Captive Rose (42 page)

Unable to reach a decision, Leila bent down and took
the boy's small hands in her own, asking gently, "What would you like to
call me, Nicholas?"

He pondered her question for a moment, studying her so
solemnly that she almost felt as if he could see straight into her soul.
Strangely enough, it pained her when he answered, "Lady Leila, if you
please."

"Then Lady Leila it shall be," she replied,
forcing a smile as she rose to her feet.

"And I would like to do the same, if I may,"
Philip added. He stepped forward, appraising her not as a man might, but as if
weighing whether she would be a friend or foe. "Welcome, my lady. Henry
has told me a great deal about you."

Wondering what that might be and unsettled by his odd
scrutiny, Leila answered softly, "Of course. That would be fine—"

"Did Langton tell you my wife is a trained
physician?" Guy cut in, regarding her with pride. "She studied for
years. I'd wager she knows more than any other healer in Britain. It was her
skill that saved my life, Philip. Perhaps she might be able to show you a thing
or two."

Leila was amazed. The only time she and Guy had
discussed her profession, he had told her she would never be able to practice
her medicine in England as she had in Damascus. Now he was boasting of her
skill! Was this some kind of taunt? Sweet
Jesu
, she
would never understand this man!

"Yes, Henry informed me of your . . . profession,"
Philip answered stiffly, resentment darkening his eyes.

Squeals of joy behind them shattered the awkward
moment. They all turned to see wives and children running to greet the de
Warenne
knights who had brought up the rear of their
cavalcade and were just now riding through the gates with the last of the
packhorses. Nicholas scurried off to join the fray.

"More crusaders come home again," Guy said
with a hearty laugh, clearly enjoying the ruckus. He turned back to Philip. "I
take it a feast has been prepared?"

"The cooks have been at their spits since Henry
brought us the news of your return. In an hour's time, all will be ready."
Philip glanced at Leila. "Perhaps until then, my lady, you might like to
rest."

She offered him a weary smile, which was not returned. "Thank
you. That sounds wonderful."

"Come. I'll show you to our room," Guy began,
only to be interrupted by Philip.

"Forgive me, Guy, but there are pressing matters
we must discuss. The Welsh rebels . . ." He did not have to finish as Guy
shook his head knowingly. "Enid will see that Lady Leila has everything
she needs." Philip gestured to a buxom, middle-aged serving woman who
hastened forward.

"Aye, Father D'Arcy?"

"Please escort Lady de
Warenne
to the lord's chamber."

"Gladly. If you'll come this way, my lady."

Anxious to be gone from the crowd, however
well-meaning, Leila quietly excused herself and began to follow Enid. As she
passed in front of Guy, she felt his hand lightly brush her arm.

"I'll wake you in an hour, my love."

She did not respond or even turn her head, just kept
walking, his endearment stabbing into her heart.

Those two words had become a constant reminder of what
she could never be to him, yet what was this pain that always swiftly followed
the thought? And why, dear
God,
was it becoming worse
with each passing day?

***

As Guy quietly entered their bedchamber on the top
floor of the round stone keep, he knew at once that Leila was fast asleep.
There was no sound, not even a stir coming from the canopied bed that dominated
the large, semicircular room.

How exhausted she must be, Guy thought, pulling aside
the linen curtains so he might gaze upon her. Studying her face, he was
immediately flooded with concern.

Her cheeks were so pale.
Dammit
,
he had pushed her too hard. What she needed was a good night's rest, not a long
and boisterous feast. There would be time enough for her to become acquainted
with her new home. He would show her around the castle tomorrow.

Tenderly Guy pulled the soft fur coverlet up over her
bare shoulder, deciding against kissing her slightly parted lips for fear of
waking her. He closed the curtains and left the room, descending the spiral
stone steps with a secretive smile.

Yes, he could wait one more day to reveal his surprise.

After much wrestling with himself, love had finally
overwhelmed his objections. He had found the perfect way to make amends for
some of the heartache he had caused her. The perfect
way to
give her back
her dream.

