Captive Rose (30 page)

"It's about Lady Leila."

Guy tensed but did not look at him. "Go on."

"I do not presume to know your relationship with
the lady, but I can see with my own eyes that it is not a convivial one, my
lord. She's barely spoken since we left
Provins
two
days ago and when she
does,
her tongue is as sharp as
a razor. I'm just thankful her barbs have been solely directed at you."

"Yes, her temperament doesn't lack for spirit,"
Guy agreed dryly.

Henry gave a short laugh, but quickly sobered. "That's
exactly my point, my lord. My mind is drawn not only to what
Burnell
and I saw upon the bed linen that morning at the
tavern, but to the questionable disarray of your room as well."

"And what of it?" Guy queried sharply,
feeling a twinge of irritation. "I already explained that you and
Burnell
would both serve as my witness at court that
a bedding
had taken place."

"Yes, my lord, witnesses to
a
bedding
. But a rape?"

Guy turned on him, his eyes narrowed with anger. "You
know me well, Langton. It was no rape. I have never preyed upon any woman for
carnal sport. And as far as Leila is concerned, I have every intention of
marrying her—"

"I believe you, my lord," Henry cut in
hastily. "God knows, I never thought I'd ever see you so smitten by any
one wench. I posed that harsh question only because it seems you've overlooked
something very important."

"Say it then, and have done."

"Very well. What are Lady Leila's feelings in this
matter? She may have willingly shared your bed, but is she as willing to become
your wife? From what I have seen, and in all honesty, my lord, from everything
you have told us about her, I think not. Yet you are clearly determined to wed
her. Without the lady's consent, you have nothing upon which to stake your
claim and it might as well have been a rape, for so it will appear to Lord
Gervais
—"

"Enough!" Guy roared, not so much from anger
as from exasperation. "You rattle on worse than a howling fishwife,
Langton! Do you think I am an idiot? Besotted, yes. An idiot, no. I have taken
all these things into consideration. I am convinced that when I present my
intentions to the lady, which I plan to do this very evening and on good
English soil, she will accept."

Henry cocked a sandy eyebrow. "You are certain of
this, my lord? She looks to be a woman who does not cow easily, or persuade
easily, for that matter. Perhaps this is one time when you have met a woman you
cannot sway. Then what?"

Langton's skepticism gave Guy pause.

He glanced over his shoulder at the low
sterncastle
which held the only two cabins on the barge.
Leila was in one of them, sleeping. She had been exhausted upon reaching
Calais, since they had ridden post all the way from
Provins
.
Soon he would have to wake her for the next leg of their journey, which would
take them to an inn in the town of Canterbury where they would spend the night.

There he would tell her what he was planning for them.
If she did not agree, he had no idea what his next move would be . . .

"See that the horses are saddled and ready to go
when we dock," Guy stated brusquely, turning back to the windswept cliffs
which were drawing ever closer. "And wake up
Burnell
.
He's napped long enough."

"As you say, my lord."

Guy listened as the knight sighed heavily and strode
away. He knew full well he had not answered Henry's pointed questions and he
had no intention of doing so.

When it came to Leila, he would not predict anything.
Why tempt the devil by claiming to discern a heart he could not fathom?

***

"Have you had enough to eat, my lady? I could
order more food, if you'd like. More fruited custard. More wine."

"This was quite enough, thank you," Leila
said somewhat stiffly, very much aware of Guy's knees brushing against her own
beneath the narrow trestle table. She
slid
her legs
demurely to one side. She was eager to escape this loud and crowded dining hall
for some peace and solitude upstairs. That is, if Guy was willing to afford her
any. . .

She felt a sudden rush of nervousness, but forced it
away. Since she had no plans of drugging him this night, she did not see any
reason why he would take the same liberties with her that he had in
Provins
. At least she hoped he wouldn't. Or did she? Ah,
whatever was the matter with her?

