No Price Too High (15 page)

Gabriel bit back a curse as he realized how easily Falla had arranged this. No doubt, she had been waiting for this very opportunity since he had banished her from his rooms the night before he left to ride the hills with Shakir. She had been humiliated and vowed revenge. Now she would have it.

Sorrow twisted in his gut. Mayhap he could halt this, but when he looked at Yasin's face, he knew how hopeless it was. Yasin was staring at Melisande as if he had never seen a woman before.

Quietly, in Arabic, he said, “She does not speak our language. We communicate in the tongue of the
Franj
.”

“Where did you find her? What is she?” The older man licked his lips as he gazed at her.

Beside him, Melisande tensed. She might not know their words, but she could not mistake the lust in Yasin's eyes. Fear filled hers.

“She is English.”

“That explains her red hair. How did you obtain her? The
Franj
do not sell their women.” He frowned. “Nor do they sign treaties with us.”

“She is my captive. I saved her life when Abd al Qadir attacked her party.” He laughed coolly. “After she had saved mine.”

“A female warrior?”

He cursed silently again. His hope that Yasin would not want her if she had not been raised to the skills of the
harim
had been for naught. The
caliph
was so fascinated by her exotic beauty that he cared for nothing else.

“I hold her until the ransom arrives from her father, the Earl of Heathwyre.” Gabriel watched as Melisande glanced at him at the mention of her father's title. In her eyes was the plea to explain what was happening.

He could not. If he had not been so eager to finish welcoming his guest to
Mukhdarr
so he could send for Melisande himself, he might have foreseen this. Falla knew the traditions of this stronghold well. For the first time ever, he wished he had claimed instead the customs of his father. A
Franj
leader would not be facing this choice, which really was no choice at all.

Putting his hand on her shoulder, he was not surprised to find it shaking. Or was it his hand that shook with rage and despair? “Go,” he ordered.

“Gab—”

“Go!” He silenced her before she could cause more trouble. His fingers stroked her shoulder gently.

Melisande wanted to close her eyes and delight in Gabriel's caress, but knew she must obey him. Mayhap someone in the
harim
could explain. Falla! Falla must explain what this was all about.

Putting her fingers to her forehead, she tilted it to the floor before rising to hurry to the door. She did not know what had been said between Gabriel and the stranger, but the anger in Gabriel's voice was muted when he spoke to the man. This stranger must hold a superior rank. But none of that explained what was happening.

She stopped so she did not walk into the stranger who still stood by the door. He lifted a strand of her hair and said something to Gabriel. When Gabriel answered, the man spoke more impatiently, then laughed as Gabriel replied. He released her hair and stepped aside.

She looked back to Gabriel. All light had vanished from his volatile eyes.

“Go, Melisande,” he ordered.

“I am sorry for whatever I have done to embarrass you,” she whispered.

“Embarrass me?” His shock was visible for a moment, then gone as he motioned toward the door. “Go.”

The stranger opened the door. As she edged past him, he ran his finger under the shoulder strap of her short jacket. She gasped when he started to lower it along her arm. Pulling away, she ran out. The sound of his laughter was cut short when he closed the door.

Melisande dropped to the bench in the
mabeyin
. She should return without delay to the
harim
, but she could not move. Her skin crawled where that stranger had touched her so brazenly. Pushing herself to her feet, she sighed. A bath, a long bath in hot water, would wash away his touch.

As she opened the door and went into the
harim
, Karim Pasa rushed toward her.

“Milady,” he began, “you must not enter—”

“Gabriel told me to return here.”

“You have been within?” He choked and turned away.

She grasped his arms. “Karim Pasa, what is happening? Why was there a stranger in Gabriel's room when he sent for me?”

“He did not send for
you
.” He shook his head. “We should not speak of this here, milady.”

“Karim Pasa, what is it?”

He motioned for her to follow. Creases were etched deep into his forehead. When he led the way to her bathing room, she wanted to hug him. A bath was just what she wanted.

