Lion’s Bride

Chapter One

APRIL 21, 1189 SYRIAN DESERT

THE MOONLIT SILVER SANDS shimmered hazily before her eyes.

The mountains on the horizon seemed an eternity away.

Thea staggered, fell to her knees, then struggled again to her feet.

She must keep going….

She must not waste the night. The darkness was less cruel than the burning light of day. Barely.

She tried to swallow.

Panic seared through her. Dear God, her throat was too dry; she would strangle.

She drew a deep breath, trying to calm the wild pounding of her heart. Fear was as much her enemy as this burning desert. She would not be frightened into taking the last few swallows from her water bag.

Tomorrow she might reach an oasis.

Or even Damascus.

She had been traveling so long, surely Damascus was a possibility.

She would not give up. She had not escaped those savages just to succumb to the desert.

She stopped and concentrated. See, she could still swallow. She had not reached the point of total desperation. She started jerkily forward again.

Think of coolness, smoothness, glowing threads of gold on fine brocade. Think of beauty…. The world was not this desert.

Yet it seemed to be the world. She could not remember anything but glaring sand by day and shifting sinister shadows by night.

But tonight the shadows seemed more alive, less evanescent and more purposeful. Coming toward her.

Pounding toward her.

Not shadows. Horsemen. Dozens of horsemen. Armor gleaming in the moonlight.

The savages again.

Hide.

Where? No shrubs in this barren place.

Run.

No strength.

There was always strength. Call on it.

She was running. The water skin and the basket on her back weighed her down, slowing her.

She could not drop either one. The water skin was life. The basket was freedom.

The pounding of hooves was closer. A shout…

A sharp stitch in her side. Ignore it. Keep running.

Her breath was coming in painful gasps.

The horses were streaming around her, in front of her, surrounding her….

“Stop!”

Arabic. Saracens. Savages like those others.

She darted blindly forward, seeking a way through the ring of horses.

She ran into a wall of iron.

No, not a wall. A broad chest garbed in iron mail. Huge gauntlet-clad hands grabbed her shoulders.

She struggled wildly, her fists pounding at the mail.

Stupid. Hit flesh, not armor. She struck his cheek with all her strength.

He flinched and muttered a curse, his hands tightening with bruising force on her shoulders.

She cried out as pain shot through her.

“Be still.” His light eyes blazed down at her from beneath the steel visor. “I won’t hurt you, if you don’t fight me.”

Lies.

She had seen the blood and rapine and the killing….

She struck his cheek again. And again.

Her shoulders went numb as his grip tightened again.

Her body arched with agony. She slowly lifted her fist to strike him again.

“Christ!” He released her shoulders, and his hand swept out and connected with her chin.

Darkness.

“Very good, Ware. You vanquished a helpless woman with one blow.” Kadar nudged his horse forward to look down at the figure on the ground. “Perhaps soon you will progress to brutalizing children.”

“Be quiet and give me your water skin,” Ware growled. “I had no choice. It was either break her shoulders or this. She wouldn’t do as I told her.”

“A sin, to be sure.” Kadar got down from his horse and handed Ware his water skin. “You didn’t consider patience and turning the other cheek?”

“I did not.” He pushed back the cloth covering the woman’s head. “I leave courtesy and gallantry to you. I believe in expedience.”

“She appears very young, no more than ten and five. And with fair hair…” Kadar paused musingly. “Frank?”

“Possibly. Or Greek.” He lifted the woman’s head and poured a few drops of water into her mouth, waited until she swallowed before giving her a few drops more. “Whatever she is, she’s thirsty.”

“You think she may have escaped the caravan from Constantinople that Hassan ibn Narif attacked last week?”

“It seems reasonable. One doesn’t find women wandering the desert alone.” He called over his shoulder, “Bring the torch closer, Abdul.”

Abdul rode forward and Kadar gazed down at the woman with interest. “She’s comely.”

