Claire Delacroix (5 page)

At least she was not a fool, he concluded with an unwarranted rush of pride. He savored the pleasant feel of her cradled in his lap before he slid to the ground. Was the rest of her as soft as her hair? She gained her footing less gracefully than he had expected. That as much as anything was an indication of her unfamiliarity with horses.

That could well be changed. Thierry was amused when the witch immediately tried to pull away from him. Where did she think she might find safer haven than with him in this camp? Nogai would offer her company, ‘twas true, but somehow he doubted that kind of companionship would please her.

Thierry kept a firm grip on the end of her hair that had her shortly spinning to a stop, her eyes flashing angrily when they met his. Nogai laughed at her predicament and she spared him a hostile glance before she confronted Thierry once more.

She spat something, but the translator had been left in Tiflis. Mayhap not the best conceived plan, but then, Thierry needed no more from her than the pearl. Her anger was fascinating though, and Thierry watched her, unable to help being intrigued.

“Mayhap you will find out firsthand the cost of coupling with a witch,” Nogai taunted. The woman flicked him a venomous look, though she could not have understood the comment. Thierry chose to ignore the gibe.

She demanded something breathlessly, her tug on her hair communicating her request. Thierry almost smiled at her foolishness as he shook his head slowly. Her lips set mutinously and she crossed her arms under her breasts. Bewitching she was indeed, with those dark eyes shooting sparks. Thierry resolved in that moment to show both her and Nogai that he was unaffected by her charm.

He coiled her long hair once more around his hand, compelling her to come closer to him as he watched her silently. Her eyes widened in trepidation when he very deliberately repeated the gesture. She swallowed but took the requisite step closer. He wound her hair around his hand over and over again until his fingers were almost touching her throat. Thierry allowed himself a moment to flex his fingers in the thick mass, marveling at that softness, noting her discomfiture as she stared up at him helplessly.

Her skin was so golden a hue, he mused, recalling only too well the delicacy of her throat beneath his hands, the ripe press of her buttocks against his groin. He should not have teased her with his arousal, he knew, but she was so tempting, he had done so before he thought.

And now, he concluded as he looked into those wide brown eyes, she was certain that he intended to ravish her. He saw fear in those dark depths now where none had lurked in the shop. Her fear struck a nerve within him, as had her fearful response on the horse, dissolving his lust before it could truly take possession of him.

Dismissing his recurring urge to reassure her, Thierry nudged her impatiently forward. He felt his brows pull together in a frown of displeasure, even as he reminded himself that ‘twould be much easier if she remained afraid of him.

Women were a liability, an indulgence that made a man soft. And softness made a man vulnerable to his enemies.

Like Abaqa. Thierry’s blood ran cold as he noted again the woman’s delicacy.

This woman in particular was not to be trusted. Thierry had only to keep the witch close until the pearl reappeared. A day, mayhap two, depending on what she ate. Mayhap he would even return her to Tiflis unscathed if she granted him the gem quickly enough.

Making him soft already she was, he concluded angrily to himself. No Mongol would have considered setting her free. Did the blood of the great Khan not course through his veins? He opened the flap to his yurt with a savage sweep and shoved the woman inside, leaving a chuckling Nogai outside.

A day might well be all he could afford of her company.

Kira had not expected the interior of the brown tent to be so luxuriously appointed. She gaped openly at the thick, patterned rugs covering the ground. Embroidered cushions were scattered in one corner, a small unlit stove in the other with various cooking implements and small vessels. A brass lamp hung from the central pole that supported the roof, though it, too, was unlit and her captor showed no inclination to light it. He left the flap open behind them, his grip unrelenting in her hair as he bent and hauled cushions into a pile around the pole.

One tug on her hair had Kira on her knees and she protested, earning a hostile glare. The warrior broke into a spate of Mongol longer than anything he had said to date, angrily gesturing to their surroundings with a broad sweep of his free hand.

