Captive Rose (41 page)

"Nor do I want you to," Guy said, running his
finger along her stubborn jaw. "You cannot humiliate me, Leila, for I love
everything about you that is different. And you may have shocked the court
today, but most people realize that you come from a foreign land. Nevertheless,
I can see that I have forced our customs and clothing upon you too rapidly. In
time, I believe you'll grow to accept them, but if it pleases you now to wear
your veils, then do so."

His words took Leila completely by surprise. She would
never have expected such understanding from him. No wonder her attempts to
embarrass him had only amused him. That is why she had finally feigned a
headache and left the feast early, her frustration at the failure of her plan
becoming so great that she was afraid she would lose her temper and give
herself away.

And to think she had believed her actions would hasten
her return to Damascus and thus free herself from her perplexing emotions! She
couldn't have been more wrong. Now she would have to think of another plan.

"Perhaps one night I might even try your custom of
sleeping upon cushions," he continued, curling his arm around her waist. "But
not tonight. We must rise before dawn, only a few hours away, and it is
important that we get a good rest, something I don't think sleeping on the
floor will allow, at least not for me."

"Why must I also
rise
at
dawn, my lord?" she asked, confused. "I know you must prepare for the
tournament—"

"I won't be riding in the tournament tomorrow, nor
will any Marcher lords. Edward has ordered us back to Wales. There is trouble
among the Welshmen that must be subdued."

Leila's relief was immediate, and she breathed a silent
prayer of thanks. But in the next instant she thought of Wales, and how much
farther she would have to go to escape this man whose love threatened to
capture her heart. Even his simple embrace was almost too much for her reeling
senses.

"I'm sorry I became so angry with you today, my
love," Guy said. "I fear my rage at your brother together with losing
the jousting match spilled over—"

"Don't let it trouble you," Leila
interrupted, surprised by the gentleness in her voice. In truth, she was deeply
touched by his apology, but she didn't want to talk any more about a day that
had proved more disconcerting than she would have imagined. "After
everything you told me about Roger, I can imagine how you must have felt."
She quickly changed the subject. "How far is it to
Warenne
Castle?"

Guy hugged her more closely, wondering from her tone if
perhaps he had been wrong after all about her seeming lack of concern for him.
Maybe she did care about him, if only a little.

Now that he thought about it, their exchange on the
jousting field reminded him of the times when Leila had hotly denied she
desired him on the galley to Marseilles. That had proved to be untrue. Maybe
she had done the same thing today, claiming she had run onto the field with a
physician's intention to heal when in fact she had been concerned for his
well-being. It was possible. Then could he dare to hope she was eager to
journey with him to Wales?

"It will probably take us three days, maybe longer
if the weather turns bad," Guy murmured against her silky hair. "I
had hoped to visit my estate in Surrey first, but that will have to wait for
another time. Edward has commanded that we make all haste." He kissed her
nape tenderly, an intense hunger flaring in his loins at the sweet taste of her
skin. "I've already sent Henry Langton and two other knights on their way
to alert Philip that we'll arrive before the week is out," he added
softly. "I want everything to be perfect for you."

"Philip?"

Guy suddenly realized he had never mentioned him to
Leila.

"Philip D'Arcy, my half brother. An only son from
my mother's first marriage. He's a priest. I left him in charge of my estate in
Wales and gave him guardianship over my son while I went on crusade." Guy
smiled, imagining Philip's expression when he discovered his wayward younger
brother had taken a wife, something Philip had strongly encouraged for a long
time. "Philip can be a bit staid, but I think you'll like him. You have
something in common. He's also a healer."

Leila found it difficult to absorb this news when Guy was
hugging her so tightly. A shiver rocked her from her scalp to her toes when he
kissed that same sensitive spot on her nape.

"Three days is a long journey, my lord. We should
get some sleep. As you said, dawn will arrive soon." She bit her lower lip
to hold back her acute regret. Try as she might, she could not suppress the
desire ripping through her body.

