Chapter Seven

WARE WAS NOT in the Great Hall when Thea arrived there the next morning. However, the account books were stacked neatly on the long table.

Her lips tightening grimly, she went in search of him. The courtyard was filled with mounted men, and she found Ware in the act of mounting his horse. "I told you that I needed your help with the accounts. Where are you going?"

"Nowhere." He looked down at her impassively. "Would I dare to abandon you when you gave me a command?"

"I did not—Well, perhaps I did, but you had already shown yourself entirely too eager to abandon me with the accounts." She relaxed as she noticed he wasn't wearing armor. He would not leave Dundragon without it. "What are you doing?"

"I'm preparing to put my men through their paces. I do it three times a week while I'm in residence at Dundragon. I'll join you in the Great Hall when I'm finished."

She remembered catching glimpses of the training during her first days there. "I'd like to watch."

He shrugged. "Do as you like. Just stay out of the way."

She sat down on the steps and encircled her knees with her arms.

Bowmen were practicing their skills in one part of the courtyard set aside for that purpose. However, for the better part of an hour Ware dedicated himself to the men on horseback, having them wheel on command and then charge across the courtyard with lances lowered. After he was satisfied with their performance, he turned the horsemen over to Abdul. Then he was everywhere, totally in command, instructing, watching, praising, scowling.

"Is he not splendid?" Thea glanced up to see Haroun on the top step. He sat down beside her, his gaze fastened worshipfully on Ware. "He shines like the sun."

Thea did not find the description overaccurate. "I'd say he shimmers more than shines." Like a broadsword in moonlight, lifted and ready to strike. "And should you be out of bed?" She touched the bandage binding his head. "Does it still ache?"

"No," he answered, then gestured impatiently at the soldiers. "I should be out with them. Lord Ware said I am a soldier now, and soldiers don't lie in bed being waited on."

But he was only a boy, Thea thought sadly. So young to be dazzled by the military exercise surrounding him. She said gently, "Perhaps in a few days."

"I'm well now." His words came haltingly. "I mean no offense. You've been very kind, but it would be good to be busy again."

Of course it would. She and Jasmine had been so concerned with healing him, they had almost forgotten that the best healer, other than time itself, was to be constantly occupied.

"You look in good health." Ware was walking his horse toward the steps, his stern stare fixed on Haroun. "What are you doing sitting with women?"

Haroun flushed and jumped to his feet. "I did not mean—Jasmine said my wound is—I'm sorry, my lord."

"If you're sorry, you'll go to the stable and report to Abdul. He has things to teach you, if you're to be my squire."

"At once, my lord. I did not—" He stopped, his eyes widening. "Your squire?"

"You heard me. I'm weary of having a hodgepodge of soldiers care for my armor and do my bidding. You may be young, but Abdul says you're quick to learn." His gaze bored into the boy's. "Did he tell the truth?"

"I'll be very quick, my lord. You'll see…." He repeated in a whisper, "Your squire. Truly? Just like the squires of the Franks?"

"Better. Just as all my soldiers must be better." He got down from the horse and tossed the boy the reins. "Take my horse to the stable. Abdul will show you how to care for him."

Haroun nodded eagerly and jerked at the reins.

"Easy," Ware said. "He's well trained. You don't have to drag him to the stable."

Thea watched as the boy led the huge horse across the courtyard. Pride and eagerness were in every line of his thin, wiry body, and she was poignantly reminded of that night she had first met him.

"I suppose you disapprove," Ware said. "You cannot pamper the boy forever. He's better off with work to do."

She didn't point out that a few days was not forever. "I agree."

His brows lifted. "You do?"

"When my mother died, I was glad I was forced to work. Why didn't you have a squire before?" Then she realized the reason. A squire worked closely with his master, and Ware had allowed no one close. "Will he be safe?"

"The Grand Master has decreed no one is safe. At least he'll be close enough for me to look after." He strode up the steps. "Come along. You have work to do. You've been lazy enough this day."

"Lazy? I'm not your squire and I do you a service. I will not be called—" She stopped in midsentence as she realized he was smiling. It was a small smile but, amazingly, contained no grimness, only a hint of mischief.

"I jest," he said haltingly. "Have you no humor?"

The pot calling the kettle black, she thought. "You must warn me when you're being humorous. It happens so rarely, I can't be expected to recognize it."

"You laughed with me at the mulberry grove."

But this was different. This was not a response to a farcical situation but came from within. She had caught another glimpse of that younger Ware, and it had disconcerted her. "And evidently condemned myself to death. It's not a result that would encourage a person to—" His smile had vanished and she felt a sudden sense of loss. She impulsively stepped forward and touched his arm. When he glanced down at her, she repeated his own words. "I jest. Have you no humor?"

The smile came again, warm, almost sweet. She felt as triumphant as if she had created a magnificent tapestry in a single sitting.

