Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3) (2 page)

“
So. Have you any more of the bluish urns?”

“My diggers haven’t uncovered any
. Perhaps next week, lady.”

At least, give me time to mix the paint
.
Averill watched as the rug seller across from them found a buyer. And then they settled into the age-old rote of wrangling over the price.

“Does your apprentice do paintings, like portraits?”

Averill’s attention went back to Sen-Bib and the woman.

“Averill
? No. I already told you. The boy’s lazy. He does as little as he can to get by and still vexes me.”

Averill rolled her eyes at their conversation
. Of course she didn’t paint portraits. Who would pay for the canvas, the brushes, and the paints?

“You have my address, still?”

Averill ignored them, for a man was coming closer through the throng outside. Something about him was familiar and then she recognized him. He was the Arab from the fight, but he wore European attire that advertised his real station in life. An officer’s uniform. She had to admit he was eye-catching…if any man could be considered that.

“Why, if it isn’t Tenny,” the woman said
. “It is you, isn’t it?”

“Lady Brighten, of course
. Charmed.” 

He bent over her hand, and Averill snickered from her vantage point
. He had dust all over his boots. Poor man. He shouldn’t shine his boots so fiercely.

“Your helper, sir,” the man called Tenny asked
. “Where is he?”

Averill
started backing toward Sen-Bib’s tent.

“I was just telling this lady that Averill is the laziest of louts
. He disappears at the first sign of work.”  Sen-Bib motioned her back into the tent, and she crawled under cover of the drape of his sleeve.

“Nonsense,” Lady Brighten said
. “The child was just here. I was speaking with him. He does delightful painting, wouldn’t you say?”

Averill barely heard them as she crawled into the center of Sen-Bib’s house
. It was muted, shaded and cool inside.

“...painting...portraits....”

She tried to ignore their words. While at the same time, conquering her fear. The soldier wasn’t interested in vases. He was there to silence her. She knew how soldiers thought. She was watching the carpet-covered dirt when Sen-Bib came through the opening.

“Stupid boy
. You’re not to gain attention, and what do you do? Now, I have two trying to find you, and the soldier? He does not come to buy.”

“I’m sorry, Sen-Bib.”  She hung her head and tried to avoid the blinding light as he kept the tent door open.

“They’ve gone for now. Don’t seek further attention or I’ll be forced to find another painter. You hear?”

“I won’t, Sen-Bib
. Thank you.” 

She bowed as she backed out, knowing he couldn’t find a better artist if he looked for months
. She also knew she had to find other employment. The soldier who posed as an Arab might try to silence her in other ways.

CHAPTER TWO

I once had a reason for living,

B
ut I have lived so long,

I have forgotten
what it was.

Averill glanced at the inscription above the mosque before ducking her head. If she didn’t hurry, the woman might change her mind. Perhaps Sen-Bib was trying to frighten her by saying that, but it could be true. Averill had been very well-educated at the mission. She knew several languages and could read the Arabic symbols above the mosque easily, but she’d forgotten the reason for her haste as she read.

Can one really live long enough to forget
?

She cuddled the two blue vases, bundled in gunny sacks, in her arms
. The woman had been specific, but she’d promised extra payment. She wanted both blue vases– as long as Averill delivered them. Averill wondered why, but didn’t like the answers she kept imagining. They all included that soldier, the one named Tenny.

Sen-Bib didn’t like the idea
. Her absence required him to mind the booth himself and to trust Averill with bringing back the payment. The thought of his anxiety made her smile.

And f
inally, the whitewashed brick of the woman’s house came into view. Then, it was directly across the street. Averill stood and caught her breath. Under the door arch of a home, she was safe for the moment. No one was looking. And nothing was moving. She watched, but no one entered, or left the woman’s house.

She waited several long minutes
before daring the street. She’d be in full view of anyone while she did, but she couldn’t hide all day.

She was barely into the street when horses rounded the corner, moving quickly
. She darted back the way she came, but one of her prized urns rolled out of the packing into the dirt. She looked back in horror for an instant before running back for it.

A horse reared
. Dust choked her and obliterated her way. Averill plunged under the hooves and clutched at her precious vase.

“Damn
you…whelp!”

She knew that voice
. It was the soldier from the previous week.

“Stupid boy
! Why don’t you watch where you’re—?” 

