Claire Delacroix (15 page)

She supposed the morning would show more clearly her role. Kira bit down on her frustration, knowing there was naught she could do to make the matter clear sooner.

But tired she was and he was wonderfully warm. Mayhap ‘twould not be so bad to sleep here. Indeed, what had she to fear from this man now? The warrior spoke to his friend, his voice rumbling beneath her ear in a most pleasant manner, and Kira dared to settle more thoroughly against him.

Thierry, she thought dreamily, saying his name in her mind despite her resolve not to do so as sleep crept up on her.

* * *

She was afraid of him.

Why else would she refuse to tell him her name? Thierry knew she had understood his request, for there was no lack of intelligence in those dark eyes. She had simply denied him, and though her refusal had stung at the time, he could well understand her uncertainty.

The shaman says a curse comes to a man who takes a witch. Indeed, I could not help but ask him the way of it. You should know that he was
most
interested in the matter.

Nogai’s taunting words burned in Thierry’s mind yet again and he gritted his teeth. Ironic ‘twas that she seemed afraid of him, for the shaman had evidently made it more than clear that he would be the one to pay the price for this night’s mating.

The curse? Aye, that will interest you, I should imagine, for ‘tis an ugly fate. ‘Tis said ‘twill shrivel and fall off once it has been buried in a witch. ‘Tis thus the shaman says and well you know he has seen much in his day.

A lie. A whimsy. It simply could not be that this sweet creature could extract such a toll from his body. Despite his doubts, Thierry could not help sparing a glance beneath the blanket to check.

Indeed, it seemed this witch made him larger, not smaller. He swallowed a smug smile at the thought.

And what did Nogai know of such matters? Superstitious he was, even beyond the inclination of the others within the tribe. Apt he was to believe every tale from abroad and see signs in the most mundane occurrences.

The shaman predicted your lack of success at Tiflis, did he not?

Nogai’s closing taunt echoed relentlessly within Thierry’s mind. Had the shaman truly said as much? Thierry did not know, Nogai’s manner indicating that the prediction had been well-known. Had he had a downfall? Certainly Thierry had lost an opportunity to prove himself, but his conviction that his time of ascendancy was upon him had diminished naught. He was not quite ready to concede that he had failed.

Although Abaqa’s manner lately had been less than encouraging. Thierry shifted restlessly, unable to dismiss the veracity of that last thought, his own wishes to the contrary.

Mayhap the shaman was right about taking witches.

Thierry looked down as the woman sighed, hearing evidence in the change of her breathing that she was truly asleep now. He shook his head mutely, unable or unwilling to condemn her so readily as a witch. Intrigued him in a most unnatural way she did, but that alone did not provide the proof he desired. Indeed, the pearls had fallen from her lips but once and once alone.

He recalled the scholar’s assertion that the taste of a pearl revealed its source, and wondered. Could she have been assessing pearls when they came upon her? A most practical solution to the puzzle was that and Thierry tried to assess it independently of its allure.

She could be naught but a woman stolen from her home. A fetching and frightened woman who had deliberately tempted him this night to ensure her own survival.

Or mayhap a witch.

But claimed she was. By him. And together they must find their path from this night onward. Somehow he had to earn this tiny creature’s trust without the ability to simply talk to her.

Thierry lay on his back and stared at the roof of the yurt, ignoring the giggling that accompanied Nogai’s sport as he puzzled over what to do. His thumb stroked the softness of her shoulder blade absently, the soft puff of her breath against his skin and the tentative press of her fingertips on his chest filling him with an unusual contentment.

How much did she understand of what had happened this night? Thierry knew not and suspected that only time would reveal the truth to her. No way had he of telling her that he intended to keep her by his side without fetching the annoying scholar from Tiflis. Soon they would be on the move again and it would be unreasonable—not to mention unpleasant—to be permanently blessed with that man’s company. Nay, this was an obstacle he and his witch had to conquer alone.

He could only make his intent clear by keeping her at his side, and that would take time.

