No Price Too High Read online

  Slowly Gabriel sat and regarded her with the icy glare which had subdued men twice her size. It did not surprise him that she did not lower her eyes … incredible eyes, which glittered with passions that challenged a man to explore each one with her. Seducing her here, where her gaze was concealed by the shadows, would be foolish. He wanted her surrounded by candles and lamplight, her eyes burning as brightly.

  “Yes,” he said, “you are right. I believe you are foolish enough to try such a journey alone.”

  “Wouldn’t you, if the circumstances were reversed?”

  “If I became your prisoner?” He laughed and raised his goblet in a feigned salute. “I hope the day shall never come when I must wait upon you to regain my freedom, but you know the truth as well as I. If our situations were reversed, I would be as uncooperative as you are.”

  “You would be.” She yawned once, then again.

  He held out his hand. “I see I am keeping you from your bed, milady. Come with me.”

  She edged away from his hand. “I am not so tired that I cannot speak with you awhile longer.”

  He drew her up to her knees as he rose to his. When she started to protest, he tugged her against him. Her words vanished in a gasp that was like thunder resonating within him. He could no longer resist his need and captured her mouth. It softened beneath his as her hands slid up his arms. He leaned her back on the tiles. For a moment, she stiffened, then melted against him.

  He sampled the downy warmth of her cheek, her eyelids, her neck. Her breathy moan slipped within him as he ran his fingers along her leg, no longer hidden beneath layers of matted wool. Wrapping it about his, he tangled his fingers in her hair and found her luscious mouth again. No flavor had ever been so sweet, so enticing, so perfect.

  But he wanted to see the passions within her eyes …

  Standing, he brought her to her feet. A thousand candles to sweep away the night, so he could delight in the glorious warmth of those unfettered fires.

  He frowned when she stepped back, one step, then another. In disbelief, he watched her run back toward the bedroom. Was she so eager?

  With his father’s favorite curse, he gave chase. She was not rushing to his bed. She was fleeing. He entered his rooms to see her staring at two doors, clearly not sure which to choose. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes now holding only fear.

  He put his hand out to keep her from reaching for the nearer door. “If you go there, Melisande, I would have to see you dead.”

  Terror warred with fury on her face. She would never surrender easily to anyone, even to a man whose touch pleased her. She whirled to the other door. Again he halted her.

  “Leave me alone!” she whispered.

  “If that is your wish, milady.” As carefully as if she had been created from the fleeting colors of a rainbow, he drew the yashmak across her face. “You must remember to wear this outside the seraglio.”

  “Unless I’m with you?” The edge returned to her voice.

  “Unless you are with only me.” His fingers stroked the russet glow of her hair. With a reluctant sigh, he motioned for her to leave.

  As Melisande entered the mabeyin, he saw the amazement on Karim Pasa’s face. It was quickly masked, but he knew the eunuch would not be the only one surprised that she had been returned to the harim tonight.

  “Shaykh, do you wish for Falla to be sent to you?” Karim Pasa asked as he held the other door open for Melisande.

  Her shoulders grew taut, and he knew that she had understood Falla’s name if nothing else, for Karim Pasa had not spoken in Frankish.

  Answering in the same language, he ordered, “See that this lady is comfortable for the rest of the night, then return. I will tell you then whom I wish sent to me.”

  “As you wish, shaykh.”

  Gabriel closed the door. If it were as he wished, Melisande would still be within his arms.

  EIGHT

  Melisande stood by the curtains and watched the gray of morning twilight sift into the gardens. The lake was an ebony abyss in its center. The nightmare had not ended with the dawn. Gabriel de la Rive’s palace had not evaporated in the heat of the rising sun. She was still a captive of a man who yearned to have her become one of his concubines, and she was a captive to a body that urged her to return to him and join him in his bed.

  It would have been simpler if Gabriel had been completely unfeeling. During the long hours when she could not fall asleep in the bed that was as comfortable as it was grand, she had wished she could despise him. Instead, all she could do was remember how beguiling his hands had been as they swept down her leg as his mouth delighted her skin.