“How can you tell? She’s burned and dry as an overripe date.” Ware wrinkled his nose. “And she smells.”

“I can tell beauty when I see it.”

Ware supposed the woman’s features were pleasing enough; wide-set eyes, a small nose, well-shaped mouth. Though the line of her jaw and chin were a bit too firm.

“Once she’s clean, she’ll be very comely,” Kadar said. “I have an instinct about these things.”

“You have an instinct about everything,” Ware said dryly. “It serves to take the place of thinking.”

“Cruel.” As he continued to look down at the woman, he added absently, “But I forgive you because I know of your fondness for me.”

Ware forced another few drops of water between the woman’s lips. “Then you know more than I do.”

Kadar beamed. “Oh, yes, infinitely more. How kind of you to admit it.”

Ware frowned. “I didn’t hit her that hard. She should be awake.”

“You underestimate your strength. You have a fist like a mace.”

“I never underestimate myself. It was only a tap.” Yet she was lying too still. He bent forward and saw the faint movement of her chest. “She must be in a faint.”

“Concern?”

“An observation,” Ware said flatly. “I feel neither guilt nor pity toward this woman. Why should I? I didn’t attack the caravan and leave her in the desert to die. She means nothing to me one way or the other.” Though, as Kadar knew, he did admire strength and determination, and the woman had displayed an abundance of both. “I merely wish to determine whether to bury her or take her to the nearest village to heal.”

“Burying her would be a little premature, don’t you think?” Kadar bent forward. “She’s clearly suffering from heat and thirst, but I see no wounds. Though I doubt if Hassan let her escape unscathed. He likes pale women.”

“She’s not pale now.” It was a wonder she had survived ten days in the desert after Hassan had finished with her. He felt a surge of rage that surprised him. He had thought he had grown so hard that he had lost the ability to feel pity or rage for the innocent.

“Well, since you’re not going to bury her, shall we take her with us to Dundragon? The nearest village is over forty miles north, and she needs care.”

Ware frowned with impatience. “You know we take no one to Dundragon.”

“I fear we must make an exception. Unless you intend to leave her here to die.” Kadar shook his head. “And that would not be appropriate. It would defy a law of nature. After all, you’ve saved her life. Now she belongs to you.”

Ware grunted scornfully.

Kadar shook his head and sighed. “I’ve tried to explain this to you before. You don’t understand. It’s a law of—”

“Nature,” Ware finished. “I think it’s more Kadar’s law.”

“Well, it’s true I’m often far wiser than nature, and also more interesting, but I can’t claim to be as all-powerful.” He added, “Yet. But I’m only ten and nine. There’s still time.”

“We don’t take her to Dundragon,” Ware said flatly.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to stay here and protect her.” He sat down beside the woman and crossed his legs. “Go on. I ask only that you leave a skin of water and a few grains of food.”

Ware glared at him.

“Of course, Hassan may come upon us. I’ll be outnumbered, and you know I have no skill with weapons. There’s also the possibility that Guy de Lusanne may pass this way on his glorious journey to Jerusalem. It’s rumored his troops are no more godly than Hassan’s.” Kadar smiled guilelessly. “But you must not worry about me. Forget that I saved your life in that den of assassins.”

“I will.” Ware stood up and mounted his horse. “I didn’t ask for your help then nor your company now.” He wheeled, lifted his hand, and motioned the riders forward.

Someone was holding her, gently rocking back and forth.

Mother?

Yes, it must be her mother. She was back in the House of Nicholas, and soon she would open her eyes and see that sad, gentle face. Her mother was always gentle, and her meekness filled Thea with wild frustration.

Not for me. I’ll not let them break me. Not you, either. Let me help you and together we can leave this place. You’re afraid? Then let me be strong enough for both of us .

But Thea hadn’t been strong enough, and her mother would be even more unhappy when she learned how Thea had failed her.

A sharp pang of regret surged through her.

