No Price Too High (14 page)

She ran her hand along his bare chest. His heartbeat leaped as its silken skin over his strong sinews reacted to her touch, sending desperate craving through her. “You will make me forget myself with your flattery, Gabriel.”

“That is the idea,
az-Zahra
.”

As she gazed into his dusky eyes, she became lost in their liquid heat. He pushed aside her hair and bent to place his lips on her forehead. A shiver ran through her with the power of a bolt searing the sky. With the same tenderness, he kissed her right cheek. He smiled at her as he tangled his fingers in her hair.

“Forget yourself,
az-Zahra
. Forget everything tonight but …” When he paused, she was astonished to see him scowl before he turned away.

When she looked past him, she saw a woman draped in filmy veils entering the garden. Falla! She glanced from Falla's inviting smile to Gabriel's taut jaw. His Arabic words were filled with rage.

Falla's eager expression faltered, and she dropped to her knees. Melisande was sure Falla answered in Frankish so Melisande would understand every word. “Forgive me,
shaykh
. It is the time you call me. Forgive me for being so anxious to please you, as I have been allowed to in the past.”

Melisande's cheeks burned. When she realized Gabriel's arm was still around her shoulders, she shrugged it off. Again she had been seduced by his touch and easy lies. How could she go so eagerly into his arms when she knew what was stored just beyond his rooms? When she knew she might be only one of the women who shared his bed? “Good evening, Gabriel,” she said, stepping away.

She did not run as she walked past Falla and out of the garden. As she crossed the room with its blue-and-white tiles, she heard Gabriel shout, but kept on walking. If she turned now and saw him holding Falla in his arms … Her heart cramped with pain.

When she opened the door from the
mabeyin
, she nearly collided with Karim Pasa. She staggered back, but he took her arm to keep her on her feet.

“Milady?” He glanced at the door behind her.

She pulled it closed, her fingertips brushing it. Gabriel had not followed her. Why should he? He had Falla, who was anxious to satisfy him with her practiced skills. All she had was a heart that longed to love the man she wished he could be.

TEN

Rare thunderheads gathered as the afternoon passed with humid lethargy. Sitting in the garden among the flowers, Melisande listened to the song of the fountains. She pulled at the silk that clung to her like a second skin. In the fortnight she had been here, the heat had never been so intense. Today, for the first time, she did not wear the long surcoat covering the clothes she had found too revealing before.

Laughter came from nearby, but she took no part in the conversation among the score of women bathing in the lake. It was totally in Arabic, and she was sure she was being discussed because of the furtive looks in her direction. She had not guessed so many women lived in the
harim;
but dozens of women, many with children, sat among the shaded arcades.

They had belonged to Gabriel's father and had become his on his father's death. Lysias had explained all that to her. Most of the women had been sent here to seal treaties with the
shaykh
or as gifts for providing protection or simply in hopes of gaining the
shaykh's
favor. It was, Melisande had to admit, not so different from the English way of arranging marriages, save that a son would not think of sharing his bed with one of his father's women.

The days had passed with slow similarity since Gabriel had left to ferret out Abd al Qadir. No news filtered into the
harim
, so she did not know if he had succeeded or not. She longed to hear what had come to pass in Acre. Karim Pasa could tell her nothing, and he was the only one who went beyond the
harim
walls.

“I thought I might find you here.” Kalinin dropped to sit next to her on a bench.

Melisande mumbled, “Where else would I be?”

“Still in a bad temper?”

“Bad temper?” she gasped. “Is that all you think this is? I—”

Kalinin held up her hands. “My friend, I know you are unhappy because you wish to be with the other
Franj
.”

She stared at the darkening sky. Being honest with Kalinin was impossible when she could not be honest with herself. She cared little about the battles outside the walls of Acre. Instead she fretted that Gabriel would be killed trying to help those who depended on him. For two weeks, she had tried to persuade her heart to push him out of it. For two weeks, she had failed.