  Furtive shadows evolved into other women stirring throughout the garden. She backed away from the drapes and sat by the bed, not wanting to speak with anyone. Every motion reminded her how far she was from home. Heathwyre woke before sunrise to the watchman’s shouts rousing the knights for their daily exercises. Fog oozed through the courtyards and into the towers, bringing heavy odors from the stables.

  Going out of her bedchamber, she entered the small garden that opened only off her rooms. A fountain was set in the very center between the stone walls that could have been carved from the mountainside. At the far end was a door, but she had discovered last night that it was locked. It offered no escape.

  “Are you Melisande?” asked a soft voice from the door leading to the bathing chamber.

  She turned to see almond-shaped eyes in a broad face. In the feeble gray of early morning, she could discern little else of the woman’s face that was framed by thick, black hair. “Yes, I’m Melisande Chapeleine.”

  “My name is Kalinin. I remember when I arrived here, and I know how confused you must be feeling.”

  “I keep hoping this is a dream.” She glanced toward the wall that must surround Gabriel’s private garden. “I should not have said that.”

  Kalinin laughed lightly as she sat on a clump of pillows next to Melisande’s chair. “Such strange eyes you have. I wonder if eyes of blue see the same as mine.”

  “If you see the sun creeping across the tiles, then we see the same thing.”

  “Are you a gift for the shaykh?”

  “No!”

  Kalinin drew up her knees and propped her chin on them, looking like an elf. “Why do you sound surprised? I was a gift to the shaykh to seal an alliance. Someone as exotic as you would be a worthy gift. I assumed that your father must have given you to the shaykh.”

  “My father would never give me to a man as other than a wife,” she asserted. “Those are the ways I know.”

  “The ways of the Franj?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are lucky, for here, unless a woman can claim her father is of a class higher than most, she will hope to become a concubine of a shaykh. Otherwise she must be the wife of a penniless man.”

  Melisande’s chin rose with pride. “My father is an earl, a liege to the king of England.”

  “I heard that you told Falla that last night.” She smiled, her eyes narrowing to dark slits. “She was sure you had no rank, and she couldn’t wait to parade hers before you.”

  “Here I have none,” she said quietly. She did not want to talk about Falla, especially after having heard Karim Pasa speak of her to Gabriel last night. Had Gabriel sent for Falla after she had fled? Her clasped fingers tightened until her knuckles bleached. She should not care … but she did. To silence her own wayward thoughts, she said, “I’m simply a prisoner.”

  Kalinin patted her hand. “Falla is the only one who worries about rank here. Lysias, as the shaykh’s mother, possesses the highest rank, but she seldom boasts of it among us.”

  “And his wives?”

  “The shaykh?” Her laugh was crystal singing. “He has no wives, although he must choose one if he wants a son to hold this land after him.” Suddenly she straightened.

  Melisande rose to greet Lysias. Allowing Lysias to sit in the chair, she pulled up more cushions beside Kalinin.

 
“Did you sleep well, Melisande?” Lysias asked.

  “No.”

  “But you retired here early.”

  Melisande sighed. In Heathwyre, there had been some sense of privacy. Here, there was none. She wondered if everyone in the harim knew what time she had entered Gabriel’s rooms and when she had left.

  “Soon you shall find we are not jackals about to pounce upon you in the darkness,” Lysias reassured her. “Then you will not be visited by fear throughout the night.”

  “It was not fear.”

  “Regret?”

  She shook her head. “If you mean do I regret sleeping alone last night, the answer is no.” That was another lie. She would need hours to confess when she returned to the chapel at Heathwyre. Not even her vow as a Crusader could free her of this mountain of lies. “I told Gabriel—”

  “Gabriel?” asked Lysias in a tight voice. “You address him so?”

  She looked from the old woman to Kalinin, who was staring at her with the same expression of disbelief. “He asked me to call him Gabriel. Is there something wrong with that?”

