Lion's Bride - Iris Johansen [2]
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