Chapter 22

When Leila awoke, she knew it was morning for the
bright sunlight peeking through the closed curtains and the sweet sound of
birdsong. She was alone in the huge bed, her only clue that Guy had slept with
her the indentation in his pillow. She was surprised but grateful that he had
allowed her to sleep through the welcoming feast. She felt much better now.
Wondering with a nervous rush of excitement if he might still be in the room,
she sat up and tentatively drew back a curtain.

"So you're awake at last, my lady,"
came
a cheerful voice, startling her.

"Enid," Leila breathed, her eyes darting
around what she could see of the sunlit chamber. "Is Lord de
Warenne
. . . ?"

"Your husband and a good three dozen knights and
men-at-arms rode out a few hours ago," the serving woman replied, her
lively tone sobering as she tied back the dark blue curtains with tasseled
cords. "Ah, the times are not good, my lady. Word came early this morning
that one of the neighboring villages was raided during the night.
'Tis
the first time the rebels have struck so close."
Enid shook her dark head. "I share the Welsh blood of the men who
committed the crime but not their hate of the English. My family has served the
de
Warennes
for generations, and we're proud of it."

Leila felt a moment's fear for Guy, but she pushed it
away. If there was one thing she had learned about her husband, it was that he
was more than capable of taking care of himself in dangerous situations. She
recalled wondering how knights occupied themselves, and now it seemed she had
gotten her answer: by keeping the peace for the king and protecting what was
theirs.

"Did he say when he might be back?"

"No, but if they manage to catch the wily
scoundrels, mayhap by
midafternoon
. If not . . ."
Enid shrugged, her plain face becoming almost pretty as she smiled reassuringly.
"Don't trouble yourself about it, my lady. Your lord will come home soon
enough. And until he does, Father D'Arcy asked me to tell you that he'd be
honored to show you the castle in your husband's stead."

Leila frowned. The idea of spending a good portion of
the day in Philip's austere company did not sound exactly pleasant, especially
after his strained greeting, but it might be better than sitting in this
bedchamber with nothing to do. And it certainly wouldn't hurt to learn the
layout of
Warenne
Castle.

"Very well," she murmured, throwing back the
covers and climbing from the bed with ten times more energy than she had when
she sank into it yesterday afternoon.

While Leila dressed, Enid chatted about the feast; the
delicious dishes that had been served, the speeches, the toasts, the spirited
entertainment, the drunken brawl among some men-at-arms. Though irksome, the
diverting patter freed Leila from dwelling overmuch upon Guy. Yet whenever he
was not with her, he was always in the back of her mind, a troubling fact to
which she had reluctantly grown accustomed in the long weeks she had known him.

Would it be the same when she left him? Leila wondered,
as Enid expertly braided her long tresses. Foolish thought! She knew she would
never forget him. How could she?

Oh, enough! She didn't want to think about it anymore
and was glad when Enid finally finished her hair. After donning a veil and
fillet, she practically flew out the door and down the spiral stairs as if she
meant to escape her feelings.

"My lady, Father D'Arcy has a small office on the
first floor of the keep," Enid called out after her. "If he's not
there, you'll find him in the chapel."

Leila was breathless when she reached the last step,
her head spinning from going round and round so quickly. Steadying herself, she
knocked on the nearest door, but there was no answer. She tried two more times
before a male voice called out for her to enter.

Suddenly a bit nervous, though she didn't understand
why, Leila opened the creaking door. It took an instant for her eyes to adjust
to the dimmer light. While her bedchamber had several glazed windows, this room
had only a very small one placed high up near the ceiling; the interior was lit
with candles and oil lamps.

"Good morning, Lady Leila," Philip said,
rising from a stool set before a slanted desk. His smile was restrained, and
his eyes held little welcome. "I take it you slept well?"

She closed the door behind her and faced him again. "Yes,
thank you. I'm sorry I missed the feast."

"No matter. Everyone understood how tired you were
after your long journey. Have you eaten yet?"

"No, but I'm not really hungry."

