronomy, Latin.”
“I’ve studied some Latin. Friar Thomas at our church in the Christian quarter of Damascus taught me.”
Friar Thomas, Guy thought. The man who had helped them flee the city. Maybe Leila had already guessed the friar’s connection with their escape, but he wasn’t about to mention it to her now. Such information would only disrupt this enjoyable exchange. There were other questions he wanted to ask her, but he feared they, too, might anger her. Yet his curiosity could not be contained, nor the jealousy that had been gnawing at him since the night he had first kissed her.
“Who taught you the sensual arts, Leila?” His gaze fell to her lips, so red and moist, and his jealousy became acute. The image of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man caressing and kissing her body was more than he could bear. “How did you learn to kiss as you do? Surely you had a man as your teacher?”
Her eyes widened, and she gasped softly, turning back to the river as if he had insulted her. “Harems are not brothels, Lord de Warenne. No man is allowed inside save for the master of the house.”
Guy stiffened. By God, was she saying that her adopted father had—
“Majida taught me.”
“Majida?”
“My mother’s odalisque.”
“You mean the slave woman I saw in Lady Eve’s apartments?”
“Yes,” came her small answer, and Guy regretted again his thoughtlessness, knowing he had dredged up painful memories. He was surprised when she continued at all.
“Before Majida was sold into my father’s house, she was a concubine in a harem in Constantinople. When I came of age after my first flux, she became my teacher, educating me in the ways of men and women. First we would study a book together, then she would demonstrate the technique upon a eunuch slave.” She shrugged almost imperceptibly. “Then I would try.”
“A eunuch?” Guy asked incredulously. “But it was my understanding that they couldn’t …” He stopped, not wanting to be crude.
“There are varying degrees of surgical procedures that are used upon these slaves,” Leila said delicately without looking at him. “This particular eunuch still had his—”
“Enough!” Guy cut in, made extremely uncomfortable at the thought. “So while you and Majida practiced upon this eunuch, he just lay there?”
“Yes.”
“Poor bastard.”
“Not at all. He was well rewarded for his services.”
Guy was astounded. Leila’s voice was so matter-of-fact, as if this was the most commonplace occurrence, which of course it was, to her.
To him, this revelation could not have been more extraordinary, or more arousing. His body was on fire just thinking about what she must know. He was tempted to ask her exactly what techniques she had learned when she pointed excitedly to the shore.
“Oh, Oh, look over there! Swans! How beautiful they are.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “We have them, too, you know. Governor Mawdud has thirty pair at his summer palace. I saw them whenever I visited his harem. The birds were so tame I could feed them right from my hand.”
How beautiful you are, Leila, Guy thought as her enchanting gaze flew back to the swans.
She swayed a bit and he caught her, but she seemed not to notice that his hands now encircled her narrow waist. Her dizziness was a bittersweet reminder that she had probably been so open with him only because of the wine. He could not help wishing that perhaps one day she might show him this part of herself again, and of her own volition
“And when would that be?” Guy scoffed under his breath, his mood suddenly darkening. When she was under Roger’s roof? Not likely. He would probably never see her again except at court events, and then she would most likely be upon the arm of her new husband. The husband Roger would choose for her.
Don’t think of it! he told himself grimly, refusing to dwell on the distasteful matter. He had sworn to Lady Eve that he would escort Leila to her brother, and there his duty ended. What happened to her after that was none of his concern. She would be more than a handful for any man when her sharp tongue was not dulled by wine and her eyes snapped with contempt and mistrust instead of childlike delight. Whoever that unlucky fool might be, he was welcome to her!
Guy rested his chin atop Leila’s glistening hair, listening to her comment softly on the incredible height of the trees, the fair-haired children she saw playing near the shore, the villages they passed… all the while knowing in his deepest heart that lie was a liar.
He cared what happened to her. God, how he cared. He hadn’t realized how much until now.
But it made no difference. Leila hated him, and he and Roger were sworn enemies. It was an impossible situation.
Suddenly he noticed Leila had become very quiet in his arms. He looked down at her and was not surprised to see her eyelids drooping sleepily and her head nodding forward.
He was a bastard to be pushing her so hard. It was clear her long rest had only taken the edge from her exhaustion. She needed more sleep, and this boat ride would be her last chance to do so in relative comfort. Any more stops they made after reaching Lyons would be short. A few hours’ rest, a quick meal, a change of horses, and they would be back on the road.
Whether he was a bastard or not, the sooner they reached Westminster, the better. For him and for Leila.
As Guy gathered her into his arms she protested a little, but it was clear the wine had taken its toll. She was already half asleep, her small hand pressed to his heart as she nestled against him. As he walked across the deck, he passed a stout peasant woman who regarded him with a quiet smile.
“Your lady is very beautiful, my lord,” she said, her blue eyes kind.
“Yes, she is,” he agreed, the woman’s words cutting him to the quick. “Very beautiful.”
He carried Leila down the stairs to their cabin, where he set her gently on her berth.
“Hmmm … so soft,” she whispered, snuggling into the mattress as he covered her with a blanket.
“Sleep well, Leila Gervais.”
He debated kissing her, then reluctantly decided against it. When she demanded in the morning if he had taken advantage of her after plying her with wine—and he had no doubt she would—he wanted to be able to say he had done nothing she would find objectionable.
