The Dark Crusader

by Jackie Ivie

  Cassandra kept her nose against his throat as he carried her, making him even more aware of her and what his body experienced about it. There was absolutely nothing he could do to stop or even temper it. He strode past where the mercenaries sat in a huddled group overseen by Emin. Nobody had done anything about the bodies of their fallen comrades, although the line of horses had moved as far away as their reins allowed.

  Good.

  At least his reputation for killing without remorse or regret was beyond reproach.

  Rhoenne had just set her up on the saddle when Henry appeared from around the dune, Euan and Iain at his heels. Rhoenne kept his palm on the small of Cassandra’s back and turned to his man. Worked to keep a flush hidden as Henry stopped before him.

  “You had trouble?”

  “Not much. What did you find out?” he asked.

  “I should have left clan here for you.”

  “No need. What are we looking at?”

  “The woman?”

  Rhoenne sighed heavily. “Henry. Any trouble is past. Now, report. What do we have?”

  “Recollect the deserters I spoke on?”

  “They didn’t get far I see. Dead? Robbed?”

  “Aye. Wagons and horses are gone, too.”

  “You note any missing hands? Disembowelment? Mutilation of some kind?”

  “What manner of man would do such a thing?”

  “One with a prior claim of ownership. Pronouncing judgment.”

  They both glanced at where Cassandra perched.

  “The sultan?” Henry asked.

  “None other. He’s a Mamluk. You heard about the final battle of Fariskur. Did they sound like civilized men to you?”

  “Hmm. True. Well. I cannot say about mutilation. The vultures make quick work out here, my laird.”

  “They have any clothing?”

  “Stripped bare.”

  “We may be in luck, then. Either way, we’ve got two days and nights ahead of us and less chance for rest than afore. Mount up.”

  “What of them?”

  Henry pointed to the four defeated mercenaries. Rhoenne looked them over dispassionately.

  “Leave them. We take the horses. Supplies. Weapons.”

  “We leave them nothing?”

  “They had my fate set. I’m being generous. They’ve got a fair walk to the oasis or a longer walk back. Not my issue.”

  “Fair enough. What of him?”

  Henry pointed at Emin. Rhoenne twisted his lips to stop the smile. The eunuch knew what they pondered. He looked even more dangerous somehow.

  “Emin has taken possession of some weaponry. I approve. Handle any replacements. We’ve got spare swords and knives now. These barbarians do make good steel. Now, cease wasting time and words. The days do not lengthen, nor does my patience expand. Mount up.”

  Rhoenne put his foot in a stirrup, lifted into the saddle, looped an arm around Cassandra and yanked her back against him. He heard her gasp. He meant it to look as possessive as it undoubtedly did. He only wished it didn’t feel so right.

  He instantly amended the thought.

  He wished it didn’t feel like anything at all.

  Chapter Nine

  They reached an oasis late afternoon.

  Cassandra couldn’t recall a journey as miserable. If she’d still worn any kohl from the harem, it would have run off. She was miserably hot, itchy with continual rivulets of moisture that plastered the gauzy material from the harem to her skin, sapped and somnolent from heat, dry-mouthed with thirst. This, despite the three times a man had ridden close enough to hand Rhoenne a goat-skin bag filled with water, and he’d allowed her to drink most of it before quenching his own need. This experience didn’t bear any resemblance to how she’d traveled with the sultan.

  She’d journeyed into another world.

  When the harem traveled, women were escorted under guard into lavishly appointed, horse-drawn covered sedan carts, lined with padded silks and filled with pillows. Curtains were drawn, sealing the women in, making a luxurious cage. Every need or desire had been anticipated and fulfilled. There were other carts in the caravan, loaded with food. Drink. Sundry items that included musical instruments, writing implements, reading material, and everything needed for adornment: Garments, jewelry...cosmetics. Soldiers and eunuchs provided escort and protection, some mounted, many afoot. Slaves ran alongside, bearing all manner of refreshment. Fruit baskets. Sometimes figs, dates, pistachio, and other nuts. Flagons of cool fruit juice. Pots of brewed tea. An assortment of cheeses. Breads. Freshly grilled skewers with succulent chunks of lamb, beef, goat, and the usual green peppers, onions, and eggplant. Sometimes, they’d even been offered pastries stuffed with dates or figs.

