Pearl Beyond Price

by Claire Delacroix

  “Aye, witches.”

  “I know naught of witches,” Thierry said, watching the khan’s brows rise.

  “You coupled with one before us all last night!” the shaman charged as he strode forward.

  All within the yurt looked up with interest, but Thierry remained calm.

  “I claimed a woman, in the usual manner.”

  The shaman’s eyes gleamed and he shook his head. “She is a witch. Nogai told me so and you know it, as well.” The shaman leaned forward and Abaqa watched him avidly. “’Twas her sorcery alone that gave her the strength to refuse my elixir.”

  Thierry saw the truth flicker in the old one’s eyes and knew that his woman’s refusal to surrender the pearl to the shaman had not been taken well. Yet again, he wondered how she had contrived to hide it, though it did not matter now. His disagreement with the shaman had precipitated Abaqa’s move and nothing could change the situation.

  All the same, he could not suppress a flicker of pride that she had bested the shaman.

  Thierry shrugged. “Witches, shaman, holy men. Are you not all the same in truth?”

  “Nay!” the shaman claimed. “Witches are evil, for they twist the hearts of men and destroy their form.” Again that glance dropped and Thierry noted the khan’s interest in the same part of his anatomy.

  “It seems that you have erred in this prediction,” Thierry stated. “Indeed, the reverse seems true.”

  “He lies,” the shaman whispered to the khan.

  “Perhaps you would like to see for yourself,” Thierry suggested.

  Both men’s eyes widened and the shaman’s voice dropped to a hiss.

  “It is best he leaves the camp with his witch immediately, for no good can come of his presence. Have you not seen how the gods have turned against him? His golden luck is gone and with it, any need for us to shelter him.”

  “I shall be gone as soon as the message is prepared,” Thierry interjected.

  The shaman undoubtedly was threatened by the promise of another within the camp who might lay claim to his influential role. Women and men both could be shaman within the Mongol tribes, and Thierry was sorely tempted to make some brash claim of his woman’s influence. The khan looked as though he would ask a question but Thierry spoke first, knowing all the while the impertinence of the deed.

  “My woman and anda will accompany me,” he concluded, backing away before both men’s relief.

  ’Twould be to put this life behind him, for he tired of the suspicions and superstitions bound with it. ’Twould be a relief to stop looking over his shoulder at every turn in anticipation of a betrayal. Though Thierry hated to see his ambitions thwarted, in a sense he was relieved. He was no longer required to feign loyalty to one like Abaqa.

  He would again be a warrior, a mercenary, and a blade for hire once the khan’s message was delivered.

  His thoughts filled with possibilities of adventure and fortune to be gained in foreign lands just over the horizon. Had he not always had the certainty that he was destined for greatness? Perhaps his destiny was with others than the Mongols. He had come close to gaining ascendancy, but he had learned much. Such experience would serve him well in future.

  The land of the Franks beckoned. It could not be coincidence that sent him to the land where he had been born, the land that he had never known. There was a new spring in Thierry’s step when he stepped outside and he saw promise even in the rain. He had always lived in the East and he wondered for the first time what had compelled his parents to leave their homeland so soon after his birth.

  But he had no option of asking that question, with angry words and the width of Asia between himself and his father. And he had no need of an answer, in truth, for he was heading to his native land this very day.

  Did Dame Fortune await him there?

  Thierry could not wait to find out.

  Kira awakened to the drone of rain on the tent. She snuggled deeper into the warmth of the blanket, not knowing whether to be disappointed or relieved to find her warrior absent.

  Had she dreamed that interval in the night or had he truly touched her? An exploring finger revealed the slick dampness between her thighs and she smelled her own scent heavy beneath the blankets. Kira’s certainty grew that the warrior would certainly think her no better than a whore for her wanton behavior.

  Indeed, she could scarce believe she had responded thus herself.