“I hate this weather,” she said, knowing she must say something. “The heat leaves me exhausted at the end of the day.” A clap of thunder rolled over the mountains. Melisande glanced up at the sky. A storm should lessen the heat. She stood. “We should go in before it rains.”

“Wait a moment, Melisande,” said Kalinin as the other women hurried out of the lake. “Would you like to watch the storm from someplace less stuffy?”

“That would be lovely. Where?”

“We can sit in the small pavilion on the island.” She grasped Melisande's hand and led her toward a bridge.

The rain was beginning to fall as, with a contented sigh, Kalinin pulled pillows together in the center of the octagonal pavilion. Plumping them, she gathered another group for Melisande. “Let's watch from here.”

The crackle of thunder sliced into Melisande's ears, bringing memories of storms in Heathwyre. The full leaves of the plants bounced beneath the raindrops as hot, wet aromas rose from the earth. “I love storms,” she said, leaning her chin on her hand. “From the keep in Heathwyre, I could watch lightning flash all across the countryside.” She laughed. “Of course, my mother was furious each time I was able to sneak away and climb the dusty, narrow stairs to the top. She feared I would fall.”

“I cannot imagine being so bold. You
are
different from us.”

“I have not become Gabriel's lover, if that is what you mean.”

She laughed. “That is not what I meant, for that is something we have in common.”

“You haven't shared his bed? I thought—”

Kalinin chuckled again. “My father wished to form an alliance with the
shaykh's
father. I was the way.”

“So, you were here when his father was alive.” She hesitated, then said, “You must have been very young when you were sent here.”

“The
shaykh's
father died only a few years ago, although he suffered from a sickness that came from a wound he had received while fighting the hill bandits and was unable to walk or ride for the last two years of his life.” She lowered her voice. “That is why there are no young children here in the
harim
.”

“So all these women—”

“Belonged to the
shaykh's
father. We should have, at the time of this death, been moved to the section of the seraglio which is set aside for the women of the late
shaykh
.”

“But you are still here. Is it because …” She could not speak the words. If Gabriel wished to call any of these women to his bed whenever he pleased, that should not matter to her.

“It is because the
shaykh
concerns himself totally with putting a stop to the hill bandits. Most of them are gone, but Karim Pasa speaks of one called Abd al Qadir who eludes the
shaykh
.”

“The hill bandit who killed my brother.”

Kalinin's eyes filled with tears. “He must be stopped.”

“And then Gabriel will banish all of you from your home here.”

“It is our way.”

“I don't understand how you can go to the bed of a man you have never met.”

“I feared that moment myself, although I knew I was honored to be here. However, I never faced it. Shortly after I arrived, the
shaykh's
father died. The decision the
shayhh
made to leave me forgotten in the
harim
pleased me.”

“But why doesn't he let you leave?”

“That would suggest he could not provide for me. The
shaykh
is too proud to be shamed like that.”

“You are right. Once I thought he was haughty, but I believe it is pride.” She glanced out at the gardens. “He has much to be proud of. He is fulfilling his responsibility to those who look to him for protection.”

“He also has a responsibility to have an heir. Are you a virgin, Melisande?”

Startled by the abrupt question, she gasped, “Of course. Why are you asking me that?”

Before Kalinin could reply, a voice from outside the pavilion said, “Here you are, Melisande.”

She did not need to look over her shoulder to know the voice was Falla's, for it had the purr of a well-fed cat.

“I didn't expect to see you out in the rain, Falla,” she answered with the serenity that was her only weapon.

“Yes, Falla,” added Kalinin, “you have been very scarce since the
shaykh
sent you away the night he left.”

“He sent her away?” Melisande asked, astonished.

“The
shaykh
told her to get out and not to come back. You should heed the gossip.” Kalinin laughed.

“How can I when it's in Arabic?”

“I shall have to translate for you more often.” She giggled again.

