Claire Delacroix (11 page)

He would not reflect upon the irony of the fact that she was gone just when he had naught left to lose.

No solution was it and well he knew it, but he would dismiss the woman from his thoughts this night one way or the other. And well might the
qumis
dispel some of the anger still simmering within him.

Thierry’s blood heated at the realization that the woman could easily have been hurt. A fool he had been to take her from Tiflis for the sake of a pearl. Yet Thierry knew, in the same circumstance, he would make the same choice again. His fingers clenched in recollection of the incredible softness of her hair.

Mercifully, the shaman had sought the pearl first.

And the witch had tricked him. Thierry bit down his urge to smile once again and scuffed his toe in the dirt appreciatively. How she had managed to conceal the pearl from the shaman, he did not know. Mayhap her sorcery was stronger than his.

It mattered not the means. Yet again, Thierry could but appreciate the result. His gaze wandered over the tents as though he might see the distant town of Tiflis despite the obstacles and the darkness.

Stubborn witch, he corrected himself, and shook his head.

She was safer in Tiflis. Thierry forced himself to face the truth of that and sighed.

How he wished he could dismiss this niggling sense that all was not right. He had done his best for the woman. He had kept his word and she had surrendered the pearl. Their business was completed and he would do best to forget the entire matter.

Her own fate had the woman to meet. She had surrendered the gem and he had kept his promise. Now their ways must part. Despite his determined reminder, the thought did not ring as true as Thierry thought that it should.

And ‘twas less easy than it should have been to turn his footsteps toward the khan’s yurt and the promise of
qumis.

* * *

‘Twas dark when Kira first spotted the protective white walls of Tiflis. The sight of those walls suddenly made her consider the wisdom of her return.

How could she simply go home? How could she tell her father that she had abandoned his shop? How could she not tell him, when all the neighbors were certain to delight in sharing the tale?

What if some of the gems had been stolen in her absence? What if everything had been stolen? How would she ever explain? How would she ever repay the loss? Kira licked her lips nervously. An ungrateful wretch of a daughter she was, in truth.

But it had not been her fault.

The assertion rang boldly in Kira’s mind and she was shocked by the audacity of her own thoughts. For the first time, Kira was not willing to immediately cede to the argument she knew her father would make. How could she make her father understand that she had been powerless against the warrior’s will? Indeed, he had carried her bodily from the town, despite her protest.

It had not been her fault.

A dangerous thought that was and Kira instinctively shrank away from it. Better she knew than that. And even if it was true that the blame lay elsewhere, Kira knew well that her explanation would fall on deaf ears. She blinked back stubborn tears and forced herself to face the truth.

No excuse could there be for what she had done, especially if her father’s shop had sustained damage. Kira eyed the approaching walls of Tiflis and could not imagine that the jeweler’s premises could have remained untended all this time without consequence. She inhaled sharply, knowing she would taste the lash yet again on her father’s return.

Still, the stubborn thought that this whipping would be undeserved could not be wiped from her mind.

Impudent. Good-for-naught. Lazy ingrate. Kira called herself a string of her father’s favorite insults to no effect. No choice had she made in this, and though she had been left responsible for the shop, naught else could she have done. The warrior had carried her away, despite her protests, and her neighbors had helped naught.

A dutiful daughter would have contrived somehow to stay and protect the shop, she reminded herself fiercely to no avail. Well enough she knew the argument, but hearing it echo in her mind only angered Kira. She squirmed in anticipation of the new wounds she would sport for her own unreliability and tentatively glanced back where she knew the Mongol camp to be.

Without warning she recalled the weight of a man’s fingertip on the reddened chafe mark on her wrist. A gentle and warm fingertip. Kira shivered in the chill of the evening air.

Would any in Tiflis believe that she had survived a night in the Mongol camp unscathed? Still more unlikely, would they believe that she had retained her maidenhead?