"My apologies," he said. "I've been told it comes rarely."

She nodded, and her hand dropped from his arm. "And quite rightly." She preceded him into the castle. "Let's see how much humor you can draw from those account books."

"Why are you rubbing your eyes?" Ware asked.

"I'm about to turn blind trying to decipher this scribbling." She looked up with an accusing frown. "Your fours look like sevens."

"You've been staring at them for six days. You should be accustomed to them by now." He leaned forward and glanced at the number she was indicating. "It's a seven. It seems perfectly clear to me." He frowned. "Well, maybe it's a four."

She glowered at him.

"No, it's definitely a seven," he amended.

"Even you can't read it."

"I'm a knight, not a scholar." He leaned back in his chair. "Which reminds me, I've spent enough time sitting here doing nothing today."

She picked up the quill and carefully clarified the seven. "You don't go until I'm finished with this month's accounts."

"What a demanding woman you are. You're fortunate I'm a patient man." She didn't rise to the goad, so he pushed a little more. "I've been thinking I've been too indulgent with you."

Her head lifted like a falcon sighting prey. "Indulgent?"

He carefully kept his expression impassive. "What other man would sit in this chair these many days watching you struggle and taking your foul abuse? After all, you are only a woman."

"And you are a dolt who does not even have the sense to speak sweetly to one who does you service. It's no wonder you chose to be a monk, instead of a husband. No woman would suffer your ugly tongue."

"Actually, a number of women have found my tongue very pleasing." He could see she did not understand his hidden meaning. Her manner was so bold that he often forgot she had no carnal knowledge. He decided he had goaded her enough. "But since you have not, I tender my apologies. Perhaps another time."

She studied him. "You're teasing me."

"Is that what I'm doing?" He smiled. "Then I must stop at once and let you return to your work. The sooner you finish, the sooner I can leave this chair."

"I should abandon this…this monstrosity entirely. I may do it yet."

"No, you won't." He had learned that Thea could not leave undone anything she had started. No matter how distasteful she found the task, she worked until she had mastered it. "We both know that's not your nature. So get to it so that we may both be freed."

She sighed and bent her head over the account book. A moment later he realized she had forgotten he was in the room. She would remain in that state until some other annoyance jarred her. He settled back, watching the expressions flit across her face. It was a wonderfully mobile face, brimming with expression, intelligence, and vitality. In the past few days he had made a game of guessing what she was thinking by studying that face.

And God knew that was a change for him, he thought wryly. Expressions had never been what he looked for in a woman. A woman was for coupling, and though he might wish one to enjoy the act, he had not cared if she thought at all.

But he wanted to know what Thea was thinking. Her wit was keen, her temper sharp as a dagger, and he found himself deliberately prodding her to bring it to the forefront. He enjoyed the way her eyes glittered as she went on the attack, the way she said what she thought with no attempt at subterfuge. He liked to watch her hands turning the pages with that strong, graceful movement. He was an active man, and these days of being pinned in one room should have bored him to madness, but the hours had passed…pleasantly.

Perhaps too pleasantly.

He immediately dismissed the thought. He found this time pleasant because it was an oasis in the turbulence surrounding him. No doubt he would grow bored if it extended for very much longer. After all, spending a few hours each day with Thea could not endanger her. The harm had already been done at the mulberry grove.

He was making excuses, he realized in disgust, when excuses were not necessary. So he took pleasure from these hours. It was no sin to enjoy a woman's mind instead of her body.

Though he would like to enjoy the body too.

He quickly veered away from that pit. He could not sit here in comfort if he dwelt on what he would like to do to Thea's body. He had tried to subdue his responses as he had in the Order, but it was different now that he was once more accustomed to taking pleasure where he found it. Being forced for hours to sit across a table from a young woman with breasts he remembered as being full and beautifully—

Don't think of them. Think of her face, think of her wit, think of her smile. None of those were forbidden to him and brought their own pleasure.

She looked up suddenly. "You have a most peculiar expression. What are you thinking?"

He feigned a yawn. "That it's too fine a day to be forced into company with a mere woman. Can you not hurry?"

"What are you doing out here?"

Thea looked up to see Ware standing above her. She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and poured more water at the base of the young tree. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm trying to keep these trees alive."

He frowned. "You didn't come to the hall this morning."

"Because I was in the stable gathering horse droppings and then out here spreading them underneath the trees." She made a face. "I would almost have rather been working on the account books."

"I thought Jasmine was helping you with the trees."

"She has been a great help, but she has other duties."

"Abdul could have assigned a man to do it."

"I have plenty of time. I'm used to doing such tasks myself." She carried the water bucket to the next tree. "And I like to be busy. I miss my work." She poured water. "Besides, the accounting is almost all corrected. In a few days I'll be finished."

"You will?" His frown deepened.

"It's taken long enough. Over three weeks. I'm certain you'll be as grateful as I am. You'll no longer have to be glued to that chair answering my questions."

