Armand pursed his lips thoughtfully – it was a distinct possibility. Women were not logical creatures and did the most foolish things at times. Isabella was now an extraordinarily beautiful woman, so he’d heard, and she had been forced into marrying Conrad, a grizzled middle-aged warrior who probably displayed little interest in her. On the other hand, Stephen was a very attractive man and very well endowed, he recalled from the visit to the brothel in Messina. Amazingly attractive, Armand thought, allowing his own desires to surface for a moment before he determinedly suppressed them again.
First he had to discover if his presumptions were correct and he knew exactly how to do that. He frowned. Who would Bernard have placed his trust in? Knowing the way the Templar hierarchy worked, it would probably be the chaplain, Brother Gerard. Striding swiftly along the corridor, he tried to remember where the chaplain’s quarters were located.
Armand had not been entirely truthful with Bernard. The Templar believed that Armand was working for Guy but he had used the King of the Latin Kingdom just like he used everyone else, in order to follow his own personal agenda. He had come here to get Stephen out of Sarak but he had his own reason for doing so. This war was just as much about politics in Armand’s estimation as it was about religion.
As luck would have it, before he had walked very far he spotted his prey in the corridor, waddling towards him. ‘Brother Gerard,’ he called out, ‘I have been looking for you.’
‘My lord.’ Gerard stopped in front of him, appearing very nervous. ‘How can I help you?’
Armand smiled charmingly in an effort to put the man at his ease but his sexual allure didn’t appear to work on this fat little man, who continued to stare at him as if he were the spawn of Satan. ‘I would like to know the whereabouts of the Princess Isabella’s chambers. I feel in the circumstances that I should pay my respects to her before I leave.’
‘You leave so soon?’ Gerard sounded relieved.
‘Now that my quest appears so fruitless, I have no choice but to do so,’ Armand replied. ‘There is no way I can search an entire desert for one man. The princess . . . ?’
‘She is resting. She has spent all her time in her chamber the last few days.’ He cleared his throat. ‘One can only presume she is unwell. We have orders not to disturb her under any circumstances and she even insisted that her maid be given a separate room.’
‘And you did not question this request?’
Gerard shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who dares question royalty? They are a law unto themselves. Master Bernard is obliged to treat the princess with great delicacy. Fortunately the captain of her guards tells me she intends to depart for Acre tomorrow.’
‘No doubt your master will be relieved?’ The polite part of this conversation was at an end. Armand took hold of Gerard’s arm, feeling him flinch nervously as he drew the brother towards a window embrasure. ‘Do you know what this is?’ He placed the grand master’s letter of authority under Gerard’s nose.
‘I do,’ he confirmed, looking in anguish at Armand. ‘What do you want me to do? Nothing untoward, I hope. I am loyal to Master Bernard.’
‘Nothing untoward, to be sure,’ Armand assured him. ‘Now tell me where the princess is housed.’
‘She is in the chamber usually reserved for the grand master when he visits.’
‘So you are unable to spy on her then?’
‘Spy, my lord?’ Gerard said hesitantly. ‘I do not know what you mean.’
‘It is not just you and Master Bernard who are aware of the tunnels honeycombing this citadel. The grand master knows of them also – so I require you to tell me.’
‘That is the reason why that room was selected for our grand master, because there are no hidden tunnels in that part of the main keep.’
Armand smiled and patted his arm. ‘How difficult was that? Now if you will but direct me to the princess’s room.’
Armand walked along the corridor following Gerard’s instructions to the princess’s rooms. He paused at the top of the stairs; her room was along that corridor and the plans, which he had memorised just in case, said the entrance was just around here. He stepped into the small chamber, which contained freshly laundered garments for the garrison, then closed and bolted the door so that he would not be disturbed. Only those who built Sarak knew of this particular tunnel; that knowledge had not been passed on to the Templars, and he had no idea why. It was fortunate that he had the necessary resources to discover such well-kept secrets.
