She had already tried to flee twice, the first timewhen Guy was supervising the bearers who were loading the chest filled with herbelongings into a wagon while she stood waiting by the door withHayat. As soon as Guy had turned his back, she had set offat a run down the street, but she was hindered by her long, foreignclothes—truly the ugliest and most cumbersome garments she had ever seen—and hecaught her easily. So much for waiting until his guard was down.
Then, during the short ride fromRefaiyeh'shouse to the busy harbor, she had tried again, jumping from the wagon andpushing her way through the crowded market, only to find herself yanked back byhersurcoatand tossed unceremoniously over Guy'sshoulder. When she began shouting in Arabic for help, caking him names and evencursing at him, it had taken only a terse reminder of his threat the nightbefore and the sensation of his hands caressing the backs of her thighs tosilence her.
To make matters worse, when they had returned to thewagon, he had sat her on his knee like a naughty little girl, much to theamusement of the merchants, shoppers, and even children who pointed at her andsniggered. Her cheeks burned at their laughter, and she longed for a face veilto hide her shame. Most women in Acre wore no such veils in public, a sightthat shocked her.
She had kept her head bowed all the way to the harbor,desperately wishing a magic genie would spirit her away on a flying carpet,like the unhappy damsels inMajida'sfancifulstories. But when she saw the galley looming in front of them, she knew therewas no hope of rescue or escape. At least not in Acre.
She had never been on a seagoing vessel, only smallpleasure crafts built to glide across artificial lakes and lotus-choked poolssuch as the one at the sultan's grand palace in Cairo; or flat-bottomed raftsused for crossing the Euphrates and Tigris rivers on the way to Baghdad. Thisship was bigger than anything she had ever seen, a hundred feet between bow andstem with two tall masts, triangular sails, and two banks of oars. It had beenall she could do to climb thegangplank,she was sooverwhelmed by the ship's size.
Now she clutched at her stomach, watching queasily asGuy directed their two chests aboard. He gave little notice of her standing afew feet behind him, though she sensed he knew exactly where she was. Heglanced over his shoulder when she gasped.
"You look a queer shade of green, my lady. Are yougoing to be ill?"
Leila could only nod weakly.
"Then to the side with you." He grasped herarm and steered her to the railing, holding her head as she lost what littlebreakfast she had forced herself to consume earlier that morning. Coughing andsputtering, she felt so terrible she gave no heed to the coarse comments madeby passengers and homeward-bound pilgrims still waiting to board.
"If it's beginning already, I fear you're going tomake a pitiful traveling companion," Guy said, his hands surprisinglygentle as he wiped her mouth with a square of linen he had drawn from theleather pouch hanging from his belt.
"What are you talking about?" Leila asked,her knees shaking. She took the proffered linen, balling it in her hand.
"Seasickness. Come on, I'll take you to our cabinso you can lie down."
Leila groaned, feeling so nauseated that she didn'tcomment on his reference to their shared accommodations. Nor did she try topull away from him as he again took her arm.
She remotely recalled studying seasickness in medicalbooks. Little could be done for it except bed rest and perhaps some simple drugto calm the stomach. But her medicines were in Damascus, along with her mother,her father,Majida, Jamal, the hospital that was hersecond home, her patients, her hopes, her dreams . . .
Tears burned her eyes, and Leila could scarcely see asGuy led her toward the stern and what appeared to be acastlelikestructure built in two tiers atop the main deck. He helped her climb the steepstairs to the top level, where he pushedopena doorand led her inside a low-ceilinged cabin.
"Luxurious, isn't it?" Guy asked, clearlypleased with himself. When she did not readily reply, he added with a slightshrug, "Well, it is for a ship. This cabin belongs to the captain, but hewas willing to part with it during the voyage for two ruby earrings and adiamond brooch."
Her mother's priceless jewelry, Leila thoughtunhappily, wiping away her tears with the crumpled linen as she looked aroundher. The cabin was larger than she might have imagined. Guy had to crouchbecause he was so tall, but other than that the interior was roomy andcomfortable.
There was a bed against a side wall—only the secondsuch piece of furniture she had ever seen—a carved table, and two high-backedwooden objects. She assumed from the small, brocade cushions that these weremeant to be sat on, but they looked extremely uncomfortable.
"Chairs," Guy said softly, studying her witha slight smile. "In England a lady of gentle breeding does not sit orsleep on the floor."
Leila ignored him, thinking the English were surely madto prefer such hard furnishings to soft pillows and mattresses spread uponthick carpets. She noted the round Persian rug on the planked floor and thegold velvet bedspread, both of which looked threadbare, but what really drewher attention was the oriel window projecting from the cabin wall above thebed. Nearly the same length across as the headboard and equally as high, thewindow was fitted with thick, bumpy panes that allowed a blurred, panoramicview of Acre's harbor.
Staring in wonderment, Leila temporarily forgot hernausea. She had seen glass windows before in SultanBaybar'spalace, and of course in the small church where she and her mother worshippedin Damascus, but never would she have dreamed a window could be fitted into aship like this one.
"It opens. Look," Guy said, taking care tokeep his head down as he crossed the cabin. He lifted a latch attached to oneof the lower panes, splayed his fingers upon the glass, and pushed. Sureenough, the window opened outward like a tiny door, moving on hinges fit into awooden frame.
Leila inhaled the fresh air wafting into the cabin, thebreeze smelling of fish and the sea. She smiled unconsciously, liking thepungent smell and feeling better than she had since boarding the ship.
"SweetJesu, I didn'tthink you could do it," Guy said almost under his breath, gazing at herwith a strange expression on his face.
"What?" Leila asked suspiciously, sobering.
"Smile. You should do so more often, my lady. Rarebeauty like yours grows evenmore fairwith a smileupon your lips."
"Surely you jest," Leila said bitterly,looking down at her hands. "I have nothing to smile about."
"Perhaps in time you will change your mind,"camehis soft rejoinder, stirring the anger that was brewingwithin her like a sudden summer storm. "We could have a pleasant journeytogether, Leila, if you would set aside your vain hopes of escaping and acceptmy aid."
"Your aid?" she hissed, her eyes flashingwith cold accusation as she met his solemn gaze. "You forget you havekidnapped me against my will, Lord deWarenne.'Tisnot help, but a crime youhave committed. Everything and everyone I love is in Damascus. My life's workis there—"
"Life's work?" Guy scoffed unkindly, histemper rising as an unfamiliar pang of jealousy speared his heart. That shecould possibly love an unbeliever was beyond his comprehension, and that hecould be envious of such a man was equally so! "What life's work could youpossibly have had but as wife to an infidel, bearing him children who would beoutcasts in either world!" From the bright spots of color on her cheeks,he could see that his words had angered her all the more, but his frustrationat her stubbornness was so great that he could not stop. "Oh, yes, Ialmost forgot. You were a physician's helper. Changing bandages and a baby'sdirtied linen use much the same skills, I'd wager."