In the interim, he would set himself to the task of earning her trust.

No intention had Thierry of partaking of her charms without her explicit consent again. Not only did the very recollection of his deed make him cringe inwardly, even knowing the necessity of it, but ‘twas clear that she intended to extract a toll from him for it, as well. Beside the risk of the shaman’s threats coming true, there was the unquestionable fact of her newfound distrust of him. The price was clearly too high all around.

He would have her come to him when next they mated.

Thierry frowned thoughtfully, knowing well that this night must have been less than a pleasant experience for her. Would she even
want
to come to him after such a mating? Doubt grew within him as he stared down at her, as peaceful in sleep as a child.

Impulsively, he bent and brushed his lips across her smooth brow, liking the way her silky hair caressed his nose. The very softness of her triggered his arousal once more and Thierry wondered in that moment how he would keep himself from her, mayhap indefinitely.

Wither and fall off. Truly the shaman knew naught of what he spoke and Thierry was tempted to show him the evidence of that himself. This witch would keep him engorged when even she ignored him, let alone when she turned her will upon him.

But what if she never came to him again?

As Thierry stared down at her, an idea formed in his mind, tempting him with the possibility so that it could not be denied. Mayhap if he showed her the pleasure that could be hers from this pastime, she would eventually come to him of her own volition.

Mayhap ‘twas worth a try.

* * *

Kira was having the most wonderful dream.

Her mind was repainting the memory of the loss of her maidenhead and well she knew it, but she granted her imagination free reign, knowing that a dream could hurt naught. She was floating in a warm sea of silk, drifting languidly while a school of little fishes nibbled at her thighs. Kira sighed and stretched amidst the soft swirl of silk, smiling to herself when the teasing fishes ventured higher.

They were nudging at the apex of her thighs where that sensitive spot was concealed. Kira spared not a thought before she parted her legs to grant them access. They dived gleefully through her nest of curls and she imagined the sight of them disappearing into the secretive darkness before their nibbles stole her breath away.

She twisted away from temptation but the persistent fishes followed her diligently, their feather-light teasing sending a tide of warmth coursing through her. The sea of silk grew warmer, or else her skin became more sensitive, for it seemed every fiber of her being had come alive.

Kira dared to part her thighs yet farther, gasping aloud when yet more fishes attacked her breasts with their seductive touch. She felt her nipples bead beneath the warm assault and arched high, stretching her hands above her to encounter a broad pair of shoulders that were decidedly not fishy.

Kira’s eyes flew open. Her heart fairly stopped at the silhouette of her warrior bent over her, his mouth gently tugging her nipple to an impertinent point. She watched in amazement as he lifted his head an increment and pursed his lips. The warm breath that fanned over her skin launched an army of goose pimples across her flesh. Kira shivered and he spared her a fathomless silver glance.

Their gazes locked for a long moment in the night shadows, the sounds of the others sleeping filling Kira’s ears as she silently regarded him. Then the warrior’s fingers moved expertly within the warm shelter of her dampness and all thought fled her mind. He leaned toward her purposefully and Kira closed her eyes as his lips found hers, knowing she was too aroused to deny his touch now.

Her senses were filled with the smell and the taste of him, his warmth, his strength. He coaxed and cajoled her flesh and, as surely as if she had willed it herself, Kira felt the fires kindled beneath her skin once again. Her legs shifted restlessly beneath the blanket as he ran an intoxicating row of kisses under her chin. She thought her heart would burst when he nuzzled her earlobe, his breath tickling the tender flesh there before he boldly licked behind it. Kira shuddered but her response gained her no respite from his fiery touch.

Those fingers between her thighs caressed and kneaded incessantly, demanding yet more of her even when she knew not what to do. She felt a moan rise to her lips but her warrior was quick to swallow the faint sound, his firm lips locking over hers once more. The move brought his bare chest into aching proximity with hers and Kira arched high at the persuasive brush of those wiry hairs against her aching nipples.