  A woman groaned and a masculine voice raised in sleepy complaint. Kira closed her eyes again to feign sleep and rolled over to covertly seek out the source of the sound. The warrior’s comrade sat up with a scowl and scratched his bare skin, sparing a terse comment to one of the women who slept beside him. She argued briefly but he cocked his head toward the tent flap, his expression uncompromising. Kira slid under the protection of the blanket as the woman roused her companion with irritable resignation. The two of them, their kohl eyeliner smeared and hair bedraggled, made their way out of the tent.

  Was this the way of whores in the camp? Kira wondered what her warrior would expect when he returned. Would he similarly send her on her way?

  And where exactly did these women go?

  The sound of breathing filled the tent again in the women’s wake, the warrior’s companion sprawling on his back and snoring with his mouth open as though he had not even awakened a moment past. Kira dared to peek around. She decided immediately that she liked the look of this one even less when he slept. He appeared rougher than her warrior, more poorly groomed, dirtier and evidently of lower rank.

  She might have done worse the previous night. Kira shivered. But what had she gained? Would her warrior return to similarly oust her?

  It seemed forever had come and gone in the time she lay there and fretted over her status, though indeed the tent had only become slightly lighter when the warrior made his appearance once more. Kira’s heart jumped at the decisive opening of the tent flap, no doubt in her mind who would stand framed against the morning’s grayness should she dare to look.

  But she squeezed her eyes shut and pretended to sleep instead, even as her heart pounded in her ears. Perhaps then, he would not have the heart to awaken her and cast her out, though Kira suspected that she hoped thus in vain, if it was his plan.

  The tent was silent except for the other man’s snores, the very air charged with expectancy. Kira knew she was being watched again, but she resolutely kept her eyes closed.

  If only she could slow her breathing or unclench her fingers beneath the blanket.

  The warrior took a barely audible step and Kira heard whatever he carried drop to the ground. She tensed when she felt him stretch his length out alongside her, bracing herself for the worst.

  Nothing happened. Kira fancied she could feel his breath fan her skin, his breathing annoyingly more regular and slower of pace than her own. She panicked, knowing that she would do well to fool him at such close range, and desperately hoped that he merely intended to fall asleep once more like his brethren.

  A sharp tap on the end of her nose made her jump. Kira’s eyes flew open to confront the knowing expression in the gray gaze so close to her own. Was that amusement that almost tugged at the corner of his lips? Indeed, it could not be and she stared back at him, uncertain what he intended to do now that he had discovered her ruse.

  To her surprise, he merely coaxed her to sit up before him. Kira shivered and clutched the blanket to her chest, not entirely convinced that his intentions were good ones. The way he moved to sit directly behind her fed her trepidation and she felt herself stiffen at his proximity.

  Then his fingers were in her hair. Kira jumped until she realized that he was finger-combing its length. She twisted slightly to look at him, only to earn a quick condemnation and a gentle finger beneath her chin urging her to face forward once more.

  She had no desire to witness whatever vile deed he had in mind.

  There was no mistaking the rhythmic tug of having her hair braided, though Kira fought the rational
explanation. He was grooming her? How could this be? It defied reason that he would do such a thing. She twisted around, not knowing what to do in the face of this unexpected development, and her gaze fell upon the burden he had dropped.

  Clothing. Similar to his in style it looked, but smaller of cut.

  Was she to have these clothes? And was this a sign of possession? Kira glanced over her shoulder uncertainly. The warrior had finished her braid and was tying the end with a short length of rawhide. He met her gaze, one end of the rawhide in his teeth, and raised his brows expressively.

  Kira fought the urge to smile at his unexpectedly playful expression and quickly turned away from him. Her heart pounded erratically and she told herself not to be a fool. Likely, he knew she had no garments and would see her garbed before tossing her out.

  The assertion did not ring as true as Kira thought it should have, for surely a man who cared nothing for her would not worry whether she was soaked in this rain. But then, surely a man who cared nothing for her would not have pleasured her in the night as he had.

