Captive Rose (17 page)

"Show me." Guy hoisted himself into the
saddle and drew the small slave girl up in front of him. As she pointed and
guided him, he rode like a maniac through the winding streets, his fury
mounting. God help them, if those swine had harmed Leila he would castrate them
all, stuff their bloody members in their mouths, and only then sink his sword
between their ribs!

"There it is, my lord!"
Hayat
shouted, spying a wine tavern Guy recognized as one he had earlier frequented
with other crusaders. There was a brothel on the second story, filled with many
rooms and dark passages that echoed with whispers and breathless cries of
carnal pleasure.

Guy deposited
Hayat
on the
ground and jumped down from the stallion, tethering the animal just outside the
tavern. "Stay here!" he ordered. The slave girl bobbed her head,
gasping as he pulled his glinting sword from the scabbard at his belt and ran
to the door, which suddenly swung open.

Guy had scarcely an instant to step clear before out
tumbled a Genoese mariner who was holding his bleeding arm and wailing to the
high heavens and numerous saints for mercy, while behind him stormed Simon
Renier
, clad only in
braies
and
chausses. The stocky crusader was bellowing curses and waving his bloodied
sword in one hand while he yanked a woman with streaming black hair into the
street.

"Leila!" Guy breathed, recognizing her
instantly.

From what he could tell she seemed unhurt, although the
dark tunic she must have borrowed from the clothing chest was rent in two,
exposing her filmy garments underneath. As she fought against
Renier's
beefy grasp, scratching and kicking him like a
little wildcat, Guy caught tantalizing glimpses of creamy flesh and slender
limbs, and he was filled with desire and envy. How he wished he was in
Renier's
place so he might tame her!

His arousing fantasy was tempered when Leila suddenly
spied him and stopped cold. He could swear he saw a flicker of relief in those
stormy violet eyes, but it quickly vanished and she jutted out her chin. She
was such a breathless vision it was almost impossible to look away, but he did
when the older knight lifted his blade over the cowering soldier.

"
Renier
, stay your
sword!" he shouted.

"What?"
Renier
blustered, half turning as he noticed Guy for the first time. "Ah, de
Warenne
!" The half-naked crusader roughly pulled Leila
in front of his protruding stomach, and caught her around the waist, his bare
arm pushing up her breasts. "Is this your woman?"

His gaze moving reluctantly from those seductive
swells, Guy could not suppress a grin as he saw Leila bristle. "Yes, she's
mine."

"I thought as much. Here I was a-whoring when I
heard a terrible ruckus next door, screeching and hollering and cursing—not
your normal love play, mind you, so I decided to take a look. Sweet Mother of
Mary, what should I find? Three mariners fighting over the lady here, while she
huddled on a bed. I've never seen such hair and eyes! I knew at once she was
the woman you described to me at the waterfront, Leila, the one you're
escorting home to that traitor,
Gervais
."

With a grunt,
Renier
pushed
her toward Guy. "You would do well to keep a better eye on her, de
Warenne
. A pretty piece like that, alone in the streets . .
." He shook his shaggy head, sucking the blood from the deep red scratches
on his forearm. "A vixen, too! You've got your hands full with that one."

"So it seems," Guy said, grabbing Leila's
arm. Still silent, she tried to pull away, but he held her firmly. He dropped
his voice, his words meant for her ears alone. "I hope you enjoyed the
solitude of your afternoon stroll, my lady, for it is the last time you will
leave my sight until we reach England."

Leila used her free hand to toss her tangled hair over
her shoulder, his threat chilling her to the bone though she would have died
before she showed it had struck home. Nor would she ever admit how glad she had
been to see him a few moments ago. No, not even on her deathbed.

"It matters naught to me what you do, my lord,"
she sneered instead, feeling his fingers tighten cruelly around her arm. "You
can go to hell for all I care."

"What did I tell you, de
Warenne
?"
Renier
shouted, throwing his head back and laughing
uproariously. "A true vixen with a viperous tongue to match! What a
journey you shall have!" But his laughter suddenly ceased as he raised his
sword and struck viciously at the kneeling sailor, decapitating him with one
solid blow.

