Captive Rose (26 page)

Peasants ringed jugglers and acrobats, stomping their
feet and hooting with delight at the entertainers' wild antics while, nearby,
whores wheedled and cajoled passersby. Dogs were howling and cats mewling from
doorways, horses neighing, children shrieking. Leila started in surprise when a
flock of honking geese fluttered across the road in front of them, chased by a
barking mongrel.

"Easy, my lady, we'll find a place soon and escape
from this racket," Guy said in her ear, but his words and his warm breath
tickling her earlobe only increased her tension.

Guy seemed to take immense pleasure in sharing a saddle
with her and he had explained in great detail the sights they had passed on
their journey from Lyons—the better to acquaint her with a culture and customs
that were similar to England's, he had said. In truth she had found his
narrative fascinating and had slightly altered her view of the country as an
uncivilized place. But it made her uneasy to be so close to him for so many
hours of the day. Uneasy because she found a heady comfort in his arms and a
secret delight at the warmth of his chest and hard, muscled thighs pressed
against her body.

Leila shivered, but not from cold, and forced herself
to concentrate on what was going on around her. Thankfully it was easy to
become engrossed in the enormous variety of goods for sale, and their horse was
moving slowly enough because of the crush of people that she could get a good
look at everything.

They passed a line of shops where bolts of cloth—wool,
silk, cotton, and linen in myriad hues—were heaped on the counters. Other shops
offered furs, garments already made to wear, and leather products, while
further along came stalls displaying imported luxury goods; plush carpets and
ivory carvings, precious jewels, chess sets carved in ebony, and the glittering
work of silversmiths and goldsmiths.

When Leila caught the aroma of ambergris and camphor,
she was seized by nostalgia and an incredible longing for home, and Guy's arm
around her waist filled her with despair. But she quickly shrugged off such
feelings knowing they were useless. She needed to be strong and ever vigilant
for opportunities for escape. So far she had been presented with none, but she
hadn't given up hope.

They came upon shops selling fresh meat, and she
glanced away from the bloody carcasses and plucked chickens hanging from iron
hooks, finding counters on her right laden with cheese, bread, and wine and,
next to them,
cookshops
selling hot food. Her stomach
seemed to flip-flop at the savory odors, reminding her just how hungry she was.
Their last meal had been hours ago. Yet they rode on, passing stalls offering
items that must be weighed, salt and sugar, wax, dyestuffs, grain, medicinal
herbs, and spices.

Leila perused the open baskets, easily recognizing the
spices and most of the herbs, both fresh and dried. Yet some were wholly new to
her; the yellow-flowered herb in the basket next to the dried red poppies was a
plant she had never seen before—

Her gaze flew back to the poppies just as Guy pulled up
hard on the reins
beside
a four-story building with a
colorfully painted signboard hanging over the door. She snapped her head
around, startled.

"I'm going to check in this tavern to see if they
have any available lodging upstairs," he said, dismounting. To her
surprise, he left her in the saddle, although his eyes held a grim warning. "Don't
try anything, Leila. I'll be right inside the door. Am I understood?"

She bobbed her head, murmuring a composed affirmative
despite her racing pulse, but Guy didn't seem convinced. He glanced over his
shoulder at a strapping peasant loitering outside the tavern door. A quick
conversation ensued and she saw the flash of a coin, then the young man strode
up and Guy handed him the reins.

Her heart sank. She would never be able to ride off
with this beefy peasant holding the reins. But she had an even better idea. Her
budding plan was farfetched and she knew she would be playing with fire, but it
might work . . .

"I'll be back in a moment," Guy said with an
infuriating wink. "Sit tight."

Her indignant gaze followed him into the tavern,
then
settled on her smiling hired companion.

"You grin like an idiot," she said to him in
Arabic. Her remark was greeted with a confused stare. "I would wager you
have the brains of one, too." When the young man merely chuckled,
shrugging, she added in English, "Don't mind
me,
I just have to stretch my legs."

