Captive Rose (24 page)

"Your
charette
, my lady,"
he said when their newly hired driver halted the four-wheeled wagon in front of
them and prepared to jump down from his seat. "Stay where you are, man. I'll
see to my wife."

Ignoring Guy's proffered arm, Leila looked doubtfully
at their roughly constructed conveyance. It was so crude compared to the silk
curtained litters she knew from home; no pillows or cushions, only dank straw
heaped upon the wagon floor to soften the ride. "Where am I to sit?"

"In the back with our chests," Guy replied,
catching her around the waist. "Up you go."

Leila gasped as he swung her into the wagon, and was mortified
by the driver's gruff chuckle of approval. From the man's reaction, it seemed
to be a common thing for women to be so roughly handled. She sat down awkwardly
amid the straw, wrenching the
surcoat's
voluminous
folds around her knees.

"We have to make a few stops before we leave the
city," Guy informed her as he mounted the stallion. "We need food and
a pallet for you to sleep on—"

"Please, my lord, don't trouble yourself on my
account," Leila interrupted irritably, sneezing at the musty straw. "This
hay will serve me just as well."

"Are you sure?" Guy asked, amusement lighting
his eyes.

"Quite.

"Very well, then. If you're stiff and sore
tomorrow morning, you've only yourself to blame."

She did not deign to reply as the wagon rumbled into
motion. Instead she lowered her head and closed her eyes to the myriad
perplexing sights her mind could no longer absorb. She could feel Guy watching
her for a moment, but soon he rode ahead, leaving her to her silent misery.

***

When Leila awoke, she had no idea where she was. She
tried to rise but fell back onto something quite soft, which was a great relief
to her sore muscles and aching lower back. Then she felt the rocking motion; it
was not as severe as what she had suffered during the sea voyage, but a rolling
sensation just the same.

"Good afternoon, my lady."

Her eyes widened at the sound of Guy's voice and she
turned to the side. He was sitting in a narrow wooden berth directly across
from her, dressed in a tunic, hose, and his black knee boots. An oil lamp
sputtered on the rough-hewn table between them.

"Afternoon?" she queried, confused. "I
thought it was night." She remembered being jostled along in that accursed
wagon long past nightfall, unable to sleep for the constant bumping. Then
overcome at last by sheer exhaustion, she had lain down in that smelly straw . .
.

"You've been asleep since before we reached
Avignon, well over thirteen hours ago by now. We're on the boat to Lyons. At
the rate these oarsmen are rowing, we'll be there by sunrise tomorrow."

Still dazed, she merely sighed and stared up at the
low-beamed ceiling.

She wasn't surprised she had slept so long after that
grueling wagon ride. What did surprise her was that she wasn't seasick,
considering they were on another boat. Perhaps because this vessel was
smaller—her gaze darted about the cramped cabin—much smaller, its motion wasn't
affecting her as much. Or maybe it was because they were on a river instead of
the open sea. In any case, she was grateful.

She noted the shadows filling the comers and realized
she would have had no idea it was afternoon if Guy hadn't told her. There was
no oriel window in this tiny cabin, in fact, no luxuries at all but the
incredibly soft mattress on which she was lying. Covered with clean linen, it
looked brand new. She hadn't slept on anything so comfortable since leaving
Refaiyeh's
house.

"I bought the mattress for you in Avignon,"
Guy said with a half smile, reading her thoughts. "You should have heard
the bedding merchant's curses when I woke him early this morning." He
shrugged. "It was the least I could do to make up for the miserable ride
to Lyons."

Leila smiled back, touched by his thoughtfulness. "Thank
you," she murmured, quickly looking away when she saw a strange warmth
flare in his eyes.

Instantly some of her good will vanished, and she
resolved not to smile at him again if she could help it. She didn't want to
give him the impression her attitude toward him was softening. It wasn't. Not
in the least.

"How well do you ride horses, Leila?"