"Very grateful." He was silent, watching her. "Will these trees live?"

"I think they will. If there's not a bad storm to uproot them."

"You like working with the earth."

She nodded. "Growing things makes me feel…" She shrugged. "I like to know these trees may be here long after I'm gone. Do you know it's said that some trees live hundreds of years?"

"I never thought about it. I've been too busy staying alive to worry about trees." He ran his fingers over the rough bark. "But I, too, believe that it's important for life to go on. Perhaps there is even life after death."

She remembered what he had said about his father sending him from Scotland to preserve their family line. "But God assures us this is so. Do you doubt that if we are good, we go to heaven?"

"But what is good? The Pope says that it's good to slay, if it's done in the name of the Church." He thoughtfully stroked the trunk. "If that's true, then I must be the most Christian of men, for I slew more than any of my brothers when I was in the order." He moved his shoulders as if throwing off a burden. "Listen to me. I sound like Kadar. He's always questioning even when there are no answers."

"A terrible fault," she murmured sarcastically. "May heaven forbid you stop and think before striking out."

"I haven't struck out at you." He quickly amended, "After our first meeting."

She lifted her brows. "Once is enough."

"The fault was entirely your own. I didn't want to hurt you. You wouldn't listen to me." He waved an impatient hand. "Anyway, that's in the past. Why do you dwell on it?"

"Because I was the one you felled with a blow. I think you'd also dwell on such an act."

"Nonsense. I would forgive and then dismiss it entirely from my mind."

She gazed at him skeptically.

He swore beneath his breath. "You doubt me? It is—" He stopped, then smiled grudgingly. "Well, I would dismiss it… after I'd exacted appropriate vengeance."

She threw back her head and laughed. "Then you're fortunate my nature is meeker than your own."

He grunted derisively but made no reply. He watched her work for a moment before speaking. "You look very comely with the sunlight on your hair."

She stopped in midmotion and turned to look at him.

He smiled. "Though you smell foully of horse manure." He held up his hand to quell her indignant outburst. "I don't mind. But have it washed off before you sup with me this evening."

"Sup with you?"

"Well, Kadar says you must bear me company. If you're finished with the accounts and object to playing chess with me, I can see no other way for you to keep your promise. Can you?"

She quickly lowered her gaze to the earth so he wouldn't see the sudden happiness that soared through her. She had not realized until this moment how much she would miss the hours they spent together while poring over those dratted accounts. "No, and, of course, I must keep my word to Kadar."

He nodded solemnly. "Promises are very important." He turned and walked back toward the castle.

HOUSE OF NICHOLAS CONSTANTINOPLE

"You will find the worker you need here," Nicholas said, puffing with pride. "My women are the most skilled in all the world."

"I can see that by the samples of embroidery you showed me." Kadar carefully kept his tone without expression as his gaze traveled around the huge room.

There was no conversation, no laughter, as women and older children sat hunched over their hoops, shoulders bent, eyes fixed on the pattern in front of them, sewing feverishly. No one there was over her fortieth year, yet they all looked worn and aged. The sparkling cleanliness and brightness of the chamber, with many windows to let in the sunshine, made the theft of youth more horrible, Kadar thought. A truly terrible place.

But not as terrible as the carpet room from which they had just come. He had thought he had become hardened to life in all its forms, but the sight of those small children with their crippled, gnarled fingers had sickened him.

"You're very fortunate. They seem to be accomplishing a great deal," Kadar said. "How many hours a day do they work?"

"As many hours as the sun shines. Sunrise to sunset. Come along." Nicholas moved down the first aisle. "I must show you Clarissa's work. She has a fine, mature skill even though she's barely ten and four." He cast a sly glance over his shoulder. "And when she's not at her task, she will bring your loins as much pleasure as your purse. Only last week I sank between her thighs and found her—"

"And you'll want a fine price for her." Kadar shook his head. "I told you I wanted someone younger…and cheaper."

Nicholas sighed and moved farther down the row. "Evadne may please you. She is only nine. She has developed little skill as yet, and I may be persuaded to release her."

Kadar's gaze discreetly searched the bent heads. Red hair, Thea had said. Where the devil was she? "How long has she been here?"

"I bought her two years ago. Her fingers were too long for the carpets, so I had her trained on the embroidery hoops." He stopped before a small delicate girl with flaxen hair and haunted eyes. "What do you think?"

He thought Nicholas was a callous bastard. He tilted his head as he appraised the embroidery before the girl. "Not as good as I would like."

"If you don't pay, you can't expect quality."

She was there in the next row. Small, thin, red hair, her gaze fixed on the hoop in front of her. "That one seems to have more skill."

"Selene? It's true she's older, almost eleven." Nicholas moved brusquely toward the child. "But I cannot give you the same price. In three or four years she'll be old enough to give you pleasure…as well as children."

