Captive Rose (18 page)

Reality suddenly came crashing in around her when she
heard Guy's ragged groan and felt his hand cover her breast. Realizing too late
the insane folly of her wanton action and wholly shocked at herself for even
doing such a thing, Leila tried futilely to twist away from him.

"No!" she cried hoarsely against his mouth,
her heart hammering. "Stop!"

But he did not stop. As he deepened the kiss, his
caresses grew rougher, more insistent, his thumb circling the rigid nipple
straining against her silk dress. Leila arched her back, stunned by the
incredible pleasure she found in his touch. She knew it was wrong that she
should feel this way—Sweet
Jesu
, he was not her husband!—yet
she could not help it. Then she heard a ripping sound, and her mounting desire
became raw panic as the sheer silken barrier slipped from her body. His hand,
huge and warm, slid over her bare flesh.

Terrified, Leila began to fight him in earnest, all the
horrible stories she had heard about crusaders running through her mind. He was
going to rape her!

She balled up her fists and beat upon his shoulders,
but her frantic blows might have been those of a child for the little notice he
gave them. It wasn't until he tore his mouth from hers and kissed a fiery trail
down her throat that she was able to exclaim breathlessly, "No, you cannot
do this! I am not a whore to be taken when and wherever you choose! I am a
virgin! I demand you stop at once! "

Guy's whole body tensed, her impassioned words ringing
in his ears. Breathing hard, he uttered a low curse as he lifted his lips from
her silky skin.

What the hell was he doing? He had only wanted to
silence her poisonous barbs, to frighten her a little into behaving, not ravage
her. But her kiss had astounded him, setting his blood on fire and his loins
ablaze with need. When her tongue darted boldly into his mouth . . .

Guy cursed again. He knew she was no whore, but perhaps
she was no innocent either. Slowly he lifted his head and met her wide,
frightened eyes.

"You don't kiss like a virgin, my lady . . .
though that is what your mother claimed you to be. Is it possible your heathen
betrothed has already sampled your charms?"

Indignation swept away her fear. Leila was so outraged
that she could not stop the tumble of words that jumped to her tongue.

"How dare you even suggest such a thing?" she
snapped, swiping strands of hair from her flushed face. "In my culture,
virginity is highly prized and to be saved for the wedding night! So, too, are
the sensual arts I have been taught to please my future husband, Jamal Al-Aziz.
They are for him alone! It is a sin for a woman to use these arts on anyone but
her husband—"

"Then you have just sinned, my lady," Guy cut
in thickly, his desire only heightened by her astonishing revelation.

A virgin trained in erotic arts. No wonder her kiss had
been so experienced. Intensely fascinated, he let his imagination run wild, his
vow to protect her pushed to the recesses of his mind. What arts might she
practice upon him if he continued his carnal assault? What further sins, beyond
a kiss, might she commit?

Leila gasped, wishing she could retract her outburst
when his calloused palm moved over her bare breast. She had only made the
situation worse! Then he bent his head and captured an aroused nipple in his
mouth, and she nearly cried out as forbidden pleasure rippled through her. It
was not right that he was doing this to her! She had to stop him!

"Barbarian! Beast! I should have known you wouldn't
understand!" she shouted desperately, hot tears filling her eyes. "That
you would force yourself upon me proves you have no morals! No honor!"

At last her agonized protest cut through Guy's raging
desire like a knife, and he raised his head from her breast.

Seeing her tears in the moonlight, he felt anger sweep
through him, mixed with chagrin at his inability to control himself. By God,
what was the matter with him? He was acting more like a barbarian than like her
guardian knight. Steeling himself against the burning ache in his loins, he shifted
onto an elbow, although he kept his other arm firmly around her waist.

"You are wrong about my honor, Leila," he
sought to explain, knowing how lame it sounded in light of his callous
behavior. "If I didn't possess any, I wouldn't stop now, no matter what
you called me. But I am not a barbarian. In my culture, virginity is also
prized. When I became a knight I pledged to protect all women, their honor,
their
chastity—"

"Your actions belie your words!" she flung at
him, and rightfully so, he realized.