He moved aside a pile of clean shirts. According to the plan, the entrance was on this wall – he just had to find it. Armand examined the plain dark-wood panelling, unable to see any sign of a concealed door. Gently he tapped the wood until the tone sounded a little hollow and he thought he might have found the right spot. He applied a little pressure but nothing moved. Clearly this had not been opened for years. He examined the panelling more closely until he saw a fine line, which might be mistaken for a flaw in the wood. It was clogged with dirt. Wincing with disgust, he ran one carefully tended fingernail down the narrow gap until he had removed a thin serpentine line of grime from the crack. Pushing harder this time, he heard a slight squeak as the panel moved, gradually displaying the tunnel he had been seeking behind it.
Armand had nothing to light the tunnel, so he knew that he would have to find his way as best he could using the daylight from the small room. Opening the panel as wide as possible, he stepped cautiously into the tunnel, which smelt rank and stale. As he walked, his feet disturbed the dust of many ages, sending motes into the air, which clogged his nostrils and made him want to sneeze. He could hear a strange rustling sound, which he suspected were piles of dead insects that he was crushing beneath his boots as he walked.
Armand moved deeper into the tunnel until he found a small panel of wood on the wall, which made a slight grating sound as he pulled it aside. He put his eyes to the holes but disappointingly all he saw was a pretty maidservant sitting in the window intent on her sewing. Sliding the panel shut, he moved on but the light didn’t reach this far and now he was stepping into total blackness, which was quite disorientating. It meant he had to run his hands along the stones at eye level until he found the next set of spyholes. The wood of the panel appeared to be crumbling slightly and he slid it aside with great delicacy.
His presumptions had been correct. Bernard had been foolish to believe that the princess would never think to conceal Stephen in her bedchamber. There he was, standing close to the window. Armand swallowed hard and pressed his hands against the stones in front of him – Stephen was not wearing one stitch of clothing and he looked magnificent.
Armand had never been one to differentiate, he was drawn equally to both men and women and he had been attracted to Stephen the moment he had laid eyes on him. He would never have admitted that to anyone; knowledge like that made one vulnerable. The princess might have acted foolishly but she had good taste in men and he recalled how she had looked when he’d last seen her – a rather plain-looking, tiny scrap of a child. My, how she had changed, he thought, as she rose naked from the bed and walked towards Stephen. She looked like some exotic goddess of old. She was indeed remarkably beautiful, with pale skin, long black hair and a stunningly voluptuous figure. He couldn’t blame Stephen for being tempted by her: what man wouldn’t be?
When Stephen turned towards her, Armand saw the lash marks on his back and he frowned. Bernard had far exceeded what Guy had asked of him and Armand was not altogether happy about that. Guy had hoped that with Stephen out of the way Edwina would eventually succumb to his charms and agree to become his queen, but he was stupid enough not to have thought beyond that and make further plans for the future disposal of his rival. Armand had known from the start that Guy was lacking in many skills including those of planning and leadership. To be honest he did not even like Guy very much but he had been extraordinarily easy to manipulate so far.
Armand had always enjoyed voyeurism; it was a titillation of the senses. He watch
ed entranced as Isabella passionately kissed Stephen. Then she sank to her knees in front of him, tenderly caressing the sac of his balls, while she curved her hand around his generous shaft and pumped it gently. It grew and hardened almost instantaneously. She smiled, and then slid her full pink lips over the bulging tip, gradually drawing it deeper into her mouth.
Gripping the stones hard, Armand shivered with desire, so wanting to be there with them, tasting the delights of both their bodies. He could feel his arousal growing as Isabella slid her lips up and down the rigid shaft, while Stephen groaned and threaded his hands through her jet-black hair. Armand was tempted to stay and watch and masturbate himself to a climax but he had other matters to attend to before he could indulge in such pleasurable pastimes. He was frustrated, there was no denying that, as it had been so long since he’d tasted another’s flesh. There had been little or no opportunity for sexual encounters since reaching Acre and he was fastidious enough to avoid visiting the rough and ready creatures who served the common soldiers of the camp.
