Black Lion’s Bride (Warrior Trilogy #2)

Chapter 7

The Frankish captain was lounging like a bored young emir when Zahirah appeared at his door later that evening. No, not bored, she amended as her eyes took in his powerful physique, which dwarfed the small divan beneath him. His expression when it lit upon her was thoughtful and self-possessed, his dark brow furrowed as if in mild irritation to glance up and find her standing there.

“You sent for me, my lord.”

It bothered her that she should blush under his stare, that she should feel the need to explain herself to this man. What bothered her more was the fierce urge she had to scan his lamp-lit chamber for traces of the woman he had met in the courtyard earlier that day.

Had she been there, Zahirah would never know, for this infidel warlord was discreet and meticulous, a fact evidenced by the way he kept his person—always clean-smelling and well-groomed—his thick jet hair longish about his shoulders, but not shaggy like most of his breed; his dark beard was naught but shadow on his broad, shapely jaw, painstakingly shaved close to his skin as was the custom of the heathen Western knights.

Vanity, she accused silently, though she had to admit his masculine pride was not at all misplaced. Hawkish and striking, she supposed he would be handsome to Frankish eyes, and, perhaps even a little to her own, did she not despise his kind to her very marrow.

“Your manservant said you wished to speak to me,” she said, an edge of rancor to her voice .

“Yes. Come in, Zahirah.” He rose to his feet, albeit belatedly, and beckoned her forth with a smile. It was a brief baring of straight white teeth, too arrogantly dazzling to bring her any measure of comfort.

When Abdul had informed her of his master's wish for private audience in his chamber, Zahirah had worried that perhaps the Frank had decided to take his use of her. She had seen the way he looked at her when Halim had stripped her of her veil earlier that day—more than that, she had felt it, like the heat of the sun's caress—and while she had no personal knowledge of carnal relations, she had seen enough in her father's harem at Masyaf to recognize the glint of lust in a man's eye.

It had been there when Sebastian gazed upon her naked face that morn. It had been there in the garden the night before as well, when he stared at her in the moonlight, so bold in manner that he would reach out and trace the line of her mouth through her veil.

It was there now, too, although she could see that he endeavored to mask it with cool indifference as he gestured for her to be seated across from him on a small wooden chair. He had an agenda in mind by summoning her to him, but ravishment did not seem at the heart of it. Somewhat relaxed to realize that, she stepped inside.

“We must needs talk,” he said when she quietly obliged him. “What happened this morning between myself and your brother . . . the apparent exchange that transpired . . . “

At his hesitation, Zahirah cocked her head slightly and frowned. Although he wrestled with how to say it, she understood precisely where he was headed, and she would afford him no easy route to her dismissal from the palace. She let the silence stretch out between them.

The captain cleared his throat. “My days at court are too long behind me. I fear my skills at politic conversation now leave something to be desired. May I speak plainly, my lady?”

“As you wish, my lord,” she replied. “I find I much prefer the efficiency of candor to pointlessly talking around a matter. ”

She was startled to hear him laugh at that. The deep bark of humor filled the room, resonating in her breast long after it left her ears. She did not know what she had said to amuse him, but his gray-green eyes were still dancing with mirth as he reached for a cup of wine that sat on the table before him.

“Would you care for some?” he asked when he looked up and found Zahirah studying him.

“It is a sin for a Muslim to take wine,” she said, and while she spoke softly, her words seemed to hurl at him in accusation.

He gave no indication of insult, although he set the cup back down on the table without drinking from it. “There are many differences in our two cultures, as I am learning each day. Abdul has explained to me a few things about your customs. That is, in fact, the reason I asked you here this evening.”

“To discuss our differences, my lord? I thought you might have asked me here to tell me there was no place for me in this house.”

A smile quirked at the corner of the captain's mouth. He leaned back against the cushioned divan in a negligent sprawl, his legs casually braced apart, one arm flung along the back of the divan. “I see you do prefer candid conversation, my lady. Very well. You should know that it was never my intention to bargain with your brother for a bride.”

“Nor was it mine to be that bride,” she replied, a truth that rolled easily off the tip of her tongue.

“And yet, alas, my lady, here we are.”

She blinked slowly. “So it would seem, my lord.”