I tried to keep my promise to save Selene. I won’t give up. Soon I’ll be stronger and try again. Forgive me, Mother. You’ll see that Selene—

But her mother would see nothing ever again, she remembered suddenly. She had died long ago….

But if this was not her mother, who was holding her with such tenderness?

She slowly opened her lids.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good.”

She was being held by a handsome young man with great dark eyes, a sweet smile—A turban!

Savage.

She started to struggle.

“No. No.” He held her immobile with surprising strength for one so slim. “I mean you no harm. I’m Kadar ben Arnaud.”

Her eyes blazed up at him. “Saracen.”

“Armenian, but my father was a Frank. In truth, my mother’s people have proved more civilized than my father’s.” He gazed soberly down at her. “And I’m not of the band who attacked you. You were with the caravan from Constantinople?”

“Let me go.”

He released her at once.

She rolled away from him and scrambled to her knees.

“You see, I don’t hold you captive. I wish only the best for you.”

She could not trust him.

Yet there was nothing but gentleness in his expression.

But there had been that other man who was neither gentle nor merciful.

She glanced around but saw no one else in sight, only a single horse a dozen yards away.

“They’ve gone away.” He set the water skin before her. “More water? I don’t think Ware gave you enough.”

She looked at the container as if it were a scorpion about to sting her.

“It’s not poisoned.” He smiled. “You drank for Ware, now drink for me.”

His smile was the most irresistible she had ever seen, and his tone was like dark velvet. She felt a little of her fear subside. “I don’t know this…Ware.”

“Lord Ware of Dundragon. You struck him several times. I’d think some memory would linger.”

Cold blue eyes, gleaming mail and helmet, bruising pain in her shoulders. “He hurt me.”

“He meant no harm.”

Hard, ruthless face, eyes without mercy. “He meant to hurt me.”

“He has a great anger in him and he’s not a gentle man. I admit he often takes the most direct path to reach his destination. Unfortunately, it’s sometimes also the roughest. What is your name?”

She hesitated.

He smiled and pushed the water skin toward her. “Drink.”

She picked up the water skin and drank deep. The water was warm but flowed like mead down her parched throat.

“Not too much,” Kadar warned. “It may have to last us awhile. Ware and I had a small disagreement regarding your disposition, and he can be very stubborn.”

She lowered the water skin. “I…thank you.” She searched her memory for his name. “Kadar.”

“It was my pleasure…” He looked at her inquiringly.

“Thea. I am Thea of Dimas.” Panic rushed through her as she suddenly realized her basket was no longer on her back. “You took my basket,” she accused fiercely. “Where is it?”

“On the ground in back of you. I don’t steal from women, Thea of Dimas.”

The relief flowing through her was immediately followed by shame when she met his reproachful gaze. How foolish to feel shame for doubting a stranger.

He tossed another leather pouch to her. “Dates and a little mutton. How long have you been without food?”

“I ran out yesterday.” But she had limited herself to only a few bites a day since she had escaped the attack. She opened the pouch and tried not to snatch at a piece of meat. It was dried and tough, but she chewed blissfully. “You don’t wear armor. The others wore armor.”

“Because I’m not a soldier. I regard those who battle with lance and sword as barbaric. I prefer my wits.”

“You call this Lord Ware barbaric?”

“On occasion. But he has known nothing but battle since he was a child, so he must be forgiven.”

She had no intention of forgiving him when her jaw still ached from his blow. Those light-blue eyes and aura of power were imprinted on her memory as vividly as the bruise he’d inflicted.

“He’s a Frankish knight?”

He shook his head. “Ware is a Scot.”

“Scot?” She had never heard that term. “From where?”

“Scotland is a country far more barbarous than this one. It’s north of England.”

She knew of England. In Constantinople it, too, was considered a barbarous country.

“And was he going to battle when you came upon me?”

“No, we’d just come from helping Conrad of Monferrai fight off Saladin’s siege of Tyre. We were on our way back to Dundragon.”

