No Price Too High

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Gabriel, what are you doing?” she whispered.

  His lips slid along her neck, etching delight into her skin. “Don’t you know yet?” His eyes twinkled. “If you have forgotten already, I must remind you.”

  “That is not what I meant.”

  As his fingers moved along the curve of her breast, he whispered, “I wanted to see which was sweeter—the fruit or you.”

  “And?”

  He chuckled softly. “Need you ask?” Any chance she had to answer vanished as he stroked her lips with the tip of his tongue, then he whispered, “Tell me, az-Zahra.”

  “Tell you what?” she whispered. “That I want you to make love with me again? That I cannot get my fill of your kisses?” She stroked his cheek. “That I love you?”

  He smiled as he cupped her chin. “All things I want you to tell me.” His fingers tightened on her face as his expression grew serious. “But that is not what you must tell me.”

  “I can’t tell you that I love you?”

  “You are misunderstanding me.”

  “It is easy to do when you are not being clear.” She frowned. She did not want unhappiness to enter this place where there had been only joy.

  “Karim Pasa spoke to me of what you said to him when he returned your sword. He told me you mentioned a room you should not know about. I know no one in the harim could tell you of it, for they do not know of it.”

  With a gasp, she rose. Water ran along her back as she reached for her clothes. His hands caught hers, bringing her back to face him. Lifting her hands to his shoulders, he put his arm around her waist.

  “You know I could order you slain for knowing what you do,” he whispered.

  “I know.”

  “If you had spoken the truth to anyone other than Karim Pasa, I would have had no choice. If you go again where you are forbidden to go, you may give me no choice. You must heed my orders.

  “I cannot promise that I will do that.”

  He laughed, the husky desire returning to his voice. “That is no surprise.”

  “All that gold, all those weapons—”

  He grew somber again. “The gold is the legacy from those who held this stronghold before me. It provides for those within these walls just as the water brings life to the gardens.” His fingers sifted through her wet hair, drawing it along his arms. “It also buys me those weapons to protect Mukhdarr and obtains allies like the caliph to help me in my efforts to halt those who prey on the hills and those who travel through them.”

  “I thought …” She could not bear to speak the dreadful thoughts that had ached in her heart.

  “That I robbed and murdered like Abd al Qadir? Or maybe you were certain that I often brought captives here until they could buy their lives with a fortune in gold.”

  She shook her head. “No, from what Lysias and Karim Pasa had said I knew that you do not bring other captives here.”

  “Not to Mukhdarr, and most certainly not here.” He slanted his mouth across hers. When she softened against him, unable to resist the desire he had brought to life, he whispered, “You are the only one I bring here.”

  She knew she should not let him end her questions with his kisses, for she longed to hear him say that the weapons would not be used against the Franj … and she longed to hear him say he loved her. She put aside those thoughts as she succumbed once more to the craving and to the ecstasy she could find with him as the water sang around them.

  THIRTEEN

  “You have learned this game too quickly,” Gabriel grumbled as Melisande moved a chess piece on the board between them.

  “I have learned all the games you teach me quickly.”

  He smiled at her across the board that was set on the floor. Did she have as much trouble concentrating on the game as he did? He could not care for the pieces on the board when he preferred to let his gaze move again and again to admire her slender body in her tantalizing clothes. Since he had been born, he had been surrounded by women. He had lived in the shaykh’s harim until he was ten and the shaykh had begun his training as a warrior. Beyond the shuttered doors, more women waited. But none of them had been like this one. She was an unending astonishment, challenging him to question what he always had believed to be so.

  She was lying on her stomach and leaning on a pillow, but she played the game with the zeal of a true warrior. With the sun sifting through the shutters on the doors, her hair was alive with fire. His smile broadened when he thought of her amazement when he had drawn the folding doors closed to give them privacy in her rooms.

  Glancing down at the board, he sighed. So many things she had not discovered about what was around her in the harim; but she had found the rooms that only he, Karim Pasa, and Shakir knew existed. Tradition gave the two men a right to know about those rooms because, if he were to fall in battle or be captured, they must have ways to protect the stronghold and those within it.

  He moved a piece. “I understand your Franj king learned to play this game.”

  “That would not surprise me. It is fascinating.” She chewed on her bottom lip as she gazed at the board. “I think my father would enjoy playing this.”

  “My father did. He considered this a way for a warrior to hone his mind so only these playthings were lost, not real men.”

  Resting her chin on her palm, she looked at him. “Your father sounds like a wise man.”

  “He chose to stay here instead of returning to the pestilence he had left behind.”

  “France is not that bad.”

  “I have heard—”

  “I have seen it, Gabriel.” She cautiously moved a piece and murmured, “Check, I think.”

  He moved his king out of danger. “I doubt if anything you could say would persuade me to change my mind.”

  “You changed your mind about me.”

  “No.” He tipped up her chin, bringing her gaze up to his. “I have wanted you in my arms from the moment I saw you turn to ride back to face the hill bandits.”

  “You have admonished me for being so foolish.”