  Perhaps she knew too little about men who did not care. Her father had cared for her, by his own admission, and that alone should have told her that affection was a demanding burden. Perhaps a lack of regard was a less painful obligation.

  Kira frowned, knowing herself to be more confused than ever she had been. She closed her eyes and let the scent of the warrior’s skin fill her nostrils, acknowledging that his very presence calmed her fears. Perhaps that was enough.

  Perhaps that would have to be enough.

  The warrior urged her to her feet with a hand beneath her elbow. He indicated with an imperious finger the deep blue kurta, kalat and chalwar he had brought, and Kira reached for the loose shirt. A heavy finger on her shoulder brought her up short and she cursed herself for making the mistake of meeting his gaze. She was too aware of him in the humid warmth of the tent with the beat of the rain filling her ears—and the memory of his beguiling touch heating her cheeks.

  He pointed to the silk kurta she wore and said something, his gesture indicating that she should remove it. Kira’s face flamed but he remained resolute.

  ’Twas his shirt, after all, she supposed. Kira dropped her gaze, uncertain she could blithely disrobe before him this morning. His flat palm intruded on her peripheral vision, that signal of demand that he knew she understood. Kira nodded quickly. He would have his kurta but she would grant him no view of what was beneath. ’Twas irrational and well she knew it but still she could not do it.

  She squared her shoulders to brace herself before meeting his gaze once more. With a swirl of one finger, she tried to show him that she wanted him to turn around. His features remained impassive and he showed no signs of moving. Kira sighed, gritting her teeth as she resolutely gripped his arm and tried to turn him. She knew that he had no interest in her form, but her modesty compelled her to maintain some dignity.

  At least she would not be forced to confront the disinterest in his eyes. She gave his elbow a resolute shove and, to her surprise, he complied.

  She felt an unreasonable surge of irritation. At least the man could pretend to having some interest. Kira was fully aware of her erratic mood, though uncertainty over her fate did her temper few favors.

  She desperately wished there was some way to know her status once and for all.

  Kira spared a glance to the other occupant of the tent to ensure that he was sleeping, then hastily peeled off his silk kurta. Having no idea how much time the warrior would grant her to change, she quickly donned the garments he had brought. Kira frowned at the padding in the hips of the loose chalwar trousers, certain it would make her look hugely round. With a muttered sound of disgust, she removed the pads and cast them aside, then hauled the fur-lined tunic over her head just as the warrior turned around.

  He nodded with what might have been approval and pointed to a pair of boots Kira had not noticed before. She jammed her foot into one, lacing the open front up to the knee, similar to the way the warrior wore his. Kira picked up the other boot, seeing out of the corner of her eye that he had dropped to a crouch and was quickly rolling up the blankets she had just abandoned.

  He said something to his companion, who snorted in his sleep but continued to snore more or less undisturbed. A frown briefly darkened the warrior’s brow as he put the blankets aside, then he stepped over to shake the other man.

  His companion sat up with alarm. He blinked and frowned, then the pair exchanged a quick volley of comments as Kira watched. The other man looked perplexed and made a demand, which the warrior answered with a single terse word.

  The warrior straightened abruptly, leaving his companion with a dazed expression. The warrior collected a pair of leather saddlebags and packed the blankets away. He removed a pair of heavy cloaks, casting the shorter one about Kira’s shoulders before he donned the other. His companion seemed to take that as a sign of some kind, for he stood so quickly that Kira had no chance to avoid a glimpse of his nudity.

  She stared stubbornly at the toe of her new boot, not knowing what was happening and uncertain it was wise to be curious. Then the warrior loomed in her peripheral vision and she glanced up to find him tossing one of the saddlebags over his shoulder. He handed her the other one and gestured her toward the tent flap, his companion hauling on his boots as he hastened to follow them out into the rain.

