Lion's Bride (11 page)

His smile vanished. “I’m growing bored hearing what Kadar wanted.”

“Then drink your wine and go to sleep.”

He muttered an obscenity and then was silent. The only sound in the Great Hall was the crackle of the logs in the fireplace.

“What did he want of you?” Ware growled.

“I’m not sure. He was a little vague,” she said drowsily. “I’ll have to think about it.”

Another silence.

“Go to bed,” he said harshly. “You’re going to fall asleep any minute and tumble into that fire.”

She shook her head.

“I don’t need Kadar and I don’t need you.”

“I know.”

“Then leave me.”

She shook her head. She wished he would be quiet. Talking was too much effort. “Drink your wine.”

“I will not drink my wine.”

“Very well.” Her lids were so heavy, she could barely keep them open. “Whatever you…”

“Christ.”

He was picking her up, carrying her.

Climbing the stairs.

No, that was wrong….

“Where are you going?”

“I’m taking you to your bed, where you belong.”

“Haroun is in my bed. I’m sleeping in Jasmine’s bed.”

He stopped at the top of the stairs and then was moving down the corridor. “I’m not carrying you down again. You’ve been bother enough tonight. You can have my bed. I won’t be using it.”

Something soft beneath her…

He was turning away and striding toward the door.

That was wrong, too…. She couldn’t allow him to go.

“No.” She struggled to an upright position and swung her legs to the floor. “You shouldn’t go back to the hall. Stay here….” She pulled herself up by the bedpost. “I’ll go to Jasmine’s—”

He whirled on her. “By the saints, why won’t you give up?”

She was too weary to argue. She could only shake her head.

His hands clenched into fists at his side as he glared at her. Was he going to strike her? She almost hoped he would. Then she could go to sleep without breaking her vow to Kadar. He was striding toward her, his blue eyes glittering. He
was
going to strike her.

He pushed her down on the bed.

She looked up at him, startled, as he threw himself into the cushioned chair next to the bed. “Go to sleep,” he growled. “I’ll stay.”

“You’ll try to sleep?”

“I said I’d stay. I didn’t say I’d sleep.”

It was victory enough. Kadar couldn’t expect more from her tonight. “You might as well.” She turned over on her side and closed her eyes. “There’s nothing else to do….”

There’s nothing else to do.

Ware rested his head on the back of the chair. He could think of any number of things to do at the moment, and none of them concerned sleeping. He hadn’t thought he wanted a woman until he saw her lying in his bed.

Now there was no doubt at all what he wanted to do.

So why wasn’t he inside her? Why was he sitting there watching her sleep like one of those foolish gallants in a troubadour’s tale? She had angered him, forced him to her will, and he was still not reaching out to take what he wanted.

His gaze slowly traveled over her. She was curled up like an exhausted child, but she was no child. She was old enough to take a man and bear a child. She would have fine sons; she would give them her strength and courage and protect them as she had Haroun.

The thought brought a violent surge of heat to his loins. Christ, what was happening to him? Now he was not only lusting after the woman, but her children. He wanted those sons to be
his,
wanted to see her belly swell with his seed and her breasts grow large with milk.

His hands clenched on the arms of the chair. Not for him. Never for him. If he conceived a child, he would probably never live to see it born.

Yet he suddenly wanted that child with an overwhelming passion. He didn’t want to let them banish every trace of him from the earth. Something should live on, someone…

Oh, yes, he thought with self-disgust, get the woman with child and let the Grand Master murder them both as he had the villagers.

Or hold them both hostage to make sure of Ware’s death.

Why was he even considering the possibility? He had known this danger for years and had been careful to draw out of the women he used to slake himself. That it mattered so much now was unreasonable.

The destruction of the village must be the source of this sense of urgency.
It could not be the woman.
He admired her courage and endurance, but she was far too independent and bold. Never had a woman defied and ordered him about. Yet if she had not been bold, could she have survived? Gentleness would not have served her on that long trek to Damascus. Meekness would have made her stay in that silken prison in Constantinople.

