Lion’s Bride

Chapter Three

“THIS IS ELEANOR.” He took the falcon out of her cage. “Is she not handsome? I named her for Eleanor of Aquitaine.”

The bird was indeed splendid. “Why?”

“Because she’s wily and fierce and has a profound dislike for being held captive. It took me over a year to train her.” He chuckled. “Which is better than King Henry did with his Eleanor. He never succeeded in taming her.”

“Did your father tell you of Eleanor?”

“My father gave my mother his seed and never looked back. My mother told me he died a great death battling her people.” He smiled into the beady eyes of the falcon. “It’s a pity he never realized his greatest achievement was producing me.”

There was no antagonism in his voice, she realized wonderingly. “You don’t hate him?”

“When I was a boy, I hated him. My mother died when I was five, and life was not easy for me on the streets of Damascus. I was a purloin and shunned by both my peoples.” He put Eleanor back in the cage and opened the next enclosure. “But I rose above it.”

“How?”

“Knowledge. I stole learning as I did fruit from the bazaars. I learned from the Franks and I learned from my mother’s people.” He took out another falcon. “To my horror I discovered both were right…and wrong about most things. How can you hate when there is no truth that cannot be challenged?” He held out the bird to her. “This is Henry. He’s less fierce than Eleanor and does not have her sense of purpose. She never relents once she sights prey. I’ve discovered that the female can often be more determined when in full flight.” He met her gaze. “Haven’t you made that discovery also?”

He was no longer referring to his falcons. She said, “But first she must reach full flight,” then added, “And there are always those who wish to put her in a cage or use her. Even you, Kadar.”

He nodded. “It’s the nature of man.” He put the falcon back in the cage. “But when their use is fulfilled, I’ll set them free.”

“And their use is to hunt?”

“Actually, to intercept.” He carefully latched the cage. “Saladin and a few Frank commanders use carrier pigeons to carry orders to their troops. Ware decided we should use falcons to make sure the pigeons never reach their destination.”

Though Kadar had spoken casually, almost indifferently, Thea shivered. She had a sudden, vivid picture of fierce Eleanor savagely plucking a pigeon out of the sky.

“Life is always a battle. You can’t stop it; you can only choose the battleground,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “If a pigeon reaches its target, men die. If a falcon stops the pigeon, different men die.”

There was no savagery in his voice. Yet she was suddenly seeing a harder, darker side of Kadar. “And you choose Lord Ware’s battleground.”

“For the time being.” He chuckled. “It’s my bane for saving his life. Now I find I cannot bear to see him destroyed.”

“How did you save his life?”

“I found him wounded and near death. He had fled to the Old Man of the Mountain for safety but didn’t reach him in time.”

“Old Man of the Mountain?”

“Sheikh Rashid ed-Din Sinan. He is the King of Assassins. It was a clever move on Ware’s part. No one ventures into Sinan’s domain without invitation.”

“Then what were you doing there?”

“Knowledge.” He smiled. “One must know the dark paths as well as the bright. But sometimes there’s such a thing as learning too much, of delving too deeply. I was becoming lost and was ready to return to Damascus when I found Ware on the path. I nursed him back to health and took him to Sinan’s fortress.”

“From whom was he running?”

He hesitated and then shrugged. “I reveal nothing that everyone in this land doesn’t know when I tell you that he was running from the Knights Templar. What do you know of them?”

“What everyone knows—that the Knights Templar is an order of warrior monks. They’re the finest soldiers in Christendom and the wealthiest. They sell their services both to merchants and to royalty for vast sums. Nicholas paid them once to guard a caravan he was sending to Cairo.” Her brow wrinkled in thought as she tried to remember anything else she had heard. “A goodly portion of their fees go to the Pope, but some of their gold is said to be kept in their own storehouses.”

“Ah, yes, and you can see why the Pope has such affection for the order.” He stroked the falcon’s feathers with a gentle forefinger. “And gave them such power that they are feared more than Saladin.”

“Why were they pursuing Lord Ware?”

“Unfortunately, they have no fondness for prodigal sons. They wished to wipe him from the face of the earth.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Ware was a Knights Templar, perhaps the greatest warrior in the order. When he was cast out, the Grand Master issued an order that he be killed.”

