Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
They remained in Samarkand for several uneventful days. Michel had business to finish, new porters and guards to hire. Some of the merchants who traveled with him disbanded, scared off by the stories of Terence. Those who remained were long-time companions or the gruffest of travelers.
He received confirmation that the cashmere dealer would be waiting at their next stop in Kashgar.
Johann had arranged it. Harod had stopped gossiping long enough to organize everything.
Michel felt much appreciation toward these men for their help.
He wished he could think it was all his own doing, that these were his friends and contacts.
He knew it was their allegiance to his father that afforded Michel their assistance.
Still, he had business to complete, so he would use what he could.
Eve had told him her story. Of being kidnapped, of the girl who had hidden in the yurt to kill the husband, of having to leave, and thinking only of France.
Eve had more emotion in her eyes than he had ever seen before.
He took her in his arms, promising he would keep her safe from anyone who came after her.
Then, before he could taste her lips once more, Terence had screamed into the yurt that he wanted breakfast.
Eve had laughed, and Michel had growled. He really didn’t like that boy.
Now, he sat alone at the table at the back of the yurt, looking over a stack of maps, planning their routes.
Eve was just outside, finishing preparations for the evening meal.
The rest of the camp was empty. Michel had allowed Terence to accompany Iman and a few others to the bathhouse.
The others spent the afternoon in town. Everyone was due back before dinner.
It would be nice if his father were here, Michel thought.
That man never wavered. Michel strived to be as good and competent as his father.
But now, especially now, he realized what it would mean to be discovered with Eve by the tribes before he completed this business—Eve, a woman hunted, a woman wanted for a crime against her tribe, whether it was merited or not.
He would lose all the goodwill his father had established.
Once, when Michel was twelve years old, he had been playing in the palace garden at Chevalier with his two younger brothers and several other boys after their swordsmanship class.
He had lived a carefree, though structured, life.
As the future Duke, he had lessons and rules of decorum.
He enjoyed his swordsmanship lessons the best, but loved learning about history and politics.
The great world leaders fascinated him. Michel aspired to be one himself, one day.
At that time, though, the only ones he had to order around were his brothers, who never listened.
That evening in the garden, they ran and shouted and played, climbing the large tree that overlooked the city.
His middle brother, Serge, climbed further than anyone else, even though Michel called to him not to get so high.
Serge had kept going as Michel turned to toss his littlest brother, Philippe, into the dirt.
That was when Serge fell from the tree with a thud.
Horrified, Michel skidded to his brother’s side and saw the broken clavicle among gashes across his face and neck.
The other boys descended onto them. Michel had ordered them back, trying to assess the damage to Serge, to decide what he could do to help.
Someone bumped into Michel’s back, knocking him forward.
Someone else stepped on Serge’s hand. Michel yelled at everyone, but they didn’t listen. Nobody listened.
It was chaos. Michel tried to organize, to help Serge, whose eyes were rolling in pain, to settle the other boys and calm his little brother, who sucked in his bottom lip with a sob.
Michel was the oldest, the most responsible.
He should have been able to handle it, but he was caught in a whirlwind and couldn’t do anything to control the situation.
Then his father arrived on quick, steady steps, and everything changed.
Everyone calmed, including Michel. He felt profound relief, knowing his father would take over.
He also felt a deep shame that he had not been one bit useful.
How would he command one day if no one listened?
How would he lead if he had nothing worth contributing?
He thought about this moment more often than he probably should.
Now, as he worked out a plan on his map, he knew he was a different person. More in control, more in charge. It frustrated him, though, that he remembered that feeling of relief so vividly. That he still sometimes wished for his father to show up and fix everything.
Just then, Eve entered the yurt. Michel reacted to her presence immediately, taking in her fresh scent, which calmed his torpid thoughts.
“What are you doing over there?” She had a basket of figs with her. She took one and began to peel it with her knife.
“I am figuring things out in my mind,” he said.
“Planning relaxes me.” One thing that did not relax him was the fact that having Terence rejoin the party had meant he’d had no more opportunities to get close to this woman.