He could not condemn her for surviving and wishing to live in freedom. He had been driven by that same wish when he’d left Scotland those many years ago.

But he could condemn her for being a constant irritant since he had brought her to Dundragon.

No, in fairness, she had tried to avoid him. It was his own lust that had been at fault. Damnation, was there no way to escape guilt? he thought wearily. Every way he turned, he bore responsibility for some new sin. He should have gone back to the Great Hall and the wine that blurred the guilt and made life a little more bearable.

She murmured something incomprehensible and turned over on her side. She was restless. It was turning cool….

He reached down and carefully drew over her the wool blanket at the bottom of the bed.

A chill rippled through him; the motion had been done without thought, purely instinctive.

He could not let it be the woman.

When Thea opened her eyes, it was after dawn. One moment she was asleep and the next fully awake as if she had been called.

He was still sitting in the chair beside the bed, his head tilted back. He appeared…different in sleep. Not helpless; even in slumber the tension and wariness were still present. She studied him curiously as she never could when he was awake. She had not noticed before what long black lashes he had. When his eyes were open, one paid heed only to that searing blue. His mouth was well shaped and actually quite beautiful….

“Stop looking at me.”

Her gaze flew up to meet that glittering blue glance.

“I meant no—I was half-asleep.” Why was she stammering? She had done nothing wrong. She sat up and swung her feet to the floor. “It’s dawn. I must go to Haroun. You should go to your bed. You cannot be comfortable there.”

He grimaced. “Comfortable? I can’t move, and I’m sure this crick in my neck will never go away.”

She started to get up. “Then lie down as I told you and all will be—”

“Stay where you are,” he snapped.

She froze and then deliberately got to her feet. “I cannot help that you’ve drunk too deep and have a bad head. I’ll not be ordered about.”

“Because you’re a free woman,” he said mockingly. “There is no such thing. A woman is only as free as her husband permits her to be.”

“But I have no husband. Nor will I ever.” She added harshly, “Do you think I’d risk joining myself to a man? No man, no country, not even the Church gives fairness to women. We are nothing to any of you. My mother told me of a council once held at Nantes where great nobles and churchmen gathered to decide whether women were human or beasts. I’m convinced the only reason they decided we were human was to avoid being put to death for the crime of bestiality.”

“You could be right. It would certainly give
me
pause.” He went back to the original subject. “You have such a hatred for slavery?”

“There’s no use talking to you. You cannot understand.”

“Then
make
me understand.”

She frowned in puzzlement. “Why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry. I’m just telling you that freedom is not such a prize. Some prisons can be more comfortable and pleasant than the world beyond them. All captivities aren’t as cruel as the one you suffered at the House of Nicholas.” He paused. “Did he beat you?”

“When I was a child. Later I learned…” She shrugged. “What do you wish me to say? I had ample to eat, a clean place to sleep. When I showed promise, Nicholas had me taught languages and numbers so that I could speak knowledgeably with the merchants who came to buy the silk. There was even a walled garden outside the women’s quarters where we were permitted to go in the evening after the light failed. My mother said we were more fortunate than many.” She folded her arms across her chest. “But as years went by, I began to hate it more and more. I could not
breathe
. I watched Selene bent over her loom from dawn to dusk, and I wanted to pick her up and carry her away to where there was sunlight and the smell of flowers and—” She broke off and drew a shaky breath. “It wasn’t fair. No one should be allowed to own another person.”

“So it was for Selene you ran away?”

“No, I could have waited until conditions were better, if I had only Selene to consider.” She met his gaze. “A prince from Florence came to see Nicholas to buy some bolts of silk for his wife. He had a fondness for fair-haired women and decided he would like to buy me as well.”

“Nicholas sold you?”

“Why not? The prince offered a great sum for me. It’s true my skill made me valuable, but if my body is worth more…” She smiled bitterly. “But Nicholas is a wily trader. The negotiations went on for days. I didn’t wait for them to be completed.”

“Bastard.”

“He never considered himself to be unkind. We were property. Weren’t we fed and watered? Disciplined only when we failed in our duty to him? I’m sure he was outraged when I ran away.”