"This is true," he admitted, almost to
himself. "Your beauty alone overwhelms me, but when combined with your
kiss . . ."

"I can imagine you've used that excuse on many
other unfortunate virgins before me," Leila replied sharply, unconvinced.
She looked away, but he forced her chin back to face him.

"Do not provoke me, Leila. It was such a tone that
first drew my wrath. I strongly urge you to behave, or I might lose control of
myself again. Now go to sleep."

Stunned, Leila felt she was choking on the stark
emotion crawling up her throat, her chest rising and falling rapidly from the
strain. As Guy drew her closely against him, it was all she could do to lie
there without shrieking at him.

His dark threat churned like bile in her heart. That he
would threaten to use his kiss, his touch, his body as punishment reinforced
the opinion she had nurtured long before she had ever
beheld
his face.

He was nothing but a barbarian—ruthless, coldhearted,
and cruel. She hated him and all his kind.

Given time, she would show him how much.

Chapter 10

It was dark in the room when Leila felt someone shake
her shoulder. She yawned, her eyelids fluttering, then she snuggled deeper into
the pillow.

"Go away,
Nittia
,"
she murmured, her dream luring her back into sleep. "Leave me alone . . .
Oh!"

Leila sat bolt upright, dazed, her derriere smarting
where someone had pinched her. She could see nothing in the blackness, but she
heard breathing and a rustling movement and she suddenly remembered . . .
everything. Then a light flared and an oil lamp was lit, illuminating Guy de
Warenne
, who was standing beside the bed and smiling down
at her in a most disconcerting fashion.

"How—how dare you!" she spattered, snatching
together what was left of her dress. It did little good. With him so close and
staring at her like a ravenous wolf, she felt naked and vulnerable.

"How dare
I
indeed,"
he said, hooking his thumbs in his sword belt. "Forgive my errant fingers,
my lady, but it was the quickest way I knew to rouse you, other than a
ki
— "

"So I am awake!" Leila blurted, looking away
as her cheeks grew hot. "I thought we were leaving at sunrise," she
said testily. "It is still dark."

"Exactly. You have one half hour to bathe and
dress in your new clothes, then I will come to fetch you. At the cock's crow we
will set out for the harbor."

Leila's gaze swept the shadowed chamber. "I see no
bath. No clothes."

"Alas, there wasn't time to prepare enough hot
water for a full bath for you." He strode around the bed to the
brass-fitted chest she had used in her escape attempt and gestured to a tall
pitcher and a glazed clay basin placed atop the closed lid. "Your bath, my
lady," he said, pouring steaming water into the basin. "There is a
sponge here, scented soap, and a towel. Everything you need—"

"And my clothes?" she queried haughtily,
lifting her chin.

He merely smiled. "In the chest. While you dozed
in the garden last night,
Hayat
replaced the contents
with things you will need for our journey, things I bought for you with some of
your mother's jewels." He tapped the lid. "This chest and everything
in it now belong to you."

Leila offered no thanks, just glowered at him.

Guy shrugged and walked to the door. "A half hour,
my lady."

"I heard you the first time."

"Good.
Hayat
will arrive
shortly to help you dress. Before coming to this house she served an
Englishwoman residing in
Tyre
. She knows how to
garb
a lady."

"And where will you be, my lord?" Leila asked
archly, her mind spinning with desperate possibilities for escape. "With
your
Refaiyeh
, bidding her farewell?"

Guy stopped and studied her, a glint of anger chasing
the amusement from his eyes. "We have said our goodbyes.
Refaiyeh
has gone to her brother's home. You will not see
her again."

"Oh," Leila said, her plans deflating at this
news. She lowered her chin, watching him
surlily
through her thick sable lashes. "
'Tis
plain you
care for this woman. If so, how can you leave her . . . unless you have a wife
who might object to an Arab concubine?" She bit her lip, the words out
before she could stop them. She silently cursed the curiosity that had gotten
the better of her.

