Templar Prize

by Deanna Ashford

  Yet one woman kept apart from the others and had. not removed her veil. When Edwina found the opportunity she stared at her curiously, wondering who she was. She was dressed in black silk, heavily embroidered in gold, and her dark kohl-ringed eyes kept staring thoughtfully at Edwina, making her feel a little uneasy. ‘That is the sister of the great Taki el-Din,’ Jamilah whispered in her ear. ‘I’ve not met her before. She keeps herself apart from others, so I’m told.’

  Edwina, for some inexplicable reason, began to feel a little strange. Perhaps it was all the fuss that was being made of her. Then the lady in question suddenly stepped towards her. Her large number of gold bracelets made a pleasant tinkling sound as her cool fingers took hold of Edwina’s hand. ‘Come,’ she said in a husky voice.

  She guided Edwina out of the room into the bright sunlight of the garden and, perhaps because of her important position, no one moved to follow them. They walked in silence to a stone seat, which had been placed in the shade of the trees. She sat, beckoning Edwina to join her.

  Edwina sat down, so wanting to stare at her and try to discern her features through her veil. Then, at last, it was pulled aside and she saw the woman’s face. ‘Leila!’ Edwina exclaimed in disbelief.

  ‘Thanks to you I reached my family safely.’ Smiling warmly, Leila leant forwards and kissed Edwina’s cheek. ‘When I heard that Nasir was to marry a blonde Frankish captive, it never entered my head it might be you.’

  ‘It is a long story.’ Edwina sighed. ‘It will take some time to recount.’

  ‘Time we have,’ Leila said reassuringly. ‘The ceremony is not for three days.’

  ‘It is so good to see you again,’ Edwina said with feeling, determined not to let herself cry. It had been so long since she’d had a friend to confide in and she was still hardly able to believe this fortuitous coincidence was possible. ‘You never told me how influential your brother actually was.’

  ‘Antecedence does not matter when one is a slave. It seemed unimportant at the time. Nevertheless, when I returned to him, he welcomed me with gladness in his heart, caring for me enough to allow me to put all my sad memories behind me. He knows what terrible things happened to me but no one else must ever learn of them, Edwina.’

  ‘They never will,’ Edwina replied sincerely.

  Leila looked pensively at her for a long moment. ‘Now you have to tell me, do you really want to marry Nasir al-Din?’

  The tears came, unbidden, but Edwina made no attempt to hold them back now. ‘No, of course not. I still love Stephen. But what choice do I have?’

  ‘One always has choices,’ Leila said, taking hold of Edwina’s hand. ‘And now I am here, we can figure out what they are.’

  Stephen gave a loud groan of pleasure, his eyes focused on the exotic supple-bodied houri who sat astride his hips, his cock buried deep inside her. She leant back, increasing the pressure on his swollen shaft, and began to rhythmically contract her internal muscles. Stephen groaned again as she milked his cock expertly, the delicious sensations setting his nerves afire. She was the only woman he had ever had sex with who was capable of this and the sensation was utterly amazing.

  Unable to just lie there and be pleasured by her a moment longer, he levered himself into a sitting position and grabbed hold of her. She twined her arms around his neck as he pulled her towards him, crushing her breasts against his muscular chest.

  She gave a soft laugh and pressed her soft lips to his. Stephen kissed her long and deeply, savouring the taste of her cinnamon-flavoured mouth as her tongue twined erotically around his. Yet all the time she was keeping up the relentless milking motion on his shaft and he feared he might climax too swiftly.

  ‘Not so strongly,’ he growled as he grabbed hold of her buttocks.

  Ever obedient, she complied, easing the contractions down a little, slowing their pace, but the sensations were still wildly stimulating and he could almost feel his balls rising and tightening, ready to climax. Salah ad-Din had treated him more like an honoured guest and sent him lovely young slave girls to share his bed at night. This one had come to him a number of times before and tonight Stephen was determined to make her climax before him. He knew her clitoris was extra sensitive but so was another part of her body. Slowly he slid his fingers into her buttock crack and she gave a loud sigh of pleasurable anticipation.

  ‘Please, master,’ she begged as he gently pressed his finger against the taut brown ring of her anus.

