Seducing the Knight (8 page)

She stepped beside him as he carefully lifted the lid from the chest. Inside were twelve formed and polished colored stones.

“What do they mean?” She set the lantern on the floor beside them.

With a grin, he sat back on his heels and pulled the
leather book from the folds of his robe. She moved to peer over his shoulder as he flipped the loose pages. When he came to a drawing of what appeared to be a ceremonial garment, he stopped.

“What is that?” she asked. “How does it relate to what we found?”

“These stones might not be the Ark of the Covenant, but they are a worthy find in and of themselves.” He lifted his gaze to hers. Excitement brightened his eyes. “These twelve stones are what were referred to in the Old Testament as the stones of fire. They represent the twelve tribes of Israel and were at one time set into the breastplate of the high priest. That high priest would have worn the breastplate to control the divine fire that was said to emanate from the ark.”

“So whoever controls the stones of fire controls the ark?” Jessamine cupped her hands over his. A spark passed between them at the intimate contact. It brought a soft gasp to her lips. She should pull her hands away, stand, anything to break the contact between them. Instead, she gazed into his piercing blue eyes and felt a strange lightness at her core.

“Aye,” he said softly. “But suddenly it’s not the ark or the stones that interest me, but something else entirely.” He abandoned the chest on the ground and stood, pulling her up with him until they faced each other, their bodies only a hairbreadth apart.

“Jessamine. We are entering dangerous territory.” The words seemed dredged up from his very soul as he pulled her even closer, his gaze on her lips.

She knew he didn’t mean the dangers of following the prophecy, but the dangerous way desire flared each time they touched.

“I like adventure,” she breathed.

No sooner had the words shivered past her lips than
his mouth descended. Shock trembled through her body. All her senses were centered on the feather-light pressure of his mouth, on the teasing, taunting dalliance of his tongue as it lingered against her lips, tasted, prepared her for what was to come.

He drew her closer, molding her to the hard contours of his body. His arms tightened and his lips slanted more forcefully over hers. Jessamine felt her knees weaken as her body became heavy and fluid as molten lead. The sensation slithered further into her with each silky, probing caress of his tongue.

Of their own accord, her fingers spread across the rough texture of his robe and inched higher, until she clung to the powerful breadth of his shoulders. She’d never experienced the surge of liquid heat that robbed her of anything but the desire to melt against him. She wanted more of this delicious madness. Her body grew tauter, tighter, with each stroke of his tongue.

With a groan, he broke free.

She inhaled sharply at the abruptness of his release. He didn’t pull away, just stood there with his face poised above hers. She couldn’t see much in the shadows of the room, but she sensed a shared feeling of surprise. She wondered if the thud of his heart meant he, too, had experienced a rush of warmth and pleasure.

She stared in fascination as he brought his fingers to her mouth, his index finger tracing the curve of her lower lip. “I apologize. I couldn’t resist.”

A shiver of desire tumbled through her at his confession. She pressed into his touch, seeking the warmth of his flesh on hers. “Kiss me again.”

He dropped his fingers from her lips and took a step back as if he no longer trusted himself to remain near her. “That wouldn’t be wise,” he said.

She nodded and took two steps back, wishing the
distance would quell her desire. Her heart hammered in her chest as she fisted her hands. “Because you’re a monk?”

“That is the last thing on my mind at the moment.”

Jessamine was stunned into silence by the harsh need in his voice. She gazed up into his face, saw the tension around his eyes, in his jaw, and knew what it cost him to hold himself back.

She found herself at a loss, uncertain what to do or how to proceed. It would be so easy to forget about the world outside this chamber, to step back into Alan’s arms and let whatever was supposed to happen next happen. Was that part of what the prophecy demanded of her? Was that what her newfound freedom allowed? Or was she giving in to her own wants and desires? Jessamine dropped her gaze to the stone floor as her swirling senses began to return to reality.

“What do we do next?” she asked. When she felt more in control of her emotions, she brought her gaze back to his. The shadows had returned to his eyes and his rigid stance made her heart ache. He appeared lonely somehow.