"Yes, we should get some sleep. Good night, my
love."

Leila said nothing, her blood pounding in her veins.
The sensual tension in the air was so palpable she swore she could almost taste
it.

The next thing she knew she was flat on her back and
gasping aloud. She could not see Guy in the dark, but she knew his face was
very close, his
breath like
a hot flame upon her lips.

"To hell with sleeping," he growled huskily,
his mouth seizing hers.

***

Five long days after leaving Westminster, they
approached
Warenne
Castle in County Gwent just as the
late afternoon sun was beginning to settle behind the rugged mountains soaring
to the west.

Riding up the hill toward the imposing gatehouse on her
dappled-gray palfrey, Leila did not think she had ever felt so tired. The
weather had proved their enemy during much of the journey, the heavy
rain
and mud-clogged roads slowing their progress
considerably. Yet they had pressed on, Guy clearly anxious to reach his home.
Only short respites for sleep in rustic village inns had broken their
relentless pace.

Thankfully the day had turned sunny about an hour ago,
affording Leila a much different view of the rolling countryside than that of a
land cloaked in dense mist and gray gloom. They had passed many small farms and
prosperous hamlets since then, which Guy had informed
her
were all under his domain. His words had been confirmed when his tenants, both
English and Welsh, had rushed from their modest wattle and daub homes to greet
them. It seemed everyone knew Lord de
Warenne
was
coming home from the crusade.

The clear skies had also granted her a first far-off
glimpse of
Warenne
Castle, situated on the summit of
a hill overlooking the River
Usk
. Now as they made
their final ascent, the high stone walls looming closer and closer seemed like
prison walls to Leila.

"Look. It's Nicholas, up there on the battlements,"
Guy cried out, his excited voice breaking into her somber thoughts. "And
that's Philip beside him."

Shielding her eyes from the sun, Leila spied the darkly
clad priest and a small, fair-haired boy looking down at them from the huge
round wall tower at the right corner of the fortress. Yet they were still too
far away for her to make out their faces. She glanced at Guy, riding alongside
her, his roan
destrier
dwarfing her mare. "How
old did you say your son is, my lord?"

"Six," he replied, still gazing at the tower.
"I wonder if he even remembers me. I haven't seen him for almost two
years."

Leila had no answer for him. She had had little
personal dealings with children, except as patients, and she certainly did not
feel qualified to gauge this young boy's mind. She did feel compassion for Guy,
however. It must have been hard for him to be away from his son for such a long
time.

"I'm glad you decided to abandon your extra veils,"
he added, smiling at her. "It is a shame to hide such beauty as you possess,
my love. I'm sure you will win everyone's heart when they see you."

Leila blushed at his compliment and tried to ignore its
unsettling effect on her. She had left off her veils only because her plan to
embarrass him had failed. If he was merely amused by her foreign garb, what
point was there in wearing it?

She remained silent as they came at last to the
gatehouse and passed beneath the raised portcullis. Looking up at the
menacingly sharp spikes, she wondered how she would ever manage to escape past
this heavy wooden grille bounded with iron.

The journey had allowed her plenty of time to think
about her new plan, which depended entirely on gathering enough funds to get
her back to Damascus. She already had the silver girdle and fillet Guy had
given her, and he had promised her a ring that had once belonged to his mother,
but she doubted that would be enough. She hoped she could manage to steal some
coins here and there. Her plan was devious and cruel, but what else could she
do?

They passed through yet another gate, this one hinged
and made of thick timber also reinforced with iron, but Leila took heart,
noting a smaller door cut into one side. At least this gate might not prove
difficult to pass through.