“No idea have I what you mean,” she countered irritably. “If you think that I will hold my tongue simply because you bid me do so, then you are indeed sorely mistaken—”

Kira got no further before the warrior scooped up a thick scarf and shoved it uncompromisingly into her mouth. She struggled against him as he tried to tie the gag. Kira managed to bite him hard enough that he cursed and released her hair to better finish the job. ‘Twas all the encouragement Kira needed to make a run for the open flap. She got no more than two steps before the warrior grimly swept her off her feet.

He was coldly angry, that much was readily apparent when he cast her onto her back on the cushions. Kira squirmed but he dropped one knee onto her belly, lowering just enough weight onto her to keep her captive but not crush her. His eyes flashed as he lashed her wrists to the pole with crisp efficiency. Another scarf served to bind her ankles. The ends of the one filling her mouth were knotted behind her head so that she had no hope of breaking free.

She was trapped!

The warrior glared down at her for a long moment, and Kira feared her heart would stop in terror when he bent toward her. Kira’s mouth went dry as her mind flooded with the certainty that he would surely rape her.

He merely tugged on the scarf knotted around her ankles so that her knees were forced between her elbows and tied it to the post, as well. He cast a blanket over her in evident disgust. Then he braced his hands on either side of her shoulders and barked out several terse, incomprehensible commands.

She had to break free somehow. Kira wriggled defiantly against her bonds, her movements setting the pole wobbling unsteadily. They both glanced up as the tent swayed. Kira stilled, then he glared down at her once more. A short lecture was undoubtedly what he was delivering, his hand signs making it more than evident to Kira that her fighting could haul down the tent.

Precisely, she thought victoriously. The warrior must have guessed the direction of her thoughts, for he shook his head with that maddening slowness. He moved out of her line of sight, then returned with a thick scrap of wool felt that looked much like the fiber of the tent itself. The warrior stood over her, mimicking the sway of the tent before dropping to his knees and pressing the piece of felt over Kira’s nose.

The wool itched for an instant, then she realized she could not breathe. Her eyes widened in horror at his meaning. He would sit by and let her suffocate? Surely not! she thought wildly. His untroubled expression shocked her, answering her doubts more eloquently than words.

They were barbarians, one and all, these Mongols.

The warrior stood slowly and cast the piece of cloth aside, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes that she had understood his meaning. He lifted the lantern from the pole where it dangled over her head and set it beside the stove. Kira frowned at him, unable to believe even a Mongol could be so callous.

Barbarian.

The final piece of the puzzle dropped into place when the warrior strode purposefully out of the tent, dropping the flap in his wake.

The tent fell into darkness in the same moment that Kira realized that he was leaving her alone. The muffled sound of his horse’s footfalls made her feel more abandoned than she had in all her life.

Indeed, she knew not even whether he would return. And that possibility troubled Kira more than she knew it should.

* * *

“The others will well enjoy this news,” Nogai commented wryly.

Thierry gritted his teeth as he dismounted, wishing there was some way he could keep the tale of his deed from spreading through the camp. But Nogai was not known for holding his tongue, especially once he had some
qumis
under his belt. The fermented mare’s milk was intoxicating beyond anything else Thierry had ever sampled and enough to loosen the most reluctant tongue.

That Nogai’s tongue was willing made the liquor’s effect all the worse.

“The tribute will be well received,” he restrained himself to commenting, knowing full well that this was not the news Nogai meant. His companion laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“But naught compared to the news that the Qaraq-Bäke has taken a woman,” he teased in a low voice. Thierry spared Nogai a scathing glance.

“I take no woman,” he insisted. Nogai laughed again and Thierry was dismayed to feel the back of his neck heating.

“Good news that is, for should you not claim her, there will surely be others willing to take on the burden of the task,” Nogai remarked lightly. Thierry stopped dead on the path, waiting until Nogai did likewise and turned to meet his eyes. The horses nickered in the darkness behind them. The revelry from the yurt ahead beckoned them onward.

“The woman will surrender naught but the pearl,” he growled. Nogai lifted his brows eloquently, evidently not convinced.

“And then?”

“She will return to Tiflis,” Thierry insisted, disliking the slow grin that spread over Nogai’s features.