With that she slid from the saddle and gestured to the
spice and herb stall, which was besieged by customers, then back to the saddle.
He shrugged again, and she surmised he understood his job to be to watch the
horse, not her.

"Blessed simpleton," she muttered, hurrying
toward the busy stall. She had to be back on that horse before Guy emerged from
the tavern, or he would surely guess her purpose. He was certainly no fool.

She pressed in beside three foreign merchants who were
quarreling with the spice trader and fortunately occupying his attention. Her
eyes fixed on the basket of poppies directly to her left. With the quickest of
movements she scooped up two handfuls of dried flowers and thrust them through
the side slits of her
surcoat
, not allowing herself
to breathe until she had strolled casually back to the horse. It was clear from
the continuing argument going on behind her that her crime had not been
noticed.

"Could you help me up?" she asked, gifting
the peasant with a smile that sent a crimson blush from his collar to his
scalp. He did so and she was well settled, the poppies tucked securely into her
girdle, by the time Guy stepped out into the street.

"The
taverner
has kindly
cleared out a room for us," he said, reaching up to draw her from the
saddle. "You were right about the jewels." His gaze moved from the
peasant, who looked sheepish, to Leila. "Is anything amiss? This young
fellow hasn't taken any liberties with—"

"No, no, of course not," Leila cut him off
irritably, shaking out her skirts as if it was the first time she had been down
from the horse in hours. "He's been the perfect gentleman while you have
rudely kept me waiting in this rain."

"Well, I will keep you waiting no longer, my lady,
for what you have so stoically earned," Guy said, taking her arm. "We'll
stay the night here and leave for Paris first thing in the morning. We've made
good time so far. We can afford to ease up for one night. Our meal and some
wine will be sent up soon, and they're preparing enough hot water for us to
bathe."

Leila was stunned
as
 
he
led her into the brightly lit
tavern. Just when it seemed he couldn't be more oblivious of her needs, he
surprised her. She would never understand him

After tonight you won't have to, she reminded herself,
and was seized by nervous excitement as she followed him up the stairs.

Chapter 14

This fourth-floor room was not luxurious lodging by any
means, Guy thought as he ushered Leila inside the
lamplit
interior, but it would be more than adequate once good order was restored.

Two serving women were hurriedly changing the linens on
the large curtained bed, another was laying fresh rushes in the enclosed
latrine projected out from one wall, and a younger girl was dumping fresh coals
in the comer brazier. The room stunk of ale from its recently vacated
occupants, but the smell could easily be remedied by some fresh air.

Guy strode to the nearest window and pushed open the
wooden shutters. He inhaled deeply,
then
turned back
into the room just as a brawny manservant rolled in two large wooden tubs and
placed them near the brazier. He glanced at Leila, who was still standing near
the door, and a vivid image struck him, wild and arousing.

How he wished he could see her in one of those tubs,
her white skin flushed and rosy from the steam, her wet hair snaking over her
beautiful breasts

Enough! You're only torturing yourself, Guy scoffed to
himself. Hell's fire would freeze over long before that ever happened.

"There you go, my lord," the manservant said,
dusting off his hands. "The hot water will follow soon as the women finish
here and fetch it up from the kitchen, and the same goes for the food. If there's
anything else you'll be wanting, just let me know."

Guy studied the man. "Better yet, why don't you
help fetch the water from the kitchen? Then my wife may have her bath all the
sooner,
and myself for that matter."

"But that's woman's work—"

"Do it," he commanded tersely. "The
payment I gave the
taverner
is more than enough to
ensure that my every request is well met."

The man nodded grudgingly and quit the room, followed
shortly by the serving maids, who cast him grateful smiles.

Guy went to Leila's side, thinking she appeared
amazingly alert for someone who claimed to be so tired,
then
decided she was probably just eager for her bath. He, too, could not wait to
wash the sweat and filth of travel from his body. "Make yourself
comfortable while I'm gone, my lady."

