Chapter 6
Chapter Six
The next morning, as Michel was tending to the horses, he knew he needed to talk to Eve.
She had woken him up from his bedroll on the floor by poking him in the side with her toe and demanding that he take her to the market.
Now he was waiting in the cool morning air for her to emerge from the yurt so they could walk into town together.
Michel, never one to leave things to chance, had decided last night about what he was going to do with her.
No, he couldn’t have an angry, insulted tribal woman on his route with him.
The longer he traveled with her, the more he exposed himself to the eyes of those who would revile him for being so bold.
His ability to safely travel and maintain a steady route for the other French merchants rested completely on his actions and reputation.
He had to show respect to the people and their customs at all times.
He had to live up to the standards his father, a man who never once faltered or failed, had set when he maintained these routes.
What to do about Eve? Purchased servant? No. He would be condemned, and more importantly, he didn’t like thinking of himself that way.
A hired maid? Perhaps.
He could hire someone to make and break a camp.
A woman made sense. A Mongolian woman made even more sense because of their nomadic upbringing.
It was the best he could come up with in the moment, so he was going to go with it.
Though he still hoped to find her people, he didn’t have any reason to keep her confined or miserable.
Besides, she was determined to stay with him, so what could he do?
Lock her in the yurt and sneak away in the night?
He might even be able to enjoy having her around.
If, he thought with a laugh, if he could keep her from biting him again.
It sure would make everything easier if she weren’t so goddamned beautiful.
Their camp sat at the edge of the city in the reddish-brown dirt that led back to the desert. The horses were foraging on patches of flat grass while he refreshed their water. Michel looked up when she came out of the yurt. She straightened the mat at the front and slipped on her shoes.
“Eve,” he called, as he smoothed a hand over the back of a dun-colored mare. “Come here, please.”
She glared at him, then came through the camp, past several men sipping coffee by the fire, until she stood before him.
“I cannot keep you as a servant,” he began.
“But—” she started.
He held up his hand. “Wait. I have a proposition.”
She clamped her mouth shut and watched him.
“I will hire you. You can help tend the horses, make and break camps. Organize…whatever needs organizing.”
“Or?” she ventured.
“Or you can leave right now. I’m sure I can book you passage to your home if you tell me where. But if you stay, you will work, and I will pay you.”
She turned up her chin. “Why?”
“Because I truly do want to help you. I owe you that.” He shrugged. He poured another bucket of water into the trough, careful not to spill. “It won’t look so bad for me if I truly have hired you.”
She continued to glare, one eyebrow hitched, her golden hair falling over her shoulders. The horse whinnied loudly beside him.
He laughed away some of the unease he felt at the position he had put them both in. “I do want to help you.”
He set the bucket down. He had the urge to reach out and take her hand, to level some softness or understanding between them, but he didn’t.
“When I saw you,” he cleared his throat.
“You’re right—you took me by surprise.” He wiped his hands down the front of his pants.
Now here came the hard part. “I’d like you to understand,” he said, deciding exactly how much he should share with her, “I’m not here on holiday.
” He let his heel grind into the dirt. “I’m here so France has a presence.
So the men who trade can do so safely. So that my country remains connected to this part of the world.
” He shifted his weight and folded his arms in front of him.
“I have to be above reproach because if I insult any of the locals, the tribes could cut us off, forbid our travel in the area. That will upset the Cardinal, which will hurt my family and my people.” He tilted his head, hoping she understood.
“If you wish to travel with me, I can’t let that jeopardize my objectives. ”
She looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Which means?”
“I can’t have people think I’ve taken you.
” He paused to clear his throat. “For, um, my pleasure.” He looked down and then up at her from under his brows.
“If you want to travel with me, I ask that you help me so it doesn’t look like I’ve coerced you.
People talk. Gossip spreads faster than I can ride.
” The horse knickered, and Michel stroked her mane.
“You are under no obligation to me. I know that I wasn’t particularly respectful at first. But,” he gave her a grin, one he hoped was charming, “I wouldn’t mind having you around, if you’d like to stay.
You’re a lot nicer to look at than these men. Smarter too.”
She reached out to place her hand on the mare’s snout. The horse quieted. She watched Michel carefully. “You will take me to France?”
Michel ground his jaw. “I don’t want to promise you something I can’t fulfill.
I’m not done with my business. It might get rough, still.
But, if you work, keep me organized with the men that join, help us live less like animals, as you said…
” He smirked at her. “My hope is that you will decide that you want to return to your people. But you are welcome to stay as long as you are comfortable.”
She surveyed him. After a moment, she nodded. “Alright,” she said. “That works.” She moved to turn away, then she addressed him again. “The yurt,” she said. “I would like my own yurt.”
“No,” Michel said, flipping the reins of the horse from one hand to the other. “I know a lot of these men very well, but some of the others are new on this route. I don’t know how they’ll respond to an unattended woman.”
