by Jackie Ivie
“His bed?” Cassandra exclaimed.
“It is a matter of life and death! Those who stay behind...with the wagons? They remind me of wolves. Death would be more welcome! They would not be merciful, and I could not prevent them, although I will die first. Please, Highness. Please? I beg of you.”
“You don’t know what you ask.”
“Is it truly so hard? Can you not think of him as your new master...akin to His Excellency, the sultan? At least...for the time-being?”
Cassandra set her jaw. Regarded the eunuch. “This is unfair.”
“The world is an unfair place, Highness.”
“Especially for a woman,” Cassandra said.
“For many,” he replied softly.
Cassandra turned and stared at the door flap without really seeing it. She had just tasted freedom from an existence of manipulation and pretense! And now Emin wanted her to do it again? She hadn’t full knowledge of what happened between a man and a woman but she’d spent years observing jealousy and passion and secrets and vendettas and hatreds...and what they did to people. That’s how she’d whiled away most of the hours that droned on without end.
To those of a vacant mind, life in the harem was wondrous. To her, it was an encapsulated world of time that ticked by with the slowness of a weak drip. Sometimes women swam. Danced. Did needlework. Some painted. Some wrote. Others read. Some played music. Beautification and cleanliness were time-consuming events that everyone enjoined, but some women preened continually, poring over every real or imagined imperfection. Almost all of them toyed with emotions and fears as they gathered in small groups to shred each other. Gossip was the main recreation. Cassandra had been subjected to it when she’d first entered. She’d been eleven, bruised from her kidnapping and travel, fearful of her future. She hadn’t known the languages. But even then, she’d seen how they used words as weapons.
And then she’d tried to understand why.
She became adept at hiding. Keeping to shadows. Ignored. Dismissed as beneath notice. Few noticed her. She was considered odd. Unfriendly. Tiresome and boring. She learned the languages they spoke. Any and all of them. She didn’t join a group, and she didn’t spend time with the outsiders – the unpopular women who banded together in defense. No one realized she studied them. And then she’d test herself. Every day there was some event to observe, usually more than one. She’d watch situations being set up. Calculate the reasons behind it. Guess the end result, and watch them play out. Check her accuracy. She’d gotten very good at it.
That’s how she’d known this Rhoenne had been hurt by a woman.
She didn’t know to what extent, but it made him declare he was heartless. Hard. Cruel. He’d had a lot of practice at it. He was very good. The emotionless hard personae he’d assumed was almost ingrained.
And Emin begged her to try to please him?
The man would detest her if she tried.
It may already be too late. There were too many variables at play. She suspected if she’d spit words of hatred at Rhoenne or heaped abuse, he’d leave her without a backward glance - because that’s what he expected of a woman. If she’d been pliant and soft and seductive, he’d also leave her behind, because he’d guess the act of seduction was to save her skin – which he also expected of women. Disinterest such as she’d shown him may have been her best tool.
...except for that kiss.
Oh my.
His response had been unguarded and raw, showing something she instinctively knew he didn’t want seen. He was very good at his emotionless demeanor, but it wasn’t perfect...and she’d been a witness. The man was living behind a facade. She didn’t know what he’d do to preserve it. Emin was wrong. She hadn’t fought anyone.
The Dark Knight was fighting himself.
She truly didn’t know what might happen next. She didn’t know what had made him like he was. She didn’t know if she wanted to know. She didn’t even know if she could face him. That kiss had changed everything in her world. She’d never felt so wild. Stimulated. Aroused. Enthralled. Excited.
And terrified.
If he’d felt just a small measure of those emotions...? She might get left behind because of that.
All because of a kiss.
Cassandra shivered anew at the memory. Blushed. She faced a volatile situation with no right answer. Surviving a harem sounded easier. At least she’d had hundreds of women to hide amongst.
“How long is this trip?” she asked finally.
“Two nights. Less. More. It depends when we leave, and what dangers we will face. Then there is the voyage ahead. This crusader seeks transport from these shores, as well.”
“We have our passage paid.”
“A man who will take bribes from a shrouded harem woman with no chance of escape will sell his own children.”
Cassandra frowned. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“Hope is an endearing quality.”
Endearing. Strange, she’d never thought of herself in concert with that description. “Then we definitely will need these.” She lifted the anklets.
“Princessa. Please. We will be under the protection of a strong man. He will handle things like funds.”
“You are a strong man.”
“Not enough for one as beautiful as you.”
“You have been among women too long, my friend.”
“Yes. Most of my life. But you are most beauteous. You have mirrors. You know I do not lie.”
There was no reasoning with him. Lots of things determined status in a harem, although the real power resided in the sultan’s mother. Following her came the great wife, then the lesser wives. And then the concubines, starting with the current favorite. Catching the sultan’s eye was of paramount importance, and all knew he wished a beautiful face and pleasing form. Cassandra wasn’t blind or stupid. The harem was peopled with women from multiple lands. Almost all of them could be considered beautiful. Emin was extremely biased. He had been since she’d befriended him.
“Shouldn’t we hide just one of these? For emergencies?”