  Sun may have beat down on the coach but the interior was dim, the air perfumed. If it got unbearably stuffy, a slave would be brought inside, to wave an ostrich or peacock fan on the occupants. They’d always seemed grateful for the chore. She’d wondered at that. What creature would prefer a cage to freedom? Now, she wasn’t so sure.

  She wasn’t certain of much anymore.

  No one had sufficiently described the dangers of life outside the harem walls. She’d read some of the romantic poems, listened to the stories. It was a way to while away time. She’d thought the prose overly descriptive, ludicrous, and trite. Now she knew the stories were complete fantasy.

  None of them had any resemblance to this experience. Constant riding. Little food beyond a dry cake to nibble on and then suck into swallowing consistency. Brackish tasting, warm water. A back ache developed from staying in one position all day. Her backside felt bruised and sore. Numbness intermittently claimed arms and legs. Each inhalation contained suffocating air filled with the odor of her once beautifully oiled and perfumed hair. Except for when the knight offered her food or water, Cassandra kept the cloak closed. The alternative was peering through waves of heat that burned her eyes, and reflected light so bright it pained.

  Perhaps there were valid reasons women coveted a position in a harem. It didn’t seem possible, but she might need to rethink her every assumption, even the most entrenched ones.

  That was a frightening proposition. Almost as scary as experiencing this strange world she’d been jettisoned into. She’d likened harem life to a never-ending pursuit of nothingness. A prison with silken walls...but still – a prison. It was dangerous, too. Although placid on the surface, Cassandra had observed malevolent female machinations. She’d witnessed death. Poisoning was common. But never had she listened to death dealt with such horrifying efficiency as it had been this morning. Violence such as that would never have occurred in her presence before. No man would have been allowed close enough to warrant it.

  No wonder Emin spoke as he had! Now she knew what he’d meant when he told her he wasn’t strong enough to protect her. He wished to stay with this knight? She could well see why. Until her lot improved, she shared the sentiment. So Cassandra leaned against him all day, suffering without complaint. It wasn’t due to weakness or a sore backside. Being with Rhoenne Ramhurst meant safety, and in this world she resembled a newly hatched chick.

  The analogy should have been amusing.

  It wasn’t.

  She wasn’t used to going without stimulating her mind for this long, either. In the harem, there was always a way to mute the life-sapping quality of each day. Something of interest happening. Something to put her mind to. A new language to learn. Now she had a comparison. Time droned on, the horse kept a back-aching sway, stifling heat plagued her, and she had nothing to temper it save the boredom of her own thoughts.

  And fears.

  And worries over what this Rhoenne might do.

  Or not do.

  The group rode in virtual silence the entire day. Steady. Constant. It came as a surprise when they halted. Then one of them spoke.

  “Well. Well. What have we here,” someone announced.

  “Looks like we’ve got a settlement ahead, lads.”

  “That i
s not a settlement, Grant. ’Tis a hole in the ground. A couple of trees. A mud brick hut. A penned goat. Oh. My mistake. They’ve got two goats.”

  The speaker had to be Henry, the man with the cultured voice. He possessed wit and a quick tongue, as well.

  “This is it? A hole in the ground?”

  “That is a well,” another man pointed out. He had a higher-pitched voice than the others, making it easy to pick his out.

  “Are you telling us we’ve reached your oasis, Euan? Finally?”

  “So I got lost. I’m not the lone one.”

  The high-pitched voice belonged to Euan. Cassandra made a mental note.

  “That what you call it? Lost? We backtracked at least twice.”

  “Three, if you count the mirage.” Henry said.

  “Henry.” Rhoenne spoke. Throbs of bass notes went through her ear. Cassandra started. He huffed out a breath that might have been amusement at her reaction.

