Guy inhaled Leila’s clean rose scent, the heady fragrance heightened by her futile struggles.
His captive rose … and so she would remain until they reached England. For despite everything she had told him, nothing had changed. He would never let her go.
“Shhh, Leila,” he whispered in her ear, holding her close though she fought him with all the strength her delicate frame possessed. She was virtually trapped in his arms, yet still she writhed furiously, desperate to be free. She must have felt the ship’s movement, too, for she began to weep harder.
“I hate you! I hate you!” she shouted, her voice hoarse from sobbing.
With her cheek pressed against his chest, Guy could feel her hot tears soaking through his tunic to his skin, her curled fists still attempting to bruise him though he held one to his lips and the other behind her back. “Listen to me, Leila,” he crooned over her heartrending cries. “You must believe that what your mother did was for the best. You must look ahead, not behind. Shhh, Leila, love. Shhh …”
Suddenly it all proved too much for her. As Leila crumpled in his arms, Guy picked her up and gently laid her down with him on the bed. He held her tightly, whispering to her, murmuring her name … cradling her long after the ship had left the rocky shores of the Holy Land far behind them.
Chapter 11
It was almost two weeks into the voyage before Leila felt well enough to sit up in bed. She did so with great difficulty, gritting her teeth against the ever-present queasiness in her stomach and the woozy feeling in her head. She would have sunk back down upon the mattress if not for Guy lifting her beneath the arms until she was half-reclined upon a brace of plump pillows.
“Is that better?” he asked, taking a seat in one of the high-backed chairs that had become a permanent fixture beside the bed.
Leila turned to face him, nodding weakly. There were lines of strain and weariness around his deep blue eyes, and his handsome features were so clouded with concern that she was touched, though she would never have admitted it. Just as she would never understand how this same hardened giant of a crusader who had threatened and bullied her aboard this ship could have such gentle hands.
Strange, the workings of kismet.
Since they had sailed from Acre she had become the near helpless patient and Guy the attentive provider of care. He had scarcely left her side, nursing her through wretched bouts of seasickness that she believed had come close to ending her life, though he still contended that she was not dying, only suffering from a malaise common to many seafaring travelers.
The past days were much of a blur but for that recurring, almost comical argument, and she would have laughed if she had the strength. Instead she sighed, chagrined by her own lack of mettle. Now that she was feeling somewhat better, it was clear she had overreacted.
“Do you want another pillow?” Guy offered, misreading her reproachful sigh for one of discomfort. He started to rise, but she shook her head.
“No, these two are enough,” she insisted, giving him the slightest of smiles as he sat down heavily and ran his callused fingers through his long hair.
In the bright afternoon sunlight streaming from the window above her head, she could see how the blond streaks had faded, turning his hair predominantly brown. She imagined it would easily lighten again once he spent more time out-of-doors, doing whatever English knights did to occupy themselves when they were not off crusading across the seas.
Wondering what that might be, Leila met his eyes. Her cheeks warmed as she realized he was studying her just as intently. Despite his evident fatigue, his expression was open and relaxed and his gaze curious, as if he sought to discern what she had just been thinking.
“I will have to teach you some courtly etiquette before we arrive at Westminster,” he said conversationally, breaking the awkward silence. “You blush too easily, my lady. You will have every unmarried knight at court hovering around you like keen-eyed hawks sensing a gullible and most delectable prey.” He gave a dry laugh. “Most likely the married ones as well.”
Leila lowered her eyes, amazed that no cutting remark came to mind when his comments were so ripe for one. It seemed her sickness had lowered her guard or muddled her brain, for truly, she still felt too miserable to spar with him.
Yet she wasn’t worried. Once they reached Marseilles she knew her appetite for defiance and escape would return as soon as her feet touched solid ground. Right now she was simply content to be sitting upright and feeling some semblance of her normal self.