“Let’s return to the horse,” Alan said. “I didn’t plan anything beyond the treasury. I was certain we’d find the ark here.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Where else could we look? Petra appears to have many places where the ark could be hidden.”

He straightened, and any hint of vulnerability vanished. “I want to consult the Templar letters. There might be a clue there.” He bent down beside the wooden chest and carefully picked up each stone, placing them into a small leather pouch attached to his belt. When he’d gathered all the stones, he replaced the lid on the
chest. Standing, he returned the chest to its former resting place.

“It would be best if we left the chest behind. The stones will be safe here with me.” His hand moved to cover the pouch at his belt.

“Agreed,” Jessamine replied as he once again extended his hand to her. She braced herself for the flare of warmth, and there it was as she curled her fingers in his.

“Ready?” The tension in his body vanished, and his expression became heated once more.

She inhaled sharply at the realization that she wanted to kiss him again, just as strongly as before. She moistened her lips and nodded, not trusting her voice. Perhaps the cold, dark passageway would help her get her senses under control. But was it even possible to keep her head clear in the presence of this man? As she followed him back into the long dark void, she was starting to wonder.

After what seemed like forever, they emerged from the back of the chamber, then retraced their steps through the maze they’d traveled until they’d reached the tomb’s entrance.

They stepped outside. The hot afternoon air stole her breath as the sun’s rays beat down mercilessly. Alan released her hand, and she stood there for a long moment, torn between her desire to step back into the cool tomb and their need to continue the journey.

Alan seemed unaffected by the shift in temperature as he made his way to the horse and stroked the animal’s neck. Jessamine steeled her resolve and started forward, but a sudden fierce wind whipped up the dust of the valley floor, making the horse whinny and forcing Jessamine to cover her face with the crook of her arm. Hot, dry sand stung her eyes anyway. In the haze
of dust, an eerie, unearthly sound rose to a high keening pitch. In the bizarre cacophony of noise, Jessamine stumbled forward.

“Hold on!” Alan shouted from somewhere nearby. A heartbeat later, she found herself pulled against the solid wall of his chest. His arms sheltered her. His cheek rested against the top of her head. He pulled his robe up around their faces to protect them.

He held her there until the wind subsided, and the noise ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The world stilled as the sand settled. Alan lifted his head and looked down at her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and glanced up at the towering edifice of the treasury with its staring statues. A carved eagle with a fiery orb over its head seemed poised for flight, its outstretched wings lifelike in the shimmering air. “What was that?”

“I have no idea.”

They stared at each other.

“The trumpet of God,” a voice called from behind them.

Alan released her suddenly. He twisted toward the voice and drew his sword, stepping protectively in front of her. She peeked around Alan to see an old man standing at the entrance of the tomb. He was dressed in a long white robe with a hood that came up over his head. A white beard framed his face, making him appear more like an aged scholar than any kind of threat.

“Who are you?” Alan asked, his sword still held at the ready.

“Where did you come from?” Jessamine stepped beside Alan. She frowned. Hadn’t she seen this man back at the Temple of Jerusalem?

“Jessamine, get back,” Alan warned as he kept his eyes trained on the man.

Leaning heavily on a gnarled cane, the old man stepped through the tomb’s entrance and onto the sand that a moment before had swirled about them. “I’m just an old man who knows his way around the desert. You have nothing to fear from me.”

Alan widened his stance. “That’s for me to determine.”

The old man before Alan appeared harmless enough. But the knight wasn’t sure he trusted that impression. Nothing had gone as he’d expected since they’d arrived in this hot, arid land. Alan’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. He glanced at the old man, then at Jessamine, who still stood beside him, despite his warning to stay back. Both Jessamine and the old man watched him with curiosity.

Suddenly his weapon felt heavy in his hand. God’s teeth! Did Jessamine have to be so damn accepting of everyone and everything? Was she truly that innocent? The old man posed no current threat, but one could never be too careful. Especially when so much was at stake.

