His hand paused but did not withdraw. She said, "Please," a little desperately, for she knew her will was weak.
To her relief he eased back, though he kept his hands on her waist. "I was hoping you were a lusty widow who cared nothing for conventions," he said sadly. "Instead, you have a boring determination to preserve your virtue."
"I most certainly do!" she sputtered indignantly. "Why should I ruin myself with a ruffian of a hill bandit?"
He chuckled. "Then I have no choice. I must marry you."
Meera was so startled that she would have fallen off the branch if Zafir hadn't steadied her. "Are you serious?"
"Yes, little dove, I am." He kissed her lightly. "For one of the few times in my life, I am. Will you be my wife and bear me strong warrior sons who will laugh in the face of fire?"
Her immediate reaction was to say a resounding. "Yes!" But common sense prevailed. "Which interests you more," she said warily, "me or my jewels?"
"I'm glad you're not penniless, but I come of a good family and have done well as a soldier of the Sirkar. My wife will never be reduced to selling her jewelry to survive." His expression became tender. "But if I didn't love you, all the jewels in India would not persuade me to make you my wife."
When he looked at her like that, she would agree to anything. She inhaled shakily and reminded herself of one of the major obstacles to marriage. "Would I have to become a Muslim?"
"Myself, I would not mind if you kept to your own ways, but my children must be raised as believers," he replied. "I will not try to persuade you that Islam is better than your own beliefs, but remember. Muslims do not burn widows."
"But Muslims do take more than one wife." Meera's eyes narrowed at the thought. "Do you have other wives?"
"Ah, my little dove is jealous!" he said with delight. "No, sweet one, I have no other wives. Though the Koran allows four, it is not Pathan custom to have more than one, except sometimes if the man is rich, and his first wife has borne him no sons."
That reminded Meera of another potential problem. "I might be barren—I was married for three years without conceiving."
"Mohan was an old man," Zafir said simply. "I am not."
She had to smile at his sublime confidence. "I do not think I am barren. But if I am wrong, will you put me aside?"
"No, you would still be my chief wife, the head of my household," he assured her. "If I die, you will always have a home and position with my family."
"Won't they resent me as a foreigner?"
"Not since I have chosen you. In particular, my mother will be glad that I am finally taking a wife." His gray eyes gleamed wickedly. "If you are concerned that you are barren, I can help you find out." Once again hands began gliding over her hips.
Meera swatted at him. "Behave yourself, barbarian. The only way I will lie with you is if we marry.''
"I'm willing." His expression sobered. "Marrying me will mean giving up the life you know, and you will lose some liberties that a Hindu woman has. But you will gain other liberties, along with security and protection. Though Pathan women must be veiled when they venture into the outside world, within the compound they have influence and respect. If you accept me, I will do my best to make it easy for you to become one of us." He raised her hand and kissed her fingers. "And I do love you, little dove, not just because you are beautiful, but because you have the heart of a lioness."
Meera thought of Habibur's household. Their ways had been different from what she was used to, but she had seen nothing that repulsed her. And there had been much that she liked.
As she hesitated, Zafir grinned, his teasing self again. "You'd best accept me. How many other men would be willing to marry a woman with a tongue like a viper?"
"You'd be surprised," she said loftily.
His hands clamped on her wrists. "Are you being courted by another man? Shall I have to abduct you?"
She was not at all displeased by his show of possessiveness, but knew better than to tease him about this. If she did, she might find herself slung over the back of his horse, being carried to the Khyber Pass like a sack of grain. "There have been several men who have shown interest, but I paid no attention to them. None could compare to you." When Zafir began to smile, she said, "I am inclined to accept your proposal, but as you said, marrying you will mean many changes. I must think more before I give an answer."
His eyes gleamed and he gathered her into his arms. "Let me give you something else to think about." And so he did.
Chapter 25
Kamala had eventually tired of the lengthy military review, so she ordered their mahout to take them away before the end. Laura didn't mind, for the cannonade had given her a headache.
When Laura reached the apartment, she took a long bath. She never tired of the luxury and still hadn't sampled all of the perfumed oils available. Afterward she brushed her hair and put on a loose robe. She was looking forward to spending the evening quietly with Ian. They had both been kept so busy by Rajiv Singh and Kamala that they had hardly seen each other in days.
This late in the year night came early, and it was already dark when Ian returned. Laura glanced up from the journal she was skimming. "You're even dustier than I was."
"After the main review, we switched to horseback and rode among the Dharjistani regiments," Ian explained. "I'll tell you about it later." While he bathed, Laura ordered dinner.
As they sat down to eat, he had the alertness that she recognized as a sign that something was in the wind, but he spoke little until they had finished. As Laura poured tea, he said, "Rajiv Singh offered me a position."
"What kind?" Teacup in hand, she curled up on the divan.
Ian lounged back on a sofa. One booted ankle rested on the opposite knee, but as Laura studied him, she saw that he was much less relaxed than his posture implied. "He wants me to become commander-in-chief of his army."
