ng
everything." She reached out and seized his hand, gripping it urgently.
"If they find out who you are while you are in the Monaldeschi palace,
it will be the end for all of us."

He felt the strength in her fingers, the softness of her palm, and
wanted to take her in his arms, but he held himself in check. There
could be nothing between them as long as de Gobignon was alive.

"I know a hundred ways to get into a castle and out again," he said,
wishing there had been time to share with her more of his life. "Once I
am inside, I will search out and kill the two Tartars while all the
armed men are occupied with the fighting outside. And then I will
leave." He spread his hands to show how easy it would be.

Inwardly he was ashamed. He was preparing to sacrifice this woman's
life, knowing that she might die a terrible death--rape, torture,
mutilation, public execution. How could he face her at all? That he had
made his decision in order to save hundreds of thousands of his people
from slaughter, his faith from destruction, was no comfort at this
moment alone with Sophia.

"Will you fight Simon?"

He felt his blood go hot. That she should think at all of de Gobignon at
this moment rather than of herself--or of him--made him so angry he
forgot for a moment his own guilt and fear for her life.

"The young count will probably be leading the fight on the battlements."
Daoud tasted the venom in what he was about to say, but he could not
help himself. "It will be quite a shock when he finds the Tartars dead
and realizes how he has failed."

Sophia stood breathing hard, her eyes glistening with tears. "If only
you were not--"

Daoud was already wishing he had not spoken so to her. "Not what?"

"Not blind!" she cried.

She turned swiftly and reached for the door handle. But Daoud could not
let her go. He was there before her, and he faced her and seized her
hand.

"I am not blind," he rasped. "I see that pretending to be what you are
not is tearing you apart. I wish we could be our true selves with each
other--"

"We cannot," she said bitterly. "And to speak of it only makes it hurt
more. Let me go."

He relaxed his grip on her hand, and she was gone.

_Some day_, he thought. _Some day, Sophia._

Looking at the closed door, Daoud felt an almost unbearable inner pain.
He had thrust her at Simon. He had lashed out at her, hurt her unjustly.
Having done that to her, he was about to put her in far worse danger.