She stared at him, stunned. “He was a monk ?”

Kadar burst out laughing. “I found it surprising, too, until I came to know him. He has many more sides to his character than you would think.”

A vision of Ware sitting in that firelit room while Tasza caressed him with her mouth came back to her. “A monk?” she repeated.

“I’m told sometimes a battle can be as stirring as a woman, and the Knights Templar are a special breed.”

“Why did they cast him out?”

His smile faded. “You will have to ask him.”

“I don’t have to ask.” Sensuality breathed in every line of Ware of Dundragon’s body. He would not have been able to bear abstinence. “He is no monk.”

“Not now.” Kadar tilted his head. “I’ve told you what danger Ware was fleeing. What are you running from, Thea of Dimas?”

She stiffened at the sudden attack. She had been so absorbed in unraveling the complex personality of Kadar and trying to comprehend the astonishing truth he had told her regarding Lord Ware that she had been caught off guard. “I came here to open my own house of embroidery.”

“A laudable ambition. But this land is hard for a woman alone.”

“All lands are hard for a woman alone, but I have a skill that’s respected here. I’ll be able to find a place for myself until I have enough money to open my own house. The Damascenes have been trading embroideries for a long time, and they’re truly excellent.”

“But not as good as yours?”

She shook her head. “They lack imagination. A true artist designs as well as executes. The Damascenes are still doing the same embroideries they did a century ago.”

“How long have you been a craftsman?”

“Since I was a very small child. I can’t remember anything else. They first put me to knotting rugs, but my mother convinced him I would be better at embroidery.”

“Him?”

Every answer led to another trap. The only safety was in not answering at all. She turned away from the cages and moved toward the window. The grounds of the castle were not all stone walls and fortress, as she had thought. To the north stretched a long green, abounding with grass and trees, that fell off abruptly into a steep cliff. “You can see very far from this tower.” Her gaze traveled back to the mountains. “What are those houses to the south?”

“That’s the village of Jedha. All of the servants and soldiers here at Dundragon were brought from there. Dundragon was given to Ware as payment for services by a Frank lord who found this land too unsafe for his taste. When he went back to France, he took all his people with him, and Ware had to recruit his officers and soldiers from among the Muslims.” He shook his head. “The lords who hired Ware could use the excuse that any tool is justified when fighting Satan, but no one wanted to offend the Knights Templar by actually going over to the renegade’s camp. It’s a dangerous practice to ally yourself with the Temple’s enemies.”

“Yet you did it.”

“I told you, I had no choice. He belongs to me. Besides, living in the shadows with Ware has taught me as much as I learned from the Old Man of the Mountain.”

Shadows. But this day seemed bright and clear and without threat. “He surely should be back before dark.”

“Yes. If God wills.” He joined her at the window, his gaze fixed on the mountain. “If he’s not, I’ll go searching for him.”

Again that intimation of danger. She didn’t understand any of these people. Kadar, whom she had thought kind and gentle, had been taught by murderers. Lord Ware, whom she knew to be brutal and ruthless, had evidently risked much to seek out her mulberry leaves. Nothing was clear or reasonable in this new life into which she had been tossed.

But this disarray was better than the suffocating orderliness in the House of Nicholas. The serenity and concentration that abounded there were necessary to produce fine embroideries, but not the strictures of a cage. Here at Dundragon, she had more freedom, and once she left, the chaos would disappear entirely from her life. She would only have to be patient.

“You can trust us, you know,” Kadar said quietly. “We know what it is to be hunted.”

She could not trust anyone. She did not have the right when Selene was also at risk.

When she did not answer, Kadar turned away from the window. “It’s going to be a long day. Would you like to play a game of chess?”

“I don’t know how to play chess.”

“You prefer another game?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know how to play any games.”

“Ah, but games are very important. They stretch the mind and ease the heart.”

“I don’t need them. I have my work.”

He took her elbow and urged her toward the door. “I think you need them more than most people. Come, I will teach you chess.”

Ware finally found a grove of mulberry trees after noon of that day. It was not soon enough for him. He was hot, his head was aching and his temper correspondingly raw.

He sliced a huge branch off a tree with one stroke of his sword and watched it fall to the ground. He dismounted, then began plucking the leaves and throwing them into the basket.

