Captive Rose by Miriam Minger Page A

hair to her tiny feet, she was a close replica of
Leila, but she was older, by twice as much, though the years had not marred the
ethereal loveliness of her face and delicately curved figure.
    " Shhh , my lord! You will
bring my husband's entire household down upon us," the woman admonished
him in English, looking up at him with eyes that were without fear and
glistening with unshed tears. " 'Tis truly a
miracle! You are safe . . . and you are here! God has answered my prayers more
abundantly than I could ever have hoped." She stepped back, her gaze
sweeping over him. "You have grown into a man, a knight. The last time I
saw you, you were one of Ranulf de Lusignan's young pages and could barely lift a
sword."
    Guy felt as if he had stumbled into a dream. Perhaps
the opium had affected his brain! He was afraid that if he spoke a single word
this beautiful woman, the courtyard, everything would disappear, and he would
find himself in prison again, awaiting death.
    "Come." The woman tugged urgently on his arm
with what felt like a flesh and blood hand. "We cannot talk here. Curious
eyes and flapping ears abound, always ready for mischief. Come with me, my
lord. Please, we must hurry."
    Strangely, Guy did not protest. He went with her to a
narrow archway just off the courtyard, ducking his head as she led him into a
softly lit room. He took his eyes from her for an instant, his widened gaze
cautiously circling the opulent interior decorated in gold, silver, and
precious stones. He had never seen such luxury!
    "You are safe here, Lord de Warenne ,
at least for a while," he heard the woman say, the sound of his name
shattering the bewildered haze that had settled over him.
    His eyes fixed on her face and he grabbed her arms, as
slender and delicate as water reeds. "Are you a witch, a sorceress, or an
unearthly vision? How do you know the name de Lusignan ?"
    "I am none of those things, I can assure you, good
knight," she answered, her gossamer veil slipping from her hair as she
shook her head. "You seek my daughter, Leila. She told me about you many
days ago when you were first captured. I am Eve Gervais .
Mayhap you remember me, though you were only a child."
    Guy's hands slid from her arms and dropped to his
sides. Eve Gervais . Surely he was seeing the phantom
of a woman long thought dead. "Eve . . . wife to William Gervais of the Welsh Marches? You left for the Holy Land
twenty years ago and—
    "Never returned," Eve finished quietly. "Yes,
I am she."
    Astounded, Guy searched her face, wondering how he
could not have seen it. Leila's mother! The two women were as physically alike
as only mother and daughter could be.
    "What of William?" he asked, though he
immediately sensed her answer from her fleeting expression of sorrow.
    "Dead these many years." She swept a slim
hand around her lavish surroundings. "I have since been blessed with
another husband, Leila's adopted father. The physician, Sinjar Al-Aziz."
    Guy was dumbstruck, his mind reeling.
    God's blood, then Leila was no slave! She had lied to
him. Why? Perhaps she was no Christian either, regardless of the zunnar around her waist, though it was clear from Eve's
words that she herself practiced the true faith. Yet she was married to an
infidel . . .
    "Ah, there is so much I could tell you, my lord,
but time is our enemy this night," Eve said urgently, breaking into his
thoughts. "My son, Roger Gervais . Is he yet
alive? You and he were both pages under Ranulf de Lusignan , who became Roger's guardian when we left for the
Holy Land. You were friends."
    Guy felt as if a fist had just slammed into his gut. He
had been so caught up in everything Eve was telling him, he had not even
considered her maternal connection with Roger Gervais .
    Friends? Yes, he and Roger had been friends . . . once.
    That had changed eight years ago when they were forced
to take sides in a barons' rebellion that threatened to tear England apart.
Roger chose to ride with Simon de Montfort, earl of