“And if he finds out, what then? He will have no qualm about tossing both of us overboard.”
“Emin—”
“It may not be onerous. He is much younger than His Excellency. In his prime. More fit. Much more handsome. Probably a tiger when he—”
“Cease that. I am not blind.” Cassandra interrupted him before he got any further with his descriptions, sounding exactly like a woman would. And a lot like she had.
“He is not such a bad master, Highness. He sent me to see to your needs. I will help you prepare. You need to be ready before he requires it.”
“So, now I have to anticipate his needs? This better not get much worse.”
“Would it truly be so bad? He seems fair, if a bit harsh.”
“You compared him to a mud-brick wall earlier, Emin.”
“No!”
Cassandra almost smiled at his horrified look. “Calm yourself. It was a figure of speech no one will ever hear from my lips. And I completely concur. So. Tell me. Did he give you leave to fetch me something to eat? And drink? Something...that isn’t beer?”
“I will return with such. But first I shall see if there is anything fit for you to wear.”
“You don’t like my new gown?” She spun. The tunic didn’t twirl with her, and it gapped worse at the shoulders once she stopped.
“Why would you dress thusly? He will not find you of any interest. You do injustice to a pig.”
Cassandra laughed. “He was the one who ordered me to wear it.”
“No!”
His horrified look was back. That was really amusing.
“Oh, indeed. This is what I am commanded to wear. I need a belt of some kind, though. Could you see if there is something I can use? A rope, maybe? Or perhaps I can fashion one with my head scarf...although it might be too colorful. Oh! And sandals. I cannot run about barefoot forever.”
“I do not understand t
hese infidels. Oh. Wait. Perhaps he wishes to hide your beauty from all others. I take it back. If that be the case, he shows uncommon sense.”
“If you start extolling his virtues again, I will banish you.”
He stood. Bowed. “You wish a length of rope. Food. Water. Sandals. Is that everything?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. Bowed. The door flap swished and he was gone. Cassandra went to check the wooden trunk. There wasn’t anything left in it. Nothing to use for a belt. Or shoes. She shut it again.
“Water. Bread. Stew. Eat quickly, Princesse.”
Emin’s hands materialized beneath the door with items. Cassandra didn’t need to be told twice. She was at the door before the door flap finished swaying. The water was cool, a bit brackish, and absolute heaven to her throat. The spicy stew dazzled her tongue. They needed a lighter hand with their use of seasonings, but if she added a piece of bread to each bite of stew, it was quite delicious. Filling. And warm.
“Rope.”
A length of hemp slithered beneath the door flap next. Emin was more resourceful than even she realized, but he’d brought a rope long enough to circle her several times over. Cassandra wound the rope twice about her waist, crossed it between her breasts, looped it over her shoulders, across her back, around to the front and tied it at her waist. Ends trailed to her knees.
The door swished again.
“You’ve found sandals, too?” she enquired.
“Sandals?”
Cassandra gasped, looked up, and instantly her glance skittered back down. She had her answer to one thing. She couldn’t face him. She could blush, though. And stay tongue-tied and silent. She’d always been hidden and quiet, but why, when she needed her voice most, was it absent?
The knight didn’t say anything. She dared another peek. He stood just inside the door, lifting the top of the tent with his head. He wore a burnoose. He had his arms folded, while regarding her with narrowed eyes. He didn’t look happy about anything. She looked back down again.
“I...am barefoot.”
She stuck a foot out for proof. The henna marks were fading from her nails and skin, but it was easy to see she didn’t go barefoot as a normal course.
“You have no need of sandals.”
Oh, God!
She knew instantly that he’d made his decision.
He was called The Dark One. Hard. Heartless. Emotionless. He was proving it right now. A man with ‘dark’ attached to him didn’t care if she was savagely raped. Tortured. Then stoned. Or worse. The color alone branded a man hard, and cruel.
The reason he’d come personally was because he needed to demonstrate – to himself - that if he could face her while condemning her, then there was no pretense. No façade. He could go about his way unscathed. Further cement his personae. Continue his quest for vengeance against her gender. To right whatever wrong the mysterious woman had done to him.
She was as certain as if he spoke the words.
Oh, why had she spent so many years researching and reading human behavior? She’d rather be ignorant of what people did and why. But...if that had been the case, she’d never have plotted to escape the harem. She wouldn’t have been at Selique’s sup. She’d have been assured a long life as a pampered pet even if the boredom was life-sapping.
But she would never have to deal with this level of hurt.
Tears flooded her eyes...stupid useless things. Cassandra stiffened her back and held her breath and sucked the emotion back into oblivion. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
“You are standing on my cloak.”
Her limbs were frozen and stiff, as if she’d aged instantly. Cassandra backed a step on legs that shuddered. Another. Tried to remain standing. And she wondered why God had helped her escape the harem and spared her a death by fire at the palace. Both sounded better than the fate that would soon be hers.
“Must you take forever? You were supposed to be dressed.”
Cassandra looked down at the rope-decorated tunic. “I...am,” she choked out.
