William had thought it a pretty show. Her words, although they sounded bereft, were also the pragmatic truth. Without Heraclius’s wealth and protection, she would be thrown back on her own resources, and they would never amount to the privilege and power of her present position.
She had ridden in procession on the road for their leave-taking, but not at his side, and her garb had been rich but understated and plain. A good and modest wife bidding farewell to her dear lord. And the same on her return to the city—eyes lowered, her aspect almost that of a nun. William glanced at her several times, but she neither looked up nor acknowledged his presence.
William attended to stabling the horses. He helped Paschia to dismount and took Rakkas for her. She thanked him modestly and, with folded hands and downcast eyes, departed to her dwelling with Zoraya and her attendants. William saw to the palfrey himself, rather than leave it to a groom. It always soothed him to perform such tasks, to disengage from human and political social battles for a while and just enjoy the sweet hay-scented breath and nudges of a contented, glossy horse.
Hearing a soft sound behind him, he turned to discover Paschia standing in the stable doorway. The clothes of the modest widow had been replaced by those of the courtesan. The red silk gown clung to her figure from breast to hip and then flared out around her feet. A large golden tassel decorated the end of her belt. Her hair was covered by a light veil, but her braids hung below it, loosely plaited. The scent of spice and roses emanated from her skin. Around her neck, on a red silk cord, dangled a small but ornate door key. He had glimpsed her wearing the key before, but she was touching it now, and drawing his gaze to it deliberately.
“Madam?” He had to swallow, for his own throat was as dry as dust.
“Leave the horse to the grooms,” she said. “Come, I have something to show you. It is important,” she added when he hesitated.
He wondered what could be so important just a short while from Heraclius’s departure. Surely whatever it was could be dealt with by her uncle. He could almost taste the danger and suspected that if he took but one step, his fate would be sealed. “Then I am at your service, madam,” he heard himself croak.
She gave him a sultry look and her gaze flicked over him from head to toe. “Indeed, I hope you are.”
She led him down the steps and brought him to the patriarch’s domestic private chapel. Many of the fittings had departed with Heraclius on his mission, but a pair of candlesticks stood on the small altar along with a gilded cross set with pearls and garnets. The walls were painted with glorious frescoes detailing the life of Christ and the air was heavy with the scent of incense.
Going over to a heavy red-and-gold curtain hanging against one wall, Paschia hooked it to one side, revealing a small door scrolled in wrought iron. She took the key from around her neck and set it in the lock. “Few people know this is here,” she said. “And the only keys are mine.” She opened the door onto a narrow spiral staircase.
“Go on up,” she commanded.
William did so, his whole body alert with an awareness of danger. The treads were almost too shallow for his feet, and the light was like the world at dusk, although growing brighter as he climbed. Behind him, he heard Paschia locking the door.
At the top of the steps, another wrought-iron door stood open to provide light for the stairs and led into a small domed chamber. A bed stood in the center of the room, made up with an embroidered quilt and many colorful cushions. The sun shone rays of light through the high windows like the spokes of a wheel, and above and below, the walls gleamed with mosaic in vibrant colors. The room was only large enough for the bed and a simple table on which stood a jug and a dish of swirled glass holding grapes. A plinth ran all the way around the edge of the room and there were cushions on it, small glass phials and ornaments.
Paschia stepped in behind him and quietly shut the door, then leaned her back against it. “This is mine,” she said. “To do with as I wish and to have as my desire. It is my payment and my consolation for everything.”
Her breathing was swift, her eyes wide, dark pools. William knew with all his being that he should not be here, yet she was between him and the door, and there were tiny beads of sweat on her brow and that tender pulse beating in her throat.
“My lady, I—”
She moved then and pulled him to her by the front of his tunic. “I want to have you in my life,” she said fiercely. “Never have I desired anything so much as to lie with you on that bed and take you and discover who you really are in truth. I would know you underneath your clothes. I would know you as a woman knows a man. All the courtly words, all the flourishes and gestures, it all comes down to this, doesn’t it? I know you want me as much as I want you. You fight it, but why should you when I offer it to you freely?”
“I cannot…” he said. “Heraclius—”
“Is not here.” A note of bitterness crept into her voice. “I am a concubine. Heraclius bought my services from my husband for ten bags of gold bezants, and I had no choice but to go down on my knees and serve God’s vicar with my mouth. When my husband died, Heraclius offered me that position permanently. Oh yes, he rewards me with jewels and kindness—anything I want in return for what I do. But all that I have depends on his goodwill. I gave him no oath; I am not his wife, even if they call me ‘Madame la Patriarchess.’ I see the looks in their eyes and I know what they think I am worth.”
“And what of that goodwill now?” William asked hoarsely. “Are you not afraid to lose it?”
She tightened her grip on him. “He will never know. This chamber is a separate place that has no part in the world beyond that door—ever. To each one, the other does not exist. I want to share this with you—now.”
He would have to move her aside in order to stumble down the stairs to freedom. The danger, the knowledge that this was wrong, warred with intoxicating desire stronger than he had ever known. In showing him this room, she had led him to more than just a secret chamber. And now she was asking him, “Do you dare to do this?”
