“In a moment. I cannot see the ceiling when I’m wearing that. It falls in my eyes,” she returned, walking backward as she held up her finger. “Is that real gold in that line of tiles there?”
“Yes, milady, but you should wear this.”
“I am amazed at the perfection of the pattern. How could even a master artisan make sure every single tile is in the exact location through this whole hall? If—” She backed into Gabriel.
He caught her as she rocked on her feet. When she smiled at him, he relished the tightening of pleasure across him. He motioned for Karim Pasa to set the tcharchaf on the table and take his leave.
“The pattern isn’t perfect,” Gabriel said as he walked back toward the center of the hall with her. “Somewhere in the immense arc of the ceiling, there is a mistake. My mother taught me that no artisan aims for perfection, for perfection can be God’s alone.”
“Where is the mistake?”
“I spent hours as a child trying to find it, here and in my rooms.” He chuckled. “I never did.”
“So you don’t know if there really is a mistake in the pattern?”
“I know there is. Sometimes, one has to believe in things one cannot see.”
Like love. Melisande wanted to repeat those words aloud, but did not want to drive Gabriel from her side. In spite of his teasing, she noticed a tension in his motions. She went with him around the room and listened as he spoke of meetings he had attended here, first as a young man with his father, then leading them himself after his father’s death. She waited for him to speak of what was disturbing him, but he said nothing of that.
Footsteps raced toward them. She did not need Gabriel’s sharp warning, for she grabbed the tcharchaf from the table and draped the horrible black wool around her just as a man came into the hall.
She watched Gabriel’s face as the man panted out a message in rapid Arabic. She understood only one word. Franj.
As soon as Gabriel sent the man running to give his orders to the stronghold’s other defenders, she asked, “Are Franj coming here?”
“They are here. Return to the harim and remain there.”
“Gabriel, let me come with you. If—”
He drew back the wool over her head and tilted her mouth under his. “They come under a flag of truce. Mayhap they are only lost in the desert and seek shelter.”
“But if they are Franj, I should—”
He kissed her protests away with a dazzling fervor that left her breathless. “Go,” he whispered, his own voice uneven. “Do not return until I send for you.”
“Be wary.”
Grimly he drew the veils back into place. “If I have learned nothing else from you, az-Zahra, I have learned not to underestimate any Franj.”
Melisande’s feet were leaden as she went back to her prison. Pulling off the tcharchaf, she folded it over her arm. She would not need that in the harim.
She knew she had taken a wrong turn when she did not reach Gabriel’s door within minutes. After her bragging to him that she never was lost, she had become turned around in the labyrinth of corridors. She should have paid more attention when Karim Pasa had escorted her through the stronghold.
Hearing more footsteps, she sprinted toward the passage that she believed should lead to his rooms. She unfolded the tcharchaf to toss it over her head and draw it around her shoulders. It fell from her fingers as she saw a group of men walking past. Was this real or another dream?
She made no sound, but a tall, gray-haired man beside Gabriel stopped in midstep and gasped, “Melisande?”
SEVENTEEN
“Father.” Melisande could say nothing else as she stared at him. The journey east had added more gray to his hair and stolen weight from him so that his face above his uneven beard looked haggard. A scar she had never seen ran along his left jaw.
He stumbled two steps along the corridor. “Melisande, is that you?”
“Yes, Father.” She should greet him, ask him how his journey had been to Mukhdarr, urge him to tell her of his exploits at the walls of Acre, be grateful that he had survived the siege and battle. She could only stare.
His mouth twisted as he whipped off his cloak and tossed it over her shoulders. Dust rose from the wool, and she sneezed. Only habit released her from her shock enough so she could drop to her knees before him. She kissed his hand, then rose to offer her cheek. He tugged her to him, squeezing her until she gasped for breath.
“I feared for so long that you were dead,” he whispered.
“Geoffrey—”
He nodded grimly as he released her. “He should have heeded me and come to Acre with me. Just as you should have remained in Heathwyre.”