She took another piece of meat. “Then the war is over?”

He chuckled. “The battle is over. I doubt if this war will ever be over.”

“Then why do you go home?”

“Ware’s contract with Conrad ended with the siege, and Conrad didn’t wish to part with any more funds.”

“Lord Ware battles for gold?”

“And property.” He smiled. “He’s the strongest knight in the land, and it’s made him a very wealthy man.”

Which was not uncommon, Thea thought. Everyone knew that many knights who had supposedly come on the great Crusades to fight a holy war had stayed to plunder and win vast properties for themselves.

“As for myself, I’ll choose a far less dangerous way to riches.” He changed the subject. “Thea. You’re Greek?”

She nodded.

“And you were traveling with the caravan to Damascus?”

She nodded again.

“You’re very fortunate. We had heard no one escaped from Hassan’s attack. He brought over a hundred captives to the slave market at Acre and bragged he’d killed another hundred.”

Her eyes widened. “You know him?”

“One does not know a reptile. Ware and I are acquainted with him. There’s a difference.” He dampened a cloth and handed it to her. “Bathe your poor face. Your skin must be very sore.”

She took the cloth and then stopped. “You said I shouldn’t waste water.”

“I’ve changed my mind and decided to trust in my instincts. Take it.”

The wet cloth was heavenly moist on her burned cheeks and forehead. “You’re very kind.”

“Yes.” He gave her another sweet smile. “Very. It sometimes makes my life difficult.” He paused. “Were your parents among the slaves Hassan brought to Damascus?”

“No.”

“Your husband?”

“No, I was alone.”

His brows raised. “Odd. You’re very young.”

She had blurted the truth without thinking. “I’m ten and seven. Many women have wed and borne children by my age.” But women did not travel without escort. It would be safer for her if everyone believed she had been orphaned during the attack. “I mean…my father was killed by that man…Hassan.”

“Oh, is that what you mean.” He smiled. “How?”

He did not believe her. His tone was faintly chiding.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“How cruel of me. Of course you don’t.”

She quickly changed the subject. “And what of you? You said your father was a Frank. Have you lived here long?”

“All my life. I grew up on the streets of Damascus. Have a little more water. Slowly.”

She sipped from the water skin. “Yet you serve this Scot.”

“I serve myself. We travel together.” He smiled. “He belongs to me. It’s rather like owning a tiger, but it has interesting moments.”

She frowned in bewilderment. “Belongs to—”

“Shh.” He suddenly tilted his head, listening. “Ah, do you hear? He’s coming.”

She stiffened. She didn’t hear the hoofbeats, but she could feel them vibrating on the ground. “Who’s coming?”

“Ware.” He chuckled. “I warn you, he’ll be very annoyed. He doesn’t like being thwarted.” His smile faded as he saw her expression. “You’re frightened.”

“I’m not frightened.” She was lying. She could still see that looming giant before her. Cold. Fierce. Brutal.

“He won’t hurt you,” Kadar said gently. “He’s only half beast. The other half is very human. Why else would he be coming back for us?”

“I have no idea.” Shivering, she rose shakily to her feet. She did not want to confront this Ware, whom Kadar claimed was half human. She had seen too many beasts of late. “And I don’t want to stay here.” She slung the straps of her basket over her shoulders. “Will you give me water for my journey?”

“It’s forty miles to the nearest village. You’re exhausted and weak. You would not survive.”

The horses were coming nearer. The man on the first horse loomed large and menacing. “Give me the water skin and I’ll survive.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Then I’ll survive without it.” She had eaten and drunk deeply and still had a few swallows of water in her water skin. She had traveled far more than forty miles since the caravan had been attacked, and she could go another forty. She whirled and started to walk away.

“No,” he said with great gentleness. He was suddenly beside her, grasping her arm. “I cannot let you go. I would worry about you.”

