Amongst Silk and Spice (3 page)

Crossing the great desert, Hugo had cursed the little witch's name every step of the way. He had joined with a group of traders from Constantinople, whom he'd found in Baghdad, preparing to travel east. Finding traces of her hadn't been hard as there wasn't an abundance of English noblewomen interested in philosophy.

At a price, the Mongol administration had given them small clay tablets that they hung around their necks, which gave them passage through the Mongol empire. The Mongols had particularly questioned his purpose there, recognizing that he was not a trader. One of the traders had to interpret for him, stating that he had to provide a message to a foreigner living either in Kashgar or further east—as he'd known in his bones that she wouldn't have stopped in Kashgar. Eloise Chanderling proved difficult at every turn and finding her in Kashgar would prove the easier of the options, hence the least likely.

He'd been right; she'd only stopped in Kashgar for a month, and he had to continue across the god-forsaken desert, anger and resentment dogging every one of his steps.

It was clear that Eloise headed to the center of things, which would only be Cambeluc, and once he got on the other side of the desert, that name alone would get him directions from the small and thin creatures that lived on this far end of the world. He learned to tell the Mongols from the Cathayans, initially by behavior, but subsequently by facial features.

Cambeluc was unlike any city he had ever seen, and he'd seen more than he'd ever wanted to. Like most cities, the foreigners were relegated to a section of the city, typically outside the defensive walls, comfortably sacrificed if invasion and attack came. Cambeluc was so far into the Mongol territory, in was unlikely a foreign army would come to sack the city.

Each custom in this city was strange, but there was also a mix of people—Latins, Saracens, Russians, and, of course, Mongols. The food was strange and eaten with small sticks, the language fast and nasal, and the currency was paper, given value it didn't deserve.

His inability to communicate made her difficult to find, but he knew by instinct that she was here in the city. So he wandered the foreign quarters searching for her. The foreigners in the city tended to be men, so it wasn't hard to see the women. The few Saracen women were hooded and cloaked, as they did even in the most intense heat. There were also Indian women, with their bright clothes, dark skin and large, black eyes.

Every manner of language was spoken, except French, of which he heard none, but then neither the French nor the English were great traders, so it was perhaps not surprising.

The Cathayans seemed to treasure delicacy and their wares were intricate and fine, and Hugo felt like they would break under his fingers if he touched them, and their equally small and delicate sellers gauged him wearily, probably wondering the same thing.

For days he wandered, eventually spotting yellow hair moving through the market. It was the thing he searched for because he knew she had such hair. Moving through the crowd, he tried to find it again, doing so eventually when he walked around a stall, seeing her inspecting porcelain glazed blue like the sky. Her delicate fingers suited the vase she held. With a smile, she put it down and moved on, and Hugo followed. She wore a bright yellow gown of the fashion Cathayan women wore. It shone in the sun and there were birds printed or sewn onto the material, and her hair flowed unadorned and unrestricted.

After all this time, crossing the entire world, he'd found her. He wasn't letting her out of his sight, but equally he wasn't going to make his presence known yet either, having no idea how she would react. He also questioned if it truly was her, having known instantly when he saw her, but now that he looked closer, he noticed the woman she had grown into. Her cheeks had slendered and she had grown into her eyes. Her body was also distinctly womanly, as opposed to the last time he'd seen her when she was still very much a child. No, it was definitely her, he confirmed.

He followed her through the streets until she entered a building through a set of stairs—her domicile, he presumed. It seemed she lived on the upper story where the rooms had large windows and white, flowing curtains. It was a typical Cathayan building with dark wood and white walls, and the rounded green tiles they used.

If he were higher he could see in. Looking around, he searched for a spot, wondering if it was best to confront her in her house. Knowing the lay of the land was imperative in any campaign, so it would suit his purposes to know the layout of her house.

Climbing up onto the roof, he could see in through the large open windows. Shutters would keep the chill out at night, but the climate this time of the year was good—a little chilled, but not biting. At least it was cool enough to make the chainmail covering his torso tolerable to wear. It had been uncomfortable in Baghdad and impossible to wear in the desert, even if he felt exposed without it.

She sat at a desk, writing with a stylus fashioned in brass. The silk of her gown slid around her legs, parting to reveal more than modesty allowed. Her legs were slim and creamy, and surprisingly, unwanted tension filled him. Perhaps it was not surprising as the little witch had grown into a lovely woman and he hadn't been in the company of one, tending his needs, for months.

But then a man came, a Saracen. Hugo's attention turned to him when he entered the ground level door to her rooms. Hugo watched as the man appeared in the rooms upstairs. For a moment, Hugo considered how he could cross the space and defend her. He refused to accept that he'd come all this way to lose her right in front of his eyes. But she didn't react with fear, he realized—quite the opposite. She was pleased to see the man and came over to kiss him.