“How did you get passage on the caravan?”

“Balzar, the leader of the caravan, came often to the House of Nicholas. For years I’d been working in secret on a silk robe with embroidery fit for an emperor. I offered to trade it to him in exchange for food, water, and a place in the caravan.”

He lifted his brows. “A silk robe for sheltering a runaway slave?”

“A robe fit for an emperor,” she repeated. “Balzar was very vain. He had to have it. Besides, there was little shelter involved. If I’d been discovered, he would merely have disclaimed knowing who I was.”

“You stole the silk for the robe?”

“I don’t steal,” she flared. “I planted the trees that nurtured those silkworms, and the embroidery was my design and my work. Nicholas’s wealth grew tenfold when he started to display my designs. Did I not deserve something? Do you know how hard it was to find the time to do such an intricate design? Every morning I crept out in the garden in half darkness when I could barely see and then later had to rip half the stitches because I’d made mistakes. It took me almost two years to—”

“I wasn’t condemning you,” he interrupted. “I only asked.” He smiled crookedly. “What’s a length of silk when all Christendom knows I stole a much greater treasure?”

“Don’t be absurd.” She was still annoyed with him. “Why do you say things like that? I told you that it was clear you’re too blunt to indulge in thievery.”

“Indeed? Then how do you account for all the riches you see in the castle?”

“I don’t have to account for them. It doesn’t interest me.” She shrugged. “Perhaps you
are
a thief. Kadar says you ask great fees for protecting caravans and fighting battles. Perhaps that could be considered thievery.”

His lips twitched. “Certainly the lords who hire me consider it so.”

He had almost smiled, she realized. She had a sudden urge to see if she could make him do it again. “No, I told Kadar the reason you were cast out of the order was your lustfulness. You broke the law of abstinence.”

He
did
smile and looked years younger. “It’s true I found that restriction a great burden.”

She nodded. “I thought as much.”

His smile faded. “And what do you know of lust? Kadar tells me you escaped the raping at the caravan.”

“I saw coupling at the House of Nicholas. When the merchant was of importance, Nicholas would sometimes invite him to the women’s quarters and let him choose one of the women to pleasure him.”

“Your mother?”

“Once.”

“And you watched it?”

“No, I closed my eyes. She told me it wouldn’t hurt her but that I should not watch.” She did not want to think back on that night. She had seen nothing, but she had heard the soft laughter of the men, the grunts, the labored breathing, and then later, when her mother had come back to her, the sound of smothered sobs. “She lied. He did hurt her. Perhaps not her body, but he hurt her.” Her voice shook with remembered rage. “That is what it is to be a slave. To have no choice, to know that mind and body and skill are not your own. Do not speak to me of a pleasant captivity. There is none.”

“Very well. We won’t discuss it.”

But something unspoken lingered in the room, and again she felt uneasy. She stood up. “I must go to Haroun.”

He let her go this time, watching her as she crossed the room. “You say you grew new mulberry trees for Nicholas? How?”

She stopped, puzzled at the change of subject. “Like any other tree. He bought young trees from a trader and planted them in the grove. I tended them and made sure the roots were strong.”

“Is that what you plan on doing in Damascus?”

“Yes, or trade for them.”

“Another robe for an emperor?”

“You wouldn’t scoff if you’d seen it.”

He met her gaze. “I’m not scoffing. I believe you.”

She felt a rush of glowing warmth. “You do?”

“I believe you can do anything you set out to do.”

He meant it, she realized. “I promise that it won’t compare with the banner I shall make for you,” she said eagerly. “Emperors will envy
you.
You’ll be able to pass it on with pride to your sons and they will give it to their sons. It will be—” She broke off as she saw his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He moved from the chair and lay down on the bed. “I’m more weary than I thought, and all this talk of sons bores me. I think I’ll take a nap. Run along to Haroun.”

He had not been bored. It was pain she had seen in his face. What had she said to hurt him? “I didn’t mean—” How could she tell the dratted man she was sorry for a hurt he would not admit existed? She would not waste her time.