  “No.” Lysias exchanged a glance with Kalinin, but Melisande could not guess what it was supposed to mean. “If that is the shaykh’s wish, then that is how it should be.”

  Melisande dampened her suddenly arid lips. No one else called Gabriel anything but by his title. Even his mother spoke of him that way. Why had he insisted she call him Gabriel?

  She was about to ask when a slender form pushed through the curtains. Falla shook back her loose robes as she entered the room, slithering across it like a dragon seeking its lair.

  “Good morning, Melisande of Heathwyre,” she said in a condescending tone. “I trust you slept well last night.” She yawned broadly.

  “Well enough.” She clasped her hands in her lap, trying not to hear the echo of Karim Pasa’s voice speaking this woman’s name and seeing Gabriel’s nod.

  Her lips tightened. “The shaykh allows his chosen one to get little time for slumber through the night.”

  “Then don’t let us keep you.” Melisande shocked herself with her retort. No, she did not want to be jealous of Falla being in Gabriel’s arms. She tried to keep tears from filling her eyes. Oh, dear God, she did not want to care what he did, but she did. She wanted to keep each of his devastating kisses for herself.

  Falla’s dark eyes slitted, adding to her feral expression. “You are not delaying me. I thought you might have something to eat here. I seek something to restore me.”

  “I have heard love invigorates the body as well as the soul.”

  “Heard?” She laughed. “Is that the tradition of the Franj? To listen to the rumors instead of knowing what it is like to have a man seek his gratification deep within you?”

  Lysias pushed herself to her feet. “Be silent, Falla. No one here cares to listen to you.”

  “You would rather hear how the shaykh sent her away?”

  “Of course, he sent me away,” answered Melisande, proud of her even voice. She put her hand on Kalinin’s arm. She hoped Kalinin would remain quiet so Falla would not include her in her jealous rage. “I am not a concubine. I am a prisoner who will live here until my father ransoms me.”

  “It would not matter if you were a prisoner or not,” Falla snarled. “If the shaykh wanted you, he would take you to his bed.”

  “I know,” she replied smoothly. “We discussed that very subject last night, and I made my opinions quite clear.”

  Kalinin gasped. “He asked you to be his concubine, then accepted your refusal?”

  “Why the shaykh does what he does is not our place to question,” Lysias said. Sitting again, she added, “Falla, I think you should seek your breakfast elsewhere.”

  “Listen, you old—”

  “Falla, I said you should go elsewhere.” Lysias did not raise her voice.

  The ikbal glowered. Sniffing her outrage, she stamped out of the room.

  “Ignore her,” urged Kalinin.

  “It shall not be easy.” Melisande sighed. “She does not wish to be ignored. My father once had a mistress who yearned to be his wife, although my mother still lived. She paraded herself about Heathwyre until my father sent her away.”

  Lysias nodded. “Which is what the shaykh would do with Falla, if he were here more often.”

  “He is gone often?”

  “I have said enough.”

  Melisande suspected that Lysias was now the one lying. She had not said enough. She had said too much. Not that it mattered. Melisande had no idea what she meant. It was just another piece in this puzzle of Gabriel de la Rive that seemed to have no solution.

  “He has vanished, shaykh. Our one opportunity to halt Abd al Qadir may be gone.”

  Gabriel chuckled at the grim expression on Shakir’s face. “We will simply have to wait the beast out. He will emerge from his lair, and then we can set the trap once more.”

  “Not with the woman this time.”

  “We will use whatever tools we must to halt his attacks on the hill villages.” He glanced at the map on the table in front of them. “He has hidden in these mountains before.” He ran his finger along the spine of the range. “Take some men and talk to the villagers there. See what you might be able to learn.”

  “Aren’t you riding with us?” Surprise raised his gray brows nearly to the top of his skull.

  “No, because I do not want our enemy to discover that we are searching for him there.”

  “And the woman keeps you here.”

  He let the map roll closed with a snap. “No woman rules my decisions, Shakir.”

  “But she fascinates you.”