  “I did not say you were not foolish. I am saying that something stirred within me and I knew any woman with such wild passions should be mine.”

  She looked back down at the board. She shifted another piece and crowed, “Check and mate, Gabriel.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Had he been so lost in his thoughts that he had let her defeat him at a game he had taught her only yesterday?

  “See for yourself.” She sat and pointed at the pieces. “Your king is captured.”

  With a laugh, he gripped her shoulders and pressed her down into the pillow. “I do not like losing, az-Zahra. You must pay the price for daring to best me.”

  “And if I don’t wish to pay your price?”

  “I think this price you will gladly pay.” He bent to place his lips on hers. At the touch, he dissolved into the sweet hunger which overtook all his senses. Eagerly, she touched him.

  She moaned with unuttered need when his hands slipped along her. He was sure he would never hear a sweeter sound. He entangled his legs with hers and stroked the rounded line of her hips. Delighting in her reaction against him, he tasted her heated breath in his mouth and reached for the hooks on her jacket.

  This was everything he wanted now.

  Gabriel smiled as Melisande paused by her favorite fountain. His mother had chosen well, for the emerald-green silk of the jacket which clung to the alluring curves of Melisande’s breasts added to her hair’s russet glow. As she eased past a bush, he could not pull his gaze from her legs that were lightly shadowed through the thin gauze draping them beneath the girdle that matched her jacket.

  “Are you just going to stare?”

  At her words, he flinched, then smiled. Unlike Falla, who fawned on him, showing she was eager to satisfy him in any way he pleased, Melisande treated him with the begrudging respect of a fellow warrior. Yet, in his arms, she offered a delight that no other woman had. The innocence of her touch thrilled him
as much as her passions.

  Crossing the garden, he asked, “Are all Franj women like you, Melisande? Outspoken?”

  “No.” She sat by the fountain and clasped her hands in her lap.

  “Are they all so brave?”

  “Not all.”

  He took her hand and traced the lines in her palm as he knelt beside her. “Are they all so beautiful?”

  “I will leave that to you men to decide.”

  “I have decided. None can be more beautiful than you.”

  Melisande smiled as she stroked his cheek. Each moment with him was magical, for it never should have been. She did not want to think of the world beyond this garden and the rooms where they had spent the past two days in a haze of desire and satiation. She did not want it to end.

  “I have a gift for you, as-Zahra,” he whispered. He drew a packet from beneath his robes and placed it in her hand. “Open it.”

  She drew aside the soft leather to find two gold circles. Puzzled, she looked from her wrist to the narrow circlets. “What sort of bracelets are these?”

  “A most peculiar sort.” He laughed. “They are ear hoops.” Lifting one, he placed it next to her ear. “Like this—where the gold can gain fire from the lights of your hair.”

  “These are beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Will you wear them?”

  She touched her ears. “My ear lobes are not pierced to wear them.”

  “Karim Pasa would tend to that for you.”

  “I know.” She wrapped the hoops back in the leather and put them beside her on the bench.

  “But you will not ask him.”

  She shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  Standing, she wished she could regain the joy that had been surrounding her before he’d offered her this lovely gift. And the ear hoops were lovely, for they had been made by a fine artisan who knew well how to hammer gold to the thinness of a hair.

  Gabriel’s hands curved along her shoulders, leaning her back against him. He kissed the top of her head, then said, “Tell me, please.”

  “Look at me,” she gasped, pulling away from him.

  “With pleasure.”

  “No. Look at me. I look like the women in your harim, but I am not one of them. I am a Franj, a woman sworn to the Cross.” Her voice broke as she whispered, “When I go home, I can change back into my own clothes; but if I have my ears pierced for these hoops, I will forever be ostracized for allowing myself to be a pampered prisoner instead of dying for my vows.”

  His mouth grew straight. “What good would dying do?”

  “It would be more acceptable to those I left behind than this.” She gestured toward her clothes.

  “I believe you are exaggerating, Melisande.”

  “I am telling the truth.”

  “Then they are fools.” Putting his hand over hers, he closed her fingers around the hoops. “Wear them or not as you wish. They are a gift from me to you, az-Zahra. It would give me pleasure to see them in your ears.”

  “Until Father comes for me.” Sadness filtered into her voice. “You should have a reply to your request for ransom from my father soon. Then I will be leaving here.”

  He turned away, as he did so often when she mentioned the ransom. “What makes you think that his answer will come this quickly?”

  “We are no more than a fortnight from Acre.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  She began to explain how she never got lost, but he halted her with a laugh.

  “Only a fool would underestimate you, Melisande of Heathwyre.”

  “So … I am right. Acre is not far?”

  “Do not speak of Acre.” He gripped her arms. “Do not speak of anything but of us and this craving we share.”

  She lifted his fingers from hers. Taking his hand, she placed the small packet in it. “We can hide from the truth, Gabriel, but that does not change it. You are what you are, and I can be nothing but what I am. When Father pays you what you have asked, we will be enemies once more.”

  “You need not leave.”

