“Sit down,” he said, going to the structure. “I’ll move it.” He lifted the frame and paused. “Where do you want it?”
“East wall,” she directed, her arm pointing to where his sleeping roll had been.
“Why did you hide the fact that you speak French?” he grunted as he dragged the heavy bed frame to the other side. He halted in sudden realization. “Do you speak standard Mongolian, too?”
“Of course I speak Mongolian.” She gave him a look of pure disbelief. “I am Mongolian.”
“Then why,” he grunted again, getting the bed where she wanted it, “did you pretend you didn’t understand me?” He placed the bed and scooted it against the wall with his knee. Then he watched her as she came over to straighten the blanket.
She stopped to look at him from the other side of the bed. “I’ll tell you.” She folded her arms in challenge. “But first, agree to take me to France.”
“To France?” he balked. For a second, Michel thought of his mother’s reaction if he returned to Chevalerie palace with a tribal girl in tow. Or Cardinal Mazarin’s response if he thought Michel was treating this journey like a holiday. No, he couldn’t bring her back to France. He was to be the future Duke. No one could know that he had engaged in such a transaction or compromised a tribal woman, even if it had been with good intentions. Michel looked at the woman and shook his head, unable to agree. “I will take you to your people,” he said. “I will keep you safe until then.”
“No,” she said.
“No?” he asked, his eyes coming up in surprise.
“I will be your servant.” It was a declaration.
Michel shook his head slowly. “I don’t need a servant.”
“Well, you have one now.” She took up the blanket and shook it out with a snap. “Plus, youdoneed a servant. You live like an animal.”
“I do not—” he began, but she cut him off.
“You don’t even know how to set up a yurt. You anger my ancestors.”
“It’s fine…” he trailed off, looking around at the scattering of furniture and the supplies she had pulled out to reorganize.
“France,” she said. “I will go with you to France.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “As your servant.”
“For someone who hasn’t spoken for four days,” he said, coming around the bed, toward her, “you sure have a lot of demands.”
“I didn’t tell you I spoke French because I wanted to avoid this argument.” She waved her hand back and forth between them.
“You thought if you didn’t speak, and I couldn’t figure out what to do with you,” he looked at her, in his own disbelief, “that I’d just take you all the way to France?”
She stopped then. She turned to face him, and her voice went soft. Her hands came together in front of her, in a gesture of self-preservation. “I need to get to France,” she stated, a glint of fear shimmering through her eyes. “It was the best plan I could come up with.” Then she glared at him once more, her resentment returning. “I, too, was acting on impulse.”
He leaned back against the table, trying to assess everything despite her sudden softness and distress, which stirred a deep protective instinct inside him. He folded his arms. He still had too many questions—where she had come from, why she wanted to go to France, why she wasstillso mad at him—but he didn’t want to give her a reason to stop talking again by asking the wrong thing.
He tried a different approach. “I insulted you. I see that. I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean the things I said to Armin.” He tilted his head, still watching her. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself? So I can stop making wrong assumptions,” he said, coaxing. “We can start there.”
“No,” she said, her eyes promising new challenges.
She went to move away, but he took her elbow to hold her in place, her dismissive attitude sparking his own irritation. “We’re still going to have a problem communicating if you are going to be this disagreeable all the time.”
She pulled her arm away and turned to face him, close, eyes lit with furious heat. “What would you like to know,Master?”
“How about your name,Siren?” His patience did wane.
She bit into her bottom lip hard enough that he could see the indentation from her teeth when she released it. Then she took a breath and spoke. “Eve,” she whispered.
“Eve,” he repeated. He liked the way her name felt in his mouth. He couldn’t help the feeling of triumph that she capitulated, even as he noted the control she exhibited. She had to know that she had no power over him, to insist as she had. He looked down at her. The fact that this woman had fallen under his care struck him again. Suddenly, it felt like a much larger responsibility than he had anticipated. “Why don’t you want to go home?” he asked, his voice soft, leading.
“That,” she said, turning away once more, the acquiescence gone, “is none of your concern.”
Michel trailed her with slow steps. “If you want me to take you all the way to France, it sure as hell is my concern.”
