That smirk, she thought, again feeling the desire to smack him, to kiss him, do something. He deserved to smirk, though. He had put her in her place. Though she had enjoyed being the one who had smirked at him minutes ago when she confessed how easy it had been to draw him in.
Everything she had told him before he threw her on her back had been true.
After she had run away, she had traveled west. The little sack of supplies the girl had given her contained all the things Eve had on her when she’d been kidnapped, including the jade necklace she’d worn. Seeing the necklace had surprised her at first, but the girl’s intentions had nothing to do with money. Eve had sold what she could, discarded her tribal clothing for a simple dress, and traveled between towns and camps quickly. She took little time to rest and booked passages where she could, knowing that she had to put distance between herself and the tribe of her dead husband.
She knew the nomadic lifestyle. She was built to travel long distances, ride horses, and live under the sky. She could forage, cook, stay clean and healthy, and charm or outwit anyone who came her way. Yes, there were dangerous men, but Eve could navigate that problem. She knew men. She knew how to play with their egos, ingratiate herself, stir protective instincts, and pit them against each other if it came to her own safety.
It had taken a week to reach Carth, a major city on the trade routes. There, she went unnoticed and could interact with people who were not of the tribes. She had spent most of her time in the tavern waiting to hear gossip of travelers. It wasn’t long before she had heard open speak of the Frenchman who came through the region every few years. The one who brought profit and gifts. The man was well-liked, well-respected. Eve had decided to find him.
She learned his expected route. All she had to do was find someone to get her there…and that’s when she saw the fat little merchant wander into the tavern.
A fake twisted ankle on his route later, and the merchant was at her side, helping her to stand.
“I am lucky you have stumbled upon me,” Eve had said to the man in the dialect she’d heard him using. “I am on my own, and no one knows I have run away.” She gripped her ankle and looked up at him mournfully. “I do not speak the educated languages here, and most people will not help me. I’m lucky to find someone who understands me,” she had said, surveying his expression as she did. “I may have never been found.”
“Yes, sit down here on my cart,” he said, watching her curiously.
“You hear such terrible stories of girls who are alone,” she said as she let the man help her hobble to his little cart stuffed with wares. “I hear the brothel in Merv will buy a girl right from the back of a cart! Like pottery! Can you believe it?”
“They will buy girls at the brothel?” His bushy eyebrows went up.
“Oh, yes,” Eve had confirmed. “For quite a bit of money, too.”
And that was really all she needed to say.
Now she was here, in the yurt with Michel, the man who had been her target, her passage to France, and her freedom from crimes left behind. She had planned it all, yes. She had gotten lucky, too, just like Michel had said. More than lucky, really, because not only had she found the man she was looking for, she had found a man who was good. She sat on the bed, her knees tucked beneath her. She watched him swagger around the yurt, casting grins her way, still proud of himself.
He had been right. She felt the most marvelous sensation, like all her seams were falling apart and then weaving back together. Now with Michel as part of the pattern.
No, she had not planned for this. Never in her life.
Eve had fallen in love.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Ganbold paced at his camp outside Samarkand. The boy had said he would come as soon as he could get away. Ganbold had waited two days for contact with the boy. He started to think the boy had been lying to him. Ganbold knew he was with the Frenchman inside the city. He started thinking he should go into the city and just kill the Frenchmanandthe boy there.
Yet, the ancestors had told him to wait. He was still there pacing when he saw the boy come into view.
“Hallo,” the boy greeted.
Ganbold snapped out and punched him between the eyes.
“What was that for?” the boy asked, grabbing his face and stumbling back.
“I wait too long.”
“I couldn’t just walk out of camp,” Terence yelled. “He’s making me sleep in his yurt and everything.” He sniffed and wiped a streak of blood across his cheek. “I hate that guy.”
Ganbold laughed. It made him like the boy a little, even though he was French. “What is their plan?”
“They leave for Kashgar in the morning. They are taking the route through the southern pass.” The boy winced and stepped back. “He’s hired twenty guards.”
“Twenty,” Ganbold grunted.
“You aren’t angry?”
“You get the woman and man alone. Lead them to me.” He glared at the boy. “Twenty guards are your problem, not mine.”
