No Price Too High (11 page)

“Gabriel will suffice.”

“What?”

“I prefer not to address you as Lady Melisande of Heathwyre, so let us continue to enjoy the informality we have.”

“Do you think that is wise?”

He caught her face between his hands and brushed her lips with a blistering kiss. “Do you think that wise?”

No, it was not wise, but it was what she wanted. “I'm not sure I know what you mean.” That much was the truth.

“I can offer you the familiarity of a comrade or the courtesy offered to a lady.” His gaze swept over her again. “A lady who lives within my
harim
and is my captive.”

Her nails cut into her palms as she fought to breathe. He offered her everything she wanted. Everything, for she wanted both. Swallowing roughly, she wondered if her mind had come undone with fatigue. She could imagine no other reason why she was wavering.

She was a Hospitaller, sworn to aid the Crusaders in the Holy Land. Nothing must take precedence over that. Quietly, she said, “I cannot accept either choice, Gabriel. I am your prisoner. Nothing else.”

“I suspected you would say something of that sort.” Standing, he ran his hand along her cheek. He smiled when her lips parted, aching for his kiss, but turned and clapped his hands.

A servant appeared with a tray covered with dishes. Enticing scents rose from it. The veiled woman placed it on a nearby table. Putting her palms to her forehead, she bowed before scurrying away.

“Are you hungry?” Gabriel asked. When she faltered, he said, “I have been told that you have eaten nothing.”

“You have efficient spies.”

“Insults shall offer no nourishment for either of us. Will you eat?”

Uneasily, she walked forward. The silken sounds of her robes accompanied her steps. It was a strange melody to ears accustomed to the heavy plodding of wool. She reached for a sweetmeat, then drew back her hand. “I'm not hungry.”

“You are lying.”

She looked past him to the elegant bed. “No, I am being honest.” Her stomach was so knotted with emotions she understood as little as she did the ones in his eyes. The very thought of eating threatened to sicken her.

Melisande stepped back as he lifted the tray and walked toward another door that was edged with silk drapes. These had been pulled back to allow moonlight to pour a milky stream across the floor.

As he walked out, he called back, “Are you just going to stand there, or will you join me in the garden?”

She followed him out of the bedchamber. The aroma of hundreds of flowers that were closed for the night wafted over her. Shadows cloaked the plants, but the moonlight sparkled off the water sprayed from a fountain set in the heart of a pool shaped like an arabesque.

When he set the tray on the tiles by the pool, she realized there were steps leading down into it. Was it some sort of bathing pool, far bigger and more ornate than the one she had used? He took her hand and drew her down to sit by the water's edge.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You are most welcome to be here.”

“What is this place?”

He poured something from the bottle and held out the goblet to her. “This is my private garden. I come here when I wish to think.”

“What do you think of?” She took the goblet, but did not raise it to her lips. Even in the dim light of a single lantern hanging on the other side of the pool, she could see it shimmer with gold and gems.

“On the rare occasions when I can steal a moment to come here, I think of peace in these hills for the people who seek my protection.” He filled a goblet for himself. “Tonight, I am thinking of you.” He touched his goblet to hers, then drank.

“And not Falla?”

His brows rose. “I suspect there are things you would prefer to discuss more than Falla.”

She almost argued he was wrong. Was she mad? What did she care about the petty quarrels of the women in the
harim
? She was not one of them. She pushed her hair back, unaccustomed to its fullness loose against her. When he reached to guide a single strand over her shoulder, she asked, “Have you sent word to my father?”

“Don't think of that tonight, for you'll be my guest too long to worry every day.” His fingers closed over hers on the stem of the goblet. Raising it toward her lips, he murmured, “Try this.”

She glanced over the rim. He was smiling. She did not trust that smile, but doubted if he intended to poison her. The sharpness cut through her thirst. “What is it?”

“
Tamar hindi
, water mixed with tamarind. Do you like it?”

“It has an odd flavor, but I like it.”