  “My laird?”

  “Go. See if there is a charge for water.”

  “Bargain us a meal while you’re at it.”

  That was the first speaker, Grant. Cassandra made another mental note matching voice to name.

  “What if they can’t cook?”

  “It’s got to be more edible than the slop we make.” Euan’s high-pitched voice came again.

  “What should I use for funds? Have we...gold, perchance?”

  Rhoenne sighed hugely, moving Cassandra too. Henry was saying something with the reference. Something only he and Rhoenne knew. And now Cassandra. She’d bet he’d been told of her jewels.

  “We have a lot of extra horses,” Rhoenne replied.

  “And they are expensive to keep. I’m going to need a lot of gold for that as well.”

  “Why don’t you go see if anyone at this oasis would like the chore instead?” Rhoenne pointed out.

  “Ah. You want me to trade horses. Good plan. Smart.”

  She heard sounds that equated with horses being separated and herded.

  “Well. Our Rhoenne is smart. That’s why he’s the laird.” Grant remarked.

  “He’s the laird because his father was laird. And his father before that. And his father afore that. And afore that—have I reached the first earl yet?”

  Cassandra reeled in place without moving, her eyes wide. Rhoenne Ramhurst was an earl? An earl? Her mind repeated it in stupefaction. He was a nobleman? She knew what that entailed. She came from royalty. Her father had been a prince! Noblemen were sworn to a code of chivalry. They embodied courtesy, honor, courage, and a willingness to protect the weak. And this Rhoenne had actually considered leaving her to monsters?

  And still might?

  “You’re shaking.”

  His quiet observation halted every thought, turning her reaction into a heated ball that surrounded her heart and then squeezed. She couldn’t believe she’d actually found him handsome, and struggled with a response to his kiss. She knew to look beneath the surface. The prettiest face sometimes hid the most evil. Rhoenne Ramhurst may be the most beautiful man birthed. But his soul didn’t match.

  If he even had one.

  “You need a rest?” he asked.

  Did she need a rest? She needed decent food. Cool water. A soft sand scrubbing followed by a bath in tepid water. A massage with warmed oils. Her hair combed out by someone patient enough to work out all the snarls. And she needed it oiled and then re-braided. But mostly, she needed distance from him!

  “I need...a bath,” she finally answered.

  A soft chuckle rumbled through him. “Well. That will not be happening.”

  She would have stiffened if her back wasn’t a mass of ache.

  “You are not entertaining, lass. Not that I particularly care. I just want you to know.”

  She sucked in air, but was saved further response by another announcement from one of them. She couldn’t assign the name.

  “Hark! Henry returns. He’s not bringing horses. Looks like a good sign.”

  “We are getting a rest? Finally?”

  “Apparently,” Rhoenne answered.

  “A long one?”

  “Long enough to fill water bags. Stretch legs. Eat,” Rhoenne replied.

  “Sleep?” Someone asked.

  “Sleep in the saddle. We’ve got time to make up.”

  “Or we can just go sleepless, like you do,” Henry must have joined them, since that was his remark.

  “Oh, he sleeps. I’ve seen it. It’s the way he wakes that you need to be wary of.”

  That sounded like the one named Grant, but she couldn’t be sure. And despite everything, Cassandra actually felt herself blush.

  “How I sleep, or if I do, isn’t going to get us food and water.” Rhoenne’s reply accompanied how he tensed his legs, shifting to start the horse. And Cassandra felt every bit of it. “And we have added worries now.”

  “How so?”

  “We just painted a bigger target on our backs.”

  “We did?”

  “We bartered with prime horseflesh. The sultan’s palace was just destroyed and plundered. You know how rumor spreads on the air out here. Don’t tarry overmuch. And we don’t want to get lost again, either.”

  Any camaraderie or joking was instantly quelled. Cassandra considered it as they approached the settlement. Rhoenne Ramhurst was morose. Enigmatic. The man could put a damper on a celebratory feast. No wonder they called him dark.