Snorting, Hugo knew it—she was a whore. The idea of her traveling across the world to study the arts of philosophy or whatever seemed too outlandish. Whoredom made much more sense, and the familiarity with this Saracen was beyond doubt. She returned to the desk and the Saracen disrobed. Hugo was about to leave, not wanting to watch further when he noted that the wardrobe the Saracen returned his robes to had others. Hugo paused. This wasn't simply a whore meeting a client—this man lived here.

Hugo watched as the man sat down on another chair where she was and poured liquid into a brass cup. They spoke and Eloise smiled. The idea struck Hugo that they might be married, but he could not see a band on her finger. Irrespective, the earl would never accept a marriage with a Saracen.

What was clear was that she no longer was a maid, and he considered what that meant. Perhaps the earl and the king wouldn't want her return if they knew, but he'd traveled over the entire world and he would drag her back so they could make a determination for themselves.

Hugo followed her the next day. She wore red this time, a material so light it caught the wind as she walked. The shawl around her shoulders were so thin he could see her skin. It was the most curious gown he'd seen, but he was not here to deliberate on her fashion.

Walking up behind her, he noted her long hair, which shone like spun gold. "Eloise," he said and she turned sharply, her mouth parted with surprise, but she was unable to articulate for a moment.

"Hugo Beauford?" she said incredulously, her eyes traveling back and forth between his. She recognized him, it seemed. Her shoulders shrank back and her fingers moved up to her mouth. "What are you doing here?"

"Your father wants a word."

Eloise looked around. "Is he here?"

"Of course not, you twit." Hugo grabbed her, taking her by surprise as he lifted her over his shoulder. "You have to go to him. He insists."

It took her a moment to realize what was happening and she started hitting his back as soon as she did. "Let me down at once," she yelled. Hugo turned around and eyed the people around to see if anyone was set to object to him taking this woman. The Cathayans eyed him and the scene they caused, but no one made a move to assist her—just as he’d thought.

Walking down the street, he tried to orient himself to the stable where the horse he'd bought was waiting. It was time to start the journey home.

Her fists beat his back, but she would soon tire herself out. The screeching didn't stop, but he ignored it, flinging her on top the horse once he'd brought it out. She scrambled to get off and he had to hold her wrists. Being a slim creature, she had little strength, but he knew she would not come willingly.

"You let me down this moment, Hugo Beauford," she demanded. "You cannot just go and grab me. It is immoral and illegal."

Hugo chuckled, tying her hands and feet together. She still fought him, but she was soon too restrained to do anything other than complain as he walked the horse through the city, heading to the road south.

"If you are going to yell all the way back to England, I might be deaf by the time we get there."

"I am not going back to England and you have no right to interfere with me!"

Hugo ignored her and kept walking.

Eloise wore herself out fighting and shouting, but it served no purpose other than to wear her out. In the end, she could only lie there, rocking with the movement of the horse walking wherever Hugo was taking her. Her mind spun—Hugo Beauford had appeared and kidnapped her. It was like a horrible dream hearkening back to the days when she’d dreamed about running into either of the Beauford brothers.

Saying that, Hugo Beauford looked nothing like she would have expected, although he was recognisable, having grown from the lanky fourteen-year-old boy she associated with him. He was a man now, and a knight by the looks of him; although that was not a surprise. His father had been as well.

"This is completely ridiculous," she said. "You cannot mean to take me back to England, cross the whole world because '
he
' wants to have a word. I won't stand for it." But he ignored her. She could hear him walking. "Release me now, Hugo Beauford, or I'll … "

"You'll what? Scream? You haven't changed a bit."

He had though. His voice wasn't the high, cracking ear-sore it had been. It was deep and calm.

"You have no right to abduct me. Neither does Earl Chanderling."

"I'm not actually here on behalf of Earl Chanderling. I'm here on behalf of the king, and he can do whatever he wants—including sending me across the known world to collect you. Now be quiet. You're giving me a head ache."

Eloise grumbled, stiff from being tied to a horse. She wanted to yell and curse just to annoy him, but it really did exhaust her. It felt like it had been hours, which was nothing compared to the months of travel Hugo had intended.

"Please let me go," she pleaded, trying a different tack. He just ignored her. "I don't want to go to England."

"I really, really didn't want to go to Cathay!" he said forcefully. "What possessed you to travel all the way here?"

"I was curious."

"Curious?! This is insanity and to find you living with a Saracen, too. Your father will be interested in hearing that."

"He has absolutely no bearing on the issue. And he's not my father. You were quite good at pointing that out yourself, as I recall."

"As I said, I'm here on behalf of the king."

Eloise wished she could kick him, as nothing she said had the slightest bit of impact on him. Lying still for a moment, she tried to think of what she could say to undo the disaster that had befallen her this morning. Malik would be distressed to find her missing. She had to escape. There was no way she was going to let Hugo Beauford drag her away from her life here. "You could just say you didn't find me. Who is going to know?"

"But I did find you."

"Oh, please. Since when does your word mean anything?" She'd heard him make promises before.
'Come down, we won't hurt you
.' She hadn't been stupid enough to listen to him then—she certainly wasn't going to now. He ignored her.