No mention yet that she was also his daughter. The whoreson would probably pull in that small fact when the negotiations became more heated. "I have slaves to give me pleasure. I want only her skill."

He stopped in front of the red-haired child's hoop. Her embroidery was exquisite, he thought. Too bad. The price would have been cheaper if he could have argued that point. She had not even glanced up at him. She just sat hunched, ignoring them as her needle went in and out of—

He went still, his gaze on the child's back.

"What is this?" He pushed aside the loose cotton tunic covering Selene's shoulders. Red stripes crisscrossed the girl's narrow back. "Perhaps she has less value than you claim."

Nicholas shrugged. "She has a biting tongue, but that doesn't affect her skill."

Kadar's forefinger traced a white scar. "This one is older." The child did not look up, but he could feel the muscles of her back knot beneath his touch.

"She was caught helping a runaway slave. We needed to know the slave's destination so that she could be recovered."

So Selene had met with punishment when Thea had fled. "And did she tell you?"

Nicholas shook his head. "We could not continue; she would have died. It became a choice of losing two slaves instead of one."

"No, you wouldn't have wanted to do that." No mention that the escaped slave was the girl's sister. He wondered if he could chance cutting the bastard's throat before he left Constantinople. No, he decided regretfully, he would have to deny himself that pleasure. Freeing the child was the important thing. "But these marks do show a temperament that could prove troublesome." His hand dropped away from the child's scarred back. "I suppose you'll have to show me another slave."

He was two aisles away from Selene, listening to Nicholas's praises of another poor child when he glanced back at her.

She was staring at him, bold green eyes glittering with resentment in her thin face.

He smiled at her.

The enmity in her expression didn't change. If anything, her belligerence increased.

Evidently not one to be won over by a sweet smile. He felt a ripple of interest mixed with pleasure. It would be a much more interesting trip back to Dundragon if the child offered him some challenge.

"Lower your eyes."

A squat, heavy woman was standing behind Selene with a slender whip in her hand.

Selene did not lower her eyes.

Nicholas's attention was caught, and he broke off extolling the skills of a dark-haired child. "No unpleasantness, Maya. We have a guest."

"She's wasting time. She must finish this side of the tunic by nightfall," Maya said. "You wished it for the caravan leaving day after tomorrow."

Nicholas's brow furrowed. "True."

Kadar wagered the child would not stop staring at him while he was in the room even if the whip did fall on her. It was a point of honor to her now.

He turned and moved quickly toward the door. "I'm weary of these discussions. Decisions are so trying. Can we not continue tomorrow?"

Nicholas followed him. "Of course. We will have a goblet of wine and then go visit the baths. It is the most divine of pleasures."

Except beating helpless children. "You're the kindest of hosts." Kadar beamed. "I look forward to it."

The stranger came to the garden that evening.

Selene stiffened as she saw him standing in the arched doorway, his gaze moving casually among the women gathered in groups about the fountain.

He was probably choosing which woman to pleasure him tonight, Selene thought bitterly. Tomorrow after he had relieved his lust, the negotiations for the purchase of a slave would resume.

He was younger than most of the merchants and traders who came there. Young and richly robed, with a beauty as startling as the torch burning on the wall beside him. But comely or not, he was like all the others—greedy for gold and for pleasure.

He was moving leisurely toward the bench where she sat a few yards apart from the other women.

She tensed and then relaxed. He would not choose her for pleasure. Even if he was one who liked children, she was too thin and homely.

He stopped in front of the bench. "You look lonely. Why are you not with the other slaves?"

She did not answer.

He sat down beside her and she caught a whiff of clean soap and fragrant balsam. It was the way Nicholas smelled when he came back from the city baths. "My name is Kadar ben Arnaud, Selene. Do you know why I'm here?"

"To buy a woman to start an embroidery house. We all know that." She added with deliberate rudeness, "But you are too niggardly to pay for any but a beginner."

He did not take offense. "True. You sew very well. Do you like to embroider?"

"No," she said baldly. "You don't have to like something to do it well." She edged away from him on the bench. Why didn't he get up and go away?

"Even if I buy you, I promise I'll not hurt you," he said softly. "You need not fear me."

Panic soared through her. She had thought he had erased her from his list of choices. "I don't fear you." She added fiercely, "But I won't work for you. I'll sit at my hoop and do nothing. Find someone else."

"You prefer it here? Nicholas doesn't seem an overkind master."

"I must stay here."

He changed the subject. "Why were you glaring at me this afternoon?"

"You touched me. I don't like to be touched."

"Why not?"

She didn't answer. She wished he would go away.

"That hulking woman is coming toward us. I find her most unpleasant."

He meant Maya, who was edging closer to hear their conversation. "Then you should choose your woman for the night and leave us all in peace."

"Which one should I choose?"

The question startled her. She turned to look at him. "What?"

