Claire Delacroix (7 page)

Unless this liquor was part of a greater scheme. There was an unsettling thought. Kira’s gaze slipped of its own accord to his full
chalwar
trousers. Her eyes widened at what she found and her gaze flicked immediately to his.

The warrior arched a brow, seemingly tempting her with the possibility.

Kira caught her breath. She was trapped in truth. No one would help her here, even if she screamed. Kira was suddenly, and mayhap tardily, well aware of the precariousness of her position. She inched backward, hoping he might not guess her intent.

His gaze hardened, making her heart skip a beat, then he pointed one finger at her. This was the moment Kira had dreaded, she was certain of it. She swallowed and nodded once in acknowledgement, powerless to look away from him. He quickly flicked his finger at the cushions on the side of the yurt farthest from the flap. Kira frowned uncomprehendingly and he growled in annoyance, repeating the gestures with the addition of closing his eyes and dropping his cheek to rest on one hand.

He said something to her in Mongol. He pointed to himself and gestured in the direction of the door, then said something else.

Was he telling her that they were sleeping separately? Impossible. Truly she was finding only the meaning she sought in his utterance. It could not be.

Kira carefully put down the cup and repeated his gestures rapidly. “I will sleep here and you will sleep there?” she asked doubtfully. It could not be so. The warrior watched her avidly. He nodded once when she finished and looked up at him inquiringly.

This was beyond belief. Surely she had misunderstood. Mayhap he meant
after
...

Kira had to ask the embarrassing question. There was no other way to be certain.

“Do you mean to couple with me?” she asked, feeling the heat of a flush stain her cheeks. The warrior’s expression remained impassive and Kira knew he had not understood. She scowled. How...? But of course.

Not having the audacity to look directly to him, Kira made a fist and inserted her other index finger into the space. She pumped the finger up and down in the space, certain there could be no doubting her meaning.

The warrior immediately shook his head quickly in denial.

He said something that Kira did not understand and she did not dare to be relieved too soon. With a grunt of frustration, he held out his hand between them. Kira stared at his outstretched palm for just a moment before she understood.

The pearl! He wanted only the pearl!

“No more do you desire of me than the pearl?” she demanded breathlessly, barely able to believe her luck.

The warrior said something and tapped his outspread hand with one fingertip.

Only the pearl. Praise be that her allure was so meager. Kira tucked up her feet and sipped at the contents of her cup with satisfaction, barely noticing how the warrior glowered at her change of mood.

He turned away and when his face was averted, Kira watched him with interest. It could be naught but this glow that had been sparked within her, but she noted for the first time his rugged appeal. If naught else, her warrior was well-wrought. Kira smiled to herself at the whimsy of the thought, her interest captured when he produced some flat bread and what looked to be cheese.

Indeed she was hungry. The warrior crouched down and made easy progress through the food. It seemed he had forgotten Kira’s presence. She cleared her throat pointedly, raising her brows when she caught his eye.

The warrior shook his head firmly.

So she was to be starved! Fine! It seemed she had counted her blessings too soon. Kira drew herself up proudly at his refusal and defiantly took a great draught of the liquor as she held his regard. If naught else, she would drink!

* * *

The woman made it through another cup before she fell asleep. Thierry grudgingly admired her stamina as he sat motionless and watched the gentle rhythm of her breathing. She had slid down on the cushions and lay on her back with the confidence in sleep shown only by children and drunkards.

He cautiously moved forward but she did not stir, her breathing unaltered by his approach. Thierry knew she slept in truth. He crouched beside her, fascinated by the way her rosy lips had parted, the dark crescents of her long lashes splayed against her cheeks. He cast a glance over the length of her and wondered if townsfolk truly slept in their clothing.

He most assuredly did not. It took but an instant for the idea to trickle into Thierry’s mind before he leaned over and carefully unfastened her djellaba. She stirred slightly and mumbled something in her sleep beneath his fingers.

Thierry froze, fearing he had awakened her.

But the woman fell silent once more and slumbered on. Thierry returned to his task, anticipation rising in his chest.

