Alan widened his stance. “That’s for me to determine.”
Chapter Ten
The old man before Alan appeared harmless enough. But the knight wasn’t sure he trusted that impression. Nothing had gone as he’d expected since they’d arrived in this hot, arid land. Alan’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. He glanced at the old man, then at Jessamine, who still stood beside him, despite his warning to stay back. Both Jessamine and the old man watched him with curiosity.
Suddenly his weapon felt heavy in his hand. God’s teeth! Did Jessamine have to be so damn accepting of everyone and everything? Was she truly that innocent? The old man posed no current threat, but one could never be too careful. Especially when so much was at stake.
With a lingering glance at Jessamine, Alan gripped his sword. “What do you want, old man?”
“It’s not what I want, but what you need that brings me here.” His voice held a hint of challenge.
Alan frowned. The man’s dark gray eyes studied him. “And what is it you think we need?”
“A meal. A safe place to sleep.”
“A meal?” Jessamine repeated with longing in her voice.
The old man shot Alan a triumphant look.
Alan took Jessamine by the arm and led her to a private spot a few feet away from the old man. His shadow fell across Jessamine’s face. “We cannot risk this, Jessamine.”
She stepped to the side, out of his shadow, and gazed up into his face. “What are you afraid of?”
Resentment surged to the forefront of his mind. He hadn’t revealed his fear, and yet somehow she’d seen it—she’d recognized his fear that he wouldn’t be able to keep her safe.
Her fingers slid to his cheek. He felt the warmth of her touch like a brand against his skin. Against his will, he leaned into her touch, allowed it to soothe his irrational fear. “He’s an old man,” Jessamine said in a soft, gentle voice. “And he’s right. We need to sleep, and I don’t know about you, but I’m quite hungry.”
Turning, he stared at the old man, and then, slowly, he brought his gaze back to her face. “All right. We’ll go with him.” He sheathed his sword.
She smiled and he felt the warmth of her joy in his chest.
“Thank you, Alan.” Jessamine dragged him back toward the stranger.
He was being a fool, he knew it, to trust the old man. But unlike the malice that radiated from the conde, and from the assassins, the old man had a sense of peace about him. Could Alan trust that feeling?
Alan’s hand moved to his sword as it had so many times in the past. He’d stay alert. Watch the old man. One sign of danger and he and Jessamine would be on their way. Alone.
Alan and Jessamine followed the old man beyond the treasury and through the ancient and deserted streets of Petra, until another series of elaborately carved edifices came into view. “These are the Royal Tombs,” the old man explained as he hobbled across the sand, moving past three separate rock facades and coming to a stop before the fourth. “The Urn Tomb.” He moved to a long, narrow staircase that led past three stories of arches.
Alan guided their horse to an alcove in the rock that offered the animal some shade. He removed the saddle and set it on the ground beside the beast. From the saddlebag, he removed a portion of oats and offered it to the horse, then went in search of water. When he returned with water, he stroked the horse’s neck before hitching the saddlebag over his shoulder.
“Ready?” he asked Jessamine, and signaled for her to climb the stairs ahead of him. He wanted to be able to catch her should she slip on the uneven rock. They climbed slowly, following the pace set by the old man as he struggled up the steps with his cane.
The rock face was more of a golden brown here than it had been at the treasury. Vivid striations of color rippled through the sandstone walls—streaks of yellow, gray, pink, and brown, giving the hard stone a silken texture in the sunlight’s warm glow.
Finally they reached the top of the steps and stood before another arched opening in the huge wall of rock. The murmur of voices sounded from within, as well as the soft lilting of a flute.
“Welcome to the Urn Tomb,” the old man said as he slipped inside.
Alan stayed beside Jessamine as they followed him. At the center of the stone chamber stood a group of dark-robed men with white headdresses tied with black cords.
“Bedouins. I’ve studied these people with my tutor.” Jessamine’s eyes went wide.
“Your tutor?”