She tried to shake off his grasp but couldn’t. Desperate, she began to pull at his fingers. “You have no right—”

The riders were suddenly upon them, and she froze.

Kadar stroked her arm as if she were a nervous puppy. “All is well. No one will harm you.”

She barely heard him, her gaze fixed on the man who had reined in before them.

“He is only half beast.”

Mounted on the huge horse, looking like a centaur, dark and forbidding, he cast a giant shadow on the ground before him…and on her. She had the panicky feeling that if she did not move out of that shadow, she would be held captive forever.

He did not look at her, but at Kadar. “Bring her.” His tone was crisp and stinging as the lash of a whip. “And if you don’t want me to turn your horse loose and make you walk, you’ll wipe that smile from your face.”

“It’s a welcoming smile. I’m always glad to see you.” He released Thea and moved toward his horse. “Dundragon?”

“Bring her, damn you.”

He was angry. Kadar had said he was filled with anger; nothing could be clearer or more intimidating in this moment.

Kadar did not seem to be affected as he mounted his horse. “My horse will not bear her weight. You will have to take her.”

She could feel the displeasure Lord Ware emitted as if it were a tidal wave. “Kadar.”

“Well, she’s a trifle unwilling. I’m not sure I could subdue her if she struggled.”

Ware’s icy glance shifted back to Thea. “She does not appear unwilling. I’ve never seen a more spiritless or bedraggled maid.”

She stared at him in disbelief. Spiritless. Bedraggled. What did he expect, with all the suffering and horror she had undergone. This condemnation was the spark that exploded her rage. “I’m sure you prefer women without spirit, as do all cowards.”

His gaze narrowed on her face. “Coward?”

She ignored the menace in his tone. “Coward. Isn’t it cowardly to hit a woman who cannot defend herself?”

“I have bruises on my face to prove you wrong.”

“Good. You should expect nothing better. You ride up and let me think you’re one of those savages who killed—”

“You gave me no chance to speak before you struck out at me.” He got down from his horse and moved toward her. “Just as you’re striking at me now with your words.” He should have looked less dangerous off the steed, but he did not. He towered over her, and she had the same sensation of power and boundless authority as at their first meeting. He glared down at her. “Be silent. I’m weary unto death, and Kadar has made sure my temper is raw.”

She glared back at him. “Are you going to hit me again?”

“Tempting,” he murmured. “By the saints, it’s tempting.”

Kadar interjected quickly, “He doesn’t mean it. Come, Ware, we must get her to Dundragon. She’s weak and exhausted.”

“Weak?” His gaze raked her defiant stance. “I think she’s stronger than you claim.”

“I’m not going to this Dundragon.” She shifted her basket and stepped to one side to go around him. “So you need not argue as to who is to take me.”

“And where are you going?”

“Kadar said there was a village.”

“Too far.”

She didn’t answer as she started away from them.

“Ware,” Kadar said.

“I know. I know.” His hand fell on her shoulder, and he spun her around to face him. “You go to Dundragon. I don’t want you there, and if I had my way, I’d let you walk to Hades, but I’ve no choice. By God, I’ll not have you making more trouble for me.”

“I do have a choice. I go nowhere with you.”

He studied her defiant expression. “You’re a very stubborn woman.” He drew his dagger.

She stiffened as her pulse leaped with fear. Was he going to cut her throat?

He smiled with tigerish satisfaction. “You think I might wish to rid myself of a troublesome wench. You’re right, I do.” The dagger arced downward, piercing and ripping her water skin, then slicing through the leather cord. She stared in horror as the pouch fell to the ground and the last of her precious water spurted out onto the sand. “No!”

He sheathed the dagger. “Now you have no choice either.” He turned away. “Throw aside that basket you’re carrying. It will be too cumbersome.”

She stared at him in helpless fury. With one stroke he had destroyed her chance of reaching safety without him. She wanted to shout, to pound him as she had done before.

He mounted the horse and sat waiting for her.

He expected her to come meekly and do his bidding.