His eyes flicked to the door, suddenly, wondering how much time they would have alone.
“What have you planned, great one?” she teased.
He scoffed. “I think it’s going to work out,” he said. “We’ll take a direct route to Kashgar from here and meet with the cashmere dealer. Then we can go home. Once we are out of the immediate area, we should avoid any more trouble.”
“What of the Frenchmen being killed?” She kept her eyes on the knife as she worked it around the fig.
“I will have to come back,” he said, watching her. “Immediately. But I will get you to France first.” He paused. “Your safety is my priority now.”
Eve finished by slicing the fruit and putting it on a plate. “Will you come back alone?”
“No,” he said. “My father will need to come with me to reestablish his presence. We’ll have our army, too.”
She wrung her fingers together. “So, it seems I have moved war from one place to another.” She kept her eyes down as she set the fruit on the table beside him.
“We will not come in to destroy. It’s more diplomacy than anything.” He reached out and ran the back of his knuckles down her arm. “I can’t leave things as they are now, though.”
She leaned on the table next to him. “What if this man does not wish to trade cashmere with you? You have no guarantees.”
“Well, Eve,” he said with a smile. He took a slice of the fig she had splayed out for him and bit into it. “I’m pretty good at charming people into working with me.” He grinned now. “You should know.”
“You think you charmed me?” She shifted to give him a look from the side.
“Of course I have,” he said, chewing.
“Have you thought that perhaps I charmed you?”
He swallowed. “You didn’t just charm me, Siren,” he said. “You bewitched me. Thoroughly.”
She grinned at him. Mischief in her eyes.
“But,” he continued. “You were pretty lucky that you happened to run into me.” He narrowed his eyes. “If you hadn’t found me, that short merchant might still be chasing you around Merv.”
She gave a playful nod. “It was indeed very lucky, looking to go to France, that I was purchased by a Frenchman.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding.
“The ancestors must have favored me,” she teased.
“Yes,” he agreed, a new suspicion changing the tone of his voice.
“How incredibly fortuitous,” she said. She shrugged and stood to leave.
He reached out and grabbed her arm, dragging her back to him. “What are you telling me?”
“Michel.” She looked at him daftly. “You know me to be quite shrewd, do you not?”
“Yes,” he said. He felt like he was trying to solve a puzzle that was missing pieces.
“It was all my doing,” she said. “All of it. Meeting in Merv, Armin trying to sell me,” she lowered her voice, “falling into your arms.” She drew a finger down along his collar, down his chest. “You must have been quite desperate for a woman’s attention.
You did not hesitate to buy me. As fast as a prized hog at market. ”
He stared at her, incredulous, still gripping her arm. “But how,” he stuttered. “But…how?”
“I started in Carth. I listened for talk of French travelers. I learned who you were, your route. Despite your cockiness, people do actually know you in this region.” She shrugged.
“It’s easy to get information when you speak as many languages as I do.
” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, a feigned innocence.
“Then it was just a matter of tricking the little pig man into thinking he should sell me at the brothel where I knew your crew would end up.” She bit her lip and looked at him slyly, seeming to enjoy finally telling him her scheme.
“Getting the timing right was tricky. I really had to confuse that silly merchant to get us there at the right moment. But I did it.” Then she moved forward to whisper in his ear.
“There you were, standing outside. Utterly bewildered. Like a camel seeing thorns.”
Michel stared at her, his mouth hanging open. “But…” he said and trailed off.
“It’s true.” She shrugged. “You don’t have to believe me if it hurts your ego.”
He blinked. “You planned our meeting?”
“Darling,” she said. She reached out to take a piece of the fruit and place it in his open mouth. “You had no chance once I decided you would be the one to take me to France.” She smoothed her finger over his bottom lip, grinning as she did.
He stared at her with the fig in his mouth. “You,” he said. “You,” he repeated as he swallowed. He wasn’t used to being so outsmarted. She really had been using him from the beginning. It made him mad, at himself, that he had been so blinded. Mad at her for being more quick-witted than him.
It also turned him the fuck on.