"The Cathayans have no preference for dairy."
"Their food is incomprehensible."
"No, it's not. It's delicate."
"Food is not supposed to be delicate. It's supposed to be hearty and nourishing."
"Not everyone prefers slop," Eloise said tartly.
Hugo grumbled as he sat down on the bank, while Eloise looked at the bowl of plain rice. "Didn't you get anything with it?"
"No."
"Appetizing," Eloise complained. There were no sticks, only the tin spoon Hugo ate with. Pursing her lips, she dug a bit of rice out with her fingers and carried it to her mouth. She'd learnt to enjoy the Cathayan meals. Their cuisine didn't have the depth of flavour and pungent scent of the Persian meals, having more delicate flavours which she'd explored over the last six months.
But she was too hungry to skip a meal, even if it was only unadorned white rice. "Next time, ask for some pork as well."
"I don't know how."
Eloise rolled her eyes. Like a typical English nobleman, he was incapable of learning anything, born and raise to fight and nothing more. "Say ‘curou’. They'll eventually guess what you mean. ‘Dami’ for rice."
Hugo didn't look pleased and again Eloise rolled her eyes. And they didn't like anyone being more intelligent than them either, which wasn't hard as they learned nothing.
"I need some privacy," she said after she'd had a few mouthfuls of rice.
"As you please," he said, drawing his knee up and resting his arms on top.
Eloise put the bowl down and made her way up the other side of the bank, which seemed to cut into a forested area, filled with trees and large canes. They were still fairly close to Camberluc. Walking calmly out of sight, she set off at a sprint as soon as she was out of sight, zipping through the trees, running as fast as she could.
It didn't take long before she heard thundering footfalls behind her. Damn it, he'd found her. Pushing herself, she picked up speed, but he was still gaining on her. The sun shone through the trees, cutting in and out of her vision as Eloise ran for her life in what would otherwise be quite an idyllic place.
A great shove knocked her to the ground and she felt the weight of his body come down on hers. He was too heavy to push off. "You are quite predictable, Mistress Chanderling."
"Let go of me," she demanded as he manhandled her to standing. She struggled against his grip, dug her nails into his wrists as he held her and tried to force him off balance, but he wouldn't budge. Drawing her forward, he hauled her over his shoulder again like a sack of potatoes and started walking back. Eloise pummeled his back, but it made no difference. He probably didn't even feel it through the chainmail he wore. "I demand you let me down," she said in her harshest voice, but he wasn't listening, striding back the way they'd come as calm as day. "I still need to do my business."
"You'll just have to hold it or contend with me watching. You have proven yourself untrustworthy."
"As if I would be trustworthy to you. You come here and steal me away from my life. You don't deserve trust, and you cannot be serious to expect me to do my business with you watching."
"Try me, Mistress Chanderling." He stepped down the bank, returning them to the waiting horse. "Break over," he said and lifted her up on the horse, sitting sideways across the front of the saddle. Placing his foot in the stirrup, he mounted, seating his bulk in the saddle, his arms working around her as he maneuvered the horse.
Eloise sat as stiffly as she could, refusing to touch him. At least he hadn't tied her across the beast this time, but that might be preferable to their now close quarters. He place his arm along her back and she could hear his slow and steady breathing. Try as she might, she couldn't stop his thigh from touching hers.
Staring determinedly ahead, she wondered if there would be any repercussions from her failed flight. Not that she would stop trying. She was not going back to England, and she didn't care if Hugo Beauford insisted. She would sneak away at some point. Even he could not go without sleep.
Chapter 7:
* * *
After hours of traveling, they reached a bridge made of stone, spanning the Yellow River, which snaked muddy and wide down both sides as far as the eye could see. The bridge had stone carvings of lions all along its sides, with great, big smiles and teeth. The horse took them across this bridge, then toward the small village further along the bank of the river. If there was a chance to escape, it was now.
