No Price Too High (10 page)

“But they were brother and father. It is not the same with a man who intrigues you, for you dare not trust your own thoughts.” Lysias put her hand on Melisande's arm. When Melisande cringed, she frowned. “You are hurt! Why didn't you speak of this?”

“Shakir—”

“Is a silly fool.” She turned. “Karim Pasa, Lady Melisande's arm must be tended to at once.”

He nodded and hurried out of the room.

“While he is gone, you should dress,” Lysias said in a tone that suggested she would not be dissuaded.

Melisande did not want to argue. She wanted to close her eyes and fall asleep and awake to find this all had been a bad dream. Then she would still be safe in Heathwyre, and Geoffrey would be alive.

Dismay stole her fatigue as she looked at the clothes that had been brought for her. Even as a child, she had not dressed in so little. She considered asking for her own clothes to be returned, but suspected from the expression Lysias had worn while gathering them up that they had already been destroyed.

In spite of herself, she could not help enjoying the soft caress of gold silk as she drew on the ankle-length breeches that were as sheer as the curtains in the doorway. She tied them closed at the ankles and at her waist, where a beaded girdle offered the only modesty. A short jacket of the same gold with matching beading covered her breasts, but left her abdomen and arms bare. Gratefully, she drew a surcoat of a thicker silk over her shoulders and lashed it at the waist. The sleeves were plain, save for a band of the beading near the wrist.

Lysias clapped her hands and a servant entered, bowing, and the eunuch returned as well. Lysias said, “If you will sit, she will tend to your hair while Karim Pasa tends to your arm.”

Sure that Richard's new queen would be envious of such treatment, Melisande sat on a low stool. The serving woman was as gentle loosening the tangles from her hastily braided hair as Karim Pasa was putting salve and new bandages on her arm. Only when Lysias had appraised her from every angle and had the serving lass tied a beaded band edged with wisps of silk through Melisande's hair was Melisande allowed to stand.

“Come with me,” Lysias ordered as she dismissed the servants.

Melisande smiled as the silk brushed against her on every step. These clothes flowed along her like a spring freshet. Her smile became a gasp when Lysias led her into another room. It was decorated in pale pinks and bright blues around thick wood columns rising to the ceiling. Pillows were tossed about the ornate rug, and a low chair was long enough to sleep upon. Lamps were lit because night had found its way into the mountains while she had been bathing.

“You may wait here,” Lysias said.

“For—”

“The
shaykh
will send for you when he wishes to see you.” Lysias lowered her full body onto the long chair. Motioning for Melisande to pull some of the pillows closer, she said, “You must be patient, child. He has matters of his men to consider before he turns to his own pleasures.”

Her fingers gripped the pillows. Squaring her shoulders, Melisande said, “I am not here for his
pleasure
. He has a
harim
for that.”

Lysias chuckled. “There are many types of pleasure, child, but it is clear which one is dwelling in your thoughts. I told Karim Pasa that you find much favor with the
shaykh
. As he does with you.”

Bending to pick up more pillows, she was glad for the excuse to hide her face, which must have been as red as her hair. Even more hotly, a flame burned within her as she thought of Gabriel's hands coursing down her back … gentle, teasing, arousing a need for more. She set the pillows on the floor near the odd chair and sat on them.

Lysias leaned forward to cup Melisande's chin. “Child, do not look so distraught. The
shaykh
has allowed you to live to see this place. Isn't that a sign of his clemency?”

“It's a sign that he wants the gold my father will pay for my release.”

“Gold?” She laughed. “What would the
shaykh
wish with gold when—” She glanced past Melisande. “Bring it here.”

Melisande looked over her shoulder to see another serving woman bringing a tray.

“Eat, Melisande,” Lysias commanded.

She looked at the food, but waved it away. The thought of eating sent her reeling stomach into violent somersaults. The aroma of the spicy food was nearly too much. Holding her fingertips over her lips, she prayed her stomach would not embarrass her.

Lysias frowned. “Are you ill, child?”

“No.”

