“Where’s your whore?” Leila hissed angrily, his treatment of her going against everything she held decent. That a man not her husband should be holding her like this! It wasn’t right!
“If you mean Refaiyeh, she sleeps alone,” came his dark reply, his arm tight around her waist, robbing her of breath. “That you speak so ill of someone who has treated you kindly makes her ten times more the lady than you.” He jerked her hard against his chest. “Never call her that again or you shall rue it, my lady,” he spat.
Leila gasped for air when he slightly loosed his hold on her, embarrassed deep down in her heart that she had even said such a thing about Refaiyeh. She had sensed the woman’s kindness earlier, but Guy’s threat was like bone-dry kindling to her rage, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
“Surely I could not escape in the time it would take her to spread her legs for you—”
Leila was on her back so suddenly that her head spun, his hand clamped over her mouth. She stared up at his face lowered to within inches of her own, his eyes all glitter and fire in the moonlit darkness.
“Another word, Leila, and I …”
She gulped, wondering wildly at his unfinished warning and the humorless chuckle that broke from his throat as he removed his hand. Before she could blink, his mouth came down hard on hers.
Completely startled, Leila flailed her hands against his massive shoulders to push him away, but it was like trying to move a mountain. His overpowering strength was as relentless as his tongue, which thrust deeply inside her mouth. She cried out at his savage assault, but their lips were so fused she heard only a whimper. Yet it became a husky moan when he explored her mouth hungrily, his tongue forcing hers to partake in a wild, serpentine dance.
New and dizzying sensations poured through Leila’s body, their intimate dueling overwhelming her. She felt as if she was spiraling back into thin air, her thoughts in chaos, her limbs tingling and weak. His mouth was hot and demanding. The taste of him was incredibly exciting. Nothing in her harem training could have prepared her for this. Nothing.
She had practiced kissing with a specially trained eunuch under Majida’s watchful eye. There had been no fire, no passion, only technique. She would never have guessed the difference could be so glaring, so unreal. So amazingly wonderful. Without thinking, she delved her tongue into his mouth, seeking more of his seductive sweetness …
Reality suddenly came crashing in around her when she heard Guy’s ragged groan and felt his hand cover her breast. Realizing too late the insane folly of her wanton action and wholly shocked at herself for even doing such a thing, Leila tried futilely to twist away from him.
“No!” she cried hoarsely against his mouth, her heart hammering. “Stop!”
But he did not stop. As he deepened the kiss, his caresses grew rougher, more insistent, his thumb circling the rigid nipple straining against her silk dress. Leila arched her back, stunned by the incredible pleasure she found in his touch. She knew it was wrong that she should feel this way—Sweet Jesu, he was not her husband!—yet she could not help it. Then she heard a ripping sound, and her mounting desire became raw panic as the sheer silken barrier slipped from her body. His hand, huge and warm, slid over her bare flesh.
Terrified, Leila began to fight him in earnest, all the horrible stories she had heard about crusaders running through her mind. He was going to rape her!
She balled up her fists and beat upon his shoulders, but her frantic blows might have been those of a child for the little notice he gave them. It wasn’t until he tore his mouth from hers and kissed a fiery trail down her throat that she was able to exclaim breathlessly, “No, you cannot do this! I am not a whore to be taken when and wherever you choose! I am a virgin! I demand you stop at once! “
Guy’s whole body tensed, her impassioned words ringing in his ears. Breathing hard, he uttered a low curse as he lifted his lips from her silky skin.
What the hell was he doing? He had only wanted to silence her poisonous barbs, to frighten her a little into behaving, not ravage her. But her kiss had astounded him, setting his blood on fire and his loins ablaze with need. When her tongue darted boldly into his mouth …
Guy cursed again. He knew she was no whore, but perhaps she was no innocent either. Slowly he lifted his head and met her wide, frightened eyes.
“You don’t kiss like a virgin, my lady … though that is what your mother claimed you to be. Is it possible your heathen betrothed has already sampled your charms?”