"Don't even consider escaping," he said as if reading her thoughts. "It will take me all of minutes to find you."
Unless you're asleep, her mind argued. Yet she considered all the options. She would find a way, and short of murdering him, she would consider any option presented to her.
After dismounting and walking through the village, they stopped at a small stall serving food of some variety, although Eloise couldn't read the sign over the cart, and neither could Hugo, but he paid the man with a paper note, saying nothing to the proprietor, just forcing her over to a table and chairs by her arm and sitting them down.
They waited a while in silence, until the proprietor brought them a meal of rice and fish, providing them with the sticks the Cathayans ate with. Eloise grabbed her sticks and started to bring morsels of the fish over to her rice bowl. Hugo brought out his tin spoon, forgoing the wooden sticks. It was unlikely he had the dexterity to use them. It had taken Eloise some time to learn to use them proficiently, but she quite liked them now.
The meal was wonderful, tasting of lemon and ginger. It was the first full meal she'd had in a while. These would be unknown flavours to Hugo, particularly the lemon that Eloise had also learned to like in cooking, even if the raw fruit was unpalatable, irrespective of its beauty. They ate in silence while she wondered what Hugo had done with his life. His face didn't have the boyish features she remembered, and his chin had broadened, as had his brow. His hair was blond and his eyes blue. She hadn't actually looked at him before. He wasn't strictly ugly; she might even have found him pleasing to look at if she hadn't known him.
"Please let me go," she pleaded. She didn't even know if he was capable of being reasonable. "My life is here."
"Living in sin with a Saracen?"
"It is the life I prefer. I am happy here and there is nothing for me in England."
He didn't say anything, just continued eating. "It does not matter what you say. The king wants your return, so you will return."
"You're an awful man, Hugo Beauford. You were a bully as a boy and you're a bully as a man," she accused. He didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow and continued eating.
He must have been in France, she guessed, fighting endlessly in the war that started so long ago now. And he was obviously trusted by the king. Had probably done well for himself.
"Come," he said and stood, taking her again by the arm again and urging her down the street.
"What about the horse?"
"We won't be needing it." He walked them through the village and down to the port, where he moved away without taking his eyes off her and spoke with a man. She heard Lanzhou mentioned as Hugo tried to communicate with a Mongol man. With a great deal of pointing and more paper money changing hands they seemed to reach an agreement.
Hugo returned to her and Eloise felt she'd missed an opportunity to escape, but he really hadn't taken his attention away from her the whole time. It was clear he meant to sail, which admittedly would be more comfortable than sitting on horse back together.
Grabbing her by the elbow again, he walked them away from the port, down a different street toward a building, where he slid the papered door aside, taking them into a courtyard where a Cathayan woman came running out to greet them. The slight girl was a little taken aback, but she recovered quickly with an uncertain smile. Eloise could tell she was still a bit wary of the large foreigner, obviously a man of violence judging by the big sword at his side.
With a bow, the woman placed her hand out toward an entrance at the other side of the courtyard a
nd Hugo smiled, following the woman as she walked ahead, showing them to another papered door, which he slid aside, revealing a tiny room with nothing in it but a cane-covering across the wooden floorboards.
This was some kind of travelers’ resting house, Eloise guessed, and by the easy way he'd found it, he'd been here before. He slid the light paper door closed behind them. He was too big for this room and crowded the space. This was where he must have stayed when he'd come this way, and she wondering how he'd found it. It wouldn't have been on his own. Someone had shown it to him, but it wasn't inconceivable that some other traveler had been kind to him and shown him this place. This village was a regular stop for any trader seeking their way to Cambeluc.
Eloise sat down in the corner, unable to lean on the slight walls and she watched as he unclipped his sword belt, then removed his boots and his surcoat, leaving the chainmail in place. He didn't trust his safety here, with her or anyone else.
