Kira squirmed in panic, but the way the warrior’s strong fingers moved purposefully beneath the scarf wound about her hips brought her struggles to an abrupt halt. The warmth of his fingers speared through the tangle of hair at her crotch, the very possessiveness of the gesture fairly stopping her heart.
Perhaps her feelings about another coupling this night truly would carry no weight.
Kara met the warrior’s gaze tentatively, feeling completely snared in his grip. He was watching her, though she should have anticipated that, just as she should have expected his stony expression. He did not move and she had the sense he was waiting for her reaction.
Much as she was waiting to see what he would do next.
The two regarded each other silently for a long moment, Kira only too aware of the sound of her breathing filling the tent.
Then the warrior’s finger slipped decisively lower. Kira caught her breath, knowing his destination yet powerless to stop him. A jolt tripped through her when he touched that spot again, the one he had teased briefly while she danced.
Kira panicked. She would not couple with him again this night. She was sore, she was confused, she was tired—and she was less than herself, thanks to the qumis.
And he was teasing her, breaking down her resistance with single-minded resolve just so they could mate again. He did not truly have any regard for her. He had only partaken of what had been offered and only wanted more. He felt no remorse for so humiliating her. Embarrassed by her own response to the gentle pressure of his fingertip, Kira flailed in an attempt to gain her freedom, one which would undoubtedly fail.
But to her astonishment, the warrior released her.
Chapter 7
Kira gained her footing in a flurry of tangled silk, poised to run, but the warrior did not move at all in pursuit. She caught her breath, finding herself snared once more by his assessing regard.
Again they watched each other warily.
The moments stretched long and Kira began to wonder if he had turned to stone in truth. Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he abruptly stood. She hurried out of his path and he spared her a glance that could have been indulgent had it come from any other man.
With smooth gestures, he lit a lamp and hung it from the central pole. He carried a flame from the lamp to the small stove reposing in one corner, his attention fixed on his task. Indeed, it seemed unlikely that this supremely unconcerned man even knew Kira was in his presence, let alone that he expected her to couple with him.
Should she run?
But where else would she find haven on this night and in this camp?
Had she not wanted him to claim her? Evidently, he had done so and as a result, her place was here.
Even if her companion was apparently disinterested in that particular fact.
He filled a large pot with water and set it on the small stove. Kira watched, wondering at his intent.
To her surprise, he began to remove his clothes. He folded them neatly before laying them aside, moving with deliberation all the while.
He meant to couple again! Kira scurried to the farthest side of the tent. She knew that she would be able to do little to fend him off, but kept her distance all the same. There was no reason to make his conquest an easy one.
The warrior continued to disrobe, apparently unaware of her actions. He did not spare a glance in her direction, even when he stood nude. Kira acknowledged some doubt as to his objective.
He had told her that he slept nude. Did he simply mean to retire?
The pot of water steamed and he squatted before the short stove to pour the water into a bowl. He rummaged in his saddlebags, producing a length of cloth, from which he tore a shorter piece, and a brown block that fit easily into his hand.
Only then did he turn to Kira, and she was disconcerted at how readily he looked directly at her. Indeed, the man fairly had eyes in the back of his head. He offered the trio to her, but she hastily shook her head. Kira eased backward, not trusting him enough to close the distance between them. The warrior shrugged and plunged the block into the water.
When it began to lather on his skin, Kira realized it was soap. It was considerably coarser and darker soap than she knew, certainly, but still her interest was piqued at the very promise of a bath. How long had it been since she had indulged in the luxury of bathing twice daily? Indeed, that ritual of her life in Tiflis seemed but a distant memory.
Of course, she would have to disrobe to wash properly and that was out of the question.
Kira turned her back on the sight of her warrior’s nudity and folded her arms across her chest. She would survive without a bath this night.
Although, she had to admit that the man could not see much more of her than he already had. She glanced down at the array of sheer scarves.
And had she not been nude in his presence before?
She flicked a glance over her shoulder to find him scrubbing his body with evident relish. He ran the wet cloth over his skin with a flourish, closing his eyes as the warm water ran over his skin.
Curse him. If she had possessed any notion that he had a sense of humor, she might have thought he was teasing her. But not this man. He glanced up and their gazes locked for a long moment, Kira fancying she spied a glimmer of something in those silver depths before he abruptly returned to his task.
He had chuckled once.
She pivoted and stared at the shadows thrown on the tent wall. Had she not been in the river but two days past? How dirty could she be? Her skin seemed to itch.
The warrior made some low sound of satisfaction in his throat and splashed in the water with obvious pleasure.
The river water had been filthy and brown.
And that had been two days past. She noted the dark line beneath her nails as the splash of his bathing taunted her anew.
Enough.
The man had seen and indeed sampled all she had. Foolish pride would not keep her from being clean. Kira dropped his cloak from her shoulders and bent to untie the knotted scarves with shaking fingers before she could change her mind.
Her nipples beaded as she turned to confront him in her nudity and she could not have met his gaze to save her life. She tossed her hair over her shoulder as though untroubled and resolutely crossed the tent to demand the soap from him with one outstretched hand.
