Melisande gasped in horror. “You mean his hospitality includes a night with one of the women here?”
Karim Pasa nodded, tears in his eyes.
“And I am to be the courtesy granted the caliph tonight?” she whispered, praying someone would deny the words she could barely speak. “Why?”
“Milady, this is my fault. A million sand demons should eat upon me throughout all eternity. When I told Falla the shaykh wanted to see her, she must have learned the truth I tried not to reveal.”
“Which is?”
“The first of the shaykh’s women to enter his private rooms belongs to the caliph while he visits. That, milady, was you.”
“And Gabriel will—” She could not bring herself to say it. Gabriel was half Franj. Didn’t that part of him urge him to put a halt to this? He had so utterly separated himself from that heritage. Even so, she was not Gabriel’s to give away on a whim. She had thought he respected her, that he, too, might be amazed by the passion between them, a passion she should share only with him. This callous indifference destroyed everything but enmity.
That could be what Gabriel had decided he wanted. They were enemies. If he had perceived the sweetness blossoming within her each time he held her, he could have chosen to rid himself of her by giving her to this caliph. He could show her her place here at the same time he gained favor from the caliph.
A shiver threatened to shatter her. Would Gabriel’s mouth ever again thrill her? She blinked back tears at the thought of never delighting in his touch while passion glowed in his fathomless eyes.
She looked at Lysias. “Help me!” she whispered.
“I cannot, child.” She pulled Melisande against her full bosom.
She edged back from the suffocating softness and turned to Karim Pasa. “Tell me that Gabriel will not force me to do this!”
He stared at the floor. “Your bath is ready for you, milady.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She had not, until this moment, believed there was no escape. The resignation in Karim Pasa’s voice stripped away that delusion, just as the caliph would tear away her clothes. When he took her hand to bring her to her feet, she gasped, “Karim Pasa, I cannot go to a stranger’s bed!”
“Not his bed, milady,” he answered through stiff lips. “The shaykh’s. As your esteemed father would, the master offers his guest the finest bed.”
“Gabriel’s?” Ice clamped over her heart. Not only would Gabriel give her to another man, he would allow this stranger to rape her in his own bed.
Lysias put her hand on Melisande’s shoulder. “Take comfort in the fact the caliph is not a young man and will not be able to call you to him often during his stay.”
“His stay? You mean beyond tonight?”
“Such a gift is for no less than the length of a visit.”
“The whole visit?” she cried.
“The caliph usually stays no more than a week.”
Melisande echoed the words silently. A week. Seven nights of letting him touch her, of letting him kiss her, of letting him share her body. If her father learned of this, he would risk his life to avenge her.
Her shoulders sagged. Vengeance was what had brought her to this predicament. She should have listened to her instincts that Falla was plotting some way to humiliate her. Furious that Gabriel had sent her away, she had focused her jealousy on Melisande.
She looked at the bathing trough. Instead of washing away the caliph’s touch, she would be prepared for him. She heard Lysias’s words of sympathy, but none of them pierced her pain. She had believed Gabriel cared for her. Too late she was learning exactly how little she mattered to a man who exulted in his role as shaykh.
Too late, too late, her mind repeated over and over to the mournful beat of her aching heart.
Kalinin burst into the bathing room. Weeping, she moaned, “Melisande, you cannot let him do this to you.”
“Hush!” ordered Lysias as she sorted through Melisande’s clothes to find the most appropriate outfit for her to wear. She passed a garment to Karim Pasa, who placed it on the table next to his fragrant oils. “This is not a matter of gossip for the whole harim.”
“You hush.” Defiantly, Kalinin put her hands on her hips. “Reprimand me if you must, but Melisande should not be sent like a sacrificial lamb to that old goat.”
Lysias frowned. “Watch what you say, Kalinin. If your words are carried to the caliph, you will do Melisande no good.”
“And what will? Sending her to the caliph?” She put her hand on Melisande’s arm. “That is wrong.”
“Kalinin, be silent! In a week, it shall be over.”