"It's an indelicate question to ask a child, but I mustn't offend Nicholas by refusing his offer of a bedmate, and I'd prefer a woman who takes pleasure as well as gives it. Is there such a one here?"

What manner of man was he? she wondered in bewilderment. Every one knew a woman's pleasure meant nothing.

"Is there?"

She glanced around the garden before nodding at a small dark woman. "Deirdre. She's not as comely as some of the others, but she is very peculiar. She seems to like it when Nicholas ruts with her."

He smiled. "I thought you'd know. You're one of the ones who watch, aren't you?"

She asked warily, "What do you mean?"

"You stand apart and watch and learn. Poor Selene. I think you have a great hunger for life. Sitting here stitching in this cocoon must drive you mad, so you close everyone out and you think and you watch."

How had he known that?

He answered her unspoken question. "At your age I was a watcher too. I still am when the occasion warrants it." He smiled. "And you do warrant it, Selene."

He was not like the others. He was far more dangerous, for he had eyes to see. She jumped to her feet. "I don't want you watching me. Go away."

"I didn't mean to offend you. In fact, I wished to reassure you." He glanced at Maya. "But now isn't the time. We will talk later." He wandered toward the women at the fountain.

He said a few words to Deirdre and then took her hand and led her toward the door.

"He says kind words to you, but he only wants to keep you tame until he gets you back to his own country," Maya said behind Selene. "Then he'll set the whip to you."

"He won't choose me to work in his house. You heard what he told Nicholas. He thinks I'd be too much trouble."

"But he finds your embroidery adequate. He will choose you. Tomorrow he and Nicholas will strike a bargain and you'll be gone." Maya smiled maliciously. "You might as well go with him meekly. I know you're waiting for her to come back, but she never will. Thea's probably a whore in the streets by now."

"Be silent."

"How could she free you anyway?"

Selene tried to shut out her words, shut away the pain.

"She was so clever. She thought she was better than the rest of us."

"She was never unkind to you." She met Maya's eyes. "And she was better than you. A dog in the streets is better than you."

Color flared in Maya's heavily jowled cheeks.

Selene knew she should have kept silent. She would pay in the workroom tomorrow. She didn't care. She could stand only so much from Maya.

The gong sounded the signal for bedtime.

A gong to rise, a gong to summon them to meals, a gong to order them to the workroom. Sometimes she heard that gong in her dreams, deafening her, suffocating her.

She passed Maya, who was muttering low threats, and moved reluctantly toward the house of women.

She will never come for you .

Maya's words repeated over and over in her head as she settled down on her pallet.

Thea would come, she thought desperately. Thea loved her. She would never leave her alone.

But Mama had loved them and left them alone. Her arms had been holding Selene and then they had fallen away.

But Thea was different. She was as strong as Mama had been weak. She would not let Selene stay in this place. She would come for her.

She fought back the stinging behind her eyes. She had not cried since Mama died. Tears changed nothing. She had heard Mama weeping in the night sometimes, and it had not helped her. Her life had not got better. She had not lived. Mama…

Don't think of Mama. Don't think of Thea. One minute at a time. She could bear life that way. Thea would come for her.

But what if Maya was right and the young merchant chose her and took her far away from Constantinople?

Panic soared through her. Maya was wrong. She would be here when Thea came back for her. God would not be that cruel. Kadar ben Arnaud would choose one of the others.

"I told you," Maya said softly, her eyes drinking in Selene's shock and suffering as if it were a honeyed drink. "You are only a child and a slave. You can do nothing about it. Our master says you must be ready to leave on the morrow."

"You lie." Selene steadied her voice. "It's not true."

"It's true. You sail tomorrow evening. But Nicholas is far from pleased. The young rooster was a much cannier bargainer than he had hoped. They argued all day, but Nicholas could not squeeze more from him." Maya sailed away toward another group of women to spread the word.

Selene sat down on the bench. She was shaking with anger as well as fear. She could not leave. He had no right to tear her from her only hope of freedom.

You can do nothing.

Perhaps Maya was right and she was too young to fight this world of grown-ups who cared about nothing but gold.

Thea, help me.

Thea was not here to help her, and she was not a child. Children were young, and she had lost her youth the night Mama had died.

She must help herself.

"She is gone?" Kadar repeated.

"But I'm sure we will find her," Nicholas said quickly. "She is only a child. Where could she go? No doubt when she gets hungry she will return."

Not even if she was starving, Kadar thought grimly. Christ, he should have gone to her last night after the deal had been struck. But what good would it have done when he would not have been able to talk to her without that muscular mamba hovering nearby? "When did she leave?"

"Some time during the night." He frowned. "She must have climbed the garden wall. None of the guards saw her."

Then she'd had hours to lose herself in the city.

"She has been sheltered under my roof and knows little of the wickedness she will find on the streets. Trust me, she will come running back in a few days." Nicholas paused. "But you understand the bargain was struck. She is now your property. I'm not responsible."