He tilted his head and looked at her. “You keep the bed. I will continue to sleep on the floor.” Then he lowered his voice, softened it.
“Last night, you made it clear I needed to keep my distance.” He felt suddenly humbled, remembering the lesson she taught him when she bit his finger.
“I’ll respect that.” He paused, looking for the words.
“But you also showed me that you’re not helpless.
You wouldn’t be here if you had a better option.
” He studied her face. “I think you may need me more than you want to admit.”
She took a breath and looked away, past him, across the open desert. She brought her hands together before her. “I understand,” she replied, her voice soft, steady. Michel noticed that she twisted her fingers together.
Before he could wonder again about her past—there was so much more than she was telling him that he saw in little flashes on her face—she turned on her heels, her inscrutable countenance back.
“Come,” she said. “I would like to buy some fresh vegetables for your dinner tonight.” Without looking to see if he would follow, she started on the path toward the market.
Michel tucked away the horse’s reins and jogged across the camp to follow her.
As a girl growing up on the banks of the Issyk-Kul lake, Eve was joyous.
She loved riding horses across the plains as the wind attacked her.
She loved praising the warriors of her tribe with the songs and dances of her people.
She loved the history of her ancestors and everything she could learn about the world.
She was a proud addition to her culture.
Having been the first girl in her lineage for many, many generations, she was exalted as a princess.
Even her father, who was so shrewd in his dealings and never afraid of war, conceded to her a special love and protection.
Wherever she went, she was treated as a flower, given to the people by the ancestors themselves.
But her threads were long and winding. She realized at an early age that the plains she loved did not hold the stimulation her mind needed.
Eve refused suitors and potential matches over and over because she was too busy learning everything she could.
She knew she caused trouble for her father.
She just never quite understood how to hone her energy, and a marriage would certainly stop her from figuring it out.
She thought of the irony of her choices, how her refusal to marry had led her to this moment as the Turkmenabat market surged with early morning energy.
The long strip of stalls cast tall shadows across the dirt road in the rising sun.
Merchants called back and forth. Dogs nipped at their feet as they walked.
Farmers laid out their produce, fishermen opened their brimming baskets, spilling river fish onto their carts.
“Hey lady!” shouted a local as they walked by. “Fresh chicken!” he said and a burst of feathers squawked and tumbled out of his hands.
Eve smiled and continued down the path, taking note of the stalls she wished to visit.
She had accepted Michel’s offer to be his maid, so now she had a focus for this journey.
She needed several items for the camp: cookware, medicinal herbs, cushions, and blankets.
If she was to organize this journey, she would do so correctly.
Michel followed her obediently as they passed through the market.
“There,” she said, pointing to a stall filled with brightly colored rugs. “Come,” she said to him.
“Do we need a rug?” he complained.
“Yes, Michel,” she said over her shoulder, “or do you wish to subject your guests’ feet to the bare floor of your yurt?”
“I just let them keep their shoes on.”
She stopped in the middle of the road to turn to him, aghast. “Inside your yurt?” This man truly was an animal.
Michel looked taken aback. He stuttered, his hand going to rub the back of his neck. “I…well…”
“A rug,” she said, turning back around and approaching the stall.
She laughed to herself once she knew he couldn’t see her face. This Frenchman, she thought, would make her insane. The French were known for their sophistication and beauty throughout the world, but he might as well have been a bear in a cave.
Eve had French blood. It’s what gave her her unique coloring.
She was as proud of this heritage as much as all the other things that made her up.
The Western Mongols had mixed readily with Europeans since their great conquest centuries ago, but Eve’s French blood was much more recent.
It was her grandmother on her father’s side, Cecile, who brought France to Eve’s family.
Eve had grown up loving Grandmother’s stories of her home and her adventure coming to the Issyk Kul, of how Grandmother fell in love with Grandfather in such a faraway and exotic place.
It was through these stories that France became a world beyond, the most exciting place Eve could ever imagine—filled with kings’ courts and balls, politics and universities, the greatest scientists, philosophers, and thinkers of the time.
Eve had always dreamed, in a wistful sort of way, of life in a place like France, with so many more options for her tapestry of life. She never expected the need to escape there, however.
Now here she was with a traveling Frenchman who lived in a yurt with no rug.
Absurd, she thought as she selected an acceptable size and pattern from the choices at the stall.
She didn’t know if Michel could protect her.
She didn’t know if he would keep her safe.
All she knew was that being on this path with him was better than the fate that would have remained if she had stayed with the tribe that had kidnapped her. The tribe she had run from.
After making the purchase, she walked over to a nearby vegetable stand, with Michel close by her side, balancing the rug in his arms. After their conversation that morning and seeing how he tried to oblige her, a little flame of affection for him caused her to choose the very best vegetables that night for his stew.
She truly didn’t know how far the warriors of the tribe who stole her would come, or how violent they would be if they found her.
The thing that worried her most, however, the thing that kept her chest tight, was the growing attraction she felt to the stupid Frenchman who had become her keeper.