His words ended
with another curse as he fell off the back of his mount and Averill grinned.

“Laugh at me
? I’ll teach you to annoy me!”

She
sprinted toward the woman’s house. Even if the soldier, Tenny, awaited her inside, it would be better than this.

“Cur!” 

A hand grabbed the neckline of her new tunic and yanked her back. Averill had selected this garment from the others due to the heavy stitching about the neck and sleeves. It would wear well. She hadn’t guessed it would make such an effective handhold. Averill barely had time to toss her bundle at the woman’s doorstep before he had her. Whatever happened to her, the urns mustn’t be damaged.

A whip slashed at her back
. She cried out and ducked out of range of the next blow. More horses blocked her way, and she slid beneath one, using the girth to swing herself to the other side, rolling in dust as the animal reared and another soldier fell. It wasn’t her fault if the rider couldn’t hold his seat either, and fell off at her actions, was it?

Her feet pounded
at the dirt as she ran, leaving the commotion behind, then she heard hooves bearing down on her, and a hand hauled her up by the collar.

“Hang on!”

Although the words were hissed between his teeth, she knew that voice. It was the soldier, Tenny. He tossed her right over his shoulder. He didn’t even wait for her to grip his belt before urging his horse into a gallop. Her legs were spread apart over the animal’s backside, and her fingers tightened their grip. She knew if she fell, his horse would trample her to death. She slid closer to his saddle, and kept her eyes tightly closed.

The horse plunged on
and on, and finally Averill peeked. Oh no. He wasn’t taking her back to Sen-Bib’s. They would’ve reached it by then. She’d been stupid. It would be a simple matter to silence one poor street boy. She swallowed her fear and relaxed her grip. She’d rather be trampled.

She
let go.

“Child!”  He
swiveled and reached for her, but he was too slow.

Averill fell, bruising her knees and palms as she rolled
. It was worse than she’d suspected. They were almost to the city gates. She ran for the first shelter she could find, darting beneath awnings as his horse turned sharply. She ran behind large baskets filled with breads, skirted a fish seller and the slippery ground about him, then went through a rug seller’s wares before sliding behind the coverings.

Still, Tenny followed her, although he was on foot now
. Averill ducked into an alley, running like she’d never run before. She rounded another corner, clinging to the sandstone with fingers wet with sweat. And then her eyes widened in horror.

It was a dead end
.

She turned and froze at the sight of Tenny
. He was blocking the alley’s entrance. He looked flushed and his chest heaved as he watched her. Perhaps she could push past him before he caught his breath. He reached beneath his jacket before she could put her plan into motion.

She turned pale.

“You can’t run further. I’ll find you. And I’m weary of the chase.”  His hand pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped it over his face before putting it away again.

Averill shook with relief
. She was surprised he couldn’t see it.

“Come.”  He held out his hand toward her, and she stared at it before taking a step back
. “I won’t harm you.”

She wanted to believe him
. She dared a glance to his face and then looked away quickly. “Will you take me back to Sen-Bib?”  It was the only place she had, but she was horrified at the thought of returning without the money.  

He had turned and lounged against the wall to eye her
. She scuffed her toes into the dirt.

“Is that where you wish to go?” 

“I should return for my urns first. Will you take me?”

“I just saved you from a beating
. I’m not sure that you don’t deserve one. And now, you want to go back? Sergeant Miggs will want restitution for what you did.”

“Can I help it if he can’t sit his mount?” she snapped, and looked back to the street.

“A spitfire! I knew it when I had a good look at you.”

He spoke
in his English tongue. Averill watched the ants moving in the dirt and considered his words. She didn’t want anyone thinking enough of her to call her names. At least, she told herself she didn’t.

“What were you doing there?” he asked, using the Arabic tongue again.

“I was taking blue vases to the pretty lady.”

“I thought Sen-Bib found you too lazy for such work.” 
It sounded like a smile crept into his voice although she didn’t look up to verify it.

“He’s a jackal!”  She spoke in English and heard his intake of breath.

“You speak both languages well, boy. How many others do you know?”

“A few.” 

“Italian?” 

He spoke in that language and she smiled
. The words were hard to recall, almost as difficult as the Latin the priest had insisted she learn.

“Latin, too, and some French,
s’il vous plait
?”

He whistled
. Averill reddened and ducked her head further.

