Sinjarnodded grimly, but hedid not take the iron from her. "This time you must do it, my daughter,"he directed, walking to the front of the cot, where he placed his hands on thecrusader's uninjured shoulder. "I fear this man's strength will be great,even now. I must help to hold him down." His tone grew urgent. "Quickly,Leila, before the iron cools."
She did not waste an instant. She knew the procedurewell, having performed it many times at the hospital. With practiced assurance,she bent over the crusader and laid the red-hot iron on his ravaged flesh.
A wild, tortured scream rent the air, sending chillsdown Leila's spine as the crusader's body arched violently upon the cot. Herfather had been right. It was all the five strong men could do to hold himdown.
As the soldiers fought to control the crusader'sflailing limbs, Leila glanced up from his shoulder.
She gasped in amazement.
The crusader's eyes were open and fixed on her face,the astonishingly blue depths ablaze with incredible pain. She felt a rush ofpity but remained undaunted. She must continue with the procedure if there wasany hope of staunching the flow of blood.
Leila applied the searing iron to the wound again andagain while the crusader's hideous screams echoed in the small cell.
Soon the air reeked with the sweet, sickening smell ofsinged flesh, and she swallowed against a sudden wave of nausea, blinkedseveral times, and then concentrated more fully on her task. She knew thecrusader would be scarred for life, but there was nothing to be done about it.She was grateful when his cries died away, his head lolling back on thebloodied cot.
"Excellent, Leila. Use the smaller iron to sealthe wound completely."
She did as her father bade her, using a fresh rod, andfelt a curious mix of accomplishment, exhaustion, and relief when she finallystraightened up. She smiled faintly at her father when she saw the approvalshining in his dark eyes.
"You have done well,"Sinjarsaid proudly. "Extremely well. The crusader may yet have a chance."He uttered low commands to the clearly shaken soldiers while he slathered a healingointment on the closed wound. "Go at once, all of you. We need a largecask of cool drinking water and as many buckets of warm water as the four ofyou can carry. And we'll need two more cots and fresh bedding."
"But what of the prisoner, esteemed one?"asked the leader, his expressiondoubtful."HisGrace, GovernorMawdud, has ordered that we remainwith him at all times—"
"You can plainly see my patient is no more likelyto rise from this cot than a dead man is to cast off his shroud,"Sinjarinterrupted impatiently. "This wound is onlyone of his ills. Add heat exhaustion and exposure, and you may judge correctlythat he will not stand for days, let alone fight. Now be quick about yourtasks, or GovernorMawdudwill surely hear of yourrefusal to assist me. It is his hope that the crusader will survive this day.The man is worth a great ransom if he lives."
So that was it, Leila thought as the soldiersrespectfully bowed theirturbannedheads and thenquickly left the cell. No wonder her father had been summoned to attend to thisman, rather than the physicians who ordinarily treated the prison's wretchedinmates. His great medical skill was only called upon for special prisoners,and truly this case was most extraordinary.
With this new knowledge, the thousand questions reelingin her mind only multiplied.
She glanced at the crusader, sprawled like a sleepinggiant on the cot and wearing only an odd pair of short trousers. He was stillexcept for his breathing, his skin glistening with heavy perspiration in thelamplight, yet even now she sensed an incredible strength radiating from him.
She recalled other male patients who had braved thisprocedure, men who usually looked more dead than alive when the hot irons werefinally withdrawn. Not so this man. He appeared indestructible.
Suddenly she doubted her father's confident words anddecided the soldiers should be anxious. She would not be surprised if thiscrusader regained consciousness at any moment and rose up to fight them alloff.
Leila felt her heart lurch when his thick, dark lashesflickered slightly, and she took a step backward, fearing he might do justthat. But he did not. Inexplicably fascinated by him, she moved closer.
She was struck by the color of his long,shoulder-length hair which, now that she had a chance to study it, was more arich brown that had been streaked by the sun than fully blond. Despite itsmatted appearance, it had almost a metallic sheen, like spun silver or thebright, reflective steel of fabled Damascus swords.
Leila found herself absorbed by the rugged symmetry ofhis features: thick, winged brows; a straight well-shaped nose that nonethelessappeared to have been broken once for the slight imperfection across thebridge; a mouth that was hard, yet sensuously curved . . .
He was quite handsome, for a barbarian.
The realization stunned her. She generally held to afar different standard of male beauty, more like Jamal's. With his darkfathomless eyes and midnight hair, her betrothed was truly the most beautifulman she had ever seen.
Until now, she amended honestly.
On second thought, this crusader could easily rivalJamal if the two were to stand side by side. He looked as she imagined theruthless Viking warriors in her father's history books may have appeared,mighty and virile. She had always thought the Arab chroniclers had greatlyexaggerated their descriptions of such men, but it was clear now that she hadbeen wrong.
This man might have stepped from those very pages. Hewas well over six feet tall, probably six and a half, his massive physique aperfect match to his unequaled height. Were all crusaders like giants comparedwith other men?
Once again many questions flooded her mind, meldingwith a sense of irritation that she could become so easily engrossed in studyingthe crusader's masculine attributes. Yet she could not stop herself fromlooking at him.
How had he come to be captured? He had to be a completefool to have ventured into Syrian lands, or perhaps his lust for plunder hadoverwhelmed his better judgment.
Then again, these Christian barbarians were mad in thefirst place to cross the seas in hopes of conquering the vast Arab Empire. Howcould they harbor such misguided illusions when they were outnumbered bymillions,and so undeniably inferior to the men whoseculture they wished to destroy?
"Leila, I will need bandages,"Sinjarrequested, casting a curious sideways glance in herdirection.
