Free Suzanne Robinson by Lord of the Dragon

nothing. Then one day he’d been hauling waste stone in a cart. A wealthy visitor had come to the quarry to choose stone for his house. Gray had seen the man at a distance, noted without interest the azure silk of his robes.
    He was hauling his cart along the base of a cliff when the visitor and his entourage walked past. He heard a shout from above where a block of limestone was being cut from the cliff, and saw the block shift. A piece of the cliff dislodged and fell. The man in the azure robe walked into its path. Gray cried out, but he spoke in English. Lunging over the cart, he sprang at the visitor.His body smashed into the man, and they plunged down a small incline a moment before the boulder landed.
    Gray ended up on top of the visitor. He was still breathless from the jolt of the landing when the guards set upon him, throwing him from the visitor, kicking him. He doubled over, then lost his temper and kicked back. A foot jammed into his back and a fist cracked into his jaw. He collapsed on his stomach, and heard the crack of a whip.
    The lash bit into his back, but he refused to cry out. The lash cut again, drawing blood. It withdrew, and he braced himself for another cut. It never came. He heard a voice snapping with authority, but he hadn’t been in this place long enough to understand more than a word or two.
    A shadow blocked out the burning sun. Gray lifted his head. Through vision blurred by drops of sweat, he looked into the face of the man in the azure robe. It was Saladin, who had been named for the great warrior, conqueror, and ruler.
    Saladin spoke to him. He hadn’t understood, but his understanding wasn’t required. Saladin waved a hand. Gray was picked up and dragged after the nobleman. An animated conversation took place between the overseer of the quarry and the man whose life he’d saved.
    Weak from maltreatment and the beating, and unaccustomed to the heat, Gray lost the battle to remain conscious. His last sight was of the azure robe and a spray of gold coins Saladin threw at the feet of the overseer. He’d been sold like a horse, to Saladin, prince of a noble house, warrior, commander of armies in the fight against the Christian invaders of Egypt and the Holy Land.
    Gray cursed and sat up, more awake than ever with the memories of his years in the hands of Saladin. He layback down and covered his eyes again. Better to surrender to lustful reverie about Mistress Juliana than to lie awake remembering Saladin. Remembering how he’d been slowly seduced into accepting his fate, accepting corruption made palatable by villas of polished stone and gold, fountains of cool water, beds of silk and down, and relentless, manipulative persuasion.
    Gray bit his lip and turned away from those memories. He sought refuge in the image of damascened eyes and the tantalizing vision of Juliana’s hips. He remembered how they moved in a gentle arc—up and down, up and down, their path marked by the movement of that leather girdle. How would she look clad only in that braided leather? A picture of her bare, smooth curves bound by the girdle teased him, and he fell asleep trying to complete every detail of her body above and below that band of leather.
    Leaning out the north window of her chamber, Juliana searched the morning sky for clouds and found none. It was one of those mornings when the sharp, cool wind put a snap in her step and color in her cheeks and made the world seem cleaner and brighter. Or was the day’s beauty only a result of her mood? She shivered as the breeze penetrated her shift and tossed black curls about her face. Even to herself she was reluctant to admit that the shiver was more from anticipation than the cold.
    Not until she’d regained her chamber last night had she realized what Gray de Valence had meant by promising to recompense her today for helping his servant. Then she’d remembered that today was the first day of the tournament. He had said he’d repay her at the tournament.