Mother of Christ, he felt like a damsel picking flowers on May Day. This was no task for a knight.

How much was enough? Every time he bent down, his helmeted head felt as if it were going to roll off. He finished stripping the branch. He glowered at the contents of the basket; the leaves barely covered the bottom. He cut another branch and then another.

Enough. If that wasn’t sufficient, the damn worms could starve to death. He closed the lid and lifted the basket back onto the saddle.

He was being watched.

He froze in the act of fastening the basket, every muscle rigid.

Vaden.

He always knew when it was Vaden. The bond between them had never been broken; it had only become twisted. God, how ironic to die like this. Not in battle, but gathering leaves for a bunch of silkworms.

He leaned his head on the saddle, waiting. Jesus, he was weary of it all. It seemed as if he had been waiting a lifetime for this final moment. He suddenly felt a wild, reckless desire for it to be over.

He whirled on his heel, tore off his helmet, and gazed up at the rocky hillside. “Here I am, Vaden,” he shouted. “A clear shot. Aim for the eye. It’s surer than trying to find an opening in the armor.”

But he had seen one of Vaden’s arrows find such an opening. He possessed strength, a steady hand, and a deadly eye. Vaden was the finest bowman Ware had ever known.

He stood waiting, head lifted.

No sound. No whir of an arrow in flight.

But Vaden was there. Why didn’t he strike?

He slowly put his helmet back on his head. He waited again before he mounted.

It seemed Vaden was not in the mood for killing this day.

But Vaden was not driven by moods, only by cool reason.

Ware waited once again, giving Vaden another chance, before nudging his horse toward the path leading up the mountain to Dundragon.

He could still loose the arrow.

Vaden kept his vision narrowed on the exact spot in Ware’s back where the armor joined.

He slowly lowered the bow.

If he’d been going to loose that arrow, he would have done so when Ware had been standing staring up at him in despair.

He could have killed him and it would have been over. He could have returned to the Temple, and the secret would have been safe.

The Grand Master would have said not taking that shot was a betrayal of the Temple. With Ware dead and unable to defend Dundragon, he would have given the order for the stronghold to be razed to the ground and all its inhabitants murdered.

Vaden returned the arrow to the quiver on his saddle. He had never been guided by the Grand Master, and he would not be now. He was the chosen executioner, and he would judge for himself who would have to die and who could live. He didn’t know for certain that Ware had revealed to anyone what he had seen in the storehouse. God knew enough blood had been spilled since that night.

He put spurs to his horse and reluctantly veered left to the path leading south. From there he could cut across the valley and be in Acre by tomorrow night. Another message had come from the Grand Master summoning him to a meeting at his encampment outside Acre. He had ignored the first one, but the man’s temper was explosive and erratic, so he had best try to soothe it before irreparable damage was done.

He glanced back at the denuded branches on the ground beneath the tree and frowned in puzzlement.

What the devil had Ware been about?

“He’s here!” Kadar pushed back his chair, the game forgotten. “I hear the drawbridge.” He hurried out of the hall.

Thea stood up and followed him. She found she was experiencing the same relief Kadar was exhibiting. She had been conscious of Kadar’s lack of attention for the past two hours, and his worry had been contagious.

Ware was riding through the gates as she came down the steps to the courtyard to stand beside Kadar. The setting sun was behind him, and he was only a massive dark silhouette against a blazing sky as he walked his horse toward them.

Kadar shaded his eyes with his hand as he looked up at Ware. “He didn’t follow?”

“He followed. He held his hand.” He loosened the basket and dropped it to the courtyard. “Your leaves.”

“Why?” Kadar asked.

“How do I know?” He dismounted and turned to Thea. “Are they the right ones?”

She knelt on the stones and opened the lid. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the tooth-shaped leaves. “Yes.”

“Enough?”

She nodded. “They’ll last me at least a month. By that time I should be settled in Damascus and able to find more.”

“Long before that time.” He turned and moved toward the steps. “I want her out of here, Kadar. I want you both out of here.”

“You’re always so inhospitable.” Kadar followed him toward the steps. “But I forgive you this time. You’re clearly exhausted from picking all those heavy mulberry leaves.”

