Leila. His mysterious angel of mercy.
He could feel the tension ebbing from his body,thoughts of life and beauty replacing images of horror. He recalled her touchwhen she bandaged his shoulder, gentle yet assured; the soft, melodic sound ofher voice; and the heady scent of her perfume.
It reminded him of the flowers his mother had lovinglynurtured in a walled garden in Wales. Damask roses. The bright pink blooms hadburst forth every summer, scenting the castle bailey with sweet andintoxicating fragrance.
Just like Leila's. He could smell it evennow,a faint whiff of her perfume emanating from the linenbandage as if her touch had left it there.
Calmer, Guy lowered his arm and wiped the sweat fromhis face, rational thought returning.
What cruel fate had brought her to Damascus? She mustbe French or English, more likely the latter, judging from her excellentcommand of his language.
An English rose far away from her homeland, now aChristian slave among the infidels.
It was an outrage. It made him sick. It made him evensicker to think she probably shared that Arab physician's bed. A beauty such asLeila could hardly have been spared the base indignities that were perpetratedon the female sex. No doubt she had been deflowered at a tender age by thatrutting heathen!
By God, there had to be some way he could help her.Some way they could help each other, for that matter. There had to be some waythey could both escape what fate had brought them. Surely she wanted to returnto her own people and leave her wretched servitude behind, and he'd be damnedif he was going to wait patiently in this cramped cell for a ransom.
Tomorrow he would ask for her help, he decidedfiercely. Together they would devise a plan.
Chapter 3
That evening proved balmy and clear, ushered in by aspectacular sunset that lit the western horizon like orange and crimson fire.
Now it was dark. Leila stretched languorously on thecushioned divan and gazed up at the starry heavens.
What a perfect time to relax on her mother's roofterrace. Not too warm or too windy. Only a gentle breeze played across her paleblue silk damask robe, tickling hertoesanddelighting her nostrils with the terrace garden's lush scents.
Leila laced her fingers together and rested her handsupon her firm breasts. She hadn't felt such peace in days. She had been so busyat the hospital and visiting her harem-bound patients scattered throughout thecity that she had simply been too exhausted when she returned home to availherself fully of the harem baths. But this afternoon had been blessedlydifferent.
After noting the sooty smudges under her eyes, andfearing she had been working herself too hard of late, her father had insistedshe leave the hospital early. He had even provided a silk-curtained litter totake her the short distance home.
A luxurious bath after a brief nap had been a balm toher senses.AyhanandNittia,her two personal odalisques, had first slathered her skin with an aromaticlemon paste and scraped her completely of body hair. Next they had washed her,poured silver bowlfuls of tepid water over her in the hot steam rooms, massagedher until her smooth white skin had flushed pink from their pummeling, andanointed her with her favorite rose oil.
She felt clean and fresh and satiated, her bodytingling from her scalp to the soles of her feet. The sheer physical pleasureof her slaves' ministrations left her feeling as if she were floating. Even herlong, knee-length hair felt charged and alive, brushed to a high gloss afterbeing vigorously shampooed and dried, then left free to hang down her back.
Leila coiled a perfumed tendril around her finger. Asthe silken ebony threads caught the silvery moonlight, she smiled. Theglistening reflection reminded her of a poem she had recently received fromJamal, written in praise of her beauty. Recalling its erotic content, cloaked inflowery verse, she was filled with anticipation.
Truly, she looked forward to the day when they wouldmarry. But not only for the promise of sensual delights. There was a moreimportant reason to consider. She would not be allowed to practice medicine as afull-fledged physician until she was a married woman.
That was simply the way of things. All decent women inthe Arab Empire were under the protection of a man, whether a father, husband,brother, uncle, lord, or sultan.
She would have been married already if not for hermedical studies; she had been of marriageable age since her first monthly flowwhen she was fourteen. Yet her father had insisted upon waiting until shefinished her training, believing pregnancy and children would hinder herprogress.
Now that her apprenticeship would soon be completed,that was no longer a concern. She knew it would not be long before a date wasset for the marriage. When she was finally wed to Jamal Al-Aziz, she would havethe protection she needed to fulfill her heart's ambition. Her life would bejust as she had always envisioned it. Neat. Well-ordered. Perfect.
It didn't hurt that Jamal was everything she wanted ina husband—kind, clever, possessing refined taste and manners. Perhaps one dayshe would even grow to love him, though to her mind such affection was hardlynecessary.Theirprofession demandedclearheadedness, rationalthought, and a firm grip on one's emotions. Love was no use to her at all. Itwas more important that they understand and respect each other.
And desire each other, she added, thinking again of hisprovocative poem. Once they were married, she would not hesitate to share hisbed. There was not a more handsome man in Damascus, other than the crusader—
Leila shook her head, forcing Guy deWarenne'sstriking blond image from her mind.
No, she would not think of him now! It was bad enoughthat the barbarian's terrible curses and hungry glances had plagued herthoughts all day. She determinedly imagined Jamal instead, with his smolderingbrown eyes, midnight curls, and strong, masterful hands which would somedaycaress her and bring her quivering body to ecstasy just as he promised in hispoem.
Aroused by her wanton thoughts, Leila trailed her gazeabout the dark, trellised roof terrace. She was still alone. Her two odalisqueshad not yet returned from the harem kitchen with the light supper of yogurt,olives, and fruit she had requested.
Slowly she drew her knees up and squeezed her slenderthighs together, tightly at first, then rhythmically, eliciting a secretyearning deep inside her that made her moan and tremble.
Leila had been educated in many lovemaking techniquesso that one day she might please her husband, but she had also been taught toplease herself. When she married Jamal she would be sharing his attentions withhis first wife and his many concubines; that, too, was simply the way ofthings. There would be times when he would not be able to respond to her needs,when she must look to her own fulfillment.