The mail made a zinged sound as he sat down on the floor and crossed his legs. It was fine mail and likely very expensive. His sword was placed at his side so he could access it quickly if someone came through the door.
On the whole, Cathay was fairly safe. People generally went unmolested, except for anyone who upset the Mongols, or even the Mohammedean mercenaries they employed.
A little lamp sat in the corner with oil flowing around a wick, along with some grinding stones to light the thing, which Hugo did, sending pale light into the room. It was darkening outside and the brightness of the paper walls was receding, replaced by the light of the little lamp.
Eloise said nothing as she watched him. She'd tried pleading and she had relatively little to threaten with, but there was a chance that Malik was looking for her.
Hugo shifted and lay down on his side, bundling his surcoat to support his head, placing himself between her and the door. It didn't matter. As soon as he was asleep, she was going to step across him and slowly open the door, although truthfully she was exhausted. But she would escape first, then hide somewhere he wouldn't find her and sleep.
His body relaxed as he rested. Eloise could see the form of him as he lay on his side. He was so much larger than Malik, with muscles bulking him out. She supposed a man couldn't be at war for years on end without building muscles like that.
As he reached out to her, Eloise held her breath, not knowing what his intentions were. Surely he couldn't mean to impose on her—that would be inexcusable. He grabbed her skirt and Eloise tried to shift away, but he gripped the hem and wound it around his hand.
"If you're going to escape, you're going to have to do it naked. Shouldn't prove hard to find you then," he said, sounding smug and amused.
Eloise could have spit with her annoyance. Not only was he thwarting her plan, but he was also pulling her skirt up, revealing her legs. He glanced down but made no moves or comments, instead closing his eyes, with the hem of her skirt tightly wrapped around his fist.
She considered her options, but she had few. She could technically take the gown off, but he was right, running around naked would see her ravished and probably murdered by morning by the Mongol guards in the town. She had nothing to cut the piece off with, other than his sword that he was partially sleeping on. If she managed to slip the dress off without alerting him, the Cathayans were often unwilling to draw attention and trouble to themselves by helping, and who could blame them. The Mongols were ruthless in retribution to any disturbance or sign of subversion.
She would have to think of another plan. He had bested her this once. Closing her eyes, she let her exhaustion take over as she listened to his breathing slowing, growing deep and constant. She missed Malik, wishing his arms were around her now. She could imagine how distressed he was when she didn't return. But it was also likely that he would have heard that a knight came and stole her off the street. She wasn't sure how he'd react to that, but he might well assume it was her family's action, sending a knight to retrieve her. He would not stand in the way then as he believed that family had the right to impose their will on children, particularly on daughters. It was an issue they disagreed on and had conducted many debates on the subject in the past. The conclusion was therefore that Malik would not stand in the way if her family came to claim her, even if he would miss her dearly, and she him.
Eloise hated Hugo a little bit more, if that was even possible.
Chapter 8:
* * *
Hugo didn't know where he was for a moment. Opening his eyes, he sought his hand, which was wrapped in something—her skirt. The material looked like blood in his hand. Somewhere he heard a rooster crowing, but otherwise all was still. Brightness shone through the thin, white walls.
Eloise was still asleep, lying with her hands under her cheek, her cheeks rosy and her hair golden, snaking around her neck. Her skirt, which he had around his hand, was lifted off her legs, revealing them up to her thigh. Her legs were milky white and slim, pleasing to the eye.
An image of him mounting her, nestled between those thighs, seeking heat and comfort, flitted through his mind, but he dismissed it angrily. He refused to be tempted by her. She was neither innocent nor virtuous, no matter how much she looked it. The circumstances in which he'd found her attested to it without doubt.
Getting up, he made his way to the door and slid it aside. The sun was bright in the courtyard and fowl ran around across his path as he made his way out of their room. He walked toward the well in the center of the courtyard and undid the ties that held his chainmail in place and moved it off his shoulders, feeling the weight of it come off him. Along with his sword, he placed the mail down on the edge of the well and pulled the undershirt off him as well.
