Pearl Beyond Price

by Claire Delacroix

  Thierry felt rather than saw her look to the scholar in turn. Her breathing quickened when he simply responded to Thierry without translating the question for her. “The flavor of a pearl reveals its origin and hence its value,” the older man supplied.

  Thierry glanced down to the woman in time to see her gaze fill with trepidation. She demanded something of the scholar, presumably an explanation, and he noted that her voice had risen.

  “She should have warned me of her intent,” Thierry growled, staring at her so hard that she seemed compelled to look at him anew. When she did, he heard the harsh sound of the Mongol words, just as he felt her shiver beneath the weight of his hands. But there was nothing for it. He had to retrieve the tribute or be killed himself for his failure. He held her gaze steadily. “Now she will have to pay the price.”

  Chapter 2

  The warrior released his grip on her so abruptly that Kira almost fell back on the floor. Johannes’ translation of his last words offered no reassurance at all. What did he mean? Her mouth went dry as he retrieved the pearls from his companion and jammed them back into the velvet sack. He shoved it into his tunic then turned slowly and studied her.

  She would not cower.

  Her heart began to gallop, however, and her mind filled with dire possibilities. Would they kill her now? That would be the simplest way to retrieve the gem. A decisive gleam lit the tall warrior’s gaze and Kira knew he had decided her fate. She barely had the chance to panic before he had taken the step between them, locked his hands around her waist and tossed her over his shoulder.

  She struggled against him, earning herself a stinging slap on the buttocks and a tightened grip on the back of her knees. In truth, the blow hurt little but her pride. The other Mongol laughed, his lecherous grin right before her, and Kira cringed. Would they take their pleasure with her before killing her? The time of reckoning had come and she could not evade it. The warrior spoke as he marched toward the portal, the echo of his low voice rumbling against her thighs in a most disconcerting way.

  ’Twas intimate beyond compare to be pressed against him thus. Kira desperately tried to put some distance between the warrior’s warm flesh and her own, but failed. His heat rose through his garments to her breasts, her thighs, even her palms pressed against his shoulders. ’Twas futile to struggle, but Kira could do nothing else.

  “He says to tell you he will have the pearl,” Johannes said when he appeared before her. His own eyes filled with sympathy before he continued. “One way or the other.”

  Kira was horrified by the threat, but the warrior was ducking back out into the souk. It was later than she had realized, for the sun was sinking and some vendors were packing up their stalls. Her captor’s long strides took them quickly across the market square and away from the only home she had known.

  “Johannes!” Kira cried out. She realized then that the market had fallen silent. Everyone gathered there simply watched as she was carried away. “Johannes! You must help me!” Although Johannes had left the stall immediately after them, the warrior’s pace was quickly leaving him behind.

  To Kira’s dismay, Johannes seemed to be making no effort to close the growing distance. Would she be abandoned by her neighbors to the Mongols’ whim? What would her father have to say about the situation? Somehow it would be her own fault, she knew.

  Worse yet, she was leaving the stall untended in her father’s absence. Kira cursed her own sorry hide for failing in yet another of his assignments. She would never prove herself worthy of his love and affection at this rate.

  “Johannes!” she cried again.

  The shorter warrior strode behind her captor. When Kira made the mistake of meeting his gaze, he very deliberately licked his lips. She recoiled, but he laughed. She could imagine only too readily what this one had in store for her. Truly she had fallen into the hands of the devil’s own spawn.

  Perhaps it would have been a mercy if they had her killed quickly.

  “No one can help you but yourself, child,” Johannes called from far behind them. Kira heard the fear in his voice. She looked desperately at her old neighbors in the market, dismayed to find them clearing out of the Mongols’ path, as well. They stood silently aside with terrified expressions and dropped their gazes to the ground.

  But when had they ever helped her? Indeed, she was a fool to be surprised that they abandoned her now. How many times must they have heard her cry out in pain during the night? How many times had they heard the bite of her father’s lash finding its mark and done nothing to intervene? How often had she greeted her fate alone before?

  How often, indeed.

  No one can help you but yourself, child.

  Truly, nothing had changed.

  Kira’s breath abandoned her when the Mongol unexpectedly tossed her across the back of a horse. At least he touched her no more, though her skin still tingled from the imprint of his hands.

  The beast had a high red saddle, caparisons rich with embroidery hanging over its sides. Though the trappings were dirty and showing signs of wear, the horse’s chestnut coat was glossy and she knew it was well tended. It pranced beneath her weight and tossed its head with great spirit, yet more evidence that it did not suffer beneath this man’s care.

  Perhaps another tended his beast. A slave perhaps with a fondness for horses. It could not be that a Mongol showed concern for any other than himself. Kira slanted a glance at her captor. Certainly no kindness ever came from this stern man. Had he not slapped her own buttocks? Truly, men were all the same.

  The horse took another step and the ground moved beneath Kira’s gaze, making her dizzy. She inhaled sharply at the prospect of her first horseback ride and fought against the bile rising in her throat. This was too unsteady a perch for her taste, and the journey had yet to begin.