It was only the
qumis
that did this to him, he told himself resolutely. ‘Twas the liquor alone that fed his fascination with her. He caught his breath despite his assertion when he peeled her
kurta
away, its removal revealing the drape of her trousers. Thierry’s fingers trembled slightly as he divested her of the
chalwar.

She was perfectly golden from head to toe, her skin as unblemished as the finest silk. Little doubt had he that she would be as soft, but now that opportunity beckoned, Thierry could not bring himself to touch her.

Her breasts were full, the nipples rosily dark, her waist temptingly small, her hips gently flaring. Her skin was so smooth that he almost could not believe it was real, even though the whisper of her breathing filled the tent. Thierry took an unsteady breath and reached out one hand tentatively to caress her flesh, just to be sure.

Vulnerability.

The word shot through his mind and brought his hand to a halt. The heat from her skin rose to tease his palm held less than a handspan above her. He swallowed with difficulty and pulled his hand back, knowing she was not his to touch.

But he could not tear his gaze away and he retreated just a short distance. He sat on the cushions, his bread forgotten as he watched her sleep. Thierry found himself memorizing every curve, noting every mole, every dimple, fascinated by the differences between the two of them.

Impossible ‘twas that even a woman could be so small and perfectly formed.

She murmured once more much later and he feared anew that she would discover him, her incomprehensible words making those full lips stir in the most intriguing ways. Then she turned toward him. Thierry’s heart fairly stopped, so certain was he that those dark eyes would fly open and instantly be filled with accusation.

But he could not move, watching transfixed as she rolled gracefully onto her stomach. Her hair spilled leisurely over her shoulder in a dark cascade that covered her back from shoulders to waist and spread over the cushions. She pointed her toes and he followed the gesture hungrily. She sighed as she nuzzled the cushion, the sound drawing his gaze back in time to see her slim fingers stretch to span the embroidered cloth. She murmured and rubbed her cheek on the cushion, sending her hair sliding into a glossy puddle on the carpet.

Leaving an angry network of scars on her back bare to his view.

Thierry frowned and blinked, but the marks remained. Did these townspeople flog witches? What else could have been her crime?

He dared to creep forward to peer at her marred flesh. Fresh red welts there were, signs of a recent lashing, for they could be naught else. Thierry leaned closer, inhaling deeply of her sleepy scent as he noted the healed marks below the new ones. He looked to the woman’s features in repose and his scowl deepened. Habitual this had been, unless he missed his guess, and the matter did not sit well with him.

Who could willfully abuse such a small and perfect creature?

And what business was it of his to be angered by that fact?

Thierry hastily retreated across the yurt, fairly tripping over the unlit stove in his haste to put space between them. He crouched down, his gaze returning of its own accord to thoughtfully trace the network of scars.

What could she have done to merit such punishment? ‘Twas a puzzle he was unlikely to solve. He sat, only half aware of the silence gradually descending over the camp as he watched her sleep and teased his mind with the search for an explanation.

‘Twas only much later when his own exhaustion threatened to claim him that Thierry could turn away. He retrieved the scarves from the center of the yurt and stared down at her for a long moment. He heaved a sigh before he bent to tie her ankles once more.

‘Twould be foolhardy to trust her, he knew, but still he did not like his task. And was the task any less effectively done if he wound the cloth between her ankles that they did not chafe? Or what did it matter if the bond was less tight than it could be? She was drunk and fully asleep and he would bar the only exit himself.

Thierry tied her wrists together in the same manner, stunned when the woman rolled to her back. She stretched her bound hands high over her head even before he had knotted the scarf. The sight of her stretching right beneath him, her back arched and nipples straining high fed his imagination only too well. The idea of her beneath him in truth fairly undid his resolve not to touch her, and his hands shook slightly as he hastily tied the knot.

He promised her. Panic flooded through Thierry and he retrieved the blanket he usually slept in, hastily tossing it over her that temptation might be at least hidden from view. No consolation was her murmur of pleasure. He glanced down to find her smiling slightly in her sleep as she snuggled into the covering.