Leila closed her eyes and rubbed her temples in a vain
attempt to will from her mind the powerful memories and accompanying feelings
over which she lately seemed to have little control.

Why was this insane yearning forever plaguing her, and
in the most unseemly places? In a raftered dining hall filled with all sorts of
unsavory travelers and townsfolk? Perhaps she was coming down with a fever from
the constant traveling. Yes, that would certainly account for her strange
sensation of warmth—

"You are tired."

Leila looked up, focusing on Guy's face. His arresting
blue eyes were laced with concern, and he had about him that same air of
possessive familiarity to which she was reluctantly becoming accustomed. "Yes,"
she admitted simply, foregoing her usual sharp remark.

"Come, then. I'll take you to our room." He
rose and walked around to her side of the table, where he held out his arm.

Leila noted Henry's pained expression out of the corner
of her eye when she refused Guy's offer of assistance and stood up by herself.
The fair-haired knight followed Robert
Burnell's
somber example by staring uncomfortably into his mug of pale yellow ale.

"Good night, gentlemen," she murmured, which
brought both knights jumping to their feet and mumbling good-night. To her
chagrin, Guy caught her arm anyway and led her quickly from the smoky dining
hall and up the creaky back stairs.

"I've lodged at this inn before. The rooms are
simply furnished but quite comfortable."

Leila made no attempt to converse with him, hoping
against hope that he would leave her and return to drinking ale with his
knights. She felt a rapid sinking feeling, as well as a good measure of nervous
unease, when he ushered her into a corner room and shut the door behind him.
This was the first time they had really been alone together since
Provins
.

She sat down on the edge of the bed while he lit an oil
lamp, the cotton wick sputtering to life and flooding the dark interior with
soft golden light. Other than a low drone coming from the distant dining hall,
the only other sounds were their breathing and the steady drum of rain against
the closed wooden shutters. Instead of soothing her, the sounds made her
more tense
.

Leila noticed their saddlebags propped beneath a bench
and her cloak hung to dry over a wooden hanger set in front of a glowing
brazier. An early evening shower had burst upon them just as they reached
Canterbury, but fortunately they had made it to the inn before anything more
than their outer coats were soaked. Guy's black cloak hung on the same
hanger,
broad, massive, just like him

She was startled from her random musings when Guy
suddenly took a seat facing her on the bed, his back against the headboard and
one long leg resting casually over the side. She didn't look at him. She was
afraid to. She simply stared at her hands lying folded in her lap, but it did
little good. She could swear her every pore was alive to his nearness and she
could smell him, his hair and clothing slightly damp with rain and sweat, a
pleasing, musky odor surrounding him.

She wondered fleetingly if he could smell her, too,
then she coughed lightly and glanced at the door. She had said she was tired,
hadn't she?

"We'll be arriving at Westminster by tomorrow
afternoon. You know that, don't you, Leila?"

She met his steady gaze. He was watching her intently,
his eyes like glittering blue fire in the lamplight. Becoming flustered, she
quickly looked away.

"Yes, I believe you mentioned that this morning in
Calais." She took a quick breath and rushed on, hoping to dissuade him
from any long discussion. "If you don't mind, my lord, I would like to get
some rest. Tomorrow promises to be a long day, what with meeting my brother and
his wife if they have already arrived at the palace—"

"That is exactly what I want to talk to you about."
Guy leaned toward her, resting his elbow on his leg. "Leila, I have
decided to ask your brother for your hand in marriage. I plan to do so as soon
as we can arrange a meeting."

Leila stared at him blankly, her thundering heartbeat
the only thing which made her certain she had heard him correctly. Never in a
thousand years would she have expected such a startling pronouncement. He had
said all along that he could not wait to be rid of her!

"I admit this decision must seem very sudden. I
could have told you in
Provins
, but it was too soon
after . . ." He paused, his brow furrowing, then began again. "There
was no time. I knew we would be stopping at this inn for the night so I thought
it best to wait and discuss the matter here."

