Claire Delacroix (13 page)

Her gasp he heard alone. He whispered some reassurance in the Frankish tongue he had not dared to let pass his lips in years before her sweetness overwhelmed him. Too tight was she for him to last, but mayhap ‘twas better for this to be concluded quickly. He thrust within her and felt the bite of her nails in his shoulders. He managed to thrust only once more before he arched back and spilled his seed.

Witch.

His witch. Thierry collapsed atop her, knowing he had never been so completely claimed. It seemed her softness invited him closer and he was sorely tempted to fall asleep thus. No one would lay an abusing hand upon her again, he thought fiercely, daring to whisper once more within the soft curve of her ear. She was his and his alone.

She was silent beneath him, her breath coming in anxious spurts, and Thierry reluctantly acknowledged the press of men around them. No place was this for such a sweet union. The deed had been done and now he would have his temptress to himself.

Her eyes were closed when Thierry dared to look and he knew a moment’s doubt, but he resolutely shoved to his elbows. Business was there at hand. The deed was done, but he must ensure that none doubted the evidence of their eyes. Ample time would there be in privacy for the slow loving he longed to savor with her. The night was yet young and his anticipation at the promise of that thought rose much more quickly than he could have expected.

Flooded with a protectiveness he dared not explore, he pulled his cloak to cover her as he withdrew, leaving himself exposed to draw the men’s attention from her. His. A murmur went through the tent as Thierry stood slowly over his woman, his feet braced on either side of her draped and prone form. Slowly he met the gaze of every man in the yurt, daring each to acknowledge the evidence of her broken maidenhead smeared upon his flesh.

No doubt would there be on the morrow that he had done this thing. No question would there be to whom this woman belonged. She had curled up at his feet beneath the cloak, yet again reminding him of a small cat, though her hands concealed her face from view.

One of the other men reached for the cloak with a mumbled joke, but Thierry drew his blade in a flash. The point at the man’s throat halted his gesture before he could unveil the woman. He swallowed carefully and straightened beneath Thierry’s gaze, though none moved to aid him. The tent fell yet more silent as the others awaited the outcome of the challenge.

“None shall look upon what is mine,” Thierry growled.

The stillness in the tent was so complete that he had not a doubt all had heard his claim. Once again he met the gaze of each in turn, waiting until the challenge faded from each pair of dark eyes before moving on. Satisfied, he deliberately sheathed his blade, adjusted his
chalwar
and crouched down to pick up his woman.

She recoiled from his touch, the accusation in her wide eyes when she pulled her hands away fairly sickening him.

But no time was this for dissent. Thierry hoped she saw the warning in his eyes before she buried her face again in the folds of the cloak. He reached for her anew, hoping none had witnessed her response other than him. He only dared to exhale when she did not fight him and he stood with her cradled in his arms.

Lighter even than he had expected was she and he marveled once more at her delicacy, letting his hand spread to span the slenderness of her waist. He felt the tension coiled within her and understood suddenly the shock their coupling must have been. No easy task had it been for her to allow his touch this soon, he was certain. Deciding on this path had taken courage and Thierry’s admiration surged for his woman. Soon enough would he show her that the reality of coupling had not to be such a hasty deed.

Impossible ‘twas to check his pride that she was his in truth, that he had been the first and that there would be no others as long as he drew breath. Thierry resolutely held her closer, determined to sweeten her recollection of their first mating before the night was through.

Ways there were of pleasing a woman and though he had long been chaste, he was well enough acquainted with such techniques. Indeed, the very thought of touching her in more private circumstances lent purpose to his step as he left the khan’s yurt.

‘Twas only when he gained the outside air that Thierry discerned her quiet sobbing. His lips thinned at the muted sound, his elaborate rationalizations forgotten as he roundly cursed the barbarian he had become.

* * *

She would not cry.

Kira willed her tears to stop, certain the warrior would think her a complete fool for such behavior. Though little enough did she care what he thought after what he had done to her.