“It shall never be over,” moaned Kalinin as she fell to the floor to hide her face against the tiles. “We never will see Melisande again. The caliph will take her with him.”
“Nonsense.” Melisande glanced to Lysias and Karim Pasa, but saw disquiet on their faces. “You believe this, too? Gabriel would send me away with this caliph?”
“It is possible,” admitted Lysias. “If the caliph is pleased with you, it would be the shaykh’s honor to give you to him.”
She folded her arms before her and raised her chin. “I will make sure he is not pleased with me.”
“If you deny him his pleasure, he can order you put to death.”
“I don’t believe that!” she cried as Kalinin wailed more loudly.
Lysias put her hands on Melisande’s arms. “My dear child, the shaykh has been kind to you, never reminding you that you are his captive.”
“He has reminded me. More than once.”
Again Lysias glanced at Karim Pasa. Again Melisande could not guess what message passed between them until Lysias said, “But not once, child, has he treated you as a captive slave should be treated.”
“Slave? My father—”
“Your birth means nothing when you are a captive.” She sighed as she brushed a strand of Melisande’s hair back from her face. “You are the shaykh’s to use as he pleases. He can choose to accept the gold your father offers to buy you … or he can give you to the caliph to gain his favor.”
Melisande wanted to deny the truth, but could not. It was undisguised on the faces around her. What Gabriel had told her on the desert plain had not changed. She was, as she had been since the moment they met, his captive.
ELEVEN
As soon as the preparations were completed, Karim Pasa led Melisande to the mabeyin. She fought hysterical laughter as she thought of her protests when Lysias had first brought her clothes here. That short jacket and long breeches were modest compared to what she wore now. The full breeches were held at her waist with a belt of embroidered fabric. Over it, she wore only a thin mantel that closed at one shoulder with a brooch of red corundum. She kept the drape close to her, for it threatened to fall off with the slightest motion.
She was glad her hair hung down her back. She pulled some of the strands forward to cover her. That the caliph had ordered her to wear her hair loose did not surprise her, for he had seemed more fascinated with its color than anything else.
When they entered the garden, Melisande held her chin high. Falla had gathered many of the women to watch her go to the caliph.
“Have a wondrous time,” purred Falla as the ikbal reached for a honeyed date.
Melisande bit back her retort as she hooked her yashmak across her face. She was the daughter of an earl who held a title as old as England. She was a Hospitaller, a sworn warrior of the Cross. This she would endure with dignity and courage—and by ignoring Falla’s jubilation.
Melisande signaled to Karim Pasa to open the door.
His hand trembled as he held the door. He hesitated before he opened the door leading to Gabriel’s rooms. “I am sorry, milady. If I could halt this, I would.”
She longed to comfort him when she saw his kind face crumble and his lip quiver, but could not offer him solace when she had none to give.
She entered Gabriel’s bedchamber. The door closing behind her threatened he
r precarious self-control.
“Ah, my lovely, here you are.”
Melisande stared at Yasin ibn Hayyan. Although his guttural accent distorted the Frankish words, she could understand him. Years of riding the sun-heated hills had wrinkled his skin like leather. Gray streaked his thinning hair, but he was firmly muscled.
Crossing the room, he frowned when she did not kneel. Then he asked eagerly, “Are you untouched?”
“No.” She had been touched by Gabriel’s tender fingers. Her heart had been touched by his kindness. But that was over! He had betrayed her as no other had.
“I should have known Gabriel would have enjoyed you.”
“He and others.” She sought for any excuse to decrease her value. More lies—but if he believed them, she might end this.
His brow rutted. “Others? I understood it is a matter of honor among the Franj to keep their women virgins until marriage.”
Walking away from him and the bed, she shrugged, making certain the mantle did not slide off her shoulder. “That may be the way of the Franj, but I do not agree.”
He grasped her shoulders and spun her into his arms. “So, you cannot control your passions, fiery one?”
