The Treasure

by Iris Johansen

  “Dear God, he’s a devil,” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m to be the pawn in this battle between you.” Her eyes blazed at him. “I won’t be a pawn. I won’t do this.”

  “Very well. Then at nightfall tomorrow, we won’t go to the tower.”

  “And what will happen?”

  “He’ll send a man to get you and I’ll kill him. He’ll send two and I’ll kill them too.” He added quietly, “But I cannot fight all of them, Selene. Eventually they will kill me.”

  “Nasim wouldn’t let that happen.”

  “Perhaps they’d not mean to kill me, but I’m very good. They’d have to kill me to take you against your will.”

  He meant it. “No, you should let them take me. Coupling is nothing. It would bring them no victory.”

  “Perhaps not.” He added simply, “But I could not bear it.”

  And he would die trying to prevent it, she realized in agony. “Is there no way to stop this? What if we go to the tower room and do nothing?”

  He shook his head. “There’s a peephole in the chamber next door that allows Nasim to observe when he wishes.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve watched too. Many times. Sometimes watching is exciting.”

  Heat stung her cheeks as she envisioned Kadar’s gaze on naked, writhing—“You’re as depraved as that wicked old man,” she said tartly.

  “In this, I may have been more depraved. That’s why he wants to lure me back to the sport.”

  “Sport? With women as prey?”

  He swore softly, “What do you wish me to say? Yes, I was hunter and women were prey. But I’ve never treated you as prey.”

  “But Nasim hopes you will.”

  “Of course, and I won’t lie to you. I don’t know how I’ll use you if you agree to Nasim’s demand. It’s too easy to lose control in the tower room.”

  “And satisfy that hideous man?”

  “And satisfy myself. I probably wouldn’t be aware of Nasim or anyone else.” He fell to his knees and curled up on his pallet on the floor. “There’s no value in talking any more. I’ve given you your choice. Think about it and give me your decision in the morning.”

  Choice? What choice? Kadar’s death or letting him have her body. She slipped into bed, pulled her gown over her head, and tossed it on the floor. Not only letting him have her body but having that loathsome old man watching them . . .

  Her gaze went to Kadar on the hearth. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. She always knew when slumber took him from her.

  Took him from her.

  The thought had come out of nowhere. No one could take what was not hers, and she had rejected him. Thinking of Kadar in that manner was merely habit. They were not joined. She belonged only to herself, and so did he.

  But if she went to the tower room, they would be joined in body if not in spirit. He would enter her as he did on that last night at Montdhu. He would touch her and ignite that odd, searing excitement.

  But that excitement had not lasted long, and when he had left her body she was still Selene. The world had not changed because they had coupled.

  But the world could change if Kadar was killed because she would not couple with him. If it meant so little, why was she refusing?

  Because she feared getting closer to him in any manner, feared that the bond she had broken would mend itself. Well, then she would have to reinforce the barriers she had raised, because she could not face the alternative.

  “Kadar.”

  “Yes.”

  “I will go with you to the tower room.”

  She saw his muscles stiffen, but he made no response.

  “But it must stop as soon as we see a way out.”

  “What if you decide you don’t want it to stop?”

  “I won’t do that.”

  He turned his back to her. “Tell me that after a week in the tower room.”

  The smell was sweet, musky, vaguely familiar, and coming from the tower room. Selene paused before she reached the top step. “What is that scent?”

  “Hashish. Do you know what it is?”

  “It smells . . . familiar.”

  “It should. Nicholas offered me hashish when I was at the House of Silk. He smoked it on occasion. It’s said to relax and heighten sensation.”

  “Did you take it?”

  “No, I was there to buy you. I had to keep my wits, and I knew what hashish could do to a man.” He stopped before the heavy oak door. “Nasim keeps it burning in a copper brazier here. You cannot help but breathe it in. It’s not as potent as smoking it from a pipe, but it will affect you.”

