Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Ganbold. Warrior. Hunter. Ganbold. Warrior. Hunter.
Finding the boy had been a gift from the ancestors.
The boy spoke Ganbold’s language, French, and some others. Travel became much easier. Finding Frenchmen became much easier. Ganbold wanted to kill all the Frenchmen he encountered. With the boy, he could lure them out, away from protection.
The boy was useful at speaking languages, but stupid in travel. He could not hunt or start a fire. He complained. Ganbold had to feed him.
Ganbold and the boy traveled back toward Bukhara, where the boy had left the Frenchman and the woman.
They arrived to find that the company had left just a day before, but people knew the route they would take.
This was the closest Ganbold had been to them, and he rejoiced.
With the boy in tow, Ganbold marched them back out of town.
Now he sat in the market of a town called Kalif, waiting.
The boy was hidden along the alleyways, and Ganbold alone was exposed, sitting as he did to avoid causing commotion.
His full height caused terror. As it should.
These people were weak. They should fear Ganbold, especially with his favor from the ancestors.
The Frenchman and the woman should be here, too, Ganbold thought, in this market.
All the people told the boy they would be here.
Ganbold felt anger in his eyes and in his shoulders.
Did they lie? He would kill every one of them to win his way back into his tribe.
Then he had a thought that made him furious. Did the boy lie to him?
Just as Ganbold thought to go shake the boy to test his loyalty and then squeeze his throat, he saw a streak of yellow hair.
Ganbold had to adjust his eyes to be sure it wasn’t just sunlight.
He saw it again—the yellow hair—as the woman fixed the scarf around her head. Then, the Frenchman, beside her.
Ganbold came alert, suddenly, fists clenching in anticipation of having one throat in each. Then he saw the Frenchman lean into the woman and whisper something that made her look at him and laugh. The gesture caused the rage inside his fists to spread to the rest of his body.
Ganbold stood, and those near him jumped back in panic.
Ganbold walked fast across the square toward the woman, splitting a river in the crowd.
He knew he shouldn’t attack here. He should follow and catch them alone on the roads.
But his anger controlled his hands, his feet, his spirit.
He was going to grab her yellow hair with his left hand and kill the tall Frenchman with his right.
Ganbold locked eyes with the woman as he came for her.
The woman jumped and grabbed the arm of the Frenchman.
The Frenchman looked around in surprise at her urgency.
When he saw Ganbold, he pushed her back behind him.
Ganbold wanted to see the man’s fear. Feel his fear.
Ganbold waited for the wave of terror to wash over the man.
Fear did not show itself.
There was no panic in his expression. Ganbold narrowed his eyes and grinned. He would enjoy this fight even more now.
Ganbold swatted a person to the side and then another as he closed the distance. The Frenchman drew his sword.
Ganbold came with all his strength. He attacked the man from above with his thick blade, but the man did not crumble like he should.
Instead, he took Ganbold’s blade with his sword and ducked low, knocking Ganbold across the flank.
Screams came around them then. Ganbold came down again on the man.
The Frenchman caught the blade again and pushed Ganbold off.
Now, this man and his sword were angering Ganbold.
Fight like a man with hands, Ganbold thought.
He would need to remove the blade, but the Frenchman was fast. He swung around, cutting a slice across Ganbold’s chest. Ganbold looked down, surprised to see blood on his body.
Then came the hilt of the tall man’s blade to the side of Ganbold’s head.
A sharp buzzing sound sliced through Ganbold’s head as pain cracked across his skull.
Ganbold was dazed. He blinked, his eyelids moving separately, one opening and then the other.
He shook his head, clearing his vision enough to see the man retreating with the woman.
He smiled, the sounds and screams around him blending with his own monstrous roar.
Ganbold would enjoy killing that Frenchman. Very much.
Michel had them on their horses and galloping away in no time.
He had planned to stay the night there in Kalif and then continue in the morning.
However, with that man so close, he worried about being attacked in their sleep.
