Iris Johansen: The Treasure

Trust. Shock jolted through her. Ware was her friend, and yet she feared he would destroy her sister with his fickleness. If she distrusted Ware, was Kadar right about her lack of trust in him? She had always thought she knew herself, but she had deliberately blinded herself to-

“Selene?” Thea was at the door, gazing at her inquiringly.

“Coming.” She moved quickly across the room. She would think of this more later. There was the rest of the evening to get through now, and she must help Thea all she could to make up for her lapse.

Trust…

MY GOD, he wanted her.

Kadar’s hand tightened on his goblet, his gaze following Selene as she moved about the hall.

She was being meek and polite as an angel sent from heaven. Talking to the old ladies sitting at the side of the room, trailing behind Thea, and helping with the servants.

Not once had she looked at him since she returned to the room with Thea, but he knew she was as aware of him as he was of her.

The awareness was always there. It had been there from the beginning. Since the first time he saw her in Nicholas’s house, her thin back scarred from that bastard’s whip, he felt a bond he had never felt before for anyone.

Why was he still here? The little devil was not going to look at him, and she had evidently decided not to further provoke him.

Tonight.

He had no confidence she would give up entirely. She was as stubborn and determined as Thea and far more single-minded. It was probably best if he left Montdhu for a while. Perhaps when he returned she would be able to give him what he wanted.

Or more likely he would toss this damnable caution aside and forget everything but taking her to bed. Why not do it now? It shouldn’t be so important to him. Nothing was perfect. His life had been full of compromises. He had grown up on the streets of Damascus, the bastard son of a Frank who had taken his Armenian mother and left her alone and with child. He had indulged in every kind of wickedness and dark pleasure, from the whorehouses of Damascus to the band of assassins led by Sinan, the Old Man of the Mountain. He knew all about filth and death and the few precious moments that made life worthwhile.

Then Selene had come into his life, only a child but touching, bonding with him, stubbornly holding back the darkness. It was a gift beyond anything he had ever hoped to possess. He should accept what Selene could give and be content. But, dammit, he wanted this one thing in their lives to be without blemish.

She had paused beneath a torch; her hair shimmered in its flickering light. She would never be the beauty Thea was, but her spirit lit this smoky hall like a thousand torches. He wanted to warm his hands before that fire, hold her, teach her…

God, he was thickening, hardening as he looked at her.

He couldn’t stand this. He would cross the hall and hold out his hand to her, take her from these people and make-

He muttered a curse and strode out of the hall.

The fresh air did nothing to cool him where he needed cooling. He would probably not sleep this night. It would serve him well. He had always thought martyrs deserved their fate, and he was being disgustingly noble.

“Lord Kadar?”

He turned to see young Haroun, Ware’s page, hurrying toward him. “What is it?”

“A ship has docked in the harbor.”

He stiffened. “Our harbor?”

“No, the harbor at Dalkeith, where we first landed when we came to this land. Robert sighted it and rode to give us word.”

It had come. They had always feared the Knights Templar would discover Ware was not dead and pursue him. “Only one ship?”

Haroun nodded.

One ship was not bad. The castle was well fortified and Ware had kept his men battle-ready. “Did Robert say who captained the ship?”

“Ali Balkir.” Haroun moistened his lips. “It is the Dark Star, Lord Kadar. The ship that brought us here.”

Sinan.

Kadar felt the familiar chill grip him. There had been times when he had almost forgotten Sinan. No, that wasn’t true. He had buried the memory, but the Old Man was like an underground river, ever present, an eternal danger. Ruler of a band of assassins whose skill and power had intimidated even the great Saladin, Sinan could never be dismissed so lightly.

“The captain sent a message. He wishes you to come and meet with him.”

It was what he had expected. He nodded. “I’ll go at once. Have my horse saddled.”

“Do you wish me to come with you?”

The boy was afraid. Who could blame him? Balkir was an arm of Sinan, and the entire Christian world feared the Old Man of the Mountain. “No, I’ll go alone.”

Haroun was clearly relieved. “I’ll go tell Lord Ware. Perhaps he’ll want to accompany you.”

“No.”

“But I must. He will want to know about the ship.”

“The Dark Star is no threat to him. Why should he be troubled when he has guests? I’ll tell him myself-later. Tell Robert he’s to return to the harbor at once.”

“You’re sure there is no danger?”

“Lord Ware is in no danger, and neither is Montdhu,” Kadar repeated.

Haroun gave him a troubled glance but turned and ran back toward the stables.

Ware would be in a fury when he found out that Kadar had kept the news from him. Perhaps Kadar would tell him later. He would make a decision after seeing Balkir. It could be safe. Maybe he wasn’t here for the reason Kadar suspected.

Kadar!

His head lifted and his gaze went toward the south, where the Dark Star lay at harbor. Imagination. He could not have heard the Old Man call him from halfway across the world. It was clearly impossible.

But not for the man who always stood in Sinan’s shadow. Nasim, the master, the trainer of assassins, the man who was only waiting for the chance to become as powerful as Sinan. Kadar had seen many mysterious happenings that boggled the mind connected with Nasim.

A chill went through him at the thought. Nonsense. Nasim was only a phantom from the past. Sinan had not even mentioned him on that last trip to Maysef. It was Sinan who had sent the Dark Star, and Kadar had always been able to deal with him.

Kadar had spoken the truth when he had told Haroun there was no threat to Montdhu. Sinan had no interest in Ware or Thea or Selene as anything but tools. Kadar could keep them all safe.

All he had to do was answer the summons.

It was no use trying to sleep.

Selene swung her feet to the floor, wrapped a cover about her naked body, and moved across the room to the window. The stones were cool beneath her feet. It had grown chilly now that midnight had come and gone.

She gazed out into the darkness. Kadar was out there somewhere. He had left far before the evening had come to an end. She hadn’t seen him go, but she had sensed the loss. It was always as if a flame had gone out when he left a room, everything drained of life. Where had he gone? To the stables to dice with Haroun and the other men? Maybe to the Last Hope. He had a chamber here at the castle, but he often spent the night on board his ship.

Was there a woman with him? He never brought his lemans to the castle, but the ship…

Rage seared through her and she quickly blocked the thought. No use to torture herself with imaginings. She had found out the reason Kadar held her at bay, and she had found out something about herself as well.

So what if she was wary and lacking in trust? What did he expect? She and Thea had been born slaves in Nicholas’s House of Silk in Constantinople. They had spent most of their childhood in the house of women, laboring from dawn to dusk at the looms. The only trust they had learned at Nicholas’s was to trust that the lash would fall if they failed in their tasks or tried to escape captivity. Why could Kadar not accept that in her? She couldn’t give what she didn’t have.