  The weight of an uncompromising hand landed on the small of her back and the warrior’s knees nudged her shoulder and thigh before she could collect her thoughts. Warmth flooded through her garments and across her skin from those points of contact, and Kira panicked.

  The warrior muttered something with impatience when Kira struggled to sit up. She glared up at him through the tangle of her hair.

  “I will not be carried like a sack of grain,” she informed him.

  He seemed to understand, for one hand gripped the back of her kurta. He hauled her upright to sit before him in the saddle. Her garment dug into her skin and she feared it would tear, but she made no complaint. She would show no weakness. She was aware of the other Mongol watching them and his poorly-concealed amusement. She ignored him as well as she could.

  What did they intend to do with her? The possibilities were limited and she did not like a one of them. Her warrior made a demand of her, an imperious point of his finger making it clear that he intended her to ride astride.

  Like a common whore. Never. Kira shook her head at the inappropriateness of that, watching his lips thin to a grim line. ’Twas bad enough to guess her fate without having to agree to the deed. The warrior pushed her head resolutely back down toward his knee.

  If those were the sole choices, she would ride astride. Anything would be better than becoming ill. Kira pushed aside his hand and sat up once more, gripping the horse’s mane as she struggled against her full djellaba to lift her leg over the creature’s back.

  The Mongol muttered what was surely an oath. Kira flushed as his hands closed firmly around her waist then he lifted her high. She was only too aware that his hands fully encircled her waist and she felt claimed by him in some inexplicably new and troubling way.

  Nonsense. Kira’s cheeks burned beneath the other Mongol’s interested eye. She wore full chalwar trousers and there was nothing for him to see. They both knew that she was no whore.

  Even if the tall warrior might mean to change that fact. Kira felt her hands begin to tremble.

  She leaned forward to put distance between them but evidently ’twas not the warrior’s intent that they be separated, for one muscled
arm locked around her waist. He trapped her easily against himself, her arms pinned to her side beneath his relentless grip.

  She struggled, the recent wounds on her back stinging from the friction. She roundly cursed his familiarity with her and heard him chuckle. The unmistakable feel of something hardening against her buttocks made her freeze.

  Kira had no doubt what she felt. She might be a virgin, but she was not a fool. A woman did not have to be a whore to know what was what in this world.

  At this very real indication of what might be in store for her, fear threatened to overwhelm Kira. How often had her father threatened her with the beating of her life if a man laid a hand upon her? ’Twould be her fault alone, she had been made to understand, and the lash a necessary punishment—if not worse. She would be visibly scarred if she saw herself tainted. Her father planned to make a fine match for her one day, a marriage that would financially assure the leisure of his days.

  Only an ungrateful wretch of a daughter would steal the promise of that away from her sire.

  Surely her maidenhead could not be the price the warrior would compel her to pay her for swallowing the pearl? He might as well kill her, for then she would have no reason left to live.

  Kira felt herself begin to tremble. A Mongol would take what he wanted, regardless of her entreaties. She felt cold at the realization that no explanation would suffice for her father.

  His future would be destroyed and ’twould be all her doing.

  The warrior’s fingers fanned to close more resolutely around her elbow, eliminating any option Kira might have had to move farther away. She stiffened at the restriction and he grunted, though she could no longer feel his arousal.

  His stirrups jingled and he dug his heels into the horse’s side. The creature seemed to have been waiting only for such a sign to flee the town.

  She shrank back against the warrior’s solidity as the horse sped to a gallop, certain she would be bounced loose and shattered like a doll on the ground. She clutched at the sinewy forearm wrapped around her, knowing her nails were digging into his flesh but unable to check her fear.

  Her loose hair flailed around them, its binding long gone and her hood fallen away. The man behind her cursed again as Kira clung to him. He dropped the reins and she thought her heart might stop in terror. The beast ran unchecked! They would be thrown to the ground and their bones broken in a hundred places! Did this warrior not have a scrap of mercy in his soul?

  His freed hand swept savagely around Kira’s head, his rough thumb brushing her nape and sending an unexpected shiver down her spine as he gathered her hair and twisted its length. ’Twas long enough that he could grip the ends in the hand clasped over her elbow. She took no reassurance from the ease with which he accomplished his objective and nonchalantly picked up the reins again. Kira tugged against this new restraint, feeling tethered even as she bounced on her unsteady perch.

  She would be jostled until everything within her was shaken loose. She would be powerless to even stand when this wild ride was completed. Indeed, she could feel the bruises rising on her buttocks already.

  Her father would have much to say to her about such inappropriate behavior.

  The Mongol said something to her, but she shook her head. He had to know that she did not understand his foul language, nor did she want to. His free hand curved about her knee and Kira recoiled from his touch. He repeated his command more slowly and did not release her knee, pressing it firmly into the horse’s side and holding it there.

  He gripped the horse with his legs, she realized, glancing down to find his knees clamped against the beast’s ribs. Kira followed suit, imagining that there was approval in his muttered response. He released her knee and she knew she had a steadier perch. Her panic faded and her breathing slowed with the realization that she was not going to topple to her death.