With a lingering glance at Jessamine, Alan gripped his sword. “What do you want, old man?”

“It’s not what I want, but what you need that brings me here.” His voice held a hint of challenge.

Alan frowned. The man’s dark gray eyes studied him. “And what is it you think we need?”

“A meal. A safe place to sleep.”

“A meal?” Jessamine repeated with longing in her voice.

The old man shot Alan a triumphant look.

Alan took Jessamine by the arm and led her to a private spot a few feet away from the old man. His shadow
fell across Jessamine’s face. “We cannot risk this, Jessamine.”

She stepped to the side, out of his shadow, and gazed up into his face. “What are you afraid of?”

Resentment surged to the forefront of his mind. He hadn’t revealed his fear, and yet somehow she’d seen it—she’d recognized his fear that he wouldn’t be able to keep her safe.

Her fingers slid to his cheek. He felt the warmth of her touch like a brand against his skin. Against his will, he leaned into her touch, allowed it to soothe his irrational fear. “He’s an old man,” Jessamine said in a soft, gentle voice. “And he’s right. We need to sleep, and I don’t know about you, but I’m quite hungry.”

Turning, he stared at the old man, and then, slowly, he brought his gaze back to her face. “All right. We’ll go with him.” He sheathed his sword.

She smiled and he felt the warmth of her joy in his chest.

“Thank you, Alan.” Jessamine dragged him back toward the stranger.

He was being a fool, he knew it, to trust the old man. But unlike the malice that radiated from the conde, and from the assassins, the old man had a sense of peace about him. Could Alan trust that feeling?

Alan’s hand moved to his sword as it had so many times in the past. He’d stay alert. Watch the old man. One sign of danger and he and Jessamine would be on their way. Alone.

Alan and Jessamine followed the old man beyond the treasury and through the ancient and deserted streets of Petra, until another series of elaborately carved edifices came into view. “These are the Royal Tombs,” the old man explained as he hobbled across the sand, moving
past three separate rock facades and coming to a stop before the fourth. “The Urn Tomb.” He moved to a long, narrow staircase that led past three stories of arches.

Alan guided their horse to an alcove in the rock that offered the animal some shade. He removed the saddle and set it on the ground beside the beast. From the saddlebag, he removed a portion of oats and offered it to the horse, then went in search of water. When he returned with water, he stroked the horse’s neck before hitching the saddlebag over his shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked Jessamine, and signaled for her to climb the stairs ahead of him. He wanted to be able to catch her should she slip on the uneven rock. They climbed slowly, following the pace set by the old man as he struggled up the steps with his cane.

The rock face was more of a golden brown here than it had been at the treasury. Vivid striations of color rippled through the sandstone walls—streaks of yellow, gray, pink, and brown, giving the hard stone a silken texture in the sunlight’s warm glow.

Finally they reached the top of the steps and stood before another arched opening in the huge wall of rock. The murmur of voices sounded from within, as well as the soft lilting of a flute.

“Welcome to the Urn Tomb,” the old man said as he slipped inside.

Alan stayed beside Jessamine as they followed him. At the center of the stone chamber stood a group of dark-robed men with white headdresses tied with black cords.

“Bedouins. I’ve studied these people with my tutor.” Jessamine’s eyes went wide.

“Your tutor?”

She paled. “I meant to say, I’ve studied these people
along with my students. I’ve schooled privileged girls in history and language.” She studied her hands with sudden interest.

Alan frowned. There was something not quite right about her explanation. Instructors of such disciplines were usually men. Yet it did explain her demonstrated abilities with language and why she seemed so refined. “What did you learn about these people?”

Jessamine looked up. Her gaze shifted between him and the Bedouins. “The men wear their head ropes as an outward sign that they will uphold the obligations and responsibilities of manhood. The women are required to cover their hair, and their headgear signals their status. Those two women over there, with black cloth wrapped around their foreheads, are married. The younger women wear more colorful kaffiyeh cloth.”