Suddenly a frenzy was loosed beneath her skin and she writhed against it. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders when his fingers continued to demand. It was too close, too much, too overwhelming and nameless, this tension that would not be denied.

With an abruptness that took her breath away, everything clenched within Kira. She made a cry into the warrior’s kiss as the convulsions swept through her. For an instant her heart stopped, her lungs clenched and her womb contracted with a strength that astounded her. She saw a blinding light behind her eyelids and felt a frisson of heat fit to fry her skin.

Then there was naught.

Naught but the darkness, the sound of her breathing and the gleaming silver of her warrior’s eyes. A seductive warmth flooded leisurely through her and she snuggled deeper into the embrace of the blanket. Kira barely had time to spare him a smile before she slipped back into that silky sea of dreams once more.

* * *

The summons from the khan came before the dawn.

Thierry was awake and heard the messenger’s pace on the grass before the man even reached the yurt. Instinctively he knew that he was the one being summoned. ‘Twas the time of reckoning, unless he missed his guess.

‘Twas a relief in a way to know that Abaqa would finally make his move, and Thierry found himself unnervingly calm. The
keshik
guard ducked his head into the yurt without preamble, his uniform revealing his regiment as the khan’s private guard. He nodded once when he met Thierry’s gaze, then ducked back outside.

Thierry extricated himself slowly from the delightful tangle of silk and softness that was his woman. He did not want to wake her so early and moved carefully, bending to tuck the blanket carefully back around her. She nestled down into the wool, rubbing her cheek against the spot where he had rested. His heart leaped, but Thierry refused to permit himself any romantic whimsy.

She had sought him out for his protection. He had granted her request in exchange for the pleasures she could grant him. ‘Twas best to keep matters simple between them. He would keep his end of the bargain and that was all there was of import here.

Well it seemed that the light of morning had restored his reason.

He could not halt his quick visual check before donning his
chalwar,
grunting with skeptical satisfaction that all was as it should be. As though it could be any other way. Shrivel and fall away. Naught did the shaman know, that much was clear. Was he not a warrior trained to believe solely the evidence of his own eyes? Rationale alone would govern his thoughts. Thierry could not completely quell an unexpected surge of scorn that these Mongols should be so gullible.

But was he not part Mongol? And what precisely was the other part that of late had made him think himself separate from them? Thierry dressed hastily, as though running from his traitorous thoughts.

As he made to join the messenger outside, he found himself unable to subdue the urge to look back on his woman one last time. She would be safe here with Nogai and well he knew it. Not wanting to look like a complete fool, Thierry made a pretense of adjusting his scabbard as he surreptitiously slanted a glance in her direction.

She slept, as before, with all the innocence of a child.

He wished suddenly that she would not awaken before he returned.

Nonsense. Foolish whimsy. The khan was summoning him this morn and well he should know that this interview would require his full attention. Changes were afoot. Thierry snapped the buckle on his belt and strode out into the waning darkness. The men exchanged another terse nod and the messenger set a quick pace for the khan’s yurt.

A
baqa was eating dates, or more accurately, was having dates fed to him by one of his wives. He smiled a predatory smile at Thierry’s appearance and Thierry noted that ‘twas his western wife draped by his side. From Constantinople had this one come, to forge an alliance, although Thierry had seen precious little evidence of such a truce.

Though truly, with the current state of affairs in the Byzantine Empire, it seemed there was little enough to be gained from a link with the Byzantine royals. Undoubtedly the woman was better out of her homeland. The men exchanged greetings politely, the guard stepped back and Thierry waited patiently. The khan chewed thoughtfully for a long moment.

“Had Berke not died in so timely a fashion, you might have had expectations,” he said finally, emphasizing the last word in a most pronounced way.

Aye, Thierry conceded to himself, he had had expectations when he had ridden from the camp. The retreat of the Golden Horde had stolen away the promise of the fulfillment of his ambitions, but still he could hope ‘twas but a temporary setback.