“Are you going to have a child?”

“No!”

“Then why do you look so ill?”

Melisande sighed. Her heart ached with homesickness, and her stomach cramped with fear. Hoping her words were the truth, she murmured, “I will be fine.”

“Of course you will.” Lysias patted Melisande's hand with pudgy fingers encrusted with rings. “You are fatigued from your long journey. On the morrow, when you are more rested, you will feel much better.”

“Sleep sounds wonderful.” She came to her feet. “Should I return to the bedchamber where you met me? If—”

The old woman took her hand and drew her back down to kneel in the pillows. “Child, the
shaykh
wishes to see you. You may not retire until he has given you permission.”

“He could be hours with his men.”

“That is true, but here you will wait.”

“Upon his pleasure?”

A door crashed against a wall. A slender woman burst into the room. Her fiery eyes settled on Melisande. Raising her fists, she ran forward. Karim Pasa stepped out of the shadows and grasped her.

Melisande stared. She had not guessed he was lurking there.

The dark-haired woman lunged out of his grip. What she snarled at him brought a low growl from Lysias. Turning, she added something to the old woman.

Again Lysias replied heatedly.

Melisande continued to stare. What was happening? The woman was undeniably beautiful, although her face was contorted with rage. With her voluptuous figure accented by her sheer robes, she would have been the center of attention in Heathwyre.

Lysias said in Frankish, “You are wasting your breath, Falla. She speaks no Arabic.”

“Is that so?” Falla retorted in nearly perfect Frankish. “I am the
ikbal
. He does not want a colorless
Franj
in his bed.”

Melisande looked at Lysias. “What is an
ikbal
?”

“The
shaykh's
favored concubine.” Her black eyes glared at Falla. “If you are the
ikbal
, Falla, as you claim, should you not be readying yourself for when the
shaykh
calls?”

“It will be me he calls!” Falla crowed. “Not some red-haired
Franj
.”

“I don't want your
shaykh
, Falla,” Melisande said coolly.

Her dark eyes widened in disbelief, then she laughed. Putting her hands on her hips, she smoothed the fine material of her scarlet trousers. “That is good, for you will never have him. He is mine,
Franj
.”

“My name is Lady Melisande, daughter of the Earl of Heathwyre.” She stood with all the dignity she could find in her exhausted brain. “However, as I am now a prisoner, I will grant you the privilege of addressing me as Melisande.”

Karim Pasa smiled, but fury twisted Falla's full lips. The
ikbal
shouted words Melisande could not understand.

Melisande turned to Lysias. She did not intend to be abused by a common concubine. None of her father's mistresses had treated her with other than respect, and she would not accept anything else from Gabriel's. A twinge ricocheted around her heart. It was not as easy to ignore as Falla.

The sound of a door slamming and the smile on Lysias's round face told her that Falla had left. She sagged against the pillows, but looked up when a hand settled on her shoulder.

Karim Pasa bowed to her. “Milady, I have been sent to tell you that your presence is requested.”

“What do you mean?”

Lysias tapped her hand as she chided, “Go without questions, child. When Karim Pasa speaks that phrase, it is the
shaykh
who wishes to see you.”

Standing, she said, “I know he wishes to see me, and I wish to see him.” She wondered if she were being honest, because, beneath her loose gown, she trembled. With fear? With anticipation?

Lysias rose. Taking one of the wisps of silk that was connected to the beaded band, she drew it over the lower half of Melisande's face. “This is a
yashmak
. You must wear this veil whenever you leave the seraglio.”

“This is ridiculous!”

Both Karim Pasa and Lysias reached to halt her from pulling the material back. She turned away and stared out at the garden that had been stripped of color by the moonlight. She wanted to collapse into tears as she begged someone to take her home and away from this pretty prison. Taking a deep breath, she held it for a long moment. She had vowed to come to the Holy Land and fight the evil here. Until she had done as she pledged, she must remain as warrior-strong as her father.

As she faced them again, Karim Pasa said only, “This way, milady.”