“I told you I intended to take the Hospitaller’s vow.”
“And I should have listened. Any other woman would have been simply bragging, but you …” He sighed. “If your brother had come with me to Acre, he would not have been in Tyre to help you with your insane determination to join the Crusaders. Melisande, you must realize that your vow to the Cross is not valid.”
“It is.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “I am a Hospitaller, Father.”
He drew his cloak more tightly around her. “You look more like one now.”
She realized this cloak was the one she had sewn for Father herself. The one she had given him when he took his vow to fight the infidels in the Holy Land. Across it was the white cross of the Hospitallers, the one that Gabriel had ordered her not to wear because it could mean her death.
Gabriel. Looking past her father, she saw Gabriel’s astonishment before all emotion vanished from his face. Why was he surprised to see Father here to buy her freedom?
Pain riveted her at the thought of leaving this mountain hideaway where her heart had found love. If Gabriel asked her to stay … Her fingers crinkled the Hospitaller cross on her father’s cloak. The woman who had sewn that on here before he left Heathwyre seemed like someone else. Then, things had been as simple as the black-and-white color of this cloak. She had planned to follow him to share this crusade. Dieu le veult. She had taken that vow to see evil banished from the Holy Land. Not even loving Gabriel could free her from that vow.
But to leave him now …
Melisande choked back another gasp of amazement when she saw who else stood beside Gabriel. Raymond Vaudrey. Why was he here instead of in his lovely home in Tyre? Mayhap he had been so burdened with guilt at persuading Geoffrey to ride with her to his death and had sought out Father to assist him in finding her. She wanted to believe that, but disquiet grew as she saw him running his fingers along the tilework on a wall as if he were the master of Mukhdarr.
She flinched when Gabriel shouted something in Arabic. All the Franj, save for Lord Vaudrey, reached for their sword belts. She put her hand out to halt her father, then realized that no sheath held a sword. They must have been left in the courtyard. A rumble of anger rolled through them, but Lord Vaudrey smiled. He clearly understood what Gabriel had ordered. She recognized the name he had spoken.
“Father, he only calls for a servant,” she said softly.
“To bring others to slay us?”
She shook her head. “Gabriel saved my life. He—”
“You should not speak of your captor with anything but contempt.” He eyed her up and down again. “What I see and hear disturbs me greatly, Melisande. I trust he has not forced you to do anything that would shame our family.”
“No, Father. He did not force me to do anything that would shame us.” Her voice quivered on each word. She spoke the truth, but she tried not to imagine how appalled he would be if he learned that she had given her heart and more to Gabriel.
He put his finger under her chin, a motion so familiar from her childhood that tears sprang into her eyes. “I have long trusted you to know the right thing to do, even when faced with the toughest decisions.”
Another rumble of disquiet raced among the men. Melisande turned to see Karim Pasa bowing to Gabriel.
“W
hat the devil …” gasped her father. “I have heard of men whose skin is as dark as freshly turned soil, but never have I seen one.”
Before she could answer, Karim Pasa walked toward her. He bowed to her as he had to Gabriel. She heard the whispers of amazement as he said in very correct Frankish, “Milady, I would be deeply honored to escort you from here so that you might ready yourself for the feast the shaykh shall have prepared for his guests.”
“Thank you.” She kept her voice as formal. “Father, I shall retire now to prepare myself. I shall see you—”
“Retire to where?” His eyes slitted, drilling into her.
“My rooms, Father. I am grateful that I have not suffered a moment in a prison cell, but have been well-treated here.” She looked at Gabriel. Why didn’t he say something to her?
When his gaze met hers, she nearly recoiled. She never had seen such fury in his eyes, not even when Abd al Qadir had slipped through his trap. She wanted to ask why he was furious. He had sent the ransom request to her father. Had he thought that Father would leave her here? The tears filled her eyes again. Mayhap he had hoped, as she had, that they never would have to come to this moment when they must become enemies once more.
