Claire Delacroix (24 page)

Before Thierry could demand an explanation, the older knight turned and bellowed once more. He raised his blade high as he faced the attackers.

“To the doors, I bid you!” he shouted to his men. They turned of one accord to meet the new arrivals, a collective roar erupting from their throats.

“Of what does he speak?” Kira demanded breathlessly. Thierry shrugged as they were swept forward with the crowd of knights.

“I know not,” he confessed hastily. “But for whatever reason, they aid us.” Kira tripped and he feared suddenly that she would be undertrodden in the rush. Too small was she to fend for herself in this press. He scooped her up protectively and tossed her over his shoulder, not missing the flash of an impertinent grin.

“Questions later,” she advised in a whisper, and Thierry almost smiled. He but gave her knees a squeeze before one of the king’s guards broke through the ranks. Thierry swung his blade with vigor and summarily dispatched his assailant.

The army of knights drove through the contingent of guards like a finely honed wedge. Thierry found himself, Kira and Nogai packed into the center of the group so tightly that he had not even the space to swing his own blade. Nogai’s alarm was evident, for his nostrils flared agitatedly.

They gained the hall, then the staircase, the group of men pressing relentlessly on despite the cries of those who rose against them. The fan of air did Thierry feel and he exhaled shakily when they passed into the courtyard.

How would they find the horses? Their escape was doomed!

Barely had the fear formed than Thierry saw their distinctively shorter horses saddled before him. How had this happened? Thierry spared a glance to the older man, who grimaced and waved to his beasts.

“Hunted are we,” he growled. “Have I not made the matter most clear? Hasten yourself, boy, or I shall truly begin to question whether you might be your father’s son.”

Nogai had already mounted and Kira was in Thierry’s saddle an instant later.

“But seven short horses like this did I find, milord,” a young boy informed Thierry solemnly as he made to mount himself.

“But seven have we,” he confirmed tersely. He turned his back on the impertinent lad and swung up behind Kira.

“And fine creatures they be, milord.” The boy bobbed a bow. “Fine thick coats have they and well it seems they must be well suited to travel—”

“Beauregard!” the older man bellowed impatiently from atop his own charger, and the boy winced. “Well I bade you be
mounted
when we arrived!” The boy’s eyes widened in a manner that left no doubt as to his identity and he scurried toward a smaller pony.

“Aye, milord, but I had to confirm we had found all the foreign beasts,” he explained hastily.

“I care naught for your excuses!” the man shouted, scooping up the boy with more care than his tone might have led one to expect. “I bade you find the Mongol’s beasts—surely seven is plenty, even if ‘tis not all.” He dropped the boy into the saddle before him and gave the riderless pony a hearty swat across the rump.

“Hasten yourselves!” he bellowed once more.

Thierry dug his heels into his beast’s side and whistled, sending the others running along with them. The troop of knights barely cleared the gates before shouts rang out from within the fortress behind. Thierry’s heart nearly stopped when he saw the market carts and old farm horses cluttering the street, knowing with certainty that the king’s troops would be upon them before they reached the city walls.

To his astonishment the townsfolk seemed well accustomed to this sort of interruption, for a bellow from Eustache sent them hurrying out of the path. The cry was taken up by the others. Nogai winked at Thierry before he lent his voice to the fray. The horses were given their lead and the cobblestones echoed with the thunder of their passing.

“Surely they will pursue us?” Thierry demanded. The older knight shot him an indulgent glance and ruffled the hair of the boy seated before him.

“Beauregard has a way with knots and harnesses that may keep them behind us,” he commented with a wry smile. The boy grinned proudly at his master’s praise. Thierry jammed his own helmet on his head, acknowledging he would believe that when he saw the evidence, and pulled Kira resolutely closer.

When they passed beneath the walls of the city without intervention, the knights hollered victoriously. Thierry released the breath he had not known he was holding and deliberately loosed his grip on Kira’s waist.

He noted with pleasure that they set a course to the south where he had felt so attuned to the land. His relief must have been tangible, for Kira grinned up at him as she slipped his knife back into his scabbard. She curled closer to him and pulled his cloak about her against the late-afternoon air. Too comfortable she looked and Thierry was prompted to jolt her just a little. When next the knights bellowed, he raised his own voice so ferociously that she covered her ears with mock fright.