She glanced sharply at him. "Well enough. My
father taught me. He owned some of the fastest Arabians in the empire—"

"Good. After we reach Lyons, we'll ride post
rather than continue on in wagons. They're too slow."

"Post?"

"It means we'll ride hard, changing horses at inns
along the way and resting only when necessary."

"But what of our chests, our clothes . . . and
this new mattress?"

"We'll pack what we can in saddlebags and leave
everything else behind. I'm determined to make it to London in time for Edward's
coronation. It will be a great day for England, and I don't want to miss it."

"So you'll kill me to do so?" she queried,
her temper rising. "You may be accustomed to spending long hours in a
saddle, Lord de
Warenne
, but I am not. My riding was
limited to short races across the desert."

"Then you can ride with me," he said with an
engaging grin. "We accomplished our journey from Damascus to Acre like
that, and I could do so again. Gladly. You fit quite snugly in my arms. Your
added weight was no trouble at all."

Exhaling in frustration, Leila rolled onto her side
with her back to him, refusing to reply. Nor did she want him to see how his
suggestion, and his handsome smile, had affected her. When he looked at her
with that roguish glint in his eyes, she melted inside and she knew she was
blushing foolishly. His smile aroused heated memories she had no wish to
remember. Damn him!

"Either way, riding separately or together, we
should be in Calais within six days," he continued in a rakish tone that
made her certain he had sensed her discomfort. "From there we'll take a
barge to Dover,
then
we're only a day's ride from
Westminster."

Leila's thoughts spun at this news. They were less than
a week's journey from London! She would never have thought she would have so
little time to
effect
an escape. And Guy seemed
equally determined not to let her out of his sight. What was she to do?

A new thought struck her, an idea she hadn't yet
considered.

Maybe it might be better to wait until she was in her
brother's care. Surely Roger would listen to reason and allow her to return to
Syria if he knew where her heart truly lay, no matter their mother's misguided
plans for her. Probably the last thing he would want was a sister he had never
known to exist as an added responsibility. From what Guy had told her, it
sounded as if Roger already had enough problems. He would be more than eager to
be rid of her.

She pressed her lips stubbornly together. No, that idea
had merit, but it would have to serve as her very last resort. She just wasn't
ready to give up yet. If the right situation arose and she could secure the
remainder of the jewels her mother had given to Guy, she would be gone before
he could blink.

She closed her eyes, wishing Guy would magically disappear
and thus solve her miserable predicament when she heard his berth creak and his
boots scrape on the floor. She jumped at the sharp pop of a stopper being
pulled from a bottle.

"Care for some wine, my lady? I also have fresh
baked bread, soft ripened cheese, hmmm, some roasted chicken . . ." He
paused, smiling broadly at her when she peeked over her shoulder, then began to
make a great show of rummaging in a large cloth sack and placing the named
items on the table.

Leila's nostrils flared, the savory smell of food
making her mouth water and her stomach growl noisily. She winced in
embarrassment and looked back at the wall.

"I'm not hungry."

"What a pity," he said nonchalantly. "Oh
well, that just leaves all the more for me. This constant traveling has given
me quite an appetite. I'm surprised you don't
feet
the same."

Leila listened, licking her lips, as he poured himself
a goblet of wine. In truth she was terribly thirsty and her stomach was so
hollow it hurt. It had been a long time since she had eaten a full meal. She
was just about to relent when he suddenly inhaled with great vigor, and she
turned over to find him sniffing the contents of a small basket.

"What's in there?" she asked, curiosity
getting the better of her.

Guy held the basket lower so she might see, his lips
twitching with humor. "The baker assured me these were the sweetest
confections in his shop. I believe you have something like this in the Holy
Land . . . almond pastries. I also bought some apple fritters dusted with
cinnamon sugar, one of my favorites. There are three of each, all baked fresh
this morning."

The fragrant pastries proved too much for Leila. "May
I have one?" she asked, beginning to think she would faint if she didn't
eat something.

"By all means, my lady," Guy said, offering
her the basket. "I purchased them especially for you."