Ware took off his helmet and faced Kadar. “I shouldn’t have let you stay this long. It’s time for you to go.”

He looked tired, Thea thought. He still held himself with rigid straightness, but deep lines engraved either side of his mouth and fanned out from his eyes, which held a strange hollowness. It was as if the weariness had passed from his body into his soul.

She said impulsively, “You need a bath and a night’s rest.” She jumped to her feet, snatched up her basket, and hurried toward him. “I’ll go tell Jasmine to have water heated.” She turned to Kadar. “Take him to his chamber and get him out of that armor.”

“Kadar doesn’t need to take me anywhere.”

“Nonsense. You look as if you’re going to fall down at any minute.” She glanced at his neck and shook her head. “And your muscles are knotted and twisted. I can help with easing that pain.”

“I have no pain.”

She snorted derisively. “Help him with his armor, Kadar. I have no patience with lies.” She moved past him into the castle and encountered Jasmine coming down the steps. “Hot water for Lord Ware.”

Jasmine gave her a cool glance. “I gave the command when I saw him ride into the courtyard. You don’t have to tell me my duty. I know how to care for my lord. I’ll send for Tasza to attend him.”

“I will attend him.”

“I will send for Tasza,” she repeated.

“No.” She tried to hold on to her temper. “He’s done me a service this day and I’ll be the one to ease him.” As she met Jasmine’s stony expression, her irritation flared. “I’ve no desire to take Tasza’s place in your master’s bed. I merely wish to make him comfortable.”

Jasmine studied her for a moment, and then the faintest smile touched her lips. “Are you a virgin that you don’t know that the best way to make a man comfortable is to rid him of lust?” Then her eyes widened as she read Thea’s expression. “Truly? Your manner was so bold, I thought—” She frowned. “Why did you not tell me? I have better things to do than worry about a threat that doesn’t exist. Tasza need not be concerned about a woman who has no skills.”

Thea stared at her in indignation. “I should not have to tell every passerby on the streets that I’ve never had a man.”

“You should have told this passerby…if you wished a comfortable stay here.” Jasmine proceeded down the stairs. “You may tend my lord. Perhaps you should even couple with him. Once your veil is broken, he will lose interest and Tasza’s skills will shine in contrast.”

“How many times must I tell you? I don’t wish to couple with him.”

“My lord’s chamber is two doors from your own. I will have Omar bring the water. You will find unguents and salves in the chest in the corridor.”

Thea stared after her in helpless exasperation. She felt as if she had tried to stop the flow of a river by standing in its path. Jasmine’s sudden reversal in attitude was just as bewildering as everything else at Dundragon.

Well, at least Jasmine would not hinder her today. Heaven knew if she would change her mind again tomorrow. Thea turned and ran up the steps to find the unguents.

Ware was already in the tub when Thea came into his chamber. His eyes were closed and his head was resting on the high back of the tub.

Kadar, sitting cross-legged on the hearth across the room, smiled at her. “Caution. His temper is not good. If you don’t please him, he’ll probably drown you.”

“I’ve never seen him when his temper was good.” She came brusquely forward, set the salves and unguents on the floor, and moved a stool beside the tub. “So I’ve nothing with which to compare.” She tossed a handful of sweet-smelling leaves into the water. “But at least he will have a pleasant scent.”

“Go away,” Ware said, without opening his eyes. “I have servants aplenty to bathe me.”

“You may bathe yourself. That’s not why I’m here.” She sat down on the stool and poured oil into her palms. “This will hurt at first.”

Kadar instantly rose to his feet. “I think I’ll go order supper brought up. I detest the sound of screams.”

“Coward,” Ware said.

“Sage,” Kadar corrected as he left the room.

Thea’s fingers dug into the bunched muscles of Ware’s neck.

“Ouch!” He tried to turn his head to glare at her.

“Stay still.” Her fingers dug deeper. “The muscles will ease presently.”

“Presently?” He flinched. “You’re trying to torture me.”

“If I were trying to torture you, I’d leave you with these knots. Now be silent and let me work.”

“I’ll have bruises tomorrow.”

“They won’t last. I had bruises when I woke yesterday, and today they’re fading.”

“Bruises? Where?”

“My shoulders. You were not gentle the night you found me.”