“Amazing
. You don’t belong to Sen-Bib, do you?”

“Belong?” 

The surprise lifted her head. She met his eyes and gasped. She watched the strangest look creep into his as she continued to stare. It was beyond her comprehension why, either. He was a man and he wasn’t that handsome, although the sun behind him was making him glow.

“Yes
. Belong.”

She looked down again
. It was laughable. She didn’t belong anywhere, or to anyone. “I don’t understand,” she finally replied.

“Will I have to pay him for you?”

Her heart beat faster, frightening her. She almost clutched her hands there. “I belong to no one!”  She spat in the dust at his feet.

“
Well. That much I believe. However…with a bath and decent clothing, you might do.”

“For what?”  She wondered if she could edge around him
. She didn’t want anything to do with him. He was a man, and she’d sworn she’d never be near one again.

“I’m being sent to Damascus
. I’ll need an interpreter.”

“What makes you think I’ll interpret
? And what makes you so certain I can?”  She spoke in Turkish and looked up at him again, although she had to narrow her eyes to hold his gaze.

“You’re very good,” he replied in the same language
. “It makes one wonder where you learned so much.”

“You don’t need an interpreter, Tenny
. Let me pass. I’ll find Sen-Bib myself.”

At the use of his name, he crossed his arms and sucked in on his cheeks
. “What’s your name?”

She slid one foot toward the opposite wall, moved her glance past him to the street, and then back
. She could have sworn he was aware of it, too.

“I
asked you a question.”  He moved from his indolent position against the wall, blocking the entire alley.

She shrugged
. “What do you want it to be?”

“I don’t believe I’ll need you
solely as an interpreter. I’ll take you as an artist…to record the journey.”

She cocked her head and regarded him, ignoring the rush of blood to her cheeks in order to do so
. She’d never had such a reaction to a man, and she refused to acknowledge one, now. Tenny was stroking the space beside his nose with his forefinger and there was a quizzical expression on his face that she couldn’t place.

“Why would you want an artist?”

“Actually, it just occurred to me. Things said in my hearing are sometimes different from things said otherwise. If I take you with me, you’ll come with your paints.”

She
huffed at the idea she possessed paints. He was mad.

“You’ll let no one else know of your ability with languages
, though. Will you do that?”

“I won’t travel with you, Tenny.”

“My name is Captain Andrew Tennison. Only my friends call me Tenny. And you are not one of them.”

Averill dropped her gaze
. The cool way he said it calmed her as nothing else could have. Perhaps she should consider his offer. Life with Sen-Bib was getting tedious and much too dangerous.

“I have no paints, Captain Tennison
. I rely on my own blending.”

“You make your own paints
, too? Is there no end to your talents?” 

H
e whistled, and Averill felt the unfamiliar blush of heat to her face again.

“I also have no canvas and only one brush
. If I don’t return with Sen-Bib’s money, I won’t have even that.”

“Come along with me
. I’ll take care of it. I have lodgings I’ll take you to. First, we’ll stop and purchase the things you’ll need. I take it you own only the clothing you wear?”

She didn’t bother saying anything
. The answer was obvious. Her clothing was new. His coin had paid for it.

He held out his hand and she almost reached for it
. That shocked her. He’d washed and perfumed himself only that morning, while she still bore the remnants of paint from vases that were weeks old, not to mention the grime of days.

“I will follow you.”  She looked at the ground near his boots
. He was still wasting time shining them, she noticed.

“Can I trust you?”

“You don’t own me!”  She forgot herself and glared at him. She surprised him. She could tell. And then she shrugged, her anger gone. “If I go with you, it’s of my own free will. You promise me paints, brushes, and canvas. I have only dreamed of those things. Don’t be silly. Of course I’ll follow you.”

“Very well
. But you still haven’t told me your name.”  He smiled down at her and Averill averted her eyes. “Didn’t that grave robber, Sen-Bib, call you Averill? Is that your name?”

She shrugged again and waited for him to lead
. And after a moment, he turned.

He took her to Momeds, a shop Averill had only glanced at before, because the owner
glared at her and then warned her not to steal. Captain Tennison walked ahead, leading his horse, looking back only once to make certain she followed

He’ll buy me paints
! She was barely able to contain her joy as she followed him into the shop.

“That boy isn’t welcome in here,”
the shopkeeper said.