Once he helped corral the horses, he sent word to his contact that he’d arrived and organized the site with the porters who had welcomed him. Then he fought the yurts, wrestling the felt onto the structures, all the while keeping his eye on the woman, who watched him back with keen disapproval. Once again, her irritation made him laugh. If only she could know him better. He certainly wasn’t used to people regarding him as ineffectual.
She sat by the fire, and as the last yurt was placed, he took a moment to return to his own things, retrieving the items he had purchased. He approached her and held out the bundle.
“This is for you,” he said, gesturing for her to take the gift.
She stared at him, suspicion in her brows.
“You do not make anything easy on me,” he teased. He squatted next to her and laid out the items he had purchased for her. “A comb,” he said. He kept his voice gentle. He hoped to please her with these gifts, to see some spark of interest. “Some things for your hair.” He unwrapped the next package. “Some oils to clean?” He didn’t know what they were, but a merchant said that women liked them. He looked at her as she reached forward to examine the little vials. “And this?” He handed her the oils and pulled the last pack open. He held up a dress for her. It was a simple off-white dress, made for travel, light. “I got you a night shift and, um, underthings too.”
She nodded, and it was the most affirmation he’d had from her.
“I’ll leave everything here for you.” He indicated toward the river. “You can wash and change whenever you are ready.”
She stood, taking the items in her arms, but before she left, she reached forward and took his hand. She squeezed it as she looked at him. She still did not smile, but she let him see that, for once, she was less annoyed with him. She turned and headed down to the riverbank.
He felt a bloom of pride as she went, the nagging desire to please her eased just somewhat. He sat by the fire, where she had been, and watched to see that no one followed her.
A short while later, the woman returned to camp. Her hair was set in two braids running across her scalp and down her back. She was wearing the dress he’d bought for her with her old garments over her arm. She walked across the camp into the center and then casually tossed the old garments onto the fire.
He still felt pride at earning one little sliver of her trust, but seeing her make use of the items that he had purchased andchosenfor her triggered something else—deep and possessive—inside him.
Right now, the only thing he knew about her was that she was beautiful. He hoped he would get to learn more before he had to say goodbye.
ChapterThree
The next morning, she walked next to the Frenchman through the marketplace at Turkmenabat. He guided her with his hand on the small of her back. She accepted this light touch. He did not know her story. He did not know that she was called Eve. Still, he insisted on keeping her near. Eve could tell that he was trying to be kind, but in the four days since she had joined him, she had found no solace in this journey, no comfort in this company, only stark irritation with this man and what she had learned was his path directly back East—into the mountains from which she had escaped and toward the dangerous men who pursued her.
The man himself—Michel, she had learned—grated on her like no other. At first, he had seemed like a much better option than traveling with Armin. The party of Frenchmen that Michel led was cleaner, better equipped for travel, with more swords at hand. But Armin was simple and easy to manipulate;Michelhad too much importance about himself. He was a noble who wore a sword that she was sure was all for show, cloaked in the protection of his country, used to people doing what he wanted simply because he was noble. She hated such pretense.
Her only armor, then, was to ignore him. Perhaps he would leave her alone, forget she was there, allow her to travel safely, cloaked in the same protection he was assured of. But the man babbledrelentlessly, trying to get her attention as though he were a child, never giving her a moment to plan her next move. He didn’t harm her, but he was terribly condescending. The way he had spoken about her value and then exchanged coins for her like she was livestock. The way he handed her basic necessities like they were treats.
She had thought she could manage her pride and use this party as a way to escape to France. But she was choking on her own choices, infuriated to find herself in this vulnerable position where she had to wait for him to finish his business before he would return West. If he only knew where she had come from. If only he knew what would be coming after her. Then he would turn back to the safety of his country immediately.
That, or abandon her at the first opportunity.
As much as she hated it, she did need help. And this man did seem willing to help her, if for nothing more than to fluff his own ego.
She shuffled to stay next to him in the busy marketplace, aware of the way Michel held her close, aware of the amount of heat and pressure each fingertip pressed into her skin as they jostled through the crowd, aware of his dark eyes and strong jaw. Of all the things that upset her, her unexpected attraction to him was the worst. For some inexplicable reason, every time she looked at the man, her skin quivered and her breath caught in her chest. She glanced at him now, feeling free to do so since, for once, his focus was not all over her. He was tall with thick, dark hair pulled back from his eyes, unkempt just at his neck. He wore breeches, a jacket over a shirt, and a sword on his belt, typical of Westerners. His clothes were worn from travel but finely made. He really was quite handsome.
She didn’t understand her attraction. He may look strong, but he was still a spoiled noble, handing out coins and trinkets wherever he went to gain the goodwill of the locals. Where Eve had grown up, weakness had no purchase. Men and women both had enormous strength. A weak man would never inherit power simply through his lineage. Still, there was no logic to the flutters inside her when they met eyes. She had almost gasped out loud the day before at the river when he took his shirt off. He was broad and muscular, lean but strong. When she had seen the ridges leading down his stomach and dipping below his beltline, her belly flipped. Afraid she would make some kind of animal noise, she had no choice but to throw herself into the water.
Even now, being near him in the midst of hundreds of people, his was the only body she was aware of.
They came around a corner, the sun shining down from the hazy sky onto the clay stone buildings. Goats bleated among barrels of colorful spices. A herdsman walked a yak past them, the bell on the animal clanging as it stepped. Michel gripped the back of her dress, keeping her in his space. Eve cinched her shawl around her head, keeping her eyes cast down, knowing how she always stood out. Anyone looking for her could spot her coloring in an instant. Luckily, she was good at hiding.
He guided her to the edge of the market into an alleyway that led to ornately carved wooden doors that she assumed opened to the apartments of the wealthier vendors. A well-dressed man in his late fifties with a ring of short, light hair around his head and a cleanly cropped beard leaned against one of the doors. He smiled and opened his arms wide when he saw Michel.
“Michel!” he boomed, with the same accent Michel spoke. “How have you been, my friend! What news from home?”
“I am well, François. Busy as always,” he said. “My father sends his regards.”
The men shook hands, and Eve watched as they exchanged pleasantries.
“Come, come,” François exclaimed. He nodded toward Eve with a questioning look.
“Yes, she is in my care.” Michel laughed.
François gave her a kind smile with a nod of his head. “Mademoiselle.” He held out his hand to direct them inside. “Come in, please. Relax.”
