Claire Delacroix by Pearl Beyond Price Page B

strode back to her impatiently a moment later and grasped her elbow as he hastened her back to the tent.
    Kira hesitated just inside the opening, not at all trusting his grim expression as he hauled on a short kurta with long sleeves that gleamed with the luster of silk. He left the kurta untucked and pulled a coat of mail over it, followed by a leather cuirass that laced over his chest. He looked as though he were dressing for battle, though Kira was an uneducated judge of such matters, and she could not help but wonder where he was going.
    And what he was going to do with her.
    Finally the gold-trimmed tunic he had worn the day before was pulled over the laced leather. He buckled on a scimitar, lashed a knife to the inside of his left forearm and scooped up an iron helmet lined with leather, jamming it on his head. His gaze fell on Kira as he fastened the strap under his chin and she fairly fidgeted beneath that steady regard.
    He could not know that she had lied to him. Kira dropped her gaze that he might not see the truth in her eyes. Mayhap, with luck, he would merely think her uncommonly modest.
    The warrior grunted to himself, undoubtedly making a comment on her response, and Kira dared to peek between her lashes as he retrieved his weapons. Had she not seen the evidence herself, she would not have imagined that he could look more forbidding than he had already. This sight, though, made her fold her hands cautiously together before herself.
    For what battle did he gird himself? And what was going to happen to her?
    She was only too well aware of the weight of his regard upon her, although she did not dare meet his gaze. Neither would she cower, and so the two stood silently for a long moment, Kira feeling each heartbeat pass with agonizingly slow speed.
    The warrior remained silent, not a clue to be gleaned from his stony features when Kira glanced between her lashes yet again.
    Mayhap he knew what she had done. Mayhap he had seen. Mayhap he was granting her one last opportunity to confess.
    Mayhap she should have given him the pearl, she thought wildly.
    No further time was she allowed to reflect upon the matter. A round shield, a bow and pair of quivers were the last items the warrior took. Then Kira found herself being hustled outside and through the rows of round tents, trepidation making her heart race.

Chapter Four
    “P ersian, are you?”
    Kira started at the sound of that achingly familiar language and almost turned before she caught herself. She frowned and scrubbed the filthy garment she had been commanded to wash, wishing any would-be companions would leave her alone.
    The warrior had left her to wash clothes under the direction of an ancient harridan, and wash clothes she would. At worst, the task occupied her hands, if not her mind.
    Although there was absolutely no need to make idle conversation with any of the other women standing knee-deep in the stream. None whatsoever.
    Why would any of these women talk to Kira? Grist for the gossip mill, no more than that. Surprisingly, her relief to understand anything anybody said had nearly overpowered her usual caution. Long ago Kira had learned that her business was naught but hers alone.
    “Indeed, you well look Persian. Certain am I that I have not seen you in the camp before, so you must be newly arrived.”
    Unfortunately Kira’s lack of response did not seem to be affecting the woman’s friendliness. The woman dunked a garment alongside Kira and Kira noticed the dark gold hue of the woman’s skin. Persian skin. Slender fingers had she, much like Kira’s, though Kira could see that the nails had been broken, and graceful hands that moved as though they had once been pampered now bore hard calluses.
    Kira’s gaze dropped stubbornly to her own hands and the similarity was inescapable. Would her hands soon be so abused? And what of the rest of her? She plunged the dirty garment into the river up to her elbows so that her hands were lost in the murky