So, he recalibrated, checked his maps for a more direct route, pulled his reluctant men from the whorehouse, and set them on the direct road to Samarkand.
Now was not the time to be seen fighting a tribal man in the middle of the marketplace. He thought this with lead in his gut.
Michel had only fought defensively. He hoped that’s what the gossip would pick up: that he had been attacked.
That man had enormous strength, and it was clear that he intended to gut Michel right there in the dirt.
Instead, Michel had knocked him on the head so he and Eve could get away.
Michel didn’t want to think about what the man would do to Eve if he got his hands on her.
The crew came to a bend in the river as the setting sun striped the hazy sky in gold and pink.
They’d been running for hours and still had a few to go to reach Samarkand.
They could camp here, by the river, but Michel preferred to travel into the night rather than risk being attacked while they slept.
As they came to the water’s edge, Michel pulled his horse to a stop, dismounted, and helped Eve down as the rest of the crew stretched out and ambled to the river to cool off.
He watched as Eve took a moment to pat down the horses and give them treats before he walked a few paces upstream.
He took off his boots and rolled up his pants before wading into the water among the cattails.
He pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the bank.
He spilled water onto the back of his neck and splashed his face.
When he looked up, Eve was standing at the water’s edge.
“Eve,” he began. They hadn’t spoken much on the ride. Michel was lost in planning, and Eve, as always, was quiet on the subject of her pursuers.
She looked at him. For the first time ever, he saw her truly humbled. It shook him.
“Eve, you have to tell me what’s going on.” He came to the edge of the water where she stood. “You want me to protect you. I can’t do it if I don’t know who is coming after you.”
She looked down. “I don’t really know,” she said. “I didn’t realize they would send him after me.”
“Do you know that man? He was the one who scared you before.”
She nodded. “His name is Ganbold. He is from the tribe of the man I married.” She shook her head. “You should not have fought him. He could have hurt you. Badly.” Then she looked at him, raw feelings in her eyes. “But he didn’t.”
Michel went toward her and took her hand. “No,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
She breathed out to finish her sentence. “I’m sorry, Michel,” Eve said. “To have brought this burden to you.”
“Your safety is not a burden,” he said. He touched her cheek, aware of the heaviness of her grief.
He wanted to take it from her, to swallow up any fear she had.
He let out a deep sigh. “If I had known of this trouble when I bought you...” He tilted his head, at least wanting to make her smile again. “I would have asked for a discount.”
She furrowed her brow and allowed a small laugh. “You did!” she said. She smacked him across the chest, accepting his playfulness, this reprieve. “You did negotiate.”
“Well,” he said, letting the grin form. “I should have gotten you for much cheaper.”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes at him.
“Listen,” he continued, his voice softening, soothing. “You’re going to have to give me the full story. Not right this second, but soon.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“Because, Siren,” he said. He reached forward to touch her arm. As soon as he made contact, he wanted more, and his hands went to her waist. He gripped her. “I have other things I want to think about when it comes to you.”
She bit her lip. “Like what?”
He continued, feeling his voice rumble low in his chest, “If I’ve figured you out like I think I have, then that means I may have a reward coming. For fighting off that brute earlier.”
He smirked, still playful, “Not required, of course, but happily accepted.” He pulled her closer and he felt the laces of her dress against his bare chest. One of the men may see them. He didn’t care. Let the world know his claim to this woman.
She put her hands on his chest and ran them lower, tracing his muscles with her fingertips down the tight diagonals until she was stopped by his belt. She sank her fingers under the fabric and gripped his beltline. “Yes,” she said, leaning up to whisper against his lips. “You do.”
Michel groaned, his body ready to buckle at her touch.
He took in a sharp breath and gripped her arms, pushing her back.
“Then let’s ride fast, or I will try and have you out here.
” Before he left, he gripped the back of her head and pulled her close, taking the chance to taste her lips, sweet and plump—cherries, currants, wonderful things.
Then he pulled away and grinned at her before jogging back up the bank to yell at the men to hurry themselves.
He knew she watched him as he did. It made his desire ache even harder.