"You're saying you won't return my gold?"

Nicholas did not answer directly. "She's not my responsibility."

Yes, the bastard definitely needed his throat cut. Too bad Kadar had to keep him alive to find out if Selene returned.

"You'll postpone your sailing and stay until you retrieve her?" Nicholas asked.

"I can do nothing else. You made sure she was too costly to leave behind."

"Not that costly," Nicholas said sourly. "Perhaps fate decided to punish you for cheating me of her services."

Not for robbing him of a daughter but of a slave to give service. Kadar had had enough. He turned and strode toward the door. "I'll send a messenger each day to see if she has returned."

He paused outside the gates of the House of Nicholas. Where should he start? He knew nothing about Constantinople. Well, according to Nicholas, neither did Selene. The knowledge brought him a ripple of unease. Cities were all the same, infested with the wolves of the world, all ready to gobble up the innocent and unwary.

He could only hope he reached Selene before the wolves did.

DUNDRAGON

"I was right. Women have no head for chess," Ware said as he looked down at the chessboard. "I find it very satisfying to beat you at the game."

"Is that why you insist we play after we sup each evening?" Thea asked.

"No, I have another reason."

"What reason?"

"Would you like to play another game?"

"What reason?"

He leaned back in his chair and smiled at her.

He wasn't going to tell her. He often had those maddening moments of reticence, but they came less frequently now. "Well, I'll play no more with you." She pushed her chair back and stared into the fire. "And I could win, if it meant enough to me."

"I know you could." When she glanced up, he quickly amended, "At least, part of the time."

She grinned at him. "Most of the time. Your attention wanders on occasion."

"Does it? I must watch that fault. Such conduct could kill a soldier."

"But not here."

"No, not here."

A comfortable silence fell in the firelit room. Who would have guessed she would ever be this comfortable with Ware of Dundragon? she mused. "Isn't it time Kadar returned with Selene?"

"Soon. He may have had trouble persuading Nicholas to relinquish her."

A flicker of anxiety disturbed the peace of the moment. "But he will be able to do it?"

"Kadar can be more manipulative and patient than Saladin himself. If he doesn't wrest victory one way, he'll approach it from another direction. He'll bring her."

"And what if he doesn't?"

"She'll still come to you. I'll go after her myself." He smiled grimly. "But my ways are not as civilized as Kadar's. I may be forced to make orphans of you."

Her eyes widened in alarm. "You jest."

"We've already established I rarely jest." He shrugged. "So we must hope Kadar succeeds."

"It would be too dangerous for you to journey to Constantinople."

"The danger exists every time I leave Dundragon. The threat is no greater in Constantinople than in Damascus. I made you a promise."

"But I would not have you die for it," she said fiercely. "I will find a way to get Selene myself as I first intended."

His gaze fastened intently on her face. "Promises must be kept."

"Don't be foolish. I survived many years in Nicholas's house. Selene can do the same. A few years out of her life is not worth your death. I will not hear more of this—Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I was wondering if you'd weep for me should I fall."

"I do not weep readily." His curious expression didn't change, and it was making her uncomfortable. "And I see no reason why I should weep for a man who would risk himself so foolishly."

"But you have a tender heart and you insist I'm your friend. Would you weep for me, Thea?"

She could not read his expression, but there was a note in his voice that made her hesitate to avoid the question. He was a man who lived constantly with death as his companion. Perhaps the knowledge that he would be mourned meant something to him. She met his gaze. "I would weep for you."

He nodded slowly. "I believe you would."

She could not look away. The room suddenly seemed to be without air. He was trying to tell her something. No, there were no words or thoughts, just…what? She didn't know, but she could not bear this intensity. She tried to smile. "But I shall not weep, because Kadar is going to bring me Selene."

"She is ready, my lord." Haroun had appeared in the doorway.

Thea breathed a sigh of relief at the interruption. "What are you doing still awake, Haroun?" she asked him.

Haroun gave her an indignant glance. "I go about my lord's duties." He bowed to Ware. "You said to tell you when she was ready."

She? Thea suddenly tensed as she realized what he must mean. Ware had not called Tasza to his bed of late, but that did not mean he was not coupling with other women in the household. Of course he was using them; he was a man with a lustful appetite. Why did she feel this sense of shock and outrage? She jumped to her feet. "I keep you. You clearly have things to do."

He frowned. "Why are you—" He stopped as he understood. "You think I have a woman waiting in my bed?"

"It is none of my concern." She moved toward the door. "But I'd think you would not use Haroun to arrange such acts."

"My lady," Haroun objected, shocked at what he deemed impertinence.

"It's a squire's duty to make his master comfortable." Ware rose from his chair. "And you're right, it's none of your concern. Still, I believe it will amuse me to have you come with me."

I want you to watch.