“Kiss,” she whispered. Thierry brushed his lips across her brow, his gaze seeking out the leader in the throng of knights.

“Later,” he murmured into her hair and felt her pout.

But more important matters were there afoot now than the exchange of kisses. Not only had Thierry to discover what had happened in the king’s throne room, but he would know how this knight knew his name. And what did this man know of his father? Well it seemed the man avoided his gaze as they rode, but determined was Thierry to learn the truth of the matter when they halted for the night.

K
ira liked not that Thierry had declined her a simple kiss of reassurance. And not enough was it that he had said “later,” a word she had learned and liked little in itself, but his very manner was aloof. His lack of interest in her did not bode well, to Kira’s way of thinking, for well she knew that she could not hope to conceal her pregnancy from him much longer.

Indeed, had he already noted it? Was that the reason for his disinterest?

She fretted as they rode and he said naught else to her. Darkness fell and Kira shivered in the chill, yet still the knights continued along the silent road. They rode without shouting or even speaking once the city was behind them, their passage through the quiet countryside almost soundless in itself. There was naught but the hoofbeats of the horses on the dirt, the occasional cough, the periodical jingle of the trap. The moon rose and Kira huddled closer to Thierry’s warmth, not daring to hope when the lights of a building bobbed in the distance.

But stop there they did. A gate opened as they drew nearer and the knights rode directly within the building’s embracing walls of one accord. Nary a word was said, the gate drawn up virtually on their heels and secured against the outside.

A great walled courtyard they stood within, a tall building to one side and the walls enfolding all within their protective embrace. Golden light and the scent of roasted meat spilled out of the building. The horses stamped in the courtyard, their breath making white plumes in the air as the young boys dismounted to tend them. The men spoke quietly to each other as yet more men and boys appeared from within to aid with the tasks at hand.

Thierry lifted Kira to the ground and she knew not what to expect. The white haired man who had shouted so much joined them, as did a heavyset man who had come out of the building. The three men conferred hastily, their words too low and quick for Kira to comprehend. Thierry listened and eventually nodded in agreement.

To what? The heavyset man snapped his fingers and a pair of women in those trailing skirts Kira had noted throughout this land hastened toward them. Thierry brushed his lips across Kira’s brow once more and waved her toward the pair of women without any explanation. They smiled invitingly but she was not convinced of their sincerity. Accompany these strangers? Where and to what purpose?

“But, Thierry—” Kira protested, turning to find that Thierry had already walked away. She picked out his figure where he walked with the other two men, his head bent low as he listened. Kira suddenly felt more alone than she ever had before.

A hand landed awkwardly on her shoulder and Kira glanced up to find Nogai’s expression surprisingly sympathetic.

He said something she knew to be a joke, even though she could not understand, and winked reassuringly. Kira smiled despite herself. He tapped the pocket where she knew he kept his cards and wiggled his brows questioningly. Indeed, Nogai must feel even more lost than she.

Encouraged, Kira nodded and gave Nogai’s hand a squeeze before she turned to accompany the two women. Whatever their intent, there was naught she could do to fight it alone. Mayhap if Thierry trusted them, she should do so, as well.

Mayhap if Thierry had appeared to give the matter some consideration, Kira might have had more confidence in that conclusion.

* * *

The women’s dastardly intent proved to be that of offering Kira a bath.

So delighted was she at the possibility that she could not be coy. Half afraid they were teasing her with the steaming tub, Kira clasped her hands together and looked longingly at the steaming water. One of the women laughed at her hopeful manner as she nodded.

“Aye, the tub is for you,” she said.

“Well it seemed you might desire one after your ride,” affirmed the other. Her eyes twinkled merrily for a moment, then she pinched the bridge of her nose theatrically.

“Aye, you know the truth of it.” Kira laughed along with them, her pleasure at the prospect making it impossible to take affront. A bath. ‘Twould be heaven itself to scrub this grime from her skin.

‘Twas only when Kira was nude in the tub and the women disappeared with her clothes that she began to doubt the wisdom of her decision. Were they to leave her here with naught to wear? But nay, they returned before the water had cooled and urged Kira out of the tub. They offered her a long-sleeved white
kurta
that fell to the floor and Kira smiled in recognition of the familiar garment.