Forcing himself to pull away, he began to edge back along the tunnel. It was a relief when he stepped back into the sunlight-filled room and he was able to breathe fresh air again. Brushing the dust from his surplice, he picked up a clean towel and wiped the grime from his face and hands. Tossing the soiled towel in the tunnel, he pushed the door shut and concealed it with a large pile of linen.
It didn’t take long for him to make his way to Isabella’s room. He knew he would be intruding on their lovemaking but they’d been alone long enough the last few days to satisfy all their rabid sexual appetites. He rapped on the princess’s door, hoping no Templars were lingering surreptitiously close by to hear him. A door opened further along the corridor and the maidservant walked anxiously towards him.
‘My lord, the princess does not want to be disturbed.’
‘I have been sent here by King Richard. I need to speak to her urgently,’ he said in a loud voice as he knocked harder.
Eventually, he heard the sound of a bolt being drawn back and the door opened a crack. Armand could just see the princess, her face flushed with sexual desire, her hair in disarray. ‘What is amiss?’ she asked imperiously.
‘I need to speak to you in private.’
‘Not now.’ She went to push the door shut but he acted too quickly, putting his shoulder to it and forcing it open.
She stepped back, eyes wide in fearful surprise as he barged into her bedchamber. The maid moved to follow him but he pushed her back and slammed the door in her face, then slid the bolt in place. Immediately, he turned to look for Stephen but the comte was better prepared than he had expected. Armand tensed as he felt the tip of a sword blade pressed to his throat.
‘Armand! What are you doing here?’ Stephen, clad only in a pair of breeches, said in surprise, as he continued to keep his sword pointed as Armand.
‘Forgive me, Princess. I am Armand de Mirabel. Unfortunately the blade at my neck prevents me from bowing.’ Armand glanced at Isabella, who didn’t appear overly embarrassed that she was dressed just in a loose robe. ‘I am pleased to see, Stephen, that you’ve not perished somewhere in the desert as Master Bernard led me to believe.’
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ Stephen pressed.
‘It appears I interrupted you both at a rather inopportune moment,’ Armand said coolly, certain that Stephen had no intention of harming him. ‘I apologise for that also. But my intrusion is necessary, Princess, if you want your . . . er . . . friend, Stephen, to get safely away from Sarak.’
‘Why would you want me safely away from here?’ Stephen clearly did not believe him. ‘I’ve suspected for a while that you are working with Guy, so don’t deny it. And it was Guy who got me into this perilous situation. I’m not a fool, Armand.’
‘I never thought you were.’ Armand swallowed; if he moved even a fraction the blade would pierce his flesh. The broadsword was heavy but so far Stephen’s muscular arm hadn’t wavered at all. ‘Would you mind if I made myself more comfortable?’ He looked towards a nearby chair. ‘You can tie me down if it would make you feel safer.’
‘I’m faster than you, Armand. You’d be dead before you’d even have drawn your sword.’ Stephen lowered the blade. ‘Sit.’
Armand moved forwards and sat down, lacing his hands in his lap. ‘As you say, I’ve been working with Guy – it was he who sent me to Sicily because he wanted one of his men close to Richard. However, as I got to know the Lionheart I began to respect him Immensely; he is a remarkable man and a great warrior. Guy foolishly lost his kingdom to the Saracens but I truly believe that Richard is capable of defeating Salah ad-Din and recapturing Jerusalem and I intend to do all I can to help him.’
‘Go on,’ Stephen prompted, appearing quite unmoved, which irritated Armand as for once he had more or less spoken the truth.
‘As far as your imprisonment in Sarak goes, you know that Guy planned all this to keep you out of the way for a while?’
Stephen nodded and glanced back at Isabella before he said, ‘Because he has set his sights on Edwina.’