Well could she hear her father’s accusations ring out. A faithful daughter would never have permitted herself to be in such circumstances. A worthy daughter would not cast her chastity into doubt. A loyal daughter would not selfishly jeopardize her sire’s hopes for a secure future.

The charges rang false in Kira’s ears, for well she knew that she could not have effected any difference in her situation. But nay. Unfair she was being to her sire. Wise he was and always right. Kira had the scars to testify to that. Her chin set stubbornly and she pulled the horse to a halt.

She need not go home.

The mutinous thought excited and terrified Kira simultaneously. Did she dare? Did she want to dare? Or would she meekly return to the shop and await her father’s return, that he might beat her for something she had been powerless to change?

‘Twas more than an unearned beating at stake, though. Well enough Kira knew that no honorable man would have her after this. Not with such a taint on her name as having spent a night within the Mongol camp. Suspicions would fester in whatever remained of Tiflis despite her claims of innocence, and her sire’s dream of buying his leisure with Kira’s hand would fade to naught.

Kira needed not long to see where that path led. Her life would become less than it had been, for there would no longer be any promise of reward. Kira frowned in confusion as once again she compared how the warrior had treated her with her father’s treatment.

No sense did it make that a barbarian who cared naught would show her greater kindness than her own sire. Well did Kira know that her father loved her, but her frown deepened as she struggled to make sense of it all.

Mayhap love was an overrated commodity.

The thought made Kira feel guilty as soon as it formed. How could she think thus of her own sire? How could she even conceive of such a thing when he had cared for her and raised her all these years? Truly her father’s cry of “ingrate” was a proper one.

Kira hung her head in shame. Mayhap her father was best left without an ungrateful daughter such as herself. Mayhap her absence alone would make him happy. Kira bit her lip and considered her plight as the horse nibbled disinterestedly on the grass.

She could not shame her sire by coming home after this.

But if she did not return to Tiflis, where could she go? Kira glanced reluctantly again over her shoulder to the horizon.

War fodder, whores and claimed women. Was there a role that she was worthy of in that? Mayhap ‘twas the sole choice that would do honor to her sire.

Kira could not imagine that she deserved any better for so failing her father and she inexpertly urged the horse to turn around before she had time to question her choice.

* * *

The moon was setting when Kira fancied she caught the scent of roasting meat on the wind. She shook her head, knowing that her mind was teasing her achingly empty stomach. Surely the Mongols had already retired, as she would dearly love to do.

She rested her cheek against the horse’s sleek coat as it closed the last increment of distance to the camp, liking the way the creature’s warmth penetrated her skin when she closed her eyes. The creature’s pace had slowed, but Kira cared naught, for well she knew it must be tired, as well. She closed her eyes and let the scent of the horse’s fur fill her nostrils.

Indeed, riding was not such an ordeal as she had once believed. And had Kira not had the gift of a horse, how might she have returned so rapidly to the camp?

Who would have guessed that something she so feared could have become her ally?

The horse nickered and Kira reluctantly sat up as the camp came into sight. Fires there were burning despite the fullness of the night, their golden light flickering between the tents, much to Kira’s surprise. Laughter rose to her ears, that tempting scent of roasted meat making her belly growl anew.

The Mongols were awake.

Her warrior might still be here. Only now, Kira realized that she had been concerned that the Mongols might have left. Were they not nomads, in truth? Incredible ‘twas that such knowledge could send relief flooding through her, and Kira wondered what had happened to her once clear thinking.

But in truth, the warrior was the only soul who had ever shown her any consideration. Kira looked to the blade lashed to her arm in confusion and not for the first time marveled at his deed.

Mayhap he had simply not had time to take his hand to her.

But nay. Unfair that was, for had she not slept in his tent unescorted? Kira frowned, still unable to understand the man, yet wishing she could check her anticipation at the possibility of seeing him once more. Though he might not be as enchanted to see her. Kira frowned.

What sort of reflection on her life was it that a Mongol warrior had shown her the greatest kindness she had known?