The scene that night in this hall came back to her. Ware sitting naked, Tasza crouched at his feet, her lips on his—

A bolt of heat seared through her. "I'll not do it."

"You will." He strode past her. "Because it pleases me. One must always strive to please one's friends. Isn't that true?"

She hesitated, standing watching him. What was he about? He had gone not toward the staircase, as she had expected, but toward the front door.

He opened the door and stepped aside, gesturing for her to precede him.

Haroun took her hand and tugged. He whispered, "You must obey my lord."

Haroun believed everyone on this earth must obey Ware. Still, she was curious. She let him lead her toward the door.

"I please my friend Haroun," she told Ware as she went past him. "Not you."

He chuckled. "I note the distinction."

She started down the steps. "Are you going to tell me where we—" She stopped as she saw a wagon across the courtyard. Four fully armored soldiers were mounted behind it. "What is this?"

But Ware was already striding toward the wagon. Haroun immediately dropped her hand and ran after him. Thea slowly followed them.

As she drew closer, she saw a young woman lying in the bed of the wagon. She was vaguely familiar to Thea, one of the multitude of servants in this vast place.

"I don't want to go, my lord," the woman said, her gaze fixed pleadingly on Ware. "Let me stay."

Ware shook his head. "You will do well in Damascus. All your needs will be met. The babe must be kept safe." He motioned to the driver of the wagon. "Go with God."

Babe.

Thea watched numbly as the wagon slowly rolled toward the gates with the escort following. "She's with child?"

"Four months." Ware was looking after the wagon with an expression she had never seen on his face—a strange mixture of desperation and bitterness. "She had to leave now. Later the journey would have been too hard on her."

Her numbness was gone, leaving raw anger in its wake, an emotion as wild and intense as it was unexplainable. "I'd think you would want to be present when your child was born."

"I would." He turned to look at her. "But the babe is not mine. Fatima is the wife of one of my soldiers."

Another rush of emotion cascaded through her, and she glanced quickly away. "I see."

"No, you don't," he said roughly. "I wouldn't send a woman bearing my child away without my escort. I would be by her side, guarding her and the child from all harm."

She didn't look at him. "She didn't want to go."

"She bears Jusef's child, and a child is a man's only hope of immortality. She must be kept safe. I won't have him cheated."

There was such an intensity of passion in his tone that she was startled. "But will she be safe?"

"I've deliberately sent only an escort of four. Vaden will know that I'd be more careful if they were guarding something of mine."

"He won't harm her?"

He frowned. "Of course he won't hurt her. He's no monster."

"Forgive me," she said with sarcasm. "When you said he wished to murder me, I assumed he was—"

"That's a different matter." He turned and strode toward the castle.

She did not follow him but watched the wagon roll through the gates. Ware was probably returning to the Great Hall. She would go directly to her chamber and avoid any further encounter with him tonight. She had passed through too many emotional peaks and valleys this night. In the space of that few minutes beside the wagon, Ware had changed from the man to whom she had become accustomed to the moody despot she had first met.

But he was not moody, he was a man in pain. She knew now how he covered every emotion with a blanket of thorns. She was trying to ignore it because she did not want to deal with it. Her response had been too strong, too frightening, and she wanted only to hide away.

He was in the Great Hall, as she knew he would be, sitting staring into the fire.

She strode past the arched doorway and started up the staircase.

By all the saints, she couldn't do it.

She sighed and started down the steps again.

"Your face is ugly when you scowl," she said as she entered the room. "It displeases me exceedingly."

"Then go somewhere you don't have to look at it."

She sat down on a stool beside the hearth. "Kadar wouldn't like it."

"Kadar." He turned his head to look at her. "Is that why you're here?"

"Why else would I be—" She met his gaze and shook her head. "It troubles me when you're like this."

"Does it?" He lifted his goblet to his lips. "Would you like to soothe me?"

"I'd like to help you."

"No, you wouldn't. Not in the way I want you to help." He drained the goblet. "But if you don't go away, I may ask it anyway."

She smiled with effort. "That's no great threat. I've refused you before."

"No, you haven't. I haven't fallen that deep into the pit as yet." He gazed at her for a long moment and then shifted his glance away. "Leave me."

She sat unmoving.

His hand tightened with white-knuckled pressure on the goblet. "Leave me," he said through his teeth. "Or, by God, I'll call Abdul and have him carry you from this room."

He meant it. She had never seen him like this. She slowly rose from the stool. "No one need force me. I take no pleasure in your company when you're like this." She started across the chamber. "Good night."

"Wait!"

She glanced over her shoulder to see expression after expression flickering over Ware's face. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he muttered. "Nothing." He lifted his goblet to her and smiled mockingly. "A moment of weakness. Shall we wager whether I succumb the next time?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, and I'm weary of trying to understand you."

"No more than I am. I don't understand myself at all of late." He looked back into the fire. "But I wouldn't wager on either my generosity or strength of will. It would be very unwise."