“Surely you jest,” he charged. “No time had you to ride to Tiflis on this day and even less time have you to return there. Do you forget already that we engage the Golden Horde tomorrow?” Nogai rubbed his goatee with an affected gesture of recollection. “‘Tis a battle of some import, as I recall. Mayhap I err, but ‘twould seem that might distract your interest from one, admittedly small, woman.” Nogai paused, darting a sidelong glance in Thierry’s direction before he turned to swagger confidently to Abaqa’s tent.

How Thierry loathed it when Nogai insisted on seeing matters as they were not.

“Unless, of course, your interest in the woman is more than passing.” Nogai cast the taunt insouciantly over his shoulder as he walked away. Thierry stalked in pursuit, his expression turning grim. No time had he for this nonsense and already was he regretting this excursion into Tiflis.

“My interest is solely in regaining the pearl,” he reiterated doggedly.

“Aye, one pearl is well worth this trouble when already you have nine,” Nogai remarked with the innocent air of a child. Thierry did not trouble himself to respond to that comment. He was not in the least surprised that Nogai could not leave the matter alone. “Mayhap if you are not interested in her charms, you might indulge an old friend’s fancy?” Nogai suggested impishly. Thierry’s gut went cold.

“Naught but the pearl,” he repeated stonily. He hated the way Nogai shook his head and clucked his tongue.

“And the good people of Tiflis will believe that?” he scoffed. “The woman will be outcast on her return, regardless of what tale she tells. And well enough we both know how outcast women earn their keep throughout the world.” Nogai’s voice dropped confidentially and as he leaned closer, Thierry struggled to bolster his resolve against the appeal of the inevitable suggestion.

“Should she be fated to be condemned, should you not at least avail yourself of the pleasure of her companionship?” he whispered temptingly.

Thierry did not even dare to imagine such a thing. Already was he far too aware of the woman’s allure. And the reminder that her reputation had already been destroyed by his capturing her was less than welcome.

He thought of the way her eyes flashed in anger and something clenched within him.

Naught had this to do with retrieving the pearl that was rightfully part of the khan’s tribute, he reminded himself savagely. The woman would have to come to terms with her own fate when she returned to town. Had she not swallowed the gem, he would not have been compelled to bring her along.

His had been a perfectly logical choice under the circumstances and certain was Thierry that the khan would feel the same way. He shot a hostile glance in Nogai’s direction by way of answer and stalked ahead to the well-lit tent, leaving his companion to trail behind.

“And who will be sifting through her leavings, I wonder?” Nogai taunted unrepentantly, though Thierry resolutely ignored him. “Well would I like to see you on your hands and knees at that task,” he jested. His laughter did little to ease Thierry’s own doubts about the situation he had wrought.

“Mayhap you should find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” Thierry found himself saying. ‘Twas unreasonable how he hated the thought of his companions looking upon the softness of the witch as she slept.

Nogai laughed. “Then none will know if you keep your word,” he taunted. Thierry ignored him though the accusation made his ears burn.

The pair of
keshik
guards at the opening of Abaqa’s yurt stood aside when they recognized Thierry and Nogai. Thierry hesitated on the threshold, disliking that the sound of revelry was so high this early in the evening. In no shape would these men be for battle on the morrow, he thought with disgust, knowing that Nogai had oft proved that very same prediction wrong.

Mayhap if he had more Mongol blood within him, he might have similarly been able to fight well after a night of drinking.

Odd ‘twas that of late all seemed to remind him of the deficiency flowing through his veins.

The khan made a beckoning gesture to Thierry that struck him as slightly mocking. He stonily refused to take offense. Abaqa had made his position clear and Thierry knew well the alternative to doing the khan’s will. No matter if this subservient role increasingly chafed at him.

No matter if he was a better warrior than his khan. No matter at all.

“Come tell me of the results of your labors,” Abaqa invited, no evidence in his tone of how much he had imbibed.

“Tribute from Tiflis, as you requested,” Thierry offered matter-of-factly, pulling the small pouch of genuine pearls from his tunic. The khan riffled through the meager offering skeptically.