“Never,” she replied as she slid the blade along the contours of his face.
She wiped the blade and came at him again. “Don’t worry, Michel,” she said, tipping his chin up so he could look into her eyes. “I am good at everything I do.” She paused to give him a wink.
Michel chuckled, relaxing a little.
“Still,” she commanded. She took another pass down his jawline as he obediently froze in place.
Moments later, Michel was rubbing his clean-shaven face while he urged the rest of the men up from their bedrolls. As he set about the last preparations to resume their travel, he watched Eve from the corner of his eye as she cleaned up his shaving supplies. He had never had a better travel companion, he decided.
About four hours into their journey that day, they came upon a small outpost in the grassy desert oasis of the Bukhara valley. The area was known to host a rougher lot, and though Eve had never been this far, she had known to avoid it when she was running away. Michel told her they would not be staying here, but he liked to go through the bazaars and meet with merchants. Eve knew Michel was on the lookout for cashmere trade, but she also knew that type of trade did not filter through this region. The trade was simpler here: dried foods, fresh kills, and gold embroidery done in the monasteries. Still, it was a good place to find curiosities and have a midday rest.
The men with whom they traveled spread out for their own business, while Eve followed Michel obediently, carrying his bag, which contained little gold coins stamped with the seal from his home and other novelties that he gave to the merchants. She found him to be frivolous with money, but in an affable sense. Like his title, he used his coin to avoid trouble. It wasn’t really the way of her people, but she conceded the validity of his methods. And it seemed to keep everyone happy.
The market was set up in a large open square surrounded by squat semi-permanent buildings. Stalls and patio covers stretched across the square in rows. Many of the merchants knew Michel, and they greeted him warmly. As they moved through the space, Eve noticed a group of pretty women without headscarves outside the door of an otherwise normal-looking building. One of the women snaked out and entangled her limbs with Michel’s.
Eve froze and looked at the woman, enraged by her actions. For a split second, Eve wanted to punch her right in the nose, just like she had done to Armin when he had tried to loop a rope around her arms and drag her to the whorehouse in Merv. Then Michel pulled his arms away and declined what the woman was offering, leaving Eve with balled up fists and confusion in her chest.
Eve paused in the wake of her unexpected jealousy and shook out her hands. She had never known such a feeling before. It caused the strangest sensation to want to be closer to that man. To put her own arms where the woman’s had been.That wouldn’t be appropriate at all, she thought, moving once more, still surprised by her reaction. He had every right to go with that woman if he had desired to do so, even if it would irritate her. She had to admit, much deeper feelings of attraction to him had snapped free in her last night, seeing him insert himself between the man and the boy in their fight, his display of easy strength and power. Attraction had already been there, simmering inside her, but it roared to life when she realized he was not utterly weak, with only the protection of his country keeping him alive. She stole a glance at him then, while they walked, so handsome and always so proud. He charmed as he went, warm to the people around him, completely oblivious to the feelings stirred up inside her.
Silly Frenchman, she thought.
They came to a stall, and Michel talked to the merchant before them. Eve surveyed the crowd. Other than the ladies at the brothel, there were few women, and the ones about were modestly attired with long dresses and covered hair. The warmth of the afternoon hung around her, though she did not drop the shawl around her head.
She tinkered with a pretty stone on the table. The merchant leaned across to her.
“Do you like it, lady?” he asked with a friendly, toothless grin. “You have it,” he said.
“No,” she smiled. “I will pay you?—”
She halted mid-sentence. Behind the merchant, through his stall and across the tiled walkway, she saw someone who made her insides seize.
It was Ganbold, there in the square, a warrior from the tribe that had kidnapped her. He stood a full head above the crowd and seemed to be scanning the people. She knew instantly that he had to be after her. Her people and the connected tribes did not come this far West normally. The herds that fed them preferred the sloping valley to the East of her home, so his presence was not by chance. She’d known the closer she got to her territory, the more likely it was to see the markings of the tribe from which she had escaped, butGanbold? She panicked. That meant there was no desire for her well-being. She was being hunted. Ganbold was known among her people, among all the tribes, as a fearsome warrior, a man with steel in his fists. He was enormous, and no man who fought him ever survived. In her homeland, he was a legend.
Her body took over before her mind could catch up. She had to get away. She backed up and smashed into Michel. In doing so, she dropped the bag and scattered the trinkets. She sank to the ground in a panic to scoop them up.
“Here, let me help you,” Michel said, coming down beside her.
She looked at him. She didn’t mean to show him the dread she knew was in her face—he still could leave her stranded, these were not his problems—but the terror had overwhelmed her, and she knew it showed.
Michel seemed to understand the change in her immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking around, trying to identify what caused her change in demeanor.
Eve sputtered. She couldn’t speak.
He lowered his voice. “Eve, do you see someone you know?”
She blinked at him, still unable to form any words.
“Is someone after you?” he asked. His words were measured.
“Um, uh,” she replied, nodding her head when words failed her.
He placed his hand under her chin and tilted her head up to him as they sat there, squatted amongst the people. “You have my protection, Eve. You are not alone.”
When he said it, she saw his own warrior flash. She did not think he was just a silly noble, but she still didn’t know if his power could tether her, that she could indeed rely on him for protection. His eyes said she could. Overcome with the need for relief, she collapsed against him.
“Let’s go,” he said, his arm around her. “We are done here.”
He helped her stand. He wrapped his arm around her as she ducked into his chest, her shawl tightly covering her. She knew he paused to look around again, and she wondered if his eyes had landed on Ganbold. He kept her tucked into him, hustling her out of the marketplace, the scent of him filled her nose—leather, spice, and something soothing that was only him.
