Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
The next morning, Michel calculated it was the twenty-second day of their solitude.
Michel lay lazily, happy in bed, propped on his elbow, watching Eve in a pretty lavender day dress that she had bought in town as she moved around the hearth.
Michel enjoyed watching the way the dress cinched at her waist and flowed down her hips as she brewed tea and put together a breakfast of fruit and nuts.
Every time she looked back at him, she smiled.
“You look very pleased with yourself this morning,” Eve joked. She looked down, grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle.
“I am pleased every morning that I wake and get to watch you.”
“Michel—” she began.
“What?” he said. “Do you suddenly not want to talk about my feelings anymore?” he teased. “You were so interested last night.”
“I know that,” she grumbled, shooting him an annoyed look.
She turned her face down, and for a second, Michel saw a flash of emotion, like what he had witnessed last night. He realized that they had made love, sworn themselves to each other, and fallen asleep in each other’s arms, but he never discovered what had made her cry. “Eve,” he said. “Come here.”
She looked at him, exasperated. “Michel, if we start now, I will never get the breakfast served.”
“No, not for that,” he laughed. “Please?” He held out his hand to her.
Eve gave him a warning look before dusting her hands off on her skirt. She came over and slid in next to him in bed. Outside, Michel could hear the sounds of the early morning city. Shouting, clanging, the noise of the marketplace. All of that faded as he focused on Eve.
They had learned each other's bodies over the last weeks—they fit so comfortably together now. She leaned her head on the pillow and looked up to him, waiting for him to continue.
“Eve,” he said. Being this close to her always became a problem. Despite his best intentions, he stopped thinking when she looked up to him. He felt a growl deep in his chest. He wanted to take her. Right away. He felt himself grab onto her waist. But she grabbed his hand.
“Michel,” she said in a warning tone.
“Sorry, I know.” He laughed again. He shook his head to refocus. “What made you cry?”
She blinked. “What—”
“Last night,” he said. “You cried. Why?” He touched her cheek. “You miss your family? Or have I done something?”
“I miss my family, yes. But it wasn’t that.” Her smile reassured him. “And no,” she continued, “you have not done anything to upset me.”
“Then why?” Outside of their room, Michel heard the clamoring shouts of men, but the noise could not distract him from her words.
“There is a part of me…” She looked up to him. “Was a part of me,” she corrected. “That worried…that didn’t know your intentions with me.” She bit her lip. “You’d sworn to take me to France. I always believed you would. What would happen when we got there?”
Michel wrapped his arms around her, grinning. “How could you not know my feelings?” he teased. “I’ve done nothing but worship you.”
“My body, yes.” Her twinkling eyes teased him back. “Michel,” she said. “You’ve still never told me you love me.”
“Of course, I—” he halted. Hadn’t he? He’d been in love with her since perhaps the first moment he saw her. Had he truly never said it aloud?
The noises of the marketplace continued to swirl in through the window, but the space between him and Eve stayed silent.
He blinked away the confusion and looked in her waiting eyes.
“I love you,” he said, gathering her close.
“I can’t believe I made you wonder.” He began dotting kisses across her jawbone.
“I have felt it for so long, I guess I just never told you.”
“I surmised as much.” She chuckled. “I am happy to hear it, though.” She put her hands on his cheeks. “Say it to me often.”
He kissed her neck, his hands running down her back. The cacophony outside blurred as he prepared to lose himself in her entirely.
She held him off, pushing back enough to look at him. “Michel,” she said. “I do want to tell you something, though.”
“I don’t care what it is,” he said, wondering how quickly he could get out of his pants. “As long as you are mine.”
But he didn’t get to hear what it was she wanted to say.
The nagging noises from outside suddenly hit a peak as the door to their small apartment crashed open.
Michel and Eve shot up in the bed as uniformed men poured into their space.
Michel, up in a flash, leapt in front of her, ready to take each of them apart.
He cataloged his space. His sword was within reach, but he would need luck to get it.
He didn’t know who they were or what they wanted.
He wouldn’t let them take Eve, that much he did know.
“Back up,” Michel shouted. “You may not enter,” he blustered.
The men—six, eight, twelve of them pouring into their space—ignored him and advanced before splitting into two lines. An older man, decorated in the same symbol as the rest but clearly the one in charge, cut their ranks, entering the room.
“Enebish,” said the man, bowing to her and looking right through Michel.
“Sain baina uu, Khuyag,” Eve greeted him in Mongolian. Michel felt her hand on his back in a warning as she came out from behind Michel to bow her head to the man.
As she did, she gave Michel a look that told him to stay down. He trusted her direction, but remained tense, understanding nothing more than that Eve did not feel threatened by this ambush.
“We have searched the sky and sea for you, my lady,” the man said to her, continuing in Mongolian.
