Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Michel was agitated. Having settled his initial business for his arrival in Bukhara, he had taken a small group to travel to a nearby market town, a few hours away, known for textiles.
His primary contact, Johann, was away, and Michel was too impatient to wait around.
Michel had hoped he could find some information on the cashmere trade in the little market town, but he had no success.
No cashmere, and no one had any information for a Frenchman.
Now, on their return to Bukhara, he was irritated that he wasted the day and upset with himself for exposing Eve.
It seems she went more or less unnoticed in the large cities, but in the smaller towns, she stood out more.
In small towns, information could rage without words.
He saw it happening, looks getting passed, tucked-away whispers, blazing through the market. He regretted bringing her instantly.
He couldn’t have left her alone in Bukhara, either, now that he knew the danger surrounding her.
Ah, he thought, this woman, that kiss still on his lips.
They were riding through a dusty road that wove through a series of smooth hills.
The hills were grassy in areas and desert-like in others.
Red sand ran in layers over the curves of the earth.
This stretch was typically safe, but Michel knew skirmishes could erupt anywhere, and the way the people in the town had ogled Eve had put him on edge.
Still, they were nearly back to Bukhara, and with the sun burning his back and his duties nagging his mind, all he wanted to do was think about how to get Eve’s lips on his once again.
The evening before, when she undressed him and touched his skin, he didn’t know how to keep his hands off her.
She had to know that she was teasing him.
She was a bold woman to touch a man like she had, and for a second, Michel thought she wanted him to undress her in the same way.
Then she smacked him, kissed him, and smacked him again, leaving him stunned, dazed, and filled with a need to corral her and kiss her until she begged him to continue.
This woman had too many secrets. She was also filling him with a consuming desire he had never known before.
If only he could figure out what it would take to get more of her.
Off in the distance, Michel heard the collective bleating of a herd of goats.
They were traveling a road along a tall cliff on one side with hills out across the other direction.
A breeze dashed across their ranks and fluttered Eve’s skirts, outlining the perfect shape of her backside.
Michel shifted on his saddle with a groan.
Eve turned to him then, looking at him over her shoulder.
For just a second, he allowed the want he felt for her to filter through his eyes.
The look on his face must have startled her because she blinked back a look of surprise. “What is on your mind, Michel?” she asked.
Michel watched her for a moment, then gave her a sidelong grin. “I think you know exactly what’s on my mind, Eve.” He let his voice rumble toward her.
Eve turned her head and gave a small cough. Michel thought he may have seen a blush. He just continued watching her, amused. He liked taking the chance to put her off balance as she had certainly done to him.
Eve turned back to him, clearly trying to shift the subject. “You know Genghis Khan is responsible for populating these hills,” she said to him, with a teacherly authority.
Michel just watched, letting her talk, letting his eyes roam her body.
“He had hundreds of wives. They say thousands of children,” she continued.
“He was so prolific that it is forbidden to marry within your own tribe for fear of being related.” She adjusted her skirt over her knee.
“Arrangements must be made outside of the tribe, and even then, the families must produce elaborate family trees to be sure there are no relatives in common.”
“Does that happen?” Michel asked. Her story had managed to interest him, pulling him from thoughts of getting his hands up her skirts. “Are your tribes that closely related?”
“Sometimes,” she mused. “Now it is more out of custom. It is also another reason that wife-stealing among tribes is still tolerated.”
“Wife…stealing?” Michel looked at her. Now his dirty thoughts were dashed. He tapped his horse to get up next to her.
Eve’s eyes grew big, and she turned away.
Michel paused for a second, his brain quickly tying strands of thought together, things she had said here and there. “Is that what happened to you?” Michel asked, suddenly realizing what would cause this woman to run away.
He saw her shoulders rise and fall as she took a breath. If she had not meant to let him in on this secret, she was holding her composure well.
She looked at him from the side. “Yes,” she said. “I was taken from my clan.” She turned and met his eyes. “Stolen,” she said before looking back to the road.
Michel was quiet. The thought enraged him.
He had heard of the practice but didn’t realize it still happened.
The tribes could be brutal, and here he was spending his life trying to ingratiate himself with people who let such a thing persist. Then, worse than the sudden anger, he felt a tremendous wave of guilt at the thoughts he had been having about her minutes ago.
He’d been thinking of her lustfully, of all the ways he could enjoy her body, not considering what she could have been through.
He would have to take a step back, he thought, cursing himself.
Now the smacks when he had kissed her made a lot more sense.
“I’m really sorry that happened to you,” he said after a moment, unable to come up with something better. “I’m also sorry,” he looked over at her, “if I have done anything that has made you uncomfortable.”
She gave him a smile. “You can trust that I will let you know if you make me uncomfortable.”
A warmth grew inside him again, hoping she meant that, that he hadn’t crossed any lines he couldn’t recover from.
He tried to think of something else to say, to continue the line of conversation and pull more out of her, but some far-off noise caused his soldier’s instinct to steal his focus.
