“You look pale, Leila,” came her brother’s voice through the melee, sounding like a dull echo in her head. “Is something wrong?”
She looked at him, but his face was blurred. She tried to speak, but her tongue would not work. The last thing she remembered was Maude screaming, then blackness.
***
Leila’s eyes fluttered open and her vision gradually focused.
Where was she? In Westminster Hall? No, surely not. It was cool here and there were no bright lights, no smelly foods, no loud music or raucous laughter, just that female voice carrying over to her …
“We cannot afford to return to Wales with her now and continue deceiving her while we wait for a better offer, my husband. One fainting spell does not prove a woman is breeding, but dare we risk losing everything on the chance she isn’t carrying de Warenne’s bastard?”
Leila tensed as she recognized the voice as Maude’s. Suddenly her surroundings seemed to snap into sharp relief and she realized she was in her brother’s tent.
She saw them then, sitting together at a trestle table in the corner not far from her cot. With apprehension filling her heart, she closed her eyes and lay very still, listening intently. She started when Roger brought his fist down violently on the table, then she froze again, hoping they had not seen her movement.
“I should kill Guy for this! You saw how he came running after me when I carried Leila from the hall. I’ve never seen such a stricken look on his face, not even for Christine. If that does not prove there has been something between them, whether Leila shares his fantasy or not—”
“All the more reason why we cannot wait, my lord. Even now he may be considering a suit for her hand. Remember what we saw at the feast last night. De Warenne had eyes for no one but her.”
“Only over my corpse will he marry her.”
“You know the law, husband. If Leila gives her consent, we will have no choice but to allow such a union.”
“So she must never be given the chance to even entertain the thought.”
“Exactly. I say we wed her to that London merchant, Wellesley, who approached you last night after the feast, and the sooner the better. Tonight, even! If Leila does prove to be breeding, he’ll think it’s his own brat she carries. So what if he gets a surprise eight months later. He won’t dare renounce her then, but will accept the child as his own or forgo the reason he paid so dearly for her in the first place. Having a titled wife is very good for business.”
Listening, Leila felt so sick she thought she might retch, Roger’s assurances of the day before shattered into a thousand pieces.
Sweet Jesu, Guy had been right about him all along. What a complete fool she had been!
Roger had lied to her. He had no intention of allowing her to return to Damascus. He was going to sell her off in marriage just as Guy had said he would. Maybe tonight! And all because they thought she might be pregnant with Guy’s child—
“Stay here with her, Maude. I’m going back to the hall to find Wellesley. We’ll fetch a priest and have done with this marriage by sunset. God, just think of it. No more debts to the king” —his voice grew bitter— “no more selling myself and my knights out to fight in any baron’s petty war for fear I may lose the land on which I was born. The Gervais name will be great once again … and all because a soft-hearted whore in Damascus saw fit to bless me with a sister.”
Leila was so horrified she could not breathe. Whore! Was that what Roger thought of their mother? Hearing his footsteps approach the cot, she went limp, praying that all her years of observing sick patients would enable her to feign unconsciousness.
“This wench is as much a whore as her mother, that lover of infidels back in Damascus. How could she be anything less? Raised in a harem … wanting to return to Syria to marry some bloody heathen physician. It’s almost comical.”
“What is, my lord?” Maude asked, walking up beside him.
“The idea of Guy caring for this wench. Knowing him, I wager he rutted on her the whole way to England and now fancies himself in love with her. Yet all along she’s been saying she wants to go back to Damascus. I hope he’s suffering hell’s own torments.” His voice grew very quiet. “Soon he’ll know exactly how it feels to have a woman stolen right out from under him. It’s been a long, long time in coming.”
“But you have me, my lord,” Leila heard Maude say petulantly, accompanied by the rustling of clothing. “You don’t need memories, not when I can do this.”
“You’re right. I don’t,” Roger replied huskily a few minutes later, groaning deep in his throat. “Lie down.”
“Here … on the ground?”
“Why not?”
“But what if she should wake?”
Leila knew they were looking right at her. She continued to breathe steadily though her pulse was racing madly.
“She’s out cold, Maude. Can’t you see that?”
Disgusted, Leila heard his grunt as he knelt, followed by Maude’s throaty laughter as he pulled her roughly to the ground and fell on top of her. How she wished she could plug her ears against the crude panting and squeals of their lovemaking! From Roger’s hard exhalation of breath, she knew he had quickly climaxed, and from Maude’s wail of disappointment, she knew her sister-in-law had not.
“Oh, Roger, it was too soon! Too fast!”
Maude’s heavy sigh and the subsequent silence told Leila even more. Roger didn’t care in the least that he had not pleased her; he had probably quelled her outburst with a dark and threatening look. Leila listened as he rose to his feet and adjusted his clothing, then hoisted up his wife.
“If Leila wakes while I’m gone, see that she stays in bed. I’ll speak with her when I get back.
“She’ll probably protest—”
“I expect it. My answer will be the same as it would have been in Wales. When she hears what I have in store for her if she refuses, she’ll give her consent to the marriage readily enough. To be locked in a convent cell is a sorry fate for any beautiful young woman, even more so when she can expect to be flogged twice daily for her sins.”
