Lion's Bride - Iris Johansen [8]
“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…”
THE BASKET WAS STILL in the same place by her bed when she opened her eyes the next afternoon.
“You wish your bath now? It’s very late.”
Thea glanced at the corner from where the question, spoken in Arabic, had come.
A middle-aged dark-haired woman gowned in flowing blue cotton rose to her feet from a low cushion. “My name is Jasmine. I serve you while you’re here.” She bustled forward. “I will give you fruit to break your fast, then Lord Ware says you must have a bath. He demands everyone in the household bathe once a day.”
Sheepskin drawers. Kadar’s sly comment popped into her head, then was gone as Jasmine drew back the gauze cover. “Come. Do you need my help? Shall I bring the food to you?”
“No,” she answered in Arabic. She was not ready to be confronted by this new challenge of a servant for her. The idea was ridiculous. She sat up slowly, carefully. By the saints, she was stiff and sore. “I’ve no need of a servant. I’ll serve myself.”
Jasmine shook her head. “Lord Ware says I’m to serve you.” She glided across the room and stood behind a