“Kurta,”
she said, but the women frowned.

“Nay, this is your chemise,” one corrected. “My old one, actually, but ‘twill fit you better.” Kira repeated the word to herself and mentally chastised herself for speaking out so hastily.

“And your kirtle,” said the other in a more kindly manner as she held out a bundle of cinnamon hue. Kira accepted the heavier garment and shook it out, surprised to find it of much the same cut as the one she had already donned. ‘Twas the weight of the fabric alone that changed the garment’s name? Curious ‘twas, but she pulled it over her head as they indicated.

To Kira’s shock they tugged on laces at the sides of the garment until it fit her figure snugly. She looked down at herself in amazement when they nodded approvingly, knowing she could never show herself in public in such a manner. Indeed, there was naught left to the imagination by such a scandalous garment.

The women tut-tutted, though, and coiled Kira’s hair back with businesslike ease despite her discomfort with her garb. They draped a sheer wisp of cloth about her throat and more over her head and hair, tucking the ends into a stiffened circlet placed atop her head. Kira regarded them skeptically when they stood back to admire their work.

Surely no one appeared in mixed company like this?

The kindly woman’s expression brightened as though she recalled something forgotten, and Kira almost applauded her memory. Surely there was a good bit of cloth missing. At the very least, she had need of
chalwar
and a djellaba to cover this indecently tight garment.

To Kira’s astonishment the woman offered naught but a pair of leather shoes.

Kira shook her head firmly and lifted the hem of the kirtle and chemise to show her bare ankle. “Am I to have no
chalwar?
” she requested politely. The women frowned and Kira struggled to find a way to explain. “To cover my legs,” she finally said. The two of them discussed the matter in excited whispers, turning of one accord to grant Kira indulgent smiles.

“We wear no such garment,” they informed her.

This did not bode well, to Kira’s thinking. Surely it could not be so? The women shook their heads and chattered too quickly to be comprehended, then finally lifted the hems of their own garments.

Their legs were similarly bare.

The sight made Kira yet more aware of the loose chemise brushing against her bare thighs and buttocks. No other conclusion could she make than the obvious one, and though she resented that these women had assumed her to have the same occupation as they, she could hardly blame their error. Indeed, without vows between them, was she truly any better than Thierry’s whore?

They urged her to the door and Kira concluded that she was not to be granted a djellaba either. Well it seemed that simple modesty was not assumed to be one of her traits, and her color flared high as they descended the stairs to the common room.

Just as they reached the floor and Kira was painfully aware of the regard of the company of men upon them, another entered from the courtyard. The cold gust of air swirled around her bare ankles and made her shiver after the warmth of her bath. Kira felt a telltale prickling and knew without looking that her nipples had beaded. The sight was surely visible through the shockingly fitted cloth and she felt yet more self-conscious at the realization.

Crimson with mortification, she kept her gaze resolutely on the flagstone floor and followed the women as she was bidden.

“Kira.”

Even the awe in Thierry’s voice would not compel her to look up, for certain was Kira that he was as appalled by her transformed appearance as she. Had she any hope of being considered his only woman, that meager possibility had most assuredly been destroyed by her appearance in the garb of a whore.

“Kira.” Thierry’s finger was gentle beneath her chin. Though she was upset, Kira could not turn away from him. She reluctantly lifted her gaze to his, surprised to find no censure in his silver gaze. That her clothing did not trouble him was surely all the answer that she needed to confirm her status. Kira felt her tears rise and she shook her head weakly. To her astonishment, there was admiration in Thierry’s gaze when it locked with hers once more.

“Nay, Kira,” he murmured. “Be not so distressed. Your garments were worn and ‘tis best you dress in the Frankish manner.”

“But ‘tis so different,” she protested, knowing she referred to more than the garb itself.

Thierry shook his head. “Yet flattering to you all the same,” he mused affectionately.

To be told that the garb of whores suited her was far from the confirmation Kira sought from him. A single tear escaped the trap of her lashes but Thierry gently wiped it aside with his thumb. A small smile played over his lips and he traced one finger lightly down her cheek as though he feared to touch her.