  “How?”

  “It relaxes, increases sensuality, makes everything more vivid.” He looked down at her. “Are you ready to go in?”

  “No.” Her hand was shaking as she reached past him and opened the door. “But I won’t be any better later.” She walked into the chamber. “If it must be done, let’s do it and get it over.”

  The chamber was round and surprisingly luxurious compared to the austerity of the rest of the castle. Only two candles lit the dimness of the room, but she could see richly patterned rugs warming the coldness of the stone floor; a tapestry portraying a lion hunt in the desert occupied the wall across from the door, and two divans heaped with silk pillows were set facing each other in the center of the room. “It doesn’t look like a room that belongs in this castle.” Her gaze was drawn to the far corner and the large copper brazier Kadar had mentioned. “I think I’m getting used to it. I don’t smell it anymore.”

  “I do.” He reached out and unfastened her cloak. It slipped from her shoulders to the floor. “Undress.”

  She stood unmoving. “Is he watching us?”

  He was swiftly disrobing. “Probably.”

  “From where?”

  “The tapestry. The lion’s eyes.”

  She wheeled to face the tapestry. In the dimness she couldn’t discern anything but an outline of the lion. “Are you sure he’s there?”

  “No, but I’m sure he’ll be there sometime tonight.”

  Nasim was there, watching. Now she could see a moist glittering where the lion’s eye should be. The helplessness she felt suddenly changed to fury. She would not let him win this victory. “I don’t care. Do you hear me, Nasim? I’m not doing this because you force me. This is by my will.” She pulled her gown over her head and kicked off her sandals. “I feel no shame. The shame is yours. Watch all you please, you foul old man.”

  “Selene.” Kadar was behind her. His hands fell on her naked shoulders. Warm, hard hands that sent a shock through her.

  She whirled and buried her head in his chest. The dark triangle of hair felt springy against her cheek. “I hate this,” she whispered. “He makes me so angry I want to punch a stick through that tapestry right into his eye.”

  “Ignore him.” He lifted her head and looked into her eyes. “Or show him that he truly has no power over this.”

  “Of course he does. I was lying.”

  “Then make it truth.” His head lowered slowly until he was only an inch away. His tongue touched her lower lip. “Help me and I promise you’ll forget he’s watching.”

  Her lip felt strange under the warm moistness of his tongue; heavy, swollen. Her breasts, pressed against him, were beginning to feel the same heaviness. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Be at ease. Relax.” He pulled her closer, his hands sliding around to knead her back. “It will be easier if you—”

  “You’re not relaxed.” She could feel his arousal pressing against her, hard, demanding.

  “I don’t have to be. You’ll recall, it’s vitally necessary that I’m not.”

  His hands slipped down to cup her buttocks. “I’m going to lift you. Put your limbs about my hips.”

  “Why—” She instinctively clasped him with her legs as he sank deep within her. Her eyes closed and she lost her breath. The sensation was tight, stretched,
hot. “What a peculiar—” He was walking. She grabbed hold of him. “Where are—”

  “Here.” He pressed her back against the tapestry. “Nasim can’t see here. Only straight ahead.”

  Nasim. She should be grateful he couldn’t see, but she couldn’t seem to think. She was only aware of Kadar inside her and the soft tapestry against her buttocks.

  And then she was aware of nothing but sensation, as Kadar began to lunge in and out of her with frantic force.

  Need. More. Move.

  She was making soft, frantic cries deep in her throat as the fever grew.

  He reached between them, his thumb seeking, finding.

  Her teeth bit into his shoulder to stifle a scream as his thumb pressed, teased, rotated. “Ah, you like it?”

  She couldn’t answer. The muscles of her belly were tensing and releasing with every movement, and the tension was mounting, growing.

  “Kadar, it’s—”

  “I know.” His hand left her and he was driving harder, faster. “Let it go,” he said through his teeth. “I’m trying, but I don’t know if—”

  Release. More fiery and climactic than anything that had gone before. She clutched him tighter. Tears streamed down her face.