Karim Pasa bent and picked up the tcharchaf that had fallen from her fingers. Offering it to her, he said nothing. She understood and wrapped it around her father’s cloak. She nearly stifled beneath the layers of wool, but the heavy veils covered the Franj symbol that was so abhorrent to those within this walls.
“Melisande …”
She looked at her father. “I shall speak with you soon.”
Melisande followed Karim Pasa as she had so many times before. Again the uncertainty surrounded her. She longed to look back and see some emotion other than anger in Gabriel’s eyes. She wanted his arms around her. She did not want to tell him farewell.
As Karim Pasa closed the door to Gabriel’s rooms, she started to ask a question. He silenced her and opened the door to the mabeyin. Bowing to her, he said, “Milady, Lady Lysias wishes to speak with you immediately.”
It no longer surprised her that, in spite of being confined within the walls of the harim, Lysias knew everything that was happening within the stronghold. Mayhap Lysias could give her some answers as to why Gabriel was acting as he was.
Melisande went into her rooms just as Lysias was coming in from the garden. Again she wondered how Gabriel’s mother knew so much of what was happening. Mayhap Gabriel had alerted her, but that made no sense. Too many questions surrounded her, bothering her like flies on a hot day, but there was only one she wanted to find an answer to: How could she leave Gabriel and her heart behind to go with her father?
“So it is true.” Lysias gasped. “The Franj are within our walls.”
“Do not fear.” Melisande took her hands and led her to a chair. “They are not enemies. My father leads them.”
“Your father?” All color drained from her face.
“Karim Pasa, get something for Lysias to drink.”
He poured some cooled water from a ewer and handed it to Melisande. Holding it up to Lysias’s lips, she smiled when Lysias mumbled that she did not need help to do something as simple as drink and took the goblet.
Sitting back on her heels by Lysias’s chair, Melisande sucked in a deep breath. She had not guessed she could smile now.
When Lysias asked a question in Arabic and Karim Pasa answered in the same language, Melisande bristled. “Why are you hiding your words from me?”
“I wished to know—”
For the first time, Melisande interrupted her. “You wish to know how my father received me and how I welcomed him.” She stood and shrugged off the tcharchaf. Tossing her father’s cloak atop it on the floor, she ignored their disquiet as the Hospitallers’ cross glared in the sunlight. “You, who have been my dear friends … you, who told me I could always depend on you … you do not trust me.”
“We trust you,” Lysias said, heaving herself to her feet. She turned her back on the cloak. “We trust you to do what you know you must.”
She flinched at the words that echoed her father’s. Since she had arrived at Mukhdarr, she had awaited this day when her father would come to ransom her. Now she wished it never had arrived. She was not sure what she should do or say, but knew that, when the two men she loved faced each other as enemies, a single mistake could be catastrophic.
Kalinin sat by the foot of the bed. “Melisande, you have looked at every bit of clothing. There must be something you can wear.”
“Nothing that will not upset my father.”
“Why does it matter so much?” She took a fig from a bowl Karim Pasa had brought, then held out the bowl to Lysias. “Once you wrap your tcharchaf around you, no one will see what you wear.”
“I cannot wear the tcharchaf. That would be certain to cause trouble.” She tapped her finger against her chin. “The clothing I wore when I arrived—”
“But those Franj clothes were destroyed long ago,” Lysias rejoined.
“Father was so distressed to see me dressed in the clothes I wear here.”
“As you were when you first wore them,” she reminded her. “He should come to understand, as you did, that you have done what you needed to.”
“I do not think he can. He sees only that I am robed as not even a harlot would be in England.”
“It matters not whether he can accept what you wear,” Lysias observed wryly. “Your choice is this or nothing. I know he would not approve of that.”
Reaching into another box, she pulled out a night tunic. “Mayhap, if you were to wear this over your clothes, he would not be so dismayed.”
