. His hands
caressed her shoulders and her back, moving ceaselessly. One hand slid
around and held her breast, and she heard his little indrawn breath of
pleasure. It must feel good to him, she thought. It felt good to be
touched there, and she pushed back against his hand. She felt her body
relax and grow warm. It had been so long--nearly a year--since a man had
held her in his arms.

_I need this as much as any man does. Men can go to whores, but where
can I go?_

She loved the feel of his strong arms around her as she lay beside him.
He moved so that his whole length was pressed against her, and now he
did not seem any taller than she was. She felt the hardness at his
groin that he pressed against her leg, and she felt an answering heat
within herself.

_No!_

_I cannot let this man make love to me and then send David after him to
kill him. I cannot, I cannot. I would hate myself forever._

She felt her body opening to him, felt her bone-deep need of him. If
they came together now, it would be love, not the love she felt for
David, but love even so. And if she condemned him to death then, she
would destroy herself. But if she did not tell David where Simon was
going, she would betray him, and bring ruin down on his people and her
own. If she let Simon make love to her, she would be so torn that
afterward she would probably go mad.

He was already partly on top of her, and she wriggled away from him,
pushing at him.

"Stop it!" There was a power in her voice that she had not intended to
unleash. She was no longer Cardinal Ugolini's sweet little niece, Sophia
Orfali from Sicily, but Sophia Karaiannides, the woman of Byzantium.

A hand's width of space separated their faces. Her voice seemed to
freeze him. He stared at her as if he were seeing a stranger.

Then anger blazed up in his eyes. His arms tightened. Those arms seemed
so lean, but the strength in them was like steel chains drawn tight. She
clenched her fists and locked her bent arms in front of her to keep him
away. His lips drew back from his teeth and she felt his hot breath on
her face.

_Frankish barbarian!_ she thought. Where only a moment ago she had
wanted him, now she hated him. He was just like all those mail-clad
savages who had destroyed Constantinople, stolen, raped, murdered her
parents. Yes, and she had helped the Basileus Michael to drive them out,
and she would kill this one too. Never would a union of Frankish and
Tartar barbarian