Pearl Beyond Price

by Claire Delacroix

  The man was a pearl merchant and the magnificence of the gems arrayed on the dark cloth stole even Thierry’s breath away. He had seen fine gems in his days.

  But never any like these.

  Despite himself, he was fascinated by their colors and shapes. There were pink pearls and even one of palest green, ivory ones and those of outright yellow, and finally those of gleaming white. Not all were round and he marveled at their shapes, some twisted and convoluted beyond belief. ’Twas a sight Kira would appreciate, and he thought to fetch her. There were even tiny pearly Buddhas and he raised a questioning glance to the keeper.

  “All genuine,” that man declared, touching the Buddhas with a gnarled fingertip. “From Cathay. Men there have learned the art of the oyster. They place little bronze statues inside the shell and the creatures create pearls of them, just as they do with grains of sand.”

  “’Tis amazing,” Thierry commented.

  The elderly man nodded. “Are you Buddhist? One of these is a fine talisman for a fighting man.”

  “Nay.” Not yet willing to leave, Thierry let his gaze rove over the display once more and his attention was captured by an oddity of a pearl. ’Twas on a fine gold chain, as though meant to be worn around a woman’s neck. The gem was misshapen. Despite its deformity, the pearl had a certain grace, however, and Thierry was intrigued at the way it caught the light.

  “Ah,” the old merchant breathed. “You like the aljofar, do you? Do you have a woman, then?”

  “Aye,” Thierry admitted, wondering at the question.

  “Aye, and an aljofar is good luck for a mate,” the older man confided. “’Tis a traditional gift, you know.”

  Thierry did not know.

  The old man hooked one finger beneath the chain and let the gem swing before his potential customer. Thierry reached out to touch the stone and knew as soon as ’twas cradled within his palm that he had to have it. As a token of his regard for his Kira. ‘Twas only fitting to pledge himself to her with a pearl when pearls had brought them together.

  Thierry dug in his pocket for the pearl Kira had granted him. ‘Twas yet more fitting that one gem should be bartered for the other. He offered it to the old merchant, who accepted it with an assessing frown. As Thierry watched, he rolled the gem between his fingers, bit it, peered at it, then met the younger man’s gaze.

  “Two dinars,” he offered.

  Thierry shook his head firmly. “I am told that it is worth three,” he said. The merchant cocked a skeptical brow. “Because it is from Oman.” Thierry repeated Kira’s claim as though he knew exactly the import of it.

  The merchant’s white brows rose and he put the gem into his mouth.

  This time Thierry knew better than to react. He stood and waited, wishing he could dismiss his worry that the man could easily swallow the gem and trick him out of its value. This pearl trade required too much trust for him.

  The merchant spit the pearl back into his hand and eyed it.

  “So ’tis,” he conceded.

  “And of good color,” Thierry countered.

  “Three dinars, then.”

  “The aljofar,” Thierry bargained.

  The merchant feigned surprise and frowned. “An aljofar is a precious gift, not a frippery to be cast aside when modes change,” he argued. “This pearl and two more dinars.”

  Thierry shook his head firmly. “Simply the gem.”

  The old man granted him a wary glance. “Do you want this for a woman?”

  Thierry nodded. “For my woman.”

  The merchant stifled a smile and rolled Thierry’s gem across his palm. “Your first woman, then?” he asked in a more welcoming tone.

  “My only woman,” Thierry said flatly.

  The merchant shook his head and lifted the aljofar by its chain once more. He let it swing before him as though considering the wisdom of what he thought to do. “The pearl and one dinar, then,” he countered. “’Tis an offer that you will not match anywhere else, for this aljofar is worth far more.”

  Thierry knew from the old man’s tone that he would go no lower, but he wanted the gem. He frowned and watched it swing from its chain, as though it would tempt him.

  When had Thierry last purchased something other than essentials? To expend hard-earned coin in the hope of a woman’s smile was beyond belief.