  The surrounding tents looked dejected in the gray morning light, their heavy felt sagging with the weight of the rain. ’Twas misty and damp, and Kira shivered within her new clothes. She glanced back to find her warrior hefting a saddle onto his shoulders that had been just inside the tent.

  Her pulse leaped when his companion followed suit. She needed little imagination to understand that they were leaving the camp. Her warrior’s gaze met hers and Kira’s heart gave an unsteady lurch, the sensation leaving her unsure whether to be pleased or not that he had not cast her aside.

  So far.

  Would he take her with him, wherever he was going? Or would she be consigned to the ranks of the whores servicing the camp? Kira licked her lips, trudging in the direction he indicated with trepidation weighing on her heart.

  The realization that the price for taking a witch was quite low pleased Thierry more than he would have preferred. Touching her had reassured him that the shaman had misunderstood the inclination of her powers, if indeed she was a witch at all.

  ’Twould have been simple to blame this small woman for the khan’s decision of this morn, but Thierry knew ’twas not the case. He was only too aware that his becoming an outcast had been in the wind afore Abaqa knew she was in the camp.

  Thierry’s optimism about visiting his native land dismissed any such worries out of hand. He would create a new future in the land of the Franks and he was assailed by a conviction that his would be a noble destiny. In fact, he was feeling hale this morn, despite the khan’s choice. His woman walked before him, her hips swaying, and he acknowledged himself to be feeling healthy, indeed.

  But a few hours since they had coupled and already he was anxiously wondering how long ’twould take her to come to him.

  The shaman was a fool.

  He watched his woman and recalled the flutter of her heart beneath his hand. Something clenched within him at the memory. Had he not pleased her in the night?

  Unless she had no recollection of his touch. Thierry searched his memory for some minute sign she had made this morn of her newfound awareness of him. Not a gesture, not a glance, not a flush could he recall that might signify that she, too, had needs. Indeed, she seemed yet more supremely oblivious to him than before.

  Could it be that witches had no need of men? Could a desire destined to remain unsatisfied be the price of taking one? The very possibility of that being true made Thierry yearn to make her feel her own need once more.

  But nay. He had vowed that he would wait for her, and a man had no merit if his word had no weight. Khanhaliq invaded his thoughts yet again and for the fi
rst time, Thierry felt a wave of ingratitude toward his sire.

  Curse the man for teaching him to hold the sanctity of a vow above all else.

  Chapter 9

  “Congratulations,” the Persian woman purred into Kira’s ear.

  Kira turned away from the latrines, astonished to find anyone else awake in the silent camp. The Persian woman smiled knowingly. “I told you that you were too pretty for war fodder. And no doubt was left that Black Wind was choosing you as his woman.”

  Kira felt her brows rise. “Indeed, the deed could not have been missed.” She knew her tone was sour but concentrated on adjusting her chalwar.

  The other woman gripped her arm, and Kira glanced up in surprise.

  “Do you not know what he did?”

  “Aye.” Kira winced. “I know exactly what he did.”

  The woman smothered a smile. “Nay, Kira, not that. You do understand that ’tis their way to stake a claim before witnesses?” she added in a lower tone.

  Kira felt her eyes widen. “I do not understand,” she said, not daring to believe what the woman seemed intent on telling her.

  Surely ’twas not a custom to possess a woman before all the others?

  The Persian woman nodded slowly as she saw comprehension dawn in Kira’s eyes. “’Tis evident he wanted to leave no doubt that you are his,” she hissed. “Possessiveness in a man is a good sign, indeed.”

  Kira flicked a quick glance to the warrior standing at the far side of the latrine. He was facing toward the open fields as though unconcerned with her actions, but she knew by now that he was fully aware of what she did and precisely where she stood.

  In a way, such an awareness was strangely comforting. Had it been someone who threatened her this morn, instead of merely the chat of this woman, Kira knew that little could go amiss before her warrior was by her side.

  She liked that.

  The other woman chuckled and patted Kira companionably on the shoulder, jarring her out of her thoughts.