Captive Rose

by Miriam Minger

  Guy seemed to take immense pleasure in sharing a saddle with her and he had explained in great detail the sights they had passed on their journey from Lyons—the better to acquaint her with a culture and customs that were similar to England’s, he had said. In truth she had found his narrative fascinating and had slightly altered her view of the country as an uncivilized place. But it made her uneasy to be so close to him for so many hours of the day. Uneasy because she found a heady comfort in his arms and a secret delight at the warmth of his chest and hard, muscled thighs pressed against her body.

  Leila shivered, but not from cold, and forced herself to concentrate on what was going on around her. Thankfully it was easy to become engrossed in the enormous variety of goods for sale, and their horse was moving slowly enough because of the crush of people that she could get a good look at everything.

  They passed a line of shops where bolts of cloth—wool, silk, cotton, and linen in myriad hues—were heaped on the counters. Other shops offered furs, garments already made to wear, and leather products, while further along came stalls displaying imported luxury goods; plush carpets and ivory carvings, precious jewels, chess sets carved in ebony, and the glittering work of silversmiths and goldsmiths.

  When Leila caught the aroma of ambergris and camphor, she was seized by nostalgia and an incredible longing for home, and Guy’s arm around her waist filled her with despair. But she quickly shrugged off such feelings knowing they were useless. She needed to be strong and ever vigilant for opportunities for escape. So far she had been presented with none, but she hadn’t given up hope.

  They came upon shops selling fresh meat, and she glanced away from the bloody carcasses and plucked chickens hanging from iron hooks, finding counters on her right laden with cheese, bread, and wine and, next to them, cookshops selling hot food. Her stomach seemed to flip-flop at the savory odors, reminding her just how hungry she was. Their last meal had been hours ago. Yet they rode on, passing stalls offering items that must be weighed, salt and sugar, wax, dyestuffs, grain, medicinal herbs, and spices.

  Leila perused the open baskets, easily recognizing the spices and most of the herbs, both fresh and dried. Yet some were wholly new to her; the yellow-flowered herb in the basket next to the dried red poppies was a plant she had never seen before—

  Her gaze flew back to the poppies just as Guy pulled up hard on the reins beside a four-story building with a colorfully painted signboard hanging over the door. She snapped her head around, startled.

  “I’m going to check in this tavern to see if they have any available lodging upstairs,” he said, dismounting. To her surprise, he left her in the saddle, although his eyes held a grim warning. “Don’t try anything, Leila. I’ll be right inside the door. Am I understood?”

  She bobbed her head, murmuring a composed affirmative despite her racing pulse, but Guy didn’t seem convinced. He glanced over his shoulder at a strapping peasant loitering outside the tavern door. A quick conversation ensued and she saw the flash of a coin, then the young man strode up and Guy handed him the reins.

  Her heart sank. She would never be able to ride off with this beefy peasant holding the reins. But she had an even better idea. Her budding plan was farfetched and she knew she would be playing with fire, but it might work …

  “I’ll be back in a moment,” Guy said with an infuriating wink. “Sit tight.”

  Her indignant gaze followed him into the tavern, then settled on her smiling hired companion.

  “You grin like an idiot,” she said to him in Arabic. Her remark was greeted with a confused stare. “I would wager you have the brains of one, too.” When the young man merely chuckled, shrugging, she added in English, “Don’t mind me, I just have to stretch my legs.”

  With that she slid from the saddle and gestured to the spice and herb stall, which was besieged by customers, then back to the saddle. He shrugged again, and she surmised he understood his job to be to watch the horse, not her.

  “Blessed simpleton,” she muttered, hurrying toward the busy stall. She had to be back on that horse before Guy emerged from the tavern, or he would surely guess her purpose. He was certainly no fool.

  She pressed in beside three foreign merchants who were quarreling with the spice trader and fortunately occupying his attention. Her eyes fixed on the basket of poppies directly to her left. With the quickest of movements she scooped up two handfuls of dried flowers and thrust them through the side slits of her surcoat, not allowing herself to breathe until she had strolled casually back to the horse. It was clear from the continuing argument going on behind her that her crime had not been noticed.

