The Moor slid from the saddle then to stand before Cait, regarding her with a lightly taunting amusement that Cait found slightly disconcerting. 'If we are to begin as enemies,' he said at last, 'let us at least strive for the virtuous nobility celebrated by your wise acquaintance.'

'The man was my father,' Cait said. 'Lord Duncan of Caithness.'

'Then he has my condolences,' he replied with a smile.

'Sir?'

'Any man who would let such a daughter out of his sight, even for a moment, must certainly be suffering a most powerful bereavement.'

He smiled again, and Cait felt a strange warmth flood through her -a result, she strongly suspected, of his shameless flattery.

'I am Prince Hasan Salah Ibn Al-Nizar.' He made a low, sweeping bow. 'Peace be with you. May Allah the Munificent crown all your endeavours with triumph and glory. Forgive my curiosity, my lady, but what miracle brought you to this lonely and forbidding place?'

Cait gave her name and told him she was on pilgrimage from her home in Scotland.

'Caitriona,' he repeated, then frowned. 'That will never do. My poor Moorish tongue has not the facility to express the natural mellifluence of your wondrous name. I believe I shall call you Ketmia, instead-if I may be so bold.'

Cait repeated the name uncertainly. 'It is not disagreeable, I suppose. Ketmia… what does it mean?'

'It is the name of one of the most fragrant and beautiful flowers ever to blossom,' Hasan told her. 'In the East it is given to brides on their wedding day. For, like the loveliness of the flower, the memory of that day will last through all time, infusing each remembrance with its glorious perfume.' His smile broke forth in a sudden blaze of delight which Cait found endearing. 'When I saw you, I thought to myself, Ketmia.'

'Very well,' agreed Cait, suitably charmed.

'Splendid!' said Prince Hasan. He made a flourish of his hand, as if in elaborate acceptance of her will, and said, 'It would vastly improve the austerity of my cow-byre of a dwelling if you would accept my hospitality while you are sojourning in my realm.'

'Since you ask so nicely,' Cait replied, 'I do accept-although, perhaps I should warn you that I am not alone. As it happens, I have a company of knights with me. Five of them-all under the authority of Lord Rognvald of Haukeland.'

'Even so?' The prince looked to the right and left and back towards the camp. 'Are they Djinn, these warriors of yours? By the hair of my beard, I cannot see them.'

'They are riding to the hunt just now,' she explained, 'trying to get a little meat for our supper.'

She thought she saw a shadow of displeasure pass over his face as she spoke, but it vanished in the sudden sunburst of his smile. 'Then let us pray they are successful, for fresh meat will be a welcome addition to the banquet which I shall spread before you and your estimable retinue this night.'

He turned and smoothly swung up into the high-cantled saddle. 'Gather your things, if you please,' he instructed. 'I will send my katib to bring you to my house when you are ready.'

Cait thanked him and watched him ride away. He stopped at the edge of the wood and whistled for his falcon, then lifted his arm and with a wave of his black-gloved hand wheeled the stallion and galloped across the meadow and was gone. She stood for a time, wondering whether she had done well in accepting the Moor's offer of hospitality. She worried over this for a while, and decided that Prince Hasan was precisely placed to help her find Alethea. Indeed, his appearance had all the fortuitous indications of an answer to her prayer.

The knights returned at midday in a jubilant mood, having killed two young stags-a humour cautiously increased when Cait informed them they would not have to sleep on the cold wet ground that night. 'Tonight we are to banquet with a prince,' she said, and went on to explain her encounter with Hasan.

'He is heaven-sent,' she told Rognvald as the others trooped off to begin preparing the deer.

'More likely a trick of the devil,' muttered the tall knight; his face clenched in a scowl of sour disapproval.

'Listen to you,' she scoffed lightly. 'You have not even met the man, and already you condemn him. In truth, he is the very likeness of a nobleman.'

'So is the Devil,' Rognvald replied.

'He has offered us hospitality and I will not hear a word against him,' Cait snapped indignantly.

'He is a Moor,' Rognvald said tersely. 'Need I remind you, it is the Moors who have taken your sister?'

'That was unkind, my lord,' Cait snarled. 'Have I not spent every waking moment these past many days searching for my sister? Tell me what more I could have done, and rest assured I will do that, too.'

Rognvald's scowl deepened. He opened his mouth to reply, but Cait cut him off.

'As it is,' she continued, levelling the full brunt of her anger on him, 'we are running out of food and the weather is against us.

Therefore, I think it no bad thing to accept help when it is offered.' She glared at him defiantly. 'And yes, even from the Devil himself.'

The tall knight stared implacably at her; his jaw muscles tightened with unspoken words, but he held his tongue.

'We are going to accept Prince Hasan's hospitality, and at the first opportunity I am going to enlist his aid to help find Alethea. I do not care whether you approve, or not. One way or another, I will find my sister.'

She did not allow him the satisfaction of making a reply, but turned on her heel and stormed away. They stayed away from one another as they went about striking camp and preparing to leave. The prince's katib arrived a short time later, and found them ready, if not eager, to quit the cold and damp for the warmth of hearth and hall.

Like his master, the man was gracious and well mannered. He was somewhat older than the prince, his beard was streaked with grey and his skin was weathered and creased like an old leather glove. Though not tall, he carried himself with a posture which would have become a king. Dressed in a rich brown cloak and high riding boots, he rode a tawny brown mare, and carried a long, curved knife with a jewelled handle in his wide cloth belt.

He entered the camp with two attendants, one of whom carried a wheat-coloured bundle tied with golden cord; the other led a saddled black horse. As the knights gathered to receive them, he dismounted, and in fine aristocratic Latin presented himself to Cait, saying, 'May the light of Allah the Magnificent shine for you, and may his blessing of peace rest upon you.' He bowed low, making an elegant motion of his hand. 'I am Al-Fadil Halhuli, katib and overseer to Prince Hasan, from whom I have come with an invitation to join him at his home.'

Cait received his greeting with good grace, while the knights stood looking on from a short distance. Arms folded across their chests and similar expressions of distrust fixed firmly on their faces, they followed Rognvald's lead, adopting a suspicious stance, and made no move to join in the proceedings.

Ignoring their bad manners, the katib snapped his fingers and the attendant with the bundle dismounted and came to kneel beside his superior.

'My master the prince has sent me with a gift which he hopes you will do him the very great honour of accepting.' He motioned to the kneeling servant, who extended the bundle in his hands. 'Please, my lady,' Halhuli said, indicating that she should receive the bundle.

Cait took it in both hands, whereupon he untied the golden cord and unfolded a handsome hooded cloak of the finest wool she had ever seen; it was the colour of wheat and brushed to a soft, almost fur-like finish. The hood, cuffs, and hem were embroidered with blue silk in a series of tiny swirling, filigree loops. Instantly enchanted with the gift, Cait took the cloak, shook out its folds and held it up before her.