“I would suppose, then, that my elder brother would protect me,” she said guilelessly, concentrating on drawing the velvet bedspread more snugly around her waist and smoothing the prim, rounded collar of her linen nightrail.
When Guy did not reply, she looked up at him and was astonished to see that his expression had completely changed. Gone was the almost boyish ease, in its place a cold grimness. His jaw was set, and raw tension emanated from his stiffened posture. He was staring at her blindly, as if he had forgotten she was there.
“Lord de Warenne?”
Guy barely heard Leila’s soft query. Her innocent statement had hit him like a stinging slap in the face.
Roger Gervais. He had been so caught up in helping Leila through her illness—a constant round of care which had left him disconcertingly intimate with his beautiful charge—he had given little thought to the treasonous bastard. He had purposely avoided thinking of him at all ever since his encounter with Lady Eve in Damascus. Now it seemed he could no longer evade the unsettling issue.
Leila had the right to know to what manner of man her welfare would soon be entrusted. Roger might have been granted the king’s peace five years ago, but he was still held in low regard in England, and to Guy’s own heart, there wasn’t a blacker scourge breathing and prospering in the land.
“Lord de Warenne … don’t tell me you are coming down with seasickness,” he heard Leila say, her worried tone drawing him back to the present. “If we’re both ill, it’s going to be quite a mess in this cabin.”
“No, I’m not ill,” Guy answered, veiling his vivid hatred in an uncomfortable mask of impartiality.
The least he could do was supply Leila with the hard facts about her brother. Then, if she observed people shunning Roger and his shrewish wife at court, she would not be surprised.
For that was exactly where he and Leila were going—to Westminster Palace, and with as much haste as possible once their ship docked in Marseilles. Royal messengers were known to make the trip from there to London in less than ten days, and Guy was determined to match it. He did not want to miss the royal coronation.
If his calculations were correct, Edward and his vast entourage of crusaders with their one week’s lead would be in Lyon by now and traveling northward. Perhaps Edward had even ridden ahead with a few chosen knights. Whenever he got to the palace, preparations for the coronation would begin at once, and every nobleman in the land would be summoned to attend, including Roger Gervais, who had not gone on crusade though some of his knights had in his place. It would be a simple matter to hand Leila over to her brother there, rather than journeying on to Wales with her.
Not that he would mind spending extra time in Leila’s company, Guy thought, his gaze caressing her pale features.
Even in sickness—thankfully his prayers had been answered since the worst of it seemed to have passed—she was the loveliest woman he had ever seen. He could only hope Leila’s great beauty and innocence would protect her from any ill will that might be directed at Roger. The last thing Guy wanted was for her to suffer because of her blood relationship to a traitor.
“What do you know of your brother?” he asked, fighting the familiar tightness in his chest as he broached the distasteful subject.
“Very little,” Leila answered with a small shrug, looking away. “My mother rarely mentioned him …” She paused, her brow creasing as if she had just remembered something, when she glanced accusingly at Guy, saying with no small amount of indigna
tion, “If you must know, she spoke of Roger on the same night you kidnapped me.”
Now, from the simmering tempest in her violet eyes, Guy knew she was feeling better, and realizing how much he had missed her spirited temper, he almost smiled. But he suppressed the urge, certain it would only anger her further, and turned his thoughts once more to Roger. That certainly sapped his humor.
“And what did your mother say about him?”
Leila seemed reluctant to answer, then finally she said testily, “Actually, we were discussing the illustrious de Warennes, loyal servants of the king, one and all. My mother got the strange notion to intercede for you with Governor Mawdud after I told her your name. She said she once knew a branch of that family in Wales whose son, Guy, was a friend of Roger’s—”
“True. Roger and I were friends then, and for a long time afterward until he became a traitor to the crown eight years ago. He severed our friendship when he chose to fight in a rebellion against the king. Now we could not be further apart.”