  But ’twas for Kira, and to be granted another sight of Kira’s smile. Thierry wanted her to have it and he could already envision the pearl against her golden skin. He had to procure it. ’Twas inexplicable, but there ’twas.

  Thierry dug in his purse for the coin. The old man bit the coin in turn, then offered the aljofar to Thierry with a small smile.

  “I remember being young,” he mused with a twinkle in his eye. “Mind you always hold her in such regard. ’Twill ensure that your lives are long and happy together.”

  Thierry looked down at the gem in his hand and smiled himself as he met the older man’s gaze once more. “I would thank you for both the gem and the advice,” he said with a slight bow. “It seems that we have made a good beginning.”

  The merchant chuckled and inclined his head. Thierry indulged his desire to whistle as he returned to the inn, certain that nothing could go amiss with his world on this day.

  Kira was just stirring when he returned. She granted him a sleepy smile before she snuggled beneath the blanket yet again, and his heart swelled.

  ’Twas impossible that she could arouse him with such an innocent gesture, especially after their activity of the night before, but Thierry was aware that she had. He laid his purchases aside instead of packing them away, wanting to linger at this inn a little longer.

  He scooped up a pair of blood oranges from his newly acquired stores and dropped beside her on the blanket. Kira opened one eye, but he leaned back to lie beside her. She yawned and stretched and nestled her cheek against him. Thierry felt her gaze upon him as he quickly peeled the orange skins away with his short knife.

  ’Twas evident that she was hungry, for her eyes shone and she soon sat up with interest. The move sent that shimmering curtain of her hair falling over her shoulders and bared the smoothness of her shoulder to his view.

  Thierry was seized by a desire to know the taste of that specific spot. He knew he would be unable to cease his sampling there and did not care about any potential delay. Eternal temptation was clearly the price of taking this enticing woman for his own.

  Thierry slowed the motion of his blade, reminding himself of his responsibilities. Nogai would be waiting. They had no time for such whimsy.

  Though if nights like this last were any portent of the future, he could scarce complain at the price.

  When he offered Kira a segment of orange, a wicked glint lit her eyes and warned him. He had already learned that expression foretold mischief of the first order. Thierry waited to see what she would do. His heart took an unruly skip when Kira simply parted her lips. She had to know how much she tempted him, he was certain of it, but he pretended otherwise.

  He carefully placed a segment in her mouth, feeling his desire rise anew when she closed her eyes with undisguised pleasure and her dark lashes fluttered over her cheeks. She closed her lips and he was certain this had been timed to trap his fingertip within their softness. Thierry slowly pulled his hand away.

  Kira rolled to her back as she chewed at a languid rate and made a sound of satisfaction in the deep of her throat. When she rolled back to her side, the blanket dropped yet lower, though she seemed not to notice.

  She met Thierry’s eyes and smiled seductively before she opened her mouth expectantly once again. Thierry separated another segment, astounded to find her beckoning him closer with her tongue. He halted and she giggled, as though surprised at herself, then curled closer to him. Thierry shook his head and fed her another piece.

  Witch. A trickle of juice escaped from the corner of her mouth and he could not tear his gaze away from its path. Thierry watched as the red drop trickled over her chin and di
sappeared beneath the soft curve of her jaw.

  He needed little imagination to picture its path beneath the blanket and he impulsively dove beneath the blanket in pursuit of its sweetness. Kira giggled, her laughter halting when he boldly licked the juice from beneath her chin. Their gazes locked for a heated moment, then Thierry deliberately bent to kiss her.

  Kira responded as enthusiastically as she had the night before, though she tasted yet sweeter from the orange. Indeed, Thierry knew he could willingly drown in her sweetness. His fingers wound into her hair, his appetite for her not nearly sated, and Kira pulled him yet closer.

  ’Twas only the intrusive thought of Nogai’s impatience that forced Thierry to finally break their kiss. Kira was flushed in a most delightful manner, her eyes sparkling bright.

  The road was long to Paris, he reminded himself when she wiggled and her breasts were bared to his view. Her nipples tightened beneath his regard and he swallowed even as he stared.