"You decided . . ." Leila said slowly,
finding her voice at last. "You decided?" A brittle laugh broke from
her throat. "What of me, my lord? Have I no
say
in this matter?"

"Yes, of course you do," Guy replied, "but
if you would only hear me out—"

"Good. My answer is no."

He appeared momentarily stunned,
then
shook his head firmly. "No, Leila. It isn't that easy." He grabbed
her arm as she tried to rise and hauled her back onto the bed. "You will
listen to what I have to say."

"You're hurting me!"

Guy loosened his hold on her delicate wrist, but he did
not let go. He ran his finger along the stubborn line of her jaw, forcing her
chin around to face him. "And while you're listening," he said softly,
caressing her cheek with his thumb, "you will look at me."

Leila's first impulse was to wrench away again, but she
was captured by the haunted expression in his eyes. Her body was suffused with
heat at the raw emotion reflected there . . . not just desire but so much more.

"I love you, Leila."

Her lips parted . . . for breath, for words? She did
not know. Nothing came.

"I want you for my wife."

Sweet Mother Mary . . . He was telling the truth. She
knew it. The poignant tug at her heart was her guide, her gauge.

Yet she could hardly believe it. Surely kismet had
thrown some new trick in her path. It was plain the fates were not finished
toying with her life, her hopes, her dreams. They were turning everything
upside down and all around until she did not know where her heart truly lay!

Leila suddenly remembered something, at first more a
mist than a memory, but then the words were there, floating up from the
recesses of her mind . . .
I swore I would never marry again except for
love.

Guy had said them. He was saying them now. And they
scared her to death. Because something deep inside her wanted to believe.
Wanted to accept. Yet if she did not spurn him once and for all time, she would
never see her home again.

And that was what she truly wanted, wasn't it? To
return to Damascus?

"I cannot be your wife," she heard herself
say in a small, distant voice. "I do not love you, Lord de
Warenne
. I never will."

Guy felt as if he had been stabbed with a knife, such
was the wrenching pain centered over his heart. But he had expected her
protests, and he was not a man to give up easily. He never had been.

"How can you say you will never love me, Leila?"
he demanded huskily. "You have shared your body with me, your passion,
your
desire—"

"Lust does not always lead to love, my lord. You
said yourself that Christine believed you would one day grow to love each
other. She was wrong. Your love could not be forced. Nor can mine." She
seemed to shiver,
then
added, "Besides, my heart
has been pledged to another. As soon as I return to Damascus, Jamal Al-Aziz
will become my husband."

"Is that what you truly think?" Guy exploded,
releasing her arm and pushing himself from the bed. He could not believe that
Arab's name had come back to haunt him! Flushed with unreasoning jealousy, he
could only pace the room in frustration.

Was it possible that she truly loved this man? An
infidel? Not that it mattered! She had to be mad to think she would ever be
returning to Damascus.

Guy stopped abruptly and turned on her, trying to keep
his voice calm. "Tell me, Leila. Do you truly believe that is going to
happen?"

"Y-yes. Yes, I do," she replied, sliding back
farther on the bed. "I'm sure that when my brother understands the error
that our mother has made, he will gladly provide transportation for me back to
Damascus. Why would he want me as an added burden, especially if I was unhappy
here? It sounds as if his life is complicated enough already."

"Oh, God!" Guy exclaimed, incredulous. "Woman,
are you so blind? Haven't you understood anything I've told you about your
beloved brother?"

Leila felt a surge of anger at his tone. How dare he
infer that she was a simpleton . . . she, who had trained under the greatest
medical minds of the Arab Empire?

"I know only what you have told me, my lord,"
she countered with marked sarcasm. "I've heard your side of the story, but
I haven't heard my brother's yet. Is it fair to draw any conclusions until
Roger has had an equal chance to have his say?"

"By then it will be too late, my lady," Guy
muttered. "You forget how well I know him. You don't know him at all."