“You have found me safe and unharmed,” she affirmed. Michel heard her voice free of emotion, though he could see the tension in her body.
He then gave a menacing look to Michel, which Michel responded to with his own protective posture. “Has this man given you trouble?” Khuyag asked.
“No, Khuyag. He is a warrior. Call off your dogs.” She indicated to the soldiers in the room.
Then she flipped into that Mongolian dialect Michel did not understand.
Their voices stayed neutral at first, but then they seemed to argue.
Her voice rose as she indicated toward Michel this time.
Michel couldn’t keep up. He knew she’d become upset.
He could tell she was arguing on his behalf, but for what, he didn’t know.
Finally, Eve clicked her tongue. Then she turned back to Michel.
Her eyes were full of sadness and regret, but otherwise she remained stoic.
“Michel,” she directed in French, he assumed to keep the others from understanding.
“These men are going to take you prisoner, and we’ll be returning to my home.
Do not fight them, they are my kin.” She took a breath, her posture straight, her voice holding none of the warmth he’d grown used to.
“My father wants you, but you’re going to have to trust me that I won’t let anything harm you.
” Then, before he could respond, she turned and exited the room, the leader Khuyag following her.
“Eve!” he called. He didn’t understand. “Eve!” he yelled again, but he lost track of her in the confusion, the soldiers swallowing him up.
As one man went to bind his arms, Michel came out of his shock. “Who are you?” he demanded, resisting this capture. “Where’s Eve?” His eyes swung around, looking for her. “Is she safe?”
No one responded or acknowledged his words. He tried to pull away, but he didn’t fight. Eve had told him not to.
“Do you know who I am?” Michel ranted at them, his frustration having nowhere to go.
The two guards who secured his hands ignored him while the older man reappeared among them. He cocked his head to look at Michel, and Michel saw the same mottled eyes as Eve. He raised his eyebrows. “Do you know who she is?”
Michel lost all fight. His body slumped and his heart sank. Because seeing this, he realized that, no, he did not.
Eve was once again surrounded by the markings of her family and she felt she was protected, completely safe now. No one would harm her. No one would even say a bad word in her direction.
But she was devastated to leave the life she had just decided to have with Michel.
She took the steps down to the courtyard, which had been filled with men from her homeland.
They parted so Eve could pass. She went through the stonework arch, which led into the marketplace.
Instinctively, she had grabbed her shawl, and now she started to pull it over her head.
But she stopped, seeing her family’s markings around, letting the shawl drop around her shoulders.
Khuyag joined, standing by her side.
“When will we depart?” she asked.
“Immediately,” Khuyag said. “My lady, Gonji.” He paused to touch her arm, tenderness in his voice. “Are you sure you are well?”
“Of course, Khuyag,” she said. She knew he must have questions about her situation, about Michel, but it would be improper to ask. Instead, she turned to him. “How did you find us?” She corrected herself. “Me,” she said. “How did you find me?”
“We searched every town, every village, and then we went further.” He gave her a small smile. “You are quite good at hiding.”
The people in the market had stopped their milling transactions to watch her family’s symbolic Tamga markings, branded into the leathers of the soldiers and horses filling the streets.
Behind her, the men mobilized. She thought she heard Michel’s voice.
She felt his pain and confusion despite being separated.
Khuyag continued, “We knew Ganbold hunted you. We were able to track him. Learned that you traveled with a French party.” He folded his arms. “We discovered his death in Kashgar. From there, we were directed here.”
Renault, she thought. A coward.
She looked down. “I was afraid I would bring war if I returned home,” she said, her voice small. “I ran from the tribe, but I feared coming home would mean everyone would fight. I did not want that.”
“The ancestors decide when we go to war,” he consoled. “It is not up to us to try to change their will.”
A soldier approached, telling them the apartment had been cleared.
“Is there anything you wish to retrieve before we leave?” Khuyag asked her.
“Yes,” she said, thinking of the things she would gather.
Michel’s sword and dagger, and other things that had become important.
She hoped she would have the chance to return the items to him.
But she didn’t move yet. She put her hand on Khuyag’s arm.
“I ask you again. Allow the Frenchman, Michel, to remain here. He has no fault in this.”
“Like I said, Gonji, it is not my decision. Your father said when we found you to bring anyone you were with back as well.”
“What does he want with him?”
“I do not claim to understand the Khan’s will. You must speak with him.”
Eve looked back toward the apartment, but she did not see him. “He’s not a criminal, Khuyag. Don’t treat him as such,” she said, a sudden sob coming out of her. “He protected me.”
“My dear,” Khuyag said. He put his arm around her. “I would do my best to hide that emotion. Your father won’t take to such affection.”
“I am aware,” she said, the sob disappearing as quickly as it had descended.