No Price Too High (3 page)

Melisande hesitated, then lowered herself into the nest of pillows. She kept her feet ready to vault her up, although she doubted he would give her the chance to flee.

He squatted so that his incredible eyes were level with hers. When he smiled again, his teeth contrasting with his sun-burnished skin, it was the triumphant grin of a cat that has secured its prey. She wondered if her voice had withered away, for she could not utter the questions plaguing her.

“Few of those who call this land home speak the language of the
Franj
—”

“The what?”

“The
Franj
.” He smiled. “Here in the hills, that is what we call Franks and any other Crusader. I suspect from the way you speak that you are English.”

“Yes.”

“Your name is—”

“One I would exchange for yours.”

His hand whipped out, and he grasped the hair at her nape. “I wish to know your name now.”

Terror threatened to choke her. “I am Lady Melisande, daughter of Marlon Chapeleine, the Earl of Heathwyre, vassal to his royal highness Richard, king of England.”

“Earl of Heathwyre?” His dark eyebrows arched. “Why does a man of such rank allow his daughter to travel here?”

“I came to be with my father and brother.”

“What is your brother's name?”

“Geoffrey Chapeleine.” She winced as his fingers tightened in her hair. “He is also known as Lord Beornet.”

His eyes widened. “I trust you speak the truth.”

“I have no need to hide
my
name. It brings me no shame.” She drew away, startled when he released her. “If you will restore me to my brother and our companions, I shall see that you find yourself richly rewarded.”

“Impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible. My brother is not without gold or influence.”

He dropped pillows on the floor near where she sat. He reclined, but she was not fooled. He was coiled as tightly as a snake ready to strike. Rearranging his loose robes about him, he regarded her without emotion. “I assume you were traveling with your brother when you were ambushed by Abd al Qadir.”

“Abd al Qadir?”

His chuckle was icy. “The leader of the hill bandits, milady … Melisande, did you say?”

“Yes, Melisande.” She watched his expressive mouth twitch and knew he had not forgotten her name.

“Was it your brother who led you so foolishly toward Acre, Melisande?”

She stiffened at his easy use of her given name. “I think it would make this conversation more comfortable if I had a name to call you.”

“Why do you think of such things when I wish to speak of your brother?”

“What of Geoffrey?”

“Was he with your group of travelers?”

“Yes, he would not allow me to travel unprotected.” She would not reveal how her brother had hesitated.

“You seemed quite capable of protecting yourself, far more than your companions.” His smile vanished. “They, like your brother, are dead.”

Melisande stared at him. Was this another taunt?

“I express my sympathies,” he continued.

She choked. “They all are dead?”

“More bodies were counted than there are fingers on your hands.”

“Did one have hair as red as mine?”

“All heads are red, Melisande, when covered with blood.”

Closing her eyes, she whispered a prayer. She trembled as she imagined telling her father that his only son was dead. Mayhap Father would return to Heathwyre and marry his young mistress and have another legitimate son. She squared her shoulders. “Witness my vow, if you will.”

“Vow?”

“I vow to see those who slew my fellow Hospitallers die before I do.”

He withdrew a knife from his sash. When he rocked it between them, she saw it was her knife. “That is a powerful vow, Melisande.”

“It is one I intend to keep.” She hesitated. “If you wish to fight beside me, I shall see you are rewarded.”

“How?”

“My father is a wealthy man.”

He reached toward her and fingered her sleeve. “This is simple cloth for the daughter of a wealthy man.”

“I set aside fine fabrics when I took a Hospitaller's vow.”

“You have many vows to fulfill, Melisande.”

“Do not mock me.”

He drew her sleeve toward him, his gaze holding hers. She gasped when she heard one thread, then another snap. She seized his wrist to jerk his hand away. With a terse laugh, he forced her arm back toward her breast.

She screamed when he shoved her into the pillows. She raised her hand, but he caught that hand as easily and held it away. Slowly he straddled her, his knees pinning her gown to the pillows.