  “Good,” he gasped. “Oh, God.” He plunged to the quick.

  She was vaguely aware of him shuddering, flexing within her, as she desperately held on to him.

  His chest was laboring as he fought for breath. “Are you all right? Did I—hurt you?”

  She didn’t know if she was all right or not. She felt as if she had been through a storm that had uprooted everything she knew and tossed it to the winds.

  “Selene?”

  “Not hurt. I’m—It was—”

  “Hush. It will be fine soon.” He left her body and shifted his hold. He was carrying her toward the divan.

  Softness beneath her. Kadar beside her, cradling her.

  “Before it was pleasant,” she whispered. “That was not—pleasant. It felt—I was not myself. I didn’t know it would be like that.”

  “No, pleasant isn’t the word. Much too tame.” He brushed his lips across hers. “But I think your pleasure was as intense as mine.”

  Yes, it had been pleasure, she realized. The sensation had been so intense that it had been hard to identify. “Will it be like that again? Is that what you feel all the time?”

  “The pleasure is deeper with you.” He cupped her breast. “But it will be like that again every time.”

  “Then I can see why you rutted with every woman in Scotland.”

  He chuckled. “I’m glad for your understanding.” He bent and ran his tongue over her nipple. “But I fear you’ve spoiled me for other women.”

  Her breast was swelling beneath his touch and she could feel a tingling between her thighs. “Are we going to—”

  “Soon. But the urgency is gone.” His fingers were delving between her thighs. “I thought we’d play a little first.”

  “Play?” At Nicholas’s there was no play. The coupling she had watched was quick, brutal, and then the man left the house of women as if his partner no longer existed. “What are you going to—”

  She arched upward with a cry as his fingers entered her and began to move. “You see?” Kadar whispered. “Play, Selene.”

  “You’re very good at this,” Selene said drowsily as she cuddled closer. “I believe I approve of your apprenticeship at that house in Damascus.”

  “I’m glad.” He brushed the top of her head with his lips. “At least one episode in my iniquitous past meets with your approval.”

  “But just because I liked it doesn’t mean anything has changed. It merely makes this . . . tolerable.”

  “Very tolerable.”

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “I wouldn’t presume.”

  A sudden thought struck her. Nasim. She had completely forgotten him. She glanced beyond Kadar’s shoulder at the tapestry. “Is he still there?”

  “No, not for hours.”

  She was indifferent, she realized in surprise. Kadar was right; by not allowing Nasim to matter, they had won a victory.

  “How do you know?”

  “I always feel when he’s near.”

  That terrible dark bonding between them. “When we were coupling?”

  “No, not then.” He chuckled. “I feel nothing but you.”

  “That’s good.” She relaxed against him again. “Should we go now?”

  “Not until dawn. Are you not comfortable?”

  Too comfortable. She was enveloped in a lazy haze of contentment. Strange to remember how nervous and fearful she had been when they opened that door those many hours ago. “Is it that hashish that makes me feel so happy?”

  “Partly.” His arm tightened around her. “Only partly.”

  He meant it was also because they were together. She shook her head. “It doesn’t change—”

  “Hush.” Two fingers touched her lips. “Rest now. I wish to show you one more road to pleasure before we leave here.”

  “Another? I didn’t dream there were so many.”

  “Did I forget to tell you of the whore from India who claimed that there were over a hundred ways of pleasure?”

  “I think she lied. It’s not possible.” She yawned. “And I’m too tired.”

  “Then sleep.” His voice was a deep, soothing murmur in her ear. “I’ll wake you at dawn.”

  She nodded, nestling her cheek against his shoulder.

  “Or before.” He whispered, “For she did not lie, Selene.”

  “YOU LOOK . . . ROBUST.” Haroun tilted his head, studying her.

