No Price Too High Read online

  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.”

  Gabriel bit back a curse as he realized how easily Falla had arranged this. No doubt, she had been waiting for this very opportunity since he had banished her from his rooms the night before he left to ride the hills with Shakir. She had been humiliated and vowed revenge. Now she would have it.

  Sorrow twisted in his gut. Mayhap he could halt this, but when he looked at Yasin’s face, he knew how hopeless it was. Yasin was staring at Melisande as if he had never seen a woman before.

  Quietly, in Arabic, he said, “She does not speak our language. We communicate in the tongue of the Franj.”

  “Where did you find her? What is she?” The older man licked his lips as he gazed at her.

  Beside him, Melisande tensed. She might not know their words, but she could not mistake the lust in Yasin’s eyes. Fear filled hers.

  “She is English.”

  “That explains her red hair. How did you obtain her? The Franj do not sell their women.” He frowned. “Nor do they sign treaties with us.”

  “She is my captive. I saved her life when Abd al Qadir attacked her party.” He laughed coolly. “After she had saved mine.”

  “A female warrior?”

  He cursed silently again. His hope that Yasin would not want her if she had not been raised to the skills of the harim had been for naught. The caliph was so fascinated by her exotic beauty that he cared for nothing else.

  “I hold her until the ransom arrives from her father, the Earl of Heathwyre.” Gabriel watched as Melisande glanced at him at the mention of her father’s title. In her eyes was the plea to explain what was happening.

  He could not. If he had not been so eager to finish welcoming his guest to Mukhdarr so he could send for Melisande himself, he might have foreseen this. Falla knew the traditions of this stronghold well. For the first time ever, he wished he had claimed instead the customs of his father. A Franj leader would not be facing this choice, which really was no choice at all.

  Putting his hand on her shoulder, he was not surprised to find it shaking. Or was it his hand that shook with rage and despair? “Go,” he ordered.

  “Gab—”

  “Go!” He silenced her before she could cause more trouble. His fingers stroked her shoulder gently.

  Melisande wanted to close her eyes and delight in Gabriel’s caress, but knew she must obey him. Mayhap someone in the harim could explain. Falla! Falla must explain what this was all about.

  Putting her fingers to her forehead, she tilted it to the floor before rising to hurry to the door. She did not know what had been said between Gabriel and the stranger, but the anger in Gabriel’s voice was muted when he spoke to the man. This stranger must hold a superior rank. But none of that explained what was happening.

  She stopped so she did not walk into the stranger who still stood by the door. He lifted a strand of her hair and said something to Gabriel. When Gabriel answered, the man spoke more impatiently, then laughed as Gabriel replied. He released her hair and stepped aside.

  She looked back to Gabriel. All light had vanished from his volatile eyes.

  “Go, Melisande,” he ordered.

  “I am sorry for whatever I have done to embarrass you,” she whispered.

  “Embarrass me?” His shock was visible for a moment, then gone as he motioned toward the door. “Go.”

  The stranger opened the door. As she edged past him, he ran his finger under the shoulder strap of her short jacket. She gasped when he started to lower it along her arm. Pulling away, she ran out. The sound of his laughter was cut short when he closed the door.

  Melisande dropped to the bench in the mabeyin. She should return without delay to the harim, but she could not move. Her skin crawled where that stranger had touched her so brazenly. Pushing herself to her feet, she sighed. A bath, a long bath in hot water, would wash away his touch.

  As she opened the door and went into the harim, Karim Pasa rushed toward her.

  “Milady,” he began, “you must not enter—”

  “Gabriel told me to return here.”

  “You have been within?” He choked and turned away.

  She grasped his arms. “Karim Pasa, what is happening? Why was there a stranger in Gabriel’s room when he sent for me?”

  “He did not send for you.” He shook his head. �
��We should not speak of this here, milady.”

  “Karim Pasa, what is it?”

  He motioned for her to follow. Creases were etched deep into his forehead. When he led the way to her bathing room, she wanted to hug him. A bath was just what she wanted.

  When Karim Pasa hurried away with a mumbled excuse, Melisande wondered if the whole world had descended into insanity, for no one had acted as they should. She went into the bathing room and drew the band out of her hair. She heard her name cried out and turned as Lysias rushed into the room, panting.

  Melisande hurried to help her sit before she fainted. Lysias’s face was as gray as dawn. Sitting, Lysias rocked and moaned a high-pitched keening.

  “What is wrong, Lysias?” she asked, kneeling beside her. “Gabriel’s home. He is unharmed.” When Lysias did not answer, she continued soothingly, “He will forgive me for intruding when he was not alone. I am sure he will explain to the stranger, who—”

  “Is Caliph Yasin ibn Hayyan.”

  “Caliph? What is that?”

  Karim Pasa entered, followed by serving maids who began to fill the bath. He held out a bowl to Lysias. The fragrance told Melisande it was the beverage named qahwa, which Lysias loved for breakfast.

  Taking the bowl from him, Melisande held it to Lysias’s lips. She yearned to comfort her friend as Lysias had comforted her so often.

  “Caliph Yasin ibn Hayyan,” Karim Pasa said as Lysias drank, “wields much power. The shaykh always welcomes him with every courtesy.”

  She nodded as she put the empty bowl on the floor. “I understand that. My father offers his guests food, the best bed, and stabling for men and horses.”

  Lysias glanced at Karim Pasa and sighed. Holding Melisande’s hands between hers, she said, “Child, the shaykh does the same. However, for one as highly placed as the caliph, it is customary to offer more than food and shelter.”

  “More?”

  “The shaykh wants his guest to have everything available for his comfort at Mukhdarr.”