She took a pastry and eagerly bit into it, the almond paste
the most glorious thing she had ever tasted, even sweeter than she remembered
from home. She quickly finished the confection, licking her fingers, and went
on to another. All the while Guy watched her with a pleased expression on his
face.

"Aren't you . . . going to eat?" she asked,
knowing it was ill mannered to talk with her mouth full but not caring. "Or
are you just going to keep staring at me?"

He
laughed,
a deep burst of
sound that made Leila giggle in return. It felt so wonderful to eat again and
not to feel she was going to lose her meal as soon as she swallowed. Or perhaps
it was the sugar making her giddy. Who could say?

Guy took a long draft of wine, thinking he could stare
at her for the rest of his life. To see her smiling and laughing was like a
dream come true. He wished her laughter would never end, so much so that he was
afraid if he said the wrong thing or made the wrong move she would stop.

So he said nothing, only cut into the
bread
and offered her a thick slice with a generous slather
of soft cheese on top. They ate in companionable silence until nothing but
crumbs and chicken bones remained on the table and a second bottle of wine was
empty.

"Is there no more?" Leila asked rather
tipsily, upturning her empty goblet and giggling.

"No, my lady, the wine is gone," Guy lied,
using his foot to push a bag filled with more provisions further under his
berth.

"Oh."

He had to stifle a chuckle. Leila had drunk only three
goblets of wine to his many, but he guessed from the pretty flush on her cheeks
and her occasional hiccoughs that she had had little experience with the
libation, or at least in imbibing so much of it. It looked to him as if what
she could really use was some fresh air.

"Would you like to take a walk on the deck, Leila?
It's going to be a lovely evening. I'm sure the sunset will be spectacular."

"Could we?" she asked, her eyes brightening
with excitement as she rose eagerly from her berth. She swayed slightly. "I
love sunsets."

Guy's heart seemed to leap in his chest, and he groaned
inwardly, longing to crush her in his arms. God in heaven, what this woman
could do to him with the simplest glance, the merest smile! It was beyond his
understanding, her effect on him.

"Come with me." He took her hand, exulting in
the warm pressure of her palm against his own. Keeping his head down, he led
her from the cabin, through a narrow hall, then up steep stairs and out into
the early autumn sunshine.

His guard went up immediately when he found that other
passengers had entertained the same idea, and he was glad he was wearing his
sword belt. He didn't think this assorted group of peasants and merchants
traveling to Lyons would cause any trouble, but one could never be sure. He
carefully steered Leila across the deck toward the portside railing where they
could be alone.

"How green this country is . . . the trees, the
grass . . . like an oasis," she murmured, leaning against the railing.

Guy braced his arms on both sides of her, his chest
against her slender back, his chin just above her head, fearing she might
stagger and fall if he did not confine her movements. Reveling in their
closeness, he followed her gaze to the shoreline. "Yes, but you'll find no
desert beyond those trees, nor are there any deserts in England."

The minute the words were out he regretted them, for he
felt her body tense. Yet she did not turn upon him with angry eyes and biting
words, as he might have expected, leading him to believe the wine had softened
her temper. She only shook her head slowly.

"
'Tis
so different from
my home. So different."

"Tell me about your life in Damascus, Leila,"
Guy urged her gently, taking advantage of her relaxed mood. He yearned to know
more about this exotic woman. His fascination for her was like a raging thirst
that could not be slaked. "What did you do when you weren't working at the
hospital or visiting your patients in the harems?"

"Oh, many things," Leila replied wistfully,
staring out over the river. She was surprised Guy would be so interested in a
world he seemed to disdain. She was also disconcerted by how closely they were
standing together, his body warm against her back, yet she was not inclined to
move. She felt a little dizzy, a pleasant sensation. And strangely enough, she
found their conversation pleasant, too. It was nice not to be shouting and
disagreeing for once. "I would read or play the lute," she continued,
"or practice my calligraphy—"