Considerably more disgruntled than he felt he ought to be, Thierry turned abruptly away. He shed his own clothes impatiently and rolled himself in a blanket with unconcealed annoyance, convinced that it was particularly cold this night.

* * *

Kira awoke with the sense that something had gone foul in her mouth. Her stomach rolled and her eyes flew open with the certainty that she had need of the outdoor facilities.

The shadowed interior of the tent drifted into focus and Kira frowned in recollection, not having any explanation at all for the soft warmth that caressed her skin. She put one hand down that she might sit up on the cushions, discovering that her wrists were bound in that same instant. Her feet were similarly tied and she scowled irritably, swinging her shoulders so that she abruptly sat up.

The blanket covering her midriff fell away. Kira gasped to find herself nude. Her breasts were bared to both the chilly morning air and the inscrutable gaze of the man crouched on the opposite side of the tent.

He neither moved nor spoke, but Kira was past expecting anything different from this warrior. She was mortified when he did not look away, though, and clutched the blanket with both hands, hauling it over her breasts. Barbarian. Kira hoped he had not noted the way her nipples had beaded under his perusal, knowing all the while how unlikely ‘twas that he would fail to observe anything at all.

He stood, his movements as economical as always. Kira started when she saw that he wore naught at all, her gaze stopping stubbornly at the thick pelt of hair on his chest. As he moved closer and she stared at his chest, she noted despite the poor light that a mark stretched across his skin from beneath the wiry dark hair. The mark extended toward his shoulder and Kira discerned that ‘twas in the shape of a cross.

Could he be Christian? Well she knew that the sect used the cross as the symbol of their faith but never had she seen a believer mark his own flesh. When he paused before her, she could see the distinctive port-wine color of a birthmark and frowned in confusion. He had been born with such a distinctive mark upon his skin?

Reluctantly, Kira looked up to meet his eyes and more immediate questions filled her mind. What had happened the night before? So little did she remember after his promise—if indeed he had promised what Kira thought he had. She panicked slightly at that acknowledgment, scooting backward when he took another step toward her. He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, and she dared not drop her gaze for fear of what she might see. Too close he was, for she felt that she could feel the heat from his skin.

Worse, she could smell him, and the scent did naught to bolster her resolve. He smelled warm and spicy, and that unfamiliar warmth, which she could no longer blame on the drink, coiled once again in the depths of her belly. Kira clutched the blanket as she felt her color rise and knew she could no longer hold his regard.

“Well I thought that you did not intend to take advantage,” she charged breathlessly, holding the blanket before her like a barrier as he regarded her silently. “Where are my clothes? Why am I naked? What happened?”

He grimaced and used the same sign language he had used the night before, speaking as he did so in that incomprehensible tongue. He pointed to her, bending to scoop up the cup he had offered her the night before and making a sipping motion. Kira nodded quickly.

That part she recalled well enough, she thought irritably, wishing he would hasten to the heart of the matter. He pointed to her once more, closed his eyes and dropped his cheek to one palm.

Kira nodded impatiently once more. “Aye, that I well enough understand, but I would know what
you
did last night,” she insisted. When he did not immediately respond, she pointed imperiously to him and lifted her brows in silent query.

The warrior nodded, speaking quickly as he indicated himself and pointed to a discarded blanket by the tent flap. So he had done as he had said. Kira expelled a sigh of relief, the gesture bringing her bare nipples in contact with the soft wool once more.

“But what about my clothes?” she demanded with newfound dismay. He looked blank and she glanced pointedly down behind the blanket at her nakedness. He frowned and swept a hand before himself in a gesture that compelled Kira to note his nudity, dropping his cheek to his palm once more.

So, he slept naked. Kira shook her head resolutely when he gestured to her and lifted his brows. “Nay, I do not sleep naked,” she affirmed, spotting her
kurta
with relief. She stretched to reach it with some difficulty and when she managed to grasp it, shook it in his direction. “I sleep with this.”