“I thought you might.” He rubbed her hair between his fingers. “How is your arm, Melisande?”

“Karim Pasa put clean bandaging on it.”

“You could learn much from him of the curing of wounds. He is a very wise man.”

“Then it is a shame he is locked away in a
harim
.”

He shrugged. “He is my mother's servant as well as her intermediary when she wishes to speak with me. She heeds his counsel as I do.”

“But he might have been a great warrior if he had not been—” She took a hasty drink.

Gabriel laughed. “How odd your ways are! You sit here on this wondrous night, and your thoughts are of war.”

“But you said you think here of ridding the hills of your enemies.”

“No,” he said, as he watched the moonlight dapple her hair with silver. “Here I think of the peace that will be when Abd al Qadir's terror is ended.” He sighed. “But will it be over when he no longer roams the hills?”

“Why do you ask?”

“He does not work alone. I have found no clue to tell me who his ally is, but someone alerts him to send his men after caravans such as yours.”

“Mayhap
he
has efficient spies.”

Again he smiled. “Mayhap you are right, milady.” Taking a dish from the tray, he offered her some fresh fruit. “Without the desert's dirt, you are lovely.”

“Thank you.”

His words unsettled her, although he had no idea why. Certainly the
Franj
must compliment their women. Leaning on his elbow, he smiled up at her. “Oh, I see, you think I am trying to seduce you.”

Her eyes widened. “I thought we agreed that I was your prisoner, nothing else.”

“Then why do you tense as if you are about to flee from here?”

“I shall give you my vow not to escape, if you agree to treat me as befits an honorable enemy.”

“You promise not to flee simply because you know you could not survive the journey to Tyre alone.”

“If you believed that, you would not keep me locked in here. You fear I'll find a mount and slip away.”

Slowly Gabriel sat and regarded her with the icy glare which had subdued men twice her size. It did not surprise him that she did not lower her eyes … incredible eyes, which glittered with passions that challenged a man to explore each one with her. Seducing her here, where her gaze was concealed by the shadows, would be foolish. He wanted her surrounded by candles and lamplight, her eyes burning as brightly.

“Yes,” he said, “you are right. I believe you are foolish enough to try such a journey alone.”

“Wouldn't you, if the circumstances were reversed?”

“If I became your prisoner?” He laughed and raised his goblet in a feigned salute. “I hope the day shall never come when I must wait upon you to regain my freedom, but you know the truth as well as I. If our situations were reversed, I would be as uncooperative as you are.”

“You would be.” She yawned once, then again.

He held out his hand. “I see I am keeping you from your bed, milady. Come with me.”

She edged away from his hand. “I am not so tired that I cannot speak with you awhile longer.”

He drew her up to her knees as he rose to his. When she started to protest, he tugged her against him. Her words vanished in a gasp that was like thunder resonating within him. He could no longer resist his need and captured her mouth. It softened beneath his as her hands slid up his arms. He leaned her back on the tiles. For a moment, she stiffened, then melted against him.

He sampled the downy warmth of her cheek, her eyelids, her neck. Her breathy moan slipped within him as he ran his fingers along her leg, no longer hidden beneath layers of matted wool. Wrapping it about his, he tangled his fingers in her hair and found her luscious mouth again. No flavor had ever been so sweet, so enticing, so perfect.

But he wanted to see the passions within her eyes …

Standing, he brought her to her feet. A thousand candles to sweep away the night, so he could delight in the glorious warmth of those unfettered fires.

He frowned when she stepped back, one step, then another. In disbelief, he watched her run back toward the bedroom. Was she so eager?

With his father's favorite curse, he gave chase. She was not rushing to his bed. She was fleeing. He entered his rooms to see her staring at two doors, clearly not sure which to choose. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes now holding only fear.

He put his hand out to keep her from reaching for the nearer door. “If you go there, Melisande, I would have to see you dead.”