"Nonsense," Philip objected. "Guy was
telling me last night that you were too pale, and I agree. A robust diet is
essential to good health." He gestured to a table laden with several trays
of food. "Please. Sit down."

Remembering the flash of resentment she had seen in his
eyes yesterday, Leila bit her tongue, deciding not to correct his highly
inaccurate view of nutrition. What was the sense in it anyway? She wanted no
trouble with this man. She had seen plenty of ugly rivalries between Arab
physicians and knew what a sensitive issue medicine could be between those who
held different beliefs.

From Philip's simple statement about diet, she already
discerned that their approaches to healing were worlds apart. Her father had
claimed many times that western physicians were like blindfolded men stumbling
around in the dark, often no better than butchers. Philip would no doubt only
scoff at anything she had to say. It was better to humor him.

Leila pulled out a bench and sat down, then waited
silently while Philip filled her trencher with what looked like leftovers from
the feast. He picked up an earthenware pitcher.

"Wine?"

She nodded, wondering why he hadn't fixed himself some
food.

"Go ahead. I've already eaten," he urged, as
if sensing her thoughts. After handing her a filled goblet, he went back to his
desk. "If you'll excuse me a moment, I have to finish this last entry in
the household accounts."

Leila picked at the food, opting for a chunk of fresh
baked bread and some crumbly cheese over the distasteful morass of meat and
gravy set before her. She could not help wondering how Philip managed to stay
so lean yet advocate such a diet. Perhaps he kept so busy managing Guy's estate
that he had little time to put his belief into practice, she surmised,
listening to the scratch of the quill on paper as she sipped her wine.

Unable to eat any more, she twisted on the bench, her
gaze moving around the room. She spied with great interest a row of carefully
dusted books on a low cupboard. They were the first ones she had seen since
Damascus; she had almost begun to believe manuscripts didn't exist in these
western lands.

"May I look at your books?" she asked, trying
to hold her eagerness in check.

"Only a few of them are mine, some medical texts
approved by the Church. The rest of the collection belongs to Guy. I doubt he
would mind if you looked at it. I've kept his books in here while he was away,
but I'm sure he'll soon be moving them back to his private solar."

So Guy truly was a scholar, Leila thought as Philip
went to the cupboard and selected a thick volume.

"My brother has always had a great fondness for
heroic epics. Chretien de Troyes's romance of knighthood, highlighting the
adventures of Lancelot and Percival." He pointed from book to book. "The
Song of Roland, the poems of Bertrand de Born, various chronicles of history .
. ." He paused, glancing at Leila as he added stiffly, "I heard much
from Guy last night about how learned you are. Do you read French?"

"No, I don't."

"A pity. Most of these texts are written in either
that language or in English. Do you—?"

"My mother taught me only to speak English, not to
read or write it," Leila interrupted him quietly. "There had been no
need . . ." She went no further, swallowing uncomfortably.

"Well, I'm sure Guy would be more than happy to
teach you," Philip said, returning the book to its place on the cupboard. "As
mistress of
Warenne
Castle, you will need a good
command of our language to perform your many duties. I'm sure he will ask you
to take over some of the household accounts."

What an intriguing notion, Leila thought—Guy teaching
her to read and write. Then she felt a sudden rush of regret. Of course it would
never happen. She would probably be gone long before the first lesson could
ever begin.

"What of your medical texts?" she queried,
hoping a change of topic would ease her darkening mood. "Are they also in
English?"

She was surprised to see Philip visibly tense. "They're
in Latin."

Leila brightened. "I've studied Latin. Could I
look at them—
"

"For what purpose, my lady?" Philip cut her
off sharply. "You will certainly not need the knowledge contained in those
books. I am the healer here at
Warenne
Castle, not
you. I suggest you content yourself with your wifely duties from now on."
His severe black robes fluttered as he walked in agitation to the door. "Come.
I think it is time that we began our tour of the castle. Guy asked me to cover
as much ground as possible so you might feel more at home in your new
surroundings. Shall we go?"