  They needed passage on a ship and the tide would be going out. Thierry cleared his throat, torn between his desire and the need to resume their journey. Kira reached up to run a hand gently over his face as though she sensed his indecision, then plucked the second orange from where it had rolled on the floor.

  If Kira set her mind upon mating anew, Thierry could scarce deny her. Nor indeed did he want to. Her eyes danced with mischief as if she had guessed his thoughts. She held the fruit aloft, shook her head firmly then pointed to the fruit. Fascinated, he could but watch.

  “Thierry,” she said, laying the flat of one hand on his chest. His heart thumped beneath her hand but her fingertips flicked away as she similarly indicated herself. “Kira,” she said pointedly.

  When Thierry nodded understanding, Kira pointed to the orange and raised her brows

  She wanted to know the word for orange. It could only mean that she wished to learn to speak with him. Should he teach her Mongol or Frankish? Would she know the difference?

  Thierry took the fruit from her and turned it thoughtfully in his hand while he considered the matter. ’Twas Mongol he spoke on a daily basis, Mongol he spoke with Nogai and Mongol she likely should learn.

  Thierry looked Kira in the eye and said the Mongol word for orange.

  To his surprise, Kira frowned. She explained something rapidly that he could not understand, then pointed to the orange once more. Thierry repeated the word. Kira shook her head. She tugged the corners of her eyes so that they were tilted and pulled thin as she had once before.

  “Nogai,” she said with her eyes pulled back, then shook her head firmly again. Kira looked him directly in the eye and let her hands fall. “Thierry,” she said once more. The challenging glint in her eyes willed him to understand.

  Kira wanted to learn Frankish, not Mongol. But how could she possibly know that he had taught her his Frankish name? He stared back at her dumbly, unwilling to trust his intuition.

  Kira made a sound of frustration back in her throat and frowned. “Qaraq-Böke,” she said again, as though fearing she had mispronounced his name, then watched for his response.

  Thierry’s surprise that she knew the name the Mongols had assigned to him was so complete that he could not hide it. Not Qaraq-Böke, he understood, and wondered if she was denying him. His heart stilled in fear.

  Then Kira said “Thierry” again and nodded emphatically.

  ’Twas not the man but the language she denied. Kira wanted to learn Frankish. Somehow she knew about his name, of that Thierry had little doubt. And she knew that Thierry was his Frankish name. He regarded his woman with newfound respect. She must have gleaned something of that in his expression, for she grinned outright, unable to disguise her pride.

  Kira tapped on the orange again, as if he might have forgotten her query.

  “Orange,” Thierry supplied.

  “Orange,” Kira repeated with solemnity. She said the word thrice more, then glanced to him for approval. Indeed, her expression was so hopeful that he could not deny her. Her accent was dreadful, her pronunciation marginal, but Thierry imagined that she might be understood.

  At least by him she could be, and he suspected that might be the point. He nodded approvingly. Kira said the word several more times as though she sought to memorize it, then her gaze swiveled back to Thierry’s.

  Obviously, she would want to know more words, but he decided to put a limit on this exercise. ’Twould be useful for them to understand each other but he would not have her exhaust herself with her enthusiasm and lose heart for the task.

  “Just ten words a day,” he told her. He propped himself on his elbows over her and held his hands open to her when she regarded him blankly. “Orange,” he repeated and folded in his thumb.

  Kira’s confusion was replaced by understanding and she nodded emphatically. She tapped the blade strapped to the inside of his arm. He acknowledged a surge of pride that she chose such a useful word.

  “Knife,” he said. Kira repeated the word carefully until he nodded approval.

  Thierry had only a glimpse of that mischievous twinkle in her eyes before she framed his face in her hands and pressed a light kiss to his lips. She lifted her brows in silent query and he shook his head even as he indulged her.

  Trust her to want to know the name for that.

  “Kiss,” he informed her.

  “Kiss,” Kira repeated with such concentration that Thierry could not help but tease her.

