Warrior's Song (Medieval Song 1)

“He is carrying on like a damned woman,” Payn said, then realized what he’d said. “Nay, that isn’t true, is it? Not any damned woman, in any case. However, I cannot imagine—damnation, forget that.”

Chandra lightly punched his shoulder and laughed.

“You look as if you swallowed a prune,” Joanna said to Chandra.

“Nay, I was just wishing we had word from Haifa. It has been nearly a week without news.”

Eleanor, arranged comfortably on thick, soft cushions in Ali ad-Din’s bathing room, said easily, “They will send word soon, Chandra. There is little to fear. My lord told me before they left that the Saracens had only a loose hold on the city and would likely flee at the sight of our army.”

The slave girl who had been soaping Chandra rose at a word from Beri and poured a jug of warm, perfumed water over her. Chandra sighed with pleasure and slithered into the cool bathing pool. As was her habit, she floated in the water, listening to the giggling Joanna and the chattering slave girls. When she opened her eyes, she saw Beri staring down at her, an odd, assessing look in her dark eyes. She stood up, pulled her hair over her shoulder, and twisted out the water.

Beri handed her a towel. “Come, this time I have a very special perfumed oil for you.”

“Will it remove this ugly scar?” Chandra asked, looking at the jagged ridge of flesh on her arm.

“Nay, but it will make men wild to be near you.”

Chandra gave her a twisted smile. “It is not something I wish.”

“Perhaps you should,” Beri said.

Chandra stretched out on her stomach and felt the warm oil trickle down her back until a slave girl began to rub it lightly into her flesh. She turned her face toward Beri. “Why did you say that?”

Beri shrugged. “I told you once that I did not understand. You are beautiful, your body glows with health, and you are not at all ill tempered.”

“You have never seen me angry, Beri.”

“You are proud. That is different, and perhaps that is what I do not understand. You must take care. There is a man who wishes you ill—Sir Eustace de Leybrun is his name. I heard that he was spreading rumors that my master had given me to Sir Jerval as payment for his help against the Genoese. He wishes to hurt both you and your husband.”

Rumors that Jerval had bedded Beri? She wanted to know more, but there was no time because Eleanor called out, “Chandra? There is a message just delivered. We have taken Haifa, and our husbands are all safe.”

Chandra gazed blankly toward Eleanor, who was waving a letter a slave girl had given her. “Thank God,” she said. “Thank you, Beri, for giving me warning.” She paused a moment, and smiled. “Actually, I believe I lost my pride when I saw my husband wounded. I won’t let Eustace or anyone harm him again.” She rose from the table and allowed a slave girl to help her dress.

She was aware of Beri watching her until she passed out of the bathing room with Eleanor.

“I am returned, hale and hearty, Chandra. Stop your pacing. I am not hurt—indeed, everything went easily.”

She whirled about to see Jerval stride into the tent. She only stared at him.

“Are you surprised that I am clean? And out of my armor?”

She was at his side in a moment, feeling his arms, his shoulders. She fell to her knees, her hands on his legs. “You are all right? Your side did not pain you?”

“Aye, I am fit again.” He stopped abruptly, staring at her. “You look pale. What is the matter?”

“I want you. Right now. I want you to kiss me.”

He believed his eyes would cross. He was instantly hard, harder than he’d ever been in his life. He was on her in just a moment more. He lifted her against him, pressing her tightly to him.

She clutched at his shoulders and felt the power of him, felt the urgency of his need for her. His mouth was gentle, his hands lightly stroking, yet she knew he was holding himself back, that he was in control. She didn’t want him to be in control. She wanted him to be as wild as she was. She rubbed herself against him.

Ev

en as he said, “Our clothes, Chandra,” she was tearing at the fastenings on her gown. He laughed, slapping her hands away, and stripped her within moments. Then it was her turn. She gave him a siren’s smile, and once again he believed he would lose control. It was very close.

“Lie beside me,” he said, and she believed him to be in pain. When she would have spoken, he lightly placed his fingertips against her lips. They lay facing each other, and for a moment, he feared to touch her, for if he did, he would be on her and deep inside her. He stared into her eyes, smoky and vague. Beautiful eyes, a deep blue, shimmering like the sea at dawn.

“Why do you stare at me?”