A traitorous thought that was, and Kira would not indulge it further. Had her father not fed her all these years? Kept a roof over her head? Clothed her after a fashion? Surely she was the most ungrateful child ever born to man, as he had been so fond of reminding her, if she could not value such luxuries that many others did not know.

What was she going to do now that she had found the Mongols? How would she find her warrior? The tents looked much the same and continued endlessly one after the other. And well she knew that she could not ask after him, for she spoke no Mongol.

Kira hesitated on the fringe of the camp, filled with uncertainty. Mayhap she should have left some message for her father. Guilt consumed her and she sat and inventoried her shortcomings by rote. Ungrateful, lazy, stupid, slow, scrawny, weak, female...

The laughter of women startled Kira abruptly out of her thoughts. Her glance darted from side to side as she sought some place to hide, but the cursed horse whinnied just as the women came out of the shelter of the clustered tents. Their voices stilled and Kira froze, any explanation dying on her lips. Her mouth went dry, her heart ceased to beat while the women eyed her silently.

Finally one of the women stepped forward and held a flickering lantern high. Kira could not speak, even when she recognized the nosy Persian woman from the stream. The woman smiled and Kira’s heart went cold.

“You came looking for Black Wind,” the woman commented with a measure of amusement. Kira shook her head in immediate denial, her heart recovering to run at an erratic pace.

“Nay, I...I...” Kira stammered, then swallowed resolutely and held up her head proudly. No gracious explanation was there for her behavior and little point could she see in not being direct after she had come so far.

“I cannot go home,” she stated flatly. The woman’s eyes sobered as she held Kira’s regard, then she shook her head disparagingly and smiled a fleeting sad smile.

“Nay, none of us can,” she said quietly, a thread of understanding in her tone. Much to Kira’s surprise, the woman stretched out one hand welcomingly. “Come with us,” she invited. Kira could not believe her ears.

What did this woman expect in exchange for her aid? Kira regarded the woman’s hand with suspicion, knowing full well that no one offered assistance to another without another objective in mind.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded coldly, disliking this false pretense of friendship. The woman’s expression became surprised.

“Naught,” she said quietly, but Kira shook her head.

“Too much have I seen of the world to believe that,” she retorted. The woman’s gaze flicked assessingly over Kira once more and she nodded deliberately before she took a decisive step closer.

“I have been abandoned and turned out of home,” she confided in a harsh whisper, her eyes gleaming in the shadows. “So well I know that ‘tis easier to face this with others than alone.”

Kira said naught, certain her face showed that she was unconvinced.

“Are you not hungry?” the woman asked. Kira was forced to acknowledge at least to herself that she was. “What will you eat on your own? A huntress are you, then?” The woman smiled and half turned back to the camp. “Lift your nose and smell the meat we eat this night. And tired are you after your ride? Blankets aplenty are there here to sleep under and felt tents to take shelter within.”

“And what price must I pay to so indulge myself?” Kira demanded suspiciously.

The woman’s voice dropped another increment. “You must trust me,” she said slowly. “As I must trust you.”

“A high price, indeed,” Kira scoffed, though her skepticism was fading quickly.

“Aye, we both have much to lose,” the woman agreed.

The silence stretched between them as they regarded each other solemnly, then the woman extended her hand once more.

“What choice do you imagine you have?” she whispered. Kira was forced to face the truth. As war fodder, she had none too long to live, anyway.

“None,” she admitted heavily, hesitating for a moment before she slipped her hand into the other woman’s warm grip.

The woman’s fingers tightened over hers and Kira was surprised to find herself reassured by the gesture. She slipped from the horse’s back and held fast to the creature’s reins. Her nerves settled a little more when the beast she had grown to rely upon showed no reservations in following the Persian woman into the cluster of tents.

* * *

When Kira awoke, sunlight was shining brightly through the partially opened flap of the tent and she could smell it heating the wool felt overhead. She frowned, thinking herself in her warrior’s tent once more, and wondered whether the ride to Tiflis and back had been a vivid dream.