When Karim Pasa hurried away with a mumbled excuse, Melisande wondered if the whole world had descended into insanity, for no one had acted as they should. She went into the bathing room and drew the band out of her hair. She heard her name cried out and turned as Lysias rushed into the room, panting.

Melisande hurried to help her sit before she fainted. Lysias's face was as gray as dawn. Sitting, Lysias rocked and moaned a high-pitched keening.

“What is wrong, Lysias?” she asked, kneeling beside her. “Gabriel's home. He is unharmed.” When Lysias did not answer, she continued soothingly, “He will forgive me for intruding when he was not alone. I am sure he will explain to the stranger, who—”

“Is Caliph Yasin ibn Hayyan.”

“Caliph? What is that?”

Karim Pasa entered, followed by serving maids who began to fill the bath. He held out a bowl to Lysias. The fragrance told Melisande it was the beverage named
qahwa
, which Lysias loved for breakfast.

Taking the bowl from him, Melisande held it to Lysias's lips. She yearned to comfort her friend as Lysias had comforted her so often.

“Caliph Yasin ibn Hayyan,” Karim Pasa said as Lysias drank, “wields much power. The
shaykh
always welcomes him with every courtesy.”

She nodded as she put the empty bowl on the floor. “I understand that. My father offers his guests food, the best bed, and stabling for men and horses.”

Lysias glanced at Karim Pasa and sighed. Holding Melisande's hands between hers, she said, “Child, the
shaykh
does the same. However, for one as highly placed as the caliph, it is customary to offer more than food and shelter.”

“More?”

“The
shaykh
wants his guest to have everything available for his comfort at
Mukhdarr
.”

Melisande gasped in horror. “You mean his hospitality includes a night with one of the women here?”

Karim Pasa nodded, tears in his eyes.

“And I am to be the courtesy granted the caliph tonight?” she whispered, praying someone would deny the words she could barely speak. “Why?”

“Milady, this is my fault. A million sand demons should eat upon me throughout all eternity. When I told Falla the
shaykh
wanted to see her, she must have learned the truth I tried not to reveal.”

“Which is?”

“The first of the
shaykh's
women to enter his private rooms belongs to the caliph while he visits. That, milady, was you.”

“And Gabriel will—” She could not bring herself to say it. Gabriel was half
Franj
. Didn't that part of him urge him to put a halt to this? He had so utterly separated himself from that heritage. Even so, she was not Gabriel's to give away on a whim. She had thought he respected her, that he, too, might be amazed by the passion between them, a passion she should share only with him. This callous indifference destroyed everything but enmity.

That could be what Gabriel had decided he wanted. They
were
enemies. If he had perceived the sweetness blossoming within her each time he held her, he could have chosen to rid himself of her by giving her to this caliph. He could show her her place here at the same time he gained favor from the caliph.

A shiver threatened to shatter her. Would Gabriel's mouth ever again thrill her? She blinked back tears at the thought of never delighting in his touch while passion glowed in his fathomless eyes.

She looked at Lysias. “Help me!” she whispered.

“I cannot, child.” She pulled Melisande against her full bosom.

She edged back from the suffocating softness and turned to Karim Pasa. “Tell me that Gabriel will not force me to do this!”

He stared at the floor. “Your bath is ready for you, milady.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She had not, until this moment, believed there was no escape. The resignation in Karim Pasa's voice stripped away that delusion, just as the caliph would tear away her clothes. When he took her hand to bring her to her feet, she gasped, “Karim Pasa, I cannot go to a stranger's bed!”

“Not his bed, milady,” he answered through stiff lips. “The
shaykh's
. As your esteemed father would, the master offers his guest the finest bed.”

“Gabriel's?” Ice clamped over her heart. Not only would Gabriel give her to another man, he would allow this stranger to rape her in his own bed.

Lysias put her hand on Melisande's shoulder. “Take comfort in the fact the caliph is not a young man and will not be able to call you to him often during his stay.”