Thea woke with a start in the darkness.

"Hush." Ware was a massive shadow sitting on the bed beside her. "I'm not going to harm you."

Her heart was beating so hard, she could scarcely speak. "You already have," she said tartly. "Frightening me unto death is harm enough. Light the candle."

"No, there's moonlight. I can see you well enough."

"Well, I can't see you." But she could sense him and the tension that seemed to reach out and enfold her. She was suddenly acutely conscious of scents and textures drifting to her in the darkness. The scent of leather, which always surrounded Ware, the fragrance of lemon, cedar, and mulberry drifting from the trees below on the green, the soft cotton coverlet against her naked body. She swallowed. "Light the candle."

"I don't want you to see me." He reached out and touched her bare shoulder. "Silk," he murmured. "Can you weave cloth this fine?"

Her skin seemed to burn beneath his fingers, yet she didn't want to move. "Finer."

"No," he said thickly. "Not finer."

"Have you had too much wine?"

"No, but I might have had enough." He rubbed gently, sensuously at the hollow of her shoulder. "Why else am I here?"

"I don't know. Go to your bed. You'll feel better in the morning."

"Not better, but not as mad, perhaps. They say dawn brings a sweet clarity of spirit."

"What do you do here?"

"Madness. I thought I'd told you."

She moistened her lips. "You wish to couple with me?"

"Oh, yes, I've wanted that since the night I brought you to Dundragon. But lust is not madness. I wish something much more dangerous." He paused. "I want to get you with child."

She went rigid with shock.

"That's why I had to be drunk before I came to you." He continued to stroke her shoulder. "I find I have scruples about asking a woman to bear a child who will never know his father. Particularly since the act of conception alone will mark you for death. Wouldn't any man bare his secrets to the mother of his child?"

"I thought you said I was already marked for death."

"Probably. But Vaden might—No, he couldn't, if he knew you were bearing my child." His voice hoarsened. "You see how low I've fallen? I'd risk your life for my own ends."

"Why?"

"Because I want this." The air crackled with the intensity of his passion. "I don't want to die and not have something of me live on."

Mother of God, she could not believe she was feeling this wrenching pang of sympathy. "Then have a child by Tasza or one of the others. I'm no mare to be bred at will."

"I want your child. I want my son to have your pride and your strength. I'd trust you to care for him and teach him." He was silent a moment and then said jerkily, "It's not such a bad thing I offer you. The danger may be the same whether or not you take me to your bed, and I'll do all I can to protect you. I'd take you to the safest haven I could find as soon as we knew you were with child. Kadar would stay with you and watch over you. You would never want for anything. I'm a very rich man. It would be too dangerous to wed you, but on my death I would see that you had—"

"Be silent." Her voice was shaking as she pushed aside his hand and sat up in bed. "I'm tired of this talk of death from you. I will not have it."

"Very well. I've said what I came for and it appears the answer is no. I expected it would be." He stood up, swaying a little on his feet. "I bid you good night."

His abrupt departure was as startling as everything else that had happened this night. "You're leaving?"

"As you've guessed, I'm more than a little drunk, and I have a tendency toward self-indulgence when I've had too much. I can't stay without taking you, and I can't touch you unless you agree to the child. I couldn't stop myself from spending within you as I do with other women. I've known that from the beginning." He started heavily across the room. "But I should warn you that I'll probably not give up. Vaden used to say that once I got something in my head, I couldn't leave it alone."

"It will do you no good. You'll have to find another woman to give you the immortality you crave."

"I told you, I don't want another woman." He opened the door. His voice had a thread of wonder as he added, "I haven't wanted another woman for a long time. Isn't it strange that no other woman will do?"

The door closed behind him.

She was trembling, Thea realized. It was anger. She was furious with that drunken oaf. Or afraid. It was natural for a woman to be frightened when she was confronted by a man who told her he wanted to use her body. Or bewildered. She had been thrown into a turmoil of shock and confusion at Ware's words.

A child…

The thought brought a warm rush of tenderness. She had always loved children.

By all the saints, what was wrong with her? She had no need of a babe. She already had Selene, whom she had practically raised from babyhood. She had her living to make in this world, and it would only be harder if she was with child. It was out of the question, and she was right to be angry with that big idiot of a warrior who thought he could stride into her life and use her body as he saw fit.

Tears were running down her cheeks. Dear God, it was not from anger, she finally realized. Even as she had issued that rejection, she had wanted to pull him close and comfort him, to tell him that he would live forever and had no need of a child. Why did she let him move her like this?

She wiped her damp cheeks with the back of her hand and lay back down. This softness must be banished. Pity was no reason to have a man's child.

What Ware had asked was outrageous and totally out of the question. She would think no more about it, and if he posed the question again to her, she would tell him what she thought of such ruthless selfishness.

She would think no more about it….