Like animals had they coupled. Before an audience of yet baser animals. What kind of people dared to watch such intimacy? Certainly Kira had expected that their mating would be an inevitable result of her dancing, should she be successful, but never had she imagined ‘twould take place in public.

Indeed, she could scarce believe it now.

And why had this made her cry when her father’s frequent beatings had never drawn a tear? Although there had been a twinge of pain and certainly some discomfort, what had happened this night could not compare to the painful bite of the lash she knew so well.

‘Twas the shock alone that fed her tears, Kira told herself stubbornly, even as they refused to halt. Naught could her response have to do with this man. It could not, for she knew naught of him. And no credence would she give to the ache between her thighs. Little enough excuse was that for tears.

The night air was cold but Kira flatly refused to huddle any closer to the uncompromising man who carried her. What had she done? No gratitude had she anymore for the
qumis
that had fed her resolve and loosed her inhibitions, for its heat had completely abandoned her. Kira shivered, hating the filmy veils that clung silkily to her flesh.

Cold and alone she was with the man who had claimed her. Kira dared not look up to his face and stayed huddled within his cloak as she struggled to come to terms with what had happened.

Had this not been what she wanted?

Her traitorous body was too aware of the lean strength of his chest as the warrior carried her away from the scene of the spectacle they had made. She heard his solid footfalls in the beaten-down grass and felt the determination in the arms that held her against him.

No doubt his expression was as stonily impassive as ever. She despised him suddenly for granting her what she had asked of him, wishing too late that the loss of her maidenhead might have been a sweet mating. His fault it was that she had been forced to make such a choice, for had he not stolen her from Tiflis and the life she knew? Had he not taken her to the Mongol camp from which she could never return home?

Truly, it seemed she had plenty for which to blame this man, and her silent tears rolled unchecked over her cheeks.

But ‘twas she who had chosen him of all the men assembled there, and indeed Kira could make little sense of her choice. Surely she could not have any regard for a man with whom she had never spoken? Surely she could not feel anything but disgust for a man who had done what he had just done?

Kira’s feelings on the matter were more confused than she would have liked them to have been. Too comforting was his warmth for her taste, too easy would it be to subside against him and let him gather her yet closer.

Or worse, to let him touch her with such familiarity again. The scent of his skin reminded her that her own desire had not been quenched in her shock and she fidgeted as she struggled to dispel such inappropriate thoughts. She should loathe him. This warrior deserved no more than that.

He ducked into the enveloping shadow of the tent they had already shared and Kira’s pulse quickened. Did he mean to mate again? And yet more troubling, why did the thought prompt anticipation to mingle with her fear?

She gasped when he crouched without striking a flint, cradling her yet closer in his lap. Too aware was Kira of the darkness pressing around them and the distant sound of merrymaking. Indeed, the shadows made her yet more aware of the warrior’s proximity, his scent filling her lungs and heightening the intimacy of this setting. Mayhap ‘twas better to be in public after all, she thought wildly, trying desperately to scurry away from him.

His arms tightened around her, checking her retreat as he kept her resolutely in his lap, and he muttered something under his breath as he sat down. Kira froze, startled that his tone did not sound angry, and listened attentively for some abrupt change in his manner.

When none came, she dared to glance up through her tears even as her heart thudded in her ears, cringing at the shadow of his hand rising above her. His hand paused for a moment and she knew he had noted her fear before he gently pushed the hood back from her damp face.

He had left the tent flap open and Kira could discern his features in the half-light. His eyes were gleaming in the shadows and she fancied she saw concern in his expression, though she hastily dropped her gaze and refused to indulge her whimsy.

If only she could stop the flow of these cursed tears.

To Kira’s surprise, a rough thumb slid slowly across her cheek, collecting her tears in a single gesture. She watched transfixed as the warrior raised his hand and carefully licked the salty drops from his own flesh. Kira dared to meet his gaze, her mouth going dry at the intensity of his expression.

