Guy recalled Eve's heavy necklace and surmised that wasthe one the friar now possessed, but his thoughts quickly turned to the dangerat hand as they were approached by a dozen silent Bedouins. He followed thefriar's lead and stopped, the hairs prickling on the back of his neck. It wasall he could do not to reach for his sword. These desert men in their coarsesheep's wool robes were as menacing as any Arabs he had seen, their dark eyescold and suspicious.
Brusque greetings and many words were exchanged betweenThomas and the Bedouins, whose guarded expressions gradually became shrewd andcalculating. Guy was amazed when large tasseled pillows were brought from thenearest tent for all of them to sit upon. He lowered himself warily, while oneof the traders issued a string of sharp commands to bareheaded slaves standingnearby.
"Take nothing of the food or drink they may offeryou," Thomas whispered in an aside, clearly distrustful of their hosts'overt hospitality.
In the next instant Guy did just that, shaking his headcurtly when a tray laden with figs, dates, andhoneyedalmonds washeld before him. The Bedouin seated next to him lookedslightly affronted, but they were all distracted by the shrill neighing andsnorting which filled the air and echoed from the sloping hillsides surroundingthe camp.
The light from the campfires and smoking torchesilluminated the wild and colorful scene as prancing Arabian horses led bybarefoot slaves were paraded in front of the gesticulating and highly vocaltraders. Guy watched Thomas choose two magnificent black stallions, the sameones he would have picked if it had been his decision,thenthe real haggling began. He guessed the deal was drawing to its conclusion whenthe friar rose to his feet and pulled the emerald necklace from his pocket,holding it up to the firelight.
A breathless hush fell over the traders as their eyesriveted on the glittering green stones.One by one theytouched the necklace, weighing it in their callused palms, though none went sofar as to take it from Thomas, who seemed to be extolling the jewels' matchlessquality. At last the Bedouin who seemed to be the leader gave a signal, and thetwo black stallions were saddled and led forward.
"Mount one of the horses. Quickly," Thomassaid, still holding on to the necklace.
Guy did so, reveling in the sensation of having apowerful animal beneath him again. He wondered fleetingly what had happened tothe huge roandestrierhe had brought with him fromEngland and then left in Acre when he journeyed to Anatolia. Trained toperfection, Griffin had far surpassed any other war-horse he had ever owned. Hehoped Edward had shipped the animal back to England along with the rest of hisknights' descriers.
Thomas mounted the other horse, and only then did hehand over the necklace to the Bedouins' leader. As the traders clusteredexcitedly around their priceless acquisition, the friar jerked on the reins,veering his mount in the opposite direction. "Ride, my lord!"
Guy dug his heels into the stallion's sides and rodeafter the friar, his mount catching up in a few forceful strides.
"Do you think they will reconsider?" heshouted over the thunderous sound of hooves striking the earth.
"They're a crafty, avaricious lot," Thomasshouted back. "Best to get back to the wagon and then on your way!"
Guy searched the darkness and some of his tension easedwhen the wagon came into view. He pulled up hard on the reins and dismounted ata run, holding his breath against the horrid stench as he gathered Leila's limpbody into his arms. Mumbling a quick prayer for the departed souls who hadprotected them, he remounted and settled her in front of him, waitingimpatiently while Thomas tied the other stallion's braided reins to his saddleand handed him a blanket.
"For the lady. The night is cold," the friarsaid, grasping Guy's wrist. "God grant you both a safe journey."
"You have my eternal thanks, friend."
Then Thomas stepped away and Guy kicked his mount,holding Leila tightly as the stallion snorted and broke into a hard gallop, theother horse cantering five feet behind them. He glanced over his shoulder tosee if the Bedouins were in pursuit, but he saw only vast darkness, the friarand his wagon already faded from view.
Guy gave out a laugh of pure exhilaration. Hispowerfully muscled thighs hugged the saddle, his hands sure upon the reins ashe veered the charging stallion to the southwest, toward Acre and freedom.
With the wind whipping at his billowing robes and wildeuphoria streaking through his veins, he had never felt so alive . . . or soprotective. The heat of Leila's body was like a hot brand burning against hischest, reminding him of his sworn obligation to see her safely to England.
By all that he held true and sacred, he would not failher!
Chapter 8
Leila's head was pounding mercilessly when she openedher eyes. She immediately threw her arm over them, crying out at the blindingsunlight that had pierced her brain. With her head now hurting all the more,she trembled with nausea and lay very still, dazedly hoping the sickness wouldpass.
It did not. She rolledover,her eyes squeezed shut and her hands groping at thin air, and vomited. When shewas finished she lay still, dangling over the edge of something soft thatsmelled of musk. The heavy fragrance made her sick again, this time sowretchedly that she thought her stomach would burst from the heaving pain. Withher head upside down, she felt warmth rushing to her face, but she was too weakto move.
Long, agonizing minutes dragged by before she daredopen her eyes again. She did so very, very slowly.
The first thing she saw was something bright red, andshe thought she had vomited blood. She screamed long and loud, the stoicism shehad developed after years of medical training evaporating at the terrifyingsight. Other people's blood was one thing; her own was an entirely differentmatter.
"May the heavens protect us, what a screechingnoise you aremaking!" Leila heard a woman shoutin Arabic as she drew a ragged breath and prepared to scream again. Two handsgripped her shoulders, hoisting her up and then pushing her back upon the softsurface, but she could not see for the hair streaming over her face.
"I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding!" she cried, hotfrightened tears mingling with her black tresses as she tried frantically towipe the whole damp mass from in front of her eyes.
"No, No, no, you're not bleeding. Here, let mehelp you," the female voice said soothingly, a musk-scented palm pushingthe offending hair aside. "There now, that's better."
Leila blinked through her tears at the young womanstaring down at her, her forehead crinkling as she tried to place theunfamiliar face.
The woman was Arab and perhaps only a few years olderthanherself, with beautiful eyes rimmed with kohl, agenerous red mouth, and thick black hair falling below her shoulders. Herclothes were elegant, a white linenthobandsirwalthat accentuated her lovely olive complexion, yetthe cut of the woman's blue brocade vest was unlike any style Leila had seen inDamascus.
After a futile moment, she gave up. She had never seenthe woman before.