“You do understand the Bedouins,” the old man commented as he waved them closer to the fire pit.

“They have such freedom,” Jessamine replied with a touch of longing.

Alan narrowed his gaze on Jessamine. Questions still lingered about her education, but her comment supported her claim. An instructor of nobles’ daughters would have very little freedom.

The old man smiled. “The Bedouins know the secrets of the desert, and how to stay alive in it. This is a temporary home, for tomorrow they will journey elsewhere. Tonight, though, is a celebration. Come.”

The smell of roasted meat filled the air, making Alan’s stomach grumble. As they approached the group, conversation halted. The men ceased their activities and watched Alan with wary eyes. Alan curled his fingers at his sides, fighting the urge to grasp his sword. These men did not appear to be armed, but their stances didn’t indicate acceptance or even welcome. Still, despite their
lack of friendliness, they did nothing to discourage the newcomers from joining the group near the fire.

The old man settled himself in a seat near several heavily veiled women. No one seemed to pay him any heed as he reached out and served himself from one of the bowls the women had filled with slices of lamb. “Help yourselves,” he said between bites.

Alan approached the women. One of them handed him a bowl. He nodded his thanks, not knowing what language these desert dwellers spoke. He turned and offered the bowl to Jessamine, but she shook her head. At her refusal, a brightly veiled woman offered her two plump figs instead. Jessamine accepted them with a smile and bit into the fruit with a soft sigh.

Conversation started up around them again as the men and women continued their meal. It had been a full day since either he or Jessamine had eaten, as his stomach reminded him with a loud growl. Alan followed the example set by the other men, grasping a slice of the savory meat with his right hand, then taking a bite. He closed his eyes and nearly groaned as he tasted the flavorful meat. It had been months since he’d had such good food.

The youngest of the women, in a light blue veil, brought them a platter of odd-looking fruits and nuts. She set the fruit down in front of Alan and fluttered her eyes flirtatiously.

Uneasy with the woman’s behavior, Alan scooted closer to Jessamine. The woman was undeterred by his action and reached for a piece of red fruit, then offered it to him. Not wanting to be rude, he accepted the object but simply held it, not knowing what to do with the leathery fruit.

At his hesitation, the young woman giggled, took the fruit from his hand, and with a small knife that she drew
from the folds of her gown, she cut the skin in half. She handed it back to him, saying something he didn’t understand. He looked at Jessamine.

“Pomegranate,” she said softly. “She wants you to take it.”

Alan accepted the fruit and brought the bright red multiseeded flesh to his lips. He took a small bite and tart sweetness erupted in his mouth. He smiled his thanks to the girl. She giggled and thrust the other half at him before being pulled away by the other women.

Annoyance coiled in his chest as he handed Jessamine the other half of the pomegranate. The women chattered among themselves, the tone of their voices excited as they cast curious glances between him and Jessamine.

Alan leaned toward Jessamine, his thigh brushing against her leg. A soft shimmer of sensation tingled there. He pressed closer, finding comfort in her presence. “Do you understand what they’re saying?”

“Yes. Are you sure you want to know?”

He nodded.

She leaned toward him. Amusement sparkled in her eyes. “They are bartering among themselves to see who gets to bed down with you for the night.”

Alan started at the shocking translation. He started to respond, when an older woman in a darker blue veil thrust two wooden cups into his hands. He held them, uncertain how to proceed, and fearful of what the cups might mean.

Jessamine took one of the cups from his hand. “She wants you to drink. You’re safe, for now. This is not a bridal cup.”

The Bedouin woman waited expectantly for him to take a sip of the dark, thick liquid inside. Alan brought the cup to his lips and drank. The liquid tasted bitter at
first, then mellowed as the rich taste of cardamom filled his senses. “This must be coffee,” he said, recognizing the beverage some of the older Templars had talked about tasting during earlier crusades. “It’s unusual, but delicious.” He took another long drink.