Just as he had demanded the pearl.
But the warrior did not surrender the soap.
Kira gritted her teeth before she looked up to meet his gaze, only to find him shaking his head with that maddening slowness. He said something that was evidently an explanation and she was certain he was denying her a bath.
Of all the wicked ways to tempt her! Anger shot through Kira. She heartily wished that she could tell him in no uncertain terms what she thought of such churlish behavior.
Indeed, it might be worth telling him, whether he could understand her words or not.
Kira propped her hands on her hips and opened her mouth to do just that, only to find the warrior’s heavy finger firm against her lips.
It was wet, and a trickle of warm water ran over her chin from his hand, but Kira could not move to stop it. Her eyes widened in surprise as that unwelcome jolt of need was awakened again.
Kira’s urge to reprimand him faded to nothing when she saw the twinkle in his eyes. The very sight so disconcerted her that she lost the thread of her argument. Instead, she found herself nodding dumbly when he held up one cautionary finger and lifted a brow.
His wet skin glistened as he tossed his water out the tent flap and she could not help but notice the play of the muscles across his back. Kira set her lips, granting him but an increment more tolerance before she made her thoughts most clear.
To her surprise he filled the bowl with the remainder of the hot water and offered her the bowl. Indeed, it seemed he had divided the water in half as if he fully expected her to bathe despite her original refusal.
It irked Kira that he found her so predictable, and the reappearance
of that twinkle in his silver eyes did little to improve her temper. He tore a new length of cloth, offering it and the block of soap to her with all the gallantry of a foreign courtier.
Curse him.
Kira snatched the soap and cloth in ill humor, momentarily grateful that he did not seem determined to aid her in this task.
Although, the way he casually turned aside and ignored her left something to be desired, as well. He laid out a pair of blankets near his folded garments, evidently oblivious to her nudity or even her presence. At least he might glance in her direction once in a while. The man could make a pretense of being attracted to her, if truly he had claimed her.
Unless he thought her merely a whore. Kira’s eyes widened at the possibility and her fingers fumbled so that she nearly dropped the soap. Could she have sacrificed her virginity for a single night of sanctuary?
’Twas unthinkable, but not so easy to dismiss as Kira might have liked. She looked toward the warrior to find him squatting atop the blanket, apparently at ease with his own nudity and watching her intently. Kira had the uncanny sense that he had sensed her distress, though truly there was no way he could know her thoughts. He lifted one dark brow, as though inviting her to explain. Kira wished she could.
Somehow she sensed that he might reassure her, irrational though that thought was. What had she done? Tears blurred her vision once more but Kira refused to let them fall, reminding herself that she was yet alive. Had that not been the point of surrendering her virginity? To ensure her very survival?
But had that truly been achieved? Kira wished she had some assurance as to the security of her role, whether she be whore or claimed woman.
She frowned and scrubbed the remainder of the soap from her skin, surprised to find the warrior looming in her peripheral vision. His brows tightened together as though he, too, was frustrated by their lack of common language, then he began pointing around the tent. Each time he pointed, he said something terse, a word or perhaps a phrase, but Kira knew not what was going on.
When he pointed to his tunic and stated “kalat”, she understood.
He was naming objects in Mongolian. Kira nodded quickly, glancing around for some way to indicate that she understood him. Her gaze fell on a tin cup and she pointed inside it.
“Qumis,” she said. The warrior nodded once with evident approval.
He held her gaze and pointed to the middle of his chest.
“Thierry,” he said firmly. Kira felt her eyes narrow, for the word did not sound Mongolian to even her untrained ears. He repeated it, though, and she realized he was telling her his name.
Thierry. Kira almost said his name herself, having an inexplicable urge to feel the word roll over her tongue, but checked her response just in time.
She would not say his name. She would not forgive him so readily. Not until she understood whether she was his woman for good or his whore for this night alone.
And neither would she couple with him again, should she have any choice in the matter.
The warrior watched her expectantly, but Kira stubbornly said nothing as she lifted her chin high. She certainly would not tell him her name, for that would be worse than saying his. That silver gaze bored into hers, as though willing her to understand, but Kira resolutely made no acknowledgment of his demand.
Finally he gestured to her and cocked one brow questioningly, but Kira shook her head. She would not tell him. His lips thinned and he turned away, indicating with one hand the blankets he had unfolded and beckoning to Kira with the other. She shook her head again, pointing determinedly to the other side of the tent.
She would not sleep with him.
There was no doubt that she had displeased him with that. The warrior folded his arms across his chest and shook his head just as determinedly. Kira straightened her shoulders, knowing that she had no intention of acquiescing to share a bed with him this night. Had he not let her sleep in privacy before?
A male voice raised in song outside the trait drew Kira’s attention away from their contest of wills. Two women giggled before the man outside began to laugh raucously, as well. No doubt there were others indulging themselves this night. They were close, though, and she wondered fleetingly, as their voices drew yet nearer, if they intended to come right into the tent.