Guy seemed momentarily amused by her question,
then
his expression grew hard as if he sensed some malice
behind it. "In England we have no concubines, nor do I have a wife,"
he said flatly. "I gave
Refaiyeh
a choice, and
she has decided to stay in Acre. Not that it is any business of yours." He
glanced impatiently at the chest. "The water grows tepid, my lady. Perhaps
you might occupy your mind with your own affairs."

Affronted by his churlish tone, Leila said nothing as
he left the room, then muttered heatedly, "I'm not surprised
Refaiyeh
chose not to come with
us.,
Any woman would be a fool to traipse after a boorish lout like you! " She
was surprised he did not have a wife, however, and was pondering this
revelation when Guy opened the door slightly.

"Just a warning, Leila. Your beautiful face is
easily read, even by us boorish louts. Do not think to escape through that
grille again. I'll be right outside. If I hear any suspicious noises, you can
be sure the gift of privacy I've granted you this morning will be instantly
forfeited." He smiled roguishly, his tone growing lighter. "Watching
a woman bathe is a favorite pastime of mine, so you have been duly cautioned.
Oh yes, and enjoy the hot water. We won't have such a luxury again until we
reach Marseilles."

"Bastard!" Leila fumed, throwing back the
coverlet as he shut the door.

She sprang from the bed and stripped out of her torn dress
and
sirwal
, then hurried to the chest and bent over
the basin, her teeth chattering in the damp morning chill. Eagerly she dipped
the sponge in the hot water and sighed with pleasure as she ran it along one
arm and down a firm breast.

A sound just outside the room, like a boot scraping on
the floor, caused her to freeze, and she glanced fearfully over her shoulder,
expecting Guy to enter the room at any moment. When he did not, she turned with
relief back to the basin, but her earlier enjoyment was gone.

She bathed quickly, not even the rose-scented soap
lifting her spirits. The desperation that had plagued her yesterday reappeared
with a vengeance, and she began to think of what lay ahead, the future seeming
like a black, yawning pit before her.

The only brightness lay in a single fervent hope within
her heart that she might yet escape and return to Damascus. Until she was on
that ship she would not give up trying . . . No, not even then.

Leila jumped at the soft knock on the door, the sponge
hitting the floor with a squelch. "Who—who is it?" she called out,
darting into a shadowed corner.

"
Hayat
."

"You may enter." Fearing Guy might glimpse
her nakedness, Leila remained in the comer until
Hayat
closed the door and stepped further into the room,
then
she asked her in Arabic, "Is he still out there?"

"Yes, my lady—"

"Not English. Please, speak to me in your native
tongue," Leila insisted, walking into the light where the slave girl could
see her.

Hayat
nodded solemnly,
watching Leila with big, dark eyes. "If you wish, mistress. Have you
finished your bath? "

"Yes." Leila sighed, sensing she would
receive no help from this small slave.
Hayat's
admiration for Guy was written all over her young face, and the girl had
practically glowed with adoration at that wretched tavern. What was it about a
sword-wielding, long-haired barbarian that could set a young girl's heart to
fluttering? It was beyond Leila's understanding.

"Lord de
Warenne
said
you must dress quickly, mistress,"
Hayat
murmured, setting the pitcher and basin on the floor and lifting the lid of the
clothes chest. "The wagon will be here soon to take you to the ship."

"I'll dress as slowly as a tortoise if I please,
Lord de
Warenne
and his ship
be damned!"

Hayat
gasped but kept about
her work, pulling several long garments from the chest. Her voice sounded very
shy as she said, "Lord de
Warenne
asked me to
tell you that another of his favored pastimes is watching a woman dress,
mistress."

Leila gasped, shocked that he would order a child to
say such a thing, yet she took this latest threat to heart. She grabbed the
clothes
Hayat
held out to her, her expression baffled
as she examined them.

"What are these?" she demanded, holding up a
pair of gray silk stockings.

"Hose, mistress. Please, sit upon the bed and I'll
show you."