Claire Delacroix by Pearl Beyond Price Page A

Persian woman he had captured. That he had even bothered to capture her was of note in itself, when the man had not been known to ever take a woman.
    The shaman smiled to himself, pleased with his own cleverness. Perfect ‘twas. For who, other than a shaman, could coax a reluctant pearl from the woman’s gullet without causing her harm?
    The old crone who guarded the women would not dare to defy him.
    * * *
    This Kira did not trust.
    The white-cloaked man who had claimed her from the river hauled her through the deserted camp, dodging between rows of tents with unexpected agility. His carved staff pounded regularly into the dirt as he walked, his other hand latched around her wrist with a will that brooked no argument. His long nails bit into her skin and Kira cringed at their yellow color, but made not a sound.
    Kira liked not that the old harridan had made no protest. She liked not that she had never seen this man. She liked not that he dressed differently than the others. And she liked even less that her warrior was not here to witness the transaction.
    Had the warrior passed her to another? Kira knew not and her heart pounded unevenly as her mind filled with ugly possibilities. That this man was not a warrior was evident by his dress, his staff making Kira wonder if he was some sort of religious man. He selected a tent that was white, not dark like the others, and impatiently tugged Kira inside. Her mouth went dry.
    ‘Twas shadowed inside despite the light-colored fleece and her eyes took a moment to adjust from the bright sunlight, though her companion hesitated naught. He lashed her wrists to the center pole with frightening efficiency, much as the warrior had done the night before, but this time the rope gnawed into Kira’s skin. She did not dare protest, but eyed him warily, wondering what lay in store for her.
    The man pushed back his hood and smiled. Kira did not trust the sight.
    She could not fathom a guess as to his age, which did little to reassure her.
    Though his darkly tanned skin was smooth as a child’s, something lurked in his eyes that spoke of knowledge beyond what could be gleaned in one lifetime alone. His smile was toothless, the braid of his gray hair thick and luxuriantly long. His hands were as strong as a young warrior’s, as she had already experienced, yet his nails were as yellowed and long as a hermit’s. A drum hung at his side and his carved staff was fashioned into a horse’s head instead of a crook at its top. A trio of white animal tails dangled from the staff where the horse’s mane might have been.
    His smile made everything within her go cold.
    He said something in that vulgar guttural language they all used. Kira did not understand, but she boldly held his gaze in her determination not to show her fear. He spoke again, and though she could have been mistaken, Kira fancied that the language he used had changed. Still she did not comprehend the words, however.
    “Well do I understand that you possess one of the khan’s pearls,” he said next, his Persian so impeccable that Kira was taken completely by surprise.
    To her own disgust she answered before she thought to do otherwise.
    “Aye,” she admitted. The man’s eyes gleamed and Kira cursed her own stupidity. Thanks to her own loose tongue, he knew not only that she had understood but that she still had the pearl. A plague on herself for not being more circumspect.
    “Aye,” he repeated, clearly pleased with her response. “Then well should you know that I have been charged with its retrieval.”
    “By whom?” Kira demanded as though she had every right to ask. If her warrior had abandoned her, then she would know the truth of it.
    The man turned slightly aside. “It matters not,” he said smoothly. “All that is relevant is that you will surrender the gem to me.”
    “Unwilling ‘tis to make its reappearance,” Kira lied audaciously. The older man slanted her a glance that did naught to assuage her