Sickened, Leila watched incredulously as the head
rolled down the street and bumped with a dull thud into a wall.

"Barbarians. Savages," she whispered to
herself in horror.

"Not barbarism at
all,
and certainly no less than what your adopted countrymen would have done to me,"
Guy disagreed harshly. "Justice." When she merely turned her face
from him, he added, "If this man's
punishment so grieves
you, my lady, know
this. He would still be alive if not for your folly."

"You blame me for this? They attacked me, you . .
. you lout! Not the other way around—"

"Well, fair or no, that's the last of them,"
Simon
Renier
interrupted matter-of-factly, unperturbed
by the blood splatters on his hairy legs or their bickering. "If you'll
excuse me, my lady." He bowed gallantly,
then
turned to Guy with a lusty smile. "De
Warenne
. I've
a wench waiting for me upstairs who grows cool from my long absence."

"My thanks, Simon," Guy said, meaning it more
than he could say, the idea of losing Leila like a raw pain centered over his
heart. He clasped the older knight's wrist.

"It's not every day a man rescues a beautiful
maiden. Just glad I was there to help." Simon bent and wiped his sword on
the dead man's stained tunic, then lumbered to the door, calling out, "A
good journey to you both!" The crusader's booming laughter sounded again,
fading as he disappeared into the tavern.

"
Hayat
!"

"I'm here, Lord de
Warenne
,"
the slave girl answered, scampering from the crowd of bystanders who had
gathered to watch the gruesome scene.

Leila glared back at the approving faces, Arabs and
native Christians alike, disgusted by their evident love for
bloodsport
. She could not say she was surprised. The people
in this city had mingled so much with the crusaders they could not help but be
influenced by their brutal ways. To gape so at a man lying beheaded in the
street

She gasped as Guy suddenly picked her up and carried
her over to the stallion, where he threw her over the broad saddle, knocking
the wind from her.

"How dare you!" she sputtered, enraged. She
tried to raise herself up and slide off the horse, but he forced her down again
and quickly mounted behind her. He laid his hand flat on her rump, his strength
easily preventing her from making another movement. When he caressed her
lightly she almost choked, her face burning, wholly humiliated that he would do
such a thing to her in public!

"Take your hand from me!" she sputtered indignantly,
the reins flicking lightly across her back as he turned the stallion around.
His thighs were as hard as steel where they pressed against her.

"Don't say another word, my lady, or I can assure
you a sound slap on your delectable bottom will surely follow," Guy
stated. "That should entertain these good people."

"Why . . . why you—" She bit off the colorful
names she was about to call him when she saw him raise his hand over her
buttocks. With a sigh of pure frustration, she dropped her head and went limp,
resigning herself to the indignity of her transport. Better that than be
further disgraced by this vulgar and sorry excuse for a man.

"Up with you,
Hayat
,"
Guy said, trying to keep from chuckling as he lifted the slave girl behind him.
He had a good idea what Leila was thinking of him at that moment, and he knew
it wasn't complimentary. Yet it didn't bother him in the least. Strangely, now
that he knew she was safe, he was enjoying himself immensely. Leila was the
most spirited, exasperating, spoiled, misguided, imperious, exciting, and
utterly beautiful woman he had ever known.

Guy glanced down at his sullen and silent captive, and
was tempted to give her pretty rump a good slap just for leading him on such a
dangerous chase. As
Renier
had said, it seemed he had
his hands full. Delightfully.

***

Much to Leila's seething irritation, it became clear
once they returned to
Refaiyeh's
home that Guy meant
exactly what he said about not letting her out of his sight. He began dogging
her every move, crowding her until it seemed he left her no air to breathe. His
constant presence overwhelmed her; his huge body seemed to fill up every space
he entered. Leila was forced to eat her evening meal with him and the striking
Arab woman; who didn't seem pleased with the new arrangement. After Leila had
relieved herself—with Guy standing right outside the water closet's cracked
door, much to her humiliation! —she was seated in the garden on a cushion and
bound to an orange tree with a silken cord. He and
Refaiyeh
sat together on a bench in the shadows, talking and sometimes laughing.