She paled. “I meant to say, I’ve studied these people along with my students. I’ve schooled privileged girls in history and language.” She studied her hands with sudden interest.
Alan frowned. There was something not quite right about her explanation. Instructors of such disciplines were usually men. Yet it did explain her demonstrated abilities with language and why she seemed so refined. “What did you learn about these people?”
Jessamine looked up. Her gaze shifted between him and the Bedouins. “The men wear their head ropes as an outward sign that they will uphold the obligations and responsibilities of manhood. The women are required to cover their hair, and their headgear signals their status. Those two women over there, with black cloth wrapped around their foreheads, are married. The younger women wear more colorful kaffiyeh cloth.”
“You do understand the Bedouins,” the old man commented as he waved them closer to the fire pit.
“They have such freedom,” Jessamine replied with a touch of longing.
Alan narrowed his gaze on Jessamine. Questions still lingered about her education, but her comment supported her claim. An instructor of nobles’ daughters would have very little freedom.
The old man smiled. “The Bedouins know the secrets of the desert, and how to stay alive in it. This is a temporary home, for tomorrow they will journey elsewhere. Tonight, though, is a celebration. Come.”
The smell of roasted meat filled the air, making Alan’s stomach grumble. As they approached the group, conversation halted. The men ceased their activities and watched Alan with wary eyes. Alan curled his fingers at his sides, fighting the urge to grasp his sword. These men did not appear to be armed, but their stances didn’t indicate acceptance or even welcome. Still, despite their lack of friendliness, they did nothing to discourage the newcomers from joining the group near the fire.
The old man settled himself in a seat near several heavily veiled women. No one seemed to pay him any heed as he reached out and served himself from one of the bowls the women had filled with slices of lamb. “Help yourselves,” he said between bites.
Alan approached the women. One of them handed him a bowl. He nodded his thanks, not knowing what language these desert dwellers spoke. He turned and offered the bowl to Jessamine, but she shook her head. At her refusal, a brightly veiled woman offered her two plump figs instead. Jessamine accepted them with a smile and bit into the fruit with a soft sigh.
Conversation started up around them again as the men and women continued their meal. It had been a full day since either he or Jessamine had eaten, as his stomach reminded him with a loud growl. Alan followed the example set by the other men, grasping a slice of the savory meat with his right hand, then taking a bite. He closed his eyes and nearly groaned as he tasted the flavorful meat. It had been months since he’d had such good food.
The youngest of the women, in a light blue veil, brought them a platter of odd-looking fruits and nuts. She set the fruit down in front of Alan and fluttered her eyes flirtatiously.
Uneasy with the woman’s behavior, Alan scooted closer to Jessamine. The woman was undeterred by his action and reached for a piece of red fruit, then offered it to him. Not wanting to be rude, he accepted the object but simply held it, not knowing what to do with the leathery fruit.
At his hesitation, the young woman giggled, took the fruit from his hand, and with a small knife that she drew from the folds of her gown, she cut the skin in half. She handed it back to him, saying something he didn’t understand
. He looked at Jessamine.
“Pomegranate,” she said softly. “She wants you to take it.”
Alan accepted the fruit and brought the bright red multiseeded flesh to his lips. He took a small bite and tart sweetness erupted in his mouth. He smiled his thanks to the girl. She giggled and thrust the other half at him before being pulled away by the other women.
Annoyance coiled in his chest as he handed Jessamine the other half of the pomegranate. The women chattered among themselves, the tone of their voices excited as they cast curious glances between him and Jessamine.
Alan leaned toward Jessamine, his thigh brushing against her leg. A soft shimmer of sensation tingled there. He pressed closer, finding comfort in her presence. “Do you understand what they’re saying?”
“Yes. Are you sure you want to know?”
He nodded.
She leaned toward him. Amusement sparkled in her eyes. “They are bartering among themselves to see who gets to bed down with you for the night.”
