Chapter 3
Chapter Three
The next morning, she walked next to the Frenchman through the marketplace at Turkmenabat.
He guided her with his hand on the small of her back.
She accepted this light touch. He did not know her story.
He did not know that she was called Eve.
Still, he insisted on keeping her near. Eve could tell that he was trying to be kind, but in the four days since she had joined him, she had found no solace in this journey, no comfort in this company, only stark irritation with this man and what she had learned was his path directly back East—into the mountains from which she had escaped and toward the dangerous men who pursued her.
The man himself—Michel, she had learned—grated on her like no other.
At first, he had seemed like a much better option than traveling with Armin.
The party of Frenchmen that Michel led was cleaner, better equipped for travel, with more swords at hand.
But Armin was simple and easy to manipulate; Michel had too much importance about himself.
He was a noble who wore a sword that she was sure was all for show, cloaked in the protection of his country, used to people doing what he wanted simply because he was noble. She hated such pretense.
Her only armor, then, was to ignore him.
Perhaps he would leave her alone, forget she was there, allow her to travel safely, cloaked in the same protection he was assured of.
But the man babbled relentlessly, trying to get her attention as though he were a child, never giving her a moment to plan her next move.
He didn’t harm her, but he was terribly condescending.
The way he had spoken about her value and then exchanged coins for her like she was livestock.
The way he handed her basic necessities like they were treats.
She had thought she could manage her pride and use this party as a way to escape to France.
But she was choking on her own choices, infuriated to find herself in this vulnerable position where she had to wait for him to finish his business before he would return West. If he only knew where she had come from.
If only he knew what would be coming after her.
Then he would turn back to the safety of his country immediately.
That, or abandon her at the first opportunity.
As much as she hated it, she did need help. And this man did seem willing to help her, if for nothing more than to fluff his own ego.
She shuffled to stay next to him in the busy marketplace, aware of the way Michel held her close, aware of the amount of heat and pressure each fingertip pressed into her skin as they jostled through the crowd, aware of his dark eyes and strong jaw.
Of all the things that upset her, her unexpected attraction to him was the worst. For some inexplicable reason, every time she looked at the man, her skin quivered and her breath caught in her chest. She glanced at him now, feeling free to do so since, for once, his focus was not all over her.
He was tall with thick, dark hair pulled back from his eyes, unkempt just at his neck.
He wore breeches, a jacket over a shirt, and a sword on his belt, typical of Westerners.
His clothes were worn from travel but finely made. He really was quite handsome.
She didn’t understand her attraction. He may look strong, but he was still a spoiled noble, handing out coins and trinkets wherever he went to gain the goodwill of the locals.
Where Eve had grown up, weakness had no purchase.
Men and women both had enormous strength.
A weak man would never inherit power simply through his lineage.
Still, there was no logic to the flutters inside her when they met eyes.
She had almost gasped out loud the day before at the river when he took his shirt off.
He was broad and muscular, lean but strong.
When she had seen the ridges leading down his stomach and dipping below his beltline, her belly flipped.
Afraid she would make some kind of animal noise, she had no choice but to throw herself into the water.
Even now, being near him in the midst of hundreds of people, his was the only body she was aware of.
They came around a corner, the sun shining down from the hazy sky onto the clay stone buildings.
Goats bleated among barrels of colorful spices.
A herdsman walked a yak past them, the bell on the animal clanging as it stepped.
Michel gripped the back of her dress, keeping her in his space.
Eve cinched her shawl around her head, keeping her eyes cast down, knowing how she always stood out.
Anyone looking for her could spot her coloring in an instant. Luckily, she was good at hiding.
He guided her to the edge of the market into an alleyway that led to ornately carved wooden doors that she assumed opened to the apartments of the wealthier vendors.
A well-dressed man in his late fifties with a ring of short, light hair around his head and a cleanly cropped beard leaned against one of the doors.
He smiled and opened his arms wide when he saw Michel.
“Michel!” he boomed, with the same accent Michel spoke. “How have you been, my friend! What news from home?”
“I am well, Francois. Busy as always,” he said. “My father sends his regards.”
The men shook hands, and Eve watched as they exchanged pleasantries.
“Come, come,” Francois exclaimed. He nodded toward Eve with a questioning look.
“Yes, she is in my care.” Michel laughed.
Francois gave her a kind smile with a nod of his head. “Mademoiselle.” He held out his hand to direct them inside. “Come in, please. Relax.”
They followed Francois up a set of stairs while the men continued to chat and then down a hallway with carved wood embellishments that matched the entrance.
The hallway opened into a large room with flowing curtains that led to an oversized balcony.
Everything in the room showed wealth, from the gold-gilded chairs to the plush cushions.
A well-dressed young valet shuffled in. Francois gave the young man instructions, and Eve watched as he went off to the kitchen.
Michel indicated for her to sit on a silky green cushion as he relaxed into a chair.
Eve folded her knees beneath her and perched. She wasn’t exactly sure why Michel had brought her with him, but she preferred to stay close. She could learn more about his plans this way. She could learn more about him.
Looking around at the finery, she suddenly realized one reason Michel could have brought her along.
Here she was, dressed in clothing he had bought her.
Cleaned with oils he had given her. Wouldn’t caring for a “peasant” girl cultivate good favor?
Make him seem all the more important in the eyes of another?
After the way he had spoken about her…well, he had found a way to get some value out of her after all.
Despite the gestures he made to appear kind to her, what he really had in her was another trinket to put on display.
The valet returned with a carafe of coffee on a tray and placed it on the low table between the men.
“Do you still take your coffee the same?” Francois asked.
“Two sugar cubes, if you have them.” Michel nodded. “Did you receive my letter?”