He put his hand on her shoulder, whether to stave her off or draw her in he did not know, but just the act of touching her, the feel of the thin silk under his fingers, was like a shock of heavy lightning through his bones. She stepped into his body, curling one arm round his neck and stroking her other hand firmly down between them, knowing exactly what she was doing. William gasped and caught her wrist. She undulated her hips.
“So,” she whispered, her mouth a fraction from his, “what lies beyond your deeds of prowess in the tourney and your fine words as a courtier? Are you my match, or are you unequal to the task, my fine English knight?”
She parted her thighs a little and pushed her hips forward. William closed his eyes for one last moment of resistance and then broke and gave way. “Perhaps you are not my match,” he said hoarsely, and stepped off the edge into the maelstrom.
Without quarter given, the bed became a boil of activity, like a cauldron set over a hot fire. She was lithe and sinuous, experienced and highly skilled. She knew exactly what she wanted, and he was determined that she would have it, but in his own time and not to her dictates but his. They were creatures of a kind, strong willed, fierce, ravenous, each determined to have the mastery. Riding him, tight as the coils of a serpent, she demanded to know if he was ready to yield, and William, damp with sweat, laughed and rolled her over in a wrestler’s move so that she was pinned under him. “Are you?” He held her still, hips flattened to hers while the moment settled. Her pupils were dilated, her body glistening, and all her wild hair unleashed around them like a dark sea. He was near the edge, so near, but it couldn’t end yet, not like this. She returned his laugh, and he felt it ripple through his body.
“Why?” She licked her lips. “Do you lack the stamina? We have barely begun.”
Withdrawing from the fray, he went to pour a cup of wine from the flagon on the plinth, giving hims
elf a respite. “I lack no more stamina than you,” he said, striving not to sound too breathless. He offered her the cup, keeping it in his hand, and they exchanged slow kisses for wine. He dribbled the last of the cup over her body and leaned over her to lick it off with the point of his tongue, delicate as a cat, until she cried out, head thrown back, and clutched him, digging her nails into his arm as her body spasmed.
Panting, flushed, slick with sweat, her lips parted in a wild smile. “Oh yes,” she said. “I was not wrong about you.” With a sudden move, she was out from under him, straddling him again, and now moving with an inexorable rhythm like the waves of an incoming tide. Now slow, now fast. “Do you yield?” she demanded.
“Never!” he gasped, on the brink but determined to hold out. “But I would settle for a truce.”
“A truce?” She slowed down, circling her hips. “Well now, that is an interesting proposition.” She caught one side of her lower lip provocatively in her teeth and shook back her hair. “It has merits, I admit.” She stopped moving for a moment and it was almost his undoing, because now there was only one point of focus. “A truce while terms are negotiated to mutual satisfaction perhaps?”
He tightened his stomach and reached to her, languidly stroking.
“Very well.” She laughed breathlessly. “I accept… Acceptance is better than yielding, isn’t it?”
He was beyond reply except for a brusque nod, every muscle straining and rigid. He rolled her over again in a sudden flurry and buried his face against her shoulder, letting go with a muffled sob of relief and pure pleasure while she wrapped her legs around him and clung and cried out a second time.
Eventually, he found the strength to flop over onto his back and recover his breath. She followed him, nuzzling up under his armpit, and kissed his chest. William gazed at the jeweled light shining down through the top of the dome and then angled his head to look at her. It had been a long time since he had lain with a woman, and that had perhaps sharpened the sensations, but even so, he had never experienced anything so intense. It was like being taken by a storm tide, pulled far out of his depth to the point of drowning, and then being flung back onto a damp seashore in a sparkle of air and spray. A new seashore, with a different landscape, and although it was beautiful, it was not a safe place to be. And he too was changed—his horizons expanded somehow.
She smiled up at him, glistening like a mermaid. “Well,” she said, “as truces go, that was very closely negotiated—on both sides, although perhaps I was lenient.”
He laughed and wound a strand of her hair around his forefinger. “Ah, but I was giving you leeway.”
“Is that so?” She curved her leg over his thigh. “Now I have part of my answer to what lies beyond your tourney skills and courtesy.”
“And that is?”
“Shall I say that you have potential.”
He felt her smile against his chest. “I shall take that as a compliment. What do you mean by ‘part’ of your answer?”
She raised herself to look at him. “Because there is more to know. More layers to reveal. You do not show yourself easily.”
William raised his brows. The image was erotic, but he was not sure that he wanted to be stripped down until he was raw. Layers worked together for a purpose. But then she too had more to reveal—should he wish to discover. She was accustomed to reading people and part of the challenge was his resistance to her. Not that he had succeeded particularly well today, and she had not wasted any time. “Neither do you, my lady, although I too have come to a better understanding.”
“Such as?” She tickled his chest with a strand of her hair.
“Such as how determined you are to have your way. Such as the risks you are willing to take—although I fully admit to taking risks myself. And such as the power you wield.”
“Ah, power.” She stretched lazily. “That is more and less than you think. All my life, I have had to live by my wits—I suppose you have too.”