“Do you know why you live?” he murmured.

“Let me go!”

“And if I choose not to?”

She stared up at him in horror. This man was warrior-strong.

His dark eyes glittered with amusement as he repeated, “Do you know why you live?”

“Because I killed my enemies before they could kill me,” she spat. “They are your enemies as well. Why are you treating me like this when we can join forces to repay them?”

“You have no forces, Melisande.” He released her sleeve and brushed her hair back from her eyes, tilting her face toward his. “Only you to stand against the hill bandits.”

“But if we were to join together—” She flushed when he shifted so his knee brushed her leg. Lightning seared her.

“An intriguing invitation,” he murmured, “but you are a Hospitaller, and I am … not.”

Frustration sliced through her once more. “Who are you?”

“I will tell you after you have considered my words.” He combed his fingers through her hair, lifting one strand from her shoulder. He looked over it to capture her eyes anew. “Before you negotiate for the strength of my arms and my allies, consider why you alone survived the attack.”

“I told you. I killed my enemies first.”

“Didn't you think it odd that thieves were defeated by a woman who fights with a toy sword?” He did not give her a chance to answer. “All but you were slain for the gold they might have been carrying and their weapons and mounts. Why? Because, Melisande, you were too valuable to slay.”

“Valuable?”

“Abd al Qadir likes to steal pretty women to sell as concubines or slaves.” Sitting, he laughed. “That you are pretty is, of course, his opinion. I prefer my women smelling sweet instead of horseflesh and dirt.”

Melisande pushed herself up so that she could sit. “Do not let me keep you from their much more pleasant company.”

“I thought you would wish not to be alone with your loss.”

Grief threatened to consume her, but she submerged it. “The time for mourning is when I have avenged my brother's death. Abd al Qadir is no friend of yours, for you killed his men with satisfaction. Why not assist in my vengeance so you may have yours as well?”

“I thought you came here to free Jerusalem.”

“My loyalties to my family must come before my vow to the Church. My father told me that before he sailed here.”

“To Tyre?”

“He is with King Richard's men near Acre.” When he gave her a cold smile, she returned it. “Do not try to make me think I have given you information you did not possess. The siege has been going on for too long for anyone not to know.”

“I would be wise not to underestimate you, Melisande. Let us relax and speak honestly.” He motioned to his own legs stretched far out into the room.

“What I wish to know of you is your name.”

“My enemies call me
Renard du Vent
.”

“You are
Renard du Vent
?”

Lord Vaudrey's warning resounded through her head. The fearsome bandit left his prey dead. Why had he shown her clemency? Horror threatened to choke her. If he intended her to become his concubine—for his words about the other bandits might have been to taunt her with his own plans—he would learn that Melisande Chapeleine would die before ceding her will to him.

“I should be proud that the English have heard of me,” he said, smiling.

Whoever had named him had chosen aptly. He possessed a fox's cunning, and she did not doubt he could attack and disappear with the speed of the desert wind. “Your enemies have given you that name. What do your friends call you?”

“Why would you wish to know when the anger in your eyes suggests you are no friend of mine?”

She rose, unable to sit when he twisted words as easily as a knight twisted a lance. “I need an ally who knows these hills. I offer you the chance to share in my victory,
Renard Du Vent
. Do you have the courage to ride with me to avenge my brother's death?”

Picking up the bottle of oil, he came to his feet. His head brushed the top of the tent; and she realized that when they had fought the bandits, he had crouched.

He opened the bottle and took her hand. She jerked her fingers away. With a smile, he poured oil onto his palm. The sweet scent swirled through the tent as he ran a single finger through the oil and reached toward her face.

She tried to edge away, but he cupped her chin. Oil dripped along the front of her gown as he raised his finger. Closing her eyes, she tensed, waiting for whatever indignity he was about to inflict upon her.