Even if the shaman’s actions and Abaqa’s words told him clearly otherwise.

“Mayhap,” he agreed carefully. “‘Tis of little import now.”

“Mayhap not,” the khan said enigmatically. He waved away his wife with an impatient gesture, fixing his gaze on Thierry. He smiled slowly, evidently realizing that he had captured the younger man’s attention, and carefully folded his hands together before he spoke.

“As the commander I know you to be, you must realize that this battle was our last chance to expand to the north.” Thierry nodded, unable to divine the path of this discussion. Such matters were well-known, even within the ranks.

“Constrained on every side are we now, even with the Golden Horde’s retreat. No interest have I in their lands north of the plains that are clearly ours once more, for the land is useless for grazing. Clear enough ‘tis, as well, that the lands north of Tiflis have already been raided so extensively that there is little enough remaining to take from them. The size and value of the tribute you collected from Tiflis can only be taken as a sign that ‘tis time to find greener pastures.” Abaqa spoke quietly, studying his fingernails with more interest than seemed appropriate. “The time has come that we must explore our final option.”

Thierry’s mind readily supplied dozens of equally drastic possibilities. He intuitively disliked that the khan was telling him about this, not at all comfortable that his destiny was apparently entwined with this option.

Not a good sign for his own fate could this be, for he was not usually among Abaqa’s confidants.

“We must make an alliance with the Franks,” Abaqa concluded, raising his dark eyes to meet Thierry’s. Thierry knew his surprise showed, for he had not the chance to check it.

“The Franks?” he asked when it seemed he was expected to say something.

“Aye,” Abaqa grunted, and frowned. “Palestine do they hold and many a time over the years have they contacted us about combining our forces against the Mamluk dogs. Now they have lost Jerusalem, a matter of much import to them, though ‘tis truly a hopeless town to hold. A question of religion is it undoubtedly. Well do we know that their emissaries are oft filled with this unreasonable desire to see us baptized.” He plucked another date from the bowl his wife had abandoned and plopped it into his mouth.

“In truth, ‘tis why my sire refused to trouble himself with them. Who indeed can imagine a man of such faith at war?” He made a vague gesture, and truly, Thierry could not imagine the Buddhist monks he was familiar with wielding a sword. Not even the shaman in the camp picked up a blade, though that man was filled with enough threats and dire warnings to suffice.

“My wife, though, knows of these Franks,” the khan confided, leaning forward to prop one elbow on his knee. “Ravaged Constantinople they did once in their religious lust and left most of the city for dead.” He met Thierry’s gaze and Thierry noted the spark in the man’s eyes.

“Such information leaves me pondering this Frankish alliance,” Abaqa continued, nibbling the clinging bits of date from his fingers with affected nonchalance. “I would know what kind of men they are.” His voice dropped slightly and Thierry stiffened. “I would have a military man provide me an assessment.” That dark gaze swiveled back to pin Thierry to the spot. “I would have
you
find out.”

“What do you mean?” Thierry asked pointedly. ‘Twas evident what Abaqa meant but he wanted to hear the matter stated clearly.

“I would have you ride to this Paris of theirs as an emissary. My greetings will you carry and mayhap my encouragement of a treaty, depending on the evidence before your own eyes.”

Thierry swallowed carefully, knowing full well the impertinence of the question he would ask but having no choice. He had to know.

“Why me?”

The khan smiled a predatory smile that told Thierry that he was not expected to succeed. “Well it seems to me that I recall hearing a tale that you speak the Frankish tongue,” Abaqa commented idly. Though this was true, Thierry suspected ‘twas not the fullness of the tale. The shaman’s silhouette separated from the shadows behind the khan. The man’s eyes gleamed and Thierry knew a moment of dread to have his suspicions so readily confirmed.

Was he being sent on a futile mission in the hope he might not return?

Truly it seemed that his fate was not to be markedly different from that of Chinkai. But at least Thierry had a chance of surviving. And survive he would, despite the conviction of these two men.