He held up a finger to Eve, then shot a quick command to the men behind them.
He saw Eve press her lips and stiffen as she watched.
The rumble of horse hooves thundered toward them, just seconds before the swarm of men came over the hills.
Fifteen or so of them. He had eleven with him who would fight.
Michel jumped from his horse and led the animal to the side.
These were not warhorses they traveled on, so they would fight on foot.
He knew these fights, always the toll on these roads, assertions of dominance by the tribes while he traveled their land, to remind Michel he was a visitor, to test his worth.
The Mongols would never do business with a weak man.
He knew the rules. No fatalities. Just a show of strength.
Michel turned to Eve in a rush, pulling his sword from his belt. “Do not dismount your horse,” he said. “It should be over quickly.” He guided her horse so she had the cliff at her back. “Stay where you are. I won’t let them get you.”
Eve nodded, her eyes locked on his in understanding. The thunder was loud now, in their ears, in the ground below them.
Michel and his fighting men formed an impromptu line.
He drew his sword, and his men followed, several with pikes and lances.
It was by no means a military formation, but it would deter the horses and get the men on the ground.
Michel scanned the line. From the end, Iman nodded at him, and Michel nodded back.
Michel steadied himself, his sword ready before him.
The men on horses charged down the slope, and just before they crashed into Michel’s line, a bearded man who looked to be the leader pulled his horse back and shouted something in a dialect Michel didn’t understand.
The men behind him adjusted, spreading out, rather than charging directly.
It was different, Michel thought. Definitely different.
Shit, he thought.
The bearded man charged Michel. Michel braced as the man swung his blade.
It came down on Michel’s sword with a clang that echoed through the hills.
The rider turned the horse and came back toward Michel.
Michel steadied himself, and when the horse came near, he leapt in its path, causing the horse to take a step off balance.
Michel spun fully around and hooked the rider behind the knee to yank him down from his mount.
The rest of the men engaged around him. These hill tribes fought differently, more bodily, less sword than in his home, but Michel adjusted well.
He body checked another man who had dismounted and come for him, throwing the man to the ground.
Michel pivoted with a skid, ready for more.
A young warrior who screamed between swipes of his blade came at Michel.
His blade nicked Michel’s shoulder and tore through his jacket into his skin.
Michel responded by swinging low to take the fighter off his feet.
The man landed with a thud, then turned his body to rise again.
Michel put his boot to the man’s ass and shoved him to the ground.
Michel did not fight to injure, just subdue.
But the eyes of these warriors kept darting, not all of them engaged.
It was because of Eve. He knew it was because of Eve.
The bearded leader shouted more orders, then came for Michel.
He swung his blade from above. Michel dodged it and delivered a sideswipe with his own sword that doubled the man over.
Michel righted himself just to see someone streak behind him toward Eve.
This man, tall and fast, had his arm around her waist in a flash as he tried to drag her from her horse.
Eve hardly had the chance to let out a yelp before Michel was on top of the man.
One hand to the throat took him down, forcing him to release Eve.
Michel shoved him to the ground and reared back to punch the man square in the face.
Blood burst from his nose, pouring into the man’s beard.
Then Michel’s hands were around the man’s neck again, and he was squeezing.
He could kill him for touching her, he thought, his vision glazed in red.
“Michel!” Eve’s sharp voice cut through his haze.
In a wave of realization, Michel released the man.
He scrambled out from under Michel just as their leader called for retreat.
A last moment of chaos fizzled in clanks of blades and shouts of men as both sides took their final hits.
Then the tribesmen were back up on their horses, riding away just as quickly as they had descended.
Michel watched them disappear back over the hill. He breathed heavily, still feeling the energy coursing in him, causing his hands to shake. The savagery he’d felt startled him. But Eve was his ward now. It was his job to keep her safe. That was his only explanation.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead, then touched the cut on his arm. It bled, but the wound was superficial. He stretched uncomfortably and winced.
“Are you okay?” he said, turning to Eve. “Were you hurt?”
“I’m okay,” she said. She appeared shaken, but otherwise intact. “You’re bleeding, Michel. Let me help you.” She made to dismount her horse.
“No, not now,” he said. “Let’s get back to Bukhara.” He took a moment to settle his horse, to check in with the rest of the men, and secure their position once more. Then, before remounting his horse, he put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He watched over the mountain, naked once more.
It was in that moment that Michel realized he might not be able to do the business he had come for and be able to protect Eve at the same time. He hoped he didn’t have to make a difficult decision.
He turned to her. Her expression caused him to lose his breath and stand up straight. Her eyes were wide, and her lips were parted. He had the feeling that if he went to her now and took her in his arms, she wouldn’t smack him or bite him this time.
He walked to her, took her hand, and kissed it. He could do no more in the moment, but with her fingers in his, and their eyes connected, he knew that if he were forced to make a decision…it wouldn’t be a difficult decision to make.