He scowled. “I think you mean to make me feel guilt. I saw no bruises.”

Heat rushed through her as she remembered that insolent glance. “You weren’t looking at my shoulders.”

He was silent a long time. “No, I wasn’t. I was looking at your—Christ! Do you have a dagger back there? That felt like a knife thrust.”

“Good. The pain must come before the easing.”

“Are you sure you’re not just exacting vengeance?”

“I would not do that.” But she had to admit it gave her a certain amount of pleasure to have him helpless in her hands. “I believe in the payment of debts. You did me a great service. I must repay you.”

He gasped as another twinge of agony shot through him. “By trying to drive me mad with pain?”

“No, I told you that I would make you a gift. A tunic with embroidery so beautiful that it will stun everyone who sees it.”

“Keep your gift. I’m a plain man. I would never wear such a garment.”

She thought about it. “Then I’ll make you a banner. A warrior should have his own banner. What design should I embroider on it? A falcon?”

“It doesn’t matter. Save your efforts. I fight for gold, not glory.”

“A banner,” she said firmly. “And every knight in Christendom will envy you.”

“Then they would be fools,” he said with sudden violence. “I’m not a man to be envied.”

She paused in midmotion and then resumed kneading. “You are rich. You have a fine castle. Surely there are many who would envy you.”

He was silent.

“Well, at any rate, they’ll envy you your banner.”

His muscles relaxed a trifle. “You’re certain you can create something so wondrous?”

“Of course.”

He chuckled. “I should not have left you alone with Kadar. He, too, believes he can work miracles.”

“Not miracles. I just do splendid work.” The muscles of his neck were loosening, so she lessened the pressure. “And one should not be modest about one’s work. Someone might believe you less than you are.”

“A terrible fate.”

“Your neck is feeling better?”

“Yes. You have strong hands.” He added deliberately, “Not the hands of a lady who sits at an embroidery loom.”

“I knotted the silk in carpets when I was a child. My mother persuaded Nicholas to let her train me in embroidery, but it was almost too late. She had to work three years to straighten the muscles of my hands and fingers.”

“Straighten?”

“Children’s hands and bones are not fully formed. When they’re set to working the carpets for long hours, the muscles become cramped and twisted and the hands crippled for anything but the task.”

“Good God. Then why do they set children to do such work?”

“Children’s hands are small and the task is delicate,” she said matter-of-factly. “Everyone uses children for the carpet making.”

“And will you?”

“No, I will not use children at all.” She added with satisfaction, “The muscles are almost unknotted. Now it should begin to feel good.”

“It does.” He was silent a moment. “How did your mother work with your hands?”

“Like this. Every evening she pulled and stretched and kneaded. We were given a rest from the embroidery loom every four hours, and she made me open and close them over and over.”

“Why the devil did she let them put you to that task to begin with?” he asked harshly.

“I think you’re eased.” She started to remove her hands. “I’ll tell Omar to bring more hot—”

His hand shot over his shoulder and caught her wrist, his gaze still straight ahead. “Why?”

“Let me go.”

He pulled her hand forward until it was in his field of vision. “Small,” he murmured. “Clean, well shaped.” His thumb rubbed one of the calluses on her forefinger. “But strong. I like your hands, Thea of Dimas.” He brought it to his lips and lazily licked the palm. “I would have been very angry if they had been crippled.”

She could scarcely breathe. “You would not have known. We would never have met. I’d never have dared to come to Damascus if I’d had only the skills I learned as a child.”

He licked her palm again. “Why would your mother be so cruel as to let her child be used so brutally?”

“My mother wasn’t cruel.” Each time he touched her palm, a strange tingling jolt went up her arm and through her body. “Don’t…do that.”

“The oil on your hands is lemon flavored. I like the taste. Why did she let you be put to that task?”

“She…had no choice. She begged Nicholas to—” She was saying too much. Dear heavens, she was feeling too much. She jerked her hand away and jumped to her feet. “Why are you questioning me? That time has nothing to do with now. My mother is dead.”

“How did she die?”

“Of the fever. Several women died that winter.” She moved hurriedly toward the door. “I will get Omar….”

“Thea.”

She stopped with her hand on the door. “I will answer no more questions.”

“I…thank you.”