Falla frowned. “The
shaykh
sent me away because that toad Shakir came to speak with him.”

“About the hill bandits?” Melisande asked.

The
ikbal
shot her a withering look. “How would I know anything about that? Why would I care?”

“Because Gabriel could get killed trying to stop Abd al Qadir.”

“So, it is true,” Falla sneered.

“What is true?” She drew up her knees and clasped her hands around them.

“You love him!” She laughed. “You are a fool,
Franj
. He will tire of your bizarre ways; then he will never call you to him again. You will ache for his touch until you will do anything, even beg in any way you can, to be his once more. But he will have forgotten you.”

Kalinin cried, “Do not think that Melisande will share your fate, Falla.”

Falla recoiled and snarled something Melisande could not understand. Kalinin did, because she stiffened.

Putting her hand on Kalinin's rigid arm, Melisande said, “Her words cannot wound me any longer.” She rose. “The rain is easing. I think I shall return to my rooms.”

“You can't.” Falla stepped in front of her. “The
shaykh
wants to see you,
odalik
.”

Ignoring the insult of being called a second-class concubine, subservient to the
ikbal
, she asked, “Am I to believe he asked you to tell me that?”

“I was there beside him.” She ran her hands along the filmy drape which barely hid her full curves. “Close beside him.”

“Did he say why?” she asked quietly, refusing to be hurt by the smug triumph in Falla's smile.

“He only told me he wanted to see you.” She fluffed back her hair. “I trust you will not keep him waiting.”

Melisande eased past Falla, keeping her steps slow, although she wanted to dance and spin over the bridge. Gabriel was alive. Until now, she had not guessed how much she had feared he was dead.

She glanced back, unable to rid herself of a nagging disquiet. Falla walked across a bridge leading to the far side of the lake, then vanished into a room in that section of the
harim
. If Falla were trying to cause trouble, she would have delighted in watching Melisande fall into her snare. Gabriel must truly want to see her, even though he had selected an astounding messenger.

Amazed that Karim Pasa was not waiting by the door, Melisande entered the
mabeyin
. Her steps were light as she went to Gabriel's door. As she touched the engraved wood, she hesitated. Falla had been surprisingly cooperative about delivering the message. Mayhap—and her heart thudded at the thought—Father had sent her ransom. That would explain why Falla had been willing to bring Gabriel's message to her. Falla would demean herself if it meant having Melisande leave
Mukhdarr
.

“Gabriel?” she called quietly.

When she received no answer, she frowned. Nothing looked amiss, but foreboding raced through her as she entered. Everything looked exactly as it always did. The bed curtains floated in the breeze, and the fountains sang.

She went to the garden door. “Gabriel?”

“Perfect!” crowed a man's voice behind her. The door slammed closed.

She spun to see a stranger. Gabriel stood behind him, his face as naked of emotion as the day he had told her she was his captive by Abd al Qadir's ruined village. He pointed to the floor. When she did not move, he stepped forward and put his hand on her shoulder. He pressed her to her knees and motioned for her to put her head to the floor as Falla had.

She almost asked why, then saw that his eyes sparked with fury. She obeyed. She had been a fool to trust Falla. Why was this stranger in Gabriel's rooms?

Instead of commanding her to rise and telling her the reason he had sent for her, Gabriel said something in Arabic to the other man. She listened to the triumphant sound of the stranger's voice and wished she could understand more than an occasional word. Peeking from her cramped position on the floor, she saw Gabriel's face now displayed the anger that had been in his eyes.

When he spoke in Frankish, she flinched, unprepared for that rage being aimed at her. “What are you doing here, Melisande?”

“I come at your command.”

“My command?”

She raised her head to see his bafflement. Again he made a motion. This one she understood. She pulled her
yashmak
over her face, but did not try to hook it in place. Her fingers would have failed her. “I was told you wanted to see me.”

“By whom?”

“Falla.”