  ‘Move your hips,’ he instructed.

  She lifted her body and slammed it down against his groin, hard, increasing the pressure on his cock as she somehow managed to continue contracting the muscles of her vagina at the same time. As she worked them harder, Stephen slid his finger deep inside her, hearing her submissive moan of delight. Her body reacted immediately, going rigid for a moment as she climaxed. Her internal rhythmic contractions went out of control, growing stronger and stronger until they were too much for him to bear. At last he let go, and was consumed by a violent orgasm that seemed to go on forever as if her body were trying to drain him dry.

  Wearily, Stephen rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, his cock still buried inside her. They lay there, limbs entangled as their sensual excitement slowly waned. For a long extended moment Stephen felt content – well, as content as he would ever be far away from the woman he loved. Tenderly, he clasped the dark-haired slave girl in his arms, wishing she were Edwina.

  As his breathing slowed he began to relax, hoping he could rest for a short while before this sensual creature tried to arouse him again. However, the tranquillity of the moment was disturbed by a loud rapping on the door. Without even waiting for him to answer, a soldier opened the door and stepped into the room.

  ‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ the man said, lifting the oil lamp he held so that Stephen could see him more clearly. ‘Salah ad-Din wishes to speak to you.’

  Rather awkwardly, Stephen disentangled himself from the girl and sprang to his feet. ‘Right now?’ he asked in surprise. It was late, probably well past midnight.

  ‘Yes.’ The man nodded. ‘I have orders to escort you to him immediately.’

  Stephen saw the man’s eyes stray towards the voluptuous young woman sprawled naked on his divan. Most probably he was wondering why a Frankish prisoner was being treated like an honoured guest. Stephen knew full well how unusual his situation was here and he had Salah ad-Din to thank for that.

  ‘One moment.’ Stephen strode over to a bowl of cold water and splashed his face. After wringing out a cloth he swiftly washed himself; it was such a warm night that the water on his skin dried almost immediately.

  As he turned, he discovered the girl had risen from his bed and was holding out a long pale-blue robe. Slipping it on over his head, he shoved his feet into soft leather slippers. ‘I’ll return soon,’ he told her. ‘Wait for me in bed.’ By the time he left she was happily ensconced on his divan again.

  At this time of night the citadel seemed deserted as he followed the guard, not to the wing where Salah ad-Din had his rooms, but down the wide staircase and out of the main door of the keep. Stephen had free run of the castle and spending so much time here had brought back many happy memories. With nothing productive to do, he spent much of his time in the library, which was even more extensive now than when his godfather had owned it.

  Salah ad-Din had told Stephen that he preferred sleeping in a tent because he had been a warrior on the move from place to place for so long. However, to ensure his safety, his guards insisted that he spend his nights in his room in the citadel. It was easier to protect him there as there had already been a number of attempts on his life.

  It appeared that he had remained in his pavilion tonight, and it felt pleasantly cool as Stephen stepped inside the large tent. As usual, when it was dark, Salah ad-Din was surrounded by a number of lamps as at his age his eyesight was failing a little.

  ‘I am sorry to wake you,’ Salah ad-Din said.

  ‘You did not. I was other
wise occupied,’ Stephen replied.

  Salah ad-Din smiled knowingly. ‘I asked you to come because I would like your advice.’

  ‘Of course.’ Stephen was surprised by the request. In the four weeks he had been here he had got to know Salah ad-Din quite well and if they had not been ostensibly enemies he now would consider him a good friend. They often ate their evening meal together and talked of many things, but never about Richard’s plans; Salah ad-Din appeared to have made a point of avoiding that subject entirely.

  Stephen knew much about the great man’s past now and equally his captor knew just as much about him. He had even found himself telling him about Edwina and his deep abiding love for her and they had talked of Salah ad-Din’s family as well. Stephen had also met Salah ad-Din’s brother al-Adil, a respected Saracen general, a number of times. Not surprisingly, Salah ad-Din had also been eager to know more about Richard, who he appeared to admire greatly because of his renowned skill as a warrior.

  ‘Sit.’ Salah ad-Din pointed to a low couch set at right angles to his.

  As Stephen sat down, Salah ad-Din leant forwards and poured red liquid from a jug into a silver goblet.

