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“How kind of you.”

She was now at eye level with his lower body, and she tried to keep herself from staring at him. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if you garbed yourself?”

“No.” He sipped his wine. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping? Kadar will be upset if you lose strength.”

“I couldn’t sleep until I saw you.”

“Yet you say you don’t wish to couple with me.”

She repressed the flare of annoyance. “Women are not only for coupling.”

He leaned back and gazed at her from beneath half-closed lids. “Not all women. But you’re very suited for the sport.” Frowning, he gazed at the thick single braid that lay on her left shoulder. “I don’t like to see your hair bound. I want to see it flowing around you as it was this afternoon.”

She flushed as she remembered that scene upstairs. “I always wear it this way.”

“Take it down.”

“It gets in my way.”

“If you want me to listen, take it down.”

She clenched her teeth in exasperation. Perhaps she should leave him after all. Yet the demand was more sulky than arbitrary. Like that of a little boy who was being denied his way. It would do no harm to let him have his will in this. She untied the cord, loosened her braid, and shook her head to let her hair flow free.

He nodded approvingly. “Very good.” His gaze went to her white cotton gown, and she stiffened in alarm.

But he only commented. “Ugly. It swallows you.”

She was sure that had been Jasmine’s intention, but since it had suited her, she had made no objection. “It’s clean and neat.”

“You looked better without—”

“I’ve come to ask a favor,” she said quickly to veer him away from that direction.

“I don’t grant favors. Ask Kadar.”

“I have to ask you. I have no choice. It must be done at once, and I—”

“I’m out of wine.” He stood up and moved toward a pitcher on the table across the room. “Go on, I’m listening. Did I tell you that you have a very pleasant voice? Like honey…”

She could not take her eyes from him. Strange that such a giant of a man would move with the grace of a lion. If he was a beast, he was a truly magnificent one. His unbound mane tumbled about massive shoulders that bore the scars of battle. His thighs and calves were thick and powerful, stomach and buttocks lean and corded with muscle. A triangle of dark hair thatched his chest, and another circled his manhood.

He glanced up as he poured his wine. “Well, did I?”

It took her a moment to remember what he had asked her. Something about her voice. “No, you compared me to an asp.”

“Well, how do I know if it would be bitter to be stung by an asp? Perhaps it would be honey sweet until the death throes.” He set the pitcher down and strolled back to her. “What do you think?”

“I think I wouldn’t like to taste the sting to see.”

He sat back down. “Neither would I. Sometimes when I’m weary unto death, I think it would be good to go to a final rest.” He suddenly smiled recklessly. “But since I doubt if there is rest in hell, I’ll not chance it until I’m forced.”

She stared at him, shocked. “Surely you believe that you’ll be taken to heaven. You’re a soldier, and the Pope has promised all Crusaders they will receive forgiveness and divine reward.”

“And in return they slaughter the infidel and send plunder to Rome.” He stared down into the wine in his goblet. “Do you know, I cannot even remember all the men I’ve killed in my lifetime. Once when I was drunk, I tried to recall and count them, but there were too many. Somehow I don’t think God will be as forgiving as the Pope.” He shifted his shoulders as if throwing off a burden and drained his glass. “So I must enjoy myself while I’m still on this earth.”

Why did she feel sorry for him? He was a brute and a barbarian who cared nothing for anyone’s needs but his own. The weariness and sadness she saw was probably only induced by the wine. Yet she found herself saying gently, “I’m sure you’re wrong. God does forgive.”

He raised his eyes. “Will he forgive Hassan for killing your father?”

She stiffened