He nodded. They were alike in several ways. They had risen by their own efforts, although it was more difficult for a woman. He used his weapons and she used hers. There was always that hunger and uncertainty, the knowledge of how it all might be taken away.
“That is why we recognize each other, even if we do not know everything. We are kindred spirits.” She sat up and folded her arms around her raised knees. “Heraclius is good to me. He is kind and generous—indeed, he loves me. I live a privileged life, and his position protects me, but I am not betraying him, and neither are you.”
William grimaced. He was not so sure about that, did not want to think about it.
Her gaze lost its wild tenderness and grew hard. “I told you that he bought me and it is true. I was trained very young in the arts of pleasing men—when I was still a child in many ways. My husband and my family used me to sweeten their clients—rich silk merchants, traders in pearls and gems. They would come to our house in Nablus, and I would have to entertain them so that my husband and my father made a profit on their goods.” Her lip curled with disdain. “I came to Heraclius’s attention when my husband sold cloth to his household. Heraclius would buy me for a night, a week, sometimes a whole month. My uncle Zaccariah would broker the arrangement and take his share—he still does after a fashion. When Heraclius’s duties called him away, I was returned to my husband, who then sometimes sold me to other men if the asking price was right, and my uncle would finalize the deals.” Her gaze challenged him, fierce and defensive. “You are not shocked?”
William grimaced. “It was my father’s duty to deal with the concubines at the court of King Henry’s grandsire, and I heard some of their stories—many were similar to yours.”
Her eyes filled with bleak pain. “When Giovanni died, Heraclius took me in and I became his official concubine. I have made a niche for myself. I serve him. I listen to him, rub his feet, lie with him when he wishes, comfort him, run his errands, spy through keyholes for him. I perform all the duties of a wife, yet I am no wife and can never be.” She raised her head to look round the domed chamber, a bitter twist to her smile. “Do you know how I came by this room?”
“You said it was your payment, my lady.”
“Heraclius wanted to have me to himself after Giovanni died, but I refused him. I said I wanted his recognition of my standing to him personally—something that was mine alone, beyond the jewels and the silks. He gave me this chamber above his chapel, and only I have the keys. That is his covenant to me. He used to hold meetings here and store some of his robes, but now it is mine.” She left the bed to refresh the cup. “Do you know why else I brought you to this chamber?”
William shook his head.
“Because while Heraclius is away, I may live my life as I choose, providing I am discreet.” She tapped her breast for emphasis. “As I choose,” she repeated. “Otherwise, I have nothing. All the silk and finery in the world to make a gilded cage for my youth? Heraclius is forty years older than I am…and do not say I have a choice, because I do not, unless I want to starve or be murdered.”
He took her meaning, but again, it was a notion to avoid. As to his own choice: He could have walked away. He could have left Jerusalem and gone to the Templar preceptory at Acre long before this moment—and at the back of his mind, unacknowledged until now, he had known for a long time that it would come to this.
She began to dress, and he admired her supple body and the lustrous dark hair that she gathered in handfuls and wove with swift expertise into a plait. The delicacy of her neck. Her breasts. He remembered them in his hands, round and soft but firm. And the rest of her. He wanted to draw her against him and do what they had done all over again.
She smiled and, leaning forward, drew aside the sheet to expose his body. “It is time to go,” she said, but her eyes lingered upon him, assessing, and William opened himself to her study, making no move to cover himself. Her lips twitched. “You ar
e like a big, relaxed lion,” she teased. “Do you know, I saw lions mating once in the Judaean desert. It is a sight to behold for sure, and you tempt me greatly, but we must be gone from here. People will miss us soon.”
William slowly reached for his own clothes. He had recovered enough to think that he might be persuaded into another battle for mastery, but he supposed she was right. “Who else comes in here?”
“Only me,” she replied. “And Zoraya, but she is discreet. No one else.”
“But surely people know it exists?”
“Yes, but they do not come here—none has the right, not even my uncle. It is my private concern.” She unfastened the silk cord from around her neck and dangled the key. “People can hold you to ransom even if you trust them. They can be bribed, or they can speak out of turn and give you away. The less they know apart from what you want to tell them, the better.” She stood on tiptoe to fasten the ties on his shirt with swift fingers.
He put his hands on her waist and kissed her. She responded with enthusiasm before pulling away and descending the stairs. At the foot, she unlocked the door but did not open it yet. Instead, she pressed the key to her lips before slipping the cord around his neck. “It is yours now. I have anointed it with my kiss and made you the custodian.” She tucked it down inside his shirt. “Show it to no one. I shall find a way to let you know when to come here to me.” She gave him a melting look, her eyes dark and soft. “You should know that I have never given this key to anyone else. I promise you that is true.”
William caressed her cheek. “It is a great gift, my lady.”
Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. “You do not know how great yet, but perhaps in time you will learn.” She raised the end of her belt and gently brushed his lips with the golden silk tassel on the end. “Let me leave, and wait awhile before you go. We must not be seen in the same vicinity because tongues wag at court and there are always people watching. We must be utterly discreet.”
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