Jessamine sipped delicately from her cup before she returned a soft smile. The firelight reflected on her face, turning her skin a warm apricot. Her eyes sparkled. “The coffee is the first of many temptations they will offer you.”

“Why?”

She smiled. “To make you more eager to choose one of them for the night.”

Alan choked on the coffee. “I don’t want—”

She set her cup down and grasped his hand. “Then show them.” She placed his hand possessively on her knee. “You’ll have to make them believe that I’m yours, or you’ll have no peace.”

He stared back at her. Her eyes were on him, urging him on, waiting. He ran a hand through his hair and stole a glance at the Bedouin women. They watched his every move.

“Alan.” Her voice was so quiet he could barely hear it, yet her body called to him like a siren’s song. Heat moved from the center of his being to his groin. He turned to Jessamine, uncertain what to do or say. He’d chosen a life of celibacy, and yet his body was on fire at the simple touch of his hand upon her knee. He felt his resolve falter.
Just once more
…A voice deep inside responded.
Kiss her one last time. Prove to these women that you are already taken, if not by Jessamine, then by the Church.

The fire crackled, the light wandering over Jessamine’s face, highlighting her cheekbones, her eyes, her lips—her full and entirely kissable lips. His fingers curled around her knee, barely stroking the inside of
her leg. The touch, however innocent, sent a jolt of white-hot desire through him. He leaned toward her, intending to kiss her lightly.

Yet the moment their lips touched, he lost himself. Raw pleasure flared, stealing all rational thought. Her tongue darted between his lips, then sank deeper. Needing to experience more of what she offered, he let his hand drift to her neck, pulling her closer. She gasped against his mouth and arched deeper into his touch. It took all his willpower to pull back, to leave the taste of paradise she’d offered so freely.

“Jessamine,” he rasped, bringing his forehead to rest on hers. “You are a forbidden treat that I dare not taste again. The more I taste you, the more I want you.”

“You say that as though it’s a bad thing,” she whispered against his ear.

Alan pulled back to stare into her face. Her features were luminous as innocent desire shone in her eyes. By the saints, he wanted to kiss her again. “When I’m near you, nothing but you seems to matter.” His tone was low and savage.

She reached for his hand. Her fingers laced with his, the touch excruciatingly intimate. The heat tingling between them thickened in intensity. The wool of his robe felt abrasive against his skin.

“Jessamine—”

A tap on his shoulder stole his attention. He suddenly noticed that two of the younger women stood on either side of him. He’d been so intent on Jessamine that he’d seen nothing else. Alan frowned. He was behaving irrationally, losing his focus, leaving both of them open to attack. He straightened abruptly. He would have to be more alert in the future.

The women spoke to him and pulled at his arms. From their hand signals, he realized they wanted him
to rise. He glanced at Jessamine, who remained seated beside him.

“They wish to dance with you.” Her voice was cooler now.

“But you said—”

“They still seem to think you are available.”

When had the music started up? The soft lilting of a flute mixed with the high-pitched melodic strains of a single violin. The women grasped his arms amid flirtatious laughter and hauled him to his feet. They linked their hands with his, then pulled him toward the other men and women who danced in a circle. The rhythmic music swirled around them, but he could not lose himself in it. A glance back at Jessamine sitting alone brought tightness to his chest.

Jessamine watched Alan dance with the women. They linked their arms with his and pulled him through the steps of the dance. Alan laughed, the sound rising for a moment above the music, and Jessamine smiled. It was good to see his features lighten and the shadows that haunted his eyes disappear.

She brought a hand to her neck and toyed with the long gold chain that held the miniatures of her parents. She lifted the small locket into her hands and snapped it open. Her mother and father’s smiling faces stared back at her. The portraits had been painted before she was born, while their love was still fresh and unspoiled.

Tears formed in her eyes, blurring the images. She missed them both. The memory of her parents tugged at her heart, tapping into some deep, fundamental emotion. And for the first time she had an inkling of what her parents’ love had been. They were not doomed.
They’d been the lucky ones, even for a short while, to share a love so precious.