She thought he might when he slightly eased his holdupon her, then he seemed to change his mind and drew her even closer, hisembrace no longer cruel but overwhelmingly possessive. It frightened her allthe more.
"Ah, Leila, Leila, what spell have you cast overme?" he whispered, his eyes glittering in the hazy moonlight spreadinglike a pale shadow across the window. "I have never shared my soul withany woman as I have with you this night."
Too shocked to speak, Leila balled her fists and pushedagainst his chest, but to no avail. The heat of his body scorched her breasts,her belly, and that secret place between her thighs that had never felt thethrust of a man until now as he moved his hips seductively against hers.
She gasped at the rigid swelling pressing there. Sheknew what it was, having learned of its power in the harem, and she thoughtdesperately to pull away even as her hips met his instinctively, hermindand body at total odds.
Guy groaned at her movement and buried his face in herneck, his lips like hot brands upon her skin. His hands slid down her back andhe lifted her thinnightrail, cupping her bare bottomto pull her even harder against him.
"Woman, you have bewitched me," he saidthickly, kissing her throat. "Bewitched me . . ."
Leila trembled at the primal sensations sweeping herfrom head to toe, at the forbidden desire racing through her veins and warmingher skin like wildfire. Her mind screamed to resist what his touch was doing toher while her body sought to meld with him, pressing even closer. Theincredible yearning building inside her was so much more than anything she hadever created herself, infinitely wilder, hotter, sweeter . . .
His lips claimed hers, and all coherent thought fled.Leila eagerly opened her mouth to his carnal kiss, their panting breathsmeetingand tongues entwining. As he devoured her hungrily,her arms slid around his neck. Giddy excitement swept her when his hand creptbetween their bodies and caressed her belly. Then his splayed fingers slid evenlower, lower, one thrusting slowly into her moist softness. Shearchedagainst his hand, whimpering deep in her throat asshe dug her nails into his shoulder blades.
Guytensed,his voice no morethan a ragged whisper. "Oh God, Leila, how I want you . . . Damn this vow!It has become my curse!"
Suddenly she felt him pull away from her and she wasshoved back against the mattress, his hoarse cry ringing in her ears. Shewatched in total astonishment as he strode from the cabin, so stunned shealmost burst into tears.
"Damn you, deWarenne!"she shouted after him, dazed and shaking with thwarted desire. As she yankedhernightrailover her exposed body, she gasped forbreath and fought back her inexplicable urge to cry. "What are you doingto me?" she whispered brokenly. "Damn you, what are you doing to me?"
She seized a pillow, punching it again and again withher clenched fists until the feathers were flying . . . hating herself forsurrendering so easily, but even more, hating him for making her want to surrender.
Chapter 12
It was late afternoon four days later when the galley dockedin Marseilles. One precious day had been lost to the storm, and Guy was morethan anxious to disembark and be on their way.
He had every intention of hiring a wagon and journeyingto Avignon that very night, where they would catch a boat in the morning thatwould take them up the Rhone to Lyons. It would be a hard pace for Leila, justas he had promised, but he would fix her a pallet in the back of the wagonwhere she could rest if she grew tired.
Guy glanced down at her, somber and silent as shewalked beside him across the sun-washed deck. For the hundredth time he cursedhis wretched behavior of a few nights ago.
Leila had said few words to him since he had stormed asecond time from their cabin, and he couldn't blame her. For all of his talk ofnot ravaging her and his vow to protect her person from any danger, he hadacted abominably.
He had sworn to himself from that night on that hewould not so much as touch her unless she needed his assistance, no matter thelonging which raged like a swirling vortex inside him whenever he was near her.It was strange and frightening and growing more intense each day, like a fireburning out of control.
God help him, he would see that they set a demon's paceto London! This baffling, fascinating, and utterly exquisite woman was provingtoo much of a temptation for his most chivalrous intentions.
They were almost to the gangplank when Leila hesitated,and Guy quickly decided she could probably use his help now. Still a bit wobblyon her feet from her prolonged seasickness, she was staring uncertainly at thesteeply sloping wooden plank.
"Take my arm, Leila," he offered gently, andwas almost startled when she did. He gazed at her small white hand resting onhis forearm, marveling at the elegant delicacy of her fingers,thencaught her eyes. But she quickly glanced away. Ashallow furrow creased her brow, and she licked her lips nervously as shesurveyed the bustling waterfront.
Guy could well understand her apprehension. As soon asshe stepped from this ship, she would be entering a completely foreign worldfrom the one she had known in Damascus.
He hoped she would not think it a nightmare. His firstfew days in the Holy Land over a year ago had been difficult, but he had lookedupon the experience as an adventure. Perhaps she might do the same, though hedoubted it. She seemed determined to resist him and what he was doing for herevery step of the way.
"Hold on tight," he bade her, walking slowlydown the gangplank. "If I'm rushing you, just let me know."
"I'm fine," Leila insisted sharply, althoughshe wasn't sure. The chink of Guy's heavy chain mail was a wholly new andominous sound to her, and the interlocking rings felt cold beneath her fingertips.Just touching it gave her a sense of foreboding for what was yet to come inthis unknown land.
He was practically encased in metal, from the fittedcoif over his head to his feet, and the act of dressing himself had been alaborious and lengthy process. As the ship had sailed into the harbor, she hadwatched Guy's transformation from the tall, powerfully built man to whom shehad reluctantly grown accustomed into an even more foreboding warrior knight.Now she felt as if she hardly knew him.
While he had dressed his demeanor had changed, hisexpression becoming harder, almost grim as he first attached stout hose andmailed leggings, or chausses, to hisbraies. Afterthat came anundertunicand a padded jacket like theone her father had cut from him in the governor's prison—a gambeson, Guy hadcalled it. Then he had drawn on his hauberk, a long-sleeved mailed shirt whichreached to his knees, and a mailed hood that covered his ears and neck. Lastlycamea white linensurcoatemblazoned with the now-familiar crimson cross and his waist belt with itssheathed sword.
He had already explained he was wearing his armorbecause of potential dangers they would face along the road. Thieves,vagabondsand outlaws would be much less likely to attack afully armed knight.
That unpleasant information had sunk her morale to anew low. But she didn't hit rock bottom until he told her she would have toplay the part of his wife for her own safety until they reached London. Theultimate charade!
"Careful as you step onto the dock," Guycautioned her, his warning drawing her thoughts instantly back to the present. "Good,now stay very close to me . . . like a dutiful wife. As soon as we hire a wagonand our chests are loaded, we'll be gone from here."