"Gone?"

"Only for a short while. I have to see to the
horse,
then
I want to leave a message with the
taverner
. It seems two of my own knights are lodging here,
quite a coincidence. Apparently many other crusaders are still in
Provins
, no doubt enjoying the fair before returning to
England." Guy gave a short laugh. "I'm surprised
Burnell
and Langton rented any lodgings at all. The
taverner
says he's hardly seen them. I imagine they've been in every brothel—" Guy
stopped himself when Leila blushed, and he quickly took another tack. "I'm
sure our baths will be ready soon. You may go first, if you wish."

"I don't see why we can't bathe at the same time,
my lord . . . otherwise your water will surely grow cold," she replied,
her blush deepening. Wetting her lips, she glanced at the burgundy velvet
bedcurtains
. "We could draw those curtains and set one
tub on each side of the bed for privacy."

Guy was so astonished by her suggestion that he didn't
know quite what to say. He would have thought she would wish him well out of
the room, even the tavern, while she bathed, but now . . . He shrugged, at a
loss, and decided her suggestion made sense even if it was unexpected. He hated
lukewarm baths.

"As you wish," he said simply. "I'll
move the tubs now so you won't have to trouble yourself trying to explain the
arrangement to the servants when they return with the water."

Leila merely nodded and stayed right where she was, her
knees shaking so badly she thought she might fall if she so much as moved. She was
amazed she had the nerve to suggest such a thing, but it was all part of the
wild scheme racing through her mind.

Since the opiate she planned to distill from the dried
poppies would have to be diluted to hide the telltale bitterness, Guy would
need to consume a good amount of red wine before he would feel the drug's
effect. And what better way to goad him into any angry bout of drinking than a
hot bath and savory meal, all served up with a bit of seemingly innocent
feminine trickery?

She had been taught much in the harem. There were
myriad ways to seduce or merely to tease. Tonight she would play on Guy's
admitted lust and, she hoped, bring on a drunken spree like the one in which he
had indulged on the boat to Lyons.

She had seen the empty bottles strewn under his berth
when she awoke the next morning, her own headache no match for the splitting
one that had plagued him that entire day. There had been no need to accuse him
of taking advantage of her. His misery had been enough to convince her that his
sacred vow had won out again.

And so it would tonight. Guy would not dare to touch
her. His vow to protect her would never allow it. He would drown his desire and
frustration in wine, and she would be free.

"They'll probably fill the tubs before I get back,
so don't feel you have to wait."

Leila started, so lost in her thoughts she hadn't
noticed that Guy had moved to the door.

"Are you all right, Leila?"

"Yes . . . it's been such a long journey, 'tis
all."

"I know. Soon it will be over." He smiled,
but it quickly faded as a familiar warning lit his eyes. "The
taverner
told me there was only one door leading outside,
the front entrance, and I won't be far from it."

Feigning affront, she stared at him stonily, which
seemed to satisfy him. Without another word he left the room, and Leila slumped
against the wall, trying to collect her composure. She needed her wits about
her every step of the way this night.

Guy had been gone no more than a few moments when there
was a sharp knock on the door. She stood back as the manservant carried in four
buckets of steaming water, while behind him
came
the
three serving women with more buckets and some thick towels. The girl brought
up the rear carrying a large, cloth-covered tray; a bag of clinking bottles
slung over her plump shoulder.

Leila went to the window and waited impatiently while
the buckets were emptied into the tubs and the food and drink were placed on
the table near the bed, where she had already noted an earthenware pitcher and
some tin cups. When she heard the door pulled shut, the servants finally gone,
she spun around and flew to the table.

Her hands were shaking as she drew the poppies from her
girdle and crushed them into a tin cup. Then she added some water from the
pitcher. Stirring the contents with her finger, she hurried to the brazier and
was relieved to see the coals were glowing bright red. She set the cup upon
them, for the mixture would be useless if it did not first come to a boil and
was then allowed to steep.