Kira looked back to the warrior in trepidation. He counted off three fingers and gestured outside with those fingers, then pointed to the side of the tent where Kira had intended to sleep. She shook her head quickly, certain he was just trying to frighten her, but he nodded confidently and repeated the gesture. They could not be coming here. Had she and the warrior not been alone here before?
The voices grew yet louder. The warrior watched her silently and Kira wondered if that night had been an exception. Certainly the tent was much too large for one man alone. Kira licked her lips as the laughter grew nearer.
It seemed that their privacy was to be short-lived.
The voices outside grew in volume. Kira jumped when the warrior unexpectedly scooped up his silk kurta with uncharacteristic impatience and strode across the space between them. He planted himself between Kira and the tent flap, shooting her a murderous look when she might have stepped away. He shook out the folded shirt with a snap of his wrist.
A moment later, her vision was clouded by the undyed silk as he hauled the garment over her head. The lustrous fabric slid over her face, releasing the warm scent of his skin. Kira closed her eyes for a moment, opening them to find the singing man and two women staggering into the tent. The warrior had covered her nudity just in time and she was astonished to find gratitude flooding through her.
She was confused to feel gratitude for the warrior who had taken her so publicly. Truly, the qumis had addled her mind.
The newly arrived man whistled appreciatively and made a drunken grab in Kira’s direction. The warrior moved quickly to kick out the other man’s ankle, sending him sprawling on his face, much to his women’s giggling delight. The fallen man laughed and shook a finger at the warrior as he rolled to his back and made some jest, though the warrior did not seem to see the humor in the situation.
Kira barely had time to note that the man was the same one who had been the warrior’s companion earlier, in Tiflis, before she was scooped off her feet. Her breath caught and she was deposited in the middle of the unfolded blanket.
The warrior had dropped down beside her before she could voice her complaint, one arm clamped around her waist while the other swept the blanket over them in a savage gesture. She glanced up to find a dangerous gleam in his eye and a stern set to his mouth that effectively checked any impulse to make any protest clear.
Indeed, he seemed quite irked that his companion had reached for her, his relentless grip on Kira nothing if not possessive. His response seemed to make his ownership clear, and Kira could not help but wonder at the cause.
Could she have been claimed after all? If so, for how long and on what terms? She glanced up at the warrior’s stern countenance and he seemed to sense her doubt, for he caught her eye even as his fingers spread to span her waist. He tucked her slightly closer to his side and, knowing she had little choice in the matter, Kira settled against his hard warmth to sleep.
She supposed the morning would show her place more clearly. Kira bit down on her frustration, knowing there was nothing she could do to make the matter clear sooner.
She was tired and he was wonderfully warm. Perhaps ’twould not be so bad to sleep here. Indeed, what had she to fear from this man now? The warrior spoke to his friend, his voice rumbling beneath her ear in a most pleasant manner, and Kira dared to nestle more thoroughly against him.
Thierry. She thought his name despite her resolve not to say it aloud, even as sleep crept up on her.
She was afraid of him.
Why else would she refuse to tell him her name? Thierry knew she had understood his request, for there was no lack of intelligence in those dark eyes. She had simply denied him, and though her refusal h
ad stung at the time, he could understand her uncertainty.
The shaman says a curse comes to a man who takes a witch. Indeed, I could not help but ask him the way of it. You should know that he was most interested in the matter.
Nogai’s taunt burned in Thierry’s thoughts and he gritted his teeth.’Twas ironic that his witch was afraid of him, for the shaman had evidently made it clear that he would be the one to pay the price for this night’s mating.
The curse? Aye, that will interest you, I should imagine, for ’tis an ugly fate. ’Tis said ’twill shrivel and fall off once it has been buried in a witch. ’Tis thus the shaman says and you know he has seen much in his day.
A lie. A folly. It simply could not be that this sweet creature could extract such a toll from his body. Despite his doubts, Thierry could not help sparing a glance beneath the blanket to check.
Truly, this witch made him larger, not smaller. He swallowed a smile at the thought.
And what did Nogai know of such matters? He was superstitious, even beyond the inclination of the others within the tribe and apt to believe every tale.
The shaman predicted your lack of success at Tiflis, did he not?
Nogai’s closing taunt haunted Thierry relentlessly. Had the shaman truly said as much? Thierry did not know, but Nogai’s manner indicated that the prediction had been well-known. Certainly, Thierry had lost an opportunity to prove himself, but his conviction that his time of ascendancy was upon him had not diminished. He was not quite ready to concede that he had failed.
Although Abaqa’s manner lately had been less than encouraging. Thierry shifted restlessly, unable to dismiss the truth of that, his own wishes to the contrary.
Perhaps the shaman was right about taking witches.
Thierry looked down as the woman sighed, hearing evidence in the change of her breathing that she had fallen asleep. He shook his head, no longer so willing to believe her to be a witch. She intrigued him in a most unnatural way, but that alone did not provide the proof he desired. The pearls had fallen from her lips but once and once alone.
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