Claire Delacroix (17 page)

“Your kin?” he demanded with interest. “Naught have I ever heard you say of your kin afore.”

“And now you have,” Thierry retorted curtly.

What had prompted him to speak of personal matters with Nogai? Never had he even mentioned his family; indeed, none of the Mongols even knew his true name. The woman he had told already. Thierry slanted a wary glance in her direction, not in the least reassured by that realization. Why had he confided in her? He frowned and gestured pointedly to the unlit tinder.

“Are we to have a blaze this night or not?”

Nogai’s brows rose, but he said naught else as he struck the flint. An awkward silence settled between the pair of them, a silence curiously unfamiliar for all the times they had sat together wordlessly on the plain.

Hot tea did they make to accompany the yogurt and flat bread they carried, though the meal was consumed wordlessly. The rain made the fire fizzle fitfully, and though Thierry knew his friend was curious, he could not speak of Khanbaliq and what he had left behind.

This woman was reminding him of matters best forgotten. Mayhap that was the root of her sorcery.

“Mayhap the fire was not such a good idea,” he conceded finally when it fizzled to smoke yet again. Nogai’s grin flashed opposite him before he sobered.

“The wood will do us for another night,” he agreed quietly. Thierry smiled in turn, reassured that his reticence had not offended his friend. Nogai winked unexpectedly and jerked his head toward the woman. “Should you wish your sport this night, you had best be quick about it. She looks on the verge of sleep.”

Thierry glanced to his woman in time to see her stifle a yawn, and barely checked an affectionate smile from spreading across his features. No sport would he have this night, nor indeed any other, he reminded himself firmly, without her express consent.

But no need was there for Nogai to know that. Thierry agreed and kicked out the fire, spreading his second blanket on the damp ground before coaxing the woman to lie down. She curled up immediately within the wool, looking very feline before she spared him an inquiring glance. Thierry knew not how to tell her ‘twas up to her whether he joined her or not, so he simply stood and held her gaze.

Finally she shivered with exaggerated tremors and reached out one hand to pat the expanse of blanket behind her. Thierry needed no second invitation, his anticipation firing as he dropped behind her. He thanked his lucky stars that he had not had to endure the waiting much longer, astonished when she did not unfurl her blanket to welcome him against her warmth.

To his surprise, his woman cuddled up against him and made a sound of satisfaction much like a contented purr before she closed her eyes. Thierry regarded her in amazement, knowing she could not be feigning the way her breathing slowed in sleep.

Nogai’s smothered chuckle did little to ease his annoyance. Thierry hauled his cloak and the end of the blanket over himself in dissatisfaction, telling himself that ‘twas his imagination alone that she smiled against his shoulder in her sleep.

* * *

The woman grew increasingly more comfortable in Thierry’s presence as they drew ever nearer to Constantinople, though indeed she did not show any signs of planning to invite him between her thighs once more. Indeed, she cuddled against him on the third night as though his presence was no more threatening than that of an indulged family pet.

Tempted he was to not sleep with her at all, but he could not deny her his warmth. The nights were growing colder and she was small. When he felt her shiver, something nameless within him prompted him to ensure she did not fall ill.

A far cry indeed were these feelings from those he expected from the independent barbarian he knew he had become. Was it possible she was awakening all that was not Mongol within him? The return of such tender feelings did not sit well with Thierry, especially when the woman granted him naught with which to assuage his own needs.

For truly the shaman knew naught of what he spoke, the proof of that fact keeping Thierry from sleep. Except that mayhap this desire without release kept him snared within her web, be it a trap of sorcery or simply her soft femininity.

His vow irked him, but he would not break it now. Only the certainty that the woman rode with him because of her fear of the horses kept him from touching her again in the night. Clear ‘twas that she had not the nerve to ride alone, should she be given a choice.

Mayhap for the sake of his vow he should give her a choice. Thierry concluded savagely. As though she sensed the direction of his thoughts, she wriggled closer and sighed with contentment. Thierry gritted his teeth at the invitingly ripe curve of her buttock pressed against his thigh.

Like some cursed lapdog did she treat him, not a Mongol warrior.

For a tempting moment he half considered doing something dramatic to show her the error of her ways, but the soft sound of her breathing brought him up short. Asleep she was already and he had not the heart to awaken her. Thierry folded his arms behind his head and stared into the fathomless indigo of the night sky.

Lapdog. He fairly snorted at the thought. Had she not been shocked when they had coupled before the others? Mayhap he should shock her again. Nogai was not much of an audience, but he would do. She was small enough that she would not be able to keep him from his goal, were he truly set upon it, he reasoned savagely.

She rolled over and the feather-light fall of her delicate fingers on his tunic brought all such thought to an abrupt halt.

Thierry stared at her relaxed fingers, unable to quell his satisfaction that she was showing signs of trusting him. And there was the matter of his vow. Not to mention his own desire to love her tenderly and gently when next they mated.

Even if it killed him, he must grant her the opportunity to come to him.

And well it might kill him if she persisted in smiling at him with such maddening sweetness, but going no further.

The muted sounds of the night reached his ears and Nogai began to snore with characteristic relish as they lay once again on the open plains. The woman burrowed into the warmth of Thierry’s shoulder and he stared unseeingly up at the stars, wishing she might come to him soon.

Very soon.

* * *

The warrior was sleeping when Kira awoke. She remained nestled against him as she watched the sky tinge pink to greet their fourth morning of travel. Her buttocks ached from their ceaseless riding and she felt filthy beyond compare, but at least she was warm. And mercifully the rain had stopped. Kira was relieved that her clothes were finally drying and vowed she would never take such simple comforts for granted again.

How long until they reached Constantinople? Indeed, she had little idea how far the great city was, even from Tiflis, let alone what kind of pace they made. And why were they going there? What would happen when they arrived? No clue had Kira and she stifled anew her impatience. She wished she could remember what her warrior had said first, before he had said “Constantinople.” Had it been the name of another town? Was Constantinople simply en route or was it in the vicinity of this other place? Had that been the name of a place at all?

Annoying ‘twas beyond compare that Kira did not know and yet more so that she could not ask. She would simply have to wait and see.

The warrior’s arm flexed, shifting the weight cast across her waist, and Kira watched him sleep. No less threatening did he look in peaceful repose, the line of his mouth as uncompromising as ever it was. She squinted and tried to imagine his lips curved in a smile, without success. At least he had claimed her for his woman and she had the certainty that she would not be cast before the advancing army as war fodder.

Though still it irked her that he obviously had no desire for her form. Why then had he claimed her? Impossible ‘twas that he might have felt some responsibility for tearing her from her home, for he was a mercenary. That much was clear to even Kira’s inexperienced eye. No feelings had this man, though truly she had expected that he might be more lustful.

It must be that her inadequacies did not tempt him.

What would happen if another crossed their path who did tempt him? Indeed, what fate did he plan for her, if not as his woman? Surely even a Mongol man took his pleasure with his woman more frequently than this? Kira knew not and wished that she knew more of men and their ways.

Or even that she was capable of asking him for the truth.

Could the Persian woman have been mistaken? Could he be taking her to Constantinople to meet some other, even less attractive fate? Kira considered the uncompromising lines of her warrior’s sleeping visage and could not imagine that ‘twas so. For all his stern manner, he had shown her a manner of kindness she had not known before and she would not condemn him out of hand.

Nor would she reflect upon her fate should one who did tempt him cross their path. Naught could she do if he chose to cast her aside, and she could not worry about troubles before they came. This was her life. For now, she would take life, such as it was, and be grateful for each day.

Indeed, she had little choice.

Kira rolled out of the warrior’s grasp and listened, fancying she heard the sound of running water. How enticing ‘twould be to have a bath and scrub this mire from her skin! And should she be quick about it, the men need never know.

She slipped carefully from the warm clutch of the blanket, holding her breath as she watched the warrior. He did not awaken, or else he feigned sleep so well that she could not discern the difference. He did not appear to notice her departure from his side, a fact that did little to bolster Kira’s pride. The other one snored undisturbed.

Soundlessly, Kira unfastened the warrior’s saddlebag, surprised to find its contents meticulously well organized. She found the soap and the length of cloth, sparing a covert glance over her shoulder before she hastily pursued the sound of running water.

* * *

Thierry knew something was amiss as soon as he awakened.

She was gone. At the realization that the woman was not beside him, his eyes flew open to scan the camp. Nogai snored comfortably but not a sign of her was there. His heart missed a beat.

Had another stolen her away? Or had she run from him?

Thierry was on his feet in a flash, the sight of his opened saddlebag bringing a frown to his brow. He squatted and checked the contents, surprised to find his soap missing.

Then he heard the running water. His mind put the pieces together and he breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

Bathing she was again. He shook his head tolerantly at the fancies of urban women and shoved to his feet. His gaze scanned the horizon as he listened and he picked out the change of vegetation at the edge of a rise. The river was there. Too readily did he recall the bronzed perfection of her skin, the realization that it had been long since he had gazed upon his woman following quickly in the memory’s wake.

She would be bathing nude, he was certain of it. Thierry licked his lips and stared resolutely at the ground. No business had he watching her. Had he not made a vow? Had he not pledged to leave her be? How would he deny himself with her loveliness arrayed before him again?

Water splashed and he turned immediately at the sound. She might have slipped. Indeed, another could have come upon her at her leisure. Unable to check his steps, Thierry followed the sound of the water. After all, he told himself self-righteously, ‘twas unsafe for her to bathe unescorted. Who knew what manner of bandits and vagabonds frequented these hills?

Though at the sight of his woman thigh-deep in the river and gloriously nude, all thought of anyone else was dismissed from Thierry’s mind.

She was more beautiful than he recalled, her skin that even golden tone, every facet of her figure delicately wrought. His desire fired with an intensity that astounded him as she bathed, completely unaware of his presence. Thierry could not move from where he stood, everything within him captured by the sight of her.

She turned and he fairly heard her gasp when she saw him.

They both froze in place, eyeing each other warily. She vainly tried to cover her bare breasts with the small bar of soap and her tiny hands. Thierry could think of naught but covering them with his own hands, the thought thickening him in a denial of the shaman’s dire prediction.

An instant later he was striding down the bank purposefully, abandoning his clothes as he splashed into the water. He noted with amazement that she held her ground, but even that observation did not slow his pace. The river swirled about her hips, its water icily green, its chill sending her nipples into pert peaks. Thierry knew he had never desired a woman more, but he finally stopped a pace away from her with uncertainty.

He did not want to frighten her again. And he had vowed to let her come to him.

Thierry looked into the dark glory of her eyes, the sight of her hesitancy renewing the hold of his vow over his desire. He held out his hand for the soap with matter-of-fact ease and she immediately surrendered it, as though glad to abandon its burden. Their fingers brushed accidentally in the transaction, sending a jolt through him. He glanced to her eyes again, surprised to find a scarlet flush burning her cheeks.

Thierry cocked one eyebrow inquiringly and his woman became truly agitated. Her color rose impossibly higher and she gestured hastily to his arousal, her gaze dancing nervously to meet his before she averted her face with a jerk.

Surely this could not be. Could his temptress doubt her own charms? Thierry lifted her chin with one finger that she would be compelled to meet his gaze. The way she swallowed awkwardly beneath his touch fed the tenderness flooding within him.

So, she did not understand the reason for his state. He glanced down to himself, then looked to her, willing her to understand that ‘twas the sight of her that enflamed him. She hastily shook her head and looked away nervously once more.

Nay, sweet witch, Thierry thought affectionately. The fault was indeed hers and he impulsively decided to make the matter most clear. Well should she understand the power she held over him. He tipped her chin once more and held her gaze for a long moment, letting his fingertip slide slowly down to her collarbone and trace its shape. Thierry let his gaze follow his fingertip, knowing all his hunger for her must be blazing in his eyes.