He studied her for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice, and his demeanor, had gentled. “I apologize for the way I reacted this afternoon, when I found you in here. I had not expected—well, you can see how unaccustomed I am to having a woman so close under foot. This may look like a palace, Zahirah, but it is a house of war. It's no place for someone like you.”

“Like me, my lord? ”

“An innocent. One whose eyes are far too lovely to be tainted with the ugliness of war.”

Was that how he viewed her? Part of her warmed to the notion, but a less forgiving part of her reminded her of the icy cold dagger she wore at her waist, of the years of hard training and ruthless discipline that had made her what she was: Sinan's own virgin blade, a weapon that had been honed in secret, kept pure from sin and stain and feeling for a single mission. There had never been a female fida'i in the history of her clan; by her father's design, she was ordained from birth to be the first—and last—of her kind.

But an innocent? No, she was hardly that. And she was not about to let this Frank and his misguided sympathy sway her from her course.

“I am here because you brought me here,” she said pointedly. “I have nowhere to go. If you turn me out, do not say it is out of concern for me when it is plain you would do so because my presence in this place suddenly inconveniences you.”

It was unfair of her, certainly, the way she fought him with those words. The captain's expression grew harder the longer he stared at her, considering. He had likely never been spoken to in such a way, leastwise by a woman. Would he strike her, or bring her under his wing? Zahirah steeled herself for either reaction. He could do whatever he wanted; she would accept it, so long as she did not have to return to Masyaf in shame.

“I will do anything,” she heard herself say, the tremor in her voice rising up from a well of true emotion. “Anything, my lord. I swear it.”

He let out his breath in a long sigh, resignation etched deep into his brow. “This would be a temporary arrangement, you understand. Only for as long as I am here in Ascalon. I'll make no demands of you, nor will I make you any promises beyond these walls.”

Zahirah nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. “I will ask for nothing of you, my lord.”

“Very well,” he said, although he did not look entirely convinced that he agreed. “You may stay in the chamber Abdul has given you. The palace is secured by guards at every gate. You are free to move about the grounds, but you will not venture outside without an escort. And no one may accompany you in without my express permission. Understood?”

Although this was far more advantageous than being turned out, Zahirah felt the pinch of his limiting restrictions. “Have I gone from bride to prisoner, now, my lord?”

He stared at her, one dark brow arching slightly. “You are neither, my lady. But so long as you are here under my protection, you will obey me.” He rose then, indicating their meeting was at an end. “I'll instruct Abdul to purchase some clothing and personal items for you from the bazaar in the morning. If there is anything else you require, you need only ask.”

She murmured her thanks, but the captain's attention was since turned toward the corridor where the jangle of armor and a heavy-heeled gait announced an approaching soldier. A moment later, the big brown-haired knight with the strange manner of speaking had swaggered over the threshold.

“The reports are in from the gates, my friend.” His glance lit on Zahirah and he paused, drawing up short. “Beg pardon. I dinna mean to intrude.”

“It's all right, Logan. I believe Lady Zahirah and I have said all there is to say. For now.”

At Sebastian's indication, Zahirah got to her feet and followed him to the open door. She wanted to feel triumph as she passed him to step into the corridor, telling herself that she had won this first skirmish with minimal sacrifice, but the nervous flutter in her stomach told her different. It warned that while she had succeeded in securing her place in the palace, she had just put herself directly in the captain's control.

Neither bride nor prisoner, he had said, but she was shackled to him nonetheless. She felt the weight of her new bonds in every step she took down the corridor toward her chamber, her spine burning for the heat of his regard at her back. He would be watching her closely now, and if she were careless enough to slip at any juncture in her mission, she knew that his mercy would be spare; his wrath, swift.

~ ~ ~

“A beguiling lass, is she not?”

“Persuasive,” Sebastian drawled, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb.

“I take it you decided to let her stay.”

He grunted. “We have settled on a mutually acceptable arrangement.”

“Ah, of course,” Logan chuckled. “An arrangement.”

Sebastian pivoted his head and slid a narrow-eyed glance in the Scot's direction. “What the devil are you so smug about?”

Like his captain's had been until that moment, Logan's appreciative gaze followed Zahirah's swift retreat down the corridor. “Me, smug? I havna said a word, my friend.”

“And I'll thank you to keep it that way,” Sebastian growled. “If you've finished gaping at the lady, perhaps we can go see about those reports now.”