Alan started at the shocking translation. He started to respond, when an older woman in a darker blue veil thrust two wooden cups into his hands. He held them, uncertain how to proceed, and fearful of what the cups might mean.
Jessamine took one of the cups from his hand. “She wants you to drink. You’re safe, for now. This is not a bridal cup.”
The Bedouin woman waited expectantly for him to take a sip of the dark, thick liquid inside. Alan brought the cup to his lips and drank. The liquid tasted bitter at first, then mellowed as the rich taste of cardamom filled his senses. “This must be coffee,” he said, recognizing the beverage some of the older Templars had talked about tasting during earlier crusades. “It’s unusual, but delicious.” He took another long drink.
Jessamine sipped delicately from her cup before she returned a soft smile. The firelight reflected on her face, turning her skin a warm apricot. Her eyes sparkled. “The coffee is the first of many temptations they will offer you.”
“Why?”
She smiled. “To make you more eager to choose one of them for the night.”
Alan choked on the coffee. “I don’t want—”
She set her cup down and grasped his hand. “Then show them.” She placed his hand possessively on her knee. “You’ll have to make them believe that I’m yours, or you’ll have no peace.”
He stared back at her. Her eyes were on him, urging him on, waiting. He ran a hand through his hair and stole a glance at the Bedouin women. They watched his every move.
“Alan.” Her voice was so quiet he could barely hear it, yet her body called to him like a siren’s song. Heat moved from the center of his being to his groin. He turned to Jessamine, uncertain what to do or say. He’d chosen a life of celibacy, and yet his body was on fire at the simple touch of his hand upon her knee. He felt his resolve falter. Just once more…A voice deep inside responded. Kiss her one last time. Prove to these women that you are already taken, if not by Jessamine, then by the Church.
The fire crackled, the light wandering over Jessamine’s face, highlighting her cheekbones, her eyes, her lips—her full and entirely kissable lips. His fingers curled around her knee, barely stroking the inside of her leg. The touch, however innocent, sent a jolt of white-hot desire through him. He leaned toward her, intending to kiss her lightly.
Yet the moment their lips touched, he lost himself. Raw pleasure flared, stealing all rational thought. Her tongue darted between his lips, then sank deeper. Needing to experience more of what she offered, he let his hand drift to her neck, pulling her closer. She gasped against his mouth and arched deeper into his touch. It took all his willpower to pull back, to leave the taste of paradise she’d offered so freely.
“Jessamine,” he rasped, bringing his forehead to rest on hers. “You are a forbidden treat that I dare not taste again. The more I taste you, the more I want you.”
“You say that as though it’s a bad thing,” she whispered against his ear.
Alan pulled back to stare into her face. Her features were luminous as innocent desire shone in her eyes. By the saints, he wanted to kiss her again. “When I’m near you, nothing but you seems to matter.” His tone was low and savage.
She reached for his hand. Her fingers laced with his, the touch excruciatingly intimate. The heat tingling between them thickened in intensity. The wool of his robe felt abrasive against his skin.
“Jessamine—”
A tap on his shoulder stole his attention. He suddenly noticed that two of the younger women stood on either side of him. He’d been so intent on Jessamine that he’d seen nothing else. Alan frowned. He was behaving irrationally, losing his focus, leaving both of them open to attack. He straightened abruptly. He would have to be more alert in the future.
The women spoke to him and pulled at his arms. From their hand signals, he realized they wanted him to rise. He glanced at Jessamine, who remained seated beside him.
“They wish to dance with you.” Her voice was cooler now.
“But you said—”
“They still seem to think you are available.”
When had the music started up? The soft lilting of a flute mixed with the high-pitched melodic strains of a single violin. The women grasped his arms amid flirtatious laughter and hauled him to his feet. They linked their hands with his, then pulled him toward the other men and women who danced in a circle. The rhythmic music swirled around them, but he could not lose himself in it. A glance back at Jessamine sitting alone brought tightness to his chest.