"Ugh," she complained as she lay there, thinking of a way out of this. Her head was objecting from the pressure of lying head down and her hips were sore from chafing across the saddle, but the distress and the worry had taken everything out of her and her eyes were closing, even if she didn't want them to.

Eloise woke feeling awkward and smelling horse. She tried to move, but found she was tied down. Confused for a moment, she groaned until she remembered what had befallen her and she stiffened. They had stopped. Lifting her head with great effort, she tried to see what was going on. Hugo was sitting on a bank not far away.

"Let me down," she demanded.

"I'd rather not."

"Well, this is highly uncomfortable and I need to do my business." Hugo didn't move for a moment, instead digging a spoon into a bowl of rice. "You have food. Are you going to keep that all to yourself? It will be a corpse you drag back if you refuse to share."

"He didn't specify you needed to be alive."

"You are a right cur, Hugo Beauford," Eloise said, straining against the ties that kept her fixed where she was.

Taking his time, he got up and walked around the horse, crouching at her ankles. Eloise felt his fingers graze her skin as he undid the ties holding her in place. Then he grabbed her by the hips and eased her down, lifting her like she weighed nothing. He was strong. She still resented him touching her and went to untied the knots at her wrists, letting the ropes drop to the ground. Rubbing her wrists, she accepted the bowl of rice he held out to her. "No bread anywhere. I'd slay a man for a bit of cheese,” he said.

"The Cathayans have no preference for dairy."

"Their food is incomprehensible."

"No, it's not. It's delicate."

"Food is not supposed to be delicate. It's supposed to be hearty and nourishing."

"Not everyone prefers slop," Eloise said tartly.

Hugo grumbled as he sat down on the bank, while Eloise looked at the bowl of plain rice. "Didn't you get anything with it?"

"No."

"Appetizing," Eloise complained. There were no sticks, only the tin spoon Hugo ate with. Pursing her lips, she dug a bit of rice out with her fingers and carried it to her mouth. She'd learnt to enjoy the Cathayan meals. Their cuisine didn't have the depth of flavour and pungent scent of the Persian meals, having more delicate flavours which she'd explored over the last six months.

But she was too hungry to skip a meal, even if it was only unadorned white rice. "Next time, ask for some pork as well."

"I don't know how."

Eloise rolled her eyes. Like a typical English nobleman, he was incapable of learning anything, born and raise to fight and nothing more. "Say ‘curou’. They'll eventually guess what you mean. ‘Dami’ for rice."

Hugo didn't look pleased and again Eloise rolled her eyes. And they didn't like anyone being more intelligent than them either, which wasn't hard as they learned nothing.

"I need some privacy," she said after she'd had a few mouthfuls of rice.

"As you please," he said, drawing his knee up and resting his arms on top.

Eloise put the bowl down and made her way up the other side of the bank, which seemed to cut into a forested area, filled with trees and large canes. They were still fairly close to Camberluc. Walking calmly out of sight, she set off at a sprint as soon as she was out of sight, zipping through the trees, running as fast as she could.

It didn't take long before she heard thundering footfalls behind her. Damn it, he'd found her. Pushing herself, she picked up speed, but he was still gaining on her. The sun shone through the trees, cutting in and out of her vision as Eloise ran for her life in what would otherwise be quite an idyllic place.

A great shove knocked her to the ground and she felt the weight of his body come down on hers. He was too heavy to push off. "You are quite predictable, Mistress Chanderling."

"Let go of me," she demanded as he manhandled her to standing. She struggled against his grip, dug her nails into his wrists as he held her and tried to force him off balance, but he wouldn't budge. Drawing her forward, he hauled her over his shoulder again like a sack of potatoes and started walking back. Eloise pummeled his back, but it made no difference. He probably didn't even feel it through the chainmail he wore. "I demand you let me down," she said in her harshest voice, but he wasn't listening, striding back the way they'd come as calm as day. "I still need to do my business."

"You'll just have to hold it or contend with me watching. You have proven yourself untrustworthy."

"As if I would be trustworthy to you. You come here and steal me away from my life. You don't deserve trust, and you cannot be serious to expect me to do my business with you watching."

"Try me, Mistress Chanderling." He stepped down the bank, returning them to the waiting horse. "Break over," he said and lifted her up on the horse, sitting sideways across the front of the saddle. Placing his foot in the stirrup, he mounted, seating his bulk in the saddle, his arms working around her as he maneuvered the horse.

Eloise sat as stiffly as she could, refusing to touch him. At least he hadn't tied her across the beast this time, but that might be preferable to their now close quarters. He place his arm along her back and she could hear his slow and steady breathing. Try as she might, she couldn't stop his thigh from touching hers.

Staring determinedly ahead, she wondered if there would be any repercussions from her failed flight. Not that she would stop trying. She was not going back to England, and she didn't care if Hugo Beauford insisted. She would sneak away at some point. Even he could not go without sleep.