As they stepped away, Leila heard Maude’s tone brighten sickeningly. “Oooh, you know how much I enjoy a good paddling, my lord, and giving one as well. Perhaps tonight we might celebrate our good fortune by …”
Leila was glad the rest of her sister-in-law’s words were lost to her as they moved outside the tent. She shuddered as she raised herself on one elbow, her gaze flitting around the shadowed interior for any means of escape.
In the harem she had heard of men like Roger, men capable of only cruel, depraved relationships with women because of some romantic slight suffered in the past. At that moment she almost pitied Maude, because for whatever reason her sister-in-law had obviously chosen to accept it. Who knew? Maybe Maude even loved Roger.
Leila barely lay down in time when Maude suddenly threw aside the flap and stepped back into the tent. Roger must have said something to appease her for she was humming, her dissatisfaction clearly vanished.
How was she ever going to get out of here? Leila wondered desperately, listening as Maude poured water into a basin and began to wash herself.
She couldn’t dash out the only entrance to the tent. Several of Gervais’s men-at-arms were standing guard right outside. And the tent had appeared to be securely staked down on all sides. Maybe there was the slightest chance she could squeeze under one of the tent walls, but Maude would surely sound an alarm and send Roger’s men chasing after her. Yet she couldn’t just lie here and wait helplessly for Roger to return with the priest and that accursed merchant.
Leila opened one eye slightly and discovered that her sister-in-law was standing about twenty feet away with her back turned. Maybe, just maybe, if she was quiet enough …
As Maude’s singing grew louder, Leila slipped from the cot, yanking her silver tunic and chainse up around her thighs, and crawled on hands and knees to the tent wall. Glancing constantly over her shoulder, she groped alon
g the ground, trying to find a place where she could lift the tent enough to slide beneath it. She was almost ready to give up and opt for a mad dash through the front entrance when her forearm disappeared easily under a loose section of canvas.
Holding her breath, she began to lift the tent wall just as she heard Maude gasp in surprise. She turned to find her sister-in-law hurrying toward her with pure fury on her face.
“You little bitch! Stop, I tell you!”
Her heart thumping furiously, Leila dove under the tent wall, but to her dismay, she felt Maude catch her ankle. Her sister-in-law’s enraged screams filled the air.
“She’s escaping! Guards! Quick, go around to the other side. Catch her! I don’t think I can hold her—”
“Let go of me!” Leila shouted, giving Maude a sharp kick.
In the next instant she was free and scrambling to her feet, except now she couldn’t see a thing. Her hair had fallen over her face. Swiping it away, she lunged forward and broke into a run … and slammed right into something very hard.
“No! Let go! Let go!” she screamed, punching her captor in the stomach with her balled fists. Her teeth fairly rattled in her jaw as she was shaken roughly, her head jerking back. She found herself staring into a pair of familiar blue eyes. Such relief swamped her that she almost collapsed. Guy!
“Stand behind me. Now!” he commanded, shoving her back several feet as five men-at-arms came tearing around the tent, brandishing their swords.
Shaking her head in horror, Leila kept backing away until she hit the taut wall of another tent and almost fell. She watched as Guy drew his sword and faced his opponents, who had stopped short and were eyeing him warily.
“Come on if you dare,” he taunted harshly, shifting his feet to better his stance. The gleaming blade whistled as he sliced the air.
“We have no quarrel with you, de Warenne,” spoke up one of the men. “We only want the woman.”
“And I say you shall not have her. Allow us to retreat in peace or I shall strike down every last one of you.”
The men-at-arms glanced at each other, clearly uncertain. Matters were not improved when Maude limped around the corner on a swollen ankle, her face twisted in anger as she shouted out shrill orders.
“Cut him down! He’s only one to your five. What are you? Cowards?”
Capitalizing on their indecision, Guy stepped backward, keeping his eyes on the men-at-arms while he held out his free hand to Leila.
“Take my hand. Walk quickly and be ready to move out of the way if I tell you to. Is that understood?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good.” He spoke again to the five men, who were venturing a few hesitant steps closer. “Follow us and I swear you will die.”
The men-at-arms immediately froze, then began to retreat, sheathing their swords.
“What are you doing? They’re getting away! Stop them! Stop them!”
Maude’s screams faded into the distance as Guy kept Leila moving at a brisk pace away from the tents set up around Tothill Fields and toward the towering abbey.
“You were right there, beside my brother’s tent. How?” she finally asked breathlessly, hurrying beside him.
“I was worried about you and I couldn’t stand wondering about it any longer. I was coming to see how you were, no matter what Roger might have to say about it.” He threw her a half smile. “When I saw you clambering beneath the tent, I knew you were feeling better. Much better.”
Leila felt a curious pleasure to learn that he had been concerned for her, but she forgot it when another question pressed in upon her. “Where are we going?”
“To the cathedral. To get married.”
Looking up at him in disbelief, Leila tried to stop, but he jerked her along, his large hand gripping hers tightly.
“I take it you have somehow discovered the truth about your brother and his lovely wife. Is that not correct?”