Then they were inside the fortress, and a swarm of
people was rushing forward to greet them: men-at-arms and knights who had
stayed behind to guard the castle during Guy's absence, beaming servants,
officials of the surrounding villages and their wives, and even some
well-dressed ladies, whom Leila assumed were married to returning de
Warenne
knights, along with their children. Guy had already
told her there would probably be a celebratory feast in their honor that
night
, but she didn't know how she would manage it, being so
weary. Perhaps if she could rest first—

She started when Guy's hands encircled her narrow waist
and he lifted her to the ground. He began to introduce her to people, but the
names and faces became a blur in her mind. She simply smiled, growing all the
more disconcerted by the pressure of Guy's fingers entwined with hers. He hadn't
touched her since early that morning, when he had awakened her with a kiss and .
. .

Leila's face grew so warm she was grateful for the
brisk autumn breeze blowing across the huge courtyard. She was about to ask Guy
if the rest of the introductions might wait until later when he suddenly
halted, the crowd of well-wishers around them parting as a little boy dashed
forward with outstretched arms.

"Nicholas!" Guy exclaimed, releasing Leila's
hand as he bent down on one knee and caught the child in his embrace. Just as
quickly the boy pulled away, his eyes wide as he surveyed his father solemnly.

"I'm going to be a brave and fearsome knight and
wear armor just like you when I grow up, aren't I, Papa?"

Guy seemed about to laugh, then he quickly sobered and
answered just as seriously, "Yes, you are, my son. Just like me."

"And I may have a war-horse like Griffin?"

"Bigger, I'd warrant!" Guy answered
playfully, swooping Nicholas into his arms as he stood up. "Why, you've
nearly grown into a man since I've been away. Just look at you!"

Stepping back a bit, Leila could tell Guy deeply loved
his child and was elated that Nicholas had so readily come to him. She wondered
what had become of Philip,
then
she spied a priest
wending his way toward them through the crowd.

She was interested to note that the older man resembled
Guy no more than she did her own brother, for Philip was shorter by a head and
very
spare,
his hair nearly gray and clipped close to
his skull. Yet there was some slight similarity in the spacing of his features
and in the square set of his jaw. His gray eyes were shrewd and intelligent,
his expression reserved, until Guy clasped his arm heartily. Then the priestly
demeanor gave way to a half smile that nevertheless conveyed his affection.

"You look none the worse for your travels, my
brother," Philip said, the deep timbre of his voice similar to Guy's. "I
must admit I became anxious when I heard from Henry about your imprisonment in
Damascus, but I can see now that you are as fit as ever. Welcome home."

"My thanks, Philip. As I fully expected, my estate
seems to have prospered under your
care,
and Nicholas
here . . ."

Guy gave his son another fierce hug, but the boy seemed
impatient to be let down, his inquisitive eyes fastened upon Leila. As soon as
his small feet touched the ground, he trotted over and looked up at her.

"Sir Langton told me my new mother was a most
beautiful lady," he said, innocently appraising her features. "I
think it is you."

Leila felt a catch in her throat and decided this
handsome child's mother must also have been very beautiful. She had never seen
a more striking combination of white-blond hair and blue, blue eyes; Nicholas
bore the features of his father, but they were softened and refined, his legacy
from Christine.

A rush of pity swept her for the long dead woman who
had tried in vain to win Guy's love . . . a love he had now given to her, but
which she could not accept. How strange and mysterious were the forces that
drove men's and women's hearts!

"The lad already has his father's eye for beauty,"
Leila heard Guy say proudly, much to the appreciation of the crowd still
gathered around them. She met his gaze as he reached out and clasped her hand. "Yes,
Nicholas, this is your new mother, Lady Leila de
Warenne
,"
he answered for her. "But you must ask her yourself what she wishes to be
called." Guy leaned over and whispered in her ear, "We don't want to
make her uncomfortable."

His fair head tilted back, Nicholas looked questioningly
from his towering father back to Leila, who swallowed with embarrassment.

Oh dear. She hadn't expected this dilemma. She
certainly didn't want to drag Nicholas into their difficulties, or raise the
child's expectations. Then again, maybe he wouldn't like her and would find it
no great loss when she was gone. She could hope so. It surely wasn't her
intention to hurt an innocent child . . .