Slowly, as though he feared to startle her, he repeated the gesture and wiped the tears from her other cheek. Never did he even blink, let alone break her regard, and Kira’s chest clenched as his tongue languidly collected his new harvest of tears from his thumb. Something awakened within her again but she refused to indulge it, forcing herself to recall the kind of man she confronted.

A Mongol. A barbarian. A ruthless warrior. Kira swallowed carefully, not daring to believe the thought that immediately crossed her mind when he reached for the new tears on her cheek.

He simply could not be apologizing. What could a man such as this know about such social niceties? His very tenderness fed her tears and they flowed with new vigor despite her efforts, leaving Kira powerless within the maelstrom of her conflicting emotions. How could this man confuse her so? And why did he do so?

He leaned slowly toward her and Kira’s breath caught in her lungs, his move reminding her suddenly that she was cradled in his lap. His other hand was curled surely around her waist, his fingers gripping her pelvis with a gentle firmness. The strength of his thighs was bunched beneath her and when his free hand curled under her chin, Kira was stunned to hear a faint sigh escape her own lips.

When the tip of his tongue touched her cheek ever so gently and lifted away another tear, Kira shivered. He pulled her closer within the circle of his embrace as though he thought her cold and her fingers spread of their own accord to fan out on his shoulders. His careful removal of her tears was eroding any thought that he was to blame for her horrendous fate and she could not fight her instincts on this matter.

He
was
apologizing.

Kira’s heart melted at the realization, his touch igniting her desire once more. Indeed, she was only too aware beneath his gentle assault that the unfamiliar tension within her when she had danced for him had not been released. She was agitated deep inside and though she knew not what to do about it, she imagined her warrior did.

When his lips closed firmly over hers, Kira could think of naught but gaining that release. He nudged open her lips with his tongue and the world spun giddily at the warm spice of his kiss. Kira closed her eyes as she submitted and clasped her warrior’s neck, liking the feel of his corded strength beneath her hands.

She trembled when his fingers gripped the hair at the nape of her neck, her back arching high when his other hand explored the fullness of her breast. He teased her nipple with work-roughened fingers and Kira nearly cried out at the pleasure that coursed through her from that point.

Emboldened by his sure touch, she dared to run her hands over the breadth of his shoulders. Without breaking his languorous kiss, he guided her hands to the front of his
kalat,
his own hands roving to curve around her buttocks. Kira’s heart leaped to her throat and her fingers trembled, but she unfastened the ties nonetheless.

She hesitated for a moment, then slipped her hands beneath both the fur-lined tunic and the silk shirt beneath. His skin was as warm and smooth as heavy satin left in the sun, the wiry hair on his chest tickling her fingers. Kira recalled only too well the sight of his nudity the other morning, and her pulse accelerated.

She found his nipple and gave it an impudent pinch, liking the way he jumped in surprise. Before Kira could savor the unexpected moment, he shifted her weight in his lap and she was startled by the press of his hardness against her buttocks. The warmth of his hand landed flat on her bare stomach and Kira froze, suddenly certain that she knew what he was about.

This was no apology, she thought wildly. He meant only to earn her complaisance that he might take her again this night. What a fool she had been! This man had no regard for her feelings! And she had virtually begged him to make her his whore.

Kira squirmed in panic, but the way the warrior’s strong fingers slipped purposefully beneath the scarf wound about her hips brought her struggles to an abrupt halt. The warm span of his fingers speared through the tangle of hair at her crotch, the very possessiveness of the gesture making her suddenly afraid.

Mayhap her feelings about another coupling this night truly would carry no weight.

Kira met the warrior’s gaze tentatively, feeling completely captured beneath his grip. He was watching her, though she should have anticipated that, just as she should have expected his stony expression. He did not move and she had the sense he was waiting for her reaction.

Much as she was waiting to see what he would do next.

The two regarded each other silently for a long moment, Kira only too aware of the sound of her agitated breathing filling the tent.