  “Could you help me up?” she asked, gifting the peasant with a smile that sent a crimson blush from his collar to his scalp. He did so and she was well settled, the poppies tucked securely into her girdle, by the time Guy stepped out into the street.

  “The taverner has kindly cleared out a room for us,” he said, reaching up to draw her from the saddle. “You were right about the jewels.” His gaze moved from the peasant, who looked sheepish, to Leila. “Is anything amiss? This young fellow hasn’t taken any liberties with—”

  “No, no, of course not,” Leila cut him off irritably, shaking out her skirts as if it was the first time she had been down from the horse in hours. “He’s been the perfect gentleman while you have rudely kept me waiting in this rain.”

  “Well, I will keep you waiting no longer, my lady, for what you have so stoically earned,” Guy said, taking her arm. “We’ll stay the night here and leave for Paris first thing in the morning. We’ve made good time so far. We can afford to ease up for one night. Our meal and some wine will be sent up soon, and they’re preparing enough hot water for us to bathe.”

  Leila was stunned as he led her into the brightly lit tavern. Just when it seemed he couldn’t be more oblivious of her needs, he surprised her. She would never understand him

  After tonight you won’t have to, she reminded herself, and was seized by nervous excitement as she followed him up the stairs.

  Chapter 14

  This fourth-floor room was not luxurious lodging by any means, Guy thought as he ushered Leila inside the lamplit interior, but it would be more than adequate once good order was restored.

  Two serving women were hurriedly changing the linens on the large curtained bed, another was laying fresh rushes in the enclosed latrine projected out from one wall, and a younger girl was dumping fresh coals in the comer brazier. The room stunk of ale from its recently vacated occupants, but the smell could easily be remedied by some fresh air.

  Guy strode to the nearest window and pushed open the wooden shutters. He inhaled deeply, then turned back into the room just as a brawny manservant rolled in two large wooden tubs and placed them near the brazier. He glanced at Leila, who was still standing near the door, and a vivid image struck him, wild and arousing.

  How he wished he could see her in one of those tubs, her white skin flushed and rosy from the steam, her wet hair snaking over her beautiful breasts

  Enough! You’re only torturing yourself, Guy scoffed to himself. Hell’s fire would freeze over long before that ever happened.

  “There you go, my lord,” the manservant said, dusting off his hands. “The hot water will follow soon as the women finish here and fetch it up from the kitchen, and the same goes for the food. If there’s anything else you’ll be wanting, just let me know.”

  Guy studied the man. “Better yet, why don’t you help fetch the water from the kitchen? Then my wife may have her bath all the sooner, and myself for that matter.”

  “But that’s woman’s work—”

  “Do it,” he commanded tersely. “The payment I gave the taverner is more than enough to ensure that my every request is well met.”

  The man nodded grudgingly and quit the room, followed shortly by the serving maids, who cast him grateful smiles.

  Guy went to Leila’s side, thinking she appeared amazingly alert for someone who claimed to be so tired
, then decided she was probably just eager for her bath. He, too, could not wait to wash the sweat and filth of travel from his body. “Make yourself comfortable while I’m gone, my lady.”

  “Gone?”

  “Only for a short while. I have to see to the horse, then I want to leave a message with the taverner. It seems two of my own knights are lodging here, quite a coincidence. Apparently many other crusaders are still in Provins, no doubt enjoying the fair before returning to England.” Guy gave a short laugh. “I’m surprised Burnell and Langton rented any lodgings at all. The taverner says he’s hardly seen them. I imagine they’ve been in every brothel—” Guy stopped himself when Leila blushed, and he quickly took another tack. “I’m sure our baths will be ready soon. You may go first, if you wish.”

