The Treasure_ A Novel - Iris Johansen [38]
“He already knows.”
She stared at him in astonishment.
“We’ve been watched since early this morning. It has to be Tarik.”
“And you’re still going to the castle tomorrow night?”
He nodded.
“Dear God, you’re truly a madman.” She tried to steady her voice. “Why?”
“He’s waiting for me.”
“Then let him wait.”
“But that would be no challenge at all.”
“Damn your challenge.”
He went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “I’ll tell Balkir and his men to wait for me near the south wall. He should leave only a token guard on you and Haroun. It may be the best opportunity for you to escape. Run to the woods and hide. I’ll find you.”
She was supposed to leave while he was in Tarik’s castle? “No.”
“It will be better for me not to have to worry about you.”
“I want you to worry about me. You should worry. It’s your fault we’re here. Maybe if you worry enough you won’t be so eager to take challenges from men who—” She broke off and drew a deep breath. “I’ll wait to leave until you come back.”
If he came back.
“I’ll come back,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “There’s something waiting here, but I don’t think it’s—” He shrugged. “But I could be wrong. Death has many masks to fool a man.”
Her hands clenched into fists. “Don’t you dare die. I won’t have it.”
“I’ll try to oblige you.” They had stopped beside her tent. “There’s something I have to ask you.”
“Then ask it.”
“Are you with child?”
“Would it stop you from going if I was?”
“No, but I’ll need to make plans and find a priest to wed us. I must take care of my child.”
He would make plans to keep her and the babe safe, but he would still go his own way, as he’d done that night at Montdhu. She would not have it. “I will not wed you. I’m not with child.”
“You’re certain?”
She was not at all certain. It was time for her flux, but she was often late and she had missed her time before. It could be true. “Of course I’m certain.”
His lips twisted. “I know I should be relieved, but I find I’m disappointed. I’ve been thinking of you with child of late, how you’d look, how you’d feel . . .” He pushed her into the tent and lifted her blanket. “Enough of this. Now lie down and go to sleep—if you can.”
“Of course I can.” She dropped to her knees on her pallet and jerked the blanket from his hands. “You don’t think I lie here worrying about you? I was just restless tonight.”
“You might ask yourself why. Was it concern, or did you hear what I—”
“Neither. It was caused by a bellyache from the rabbit stew I had for supper.” She snuggled down and closed her eyes.
His low laugh was full of amusement.
But when she opened her eyes a few minutes later, he was not laughing. He was kneeling by his blanket a few yards away from her tent. His head was lifted to the night sky.
Listening.
Kadar pulled himself up the final few yards and over the wall.
No guard.
Too easy.
He froze in place, his gaze raking the courtyard below. Soldiers were at the gate and on the far battlement, but not here.
Why?
It didn’t matter. He couldn’t stop now. The excitement was growing with every breath. He moved silently along the battlement, opened the oak door, and started down the long, twisting stairs.
No torch brightened the thick blackness, but he was accustomed to darkness. His hand tightened on the hilt of his dagger.
Where are you, Tarik? Around the next curve? Waiting at the bottom of the steps?
He was almost disappointed when he reached the foot of the stairs and encountered no one. He moved quickly down the hall.
Second door on the left, Nasim had said.
He stopped short.
The door was standing open.
“Come in. Come in.” The man’s deep voice issuing from the room was impatient. “I need to close this door. There’s a dreadful draft.”
Kadar moved warily forward.
“Hurry.”
“Tarik?”
“Of course. And have the courtesy to take your hand off that dagger. I’m not armed.”
Kadar was still to one side of the open door. How had Tarik known his hand was on the dagger hilt?