Her gaze flew back to him. His big body gleamed like burnished bronze in the water, but it was his expression that held her. Gentleness from the beast?

He quickly lowered his gaze to the water. He said gruffly, “Though I had no need of your services. I was only a little stiff.” He scowled. “Well, maybe more than a little.”

A smile tugged at her lips. He sounded like a cross little boy.

“And I don’t want Omar.” He reached for the soap. “Send me Tasza.”

Her smile vanished. He was not a little boy. He was a rude, lustful brute who used women only as toys.

“As you wish.” The door slammed behind her.

Jasmine was waiting in the hall. Her gaze immediately went to the damp bodice of Thea’s gown. “You are wet. Did he put his hands on you?”

“No,” she said curtly. “I was leaning against the tub. He didn’t touch me.” Yet she felt as if he had. Her breasts felt heavy and ripe, and the palm of her hand still tingled. “I told you that was not my intention.” She turned and moved down the hall toward her chamber. “He wants Tasza.”

“Good. I will go tell her.”

Thea closed her door, then moved toward the window and threw open the shutters. The breeze rushed in, cooling her hot cheeks. Why did she respond in this manner to that man? He was rough and had the barbaric sensuality of a wild animal and was everything that was alien to her. She had thought that if ever a man were to draw her, he would be someone kind and gentle, handsome and smooth as a length of Chinese silk. Ware of Dundragon was more like strong, supple leather studded with spikes. It had been a mistake to try to help him.

Yet she could not have done anything else. He had kept his promise and given her what she needed at evidently some risk to himself. She owed him far more than a momentary easing.

“I’ve brought you another gown.”

Thea turned to see Jasmine standing in the open doorway. The woman shut the door, came forward, and draped a blue cotton gown on the back of the chair. “You cannot wear that one every day. You will soil it, as you did in Lord Ware’s bath.”

“It’s almost dry now.” That sounded ungracious so she sought to make amends. Quickly glancing at the gown, she commented, “It’s a pretty color.”

“Lord Ware gave it to Tasza, but it does not become her.”

“Tasza?” Thea repeated, startled. “She offered me her gown?”

Jasmine shrugged. “She won’t miss it. She has many gowns. When Lord Ware brings a woman to his house from the village, he gives her many presents. When she returns to Jedha, she has a fine dowry with which to make a good marriage.”

“But would a man accept a woman who—” She stopped, afraid to offend Jasmine. It was clear the servant had a fondness for Tasza. “In Constantinople men prize women who are untouched.”

Jasmine smiled with a touch of bitterness. “It is the same here, but Jedha is a very poor village. We have no fertile land, and before Lord Ware came to Dundragon, we barely managed to eke out a living in these barren hills. He took the young men and gave them fine armor and taught them how to fight. He gave the older men and women a place here as his servants.”

“And brought the younger women here to be his lemen,” Thea said dryly.

“Well, why not? He never demands a woman who is wed or a girl who has never known a man. Our women come eagerly to Dundragon. He uses them only for a few months before he sends them back with enough gold to assure that they’ll have suitors aplenty.”

“Is that what will happen to Tasza?”

“No!” Jasmine said quickly. “Tasza is different. She will stay here. She knows how to please him in ways the others cannot. He won’t grow tired of her.”

“It’s true she is very beautiful.”

Jasmine proudly lifted her chin. “Yes, and I taught her to play the lyre. She’s not very clever, but she has a good heart and is very determined. She will see that he chooses to keep her here and send the others away.”

“She does not want the dowry?”

Jasmine abruptly turned away. “Take off your gown and try on this one. Since Tasza is bigger in the hips, it may need an adjustment.”

Thea shook her head. “I could not take her gown without her permission.”

“You have my permission. It is enough.”

Thea shook her head again.

Jasmine stared at her in exasperation. “You’re very stubborn. I have the right to give you the gown. Tasza would not even be here if I hadn’t brought her to my lord’s attention.”

“It is still her gown and not yours.”

“Tasza would give you the gown if I told her to do so. She’s a good, obedient daughter.”

Thea’s eyes widened in shock. “She’s your daughter?”

Jasmine nodded curtly. “Now, try on the gown.”

Thea abstractedly stripped off her white gown and slipped the blue one over her head. “And you brought her to Lord Ware’s bed?”

