“Your daughter was alone in the field, a clear signal she was available to be taken,” Timicin said, barking again.
“Are you saying this is herfault?”
“My Bataar has led hundreds of raids against the Kazakhs. He saw her in a display of availability and decided she would be his wife. How can it be that your daughter does not know these ways? That she was not taught to acquiesce in the presence of a warrior?”
“My daughter has been taught to never kneel to someone beneath her. A thousand Bataars do not equal one of her,” he said through his teeth.
“He was my greatest fighter,” Timicin said with affront. “This was meant to be an incredible union. Your influence with my power. Our tribes aligned. Our people as one. We could conquer anyone.” He shook his head. “Bataar’s other wives and children are beside themselves with grief.”
Borjigin, brows furrowed, conceded on this point. “I am sorry for them,” he said. “Does he have a brother?”
“Two. They have taken on the wives.” Timicin shifted. “You must understand, Borjigin, your daughter pierced him with a knife and disappeared. We believe that she took his life while he put his spirit inside her. You must understand,” he repeated, the dog exposing his belly, “as il-khan I cannot ignore this crime.” He shook his head. “What a terrible thing to do to a warrior. A husband.”
Borjigin gritted his teeth at the thought of the scenario.
“For taking his life, you must pay me reparations,” Timicin said. “On her behalf.”
The violent energy crested inside Borjigin. He released it with a powerful burst, allowing one fist to pound down on the table. The earth shook at his anger. Perhaps the heavens, too.
Timicin weathered it, looking down.
Borjigin calmed himself. He was a father, but he still was the Khan, bound to many laws and even more people, all of whom relied on his judgment. “I will discuss that when she has been found.”
Timicin nodded. “I understand.”
“Tell me this, Timicin,” Borjigin continued. “What of Ganbold?”
“Ganbold was thrown from the tribe months ago,” Timicin continued. “I did not send Ganbold after her. I would never.”
“Why is he trailing her? Does he want her for his bride?”
“No. Ganbold is single-minded.” He sighed and sat back down. “He had been obsessed with a daughter of our tribe. He bungled an attempt to get to her while she was sleeping and badly injured the girl. He is too dangerous when it comes to women.” Timicin brought his hands together, looking contrite. “I believe Ganbold is looking for your daughter to win his way back into the tribe, as a tribute. But he is not wise, Borjigin,” he said, his voice supplicant. “He is not efficient. I don’t believe he will get very far.”
The men sat quietly for a moment. Then Timicin spoke, “I am a father too. Every daughter I marry to another tribe is difficult in its own way. This situation.” He paused. “It is beyond comprehension. I put out the word immediately that she should not be harmed. The tribes will respect her. They know she is your daughter.”
Borjigin smoldered and breathed heavily through his nose. He had no solace from this meeting. “If by some chance you locate her before I do, by hellfire Timicin, bring her directly to me or I will flatten you, the ancestors,” he breathed in deeply, “and everyone in between.”
ChapterNineteen
3 months earlier
After Eve had been kidnapped—knocked off her feet, bound, and gagged—she had been brought directly to the yurt of the first wife of the man who would marry her, a man named Bataar. He had three other wives: two older than Eve, and one who looked much too young to be married. The girl was scared and timid like a sable mouse, but Eve quickly detected the angry restlessness about her. It made Eve’s stomach clench in dread. The wives took over, preparing Eve for the wedding—she was stripped, bathed, and dressed in a wedding deel. There was no time for Eve to process what had happened and what her new life would be. She had no time for regret. She had no time for tears.
The older wives worked with a serious intensity, ignoring Eve in unison when she asked question after question.Does Bataar seek counsel in his wives? Are there women among your tribal elders? Is he kind to your children?The youngest wife followed in the steps of the older two but with a defiant lack of luster, making every effort, it seemed, to be invisible. When Eve caught the young woman’s eye, the only reaction Eve got from the girl was an apologetic frown. Despite Eve’s own distress, Eve’s heart hurt for the girl. These were the things that she disliked about her people. That there were still tribes that would force a marriage on a woman, and in this case, a very young one, who clearly didn’t want to be in it.
The wives finished their ministrations and hustled Eve to the ceremonial grounds. The tribe had gathered and Eve was jostled to stand next to the man who would be her husband. Just her height, Bataar had long hair, mostly silver, tied back for the wedding. He looked much older than her. In fact, as their marriage was spoken into existence, she realized he had sons looking on that were near her age. Bataar did not have a pleasant presence. He seemed to have no desire to soothe her fear. Despite her calm exterior, she was terrified and mournful. She glanced at him, trying to understand this man who would be her husband. He did not look at her as the tribe elder spoke words to form their union.
After the ceremony, a small feast had been put together by the wives. It was no great celebration. She was a fourth wife. This was no reason to inconvenience anyone. No one seemed to care much that a woman’s life had ended. She was led to a table and seated beside her new husband. He did not speak or talk to her, but before she sat, he squeezed her bottom roughly, letting her know his intentions. Inside, Eve cried.
Time held no meaning for her. The next thing Eve knew, she was sitting on the bed in the dark in the marital yurt that she would share with her new husband for the night. The yurt was filled with plush cushions and blankets and trunks containing other plush things, she assumed, whatever a new couple wanted to be cozy. Eve just stared at the door. She wondered if she would have any more opportunities in her life after this. A wife could be lauded, respected in the clan. She could become a tribal leader. She could advise the il-khan. She could help protect other women from this same scenario. All her options would depend on this new husband.
Those thoughts had woven themselves into a pattern in her mind when her new husband entered the yurt. He flung back the flap and entered with a swagger steeped in drunkenness. Eve, frightened, jumped up. For a second, she hoped he would calm her, to make some kind of connection. All he did was grunt once and say, “Turn.”
Eve, still in a daze, didn’t know what he meant. She turned in a circle to face him once more. The gruff man responded by chuckling low, then grabbing her arm and pulling her into a sour kiss.
“No,” she hissed. She planted her feet and pushed him off. This couldn’t be what the ancestors wanted for her, for any woman. If this man were to be her husband, he would learn to respect her now.
He came toward her, and she pushed him back again. “You will take more care with me,” she insisted.