Leila stared at him without saying a word, her lips pressed tightly together. From the turmoil reflected in her eyes, a wild tumble of disbelief and uncertainty, he sensed she was shocked. Fearing for her recent recovery, he sought to soften the harshness of his revelation.
“Your brother has since been pardoned for his part in the rebellion, like many of those who fought against King Henry, and his forfeited lands in Wales were returned to him when his banishment was lifted. I have no doubt Edward will honor his late father’s peace once he is crowned king. He is a fair man.”
“Your King Henry is dead?” Leila asked numbly.
Guy nodded. “That is why Edward sailed in such haste from Acre. It is my hope to arrive at Westminster Palace near London in time for the coronation. You will most likely meet your brother there, and his wife, Lady Maude.”
Leila shook her head slowly, as if she did not fully comprehend what he had just told her. Guy began to wonder if he should have waited until she was fully recovered before informing her of Roger’s treachery. She did not look well.
“Did you tell my mother this?” Leila said at last in a small voice, searching his face. “Did you tell her Roger was a traitor before you vowed to take me to him? Did you tell her that you and Roger were no longer friends, but enemies?”
“No,” Guy admitted. “She was so happy to hear her son was alive, I could not crush her joy.”
“Crush her joy?” Leila parroted, her voice becoming shrill and strained. “Crush her joy? What of mine, Lord de Warenne? Surely my mother would never have entrusted me to your care if she knew you and Roger were enemies. That is why you didn’t tell her, isn’t it? She would never have knowingly exposed me to danger and abuse. What mother would do such a thing to a daughter she loves? It is clear to me that your sacred vow” —Leila spat the words derisively— “was a sham used to suit your own ends!”
“My personal feelings for your brother held no sway in my decision to take you with me,” Guy objected. “Your plight, at least as Lady Eve described it to me, was of far more pressing importance. All I wanted to do was help you.”
Leila seemed not to hear him. She sat forward in the bed, her eyes full of fire and fury. “What are your true plans, my lord? To use me somehow against my brother … for revenge, perhaps, for past grievances? You purposely deceived my mother, didn’t you? Perhaps you do plan to rape me and offer me to my brother as damaged goods. Ah, now there’s a fine revenge! I’ve seen your lust. I’ve felt it! I’ve heard your many threats! Or perhaps you plan to use me as a hostage and imprison me until Roger pays my ransom. Then again, maybe you have no intention of taking me to him at all!”
“By the blood of God, woman, you are more trouble than you are worth!” Guy roared, slamming his fists on the wooden armrests as he rose from the chair. “I will listen to no more of your absurd ranting!”
Leila gasped and shrank back against the pillows, her eyes lit with fear, which only angered him further. What did she think he was, a rutting animal? A wild beast? Surely she did not think he would ever strike her.
Taking care to keep his head down, Guy stormed to the cabin door but swung around just before he reached it. “If my intent was to rape you, my lady, I would have done so already, for believe me, there have been plenty of opportunities. Yes, I desire you! I want you! I will not deny it. Your beauty would drive any man to distraction. But I do not prey upon women, as you so mistakenly believe, nor did I trick your mother. My hate for your brother runs deep, but I would never use an innocent to seek my revenge. That will come in its own good time. My only intent is to get you quickly to Edward’s court and be well rid of you!”
Guy made as if to turn, then changed his mind and walked back several steps toward the bed, his eyes boring into hers. He was breathing so hard his taut chest muscles were clearly accentuated beneath his fitted tunic.
“A note of caution, my lady, especially since you are so quick to accuse. Perhaps you should concern yourself with your own desires. I, too, have felt your lust!”
“What are you saying?” Leila snapped, her face flushed with heat and embarrassment. “You are mad if you—you think that I could possibly want …”
She faltered, unable to finish and sick at heart because deep down she knew he spoke the truth. Nothing in her upbringing could have prepared her for the emotions this man aroused in her. Rage, frustration, bewilderment, hatred, and worst of all, desire—each one so acute she felt she was teetering on the brink of losing control whenever she was near him.