“You are beautiful, Kira,” he whispered. Kira closed her heart to the aching tenderness in his voice.

“But the others—”

“Nay.” Thierry interrupted her firmly, turning her chin with one warm fingertip so that she was compelled to look into his eyes again. “None is so lovely as Kira,” he reiterated with a slight emphasis on her name.

‘Twas enough to dissolve her reservations, at least for the moment.

There was no mistaking his pleasure with her appearance and the very fact of that made Kira’s heart beat faster. Thierry found her fetching above the others. Whatever role she might play in his life, Kira could not deny that his appreciation pleased her. A flame there was in his eyes and she well knew that he desired her in this moment. It seemed not for the first time that there were no others than the two of them and her heart swelled with pride that this man should have chosen her.

A man made a raucous comment and she jumped at the proximity of his voice. Kira’s color flared yet higher at the realization that they stood amidst a veritable army of men, and her gaze flicked nervously to Thierry’s. His smile widened slightly, but he did not yet usher her to the board. Embarrassed anew by the lack of modesty of her garb, she raised her hands hesitantly to cover her breasts in the hope that he might understand.

“But, Thierry, ‘tis so immodest. I fear to have any look upon me so revealed,” she protested.

“Nay, Kira,” Thierry murmured. Much to her surprise, Thierry took her hands within his and lifted them away from her. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin on the inside of first one wrist and then the other. A shiver raced over Kira’s skin from the sensitive point and she felt her hand quiver within his grip.

“No shame should you have, beautiful Kira,” he whispered against her flesh. Undeterred by her shiver, Thierry’s lips nudged against her hand and he pressed a kiss into her palm. He straightened before her and folded her fingers over the spot he had kissed, as though her grip could hold his embrace captive there.

Kira smiled at the whimsy of his gesture and it seemed that the hall was cold no longer. Thierry placed her hand on his elbow and escorted her to the long table where Nogai and the leader of the other men already sat, seating her alongside him as though she were the shah’s consort herself.

‘Twas only much later, when the hall was filled with the sounds of snoring men and Thierry dozed contentedly beside her, that Kira dared to give herself a hard look. She felt the dampness between her thighs, the weight of Thierry’s hand on her waist and the absence of any token or vow taken between them. No consolation was it that when Thierry touched her or granted her a tender look, she forgot all else but the magic wrought between them.

But that did not change the truth of it. Kira stared at the ceiling and forced herself to form the thought. She was Thierry’s whore and all others knew it. ‘Twas time enough she faced the fact herself.

Kira folded her arms about herself in the darkness, hating the kind of woman she had become. Unbeknownst to all who surrounded her, she let her tears creep silently over her cheeks and wondered what would be the fate of her child.

* * *

Thierry felt that he recognized the old château reposing on the hill before them ten days after they rode out of Paris. They had ridden hard, especially after that first night, and put the leagues rapidly behind them. The company of knights had also kept from the main roads and Thierry suspected their leader thought they might be pursued.

Old Eustache had confided naught else, much to Thierry’s annoyance. “For home, with all haste,” had been his anthem these days and when Thierry saw the dark gray edifice ahead, he suspected home was precisely where he was.

He urged his mount deliberately forward in the ranks until he was riding alongside the old knight. Eustache granted him a wary glance but said naught.

“Is this our destination?” Thierry asked.

The other man snorted. “Know you not?” he asked disdainfully.

“Nay, or I would not ask,” Thierry responded tightly. He fancied the other man smothered a smile.

“Montsalvat ‘tis called,” Eustache supplied finally. Thierry felt Kira turn to look up at the forbidding facade of the fortress but did not look away from the older man. Montsalvat. The name he knew well from his sire’s tongue, the name of the place where he had been born. Thierry’s heart leaped in anticipation.

“And ‘tis here you call home?” he asked.

Eustache shot him a sharp look. “Aye.”

Realizing that the man was being unnaturally communicative, Thierry decided to ask more. “What happened in Paris?” he asked, watching the knight’s expression close stubbornly.

“Naught have I to say of that, if indeed you do not know,” he replied tersely.

“Will they not follow us here?” Thierry demanded.