“I’m sure it was here,” he muttered, shuffling the contents of the bag.
“What can’t you find?”
“My pen knife,” he said, arm deep in his satchel.
“Will this work?” She pulled a small dagger from some fold of her skirt, holding it out for him.
“Why do you have that?” he asked, looking up.
She shrugged. “Protection.”
“Protection,” he repeated, irritated that she thought she would have to protect herself. From whom?Him? He reached forward to take the knife from her. “Thank you,” he said, deciding not to dwell and taking the small dagger to the goose quill. He scraped the dried ink from the nib.
She nodded toward his book. “What do you have there?”
“It’s my travel log,” he said. “Cardinal Mazarin likes to see the details of the journey. To know how each penny is spent.” He angled the quill, inspecting it, and ran the knife along the other side. “I am not so good at organizing in this way. I like to hold the information in my head.” He tilted his head with a grin. “Unfortunately, others can’t use it then.”
“What do you record?” she asked, looking up from her mending. Her eyes went from the stitch she was pulling to the book at his feet.
“What materials we transport, the names of the men that travel with us,” he said. “Which merchants I deal with in each market. What we purchase, what we gift.”
He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “Every time I pay a lady’s debt or buy a rug for my yurt.” He gave her a wink, and she gave him half a smile in return. Then he turned back to the tools in his hands. “It’s all terribly boring.”
“I will do it,” Eve said, going back to the stitching.
“You’ll—you want to do my books?” Michel asked.
“Yes, I am good at those tasks.” She looked up at him, a tease in her eyes. “Unless you still think I am too poor and stupid to read and write.” She shrugged. “Perhaps I will just draw genitalia in your notebook.”
His eyes widened, and he let out a surprised laugh. Then he gave her a wry grin. “I don’t believe the Cardinal has that sense of humor,” he said. “You might get me beheaded.” He picked up the book and tossed it to her feet. “I’ll choose to trust you.”
Eve set the mending down beside her to take up the book. She flipped the bound pages. “There is nothing in here,” she said.
“I told you I keep it in my head.”
She shook her head and tssk’d. “You disappoint your king.”
With every word she spoke, he was more transfixed. The firelight flickered in her hair. Her laughter twinkled in the breeze.Who was missing this woman, he wondered, because it would be impossible that she could disappear and no one would be looking for her.
“Where do you come from, Eve?” Michel said, taking the chance to learn more.
She smiled. “The East.”
“I know that,” he said. “Tell me about your family.”
“I have six older brothers. I was the last child.”
“Six older brothers?” he asked with a whistle. “What was that like growing up?”
“They each protected me,” she said, still smiling. “I caused them all grief. Now their wives and children cause them grief.” She pressed her lips. “They would tear your arms off and beat you with your bones if they knew you purchased me.”
“Perhaps,” he sputtered, “perhaps, if they knew I was attempting to help?—”
“My father prefers a cleaner execution,” she cut him off. “He is very conservative. You traveling with me without an escort? He would have you killed on sight.”
“Uh,” Michel stammered, eyes wide.
Eve laughed and looked at Michel. She set the book down next to her and resumed the mending. “Tell me about you. Brothers? Sisters?”