She followed him, resisting the impulse to look back. If she saw fear on Lysias's face, she might crumble. She must be strong.

Karim Pasa opened a door which led to a circular room. A single bench on the tile floor stood against the one spot on the wall wide enough to hold it. The rest of the wall was filled with a multitude of doors. It was the strangest room she had ever seen.

“This is the
mabeyin
, milady.” He cleared his throat before he continued, as if he had repeated the explanation many times. “No woman may pass through this room without the consent of the
shaykh
. Nor may any man enter it without risking castration or death, the punishment for daring to see the women belonging only to the
shaykh
.”

“That is ridiculous!” she snapped before she could halt herself.

“Milady, the
shaykh's
orders are not mine to question. If you have a concern, you must discuss it with the
shaykh
himself.”

“I will!”

A slip of a smile curved his lips. “I am sure of that, milady. If you'll come with me, please.” He opened a door. Stepping back, he bent from the waist until she feared his nose would touch the floor. When she saw who was entering the
mabeyin
, she understood his pose.

Here, the man known as
Renard du Vent
to his enemies seemed even more powerful than in his tent. Gabriel's gaze moved along her, and she was thankful the clothes Lysias had chosen covered her completely. The heat of his appraisal cut through the layers of silk.

She stared at him as boldly. She would not let him see her disquiet. His ebony beard glistened, and she guessed he had just bathed. Her fingers quivered at the thought that she might see the strong flesh they had touched through his robes. Shaking that image from her head was impossible, and she took another steadying breath as his robes of the finest white silk flowed about him when he dismissed Karim Pasa.

Karim Pasa pressed his palms to his forehead and bowed. He backed out of the
mabeyin
and closed the seraglio door behind him. Keeping her eyes directly on Gabriel's roughly sculptured face, she waited for his dark gaze to meet hers.

When Gabriel motioned for Melisande to precede him through the open door, she obeyed without comment. As soon as she stepped into the room, she knew it had been a mistake to ignore his smile.

Even more luxurious than the other rooms, this bedchamber had been situated close to the
harim
so the
shaykh
could have his choice brought to him without delay. She noted the silk screens and assorted low tables and chairs, but the room was dominated by the huge bed enclosed with a gauze so fine it was almost invisible.

She whirled to leave, but it was too late. Gabriel entered and was closing the door. It had no bar, another symbol of his sovereignty over this stronghold and everyone within it. No one would intrude, even if she screamed.

When he moved past her silently, he sat in a carved chair. He stretched his long legs toward her. Leaning back against the round seat, he pointed to another chair. “You need not stand, Melisande.”

She said, as she tipped her head, “I am honored that you allow your lowly captive to sit,
Shaykh
Gabriel de la Rive.”

“Then sit.”

Realizing she could not best him this way, she went to the chair while he watched. As she sat, she ran her fingers along the carved wood. This luxury surpassed anything in England.

He loosened the
yashmak
. “You need not wear this here, Melisande. My mother should have explained you must wear it only if you were by chance to meet a man other than me beyond the
harim
.” He brushed the material back from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. If he noticed her sharp intake of breath at the sweet caress, he said nothing of it. “I know you must find your new clothes a bit odd, but you will become accustomed to our ways.”

“I would prefer not to.” She moved away from his fingers, which remained too close to her face. His touch banished all other thoughts from her head.

When his fingers brushed her cheek again, she looked at him. She longed to understand a single emotion in his volatile eyes. And she longed for his lips on hers.

“Tell me the truth,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath brushing her as eagerly as his fingers. “Is it the women and their traditions that you object to or me?”

“Both.” When shock blossomed in his sable eyes, she hurried to add, “I'm not one of them.”

He leaned back and laughed. “That could be changed, if you wish, Melisande.”

Leaping to her feet, she knew she must put some distance between herself and the enticement of his lips. She imagined them on hers and feared she was losing her mind. Finding outrage easier to deal with, she said, “I cannot conceive of a time when I would wish to be your lover,
Shaykh
Gabriel de la Rive.” She hoped he did not guess she was lying.