The sun warmed the skin of his chest and shoulders as he pulled a bucket out of the well, washing the dust and grime off him. The water was icy cold and it bit his skin as he washed himself, leaving him feeling energized—that and the fact that he was finally on his way home. This journey had been longer than he’d expected, but the objective was achieved. He'd found her and he was taking her home. If her father would be pleased to see her, he didn't know, nor did he care. His quest would be dispatched and he would be free to return to France, unless the war was finished by the time he got back, which was a possibility.
He couldn't quite imagine not being at war, having spent his whole adult life fighting the French, fighting for his king and country. It was difficult to imagine what peace would be like. He would have to return to Somerset and tend his lands. Either way, he would check in on his estate when he returned, to ensure nothing awry had happened, such as an over-optimistic heir taking claim. It had happened before, when an heir had wrongly heard a knight had died and staked claim to the estate and land.
A small noise behind him alerted him to Eloise's rise. Again the image of her underneath him flashed through his mind. It had been too long since he'd lain with a woman, he conceded, but it wouldn't be her. She was walking past, trying to be silent. Hugo smiled as she dashed for the entranceway of the establishment, trying to make her escape. He even let her go for a few seconds.
She made it out to the street and was running as fast as she could, which wasn’t much of a threat. Hugo took off after her, chasing as she ran ahead of him, her red dress floating behind her. It was extraordinarily light material.
Enough now, he said and picked up speed, reaching her and clasping his arm around her, pulling her back. She struggled against him, kicking wildly, but his arm had her clamped to him. "Come now, Mistress Chanderling. Enough of that."
"Let go of me!" she demanded.
He held her tightly to his bare chest, and they were drawing attention from some of the Cathayans, but he knew they wouldn't interfere. "We both know that isn't going to happen. Now you can walk back, or I can carry you over my shoulder. You choose." Even standing behind her, he saw her mouth tighten. She wanted to argue. "Fine," he said and whipped her around, bending down and forcing her onto his shoulder again.
"I'll walk," she u
ttered, hitting him on the back. Without clothes and mail, he could feel it now, but it wasn't enough to bother him. He felt the warmth of her along his shoulder and her hands on his back as she pushed herself up.
"Too late," he said and strode back the way they'd come.
"Please just let me go."
"It doesn't matter how many times we have this discussion, the outcome isn't going to change."
He had to duck to get her through the entranceway to the travelers’ inn they had stayed in, where he dropped her unceremoniously onto a ledge around the courtyard. "Perhaps I should tie you up."
"No," she said.
"If you are going to cause me trouble every few minutes, I will." He stared her in the eye as he moved back to the well, letting her know that he wasn't beyond doing it. He might actually save himself some trouble if he did. The defiance shone through her eyes, making him chuckle. She did have spirit at least, but she always had, even as a child—defiant to the end. Her mother had been one of the most beautiful women he had ever known, but she had been a troubled woman in an ill-matched marriage.
For a long time, he'd assumed Eloise had been relegated to a convent somewhere, left to be forgotten. When he'd found out to the contrary, he'd had to wonder if Chanderling had actually been heartless enough to dispatch her. No one ever spoke of her and it wasn't a question you could raise. There had been a vague rumor of her disappearance and that she was being searched for. And it turned out that he was the one to find her.
Keeping an eye on her, he drew soap out of his saddle bag and foamed it between his fingers, smoothing it over his chin, neck and cheeks. His knife cut smooth strokes over the stubble, making a slight rasping sound. She stayed where he'd placed her, sitting on the ledge, no doubt considering her choices. Likely, she'd try to escape again.
The warmth of the sun was soothing on his skin and he almost wished he could stay there. Easy days in the sun had been few and far between. He missed his simple childhood, where he had the run of the land with his brother.
Amongst Silk and Spice Page 4