  “Yes, I must.” She went into the bedroom and drew her sword out from beneath the bed. Running her fingers along the hilt, she said, “This is the sword of a Hospitaller. It must be used to keep evil from this land. Nothing can change that—not desire, not delight … not love.”

  Gabriel started to reply, then heard raised voices beyond the door leading to the mabeyin. He glanced from the door to Melisande. He wanted to rid her of the sadness that stole the glitter from her eyes.

  “Go,” she said softly.

  “I will return to you as soon as I can. There is much to be said between us.” He brushed his fingers along her downy cheek. “There is much you must know.”

  “All I know is all that matters. You cannot free me from my oath to serve the Crusade.”

  He ached to kiss her lips that trembled with her grief, but he dared not. To be satisfied with a single kiss was impossible. He would tend to whatever matter was causing the noise in the mabeyin; then he would return to her.

  As he opened the door, he looked back to see her walking out to the garden. She was taking the sword with her, ready to do battle with any who stood in the way of fulfilling her oath. He had to admire that determination, even while he did everything he could to be certain she failed.

  “Let me go, shaykh.” As he stood, Shakir’s eyes burned with blood-lust. “I know those passages through the hills as well as you know your ikbal.”

  Beside Gabriel at the table, the caliph cleared his throat. Gabriel paid him no mind as he leaned forward to look at the crude map drawn on the back of a goatskin. Tracing a line with his finger, he smiled. This pass was seldom traveled. Abd al Qadir had chosen his hiding place well, but not well enough.

  “We will ride with the sunset,” he said, picking up the map. “Do you come with us, caliph?”

  “This is your problem, de la Rive. You do not need me to help you deal with it.”

  Gabriel nodded. When he saw Shakir’s frown, he shot a silent warning at his friend to hold his tongue until the caliph had taken his leave of the hall with its row of tiled columns.

  As soon as the old man had gone to have Falla brought to him, Gabriel filled two goblets. He handed one to Shakir. “Do not let him trouble you, my friend. He is obsessed with the one I have given him.”

  “The Franj woman?”

  “No.”

  “I had heard that she—”

  “Such a topic is not worthy of warriors about to snare the beast.” He sipped from his drinking vessel. “We will ride with no more than a score of men. Greater numbers might be difficult to conceal along that pass.”

  “We shall have him tonight, shaykh.”

  “Alive.”

  Shakir scowled. “Trying to take him alive has allowed him to escape us before.”

  “If Abd al Qadir is dead before I can question him about who has given him help in his heinous work, you can be certain another will be set up to take his place without delay. Then the villages and the plains will be bright with blood once more.”

  “The plains need not concern us.” He spat on the floor. “Let the Franj die for the pleasure of the hill bandits.”

  “And when they do, the hill bandits will have their weapons and mounts to use against those we protect. We must protect the Franj, whether we wish to or not.”

  “They do not need our protection.” He began to grumble about the siege at Acre.

  Gabriel let him continue as he swirled his juice in his goblet. On this, he would not be swayed. Melisande had never mentioned how much gold her brother had been carrying with him across the plains. She did not need to tell him. The name of Lord Beornet was known beyond Tyre as a successful merchant and trader. That he had been willing to give up that comfortable life to abide by an oath to the Crusade amazed Gabriel. Mayhap the lord had more honor than rumor suggested, not wanting his sist
er to travel the dangerous wastes without his sword arm.

  Yet she had survived the attack, and Lord Beornet had been one of the first slain. Gabriel refilled his cup as he remembered standing on the outcropping where he could see the hill bandits enter his trap. They had not, for Abd al Qadir and his men had been waiting for the small group of travelers to emerge from the narrow cut through the cliffs. It was not like the hill bandits to track their prey. They simply attacked swiftly, killing and stealing and slinking back into their lair.

  This time had been different. Finding out why was one of the reasons he wanted Abd al Qadir alive. What had been unique about the group of Franj … other than Melisande?

  Like the hill bandits, he had been astonished by how well she wielded her sword. And like them, he had been adamant that she would survive the attack. As he had lifted her senseless form away from the rockslide, he had known that he must bring her here and teach her of the desires that had taunted him even then. He might have miscalculated the trap for the hill bandits, but about Melisande, he had been right. She brought him a rapture he wanted to share again and again and again.

  “You are smiling, shaykh,” Shakir said with a chuckle. “Do you suspect you know his ally?”

  For now, he must concentrate on the capture of Abd al Qadir and the solution to the puzzle that taunted him. “I do not know his ally’s name, nor do I know if there is more than one.” He held up his cup. “I do know that the time is coming when anyone who is allied with the hill bandits will come to regret that.”

  “Does she come with us?” Shakir asked instead of drinking.

  “She? Melisande?” He frowned. “Why would I have her brought with us?”

  “The closest we have come to ensnaring Abd al Qadir has been when she was involved.”

  “She stays here.”

  “Shaykh, I believe she is the way to lure them out of their hiding place.”

  He shook his head. “We tried that once, and it failed.”

  “No, it didn’t. It would have worked perfectly if the bandit had been given a chance to—”