No Price Too High (23 page)

“If Shakir returns with the information he hopes to have, we must rout Abd al Qadir for once and all.” He reached across the board to stroke her cheek. “You know as well as I that nothing has changed beyond this room,
az-Zahra
. I must stop him, but you shall be here to share the joy of my homecoming.”

She put her fingers over his. “
If
you come back.”

“We cannot determine the time of our deaths. Instead of worrying about such, we should be grateful for the time we have together.”

“Yes.” Tossing the pieces onto the board, she rose to her knees, then to her feet. She held out her hand to him as he had to her so often.

Without speaking, he stood. He put his fingers in hers. It did not surprise him that this astounding woman was helping him learn of sensations he had never suspected existed. He whispered a prayer that he would have many years to continue to discover more with her guidance.

As he leaned her back into the pillows, he feared that that was one prayer that might go unanswered.

“So, what do you think?”

Gabriel realized he had not been listening to the caliph. For how long? For as long as he had been standing here in the stable yard thinking about the glorious splendor that he had shared with Melisande last night.

He did not deceive himself into thinking that anything had changed. When she had thought he was asleep in the wake of the rapture, Melisande had gone to the door that opened to the storage caverns. He had watched, not moving, as she had stood in the doorway, then closed the door and returned to nestle beside him.

Although he had wanted to ask her if she sought to persuade herself to stay with him, he knew she was as determined to fulfill her vows as he was his. She might have been trying to devise a way to flee from
Mukhdarr
, something he had ordered Karim Pasa to watch for even as he had offered Melisande more freedom within the house after the caliph took his leave.

He hoped she would be satisfied with that, although he knew she would not. Alone among the hills, she would be an easy target for Abd al Qadir. She knew that, but it would not halt her from trying to flee if she had the opportunity. In that, she was too much like him, adamant that she would do what she must, no matter the risks.

But in so many other ways, she was not like him. He could not keep from smiling as he thought of those ways and how he enjoyed those differences. But he was abruptly brought back to the seriousness of the present when the caliph muttered a curse under his breath.

“Forgive me, Yasin,” he said with a bow of his head. “I am anticipating with great pleasure the day when these hills are free of fear.”

“Is that so?” The old man grumbled something under his breath. “You have the look of a man anticipating other things far more personal.”

“As you should.”

Yasin's wrinkles twisted into a smile of his own as he glanced at the closed litter where Falla was waiting to be taken to his castle. “You have done me a great favor, which I will not forget, my friend.”

“It is my honor.”

“It is
my
honor to do you a favor which I hope you will see as valuable.” He lowered his voice. “Rid yourself of that
Franj
woman. I do not like what Falla tells me of gifts you have given her. Instead of adorning her with gold, you should be sending her to a grave shorter by a head.”

Gabriel folded his arms in front of him. “Falla's virtues are many, for she is skilled in a mans arms; but her fault of talking when she should not is something I wish you better luck than I have had at halting.”

“Shakir expressed his concerns to me as well.”

Gabriel scowled. “I had hoped he would not burden you with this unimportant matter.”

“He worries about you, for he is as loyal to you as he was to your father. He knows, as you and I both do, that there must be no hint of sympathy for the
Franj
attached to your name.”

“That I keep a
Franj
woman captive in my
harim
to enjoy instead of putting her to death shows only good sense on my part.”

“I understand you have asked for a high ransom for her return to her father.”

“Falla mentioned that as well?”

“You are right. She does talk too much. I shall have to change that.” The caliph ran his fingers through his neatly trimmed beard. “The
Franj
woman is a fascinating creature, but do not let her be your downfall.”

“I do not intend to have a downfall.”

With a laugh, the caliph signaled to one of the men to help him onto his horse. He waved and led the procession out of the stable yard and toward the tunnel that opened onto the plain.

Gabriel turned and walked in the other direction. He paid no attention to where he was going, but his footsteps led him toward his rooms. Mayhap Melisande was waiting for him there. If not, he would send for her.

“It is so beautiful, Karim Pasa,” he heard as he came around a corner and discovered Melisande in the middle of his reception hall.

She was dwarfed by the arch of the roof and the long table that ran from one end to the other. Standing as she was in the light from the door at the far end, her slender limbs were silhouetted against the sheer fabric of her breeches.

“Milady, you should wear this,” Karim Pasa said, holding out a
tcharchaf
.

“In a moment. I cannot see the ceiling when I'm wearing that. It falls in my eyes,” she returned, walking backward as she held up her finger. “Is that real gold in that line of tiles there?”

“Yes, milady, but you should wear this.”

“I am amazed at the perfection of the pattern. How could even a master artisan make sure every single tile is in the exact location through this whole hall? If—” She backed into Gabriel.

He caught her as she rocked on her feet. When she smiled at him, he relished the tightening of pleasure across him. He motioned for Karim Pasa to set the
tcharchaf
on the table and take his leave.

“The pattern isn't perfect,” Gabriel said as he walked back toward the center of the hall with her. “Somewhere in the immense arc of the ceiling, there is a mistake. My mother taught me that no artisan aims for perfection, for perfection can be God's alone.”

“Where is the mistake?”

“I spent hours as a child trying to find it, here and in my rooms.” He chuckled. “I never did.”

“So you don't know if there really is a mistake in the pattern?”

“I know there is. Sometimes, one has to believe in things one cannot see.”

Like love
. Melisande wanted to repeat those words aloud, but did not want to drive Gabriel from her side. In spite of his teasing, she noticed a tension in his motions. She went with him around the room and listened as he spoke of meetings he had attended here, first as a young man with his father, then leading them himself after his father's death. She waited for him to speak of what was disturbing him, but he said nothing of that.

Footsteps raced toward them. She did not need Gabriel's sharp warning, for she grabbed the
tcharchaf
from the table and draped the horrible black wool around her just as a man came into the hall.