  The horse stopped again. Rhoenne jumped from behind her, gaining her an instant shiver. She hadn’t realized how hot it was between them.

  “See to your mistress.” He was walking away if his voice was any indication. Cassandra lifted a finger and opened the cloak a slit. The men hadn’t been succinct. The horse had stopped beneath a grove containing more than two trees. A bit of green shrubs and wild grass was beneath their feet as well. The horse bent his head and started plucking at it.

  “Highness? Will you grant me permission to touch you?”

  “Yes. Please. And Emin?”

  He’d reached for her, but stopped at her query, calmly waiting with his head bowed deferentially.

  “Thank you,” she solemnly said.

  He lifted his head, straightened, and then gave an enormous grin, his white teeth flashed against his swarthy complexion, and she could have sworn he flushed. The cloak hid her answering smile.

  They’d moved his saddle to the other large horse. Cassandra was already in place, Emin at her side. The eunuch probably still needed to eat and drink. Rhoenne pulled his burnoose over his head as he approached. No reason to show how he’d slicked back his wet hair, after finger-combing it. She needn’t know that he’d waited to join the others in drink and sup in order to toss off his burnoose and tunic, pull up a bucket of well water and pour it over his head. She’d probably liken his ministration to a bath and get annoyed at him. She’d be wrong.

  It was self-preservation.

  He was traveling through a sun-baked desert, and he needed a cooling off. That was insanity at its finest. So was her request for a bath.

  A bath?

  There was no way he’d allow Cassandra to take off one layer of clothing. She was definitely not disrobing enough to bathe. The thought alone was troublesome. Nothing made it dissipate. It required a bucket-full of water to handle. The realization irked. Irritated. And angered. And that made him scowl.

  Emin looked over at his approach. Nodded sagely. Then sprinted for the far side of the tree grove. He’d obviously delayed his own needs in order to protect Cassandra. Such loyalty was laudable, and interesting, given his skill and present company. He had to sense the Ramhurst clansmen were the most trustworthy men alive, and neither man living at this oasis looked like they’d be trouble, even if they were inclined to add more wives to those they already claimed.

  The eunuch would need to grab a skewer or two, quench his thirst, and do it rapidly. The others were already assembling and roping together the dozen horses they’d selected for the continuing trek.r />
  They had two more days before they’d reach Batok. Or one night and tomorrow. Rhoenne didn’t know for certain. He hadn’t studied it, and he wasn’t inclined to care. He was only grateful. Having a woman accompanying his every move, preying on his mind, was problematic.

  Problematic?

  It was hell.

  He looked up at her shrouded form sitting sideways in front of his saddle. She really looked little. Lost.

  “Did he bring you water? And sup?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Rhoenne swore beneath his breath. “I’ll see it fetched.”

  “Wait.”

  She lifted an arm, stretching the cloak, and easily defining her curves. The small waist. Nice buttocks...

  Rhoenne cursed silently this time.

  “Your man, Henry brought them.”

  That must have happened while Rhoenne was rinsing off. The man needed to be horse-whipped. Rhoenne regarded her for a long moment.

  “You know his name?”

  She nodded.

  “Don’t think to use it.”

  “Use...what?”

  “I know exactly what women do. And how they use it. And I’m telling you in advance. Don’t try it. Not on my men. And especially not on me. I’m immune.”

  She lifted a hand up through the tie at her throat to tip the cloak hood back. He expected her to be glaring hatred at him. Instead, her expression was serene and completely inscrutable. But her eyes!

  He already knew she was stunningly beautiful, but her eyes were beyond description, easily her best feature. He’d labeled them green. At the moment, they looked like deep wells of molten gold. Luminous. Ever-changing. He didn’t know what was going on, but he got an instant impression that she not only knew his every secret but she knew the panacea, as well. Rhoenne had to lock every muscle to keep eye contact with her and ignore a heavy buzzing that filled each ear. The thump of his own elevated heartbeat. The instant parched feeling of his throat. His voice was harsh, the words clipped.