“Aye, I have spoken the Frankish tongue,” he agreed carefully. “Though it has been many years.”

“The road is long,” Abaqa said offhandedly. “Much time will you have to practice.” His eyes brightened and he leaned forward once more. “There
is
another reason,” he confided in a low voice. Thierry’s heart began to pound.

“Aye?”

“Aye. Show me your mark.”

Thierry frowned in confusion, then reluctantly unfastened his
kalat.
Only too well did he know the suspicion the Mongols had of his birthmark, though he gave it little heed. Had his father not sported one much like it? And what had it to do with this mission? He bared the port-wine stain to view, surprised to hear a woman’s gasp.

“‘Tis the mark of the Christ,” the khan’s Byzantine wife declared breathlessly. The shaman’s eyes glittered triumphantly and the khan’s smile widened.

Thierry watched in stunned amazement as she darted forward to gingerly trace the outline of the mark with a quivering fingertip, though she did not touch his flesh. Her hand paused and hovered before him as her gaze flicked audaciously to his, then danced away, her head bowing as she dropped to her knees before him.

Thierry glanced up in surprise to meet the knowing smile of the khan. He felt the woman’s lips brush across his boot.

“They will believe you,” Abaqa growled with satisfaction, his gaze sweeping scornfully over his wife.

Thierry’s head reeled but he took a step back from the kneeling woman and cleared his throat deliberately. “When shall I leave?” he asked hoarsely.

“This very day,” the khan asserted curtly, snapping his fingers impatiently at his wife. “No need is there for you to ride all the way back to Tabriz with us. The way is shorter from here.”

His wife stood hastily and scurried back to his side, her eyes downcast once she noted her spouse’s dissatisfied frown. Gravely had she erred in dropping to her knees before any other but the khan himself. Thierry hoped he would not have to pay for her insolence.

“The message will be ready shortly.” The khan tented his fingers together and smiled yet again as he met Thierry’s gaze. “Mayhap that rebel Nogai would be well advised to accompany you,” Abaqa added in a dangerously low tone. Thierry’s heart clenched that his fall from grace should implicate his friend as well, but there was little he could do about the matter now.

“After all,” Abaqa commented under his breath as he selected another plump date, his easy manner apparently restored, “I have no space in my camp for ambitious men.” The men’s gazes met and held once more. The glint in the khan’s eye told Thierry that ‘twas not Nogai’s ambition that troubled him.

Indeed, he was being cast out of the camp, Nogai condemned to accompany him because of their long and openly acknowledged friendship. Thierry flicked a glance around the yurt and met the satisfied gleam in the shaman’s eye once more.

The other man tapped his staff on the ground with satisfaction, the tails attached to the horse’s head carved at its top dancing in the fitful light. No doubt had Thierry that his influence was responsible for this discussion. As their gazes held, the other man smiled slowly, his gaze dropping pointedly to Thierry’s crotch.

“I would assume,” Abaqa commented with feigned disinterest, “that I would have no reason to concern myself about witches in the camp on the morrow.”

“Witches?” Thierry asked mildly, refusing to be goaded. He held the shaman’s gaze until the man’s smile faded before looking back to the khan.

“Aye,
witches.
”

“Naught do I know of witches,” Thierry commented, watching the khan’s brows rise.

“You coupled with one before us all last night!” the shaman charged abruptly as he strode forward. All within the yurt looked up with interest, but Thierry maintained his calm.

“Claimed a woman, I did, in the usual manner,” he declared softly.

The shaman’s eyes gleamed and he shook his head. “Nay, she is a witch, for Nogai told me so and well do you know it, as well.” The shaman leaned forward confidently and Abaqa watched him avidly. “‘Twas her sorcery alone that gave her the strength to refuse my elixir,” he whispered ominously.

Thierry saw the truth flicker in the old one’s eyes and knew that his woman’s refusal to surrender the pearl to the shaman had not been taken well. Yet again, he wondered how she had contrived to hide it, though it mattered naught now. His disagreement with the shaman had precipitated Abaqa’s move and naught could change the matter.