“You think I made a whore of my own daughter.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to say it,” Jasmine said bitterly. “You don’t know what it is to be so poor that you can’t find even a bit of bread to put on the table. I didn’t make Tasza a whore. I didn’t even know she had sold herself on the streets of Jedha until it was done. She did it to make sure that we would both survive.” She paused. “She had not even reached her twelfth year.”

Thea felt sick. “There was nothing you could do?”

“My husband died the year after she was born, and we had no man to help us. There was only one kind of work available for a woman alone in Jedha.” She stared defiantly into Thea’s eyes. “I also sold myself, but I grew older and men like young, smooth bodies. Tasza decided it was her duty to help me as I had helped her.”

“I am sorry,” Thea said gently. “I meant no offense.”

“I’m not offended. I’m proud of my Tasza. I don’t care that the women of the village flinch from us as if we were lepers.” She pinched the material of the gown on either side of Thea’s waist. “As I thought, it will need to be pinned. Take it off again.”

Thea obeyed and handed her the gown. “Does Lord Ware know she is your daughter?”

Jasmine shook her head. “At first I feared he might think my judgment clouded when I called her to his attention. Now it would not matter, but he does not need to know.”

“What will you do if Lord Ware does send her back to the village?”

“It will not happen. It cannot happen.”

Thea was not as sure as she remembered the offhand manner with which he had spoken to Tasza. “But you said he would give her a fine dowry.”

“Are you stupid?” Jasmine asked fiercely. “She’s not like those other women. She’s a whore. Men do not wed whores, no matter how high the dowry. She could only live on it until it was gone and then go back to the streets. She must stay here, where she’s safe.”

Safe with Ware of Dundragon? The woman was truly grasping at straws, but Thea could hardly blame her. Thea had never thought of her own lot as fortunate, but she had never been hungry, and she had learned a way to earn her bread that wasn’t dependent on selling her body. She had never realized how sheltered she had been at the House of Nicholas. “I hope she will be safe wherever she is.”

Jasmine took the gown and draped it over her arm. “I will see that she’s safe.” She moved toward the door. “I will have the gown ready for tomorrow.”

“But ask Tasza if I may have it.”

Jasmine frowned in disgust. “Very well. Though it’s a waste of time. She always does what I tell her.”

“I meant it, you know.” Ware bit into a wing. “You should leave Dundragon. You’ve been here too long.”

Kadar shook his head. “I’ve not been here long enough. If I had, your manners would be too polished to try to cast me out so rudely. You clearly still have need of me.”

“I don’t need anyone.” Ware pushed the plate away and leaned back in his chair. “Where’s the woman?”

“She declined the honor of our presence. She prefers to eat in her chamber. You must have been particularly surly to our guest. She was only trying to help you.”

“I wasn’t surly.” He thought about it and then added, “For me.”

“Which doesn’t say a great deal.” Kadar reached for his wine. “Did she help you?”

“Yes.” By the time she had finished, his muscles had felt so soft and melting, he had thought he would dissolve into the water. But that had changed in the space of a heartbeat after he had taken her hand. By the saints, he had not been soft then. “But Tasza helped me more.” It was not true. Tasza had eased his lust, but he had been left curiously unsatisfied. “I want you to take the Greek woman to Damascus day after tomorrow. Find her a place in a fine shop and stay with her until you’re sure she’s safely established.” He took a drink of wine. “And then go your own way. Don’t come back here.”

“This is a fine wine,” Kadar said. “I don’t think I could be content with a lesser stock now.” He moved to the hearth and curled up in his favorite place before the fire. “I taught Thea to play chess today. She’s very clever but has curious gaps in learning. She can cipher and read and write. She speaks Greek, Arabic, and French. Yet she has never learned to play a game, never heard a troubadour tell a tale, never seen anyone dance or danced herself. She knows what is going on in the world, but it’s as if she learned it behind the walls of a convent.”

Ware’s hand tightened on the goblet as he remembered Thea’s matter-of-fact words regarding her work on the carpets at the House of Nicholas. “Not unless the good sisters’ discipline is crueler than I can imagine.”

“And I’ve told you I think she’s running away from something,” Kadar said. “If she’s as skilled as she claims, she might be considered valuable enough to follow.”