‘Just so.’ Armand nodded. ‘However, he puts his throne in peril by doing so. King Richard is your friend and if he discovers Guy planned all this –’
‘Presupposing I survive,’ Stephen interjected.
‘That is why I am here. I have made a decision. I no longer own any allegiance to Guy: he is a fool and not worth serving. Now I pledge my sword only to King Richard the Lionheart and his loyal knights, which of course includes you.’
11
‘This is ridiculous, I am not one of his concubines,’ Edwina insisted anxiously as the two maidservants stripped off her clothing, while the Lady Jamilah watched calmly, displaying no emotion. Edwina supposed she could have put up a fight, but no doubt then the guard would have intervened and that would have been even more humiliating. ‘Please stop them, my lady.’ Edwina looked pleadingly at Jamilah as she tried unsuccessfully to cover her nakedness with her hands.
‘You are a concubine, because my husband deems it so,’ Jamilah said firmly, displaying not one iota of jealousy. ‘You exist now purely to give him pleasure.’
Edwina straightened, and no longer tried to cover herself because it was a fruitless exercise. ‘I am a noblewoman. A lady of King Richard’s court, and I am betrothed to one of his most trusted lieutenants.’ Desperation, unfortunately, made her voice waver a little. ‘The Lionheart will pay a generous ransom for me.’
‘Nasir al-Din is wealthy enough already. He has no need of Frankish gold,’ Jamilah replied as the guard picked Edwina up and plonked her down on the large bed.
He held her there firmly, taking hold of one of her flailing arms so that the maidservants could lash it to one of the posts of the bed with silken cords. Soon her other arm was tied as well and she looked helplessly at Jamilah. ‘Does this not trouble you?’
‘Why should it?’ Jamilah asked, her expression betraying none of her thoughts. ‘Ed Winna, usually my husband takes his time. He likes his women to be fully instructed in all ways of pleasing a man.’ She sighed. ‘For some reason he has decided that he cannot wait for that and he has decided to take possession of you this very night.’
Jamilah looked at the guard, who immediately forced Edwina’s legs apart so that the maids could also fasten her ankles to the end posts of the bed. This was even more humiliating than she feared it might be as everyone in this room could see the most private parts of her body. Jamilah stepped forwards and looked thoughtfully at her sex.
‘Your body hair should have been removed by now, but it is even paler than the hair on your head so it is not wholly unattractive. Perhaps this new diversion might give my husband an extra facet to his pleasure. Come,’ she said to the servants and they and the guard followed her from the room.
Edwina had not given in to her fate quite yet. She pulled at her bonds, jerking them as hard as she could in an effort to free herself, but her struggles were to no avail. She heard the door
open and, unable to face her humiliation, closed her eyes. It could only be Nasir al-Din who entered, and she feared to see what he looked like. For all she knew he could be an ugly-looking fearsome Saracen warrior or a disgusting old man.
She heard someone moving towards the bed but she still kept her eyes firmly shut, embarrassed by the obscene way her body was displayed. For a moment there was nothing but silence and she tried to remain in control of her shattered emotions. Yet she still jumped nervously when she felt a hand trail across her stomach and down the curve of her hip.
‘There is no need to be afraid,’ he said in a deep voice that sounded as smooth as silk. For a second she had not realised that he had spoken to her in fluent French tinged with just the faintest of accents. Part of her was curious to see this man – after all she was expected to couple with him – yet a voice was nothing to judge someone by and she feared she might find him repulsive. ‘Will you not look at me?’ he asked as a firm hand took hold of her chin and turned her face towards him.
Very reluctantly, she opened her eyes and found herself staring at a young, surprisingly attractive man, probably about the same age as Stephen. Of course, he looked like a Saracen, with dark olive skin, black hair and dark eyes, and like all Moslem men he wore a beard, but it was small and neatly trimmed. Edwina had not expected him to be this good-looking and, although his face was square jawed and his features inherently masculine, there was a gentleness in his expression that made her feel just a little less terrified. Nevertheless she knew that, like voices, looks could be deceiving.
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