Iman hesitated for a moment before nodding. “My lady,” he said as he moved to retrieve the materials.
Eve continued. “We will eat together, and you will be one with us for as long as you continue on this journey.” She looked at Iman. “This will help to squash any disagreements.” She nodded at the resolution. “Those of you departing here, please see me before leaving. If you are awaiting a payment, I will take care of that as well.”
By now, the men stood still, awaiting her next instructions. Eve put her hands on her hips. “Get to it,” she called out. “You don’t eat until your yurt is set up.” She toed a circle in the dirt where the cooking pit would be. “Make sure the entrance faces south, or you will most certainly do it again.”
Across the space, at the edge of their camp, far from the center where she stood, was Michel, standing with Terence. Michel watched her with amusement on his face, and for some reason, it caused her insides to flutter.
ChapterEleven
In just a few hours, camp had been set up, yurts placed correctly, and everyone was settled. Eve had been to the marketplace, and she had purchased vegetables and grains, cooked dinner, and fed the men. She also had organized the yurt she would share with Michel, setting up the space as was traditional, taking great care with his things. Now, she stood at the central campfire, surveying the men, the darkness separating the camp from the greater part of the city, while their firelight illuminated the massive wall behind them. It was the first time in a long time that Eve felt satisfied with the work she had accomplished.
She had not, however, finished her duties for the evening.
She leaned toward the fire and rotated a log as she waited for a pot of water to boil. The feelings she had been avoiding were coming up. Intimacies were blooming between her and Michel that she feared but enjoyed at the same time. She lived now with a heat swelling inside her that she wasn’t quite sure what to do with or how to soothe. The only thing that seemed to make it better was being near him, even though proximity also made the feeling glow warmer.
The truth was, she wouldn’t mind having his hands on her again.
It was also probably the reason she let slip why she had run away. She felt too close to him. Eve had sworn never to speak of what had happened, the circumstances that led up to the murder of the man who had forced her to wed. She believed that by keeping the information hidden, she wouldn’t put anyone else in danger. Her hope had always been to get to France uneventfully without causing any more problems. Yet she had connected herself to a man who was heading in the opposite direction, closer to those looking for her. Then they had seen Ganbold, and she knew there would be more coming for her. She also knew she owed Michel an explanation, but she didn’t know what information would be helpful and what would be harmful. Until she could unravel everything in her mind, she would not say anything else.
She did need someone to trust, though. Since the moment she had been stolen from her own lands, she had been destabilized in such a way that nothing she did seemed right. She didn’t have her family, she didn’t have her home, she didn’t have the pillars of comfort she had relied on all her life. She wanted badly to rely on Michel, to trust him. It would make her current position much easier. She also wished she could dive into the feelings that he made her feel—safe and unhinged at the same time.
She didn’t know if she would be a fool for doing so.
The pot of water steamed over the fire, so she carefully dipped and rolled several towels and put them in her basket. She took a last glance over the settled camp before she went to the yurt, removing her shoes before she entered. The coals glowed hot at the stove in the center, creating a sensual warmth in the space. On the low table behind the stove sat a lantern which filled the enclosure with a soft light. Michel had traveled with only one bed, and she had set that up on the eastern edge of the space for herself. For Michel, she created a bed out of soft blankets on the western side of the yurt. She felt pride in having set the yurt up correctly.
Eve began the preparation for their evening tea, then she prepared herself and dressed in her nighttime shift. It was a clingy linen that buttoned snugly around her waist. No man had seen her dressed in such a way, she knew, but such were the circumstances, and she would not sleep in full dress. Once she had prepared herself, she completed the tea, then moved to the area she had arranged for Michel. Soon, she heard his voice come into focus from the camp as he barked the last orders at the men for the night.Always so surly with the men, she thought, bringing her hands up to her lips in a laugh.
She opened the door of the yurt, called his name, then kneeled beside the stool and waited to serve her master, a man she had begun to enjoy being bound to.
The evening was cool and, when he opened the door, she felt the wind swirl the air before being pulled upwards through the open space at the apex of the yurt. Michel stepped through the entrance and stopped. He watched her wide-eyed.
“What is this for?” he asked.
Eve, her hands rested calmly on her thighs, explained, “I will wash you now and prepare you for sleep.”
He took a tentative step toward her. “This is not necessary,” he said. “You have done a lot today, I don’t need?—”
“Hush,” she said. She nodded toward the stool. “Sit.”
He hesitated a moment, then came further into the yurt.
She stopped him. “Sword and boots,” she instructed.
He removed his sword belt and then his boots and placed everything by the door. He stepped forward and sat on the low chair. His eyes never left hers.
She moved her own body so that she kneeled directly in front of him, watching him as she did. She relaxed her posture, soft and calm. His was the opposite—rigid and restless. She rose to her knees, this new affection drawing her closer. “Relax,” she said, moving closer to whisper into his ear.
Michel breathed deeply through his nose, and she watched his muscles ripple under his clothing. The night air felt cool, but heat flamed from his body—heat of his own desire, branded into his skin. She had known the want of men before. She had seen desire in their eyes when they had looked at her. This was different. His desire for her came off him so strongly that it penetrated her skin, sank into her deep, and braided down her own want.
She touched him then, aware suddenly that if this man chose to take her, she could do nothing to stop him. Part of her wondered exactly what that would feel like, but it wasn’t something Michel would do without permission. She knew his character. She could take as much of him as she wanted without worry. She leaned down to dip her hands into the bowl with warm water and cleansing oils, then ran her fingers through his hair. She inhaled his scent deeply, musky and yet sweet, wanting to pull this part of him into her. Michel ground his jaw, his eyes stalking her as she ran her fingers through his hair again, this time to pull it back and knot it on the top of his head.
“Eve,” he said. His hands gripped the stool beneath him, but he leaned into her. “It’s difficult not to touch you.”
“Where would you like to touch me?” she said, the words playful, drifting with the closeness.
“Here,” he angled his head into the crook of her neck, “with my lips,” he said, his words dusting against her skin.
A course of goosebumps ran down her spine. “No,” she said, “you may not.”