  ‘Wine?’ Stephen queried in surprise, as Moslems abhorred and avoided alcohol.

  ‘The best Burgundy, so I am told.’ Salah ad-Din smiled. ‘I have to offer you something, do I not, in return for your advice?’

  ‘I give it willingly,’ Stephen said as he tasted the wine and found it very pleasant. However, it was odd how quickly one lost the taste for it; he’d not missed it overmuch.

  Salah ad-Din picked up a parchment and handed it to Stephen who looked at it thoughtfully, recognising a number of the names. ‘A list of Frankish prisoners, I presume?’

  ‘Yes.’ Salah ad-Din nodded. ‘When Acre surrendered it was agreed that certain named Christian captives would be released.’

  ‘So why should you want my opinion on this?’

  ‘I don’t.’ Salah ad-Din sighed. ‘The problem is finding them all. Many great Moslems fought with me and they all took prisoners but no adequate records were kept.’

  ‘So there are prisoners on this list that you cannot, as yet, locate?’ Stephen concluded, handing the parchment back to Salah ad-Din.

  ‘Exactly,’ he confirmed. ‘It has been agreed that we can pay in instalments. A portion of the two hundred thousand bezants has already been sent to Acre.’ He tapped his fingers on a cushion at his side. ‘And I have arranged for the True Cross of your faith, which we captured at Hattin, to be brought from Damascus as soon as possible, but because of the problems with the prisoners I fear that all the terms will not be fulfilled in time.’

  ‘Can you not negotiate for more time?’

  ‘The Lionheart, not surprisingly, grows weary of the delays. My spies tell me that he believes I do this on purpose to anger him. Now I am told that he threatens to execute all two thousand seven hundred Moslem prisoners he has in his possession if I delay the matter further.’ Salah ad-Din leant forwards worriedly. ‘I cannot have that on my conscience. Do you believe, Stephen, that he would actually commit such a terrible act?’

  Edwina had lost all sense of distance and time since she had been travelling with the Saracen caravan. The hot, near stifling days seemed endless and the nights just as long. Also she found it incredibly uncomfortable wearing the all-encompassing dark clothing as well as a veil over her face all the time. Yet she had to dress like the other women and at least no one in the caravan had the slightest idea what she looked like, let alone who she was. Then there was the camel she was riding; it wasn’t the most comfortable transport and the odd swaying motion made her feel quite queasy at times. However, it was better than being forced to walk or ride one of those small pathetic-looking donkeys.

  Her escort on this journey, Hadid, had once served as a Turcopole but he had been taken prisoner at Hattin and sold into slavery. However, he would not be a slave much longer as Leila had promised him his freedom if he escorted Edwina to safety.

  All the time they had been travelling, Edwina had been worried about Leila, fearing that Nasir might have discovered by now that her friend had helped her escape. Leila had dressed Edwina as her maid and smuggled her out of the harem and then arranged to have her travel to Acre in this caravan. Hopefully, Nasir would not have discovered that she was missing for some time as, just before she left, she had pretended to feel unwell and had taken to her bed with orders that she was not to be disturbed.

  Leila’s brother was a very important man, so Edwina hoped that no one would dare to even suggest that Leila had aided her escape. Nevertheless, she had made Leila promise that she would send word to Acre in a week or so to confirm that she had returned safely home with her brother and that all was well with her. Despite the assurances, all the time she had been travelling Edwina had been waiting apprehensively for Nasir’s soldiers to suddenly appear and drag her back to him.

  Unexpectedly, the long line of people, donkeys, camels and horses stopped and Edwina saw Hadid hurry forwards to find out what was happening. He returned a few moments later and pulled at her camel’s reins, ordering it to kneel. She hung onto the wooden front of the saddle as it pitched violently, before the creature came to rest on its knees. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked Hadid as she dismounted rather inelegantly, hampered as she was by her voluminous clothing.

  ‘Apparently there is a large group of Templar knights some distance ahead and the caravan master fears they might attack. He is considering turning back and taking a different route.’

  ‘Templars? Then we must be quite near Acre,’ she said, suddenly realising that if they did attack she could be slaughtered along with everyone else. She had heard stories of Templars attacking innocent travellers in the past.