His finger stroked her skin lightly. The oil soothed the scratches left by the wind. She opened her eyes to discover his too close.

He tilted her right hand and poured oil onto it. She gasped when he plunged his finger into it, tracing the line in the center of her palm. Her fingers trembled as he brushed the oil against her other cheek before following the curve of her jaw up toward her hair. When he caressed the soft skin behind her ear, he whispered, “My allies call me Gabriel.”

“Gabriel? That is not an infidel name.”

“It is
my
name.”

“Then who are you?”

“I told you. Gabriel.”

“Only Gabriel?”

“It is enough for now.” He smiled. “Let us discuss what reward you shall offer me.”

“You will help me?”

“If your reward intrigues me.”

She wished she could think, but his touch bewitched her. “What do you want?”

When he laughed, his arm swept around her waist and tugged her to him. His body was harder than the boulders. “You smell very sweet now, Melisande.”

She did not hesitate as she reached for the tab holding her gown closed. Geoffrey was dead because of her. If this were the way to avenge his death, she must agree.

His hand clamped over hers. In spite of herself, she gasped when his broad hand brushed her breast, sending a new firestorm over her.

“You must move your hand if you wish me to …” She could not speak the words aloud.

“You would do this?”

“For my brother, I would.” Tears burned in her eyes. “I shall not let those who killed him go unpunished.”

He stepped away and bowed his head. “I am awed by your sense of honor, milady.”

Melisande's fingers clenched on her gown. He had taunted her before. When he raised his head, she saw his sincerity and amazement.

Softly she asked, “Would you do any less, Gabriel?”

“No, I would do no less, nor would I agree to help you avenge your brother when I see nothing in it that helps me.”

“Your enemies will be dead.”

“By your hand—or by mine and my men's? What value is your vengeance to me?”

Again she did not hesitate. She could not let her brother be forgotten along with his bones in the deserted valley. Taking the bottle of oil, she poured a few drops into her hand.

When she stroked his face as he had hers, his arm pulled her to him again. Her fingers swept along his wind-roughened skin above his beard as his mouth lowered toward hers.

A choked sound came from behind him. He looked past her, but did not release her.

A short man stood in the doorway. Gabriel stepped away, turning his back on her as if she had no more value than one of the pillows. She was shocked at the sensation of loss crashing through her. She longed for his strong body against her. What was wrong with her?

Gabriel spoke, but she could not understand a single word. The short man lowered his voice. There was no need for him to whisper. The words he spoke were none she knew.

Surprise crossed Gabriel's face. Looking at her, he frowned and nodded.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Abd al Qadir was not satisfied with attacking you. He also destroyed a village not far from here.” He added something to the short man, who smiled.

“What is it?” she asked again.

Gabriel faced her and clasped her arm as if they were sword-sworn allies. “I will help you in your vengeance, Melisande, with no thought of reward, for now your vow is mine.”

“Why?” She did not trust his sudden acquiescence.

“Because we cannot be enemies when we share a common goal.” He released her arm, then held out his. “Are you with me?”

Her fingers shook as she raised them, for she feared she risked more than her life with this vow. She gripped his arm. “I am with you,
Renard du Vent
.”

THREE

The stars did their silent dance as the wind became a gentle murmur. Away from the camp's fires, a promontory offered an excellent view of the valley stretching to the mountains.

Gabriel lowered his far-seeing glass. Nothing! Abd al Qadir had honed his craft, although the hill bandit had almost ridden into Gabriel's trap this afternoon.

Who could have guessed a group of
Franj
might divert Abd al Qadir's attention? Nothing must be left to chance next time. It was his duty to guard the people of these hills, as it had been his father's after he came here from France. When his father, Paien de la Rive, had saved a man's life here, he had not guessed the old man was a
shaykh
, ruling these hills from his luxurious palace in the mountains. On that day, the old
shaykh
had welcomed Gabriel's father into his family and made him his heir, for he had no other. On that day, his father had turned his back on France.