“Yes, yes, it is, but that does not mean—”
Guy halted so abruptly that Leila’s arm was wrenched in its socket. His smile was gone, his expression dead serious.
“What does it mean, then, my lady? You had better make up your mind very quickly, for I’m sure Maude is on her way to find Roger at this moment. Either accept my offer of marriage, or find yourself back in their custody and a victim to whatever they have planned for you. If it was enough to drive you from their tent like a frightened animal, it cannot be pleasant. Now choose. It’s as simple as that.”
Leila glanced fearfully toward Westminster Hall, then back at Guy. “You are forcing me as much as they!”
“Perhaps. You’re wasting precious time, Leila. Choose.”
“You know I hate you! I will always hate you for what you’ve done to me. Always!”
“We shall see.”
Her heart seemed to skip a beat at his words, but she continued to glare at him, chewing her lower lip.
She could not go back to her brother. She would rather die first. Marrying Guy de Warenne was her only way out of this terrible predicament.
That doesn’t mean I have given up on seeing my home again, Leila assured herself. It only means I have bought myself more time. Time to think. Time to plan.
“Very well, Lord de Warenne. I shall marry you.”
Joy lit his eyes, mixed with unmistakable relief, but all he said was, “Practice those words for the priest, my love. We must hurry.”
“But won’t I need Roger’s consent as my guardian?”
“No, thank God. The Church deems such consent unnecessary for anyone older than fifteen. Come.”
The next thing Leila knew they were running beside the cathedral’s massive buttressed walls and then up the marble steps and into the cool, shadowed narthex.
“You there, stop!” Guy commanded a somberly clad cleric who was preparing to exit from another door. “Me, my lord?”
“Yes.” Still holding firmly to Leila’s hand, Guy rushed with her up to the startled priest. “Are there other clergy in the cathedral, or has everyone gone to the feast?”
“There are a few others, my lord. You’ll find them praying near the altar.”
“Excellent. I want you to take this” —he drew the heavy gold medallion over his head and handed it to the man— “to King Edward.”
The priest’s eyes grew wide. “The king?”
“Yes. Tell him Lord de Warenne and his new wife, Lady Leila, have sought refuge in the abbey and are waiting for him in the right transept behind the altar. Do you have that?”
“Yes, yes. The right transept.”
“Good. And tell him to please hurry, or blood is sure to be spilled on his coronation day. He will understand.” Guy took the man none too gently by the arm and steered him to the open door. “Now go. Run!”
The priest did just that, his brown robes billowing behind him and his sandals clattering as he flew down the steps.
“Come.” Guy’s strides were so long as he hurried down the wide center aisle that Leila practically had to run to keep up with him. Several priests kneeling at the altar turned their heads and peered curiously over their shoulders as they approached.
“I need one of you to perform a wedding ceremony. The rest of you must serve as our witnesses.”
Panting for breath, Leila swallowed hard as the three priests glanced at one another, then seemed to rise in unison. It was clear they were taking the urgency in Guy’s voice very seriously. One of them, a tall, spare man, came forward and looked closely at Guy with pale blue eyes.
“I know you, my lord. Lord de Warenne, is it not?”
“Yes, and this is Lady Leila Gervais. We have come to be married.”
The priest studied Leila’s flushed cheeks thoughtfully. “Have you given your consent to this marriage, my lady?” he asked pointedly, holding up his blue-veined hand as Guy almost answered for her.
Leila hesitated until she felt a very hard squeeze on her fingers. She did her best not to wince. “Yes, Father. I have consented.”
&
nbsp; “Then come forward, my children.”
Guy sensed Leila’s tension as he led her to the altar where they knelt before the priest. Her small hand was shaking in his. As they recited their vows, she refused to meet his eyes, but when he firmly intoned “I will,” after the priest, she glanced at him. Her gaze was stubbornly defiant, but there was a curious softness to her expression that made his heart thunder in his chest. How he loved this woman!
The momentary spell was broken when the priest bid them to rise. Their union was scarcely blessed when Guy heard Roger’s angry voice carrying to them from the cathedral steps.
“Come with me, Leila. Quickly,” Guy urged. To the priest he said with quiet vehemence, “Hold them off for as long as you can, Father. Our lives may depend upon it.”
The astonished clergyman nodded, but before he could ask any questions, Guy had swept Leila past the altar and into the right transept. He did not stop until they reached the far, shadowed comer. Drawing his sword, he pushed her behind him, blocking her with his body as the sounds of tramping feet and chinking armor grew louder.
“Where are they?”
Roger’s furious query echoed ominously from the lofty arched ceiling, causing Guy to tense. He glanced over his shoulder at Leila, huddled in the corner. Her amethyst eyes were wide and frightened; he had never seen her look so vulnerable. His beautiful, proud, and reluctant bride was trembling from head to toe.
Guy held his finger to his lips, commanding her silence as Roger’s voice rang out again.
“Speak up, man! Where are they? Believe me, I would not hesitate to use my sword on a priest if I felt it necessary.”
“And I, sir, demand that you and your men sheathe your swords at once in God’s house! You defile its sanctity with your armed presence and vile threats—”
Captive Rose Page 25