  “She doesn’t intrigue you?”

  Shakir laughed. “My eyes might be old, but they still see clearly. The Franj woman is lush with untried charms, for it is well known that their men guard them as closely as we do our women.” His expression grew somber once more. “I will gather the men and do as you order, shaykh. We will be gone no more than a fortnight.”

  “Good hunting, my friend.”

  Shakir nodded, picked up the map, and walked out of the room.

  Gabriel caught the sheet of paper that flew off the table as the door closed. He read the few words on it again, although there was no need. He could not forget a single one that had sent dread whirling through his gut. Rumors were no longer rumors.

  He went out to the pool in his garden. Sitting by the pool, he watched the fish dodging the falling water. He stood again, not able to remain here. Although the pool had not changed, it was as if each tile had been imprinted with Melisande’s warmth. She could not hide that warmth, especially when he touched her.

  With a groan, he went back into his rooms. This was not going at all as he had planned.

  When a hand touched her shoulder, Melisande awoke with a gasp of terror. She opened her eyes and laughed weakly. “Karim Pasa! You startled me.”

  “Excuse me, milady.” He grinned as he squatted next to her. “You looked so peaceful sleeping here. It distresses me to waken you.”

  “That is all right.” She glanced past him to discover that darkness had recaptured the garden. She was shocked that she had slept the whole afternoon and evening away. Too many sleepless nights, too many laced with nightmares had left her exhausted.

  “Your presence is requested, milady.”

  Melisande looked from the yashmak on the beaded band that he held out to his blank features. Knowing her own face must betray the excitement soaring through her, she took the wisp of silk and tried to affix it properly. Her fingers trembled as she thought of seeing Gabriel.

  “Allow me, milady.” Karim Pasa’s broader hands gently secured the band in place. Then he frowned. “No, that will not do.”

  “What won’t do?”

  He snapped his fingers. A serving maid appeared from the dusk beyond the columns, bringing a comb. Taking it, Karim Pasa began to smooth out the snarls in Melisande’s hair, which flowed behind her onto the floor.

  She gu
essed he was responsible for being sure that any woman brought to his shaykh appeared enticing. Karim Pasa, like everyone in the harim, was devoted to seeing that all of Gabriel’s needs were met. Her hands clenched beside her. If she succumbed to his kisses tonight, she would betray everything she had vowed. If she refused them, she might face another sleepless night of aching desire as she feared he held Falla instead.

  “Come,” Karim Pasa said as he came to his feet.

  Standing, she listened to her hair crackle as it clung to her clothes. She followed Karim Pasa, but paused by a table where a tray held what must have been her midday meal. Picking up a small piece of crusty bread, she popped it in her mouth.

  “Milady, it is not right for you to enter the shaykh’s presence with your mouth full,” he admonished.

  “Think how much worse it would be if my stomach rumbled with emptiness.” She smiled as he chuckled.

  Again the mabeyin was empty, save for the wooden bench. She wondered who sat on it. Karim Pasa while he waited to escort the shaykh’s chosen concubine back to the harim? She grimaced.

  He led her toward Gabriel’s door. Opening it, he said, “Do not leave this room. The shaykh will be with you soon.”

  “I understand.”

  “Milady, heed my words. The shaykh would have no choice but to put you to death if you were found wandering about the selamlik.”

  “Where?”

  “In the rest of the palace, milady. The seraglio is for the women. The selamlik is the region for men.”

  “I understand,” she repeated.

  When he left, closing the door, his concern remained behind to hang in the hot evening air. She glanced at the door on the far side of the room which would warrant her death if she as much as opened it.

  The room did not seem so overwhelming when Gabriel was not here. She did not look at the massive bed as she walked to the arch leading to the garden. Whirling away, she went in the opposite direction.

  She paused when she stared at the door beside the one where she had entered. That was not the one Karim Pasa had warned her about, but Gabriel had been determined she did not open it by mistake last night. Glancing over her shoulder to be certain she was alone, she went to the door.