“You know of the tragedy with Eve.”
“Yes,” she said. Borjigin could see her expression darken, pain coloring her light eyes, the color of his and Eve’s.
“I have sent guards. I have sent the fastest horses,” he said. “We have infiltrated the West as though we were conquering. Still, I cannot locate her.” He paused. “And there are other complications.”
“Yes?” She looked up at him from her mending.
“The one they call Ganbold is after her.”
She pursed her lips. “Has Timicin called him off?”
“Timicin says he did not send him out.”
“Borjigin, son.” She pulled a thread taut. Outside came sounds of the pasture, bleats from the herds, clanging of bells. “I know you do not wish to hear what I am going to say,” she continued. “I have been saying it for years.”
“It is archaic, I know, to steal a bride.” He sighed heavily. “I just didn’t think it could happen to our family. Toher.”
“It ishorrifying. But men continue to do it.” Mother gave him a stare, the air darkening around her.
“It goes back to the ancients. Some of the greatest unions in our lineage were formed this way.”
She scoffed. She cut him off with a raised hand. “It is a young tribe practice. The young tribes wish to force the alliances rather than earn them.”
“It is difficult to deter, Mother. It is seen as a way to balance the tribes.” He took a breath in through his nose, calibrating. “I must consider all the clans and their practices, not just what we want. Besides,” he continued, “many women consider it to be an honor to be stolen, I’ve been told.”
She looked at him, aghast. “Bywhom? The men who stole them?” She clicked her tongue. “My, my, Borjigin, I thought you to be much wiser than this.”
He settled back, thinking of the politics of it all. “It will ignite war among the tribes if I move to punish the offense.”
“We are not afraid of war,” she said, plunging the needle back into her deel. “Sometimes only conflict can restore balance.”
He nodded. “Yes. War is not always avoidable.” Borjigin sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Regardless, whatever I do now does not bring Eve home to us.”
His mother softened. She looped the thread and tied a knot. “Eve can survive in any land, in any season,” she asserted. She took her small knife, a tremor of age settling long enough for her to cut the thread. “I don’t agree that it is her fault for being kidnapped, but she was living a life with no direction, a thread left to be tied.” She held the string in her hands up as evidence. “As your daughter, she has the responsibility to contribute to the tribe through an alliance or some other commitment. Her refusal brought this notice.”
“I agree,” he said, feeling his own spirit very heavy.
“I believe that if she has managed to evade everyone for this long, including Ganbold…” She paused to press her lips together. “Then she has found a protector. You know as well as I do that Ganbold is a bull and will not stop.”
She placed the needle in the pin cushion and adjusted the garment to catch the light. “If Ganbold is the closest to her, focus on him. He is strong, but not smart. He will not cover his presence well, not like Eve.” She struggled once to tie a knot but got it on the second pass. “Let his two eyes stay on her, but put a thousand eyes on him.” She snapped the thread.
“I hope we find her before darkness does,” Borjigin said, his thoughts wandering west, out the window.
“You have raised Eve to be a leader of men. She will not stop leading them now, son,” she said as she dropped her mending and took Borjigin’s hand. “I believe she is safe. As safe as she can be.”
ChapterTwenty-Five
They remained in Samarkand for several uneventful days. Michel had business to finish, new porters and guards to hire. Some of the merchants who traveled with him disbanded, scared off by the stories of Terence. Those who remained were long-time companions or the gruffest of travelers.
He received confirmation that the cashmere dealer would be waiting at their next stop in Kashgar. Johann had arranged it. Harod had stopped gossiping long enough to organize everything. Michel felt much appreciation toward these men for their help. He wished he could think it was all his own doing, that these were his friends and contacts. He knew it was their allegiance to his father that afforded Michel their assistance. Still, he had business to complete, so he would use what he could.
Eve had told him her story. Of being kidnapped, of the girl who had hidden in the yurt to kill the husband, of having to leave, and thinking only of France. Eve had more emotion in her eyes than he had ever seen before. He took her in his arms, promising he would keep her safe from anyone who came after her. Then, before he could taste her lips once more, Terence had screamed into the yurt that he wanted breakfast.
Eve had laughed, and Michel had growled. He really didn’t like that boy.
Now, he sat alone at the table at the back of the yurt, looking over a stack of maps, planning their routes. Eve was just outside, finishing preparations for the evening meal. The rest of the camp was empty. Michel had allowed Terence to accompany Iman and a few others to the bathhouse. The others spent the afternoon in town. Everyone was due back before dinner.
It would be nice if his father were here, Michel thought. That man never wavered. Michel strived to be as good and competent as his father. But now, especially now, he realized what it would mean to be discovered with Eve by the tribes before he completed this business—Eve, a woman hunted, a woman wanted for a crime against her tribe, whether it was merited or not. He would lose all the goodwill his father had established.
