Veils of Silk (57 page)

She glared at him, equally inexorable, and much less calm. "No, it isn't. You're not going without me."

She was about to say more when Ian snapped, "Enough!"

When his gaze went to the Pathan, Laura realized that to quarrel with Ian in front of a subordinate was bad policy. Since her chance of changing his mind was much better in private, she held her tongue as he said to Zafir, "I'll get money for the bazaar so you can be off."

Laura used the next few moments to marshal her arguments. As soon as Ian said that she was to be sent to safety while he went north alone, she had been struck by violent anxiety. Though she refused to think about Srinivasa's nonsense, her own emotional, irrational nature was shouting that her husband would be safer if she stayed with him.

And maybe camels had wings and could fly like eagles. Insane to think that she could make a difference if the hand of fate was on Ian, and insane to even
think
of accompanying her husband to the frontier. So be it; she might be insane, but she was damned well going with him.

Zafir left and Ian turned to her. Seeing her determination, his face became implacable. "I appreciate your loyalty, Laura, but this sort of mission is no place for a woman."

"How dangerous will it be?"

"Not very," he said. "I used to find straight military duty a little boring, so sometimes I got myself seconded to the political service. I've been over the frontier a number of times, and I can pass as a native reasonably well."

"With your coloring?" she said dubiously.

His mouth quirked. "You'd be surprised how convincing I am with my skin dyed and a turban over my hair. My beard even grows out the same red as the henna dye some Muslims use on their beards. More important, I know the languages and customs. But I'm not going to be in any danger, Laura. This is simply a short reconnaissance to locate the Shpola Pass. Then, when British troops arrive, they'll be able to bottle Up the Shpola and the Khyber and send reinforcements to the fort at Jallalabad."

"If it's so safe, why can't I go?"

"You'll slow me down. Also, I'll worry about you, which will diminish my effectiveness," he said, beginning to show impatience. "There's no good reason for you to go, and dozens of good reasons not to. Why the devil are you so determined?"

Laura didn't think he would be impressed if she said she hoped to prevent him from being killed. Ignoring the question of why she wanted to go, she said, "I won't slow you down.
I've crossed half of India with you, and I can ride as well as most men. Thanks to your foresight I can also shoot, not brilliantly, but well enough to be of help in a tight spot. I speak Persian and several dialects of Urdu. With skin dye and the right clothes, I should be able to pass for a native at least as well as you—my eyes are brown and Oriental, not Highlander blue."

His gaze went over her. "Even loose native clothing isn't going to make you look like a boy," he said dryly. "And your eyes aren't brown, they're a highly distinctive amber."

"Then I'll wear a
burqa
like the Pathan women do when they leave the compound," she retorted. "You could disguise a water buffalo under one of those."

He shook his head, unmoved. "No, Laura. This isn't subject to discussion. I'm not taking you to the frontier."

Trying a different tack, she suggested, "Wouldn't it make more sense to send Zafir instead of going yourself? That's Pathan country, so he should be able to locate the pass more easily than you. You're also the best person to explain the danger to the authorities in Cambay. Zafir won't be taken as seriously, even though he's carrying a message from you."

"With David's backing, he'll be believed," Ian said. "And I can't send Zafir to look for the Shpola Pass. It's controlled by the Afridi tribe, which has a blood feud with Zafir's tribe, the Mohmands. Asking Zafir to go in alone would be sending him to his death. Besides, I have a better eye for the tactical possibilities than he does."

Appalled, she said, "But won't it be death for you?"

"No, because I'll go dressed as a Punjabi tribesman. Since the Afridis have no feud with me, I won't be shot on sight."

"Then why can't Zafir go dressed like a Punjabi?"

"He would consider going into Afridi territory disguised as an act of cowardice," Ian explained. "He'd much rather be shot."

Men
! They didn't have the sense to cross the street without, female help. Curbing her exasperation, she said, "Ian, you know the territory and the tribes, you're the best shot I've ever seen, and it's only a little reconnaissance mission. Surely I'll be as safe with you as I would be going south with Zafir. After all, that road also goes through fairly wild country, and with only one man to protect two women, I'd be better off with you."

Amusement showed on his face. "Flattery won't work, Laura. I could be the best shot in the history of mankind, but that won't save you if we're ambushed by fifty bloody-minded bandits. The answer is still no."

She glared at him, furious but undiscouraged. She was sure in her Slavic bones that going with him would make a crucial difference. Then she realized that the trump card was in her hand. "The directions to the Shpola Pass are written in Russian, and I won't translate them for you." She held up the sheet of notes and tried not to sound smug. "If you want to find it, you'll have to take me along."

Exploding with the forcefulness for which redheads are known, Ian roared, "Then I'll find it without you! Hell and damnation, this isn't a game, you idiot female!"

"You're damned right it isn't," she yelled back, as furious as he. "It's life and death, and I'm going with you!"

As he stepped toward her, Laura wondered if she was about to find out how Tatyana felt when her husband hit her. But Ian was not Laura's father. He put his arms around her, tilted her head back, and kissed her. Her wildfire response made her shockingly aware of how thin the line was between fury and passion.