“No!” she cried. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
She could not escape from his lips as they ground down into hers as if he wanted to break her teeth. She moaned in terror; but as he drew away, she saw that he thought she shared his lust. Taking her hand, he jerked her toward the bed.
“Lie down, my fiery one.”
“No.” She was the daughter of the Earl of Heathwyre. She was a Hospitaller. She would not deny her past as Gabriel did. “Don’t touch me.”
His smile vanished, replaced by a fearsome scowl. His hand rose. She ran to the far side of the bed and reached for a knife that had been left by a tray of food.
“Lie down,” he snarled.
“No! I won’t do … that. You are a disgusting old bat and I will die before I let you touch me again.”
“Then you shall die, woman.” He pulled another knife from his robes. “What a shame it will be to kill one as lovely as you, but I cannot let you live after your insults.”
She wanted to scream. Karim Pasa would come in and save her. Wouldn’t he? Anything … anyone … She knew she was fooling herself. No one would interrupt.
He slashed toward her with the knife. She jumped back, then shrieked as she bumped into a table. It teetered and fell, tripping her. Conquest burned in his eyes as he rushed toward her.
She raised her knife and called out Heathwyre’s battle cry. He stared at her in astonishment. She scrambled to her feet and held the knife in front of her. She did not want to kill him. She only wanted to escape.
Again he tried to slice into her. With a curse, she drove her knife through his sleeve and into the bedpost. She turned to flee. Strong hands caught her, halting her. She fought to get away, but froze when she heard “Enough!”
She stared at Gabriel as he released her. Going to the bed, he pulled the knife from the caliph’s sleeve and tossed it onto a table.
The caliph growled and pushed past Gabriel, raising his knife again.
“Enough,” Gabriel repeated without emotion.
“She is mine,” the caliph argued. “It is as you agreed, de la Rive. The first of your women through that door was mine.”
Gabriel crossed the room and, with an eye-blurring motion, caught Melisande’s arm in his powerful grip. He ignored her wince as he said, “This is not one of my women.” He clapped his hands, and the door from the mabeyin opened.
Melisande stared as Karim Pasa and an obviously chastised Falla entered. The ikbal did not glance in her direction, and Karim Pasa’s face could have been carved from a tile.
Falla slithered across the floor and dropped gracefully to her knees at the caliph’s feet. She pressed her forehead to his sandals.
Yasin ibn Hayyan ignored her. He glared at Gabriel. “You intend to go back on your bargain? You said the first among your women. Is your Franj blood turning you into a liar?”
Melisande swallowed her gasp as Gabriel’s fingers dug more deeply into her arm. His face was as dispassionate as Karim Pasa’s, but the insult hurt him. Only now did she understand why he—like his father—had turned his back on the ways of the Franj. There was no common ground, just hatred. He could not be both; so, he had chosen the only world he had ever known.
“This is the one who calls herself my ikbal,” he said, his voice as tranquil as his expression. “Surely she is the first among my women.”
At the mention of Falla’s status in the harim, the caliph’s eyes glowed with anticipation. He bent and drew Falla to her feet. She did not protest as he pulled off her yashmak and pressed his mouth over hers. When Falla’s fingers slipped within his robes, he murmured, “It is agreed.”
Melisande stumbled as Gabriel pushed her toward Karim Pasa, who caught her and hurried her to the door. She teetered again when she heard Gabriel say, “I thought you would find this solution most satisfactory.”
“Come with me, milady,” Karim Pasa urged. His brawny arm herded her out of the bedchamber.
Groping for the single bench, she sat and leaned her head against the cool wall. As she closed her eyes and shivered, Karim Pasa lifted her yashmak to secure it over her face.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
When her hand was taken and pressed to smooth skin, Melisande opened her eyes to see Karim Pasa on his knees before her. She wanted to urge him to rise, to rejoice that she had been spared, but she had no strength.
“Forgive me, milady,” he whispered. “Punish me as you wish.”
“Why would I wish to punish you? I am sure you petitioned Gabriel on my behalf to arrange …” She waved at the door. “I would appreciate your opening the door to the harim.”