“Throw the basket away,” he repeated.

“Or you’ll stick your dagger in it too?” She strode forward. “I’ll go, but my basket goes also.”

“I’ll take the basket.” Kadar quickly slipped from the saddle. “It will be my pleasure.”

“Throw it away,” Ware said, meeting her gaze.

He did not care if she took the basket; he just wanted to have his way. Well, he had won enough battles. “I won’t give it up.”

“It contains such a treasure?”

“Not what you would consider treasure. Nothing that is worth your thievery.”

His expression changed, tightened, as if she had struck him. She heard Kadar’s inhaled breath beside her.

“Thievery?” Ware said softly.

A little of her anger ebbed, banished by caution. She had stirred something dark and potentially lethal. Yet she could not back down. “Kadar said Hassan was an old acquaintance. Like to like.”

“Like to like.” His eyes half closed as he savored the words. “Yes, we do have certain similarities and interests.”

Kadar jerked the basket from her back. “It’s growing late. We must set out, or we won’t reach Dundragon before dawn.” He grasped her arm. “I’ve reconsidered. I believe my horse will hold your weight after all.”

“Nonsense.” Lord Ware brushed his hand aside. “We mustn’t risk doing damage to such a fine animal. I’ll take her.” He remounted his horse, leaned down, and lifted Thea before him onto the saddle. “I’ve grown accustomed to the idea now.”

Kadar started, “I truly think that—”

Ware touched spurs to the stallion, which lunged forward into a gallop. The other horsemen followed, and Kadar had no choice but to do the same.

The links of chain mail were hard against Thea’s back. She felt as if she were suffocating, enclosed, bound in iron. He wanted her to feel like this, she realized angrily. She had said something that had struck deep, and he wanted to punish her. She could not give him the satisfaction of letting him know he had succeeded.

Instead of holding herself upright, she deliberately sank back against him.

He stiffened warily.

Let him be uneasy. She didn’t have the strength to fight him now with anything but words. “How far is it to Dundragon?”

“Not far.” He nodded at the mountains. “There.”

Those mountains had seemed terribly far to her only a short time before. “I will not stay at that place.”

“I don’t want you to stay. As soon as Kadar decides you’re well enough, you’ll be sent on your way.”

“I’m not ill. I could go now.” Strange…the armor no longer felt uncomfortable, but smooth and sleek against her back. “And Kadar makes no decisions for me.”

“Kadar makes decisions for everyone,” he said dryly. “As I’m sure you’ve already noted.”

“Not for me.” She yawned. “Why should he? You’re both strangers and I know nothing about you.”

“And we know nothing about you.”

Thank the saints, that was true. Kadar might suspect her words about her father’s death were untrue, but surely he would not seek to disprove her story. As for Lord Ware, he wanted only to be rid of her and would not ask uncomfortable questions. “I’m Thea of Dimas.”

She yawned again. It was odd how the pretense of comfort and confidence had become reality. He did not seem nearly as intimidating now that she could no longer see him. She was aware only of that rock-sturdy strength behind her that could keep her safe from all harm. “That’s enough for you to know.”

“Is it?”

She nodded drowsily. “Of course. You have…no desire to…” She trailed off as sleep claimed her.

“There’s nothing as charming as a sleeping child.”

Ware glanced over his shoulder to see Kadar riding behind him. He looked down at the slumbering Thea. He doubted if the thunder of Saladin’s army could awaken her from that exhausted sleep. “This particular child is dirty, odorous, and overbold,” he said.

Kadar nodded. “But brave and determined. The brave deserve to live.” He smiled. “And they also deserve kindness.”

“Then you may give it to her.”

“But you saved her. You were the first one to see her and decide to ride to her rescue. It’s your duty to—”

“I have no duty. Nor shall I assume any. I’m content as I am.”