  “Kiss?” he demanded, arching his brows high as though she had made a request. “Aye, Kira.” He bent down and kissed her, liking the satisfaction in her expression when he propped himself above her once more.

  “Kiss,” she said breathlessly. She grinned and snapped her fingers when Thierry did not immediately comply.

  Perhaps ’twas not the best word to have taught her so soon, Thierry reasoned as he bent over her once again. Yet he was unable to quell this lightness that seemed to lift his heart when she responded to him with such ardor.

  “Kiss,” Kira whispered against his jaw. Thierry let her roll him to his back so that she was sprawled atop him. He glanced down at her naked buttocks and growled appreciatively. He playfully pinched her. Kira giggled and scrambled up his chest.

  “Kiss,” she insisted and bent to taste him yet again. Thierry cupped her buttocks in his hands and pulled her closer, more than pleased with this new balance between them. How many nights of Kira’s intoxicating kisses would it take to reach Paris?

  Thierry suddenly recalled the aljofar and decided in that same moment to save the gift for a special occasion. Perhaps Kira’s first Frankish sentence.

  Perhaps when she learned the name for that even more seductive pastime.

  He groaned at his body’s response to the reminder and tore his lips from hers, knowing full well that they would never leave the inn at this rate. Thierry reached across the floor and managed to grab Kira’s trousers. He wagged them purposefully beneath her nose.

  “Chalwar, ” he said firmly. She pursed her lips in a mock pout.

  “Kiss?” she negotiated coyly. Thierry shook his head resolutely and rose to his feet before his desire had him agreeing to her request. The sun was high and ’twas time enough they sought passage on a ship bound westward.

  “Chalwar, kurta, tunic, djellaba,” he insisted as he tossed her each item of clothing in turn. He turned to face her once more and gestured toward the hills. “Nogai. Paris.” He made a riding motion and Kira exhaled with exaggerated dissatisfaction.

  “Chalwar, kiss, kurta, kiss,” she suggested, laughing aloud when a frown of exasperation crossed Thierry’s brow.

  Truly they would never leave Constantinople at this rate. Did the woman not know how much her simple kisses affected him? Thierry spared her a glance and, from the glint in her eye, he suspected that she did.

  Though surely if she was dressing, there could be no harm in a few fleeting kisses.

  “Aye,” he agreed before he thought too much about the matter. Kira glanced up questioni
ngly from donning her chalwar.

  “Aye?” she asked doubtfully. Thierry nodded emphatically, trying to indicate that aye meant assent. Clearly, she understood. No sooner had Kira fastened her chalwar than she launched herself into his arms.

  "Chalwar, kiss,” she reminded him.

  He gazed down into her sparkling eyes, well aware of the full warmth of her bare breasts pressed against him and the weight of her tiny hands on his shoulders. She was irresistible. Indeed, when the point was made so compellingly, Thierry could only comply.

  And hope that he could stop with a kiss.

  Kira was sufficiently confident in her situation to be openly curious when Thierry rode with a definite objective in mind. They met a heartily disgruntled Nogai at the city gates, and she ignored his muttering as Thierry proceeded through the bustle of the town to the market.

  Thierry was teaching her his language. Truly, he had claimed her fully after all, and her heart soared with delight.

  Kira’s nose was assaulted by the strong odor of fish and her eyes widened at the lavish catch displayed in the market stalls. Fresh fish was a rare luxury in landlocked Tiflis and she was amazed by both the variety and sheer amount of fish offered for sale. She was like the farmers who seldom ventured into Tiflis, for she could not contain her curiosity.

  The cobbled road angled down and the smells grew stronger. The people looked rougher and there were more men in the crowd than women. Without thinking of the matter, she moved closer to Thierry and felt his grip tighten possessively around her waist. Kira smelled salt and wet hemp and heard the creaking of wood. She was puzzled by the unfamiliarity of it all, until she saw the bobbing masts of the ships.

  She had heard tales aplenty of these vessels that crossed the seas, but had never seen one. Indeed, she had never seen the sea. The expanse of water that stretched to the horizon behind the boats fairly took her breath away.