  “Do I?” Selene moved her bishop.

  “You have fine color. I cannot see how this foul place can so agree with you.” The “fine” color deepened. “It does not agree with me. I hate it.”

  “So do I.”

  She glanced up from the chessboard. “Has it been very hard for you these last weeks?”

  “Not hard. You are kind, and Lord Kadar lets me go riding with him every day.” He bit his lower lip. “But it’s an evil place. I wish we could go home to Montdhu.”

  Poor Haroun. Why had she not noticed his distress and been more sympathetic?

  Foolish question. She had been aware of little going on around her. It was as if during the day she existed in a silken cocoon, sewing, spending time with Haroun, and . . . waiting.

  Waiting for the moment when Kadar would hold out his hand and they would walk up the curving stairs.

  When she would shed her gown and go into his arms.

  When he would show her another way to pleasure.

  “Lady Selene,” Haroun prompted, gazing at her in puzzlement. Oh, God, she must look as weak-kneed and meltingly soft as she felt. She hurriedly lowered her gaze to the chessboard. “Your move.”

  “I already moved.”

  “Oh, I see you did.” What was wrong with her? She felt as if she were seeing, feeling everything through a veil.

  Everything but Kadar.

  Kadar was holding out his hand.

  “We should talk,” she said.

  “Later. It’s almost nightfall.”

  Nightfall. The tower. Pleasure.

  Instinctively she rose to her feet.

  He took her hand. “Come.”

  He was smiling, but she could feel the tension in his body. It was as strong as the tension that gripped her own. Her breasts were swelling and the tingling between her thighs was beginning, although he had done nothing but touch her hand. Sometimes no touch at all was needed. He would look at her and she would be swept away in a storm of sensuality and anticipation.

  This was not good. She must force herself to think as well as feel. “I don’t see you anymore during the day. Where do you go?”

  “Anywhere.” They began to climb the steps. “Away from you.”

  “Why?”

  “I find I cannot draw the line at the tower. I can think of little else except coupling. You have to
have some rest.”

  She lost her breath. “I do not think this . . . healthy. I’ve never—Is it Nasim or the hashish?”

  He shook his head. “It is the two of us. I always knew it would be this way.”

  “It’s madness,” she whispered. She added haltingly, “I can think of little else either. Body should not rule the mind. It must stop.”

  “Tomorrow.” He opened the door of the tower room. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  Hashish.

  Silk.

  Mellow candlelight falling on the divan where they took pleasure.

  “Yes.” She slowly moved into the chamber. “Tomorrow.”

  He smiled. “After all, it’s only pleasure. What harm can—My God.”

  Her gaze followed his to the divan. “What is it?”

  “Nasim.”

  A slender whip with leather thongs lay on the soft cushions.

  Kadar walked slowly toward the divan.

  “Why is it here?” she whispered.

  He didn’t answer. He reached down and picked up the whip.

  “Kadar.”

  “Get out of here,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  He whirled toward the tapestry. “By God, no, Nasim.”

  He hurled the whip at the tapestry.

  The next moment he had grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the door. “Out.”

  The door slammed behind them and he half-pulled, half-pushed her down the curving staircase. He was cursing softly, venomously.

  “What’s happening?”

  He paid no attention to her.

  She stopped at the foot of the steps. “I’ll not go another step. Tell me.”

  He drew a deep breath, struggling for control. “We weren’t proving amusing enough to Nasim. He wanted me to use the whip on you.”

  “He wanted to punish me?”

  “He didn’t—It’s a form of coupling.”

  “What?”

  “Sometimes pain increases the intensity.”

  She stared at him, shocked. “For you?”

  “I’ve never liked it. Even with a woman who did.”

  “I cannot believe anyone would like it. As a child I felt the whip often and—”

  “I know. Just believe me. Some women do like it.” He pushed her toward the door to her chamber. “Lock the door. I’m going to talk to Nasim.”