“Once she’s safe in Damascus, she’s no longer my responsibility. I’ll cut all ties.”

“Some ties cannot be broken. You saved her life.”

“I’ll cut all ties,” he repeated.

“Vaden held his hand,” Kadar said softly. “It could mean the danger is over.”

Ware knew that Kadar didn’t understand. He had tried to warn him without telling him too much but had succeeded only in making Kadar believe the threat less than it was. The danger would never be over, even when Ware was dead. “Go away from Dundragon. Go to Egypt. Go north to China. Just get away from me.”

As if he hadn’t spoken, Kadar said, “I think we must find out what threatens her before I take her to Damascus. It should take at least a week. I would hate to have you be forced to go rescue her at some later time.”

“I would not be forced to—” He broke off as he met Kadar’s bland gaze. It was no use, he realized in frustration. Kadar would think and do exactly as he pleased. “You’re leaving day after tomorrow.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’m going to the battlements.”

“And I’ll stay here by the fire and drink this fine wine.” He leaned back against the stones of the fireplace. “And plan how to convince Thea it’s safe to confide in us…in the next week.”

No fire burned on the third mountain.

Ware’s hands slowly clenched into fists at his sides as he looked out into the darkness.

Something was wrong.

Kadar would have said Vaden’s absence was proof that the danger was lessening.

He would have been wrong. The danger never lessened, it only changed.

Where had Vaden gone?

“I’m disappointed in you.” Grand Master Gerard de Ridfort frowned. “There has been no opportunity?”

Vaden didn’t answer directly. “He keeps himself surrounded by soldiers. Wouldn’t you?”

“Every day that he lives the threat grows. He must have already told this Kadar.”

“Perhaps.”

“And what of the other members of the household?”

Vaden shrugged. “No danger. Ware’s officers fear him—they don’t love him. He keeps women at the castle for use but never longer than three months. Then they’re sent back to their village with a handsome reward. He keeps himself distant from the servants. He keeps himself distant from everyone.”

“There is danger,” he muttered. “Then you have nothing new to report?”

For a fleeting instant Vaden remembered the puzzling branches lying on the ground before he shook his head. “Everything is the same.”

The Grand Master’s fist crashed down on the table. “It must not remain the same. Do you hear me? He must be killed. It’s been two years. It should have been done by now. I chose you because I thought you his match. I didn’t know you were a fool.”

“A fool?” Vaden said softly.

“A fool and an ill-bred whoreson who—” He broke off as he met Vaden’s gaze. He took a step back. “You dare to threaten me?”

“Threaten? Have I uttered threats? I’m merely standing here.” Vaden inclined his head in mock obeisance and turned on his heel. “But now I must return to my duty. I’m sure Ware misses me when I’m gone.”

“Don’t disappoint me again, Vaden,” Gerard de Ridfort snarled. “It’s been too long.”

“Then set someone else to play cat to the mouse.”

“You know I cannot. The matter is too delicate to give to anyone else.” He paused. “Your father will be very proud of you if you succeed in this task.”

“I will succeed in time. My time.” Vaden left the tent.

He paused outside to breathe deep of the clean, cool air. He always felt suffocated when in the Grand Master’s presence. By all the saints, de Ridfort was a vainglorious fool, full of fanaticism and pride. Did he think Vaden would be swayed by that last remark? He was not doing this for the Temple or for his father. He was doing it because it had to be done. God help them all if Ware’s death was left in the hands of the Grand Master.

The Grand Master threw himself into a chair and gazed broodingly at the door through which Vaden had just passed.

Arrogant whoreson. How dare he speak to him with such a lack of respect? He was the Grand Master. Kings and princes curried Gerard de Ridfort’s favor, and this knight with no heritage or name had looked at him with contempt.

After Ware was dead, Vaden would follow.

Vaden’s father might question the death, but it would be explained as a necessary thing—that Vaden knew too much and had become careless….

But at the moment Ware of Dundragon was the problem. It was maddeningly irritating that the Grand Master himself could not touch the traitor. Ware was a thorn pricking him, and he would no longer tolerate it.

Dundragon might be too powerful to be overcome at this time, but de Ridfort must do something to show that bastard that he was not out of reach of the temple.