Indignation swept away her fear. Leila was so outraged that she could not stop the tumble of words that jumped to her tongue.
“How dare you even suggest such a thing?” she snapped, swiping strands of hair from her flushed face. “In my culture, virginity is highly prized and to be saved for the wedding night! So, too, are the sensual arts I have been taught to please my future husband, Jamal Al-Aziz. They are for him alone! It is a sin for a woman to use these arts on anyone but her husband—”
“Then you have just sinned, my lady,” Guy cut in thickly, his desire only heightened by her astonishing revelation.
A virgin trained in erotic arts. No wonder her kiss had been so experienced. Intensely fascinated, he let his imagination run wild, his vow to protect her pushed to the recesses of his mind. What arts might she practice upon him if he continued his carnal assault? What further sins, beyond a kiss, might she commit?
Leila gasped, wishing she could retract her outburst when his calloused palm moved over her bare breast. She had only made the situation worse! Then he bent his head and captured an aroused nipple in his mouth, and she nearly cried out as forbidden pleasure rippled through her. It was not right that he was doing this to her! She had to stop him!
“Barbarian! Beast! I should have known you wouldn’t understand!” she shouted desperately, hot tears filling her eyes. “That you would force yourself upon me proves you have no morals! No honor!”
At last her agonized protest cut through Guy’s raging desire like a knife, and he raised his head from her breast.
Seeing her tears in the moonlight, he felt anger sweep through him, mixed with chagrin at his inability to control himself. By God, what was the matter with him? He was acting more like a barbarian than like her guardian knight. Steeling himself against the burning ache in his loins, he shifted onto an elbow, although he kept his other arm firmly around her waist.
“You are wrong about my honor, Leila,” he sought to explain, knowing how lame it sounded in light of his callous behavior. “If I didn’t possess any, I wouldn’t stop now, no matter what you called me. But I am not a barbarian. In my culture, virginity is also prized. When I became a knight I pledged to protect all women, their honor, their chastity—”
“Your actions belie your words!” she flung at him, and rightfully so, he realized.
“This is true,” he admitted, almost to himself. “Your beauty alone overwhelms me, but when combined with your kiss …”
“I can imagine you’ve used that excuse on many other unfortunate virgins before me,” Leila replied sharply, unconvinced. She looked away, but he forced her chin back to face him.
“Do not provoke me, Leila. It was such a tone that first drew my wrath. I strongly urge you to behave, or I might lose control of myself again. Now go to sleep.”
Stunned, Leila felt she was choking on the stark emotion crawling up her throat, her chest rising and falling rapidly from the strain. As Guy drew her closely against him, it was all she could do to lie there without shrieking at him.
His dark threat churned like bile in her heart. That he would threaten to use his kiss, his touch, his body as punishment reinforced the opinion she had nurtured long before she had ever beheld his face.
He was nothing but a barbarian—ruthless, coldhearted, and cruel. She hated him and all his kind.
Given time, she would show him how much.
Chapter 10
It was dark in the room when Leila felt someone shake her shoulder. She yawn
ed, her eyelids fluttering, then she snuggled deeper into the pillow.
“Go away, Nittia,” she murmured, her dream luring her back into sleep. “Leave me alone … Oh!”
Leila sat bolt upright, dazed, her derriere smarting where someone had pinched her. She could see nothing in the blackness, but she heard breathing and a rustling movement and she suddenly remembered … everything. Then a light flared and an oil lamp was lit, illuminating Guy de Warenne, who was standing beside the bed and smiling down at her in a most disconcerting fashion.
“How—how dare you!” she spattered, snatching together what was left of her dress. It did little good. With him so close and staring at her like a ravenous wolf, she felt naked and vulnerable.
“How dare I indeed,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his sword belt. “Forgive my errant fingers, my lady, but it was the quickest way I knew to rouse you, other than a ki— “
“So I am awake!” Leila blurted, looking away as her cheeks grew hot. “I thought we were leaving at sunrise,” she said testily. “It is still dark.”