Even now, when she so desperately wanted to contradict him, she could not. He would surely see through her lie and expose her accursed vulnerability all the more.
“Your wanton kiss that night at Refaiyeh’s gave you away, Leila. If you do not wish to encourage my unwelcome attentions again, or those of any other knight when we reach Westminster, you would do well to keep your mouth chastely closed when you’re kissed!”
Before she could fling a retort, he turned on his heel and strode to the door. “Get some rest, my lady,” he advised darkly. “In three days we will reach Marseilles, and then the difficult part of our journey will begin. I guarantee that our pace will be relentless.” The planked walls shook as he slammed the door, wood dust sifting down from the raftered ceiling.
Leila yanked the velvet spread up under her chin, preparing to scream out her fury when the bed seemed to dip beneath her. She moaned as her stomach pitched and roiled, her outrage quickly vanishing as she fought the urge to retch.
It soon became clear that the ship was bucking high seas. Leila grew fearful. She felt as if the vessel were riding atop a writhing serpent. Flashes of lightning eerily illuminated the darkening cabin, portending an approaching storm.
As the bed dipped and swayed again and again, she was grateful the stout corner posts were bolted to the floor or it would have gone crashing into the walls. The sterncastle which housed the cabin began to creak ominously while tall waves dashed against the oriel window with such fury, she thought the glass might shatter. She crawled into the corner and crouched there with her knees drawn tightly to her chest, feeling terribly afraid and helpless.
Dear God, could the ship weather such ferocity? she wondered wildly, her stomach lurching as it pitched into another deep trough. Surely it would split apart and they would all perish!
Thunder exploded overhead, a great booming crash. Leila shrieked in terror and wrenched the bedspread over her head, huddling beneath the covers in total misery as nature went mad all around her. She did not hear the cabin door open, nor did she hear it slam shut over the resounding thunderclap which made the whole ship shudder.
All she knew was that one moment she was alone and the next Guy was throwing back the covers and gathering her into his arms.
She did not protest as he lay down beside her. She was so horribly frightened she sought to lose herself in the compelling comfort of his embrace. Clutching his tunic, she squeezed her eyes shut to blot out the jagged lightni
ng. He was so big, so overwhelmingly strong. Surely he would protect her from the storm’s ferocious wrath.
“Shhh, Leila, it’s all right,” came his fervent whisper in her ear.
She pressed her cheek to his hard, muscled chest. Hearing his steady heartbeat, she concentrated desperately on its rhythm instead of on the crashing thunder. She inhaled his warm, musky scent and felt strangely reassured.
“Hold me,” she pleaded, even as his powerful arms tightened around her. Her renewed sense of security was shaken when the ship plummeted into another seemingly bottomless trough. “Please … don’t let me go.”
“Never,” Guy murmured, kissing the top of her head. “We’ll endure this together. Do not fear, Leila, the ship is sound. It will ride out the storm.”
Holding on to him for dear life, she felt his hands gently stroking her back. It was a caress she remembered well from her long days of seasickness, tender and soothing, though she could recall little else. Huge, gentle hands and blue, blue eyes.
Leila nestled as close to him as she could, his body so warm it seemed to melt away her fear, so hard and solid she could not help but believe his words.
***
The storm lashed viciously at the ship until well into the night, but eventually the wind and waves subsided. Now only a light rain still pelted the window. It provided a lulling sound that Leila found comforting since she had pulled away from Guy’s arms, the heat of his embrace having become too much for her.
She lay on her side with her back against the cabin wall, her arm curved beneath her head, staring at his massive form in the darkness.
The bed seemed very small with him in it. Suffocatingly small. She had not noticed before because of her illness, but she was very much aware of it now. If she barely reached out her hand she would touch him, so she was careful not to move. She did not want to touch him. She did not want to rekindle the desire that had forced her to leave the solace of his arms long before the storm had lessened its fury.
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