“No, you aren’t.” Kadar nudged closer and even with him. “But I’ll persevere until you’ve reached that state. I know my duty, even if you don’t.” He looked down at Thea. “She’s only ten and seven. Did I tell you that?”

Ware made no response.

“And things go hard for women in this world. Particularly fair, comely women.”

Ware did not answer.

“What if she’s with child by one of Hassan’s men? She’s only a child herself. It’s enough to touch the heart.”

“Your heart.”

Kadar sighed. “I’m growing discouraged.”

“At last.”

“But not defeated.” He let his horse drop back to follow Ware up the narrow mountain path.

The woman felt soft and warm and helpless in Ware’s arms. He would not look down at her. He would not feel the pity Kadar wanted of him. He would not feel anything but the emotions he chose for himself. It was a mistake taking her to Dundragon, and he would not compound it by allowing himself to soften toward her. Kadar didn’t realize how dangerous such an emotion as pity could be. Pity could make one vulnerable.

Pity could kill them all.

The fortress of Dundragon blazed with light. Even from a distance Thea was dazzled. Torches burned everywhere, illuminating every battlement of the grim fortress and, she discovered when they rode through the gates, the entire courtyard. Any chatelaine would have been horrified at the waste of such a display in the dead of night.

“Too much…,” she said drowsily.

He looked down at her.

“Too many torches. Waste…”

“I like light.” He smiled grimly. “I don’t regard it as waste, and I’m rich enough to indulge my fancies.” He dismounted and lifted her from the stallion. “Kadar,” he called, “come and take her.”

“I can walk.” She took a step back. Her legs buckled.

He muttered a curse and caught her. “Kadar!”

“Stiff,” she murmured. “I’ll be able to walk in a moment.”

His arms tightened around her. “We cannot stay here all night on that premise. Kadar will carry you to your chamber.”

“My basket,” she murmured. “I can’t go anywhere without my basket.”

“I have your basket.” Kadar appeared at her side. “But you’ll have to carry her, Ware.”

Ware gave him a cold glance, then lifted her in his arms and strode across the courtyard and into the castle.

Torches everywhere. Servants scurrying about before them. Silk. Stone. Flame. It was too much to absorb when she could barely hold open her eyes. She solved the problem by the simple action of closing them.

Softness beneath her. Suddenly Ware’s arms were gone.

Loneliness. As intense as it was unexplainable.

She opened her eyes. He was standing over her, his gaze on her face. His expression was just as hard and impassive, but his eyes…

She couldn’t look away. There was something there….

He tore his gaze away and turned on his heel. But he whirled back and said haltingly, “You needn’t be afraid. You’ll be safe here.” Then, as if regretting the moment of softness, he said harshly to Kadar, “For God’s sake, get her clean clothes and a bath.”

“As soon as she wakes. I’ll not trouble her now.” Kadar smiled down at Thea. “You must forgive him. He has a violent dislike of odor. I think it must be a reminder of those sheepskin drawers.”

Sheepskin drawers? She didn’t understand and was too weary to question him. “Put my basket by the bed.”

He put it down. “It’s very light. You must not have much in it.”

Her whole world. Selene’s freedom and her own. She put her hand protectively on the lid.

“You needn’t sleep with it by your side,” Lord Ware said roughly from the door. “You may believe me a thief, but I don’t steal from guests under my roof.”

How strange that her condemnation had hurt him. She would not have thought anything could pierce that hard exterior. She should not care. He was a brutal man, probably little better than those savages who had attacked the caravan.

“But I admit to curiosity.” Kadar coaxed, “I don’t suppose you’d care to trust us enough to tell us what precious trove is in your basket.”

Lord Ware was still at the door, watching her. He may not have brought her there willingly, but he had given her safety, she thought. He might even have saved her life. It was difficult for her to trust anyone, but perhaps it would not hurt to lower her guard a little. She took her hand from the lid of the basket.

“Worms.” She rolled over and turned her back to them. She drowsily closed her eyes again. “Hundreds and hundreds of worms…”