July, 1187: Saladin has defeated the Crusader army at The Horns of Hattin. While hundreds of his comrades have perished in the battle, Thierry de la Tour Rouge, a Frank and Templar Knight, has survived only to be taken prisoner by the Saracens. Thierry is living hell on earth, but he is alive and sure to stay that way if his ransom can be secured. The only thing those bloodthirsty heathens like more than spilling Christian blood is good Christian silver.

Parched, stripped of his armor and tied like an animal in a tent, Thierry fears torture in the attempt to break him and his faith. While he suspects that he has been bought and paid for, he doesn't know why.

Abdul Basir is French by birth and a convert to Islam. As an advisor to Saladin, Abdul has been accepted by the Saracens and regarded with respect, but he will never be one of them. Thierry has been bought for him and while Abdul owns him, he cannot guarantee that Saladin will spare Thierry's life.

In the spirit of acceptance and forgiveness and in the hopes of dying without torture, Thierry chastely kisses Abdul, hurtling them both into a clash of faiths and a contest of wills, one man motivated by the fulfillment of a fantasy and the other by the need to survive and keep his faith intact. In the process, they come to show each other mercy, kindness, mutual respect and trust-enough to reveal their desire for one another.

As Saladin holds the fate of Thierry's life in his hands, can Abdul ensure the safety of this honorable crusader? Or will he have to find the strength and courage to let Thierry go in peace?

Warnings: This title contains graphic language, m/m sex and descriptions of violence.

Word Count: 21,197

EXCERPT:

Thierry expected more and worse. Expected all the horrors he’d been told to come true. Flogging. Torture. Emasculation. If his life was worth nothing, everything became possible. Oh God, he thought, how can anyone deal with that fear? “Do you… honestly think you can separate me from God?” he asked. “I’m a Templar, a knight of Christ. If this is… how I shall die, then…” His voice shook, and he wished so much he had the steadfastness of a holy man from a saint’s legend, accounts of martyrs torn apart by lions, singing as they met their death. He couldn’t finish the sentence. A wild creature inside him howled death and fear and I cannot die, and God save me.

Abdul stepped closer. They were very nearly touching now, their breaths mingling. He didn't know why he'd done it, except that now he could literally feel the other man's fear. The wolf hung on to his prey, his jaws locked, until it fell. "Then what, O Righteous Knight of Christ? Then what?"

Thierry was trembling, shuddering, the shudders growing worse. He was scared. Deeply, horribly scared, and he knew he was not a saint, and not a martyr. He had a mortal’s much smaller faith. His eyes burnt, face twitching. God give me strength. Please! Tasting his own blood, he thought he should have died in battle. Died for the cause, according to the orders he’d received. Other had, why not him? Why did God test him like this? He tried to finish the sentence, tried to think it. If God wills it, I will die.

He couldn’t. For the first time in his life he realized the abject horror of being mortal and helpless. Not even the test at his initiation could have prepared him for this.

Abdul felt a laugh bubble up, involuntary and nearly hysterical. He couldn't say why, exactly, except maybe the little fool's hysteria was contagious, like a disease. He grinned, teeth bared, and felt as though something had come loose in him all of a sudden, just like that, as if part of a mechanism had broken. "I thought so," he said softly. "You see, Thierry de la Tour Rouge, there is nothing for you here."

Thierry hung his head, turned away, wrestling his fear. He wanted to be left alone, so he could find his strength again. To face the torture, and then the end of pain. The end of suffering. He’d just had to get there, somehow. There was nothing for him. No water. No mercy. He fought to accept it.

Abdul saw that thought behind the other man's eyes, saw him wrestle with it, struggle to turn and meet the darkness.

This was when most men would break, facing the vast chasm. Nothing there but emptiness, and the only way was forward.

He waited for it.

The Christian didn't break.

Abdul stood where he was, scant inches from him, his breath shallow in his chest. Stunned. Of all the outcomes to this situation he had considered in his mind, not breaking hadn't been one of them.

Thierry’s eyes suddenly became calm. He had to accept it, and forgive. If he managed that, he’d be safe. And, a small voice told him, he might enrage his captor enough to kill him without torture. He looked into the dark eyes, then, with bloodied lips, moved forward, giving him the kiss of peace.