  “I don’t see why we can’t bathe at the same time, my lord … otherwise your water will surely grow cold,” she replied, her blush deepening. Wetting her lips, she glanced at the burgundy velvet bedcurtains. “We could draw those curtains and set one tub on each side of the bed for privacy.”

  Guy was so astonished by her suggestion that he didn’t know quite what to say. He would have thought she would wish him well out of the room, even the tavern, while she bathed, but now … He shrugged, at a loss, and decided her suggestion made sense even if it was unexpected. He hated lukewarm baths.

  “As you wish,” he said simply. “I’ll move the tubs now so you won’t have to trouble yourself trying to explain the arrangement to the servants when they return with the water.”

  Leila merely nodded and stayed right where she was, her knees shaking so badly she thought she might fall if she so much as moved. She was amazed she had the nerve to suggest such a thing, but it was all part of the wild scheme racing through her mind.

  Since the opiate she planned to distill from the dried poppies would have to be diluted to hide the telltale bitterness, Guy would need to consume a good amount of red wine before he would feel the drug’s effect. And what better way to goad him into any angry bout of drinking than a hot bath and savory meal, all served up with a bit of seemingly innocent feminine trickery?

  She had been taught much in the harem. There were myriad ways to seduce or merely to tease. Tonight she would play on Guy’s admitted lust and, she hoped, bring on a drunken spree like the one in which he had indulged on the boat to Lyons.

  She had seen the empty bottles strewn under his berth when she awoke the next morning, her own headache no match for the splitting one that had plagued him that entire day. There had been no need to accuse him of taking advantage of her. His misery had been enough to convince her that his sacred vow had won out again.

  And so it would tonight. Guy would not dare to touch her. His vow to protect her would never allow it. He would drown his desire and frustration in wine, and she would be free.

  “They’ll probably fill the tubs before I get back, so don’t feel you have to wait.”

  Leila started, so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed that Guy had moved to the door.

  “Are you all right, Leila?”

  “Yes … it’s been such a long journey, ‘tis all.”

  “I know. Soon it will be over.” He smiled, but it quickly faded as a familiar warning lit his eyes. “The taverner told me there was only one door leading outside, the front entrance, and I won’t be far from it.”

  Feigning affront, she stared at him stonily, which seemed to satisfy him. Without another word he left the room, and Leila slumped against the wall, trying to collect her composure. She needed her wits about her every step of the way this night.

  Guy had been gone no more than a few moments when there was a sharp knock on the door. She stood back as the manservant carried in four buckets of steaming water, while behind him came the three serving women with more buckets and some thick towels. The girl brought up the rear carrying a large, cloth-covered tray; a bag of clinking bottles slung over her plump shoulder.

  Leila went to the window and waited impatiently while the buckets were emptied into the tubs and the food and drink were placed on the table near the bed, where she had already noted an earthenware pitcher and some tin cups. When she heard the door pulled shut, the servants finally gone, she spun around and flew to the table.

  Her hands were shaking as she drew the poppies from her girdle and crushed them into a tin cup. Then she added some water from the pitcher. Stirring the contents with her finger, she hurried to the brazier and was relieved to see the coals were glowing bright red. She set the cup upon them, for the mixture would be useless if it did not first come to a boil and was then allowed to steep.

  Her anxiety mounted as she scrutinized the contents for signs of bubbling, expecting Guy to walk into the room at any moment and discover her furtive plot.

  “Please … please boil,” she begged desperately, beginning to think the potent brew would not be ready before he returned.

  She could not believe it when at last there came a hissing sound as the boiling liquid splashed inside the cup. Using a fold of her surcoat to cover her hand, she grabbed the small vessel just as footsteps sounded outside the door. She had barely set the cup beneath the bed and straightened up, busying herself with closing the velvet curtains, when Guy entered, carrying a pair of saddlebags. He regarded her curiously.

  “I expected to find you at your bath, my lady. The servants came back downstairs almost ten minutes ago.”

  Leila’s heart was pounding so hard she could swear he would hear it. “I—I did not feel safe. There are so many men in this tavern, and the door was unlocked. I couldn’t bolt it for fear you might think I had locked it against you … so I decided to wait.”