“Exactly. You have one half hour to bathe and dress in your new clothes, then I will come to fetch you. At the cock’s crow we will set out for the harbor.”
Leila’s gaze swept the shadowed chamber. “I see no bath. No clothes.”
“Alas, there wasn’t time to prepare enough hot water for a full bath for you.” He strode around the bed to the brass-fitted chest she had used in her escape attempt and gestured to a tall pitcher and a glazed clay basin placed atop the closed lid. “Your bath, my lady,” he said, pouring steaming water into the basin. “There is a sponge here, scented soap, and a towel. Everything you need—”
“And my clothes?” she queried haughtily, lifting her chin.
He merely smiled. “In the chest. While you dozed in the garden last night, Hayat replaced the contents with things you will need for our journey, things I bought for you with some of your mother’s jewels.” He tapped the lid. “This chest and everything in it now belong to you.”
Leila offered no thanks, just glowered at him.
Guy shrugged and walked to the door. “A half hour, my lady.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“Good. Hayat will arrive shortly to help you dress. Before coming to this house she served an Englishwoman residing in Tyre. She knows how to garb a lady.”
“And where will you be, my lord?” Leila asked archly, her mind spinning with desperate possibilities for escape. “With your Refaiyeh, bidding her farewell?”
Guy stopped and studied her, a glint of anger chasing the amusement from his eyes. “We have said our goodbyes. Refaiyeh has gone to her brother’s home. You will not see her again.”
“Oh,” Leila said, her plans deflating at this news. She lowered her chin, watching him surlily through her thick sable lashes. “‘Tis plain you care for this woman. If so, how can you leave her … unless you have a wife who might object to an Arab concubine?” She bit her lip, the words out before she could stop them. She silently cursed the curiosity that had gotten the better of her.
Guy seemed momentarily amused by her question, then his expression grew hard as if he sensed some malice behind it. “In England we have no concubines, nor do I have a wife,” he said flatly. “I gave Refaiyeh a choice, and she has decided to stay in Acre. Not that it is any business of yours.” He glanced impatiently at the chest. “The water grows tepid, my lady. Perhaps you might occupy your mind with your own affairs.”
Affronted by his churlish tone, Leila said nothing as he left the room, then muttered heatedly, “I’m not surprised Refaiyeh chose not to come with us., Any woman would be a fool to traipse after a boorish lout like you! ” She was surprised he did not have a wife, however, and was pondering this revelation when Guy opened the door slightly.
“Just a warning, Leila. Your beautiful face is easily read, even by us boorish louts. Do not think to escape through that grille again. I’ll be right outside. If I hear any suspicious noises, you can be sure the gift of privacy I’ve granted you this morning will be instantly forfeited.” He smiled roguishly, his tone growing lighter. “Watching a woman bathe is a favorite pastime of mine, so you have been duly cautioned. Oh yes, and enjoy the hot water. We won’t have such a luxury again until we reach Marseilles.”
“Bastard!” Leila fumed, throwing back the coverlet as he shut the door.
She sprang from the bed and stripped out of her torn dress and sirwal, then hurried to the chest and bent over the basin, her teeth chattering in the damp morning chill. Eagerly she dipped the sponge in the hot water and sighed with pleasure as she ran it along one arm and down a firm breast.
A sound just outside the room, like a boot scraping on the floor, caused her to freeze, and she glanced fearfully over her shoulder, expecting Guy to enter the room at any moment. When he did not, she turned with relief back to the basin, but her earlier enjoyment was gone.
She bathed quickly, not even the rose-scented soap lifting her spirits. The desperation that had plagued her yesterday reappeared with a vengeance, and she began to think of what lay ahead, the future seeming like a black, yawning pit before her.
The only brightness lay in a single fervent hope within her heart that she might yet escape and return to Damascus. Until she was on that ship she would not give up trying … No, not even then.
Leila jumped at the soft knock on the door, the sponge hitting the floor with a squelch. “Who—who is it?” she called out, darting into a shadowed corner.
“Hayat.”