Terror warred with fury on her face. She would never surrender easily to anyone, even to a man whose touch pleased her. She whirled to the other door. Again he halted her.

“Leave me alone!” she whispered.

“If that is your wish, milady.” As carefully as if she had been created from the fleeting colors of a rainbow, he drew the
yashmak
across her face. “You must remember to wear this outside the seraglio.”

“Unless I'm with you?” The edge returned to her voice.

“Unless you are with only me.” His fingers stroked the russet glow of her hair. With a reluctant sigh, he motioned for her to leave.

As Melisande entered the
mabeyin
, he saw the amazement on Karim Pasa's face. It was quickly masked, but he knew the eunuch would not be the only one surprised that she had been returned to the
harim
tonight.

“
Shaykh
, do you wish for Falla to be sent to you?” Karim Pasa asked as he held the other door open for Melisande.

Her shoulders grew taut, and he knew that she had understood Falla's name if nothing else, for Karim Pasa had not spoken in Frankish.

Answering in the same language, he ordered, “See that this lady is comfortable for the rest of the night, then return. I will tell you then whom I wish sent to me.”

“As you wish,
shaykh
.”

Gabriel closed the door. If it were as he wished, Melisande would still be within his arms.

EIGHT

Melisande stood by the curtains and watched the gray of morning twilight sift into the gardens. The lake was an ebony abyss in its center. The nightmare had not ended with the dawn. Gabriel de la Rive's palace had not evaporated in the heat of the rising sun. She was still a captive of a man who yearned to have her become one of his concubines, and she was a captive to a body that urged her to return to him and join him in his bed.

It would have been simpler if Gabriel had been completely unfeeling. During the long hours when she could not fall asleep in the bed that was as comfortable as it was grand, she had wished she could despise him. Instead, all she could do was remember how beguiling his hands had been as they swept down her leg as his mouth delighted her skin.

Furtive shadows evolved into other women stirring throughout the garden. She backed away from the drapes and sat by the bed, not wanting to speak with anyone. Every motion reminded her how far she was from home. Heathwyre woke before sunrise to the watchman's shouts rousing the knights for their daily exercises. Fog oozed through the courtyards and into the towers, bringing heavy odors from the stables.

Going out of her bedchamber, she entered the small garden that opened only off her rooms. A fountain was set in the very center between the stone walls that could have been carved from the mountainside. At the far end was a door, but she had discovered last night that it was locked. It offered no escape.

“Are you Melisande?” asked a soft voice from the door leading to the bathing chamber.

She turned to see almond-shaped eyes in a broad face. In the feeble gray of early morning, she could discern little else of the woman's face that was framed by thick, black hair. “Yes, I'm Melisande Chapeleine.”

“My name is Kalinin. I remember when I arrived here, and I know how confused you must be feeling.”

“I keep hoping this is a dream.” She glanced toward the wall that must surround Gabriel's private garden. “I should not have said that.”

Kalinin laughed lightly as she sat on a clump of pillows next to Melisande's chair. “Such strange eyes you have. I wonder if eyes of blue see the same as mine.”

“If you see the sun creeping across the tiles, then we see the same thing.”

“Are you a gift for the
shaykh
?”

“No!”

Kalinin drew up her knees and propped her chin on them, looking like an elf. “Why do you sound surprised? I was a gift to the
shaykh
to seal an alliance. Someone as exotic as you would be a worthy gift. I assumed that your father must have given you to the
shaykh
.”

“My father would never give me to a man as other than a wife,” she asserted. “Those are the ways I know.”

“The ways of the
Franj
?”

“Yes.”

“You are lucky, for here, unless a woman can claim her father is of a class higher than most, she will hope to become a concubine of a
shaykh
. Otherwise she must be the wife of a penniless man.”

Melisande's chin rose with pride. “My father is an earl, a liege to the king of England.”

“I heard that you told Falla that last night.” She smiled, her eyes narrowing to dark slits. “She was sure you had no rank, and she couldn't wait to parade hers before you.”