She watched Gabriel's face as the man panted out a message in rapid Arabic. She understood only one word.
Franj
.

As soon as Gabriel sent the man running to give his orders to the stronghold's other defenders, she asked, “Are
Franj
coming here?”

“They are here. Return to the
harim
and remain there.”

“Gabriel, let me come with you. If—”

He drew back the wool over her head and tilted her mouth under his. “They come under a flag of truce. Mayhap they are only lost in the desert and seek shelter.”

“But if they are
Franj
, I should—”

He kissed her protests away with a dazzling fervor that left her breathless. “Go,” he whispered, his own voice uneven. “Do not return until I send for you.”

“Be wary.”

Grimly he drew the veils back into place. “If I have learned nothing else from you,
az-Zahra
, I have learned not to underestimate any
Franj
.”

Melisande's feet were leaden as she went back to her prison. Pulling off the
tcharchaf
, she folded it over her arm. She would not need that in the
harim
.

She knew she had taken a wrong turn when she did not reach Gabriel's door within minutes. After her bragging to him that she never was lost, she had become turned around in the labyrinth of corridors. She should have paid more attention when Karim Pasa had escorted her through the stronghold.

Hearing more footsteps, she sprinted toward the passage that she believed should lead to his rooms. She unfolded the
tcharchaf
to toss it over her head and draw it around her shoulders. It fell from her fingers as she saw a group of men walking past. Was this real or another dream?

She made no sound, but a tall, gray-haired man beside Gabriel stopped in midstep and gasped, “Melisande?”

SEVENTEEN

“Father.” Melisande could say nothing else as she stared at him. The journey east had added more gray to his hair and stolen weight from him so that his face above his uneven beard looked haggard. A scar she had never seen ran along his left jaw.

He stumbled two steps along the corridor. “Melisande, is that you?”

“Yes, Father.” She should greet him, ask him how his journey had been to
Mukhdarr
, urge him to tell her of his exploits at the walls of Acre, be grateful that he had survived the siege and battle. She could only stare.

His mouth twisted as he whipped off his cloak and tossed it over her shoulders. Dust rose from the wool, and she sneezed. Only habit released her from her shock enough so she could drop to her knees before him. She kissed his hand, then rose to offer her cheek. He tugged her to him, squeezing her until she gasped for breath.

“I feared for so long that you were dead,” he whispered.

“Geoffrey—”

He nodded grimly as he released her. “He should have heeded me and come to Acre with me. Just as you should have remained in Heathwyre.”

“I told you I intended to take the Hospitaller's vow.”

“And I should have listened. Any other woman would have been simply bragging, but you …” He sighed. “If your brother had come with me to Acre, he would not have been in Tyre to help you with your insane determination to join the Crusaders. Melisande, you must realize that your vow to the Cross is not valid.”

“It is.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “I am a Hospitaller, Father.”

He drew his cloak more tightly around her. “You look more like one now.”

She realized this cloak was the one she had sewn for Father herself. The one she had given him when he took his vow to fight the infidels in the Holy Land. Across it was the white cross of the Hospitallers, the one that Gabriel had ordered her not to wear because it could mean her death.

Gabriel. Looking past her father, she saw Gabriel's astonishment before all emotion vanished from his face. Why was he surprised to see Father here to buy her freedom?

Pain riveted her at the thought of leaving this mountain hideaway where her heart had found love. If Gabriel asked her to stay … Her fingers crinkled the Hospitaller cross on her father's cloak. The woman who had sewn that on here before he left Heathwyre seemed like someone else. Then, things had been as simple as the black-and-white color of this cloak. She had planned to follow him to share this crusade.
Dieu le veult
. She had taken that vow to see evil banished from the Holy Land. Not even loving Gabriel could free her from that vow.

But to leave him now …

Melisande choked back another gasp of amazement when she saw who else stood beside Gabriel. Raymond Vaudrey. Why was he here instead of in his lovely home in Tyre? Mayhap he had been so burdened with guilt at persuading Geoffrey to ride with her to his death and had sought out Father to assist him in finding her. She wanted to believe that, but disquiet grew as she saw him running his fingers along the tilework on a wall as if he were the master of
Mukhdarr
.

She flinched when Gabriel shouted something in Arabic. All the
Franj
, save for Lord Vaudrey, reached for their sword belts. She put her hand out to halt her father, then realized that no sheath held a sword. They must have been left in the courtyard. A rumble of anger rolled through them, but Lord Vaudrey smiled. He clearly understood what Gabriel had ordered. She recognized the name he had spoken.

“Father, he only calls for a servant,” she said softly.

“To bring others to slay us?”

She shook her head. “Gabriel saved my life. He—”

“You should not speak of your captor with anything but contempt.” He eyed her up and down again. “What I see and hear disturbs me greatly, Melisande. I trust he has not forced you to do anything that would shame our family.”

“No, Father. He did not force me to do anything that would shame us.” Her voice quivered on each word. She spoke the truth, but she tried not to imagine how appalled he would be if he learned that she had given her heart and more to Gabriel.

He put his finger under her chin, a motion so familiar from her childhood that tears sprang into her eyes. “I have long trusted you to know the right thing to do, even when faced with the toughest decisions.”

Another rumble of disquiet raced among the men. Melisande turned to see Karim Pasa bowing to Gabriel.

“What the devil …” gasped her father. “I have heard of men whose skin is as dark as freshly turned soil, but never have I seen one.”

Before she could answer, Karim Pasa walked toward her. He bowed to her as he had to Gabriel. She heard the whispers of amazement as he said in very correct Frankish, “Milady, I would be deeply honored to escort you from here so that you might ready yourself for the feast the
shaykh
shall have prepared for his guests.”