  Kira would not speculate on this barbarian’s plans for her once she survived this ride. She lifted her chin and surveyed the grassland sweeping beneath the horse’s feet.

  As her heartbeat slowed, she had to admit that riding a horse was not so terrifying after all. Indeed, she felt warm and safe, though certainly any impression of security was unwarranted. ’Twas only that she could no longer see the warrior’s stern countenance that allowed her fears to subside.

  Although she was sitting virtually in his lap. Kira became aware of the strength of his thighs behind hers. That recently awakened tingle of awareness returned with new vigor. Though his grip around her waist was uncompromising and she knew there was no escape, the warrior did not hurt her. Would he truly be as brutal as she feared? Kira looked down to his fingers, wrapped proprietarily around her elbow, hating herself for admiring their tanned strength.

  Who knew what those hands had done? The man was a Mongol. A barbarian.

  Perhaps she was losing her wits. Certainly, the jumble of emotions churning within her could not be sorted into any order. Kira suspected she would find out the truth of his plan for her sooner than she might prefer.

  In the distance, a dark smudge appeared and then grew more distinct. Kira gradually picked out the forms of horses grazing all around an apparent settlement. There was no town so close to Tiflis. Kira frowned and watched, aware that the air was chilling and the sky was growing more dark. Gradually it became clear that the smudge across the landscape was composed of thousands of round homes. Kira had little doubt what sort of settlement they approached.

  ’Twas the Mongol camp. A cold trickle of dread slid into her stomach at the sight. What gruesome fate awaited her there?

  Thierry rode directly to his own yurt, liking its welcome familiarity. The round felt tent gave him a sense as close to homecoming as he found these days.

  But he would not indulge himself in another recollection of Khanbaliq. Truly he could not recall when those images had last haunted him so persistently as they did this day. But he had no time for pointless reminiscing.

  The woman had clenched up before him as the camp came into sight. It was curious how readily he could guess her thoughts though he did not understand her words. Once again, he stifled the urge to reassure her. She had tried to trick him once already. Indeed, there was no way of telling what sort of treachery she schemed even now.

  He should know better than to trust such a lovely face.

  Undoubtedly she was accustomed to using her beauty to her advantage. Such a tactic would not succeed with Thierry. He halted the horse with a barely audible sound and nudged his knee beneath hers. She apparently understood his intent, because she let him lift her knee over the horse’s back with his.

  At least she was not a fool. He savored the pleasant feel of her cradled in his lap before he jumped to the ground. Was the rest of her as soft as her hair? She stumbled and he caught her before she fell. That was an indication of her unfamiliarity with horses, not a measure of her grace.

  And it could be changed. Thierry was amused when the witch immediately tried to pull away from his grasp. Where did she think she might find safer haven than with him in this camp? Nogai would offer her company, ’twas true, but somehow he doubted that kind of companionship would please her.

  Thierry released her elbow but kept a firm grip on the end of her hair. That had her shortly spinning to a stop, and her eyes flashed with anger when she met his gaze. Nogai laughed at her and she spared him a hostile glance before she confronted Thierry once more.

  She said something, her tone scathing, but the translator had been left in Tiflis. That had perhaps not been the best plan, but then, Thierry needed no more from her than the pearl. Her anger was fascinating though, for when infuriated, she seemed to forget her fear of him. Thierry watched her, intrigued.

  “Perhaps you will discover the cost of coupling with a witch,” Nogai taunted.

  The woman flicked him a venomous look, though she could not have understood the comment. Thierry chose to ignore the gibe.

  She demanded something of him, her tug on her hair communicating her requ
est. Thierry almost smiled at her foolishness as he shook his head slowly. Her lips set and she crossed her arms under her breasts. She was bewitching indeed, with those dark eyes shooting sparks. Thierry resolved to show both her and Nogai that he was unaffected by her charm.

  He coiled her long hair once more around his hand, compelling her to step closer to him. He watched her silently and did it again. Her eyes widened and she swallowed, but she took the requisite step closer. He wound her hair around his hand over and over again, slowly but deliberately, until his fingers were almost touching her throat. Thierry flexed his fingers in the thick mass of her hair, marveling at its softness. He was well aware of her discomfiture as she stared up at him in silence.

  Her skin was so golden a hue. He recalled only too well the delicacy of her throat beneath his hands, the ripe press of her buttocks against his thighs. He should not have teased her with his arousal, he knew, but she was so tempting, he had done as much before he thought better of it.

  And now, she was certain that he intended to rape her. He saw new fear in the dark depths of her eyes. Her fear struck a chord within him, as had her fearful response on the horse, dissolving his lust before it could truly take possession of him.

  Dismissing his persistent urge to reassure her, Thierry nudged her impatiently forward. He felt his brows pull together in a frown of displeasure, even as he reminded himself that ’twould be much easier if she remained afraid of him.

  Women were a liability, an indulgence that made a man soft. And softness made a man vulnerable to his enemies.

  Like Abaqa.

  A witch in particular was not to be trusted. Thierry had only to keep her close until the pearl reappeared. A day, perhaps two, depending on what she ate. Perhaps he would even return her to Tiflis unscathed if she surrendered the gem quickly enough.