“Yes, son, but I have no ideas for you. The markets are all tapped.”
“I have an idea,” Michel said, leaning forward.
“It seems you didn’t come for any advice then.” Francois chuckled at the younger man.
“I want to find a cashmere dealer.”
Cashmere? she perked up, listening.
Francois leaned forward to take his cup. He held his head to the side and let out a long whistle through his teeth before taking a sip and setting the cup back down. “That’s going to be difficult.”
“It’s the only solution,” Michel affirmed. “What else can I bring home that France doesn’t already have? That can bring in substantial revenue?”
Francois leaned all the way back into his deep chair and surveyed Michel as he stroked his chin. “Cinnamon?”
“Ah,” Michel threw up his hand. “The Portuguese have a lock on spices, and it is too easy to trade with them already.” Then he leaned in. “Consider it. Cashmere. What do you think?”
“Michel, yes, you would be a hero if you set up a line of cashmere. You know they keep the market very tight, though. The sources are well out of our reach, deep into the steppes.” He held out his hands and shrugged.
“I could perhaps get you a few rolls if you were willing to do some illicit trading.”
“No,” Michel asserted. “I can’t do anything illegal. And I need a sustainable source.”
“This is coming from Cardinal Mazarin?” Francois asked as he crossed one knee over the other.
This caught Eve’s attention—a name she recognized. Michel had mentioned the Cardinal the day before at the river. She lowered her head to seem uninterested, though she continued listening closely.
“He is looking to cover the debt he incurred fighting Spain,” Michel said. “He wants to keep it from the king.”
“This is what happens when you appoint a king when he is a child.” Francois went back to stroking his chin.
“I met with the Cardinal in Versailles,” Michel continued. “Just before I began this journey. He said he would tax Chevalerie and the rest of the duchies if I am unable to provide a solution.”
Francois laughed and shook his head. “Your father won’t stand for it. That is exactly what he and I rebelled against in our day. Does he know of the Cardinal’s intentions?”
Michel leaned forward and took his coffee. “No, of course not.” He shook his head. “I am doing what I can now to avoid it.” Michel sat back again with his cup. “You know my father. He’ll wage war on Paris if he finds out about this.”
Francois nodded. “I’m sorry I can’t give you better news, son. I will send out correspondence and see if we can locate anything. I fear you will need some luck to find someone willing to work with you.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Michel defended. “I will figure something out.”
“I’m sure you will. You always do.” Francois leaned forward to take his cup of coffee in his hands, then indicated toward Eve. “Now,” he began. “What’s going on here?”
“A man was trying to sell her at the whorehouse in Merv.” Michel sat up straight, a proud look on his face. “I just couldn’t let it happen.”
His self-satisfaction caused her nostrils to flare before she was able to regain her control.
“Ah, Michel. You have a big heart.” Francois smiled and eyed her in a curious way.
“What can I say?” Michel said. “I am here to maintain laws and safety for our merchants. I can’t allow something like that to happen right on my route.”
“You’re right, you’re right.” Francois took a sip of his coffee. “Do you speak her language?” he asked, an eyebrow raised to Michel.
Michel shook his head. “When I rescued her, she spoke an eastern dialect I didn’t recognize.” He let out a long sigh. “I am hoping the translator you’ve arranged for me to take east can communicate with her.”
“He’s quite good,” Francois conceded. “He spent time in Kashgar when his father was still working as a merchant. Picks up dialects fast.” Francois cleared his throat. “He’s young. Traveling with you will be good for him.”
“I look forward to meeting him,” Michel nodded. Then he turned his attention back to Eve. “I’d love to know where she came from. I’m guessing she has run away or perhaps got separated from her tribe.” He glanced at her. “She is lucky she stumbled upon my route.”
“You will cause yourself trouble trying to get her home,” Francois said. “There are hundreds of hill tribes, and many of the people are hardly literate. They won’t like seeing you with one of their own.” He raised his eyebrows in a warning. “Be careful how you treat her, son.”
Michel held his hand to his chest. “You know me, Francois,” Michel said. “I know how to handle the tribes. I wouldn’t do anything to offend them.”
Francois gave him a tight smile and a nod before taking another sip of his coffee.
Michel continued, taking his own cup. “I have no other intentions, I promise you. This is my duty. I will help this girl return safely to her home.” He looked at her and shook his head. “I just wish she spoke an educated language so we could communicate.”
It was that final comment that made her explode.
“You disrespectful twat!” She jumped up, the cushions she sat on toppling, her fists balled, and her chest strained. Both men jumped, and Michel spilled his coffee down his front. “You think you saved me?” she spat. “I could have ridden that fat merchant’s cart anywhere I wanted!”
“You speak French?” Michel sputtered, looking between her and the coffee he had spilled all over himself.
“Do I look too poor and stupid to speak your idiot language?”
“Did you...call me a twat?”
“You bought me because you wanted to avoid a fight. And you said I was a peasant who wasn’t worth as much as a goat.”
“I didn’t—” He held up his hands, surprise in his expression. “I was just negotiating! I didn’t mean it!”
She stomped over to him and grabbed a napkin from the tray. “Well, you got me for a great price. You own me now, so let me serve you.”
She went to her knees and pressed the cloth into his chest. Michel sat stunned in his seat. She fumed even as she felt the heat coming from him seeping into her skin.
Perhaps she took a misstep in revealing that she understood every dumb word he said, but now at least she could take a more active role in getting him to do what she wanted. She couldn’t take it—his words, him thinking she had no value, had no means by which to protect herself.
She’d never been subservient to a man before, but if she had to learn the role to get what she needed, then she would. Besides, this man—she realized as he sat there with a stupid, surprised look on his face—was not going to be difficult to manage.
If she could keep herself from strangling him.