“You may enter.” Fearing Guy might glimpse her nakedness, Leila remained in the comer until Hayat closed the door and stepped further into the room, then she asked her in Arabic, “Is he still out there?”
“Yes, my lady—”
“Not English. Please, speak to me in your native tongue,” Leila insisted, walking into the light where the slave girl could see her.
Hayat nodded solemnly, watching Leila with big, dark eyes. “If you wish, mistress. Have you finished your bath? “
“Yes.” Leila sighed, sensing she would receive no help from this small slave. Hayat’s admiration for Guy was written all over her young face, and the girl had practically glowed with adoration at that wretched tavern. What was it about a sword-wielding, long-haired barbarian that could set a young girl’s heart to fluttering? It was beyond Leila’s understanding.
“Lord de Warenne said you must dress quickly, mistress,” Hayat murmured, setting the pitcher and basin on the floor and lifting the lid of the clothes chest. “The wagon will be here soon to take you to the ship.”
“I’ll dress as slowly as a tortoise if I please, Lord de Warenne and his ship be damned!”
Hayat gasped but kept about her work, pulling several long garments from the chest. Her voice sounded very shy as she said, “Lord de Warenne asked me to tell you that another of his favored pastimes is watching a woman dress, mistress.”
Leila gasped, shocked that he would order a child to say such a thing, yet she took this latest threat to heart. She grabbed the clothes Hayat held out to her, her expression baffled as she examined them.
“What are these?” she demanded, holding up a pair of gray silk stockings.
“Hose, mistress. Please, sit upon the bed and I’ll show you.”
Leila reluctantly sat down and watched as the slave girl deftly drew the stockings over her legs and secured them above her knees with matching silk ties. She turned her left leg to one side and then the other, scrutinizing the strange casings. She decided she didn’t like hose at all.
“I will not wear them!” Leila declared just as the door was cracked and Guy’s deep voice startled her.
“Another outburst, my lady, whether in Arabic or English, and I will finish Hayat’s task myself. In a few moments I will open this door, and I shall expect to see you dressed as a true English lady.”
The door slammed shut again, and Leila’s face turned as white as the bed sheets she had grabbed to cover
herself. She released them and rose shakily, her lips drawn tightly together, saying not a word as Hayat handed her each mysterious article of clothing.
“A chainse, my lady. Your undergarment.”
Leila slipped the thin linen shift over her head, her fingers touching raised embroidery as she smoothed the low rounded neckline. “Where are the sirwal?” she asked, feeling the bottom hem of the chainse brush her toes.
“No sirwal, mistress. There are no pants at all.”
“Savages,” Leila muttered, shocked. That she was to go about with no covering for her lower body was too indecent to consider.
“Your kirtle, my lady.”
Leila felt numb as she drew on the sky-blue silk gown. Hayat’s hands expertly smoothed the rippling folds which also fell to the floor, then the slave girl adjusted the long fitted sleeves and simple collar, saying in a hushed voice, “Ah, how beautiful you are, mistress. Lord de Warenne will be pleased.”
Leila did not waste any breath responding to that last comment. She didn’t care two whits if the crusader was pleased! What about her? She wanted to wear the clothes to which she was accustomed. She wanted her family, her home!
She watched stonily as Hayat moved behind her and wrapped a girdle embroidered with silver thread around her slender waist. The girl crossed the flat belt in back and then brought the long, tasseled silk plait attached to each end forward to below her hips, where they were knotted and left to dangle down the front of her gown.
“Your slippers, mistress,” Hayat said, rushing back from the chest and setting the leather footwear on the carpet before her.
Leila slid them on, deciding the buttery soft slippers were the only comfortable thing she was wearing. She felt trussed up and smothered by her foreign garments, regardless of the silk gown’s light weight.
“If you would kindly sit again, mistress, so I may brush your hair.”
“I can do that myself,” Leila snapped, but quickly regretted her harsh tone at the slave girl’s hurt expression. None of her misfortune was this child’s doing, she chided herself. “Why don’t we do this?” she suggested more kindly. “After I brush my hair, you may braid it if you’d like.”
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