Laura kissed him back, aching with protective tenderness. She wanted to love him, not fight with him. Then, as his hand moved expertly down her body, she realized what he was doing. With a gasp of outrage, she turned her face away from his. "Do you really think you can seduce me into obedience?" she snapped. "That's a double-edged sword, you pigheaded Scot."

She fumbled with his trousers. He was already partially aroused. As she undid the buttons and slipped her hand inside, he went rock-hard, his whole body stiffening.

He began to laugh. No, Ian was not like her father. "You little witch. I knew you were dangerous, but I hadn't realized quite how much so."

Sobering, he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. "Laura, why are you so hell-bent on going with me? You're not usually an unreasonable woman."

"I'm worried about letting you out of my sight," she said. "I know I'm being ridiculous, but I feel as if nothing too terrible can happen to you as long as I'm there."

He studied her face. "I know what you mean. Part of me—the stupid part—wants to keep you nearby."

Sensing victory, she said persuasively, "If this trip really isn't that dangerous, where's the harm in my going?"

"Anytime one travels into wild country, there's an element of unpredictability. Ninety-nine chances out of hundred, we'd be able to go up there, locate the Shpola Pass, and come back without a problem." He grimaced. "It's the hundredth chance that bothers me."

"Ninety-nine out of a hundred isn't bad. And the hundredth could happen even if I went with Zafir." She was about to say more, but decided it would be more effective to hold her tongue and let Ian analyze the odds on his own.

Finally he sighed. "Very well. This really shouldn't be dangerous, so you can go if it's that important to you." His face hardened. "But there's one condition. You're going to have to promise to follow orders like a subaltern. If something goes wrong, arguing could cost us our lives. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," she said with a surge of relief so strong that it weakened her. "You're the commander of this expedition." For a moment she rested her head on his shoulder. With fear out of the way, other emotions began to manifest. She began stroking him mischievously. "Now that we've settled that, can we finish what we started, only with no hidden motives?"

He laughed again, then took her hand and led her over to the bed. "Since you're going to be doing a lot of riding in the next few weeks…"—he lay on his back and drew her down on top of him—"you might as well practice."

What followed proved to be as enjoyable as it was educational. Laura decided that it didn't really matter whether she finished reading the
Kama Sutra
or not. She was learning everything she needed to know from her husband.

Later that afternoon, Laura made a farewell call on Kamala. She was worried that knowledge of Rajiv Singh's plot would make it hard for her to act naturally, but the maharani made the visit easy. After dismissing her women, Kamala pulled Laura down to the cushion beside her. "Even if you hadn't sent a note," she smiled, "I would know that you have found your heart's desire."

Blushing, Laura nodded. "The suggestions you and my servant Meera made were wonderful. In particular, the rose petals were an inspiration."

The maharani waved her hand grandly. "What's a garden for, if not to provide pleasure for one's friends?"

Caught between laughter and tears, Laura said, "I'm going to miss you, Kamala."

"And I you." Shyly the maharani added, "Will you write me?"

"Of course," Laura said warmly. "It will be good for me to practice my Persian. And perhaps someday Ian and I will come back for a visit. Every year, the trip becomes swifter." Then she fell silent. A year from now, it was possible that the British would be gone from India. Or Rajiv Singh and even Kamala might be dead, or exiled. The friendship between two women could become just another victim of the cataclysm that was forming.

Not understanding the reason for her guest's sadness, Kamala said, "I, too, weep in my heart. A queen has many subjects but few friends." She gnawed on her lip, then said in a rush of words, "I shouldn't speak of this until I'm absolutely certain, but I must confide in someone, so I will tell you."

Good Lord, did Kamala know of her husband's plan and want to discuss it? Torn between friendship and patriotism, Laura said uncertainly, "If it's a state secret, I shouldn't know it."

Kamala gave her a luminous smile. "It isn't a state secret, it's my heart's desire." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Laura, I
think I am with child. Srinivasa said sometime back that it might happen, but I have been afraid to hope."

It took a moment for Laura to shift mental gears. Then she gasped,"Oh, Kamala, after so many years? That's wonderful!"

"I daren't speak of it yet to anyone, for it would break Rajiv Singh's heart if I'm wrong. There is a young cousin he has been thinking of adopting as his heir, but he has held off, still hoping." The maharani smiled bashfully. "I am an old woman, but not so old that I cannot still give him a son."

"Old—you?" Laura laughed. "You are the embodiment of womanly beauty. Once you have discovered the knack of childbearing, perhaps you shall have more. Does Srinivasa have anything to say about the possibility?"

Kamala's race became grave. "He said—and this is most unusual—that the issue is clouded and could have more than one outcome. In feet, I also asked him to look again at the charts of you and your husband, since you were so concerned." She caught her visitor's hand. "There is a cloud over all of our futures," she said earnestly. "Be careful, Laura."

"And you also, Kamala," Laura said, her voice choked. She rose and gave the
maharani a hug, then a deep "Namaste."

"I will pray for both of us, my friend."

There were tears in her eyes when she left. She hoped to God that the events that were shaping up would not make it impossible for both of them to have their hearts' desires.