She had to reach Guy.
Nearly tripping down the steps in her haste, Leilalifted her skirts and began to run. She could hear John and Matilda calling outfor her to stop, saying there were too many people and horses now on the fieldand she might be trampled, but their shouts were soon lost in the commotion.She did not slow her pace until she reached the congested list.
"Let me pass!" she demanded hoarsely,wrenching aside her face veil and fighting for breath as she pushed her waythrough the crush of knights and spectators surrounding the spot where Guy hadfallen. "I'm his wife. Please, let me pass!"
She still had a ways to go when a loud cheer went upfrom the gathered onlookers, which was echoed by those watching from thestands. Then a deep, familiar voice said almost apologetically, "I fearGervaisgot the better of me this time, my lords. That fallknocked the wind right out of me. Or perhaps it was my wedding night thatproved my undoing. My beautiful wife was loath to let me sleep."
Leila froze, her face burning as male laughter rang outon all sides. She did not know if she was more relieved or angry. Here she hadthought Guy was fatally wounded, and instead, he was making jokes and blamingher for his mishap!
"Why, your wife is right here, Lord deWarenne," shouted a tall knight standing next to her.
As the men in front of her began to step aside, forminga narrow path, Leila groaned inwardly, any hopes of retreating before Guy spiedher vanishing into thin air. Now he would see for himself just how concernedshe had been, for why else would she have run out onto the field?
Love had propelled her. She could no longer deny it toherself, troubling though the realization was. She had never felt suchheartrending anguish as when she had thought he might be dead. Yet she couldn'tlet Guy guess the truth. It would only foster his hope for something that couldnever be.
Nothing had changed. She was as determined to leave himas ever, as determined to prove to him the impossibility of their marriage. Shesimply could not allow her emotions to override her will to return home toSyria. Her lifelong dream was in Damascus; everything for which she had workedso long and so hard was in Damascus. She would not forsake it. She had to thinkof another reason for her presence on the field, and fast
"Leila."
Even as her name upon his lips filled her with joy,Leila resolutely hardened her heart against him. She had to. How else could shewin the fierce battle that waged in her soul, this unsettling new love vyingfor dominion over the life in Damascus that she had vowed toreclaim.
As Guy approached her with a slight limp, his helmetheld under one arm, she thought of how he had mercilessly wrenched her fromeverything she knew and loved, and felt a little stronger. Just a little.
"What are you doing here, my love? The tournamentfield is no place for a woman."
"I-I thought you might be wounded," shereplied, steeling herself against the frank warmth of his gaze, "so I cameas quickly as I could." When a pleased smile spread over hissweat-streaked face, she knew she had given him the wrong impression, but hespoke before she could continue.
"I am touched by your concern, Leila."
With difficulty she feigned a nonchalant tone. "'Tisno more than any physician would do for an injuredman, unless you have forgotten that medicine was my life's work long before Ibecame your unwilling wife."
"I have not forgotten," Guy replied tersely,his smile fading. His voice fell to a harsh whisper. "Wearing veils andrefusing to grant tokens is one thing, Leila, but if it is now your plan toplay the shrew, then I suggest you save your barbs for our bedchamber. It isbad enough that I lost a joust to your brother. I will not be humiliated by mywife before my fellow knights. Is that clear?"
Leila nodded, stung by his words, but before she couldreply, Guy muttered under his breath, "Speak of the devil."
She turned and was surprised to see Roger riding up tothem, his helmet off, an inscrutable expression on his face. He reined in hislathered war-horse only a few feet away and surveyed them both coldly.
"What a touching sight you made, my sister,dashing out onto the field to reach your fallen husband. Too bad you did notfind yourself a widow."
"Don't overestimate your skill,Gervais," Guy said. "Good fortune might haveplayed into your hands today, but there will be other matches in which youmight just as easily find yourself the one eating dirt."
"Is that a challenge, deWarenne?If so, I accept. I would like nothing more than to have another go at rammingmy lance down your throat. I'll see that the opponent I draw on the morrowyields his place to you."
"Done."
Roger bowed his head mockingly as he gathered thereins. "Lady deWarenne."
"This is madness," Leila cried, watching herbrother ride away in a spew of dust. She turned back to Guy, not believing whatshe had just heard. "Surely you can see he wants to kill you. My brotherwants vengeance."
"As do I," Guy muttered, his gaze stillfollowing Roger's retreating figure. "And what better place than at theking's tournament, where revenge may be hidden under the guise of lawful sport.Your brother at least has the right idea there. I say, may the better man win."
Leila shivered at the bitter venom in his voice. Try asshe might, she could not suppress her deep concern for him. Nor could she bearthe thought that Guy might be killed because of her.
"But Roger defeated you once, my lord. What makesyou think it won't happen again, and this time to his satisfaction?"
"Enough!" Guy demanded,his eyes clouded with hurt and anger as he fastened them upon her. "As youalready pointed out to me, I will not flatter myself to think you might trulycare about my welfare. You fear my death only because of how it may affect you,isn't that right, Leila?"
She wanted to answer yes, but she couldn't. It was notthe truth. Not anymore. Nor could she say no for fear of giving away herfeelings. So she kept silent, letting him think the worst.