Guy closed the door to their cabin, threw the bolt, then sat down heavily on his own berth and pulled out the bag he had hidden from her. Bottles chinked together, and he smiled grimly. He grabbed one and pulled the stopper out with his teeth. As he stared at Leila’s face, thinking of impassioned kisses they would never share and silken caresses he would never know, his body grew hard with frustrated desire.
“Here’s to honor” —he took a long swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand— “to chivalry, may the devil take it” —he drank again, his eyes on Leila’s soft lips— “and to being the biggest bloody fool for ever getting caught up in this mess!”
He threw back his head and drained the bottle.
Chapter 13
Lyons, Chalon-sur-Saone, Cercy-le-Tours, Auxerre; the towns and cities through which they had passed were no more than a blurred collage in Leila’s mind. It seemed she and Guy barely arrived in a town before they set out again after snatching a few precious hours of sleep and hiring another swift horse to take them to their next destination. Her vehement protests in Lyons had done little good. He had stubbornly insisted they ride together.
“Are we almost there?” she asked for the fourth time that hour, raising her voice to be heard over their mount’s pounding hooves.
“Provins is directly ahead,” Guy answered, tightening his grip around her waist. “Look, Leila. The city wall is just beyond those trees. Do you see it? And there, rising above the wall … church spires, roofs, and chimneys.”
Leila kept one hand on the pommel while she shoved back the hood of her cloak, which had slipped low over her forehead. She blinked against the cool drizzle hitting her face and strained to catch a glimpse of the approaching town through the gathering dusk. She slumped with relief against Guy’s mailed chest when she spied the landmarks he described.
She had had enough of this infernal pace, Guy and his royal coronation be damned! As soon as they reached an inn she would demand a hot meal, a hot bath and a full night’s rest, and refuse to go any further until she got them. If need be, she would even pretend a fainting spell to convince him to spend an entire night in one place. She was ravenous, spattered with mud, her hair unwashed since they had left the ship in Marseilles, and weary to the bone. She would stand for his bullying no longer!
“It’s strange to see so many people on the road after sunset,” Guy said as he drew up on the reins a few hundred feet from the city gate, slowing the lathered gelding to a trot.
Leila said nothing, amazed at the number of donkeys and horses all wending their way toward the open gate, some ridden by peasants and farmers and others by what looked to be knights and their ladies. Wagons and carts loaded with produce and other goods choked the rutted road, while a train of packhorses was surrounded by men with pikes and crossbows, no doubt a more precious cargo. Guy had to carefully thread their mount through the congested traffic.
“Hello! What goes on here?” he called out to one of the heavily armed soldiers standing guard along a wide drawbridge leading to the city gates.
“The fair of St. Ayoul, my lord. Move on if you’re entering the city or else pull your mount aside so others may pass.”
“Damn,” Guy muttered, veering the gelding to the side of the road.
“What is it?” Leila asked, not understanding their exchange in French.
“A trade fair. If I had known, we would have bypassed Provins altogether. From the looks of this crowd, every inn will be packed with merchants and buyers. We’ll have to ride on to Paris—”
“No!” Leila objected hotly, twisting to face him. “I won’t go any farther, I tell you! I’m hungry and tired and my—my…” She faltered, embarrassed, then decided he should know exactly how she felt. “My backside is fairly blistered from this wretched saddle. I’m sure if you flash one of my mother’s jewels at an innkeeper, he’ll jump at the
chance to provide lodging for us.”
Guy smiled roguishly at her, but his eyes held concern. “Ah, then, my lady, that is entirely a different matter. We cannot have your lovely bottom so raw you won’t be able to sit down at Edward’s coronation feast.” Before she could muster a tart reply, he clucked his tongue and pulled sharply on the reins. “The Provins fair it is.”
Surprised he had agreed so easily, Leila nervously averted her eyes from the deep moat as their horse clomped across the wooden drawbridge. They passed beneath the lofty gate flanked by round watchtowers, her hood sliding from her braided hair as she gazed upward in wonder. Soldiers on the other side directed them onto a main thoroughfare which opened into narrow side streets where riders and pedestrians were squeezing past each other.
She was amazed at how the city was alive with motion, noise, and color despite the persistent drizzle and growing darkness. Smoking torches burned brightly from iron brackets projecting from outer walls, while lamps and lanterns hung from hooks beside painted doors, all lending much-needed light to the bustling scene. People were everywhere, and she had never heard such a raucous clamor, even in the slave markets of Cairo.
Behind the display counters of shops opened to the main street and those of rudely constructed stalls running down the middle, merchants wearing fur-trimmed coats haggled with customers in brightly colored tunics, hose, and long, pointed shoes. Ladies laughed and talked excitedly with their escorts while holding up their cloaks and gowns to step over horse dung and garbage.
Peasants ringed jugglers and acrobats, stomping their feet and hooting with delight at the entertainers’ wild antics while, nearby, whores wheedled and cajoled passersby. Dogs were howling and cats mewling from doorways, horses neighing, children shrieking. Leila started in surprise when a flock of honking geese fluttered across the road in front of them, chased by a barking mongrel.
“Easy, my lady, we’ll find a place soon and escape from this racket,” Guy said in her ear, but his words and his warm breath tickling her earlobe only increased her tension.
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