Jessamine watched Alan dance with the women. They linked their arms with his and pulled him through the steps of the dance. Alan laughed, the sound rising for a moment above the music, and Jessamine smiled. It was good to see his features lighten and the shadows that haunted his eyes disappear.
She brought a hand to her neck and toyed with the long gold chain that held the miniatures of her parents. She lifted the small locket into her hands and snapped it open. Her mother and father’s smiling faces stared back at her. The portraits had been painted before she was born, while their love was still fresh and unspoiled.
Tears formed in her eyes, blurring the images. She missed them both. The memory of her parents tugged at her heart, tapping into some deep, fundamental emotion. And for the first time she had an inkling of what her parents’ love had been. They were not doomed. They’d been the lucky ones, even for a short while, to share a love so precious.
She snapped the locket closed and drew in a breath.
“Memories?” a soft voice queried in Hebrew.
Jessamine turned to see that an older Bedouin woman had seated herself where Alan had sat. “Good memories.” Her voice dropped. “But that is in the past.”
“May I?” the woman asked, her gaze on the locket Jessamine still clasped in her hands. The dark-veiled woman opened the locket and smiled down at Jessamine’s parents. “So in love. I can see it in their eyes.” She brought her gaze back to Jessamine’s.
“Yes, they were definitely in love to give up all that they did.”
“Sometimes, one must give up one thing to receive something greater in return.” Jessamine looked up suddenly. Her gaze captured the old woman’s, held it. They stared at each other for a long, breathless moment. The fire hissed, sending a spray of red-gold sparks into the night air, and Jessamine felt a quiver of understanding leap between the two of them. The woman wanted to share something with her. But what?
Jessamine’s heart raced. “I am open to your wisdom, if you choose to share it with me.”
The woman offered her a soft smile. “I am the tribe’s visionary. I cannot tell you of a future that hasn’t happened yet, but I do have a gift for you.” She removed her hand from Jessamine’s arm and slipped it into the folds of her gown. From them, she withdrew a small packet that she opened with one hand. She brought the open packet to Jessamine’s locket and poured a small portion of fine, white powder onto the miniatures of her parents.
Jessamine gasped and nearly jer
ked away, but the woman’s gaze met hers. Trust me. A peculiar sort of sadness showed in the old woman’s eyes.
“These herbs can be mixed with any liquid,” she explained. “You will find them useful should there be a time in the future when you need to render someone…”
“Unconscious?” Jessamine asked.
“Unresponsive,” the old woman corrected. She snapped the locket closed, then settled it once again against Jessamine’s gown. “You’ll know what I mean when the time is right.” The old woman stood. “I wish you well, my child. You will need all your strength for what lies ahead of you.”
Before Jessamine could ask her what she meant, the woman disappeared into the crowd of dancers. Jessamine frowned as she gripped her locket in her hands once more.
Special herbs. When the time is right. What ever could the old woman mean?
Alan glanced back at Jessamine to find her staring off into the distance with a sorrowful look in her eyes. With an effort, he disengaged his hands from the two young women’s. He offered them a bow and made his way to Jessamine. At his approach, her gaze met his, and she slid something metal into the depths of her bodice. He held her gaze and extended his hand. “Dance with me.”
Jessamine stood and, with a slight tremble in her fingers, took his hand. Wild music filled the chamber, reverberating off the stone until it sounded as though the melody came from every direction.
Slowly that look of loneliness vanished from her gaze, to be replaced with exhilaration as they twisted, turned, and stamped their feet, mimicking the Bedouins’ movements.
Alan found himself relaxing, and for the first time since leaving Teba, he allowed himself to feel a moment of pleasure that wasn’t tempered with guilt. He was alive. He had survived that devastating battle. Gratitude resonated deep within him.
A kind of giddiness bubbled up inside his chest. Jessamine’s fingers brushed against his shoulders, lingered there a moment as color flooded her cheeks. Her lashes came down to hide her eyes, then her gaze sought him out again as though she was as captivated by him as he was by her.
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