Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Every two years, Michel took a journey through Eastern Europe into Western Asia.
He kept to a meticulously planned route that took him across the Mediterranean, into Damascus, Bukhara, Samarkand, up to Kashgar, and then to the edges of the mountainous steppes north of Tibet.
He had contacts in each of the major cities and friendly acquaintances in the little towns scattered between the cities.
Some, like Veronica, were French expats who had built their livelihoods on the trade Michel funneled to them.
Others were trusted locals, eager for business.
These contacts would arrange meetings with town merchants and officials, organize travel parties from one city to the next, prepare lodging, horses, wagons, and supplies, and communicate between each other on Michel’s behalf.
In the sixteen years he had been taking this journey–with his father at first but leading it on his own for some time now–Michel and his father had established a solid network of trade and a safe route for merchants.
This was, however, the first time Michel had ever done the route with a woman.
They had been traveling East of Merv for three days since he had brought her into his company.
His current crew of twenty-five men was coming out of the high desert and into a flood channel of the Amu Darya River.
The mountain runoff for spring was just starting, which cut the red sand and created pools of water to feed the blue-green desert bushes around them.
Michel glanced over at the perplexing woman, hoping to catch some expression on her face other than the irritation that had developed just before she joined his party.
She had not said a word, nor had she as much as acknowledged him or anyone else, since he put her on a horse in Merv.
He’d tried to talk with her, but there was no reason for her to know French, and she didn’t respond to any of his Mongolian either.
Veronica told him the dialect she’d spoken was from much further East—a dialect Michel did not know.
Still, because his eyes rarely left her, he’d noticed her perk up during certain conversations.
Directions, names of cities, where they were going, and where they would stay.
She understood something, he’d determined.
But otherwise, the woman seemed incapable or uninterested in even basic communication.
She hardly ate. Never made a sound. When they camped each night, Michel put her in the small tent he used when traveling between cities, and he slept just outside, frustrated at his inability to communicate.
He couldn’t help her if he didn’t know where she needed to go.
And, more critically, these roads could be dangerous.
He couldn’t ignore his duties to keep her safe.
“Up ahead,” Michel called to the crew. He indicated a thicket of low oleasters and tangled licorice roots where the men could take a rest and give the horses a chance to forage.
The high heat of the desert was a few months off, but it was still warm, and Michel looked forward to the cool water.
Once they reached the little oasis, the woman hopped from her horse, as competent a mount as any of them, if not more so.
It was no surprise given her heritage. Then she disappeared into the brush that obscured the bank.
He laughed to himself. For someone who claimed Michel owned her, she certainly never waited for permission.
He felt a pulse in his chest as he watched after her.
He took a quick scan of the men to be sure everyone was accounted for before following her to the water.
He went through the low trees to see her sitting at the water’s edge with her bare feet sliding in, her slippers next to her. She rubbed the red sand into her toes and rinsed them in the clear water. She did not look at him.
“Bonjour?” He spoke in French and then tried in Mongolian.
“Saim bai-noo?” He watched her for a reaction.
She had to understand something in nothing more than his body language or his good intent.
He had gotten her safely away from Armin.
He’d like to at least know that he had done the right thing by her.
She massaged her feet at the edge of the water as Michel came and sat next to her, careful to give her space. He felt the woman stiffen at his presence.
Michel draped his arms over his knees, his head turned her way.
“I wish you could communicate with me,” he pressed.
“I have this sense that I offended you by exchanging money for you. But I tried to have Veronica explain that you were free to go. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I expected something.
” He pulled off his boots to rinse in the water as well, wishing she would see him as others knew him to be.
“I hope to find someone who speaks the same dialect as you when we reach Turkmenabat,” he said.
“We’ll figure it out. And I’ll help to get you home.
” He paused, trying another tactic to pull some awareness out of her.
“Though I sure do like looking at you. You are the prettiest woman I think I’ve ever seen. ”
The woman said nothing, still dipping her toes.
“I’m glad I was there to help you in Merv.
” She may not understand, but it made him feel better to say the words.
“However you got yourself mixed up with that man, he was determined to get money out of you.” He shook his head.
She had to be a runaway, but from whatever terrible thing beyond Armin he may never know.
He paused before giving her a grin. “You may not have liked it, but having you fall into my arms wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to me. ”
She was really just amazing. He rolled to his side, leaning on his elbow, unable to pull his eyes away.
“Maybe this is your life. Maybe looking like you do makes it easy to grift, and we just met on a day you got caught.” He couldn’t help teasing, eager to get a rise out of her, even though he didn’t really think this was the case.
“Maybe you swindled Armin. Maybe you swindled me, too. I guess I’ll never know. ”
She stretched out her legs, the hem of her dress soaking into the water. He watched as it bled up her calf. He cleared his throat to corral his thoughts. “I have to be very careful around you. Especially now.” He trailed off, pulling his eyes away from her, putting his focus back on the river.
“Before I came here, I met with Cardinal Mazarin.” He catalogued his woes for her, pretending this was a real conversation.
“Our king is still too young to rule, so the Cardinal makes the decisions regarding trade, tax, that kind of thing.” Michel sighed.
“He wants more money from the territories to offset his debt from the war with Spain. I promised to bring back new trade and new business to avoid the tax.” He sat back up and crossed his arms over his knees, clenching his fists to relieve some tension.
“If I succeed, he won’t levy a tax. If I don’t succeed, I fear it could lead to a civil war. ”
The water, trailing up toward her knee now, caught his attention again.
He kept himself talking as a distraction.
“Your people aren’t the easiest to negotiate with,” he grumbled.
His eyes roamed over her. “It would be a great insult to the tribes if I were to harm you.” He swallowed, his voice going lower. “I wouldn’t harm you.”
The woman turned to him. Her mottled eyes focused on him, sparkling with concentration. She seemed to listen.
With a heavy, frustrated sigh at all the accumulating unknowns, he stood up and walked out toward the water, pulling his tunic off and tossing it back on the sand.
He leaned down, cupping water with his hands and washing it over his face and chest, the cold sting of it feeling good on his overheated skin.
He turned back to see that she was watching him.
He grinned at her, friendly, as he hooked his thumb in the belting of his pants.
Rather than smile back at him, the woman stood up suddenly and dove beneath the water.
Once again, amused by her unrelenting confidence, Michel returned to the shore and sat back down, watching her.
When she emerged, Michel’s mouth fell open, and his eyes went wide.
The water poured off her, the thin material of her dress adhering to her skin, making the fabric nearly transparent.
His heart thundered as she came toward him.
The clinging fabric showed him everything—her breasts, her torso, the fabric dipping in a deep crevice between her thighs.
She was no waif, and he suddenly forgot all his resolve.
He forgot that there were men on the other side of the brush, that he had vowed to stay honorable.
She stood in front of him, watching him with intense concentration.
Michel stared at her like an idiot. Water trailed from her hair and down her skin.
She leaned forward, so her face was just before him, water beads splashing from her skin to his.
He watched her as his heart stuttered. He felt a deep pull in his groin.
“Careful,” he said. He didn’t know if he was saying it to her or himself.
She looked into his eyes with that same commanding intensity, once again giving him that feeling that she wanted something from him.
If he only knew what it was, he would do it.
In that moment, she could ask anything of him.
He didn’t understand the pull she had on him, but for once in his life of planning and practicality, he didn’t care.
“Siren,” he whispered. He had no other name for her, and his desire made the word come out deep and thick.
She responded by reaching forward with her open palm and clacking his jaw closed with her fingertips.
She tipped her own chin up, stood, and left him to head back toward the horses.