“His stay? You mean beyond tonight?”

“Such a gift is for no less than the length of a visit.”

“The whole visit?” she cried.

“The caliph usually stays no more than a week.”

Melisande echoed the words silently. A week. Seven nights of letting him touch her, of letting him kiss her, of letting him share her body. If her father learned of this, he would risk his life to avenge her.

Her shoulders sagged. Vengeance was what had brought her to this predicament. She should have listened to her instincts that Falla was plotting some way to humiliate her. Furious that Gabriel had sent her away, she had focused her jealousy on Melisande.

She looked at the bathing trough. Instead of washing away the caliph's touch, she would be prepared for him. She heard Lysias's words of sympathy, but none of them pierced her pain. She had believed Gabriel cared for her. Too late she was learning exactly how little she mattered to a man who exulted in his role as
shaykh
.

Too late, too late
, her mind repeated over and over to the mournful beat of her aching heart.

Kalinin burst into the bathing room. Weeping, she moaned, “Melisande, you cannot let him do this to you.”

“Hush!” ordered Lysias as she sorted through Melisande's clothes to find the most appropriate outfit for her to wear. She passed a garment to Karim Pasa, who placed it on the table next to his fragrant oils. “This is not a matter of gossip for the whole
harim
.”

“You hush.” Defiantly, Kalinin put her hands on her hips. “Reprimand me if you must, but Melisande should not be sent like a sacrificial lamb to that old goat.”

Lysias frowned. “Watch what you say, Kalinin. If your words are carried to the caliph, you will do Melisande no good.”

“And what will? Sending her to the caliph?” She put her hand on Melisande's arm. “That is wrong.”

“Kalinin, be silent! In a week, it shall be over.”

“It shall never be over,” moaned Kalinin as she fell to the floor to hide her face against the tiles. “We never will see Melisande again. The caliph will take her with him.”

“Nonsense.” Melisande glanced to Lysias and Karim Pasa, but saw disquiet on their faces. “You believe this, too? Gabriel would send me away with this caliph?”

“It is possible,” admitted Lysias. “If the caliph is pleased with you, it would be the
shaykh's
honor to give you to him.”

She folded her arms before her and raised her chin. “I will make sure he is not pleased with me.”

“If you deny him his pleasure, he can order you put to death.”

“I don't believe that!” she cried as Kalinin wailed more loudly.

Lysias put her hands on Melisande's arms. “My dear child, the
shaykh
has been kind to you, never reminding you that you are his captive.”

“He has reminded me. More than once.”

Again Lysias glanced at Karim Pasa. Again Melisande could not guess what message passed between them until Lysias said, “But not once, child, has he treated you as a captive slave should be treated.”

“Slave? My father—”

“Your birth means nothing when you are a captive.” She sighed as she brushed a strand of Melisande's hair back from her face. “You are the
shaykh's
to use as he pleases. He can choose to accept the gold your father offers to buy you … or he can give you to the caliph to gain his favor.”

Melisande wanted to deny the truth, but could not. It was undisguised on the faces around her. What Gabriel had told her on the desert plain had not changed. She was, as she had been since the moment they met, his captive.

ELEVEN

As soon as the preparations were completed, Karim Pasa led Melisande to the
mabeyin
. She fought hysterical laughter as she thought of her protests when Lysias had first brought her clothes here. That short jacket and long breeches were modest compared to what she wore now. The full breeches were held at her waist with a belt of embroidered fabric. Over it, she wore only a thin mantel that closed at one shoulder with a brooch of red corundum. She kept the drape close to her, for it threatened to fall off with the slightest motion.

She was glad her hair hung down her back. She pulled some of the strands forward to cover her. That the caliph had ordered her to wear her hair loose did not surprise her, for he had seemed more fascinated with its color than anything else.

When they entered the garden, Melisande held her chin high. Falla had gathered many of the women to watch her go to the caliph.

“Have a wondrous time,” purred Falla as the
ikbal
reached for a honeyed date.