  “Ah.” Guy turned and bolted the door. His expression was somber as he faced her again, his eyes bright with an emotion she could not place. “There. You are safe. No need to hesitate any longer.” Clearing his throat, he strode to the other side of the bed and pulled the curtains shut, blocking him from her view. “As for myself,” she heard him say as the saddlebags hit the floor with a loud thud, followed by his hauberk, “I’m going to enjoy this bath while the water is still hot.”

  Leila winced as the sounds coming from beyond the curtains told her that he was swiftly undressing. Courage, courage, she reminded herself.

  She heard bare footfalls and almost jumped out of her skin when Guy rounded the corner post. Her astonished gaze skipped to his braies, the only garment he was still wearing, and a scanty one at that, and back to his face again.

  “Y-yes?”

  “Your things, my lady.” He tossed a saddlebag near her feet. “I bought you some rose-scented soap. It’s what you like, isn’t it?”

  She gave a small nod.

  “Good. You’ll find it in the front of the bag.”

  “Thank you.”

  He disappeared around the bed, and Leila chewed her lower lip, becoming angry with herself. She would never succeed unless she took charge of her emotions! Everything she did from this moment on would have to seem guileless or her plan would fail.

  She heard a splash and squared her shoulders, taking several deep and steadying breaths. Quickly she shed her clothing until she had on nothing but her linen chainse, which she guessed might please him because of the way the thin fabric clung to her body. Stifling a sudden twinge of apprehension, she moved to the table where a half dozen wine bottles stood, silent reminders of her plot.

  “Some wine, Lord de Warenne?” she asked, and was not surprised when the sounds of his bathing ceased. No doubt he was stunned that she would even think to inquire after his needs. She hastened with a feasible explanation. “If you’d like I could bring it to you, otherwise you will have to wait until I finish my bath.”

  There was a long pause, then he said quietly, “As you wish.”

  Her heart battering against her breast, Leila opened a bottle and filled one of the pewter mugs the serving girl had left on the table. Then she knelt beside the bed and very carefully, very quietly, added some of the liquid from the
tin cup, taking care that no sediment from the poppies flowed into the wine. After stirring the drink, she took a tiny sip. She detected no bitterness at all.

  Leila rose and walked around the bed, biting her lips to make them lush and red. Her eyes widened as she cleared the opposite cornerpost and she gasped, her breath frozen in her throat. She was not prepared for the heart-stopping sight that greeted her.

  Guy was standing in the water, his long hair slicked back from his forehead, his heavily muscled body lathered with soap. Too late she realized he was much, much too large for the tub.

  Had he no sense of decency? Why hadn’t he wrapped a towel around himself if he knew she would find him like this? “Your—your wine,” she barely managed, her hands trembling as she offered him the brimming mug.

  He took the mug, and she started as his wet fingers brushed hers. She nervously inched a few steps backward.

  She had seen him naked in prison, and partially clad many times during the past weeks in their shared lodgings, but this time was different. From the smoldering heat in Guy’s eyes, she knew he sensed it, too. Now that she was this close to him, she didn’t dare take her eyes from his face. She was afraid of what she might see, even though it was her intent to arouse him.

  “Thank you, Leila.” He took a long draft, then lowered the mug. His gaze trailed slowly up her body from her bare toes to her breasts swelling against the chainse, lingered there, then moved to her parted lips.

  Leila unconsciously licked them, feeling that same strange sensation of inner melting. When he stared into her eyes, his desire written plainly for her to see, she wanted to run. But her feet seemed to be rooted to the floor.

  “Your bath grows cold, my lady.”

  Leila blinked, his husky voice releasing her. “Yes. Yes, you’re right. Excuse me.”

  She spun and fled, her face burning, supremely grateful for the shelter of the curtains. She had anticipated his reaction to her appearance, but she had hardly expected her own flustered response. She fought to still her trembling and pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks.