Claire Delacroix (21 page)

Nogai was undoubtedly waiting impatiently at the gates already. That thought spurred Thierry on and he closed the door to the room carefully behind himself as he departed.

* * *

The souk in Constantinople was as colorful and busy as any Thierry had yet seen. Indeed, if he had not such a finely honed sense of direction, he might easily have found himself lost amidst the confusion. All manner of goods were there for sale, fineries collected from all corners of the world, their attributes recited to the thronging crowd by numerous self-assured merchants.

Thierry pushed his way through the crowd and acquired the goods he had need of, ignoring the rest. Dried meat, flat bread, some cheese and dried fruit. Another pair of blankets did he buy, for the air would be growing colder as they traveled farther north. No need had Kira of catching a chill.

His business completed, Thierry swiveled at the savory scent of freshly roasted lamb, thinking to fetch Kira a treat, only to have his attention snared by an inconspicuous shrouded shop.

Round gems gleamed in the shadows and a black-robed man sat nodding behind the display. His beard fell long and white over his chest, his thick eyebrows the same shade, his black turban making his face look more lined than mayhap it was. He glanced up and met Thierry’s gaze and those dark eyes flashed knowingly. The man beckoned with a bony finger and Thierry could not help but comply.

The man was a pearl merchant, the richness of the gems arrayed on the dark cloth enough to take even Thierry’s breath away. And fine gems had he seen in his days. But never any like these.

Despite himself, he was fascinated by their colors and shapes. Pink pearls there were and even one of palest green, ivory ones and those of outright yellow, and finally those of gleaming white. Not all were round and he marveled at their shapes, some twisted and convoluted beyond belief. ‘Twas a sight Kira would appreciate, and half a mind had he to fetch her. Even tiny pearly Buddhas were there and he raised a skeptical glance to the keeper.

“All genuine they are,” he declared flatly, touching the Buddhas with a gnarled fingertip. “From Cathay are these. Men there have learned the art of the oyster well. Little bronze statues do they plant in the creatures and the creatures know naught but to create pearls of them, just as they do with grains of sand.”

“‘Tis amazing,” Thierry commented.

The elderly man nodded sagely. “Buddhist, are you? A fine talisman is one of these for a fighting man.”

“Nay,” Thierry said flatly.

Not yet willing to leave, he let his gaze rove over the display once more and found his attention captured by an oddity of a pearl. On a fine gold chain ‘twas, as though meant to be worn around a woman’s neck, though the gem was misshapen. Despite its deformity, the pearl had a certain grace, however, and Thierry was intrigued at the way it caught the light.

“Ah,” the old merchant breathed. “Fancy the
aljofar,
do you? Have you a woman, then?”

“Aye,” Thierry admitted warily.

“Aye, and good luck an
aljofar
is for a mate,” the older man confided. “‘Tis traditional, you know.”

He hooked one finger beneath the chain and let the gem swing before Thierry. Thierry reached out to touch the stone and knew as soon as ‘twas cradled within his palm that he had to have it. As a token of his regard for his Kira. Only fitting it seemed to pledge himself to her with a pearl when ‘twas pearls that had brought them together.

Pleased with his logic, Thierry dug in his pocket for the pearl Kira had granted him. Yet more fitting ‘twas that one gem should be bartered for the other. He offered it to the old merchant, who accepted it with an assessing frown. As Thierry watched, he rolled the gem between his fingers, bit it, peered at it, then met the younger man’s gaze.

“Two dinars,” he offered.

Thierry shook his head firmly. “Well I am told that it is worth three,” he said. The merchant cocked a skeptical brow. “From Oman ‘tis,” Thierry added, repeating Kira’s claim as though he knew exactly the import of it. The merchant’s white brows rose and he plopped the gem into his mouth.

This time Thierry knew better than to react. He stood and waited, wishing he could fully dismiss his worry that the man could easily swallow the gem and trick him out of its value. Too much trust did this pearl business require, he concluded sourly, just as the merchant spit the pearl back into his hand.

“So ‘tis,” he conceded. “Three dinars, then.”

“The
aljofar,
” Thierry bargained. The merchant feigned surprise and frowned.

“A precious gift is an
aljofar.
Not a mere frippery to be cast aside when modes change,” he argued with a scowl. “This pearl and two more dinars.”

Thierry shook his head firmly. “Simply the gem,” he bargained.

The old man granted him a wary glance. “For a woman do you want this?” he demanded.

Thierry nodded resolutely. “For
my
woman,” he corrected firmly.

The merchant stifled a smile and rolled Thierry’s gem across his palm. “Your first woman, then?” he asked in a more welcoming tone.

Thierry cocked an imperious brow. “My only woman,” he affirmed flatly. The merchant shook his head and lifted the
aljofar
by its chain once more. He let it swing before him as though considering the wisdom of what he thought to do.

“The pearl and one dinar, then,” he offered genially. “An offer ‘tis that you will not match anywhere else, for this
aljofar
is worth far more.”

Thierry knew from the old man’s tone that he would go no lower, but he wanted the gem. He frowned and watched it swing innocently from its chain, as though it deliberately tempted him.

To think that he was considering paying coin for a trinket. When last had Thierry honestly purchased something other than essentials? To turn out hard-earned coin to cultivate a woman’s smile was beyond belief.

But ‘twas for Kira. And to be granted another sight of Kira’s smile. Well Thierry wanted her to have it and already could he envision the gem against her golden skin. ‘Twas inexplicable, but there ‘twas.

Thierry dug in his pocket for the coin and fairly shoved it at the merchant. The old man bit the coin in turn, then offered the
aljofar
to Thierry with a small smile.

“Well enough do I remember being young,” he mused with a twinkle in his eye. “Mind you always hold her in such regard. ‘Twill ensure that your lives be long and happy together.”

Thierry looked down at the gem in his hand with satisfaction and smiled himself as he met the older man’s gaze once more. “I would thank you for both the gem and the advice,” he said sincerely. “Well it seems that we have made a good beginning.”

The merchant smiled and inclined his head. Thierry was unable to stifle his own smile as he headed back to the inn. He indulged his desire to whistle, certain that naught could go amiss with his world on this day.

* * *

Kira was just awakening when he returned. She granted him a sleepy smile before she snuggled beneath the blanket yet again, and his heart swelled.

Impossible ‘twas that she could arouse him with such an innocent gesture, especially after their activity of the night before, but Thierry’s mind readily enumerated possibilities. He laid his purchases aside instead of packing them immediately away, wanting to linger here but a little longer.

Feeling uncharacteristically playful, he scooped up a pair of blood oranges from his newly acquired stores and dropped beside her on the blanket. Kira opened one eye warily, but he leaned back leisurely to lie beside her. She yawned and stretched and nestled her cheek against him. Thierry felt her gaze upon him as he quickly peeled the orange skins away with his short knife.

Evident ‘twas that Kira was hungry, as well, for her eyes gleamed and she soon sat up with interest. The move sent that shimmering curtain of her hair falling over her shoulders and bared the smoothness of her shoulder to his view.

Thierry was seized by a desire to know the taste of that specific spot. Though he well knew he would unable to cease his sampling there. Eternal temptation was clearly the price of taking this witch for his own. Thierry swallowed and carefully schooled the motion of his blade. Nogai would be waiting. They had no time for such whimsy.

Though if nights like this last were any portent of the future, he could scarce complain at the price.

When he offered Kira a segment of orange, a wicked glint lit her eye that should have warned him. Well enough should he know that that expression foretold mischief of the first order. Thierry but waited to see what she would do. His heart took an unruly skip when Kira simply parted her lips invitingly. Full well did she know how she tempted him, he was certain of it, but he played the innocent.

He carefully placed a segment in her mouth, feeling his desire rise anew when she closed her eyes with undisguised pleasure and her dark lashes fluttered over her cheeks. She closed her lips and he was certain this had been timed to trap his fingertip within their softness. Thierry slowly pulled his hand away.

Kira rolled to her back as she chewed at a fascinatingly languid pace and made a very feline sound of satisfaction in the deep of her throat. When she rolled back to her side, the blanket dropped yet lower, though she seemed not to notice.

She met Thierry’s eyes and smiled seductively before she opened her mouth expectantly once again. Thierry separated another segment, astounded to find her coyly beckoning him with her tongue. He halted and she giggled, as though amazed at her own audacity, then curled closer to him. Thierry shook his head and fed her another piece.

Witch. A trickle of juice escaped from the corner of her lips and it seemed he could not tear his gaze away from its path. Thierry watched as the red drop trickled over her chin and disappeared over the soft curve of her jaw.

Little imagination did he need to picture its path beneath the blanket and the realization barely formed in his mind before he impulsively dove in pursuit of its sweetness. Kira giggled, her laughter halting uncertainly when he boldly licked the juice from beneath her chin. Their gazes locked for a heated moment, then Thierry deliberately bent to kiss her.

Kira responded as enthusiastically as she had the night before, though she tasted yet sweeter from the orange. Indeed, Thierry knew he could readily drown in her sweetness once again. His fingers wound into her hair, his appetite for her not nearly sated, and Kira pulled him yet closer.

‘Twas only the intrusive thought of Nogai impatiently waiting that forced Thierry to finally lift his head. Kira was flushed in a most delightful manner, her eyes sparkling bright.

The road was long to Paris, Thierry reminded himself resolutely when she wiggled and her breasts were bared to his view. Her nipples tightened beneath his regard and he swallowed carefully.

Passage on a ship did they need and the tide would be going out, he forced himself to recall. Thierry cleared his throat studiously, torn between his desire and the need to resume their journey. Kira reached up to run a hand gently over his face as though she sensed his indecision, then plucked the second orange from the floor.

Did she understand or was she but toying with him? Though truly if Kira had set her mind upon mating anew, Thierry could scarce escape her. Nor indeed did he want to. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as though she had guessed his thoughts. She held the fruit aloft, shook her head firmly and Thierry knew she had something else on her mind. Fascinated, he could but watch.

“Thierry,” she said, laying the flat of one hand on his chest. His heart thumped beneath her hand but her fingertips danced away as she similarly indicated herself. “Kira,” she said pointedly.

When Thierry nodded understanding, Kira pointed to the orange and cocked a questioning brow.

She wanted to know the word for orange. It could only mean that she desired to learn to speak with him. Should he teach her Mongol or Frankish? Would she know the difference?

Thierry took the fruit from her and turned it thoughtfully in his hand while he considered the matter. ‘Twas Mongol he spoke on a daily basis, Mongol he spoke with Nogai and Mongol she likely should learn. Thierry looked Kira in the eye and intoned the Mongol word for orange.

To his surprise Kira frowned. She explained something rapidly that he could not understand, then pointed resolutely to the orange once more. Thierry repeated the word. Kira shook her head. She tugged the corners of her eyes so that they were tilted and pulled thin as she had once before.

“Qaraq-Böke,” she said with her eyes pulled back, then shook her head firmly again. Kira looked him directly in the eye and let her hands fall. “Thierry,” she said once more. The challenging glint in her eyes willed him to understand.

Thierry almost jumped at his intuitive grasp of her meaning. Kira wanted to learn Frankish, not Mongol. But how could she possibly know that he had taught her his Frankish name? He stared back at her dumbly, unwilling to trust his intuition.

Kira made a sound of frustration back in her throat and frowned. “Qaraq-Böke,” she said again, as though fearing she had mispronounced his name. Her voice faded uncertainly as she watched for his response.

Thierry’s surprise that she knew the name the Mongols had assigned to him was so complete that he could not hide his response. Kira shook her head in denial when she noted his understanding. Not Qaraq-Böke, he understood, and wondered if she was denying him. His heart stilled in fear.

Then Kira said “Thierry” again and nodded emphatically.

‘Twas not the man but the language she denied. Kira wanted to learn Frankish. Somehow she knew about his name, of that Thierry had little doubt. And she knew that Thierry was his Frankish name. He regarded his woman with newfound respect. She must have gleaned something of that in his expression, for she grinned outright. Kira demandingly pointed to the orange anew, as though he might have forgotten her intent.

“Orange,” Thierry supplied.

“Orange,” Kira repeated with solemnity. She said the word thrice more, then glanced to him for approval. Indeed, her expression was so hopeful that he could not deny her. Her accent was dreadful, her pronunciation marginal, but Thierry imagined that she might be understood.