“No need, Karim Pasa. I shall assist her.”
Karim Pasa half-rose in an awkward effort to turn and bow to Gabriel at the same time.
Melisande glanced up in astonishment. Lost in the remnants of terror, she had not heard Gabriel come into the mabeyin.
Gabriel added nothing as the door to the harim closed behind Karim Pasa. Then he held out his hand. She put her fingers in his and let him bring her to her feet. She locked her knees, so they would not betray her.
“az-Zahra?”
She smiled. “I will be fine, Gabriel.”
“I was sure you would. You are a strong woman.”
“And you?”
“Me?” He seemed astounded by her question. A hint of a grin tilted his mustache. “I, too, am fine.”
She whispered, “Thank you.”
“This is not the place to speak of such things.” He glanced at the door behind him. His stiff jaw was accented by his ebony beard. “Let us go elsewhere.”
“Yes.” When he reached for the door next to his, she gasped, “Where are we going? The harim is through there.” She pointed to the door Karim Pasa had used.
Cupping her chin in his hand, he stared at her bemusedly. “Melisande, you have seen more of the world than anyone within these walls,” he said, “yet you have the innocence of a child. All the doors here, save the one to my rooms, open to the harim. The only way out of the harim is through my rooms.”
She shook her head. “You know that is not so. When I arrived here, you took me to my rooms through—” She stared as he opened the door to reveal her own bedchamber, which was filling with shadows as night slipped into the harim.
“I thought you would have argued about this with me before now.” He chuckled softly. “But it is clear you were so upset upon your arrival that you did not take note of the unique shape of the mabeyin then.”
She looked from her door to his. Only the bench separated them. “I had no idea your rooms and mine were so close.”
“Not close enough.” His fingers stroked her cheek as he drew her into her rooms. Shutting the door, he framed her face with his hands. “My az-Zahra …”
“How coul
d you let this happen?” cried a voice behind him.
Melisande rocked back against the door as Gabriel released her and turned. She saw Lysias kneeling by the bed, her face red where hot tears had scored it. “Go to her,” she whispered.
He touched her cheek again, then went to squat beside Lysias. “Do not weep, Mother.”
“How can I not weep when I see you being a fool?”
“A fool?” He glanced at Melisande, who edged toward them. “I believe I have never been so wise.”
“Is it wisdom to obtain the caliph’s help in halting the hill bandits by giving him the woman who haunts your dreams?” Lysias looked up when Melisande could not silence her gasp. “Melisande! Child, what are you doing here?”
Gabriel answered before she could. “Mother, I learned much from you and the shaykh.”
Melisande was baffled for a moment, then realized he spoke of his father. When Lysias began to smile, the twinkle in her eyes was identical to her son’s. He aided her to her feet. Her fingers touched his arm only briefly, but the affection between them was as clear as if it had been shouted from the wall.
“You have done well, my son.” She brushed her fingers against Melisande’s arm before walking out of the room.
Gabriel slipped his arm around Melisande’s waist. “It is not difficult to do well when the prize is so sweet.” His lips grazed her cheek.
She shivered with the longing that never could be hidden when she was in his arms. “The prize?”
“The prize you will give me for keeping you out of Yasin’s bed.” He scattered kisses along her neck.
“What prize is that?” she whispered, although she knew. Slipping her arms up his, she sighed when his tongue slid along her ear.
“The sweetest prize of all.” He sifted his fingers into her hair, tilting her head back so she was imprisoned once more by his hungry gaze. “Be mine, az-Zahra.”
“I cannot help you defeat the hill bandits.”
“You can help me satisfy this craving for the pleasure only you can give me.” His kisses against her eyelids were as hot as his touch. “Do not speak of the battles beyond these walls. When I ride the hills, I think often of being here.” In a voice thick with yearning, he said, “And I think of you, az-Zahra, and how your heart calls to mine to return to you and the welcome of your arms.”
No Price Too High Page 12