Their conversation was too low for Leila to understand
the words. Not that she cared in the least. She hadn't said a word herself
since Guy had threatened to slap her. It was small revenge for the callous way
he was treating her. His every attempt to coax her to talk at supper had failed
miserably.

Besides, it had been days since she had eaten, and she
had been too hungry to talk. The spiced meat pastries and fruited yogurt had
tasted like manna from heaven, and the red wine had mercifully blunted her
mental anguish and growing despondency.

Exhausted, Leila soon let her head slump to her chest,
Refaiyeh's
low dulcet
tones
and
Guy's rougher, deeper voice lulling her to sleep. She did not know when he
finally unbound her and lifted her into his strong arms, nor did she feel him
lay her down upon the bed or see him strip out of his clothes.

It was only when she felt
an
incredible
warmth at her back that she awoke with a start, so muddled
from sleep that she did not know if she had dreamed the stirring sensation. She
felt someone slide a hand along the soft undersides of her breasts, pulling her
close. Abruptly, fully, awake, Leila froze.

Dear God in heaven, the crusader was sleeping with her!
She never would have thought he would carry his indignities so far as this! She
felt such a flush of red-hot fury that she elbowed him sharply in the ribs,
flailing her limbs and struggling mightily to escape his embrace. But he merely
trapped her beneath a heavy thigh.

"It's no use, my lady," Guy murmured huskily
into her ear. "You cannot escape. Now go to sleep. We leave at sunrise to
catch our ship for Marseilles."

It was true, she thought resignedly, going limp in his
arms. Her efforts were utterly useless, like a fly fluttering its wings in a
spider's web. She decided instead to goad him with her tongue, ever seeking
some modicum of revenge, some way to hurt this man who was destroying her life.

"Where's your whore?" Leila hissed angrily,
his treatment of her going against everything she held decent. That a man not
her husband should be holding her like this! It wasn't right!

"If you mean
Refaiyeh
,
she sleeps alone,"
came
his dark reply, his arm
tight around her waist, robbing her of breath. "That you speak so ill of
someone who has treated you kindly makes her ten times more the lady than you."
He jerked her hard against his chest. "Never call her that again or you
shall rue it, my lady," he spat.

Leila gasped for air when he slightly loosed his hold
on her, embarrassed deep down in her heart that she had even said such a thing
about
Refaiyeh
. She had sensed the woman's kindness
earlier, but Guy's threat was like bone-dry kindling to her rage, and she
couldn't seem to stop herself.

"Surely I could not escape in the time it would
take her to spread her legs for you—"

Leila was on her back so suddenly that her head spun,
his hand clamped over her mouth. She stared up at his face lowered to within
inches of her
own,
his eyes all glitter and fire in
the moonlit darkness.

"Another word, Leila, and I . . ."

She gulped, wondering wildly at his unfinished warning
and the humorless chuckle that broke from his throat as he removed his hand.
Before she could blink, his mouth came down hard on hers.

Completely startled, Leila flailed her hands against
his massive shoulders to push him away, but it was like trying to move a
mountain. His overpowering strength was as relentless as his tongue, which
thrust deeply inside her mouth. She cried out at his savage assault, but their
lips were so fused she heard only a whimper. Yet it became a husky moan when he
explored her mouth hungrily, his tongue forcing hers to partake in a wild,
serpentine dance.

New and dizzying sensations poured through Leila's
body, their intimate dueling overwhelming her. She felt as if she was spiraling
back into thin air, her thoughts in chaos,
her
limbs
tingling and weak. His mouth was hot and demanding. The taste of him was
incredibly exciting. Nothing in her harem training could have prepared her for
this. Nothing.

She had practiced kissing with a specially trained
eunuch under
Majida's
watchful eye. There had been no
fire, no passion, only technique. She would never have guessed the difference
could be so glaring, so unreal. So amazingly wonderful. Without thinking, she
delved her tongue into his mouth, seeking more of his seductive sweetness . . .