All the same, he could not suppress a flicker of pride that she had bested the shaman.

Thierry shrugged with mock complacency. “Witches, shaman, holy men. Are you not all the same in truth?”

“Nay!” the shaman claimed wildly. “Evil are witches, for they twist the hearts and minds of men and destroy their form.” Again that glance dropped and Thierry noted the khan’s interest in the same part of his anatomy.

“Well it seems that you have erred in this prediction,” Thierry stated quietly. “Indeed, the reverse seems true.”

“He lies,” the shaman whispered to the khan.

“Mayhap you would like to see for yourself,” Thierry suggested silkily. Both men’s eyes widened and the shaman’s voice dropped to a hiss.

“Best he leaves the camp with his witch immediately, for no good can come of his presence. Have you not seen how the gods have turned against him? His golden luck is gone and with it, any need for us to shelter his kind.”

“I shall be gone as soon as the message is prepared,” Thierry interjected flatly. No interest had he in hearing any more of the man’s nonsense.

Threatened the shaman was undoubtedly by the promise of another within the camp who might lay claim to his influential role. Women and men both could be shaman within the Mongol tribes, and Thierry was sorely tempted to make some brash claim of his woman’s influence. The khan looked as though he would ask a question but Thierry spoke quickly first, knowing all the while the impertinence of the deed.

“My woman and
anda
will accompany me,” he concluded, backing away before both men’s relief.

Good ‘twould be to put this life behind him, for thoroughly tired was he of the suspicions and superstitions that traveled with it. A relief ‘twould be indeed not to be looking over his shoulder at every turn in anticipation of a betrayal. The matter was settled with Abaqa finally, and though Thierry hated to admit his ambitions thwarted, in a sense he was relieved. No more would he bow and scrape under the implied threat of his own demise.

A simple man he was again. A warrior, a mercenary, a blade for hire once the khan’s message was delivered. No future had the Mongols in these parts, penned in as they were, and Thierry lifted his nose to the wind.

His mind filled with possibilities of adventure and fortune to be gained in other foreign lands just over the horizon. Had he not always had the certainty that he was destined for greatness? Mayhap his destiny was with others than the Mongols. So close he had come here to gaining ascendancy, only to have victory stolen away by foolish errors. It seemed the fates did not see success for him here. But still he had learned much these years and such experience would come readily to his hand when he had need of it again.

The land of the Franks beckoned. It could not be coincidence that sent him to the land where he had been born, the land that he had never known. A new spring was there in Thierry’s step when he gained the outside and he thought he saw promise even in the rain. Always had he lived in the East and he wondered for the first time what had compelled his parents to leave their homeland so soon after his birth.

But no option had he of asking that question, with angry words and the width of Asia between himself and his father. And no need had he of an answer, in truth, for he was heading to his native land this very day.

Did Dame Fortune await him there?

* * *

Kira awoke to the drone of rain on the tent. She snuggled deeper into the warmth of the blanket, not knowing whether to be disappointed or relieved to find her warrior gone.

Had she dreamed that magical interval in the night or had he truly touched her? An exploring finger revealed the slick dampness between her thighs and she smelled her own scent heavy beneath the blankets. Kira’s color rose and her certainty grew that the warrior would certainly think her no better than a whore for her shockingly loose behavior.

Indeed, she could scarce believe she had acted thus herself.

A woman groaned and a masculine voice raised in sleepy complaint. Kira closed her eyes again to feign sleep and rolled over to covertly seek out the source of the sound. The warrior’s companion sat up with a scowl and scratched his bare skin, sparing a terse comment to one of the women who slept beside him. She argued briefly but he cocked his head uncompromisingly toward the tent flap. Kira slid farther under the protection of the blanket as the woman roused her companion with irritable resignation. The two of them, their kohl eyeliner smeared and hair bedraggled, made their way out of the tent.