  The leader of the caravan approached, agitatedly waving his hands to seek Hadid’s advice on the situation. However, Edwina was in no mood to wait for this matter to be settled: she wanted to reach the Christian lines as soon as possible and the Templars could help her to do just that. Ripping off her veil, she said to Hadid, ‘I’ll sort this out, they will have to listen to me.’

  Picking up her skirts she strode to the front of the caravan; judging by their expressions of amazement, her behaviour clearly horrified most of the other male passengers. Nevertheless, she wasn’t concerned about that; all her concentration was focused on the large group of Templars waiting menacingly some distance ahead. One of the knights detached himself from the group and galloped forwards to bar her way. ‘Halt – go no further,’ he called loudly in badly pronounced Arabic.

  ‘Let me pass,’ she said haughtily as she threw off her headdress to reveal her blonde hair. ‘I want to speak to your captain or whoever is in charge.’ When he did not move and continued to stare down at her, she added, ‘I am Edwina, Lady de Moreville, one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting.’

  Perhaps he didn’t believe her, because he did not even respond, but then she saw the entire body of knights moving towards her. One knight rode faster than the others and reached her first. After dismounting, he hurried towards her and she felt just a shade apprehensive. ‘Edwina,’ he said haltingly as he pulled off his helmet, ‘is that really you?’

  ‘Guy!’ In the normal course of events she would not have been altogether pleased to see him, but she was so relieved to see someone she knew that she did not protest when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. ‘Please, my lord,’ she said as he looked down at her, an expression of relief on his face. ‘The people in the caravan – let them pass. It was they that brought me to safety.’

  Guy looked back at the Templars. ‘Stand back. Let them all pass unhindered.’

  Clearly he was in charge, because the knights immediately withdrew from the narrow track, while two of the Templars rode to the head of the caravan, presumably to let them know they could carry safely on their way. It was then that Edwina saw Hadid hurrying anxiously towards her. ‘My lady,’ he called out. ‘I was concerned.’

  ‘He is my se
rvant,’ she told Guy as he hugged her rather too overenthusiastically again.

  ‘I thought you were dead. We all did. The queen has been inconsolable.’

  ‘I am here and I am very much alive.’ She smiled awkwardly at Guy. ‘Stephen – is he here at Acre?’

  ‘Stephen?’ Guy paled visibly. ‘Of course, you do not know.’

  ‘Know what?’ She feared that she did not want to hear the answer.

  ‘He is dead. We received word that he was killed by Saracens just outside Sarak.’

  Edwina remembered nothing else as a cloud of blackness enveloped her.

  Stephen stirred on the hard divan, realising that he was still in Salah ad-Din’s tent. They had talked for ages and tiredness, coupled with the fair amount of wine he’d drunk, had made him eventually drift off to sleep. It couldn’t be long until morning, but the sky hadn’t lightened as yet. Most of the lamps had gone out but there was one flickering in the corner which gave off just enough light for him to see a dark form asleep on the other divan. Stephen smiled as he heard Salah ad-Din give a loud snore, then the tent grew quiet again.

  He was just about to close his eyes and try to sleep a while longer when he heard a noise, which was so faint he thought he might have imagined it until he saw a figure miraculously step through the walls of the tent. He tensed anxiously, realising that the fabric must have been cut as the dark figure disappeared for a moment in the shadows. Then he saw it again, moving menacingly towards Salah ad-Din; judging by the outline, the man appeared to be carrying a curved dagger in his raised hand.

  Stephen sprang from the divan, his long tunic flapping awkwardly around his bare legs, as he threw himself at the assailant, wishing he had a weapon to hand. Obviously not expecting anyone else to be in the tent, the attacker was caught by surprise, and the full weight of Stephen’s body bore him to the ground with a jolting thud. Stephen immediately tried to gain the upper hand and they grappled together, rolling around as he fought for possession of the dagger. There was a metallic thud as they collided with a small table and its contents fell onto the carpet. The attacker was strong but eventually Stephen managed to gain control, jerking the man’s hand back, twisting his wrist cruelly so that he was forced to release his hold on the dagger. It fell to the ground and Stephen went to grab it but it was so dark he couldn’t see where it had fallen.