Slipping it over her head, Melisande was not sure if this would make the situation better or worse. The fabric did cover her bare arms and abdomen, but its very sheerness suggested a sensuality that might add to her father’s disgust. If he were to learn it was a garment worn at night, he was sure to be outraged. Yet she saw no other choice, save to go naked as Lysias had jokingly suggested.
“Why did your father come here?” Kalinin asked.
Surprised, Melisande faced her. As this long day had passed, leaving her curious about what was being said between Gabriel and her father, that was one question she had not asked herself. “He would not have left me here once he knew where I was.”
“You are the ikbal. He should be proud of you.”
“If he finds that out, he will be shamed among his men.”
“But—”
Lysias put her hand on Kalinin’s arm. “Do not argue about what you know nothing of. Haven’t you learned from Melisande that the ways of the Franj are beyond our understanding? What honors Melisande here might truly be a cause for dishonor among the Franj.”
“I do know,” Kalinin said, surging to her feet, “that he should not have come here. Melisande was learning to be happy here. Now, look at her. She looks ready to weep.”
“I will not weep,” Melisande said, raising her chin because she was not sure if she were being honest. Tears burned in her eyes as they waited to fall.
“If the tears are of joy, you should release them.” Lysias folded Melisande’s hands in hers. “If they are tears of grief, you must never let them fall.”
“They are both.” She picked up a comb and ran it through her hair. “I want Gabriel to come through that door and tell me what is happening out there, but I dread what he will say.”
As if her words could work a spell, the door from the mabeyin came open. Karim Pasa bowed in the doorway. “Milady, your presence is requested.”
“Gabriel,” she gasped, dropping the comb on a table. Mayhap now she would understand, if nothing else, the astonishment on Gabriel’s face when she had greeted her father.
“The shaykh asks that you join him and his guests for this evening’s meal.”
“Oh.” She squared her shoulders as she had again and again during the day when the weight of her fears had pressed down on them. Her lips refused to tilt upward. “Thank y
ou, Karim Pasa.”
Lysias was not so circumspect. “A moment, Karim Pasa. What have you heard of how the shaykh received the earl and the other Franj?”
Melisande was not sure whether to be pleased or to sink into despair that Lysias had spoken in Frankish so that Karim Pasa would use the same when he replied.
“The earl and his men have been offered stabling for their horses for the night as well as rooms for themselves,” he said.
“For a single night only?” Melisande asked.
“That is how I have heard it ordered by the shaykh, milady.”
“That is good.” Kissing Melisande’s cheek, Lysias murmured, “I know you shall be returned to us for this night.”
Melisande looked from Kalinin’s cheeks, suddenly wet with tears, to Lysias’s strained smile to Karim Pasa’s blank face. They all believed she would be leaving before the sun set again.
She would be leaving, although she could not bear the thought of saying farewell to these dear friends … and Gabriel. A sob erupted from her middle, but she refused to let it past her lips.
“Milady, your presence is requested,” Karim Pasa repeated. The words that once had brought fear and then the anticipation of joy now sent sorrow careening through her.
Drawing her yashmak over her face, Melisande walked out into the mabeyin. She kept her gaze on the pattern of tiles along the floor as Karim Pasa opened the door to Gabriel’s rooms. Only when he opened the door to the chambers beyond did she raise her eyes.
She was the daughter of the Earl of Heathwyre. The blood of princes ran through her. She was a Hospitaller, a warrior who dared to face danger to satisfy her vow. No hint of fear must reveal the pain ripping apart her heart as she imagined leaving this place, never to return.
In spite of herself, when a shadow along the floor congealed into human form, she could not keep her breath from catching. She had seen Gabriel wear these elegant robes of purple and red only once before. Then, in the tent, she had not known if he would be her ally or her foe. She had been drawn to his handsome, chiseled strength, but could not have guessed how her heart would long to be his.
No Price Too High Page 18