He reached down for the cloak, pulled it from beneath her toes. The anklets rolled out, and clanked together as they hit his boots.
“More? You had more treasure on you?”
“An...kles.” The word contained a sobbed note despite the hold she exerted. But he didn’t seem to notice or care about that, either.
“I see.”
He bent and picked them up. She heard rustling as he secured them in the bag. She didn’t move her view from the toes of his boots.
“I can’t believe any man put that much gold and gems on one woman, even if she was his favorite.”
Cassandra nodded. She could tell him the truth, but he was leaving her. What would it ever matter?
“Are you going to come here, or make me come and get you?”
“What?”
Surprise held her immobile, eyes wide, mouth open. She’d been wrong? He wasn’t leaving her?
“You question me? Still?”
She daren’t answer. She was filling with something akin to incomprehensible joy. She thought she’d burst. He kept his gaze on his hands as he shook out his cloak to swirl it around her shoulders, deftly securing the ties at her throat. He pulled the hood over her head, grabbed one side of the front opening to haul it across her torso, and brought the other side over to cocoon her. Fabric swathed her, head to foot. He left just enough room for her to see if the hood didn’t droop.
And he was talking the entire time.
“I am not taking you from this tent and up on a horse with me unless you are completely and totally covered. For that we need my cloak. I should think it obvious. And I cannot believe I am explaining myself. Now. Ready? No more wasted words? No more argument?”
She nodded her head inside the hood. Then she shook it. Then nodded again. The cloak didn’t move, but he must have seen or guessed her answer. She couldn’t speak. She was singing soundlessly, dancing without movement, and laughing with abandon.
Inside.
Where it wouldn’t show.
“Women!”
He made it a curse word and then he completely stunned her. Rather than sling her over his shoulder, he bent and lifted her, one arm beneath her knees, one behind her shoulders. He pulled her close, his arms hard. Strong. A shaft of something speared her. Cassandra was atremble with it. She’d never experienced anything like this before, either. And then he moved, ducking his head to shove beneath the door, then walking with sure strides, the entire time carrying her like she was something precious, rather than chattel to be transported. To Cassandra, it resembled floating. She was radiant with relief and glee and hoped the swaddling hid it.
Emin joined them. Rhoenne spoke. She already knew his voice was impressive. Hearing it with her ear pressed to his chest was an extraordinary experience.
“Why aren’t you mounted?”
“I was fetching sandals.”
“She won’t need them.”
“Yes, Excellency.”
At the title, Rhoenne huffed something that didn’t sound like pleasure, and there was a definite hitch to his stride before it resumed. Several steps later, he stopped. Cassandra lost the support of his arms as he set her atop a horse. If she wasn’t aglow with emotion, she’d be frightened. She’d ridden in her youth, but never sideways, in front of a saddle, or with her limbs plastered in place. The only steadying influence was his hand on her waist. There was enough light in the vicinity to see quite a number of horses, most carrying a rider, some with large packs. Cassandra averted her gaze. She turned her head to the right, back the way they’d just come.
Toward the light and noise.
The camp was set up in an area surrounded by dunes. At the moment it was lit by torchlight, loud with celebratory sounds including shouts, laughter, and more than one crash. Wagons, piled with goods circled a fair-sized center space where a bonfire was burning. Quite a number of men were milling through the area, whistling. Ranting. She heard more than a
few shouts regarding their departure. And some that contained slurs about women that sent a stab of fear.
Thank you, God. Thank you.
Cassandra sent a silent prayer winging to the heavens before turning her head back. The knight was before her, cinching something beneath the horse’s belly. His left hand was still about her waist, holding her in place. The burnoose he wore made him appear even more massive. His shoulders were really impressive. The cloak hid how she licked at her lips, but not what might show in her eyes. She turned her head before he noticed. Focused on the horse’s mane between its ears.
“Is that a woman or a carpet, Ramhurst?”
The man with the cultured voice spoke. She didn’t know which man he was. She didn’t check.
“You are annoying, Henry.”
The answer was spoken right beside her ear. Cassandra jerked. His hand tightened as he caught it.
“Moi? Annoying? I merely comment on what seems to be an overly deft manner of...packing.”
There were some snorts and snickers from those about them. The knight gave a heavy sigh.
“I have cause to wonder if the poor woman can breathe,” the man continued.
“My problem. Not yours. Start riding.”
“We are all mounted save you, my laird.”
Cassandra made things infinitely more difficult by turning to face him. He had his left foot in the stirrup, his leg crooked, and an extremely defined thigh on display. The burnoose had been gathered up, so it was no help. The glance he sent toward her was even less helpful. Cassandra met it. Lost her breath.
“And so we stand about and await your pleasure. As usual,” the man continued.
“Henry.”
“Yes, my laird?”
It must be true. It seemed like they all waited. And watched. Rhoenne reached his arm over the horse, grabbed the saddle behind her and lifted, pulling the entire thing slightly askew. She lurched forward, his arm stopped it, before he swung his other leg behind her and slid into the saddle. And then he pulled her close to him.