"Good heavens! That's quite an offer." Her brows drew together as she considered the implications. "Have you given him an answer yet?''
"I said I'd had enough of soldiering, but Rajiv Singh isn't giving up. He pointed out how much you're enjoying your visit, so I said I'd discuss the subject with you." Ian took a deep swallow of tea. "Would you like to stay in Dharjistan as one of the most important ladies in the land?"
Laura hesitated, wondering if Ian wanted to accept the position. She didn't doubt that he'd be a superior general if he chose to be. Had he initially turned the offer down because he thought she would object? After several fruitless moments of trying to decipher his expression, she mentally shrugged and decided that she was wasting her time. The only feelings she could be sure of were her own.
"Kamala is wonderful and our visit has been like an Arabian Nights fantasy, but I wouldn't like living in a royal court," she said. "I can feel how much the other women resent the fact that I'm in the maharani's favor. It's not so bad now, for I'm just a visitor, but if we were to stay, it would become much worse. I'd be isolated except for Kamala." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And what about the possibility that Rajiv Singh might be plotting treachery against the Sirkar?"
He started to answer. Then his gaze swung around the room, as if searching for listening ears. "It's been a long day. Let's go to bed."
When she shot him a startled glance, he gave his head a small shake to indicate that his words were not to be taken at face value. She swallowed the last of her tea and left the cup on the table, then rose and led the way to her bedroom.
When they were both inside, he made a thorough check of the room before coming to Laura. She stood by the interior wall that separated her bedroom from Ian's, the spot in the apartment where a conversation would be hardest to overhear.
Ian stopped only an arm's length away so they could speak in undertones. After weeks of keeping a careful distance from each other, she found his nearness distracting. He was too close. Too attractive. Exasperated by the low tenor of her mind, she asked quietly, "Now that you know Rajiv Singh, do you have an idea wher
e his loyalties might lie?"
Ian frowned. "At the review he said some things that I found rather disturbing. I suspect that if the odds were favorable, he might turn that excellent army of his on the British. But there's no real evidence that he has ever planned to take arms against the Sirkar "
"Today, during the review, Kamala casually mentioned something that might have been Pyotr's scheme," Laura said. "About two years ago, a general who was a cousin of Rajiv Singh's made an attempt to take over the throne. The plot was caught almost before it started, and the conspirators were executed. The general, Janak, was known to be anti-British."
Immediately catching the implication, Ian said, "So perhaps your uncle was trying to help this Janak to the throne. If so, his scheme was foiled by the maharajah."
Laura's brows drew together. "Another piece of evidence that suggests that Rajiv Singh is on the side of the British is the fact that he wants to put you in charge of his army. Surely he would never expect you to fight your own people."
"He might." Ian summarized his earlier conversation with the maharajah. "I didn't mean to mislead him, but he attached too much importance to my anger toward the government, and to my comment on how England has oppressed Scotland. He might have thought I'd be happy to oppose the English."
Laura smiled a little. "I'm sure there are members of Her Majesty's government whom you'd like to send to a Central Asian prison for a year or so, but I can't imagine you bearing arms against your former comrades."
"Out of the question," he agreed. "Though Rajiv Singh is perceptive, he misjudged me on this and showed more of his true feelings about the Sirkar than he would have otherwise."
She sighed. "So we're back where we started. Maybe he's anti-British and was hatching plots with Pyotr. And maybe not."
"That's about it." Ian's mouth quirked ruefully. "I like Rajiv Singh. I don't want him to be an enemy, and that may be clouding my judgment." He stopped speaking, his expression distant.
She waited patiently for him to continue. She was perfectly content to study the dark chestnut strands that curled temptingly into view at the open throat of his shirt. Another fascinating difference between men and women. She remembered the textured feel of his chest hair against her palms, and the recollection created small spirals of warmth deep inside her.
Needing distraction, she asked, "If Rajiv Singh is plotting against the British, what might he do?"
As Ian considered her question, he absently braced one arm against the wall above Laura's shoulder. He was so close that she could feel the warmth radiating from his solid frame. Instead of war, her thoughts moved irresistibly to love. She knew that she should move away from him, but could not bring herself to do so. Her hands curled into fists, for it took all her willpower just to prevent herself from touching him.
"As things stand now, I don't think there's much likelihood of Rajiv Singh attacking British India," Ian said slowly. "He's too intelligent to send his troops into battle without a decent chance of winning. But that could change if fighting breaks out elsewhere. For example, if Afghanistan rises against the British garrisons, Rajiv Singh might take advantage of our weakness and try to overrun northern India. If he could persuade the Punjabis to join him, together they could do considerable damage."
Reminding herself that serious issues were at stake, Laura wrenched her eyes away from her husband's tanned skin. "Do you think any of that might happen?"
"It's not likely." Ian shrugged. "I'm worrying too much. The attempt to overthrow Rajiv Singh must have been what your uncle tried to bring about. If successful, it could have caused considerable trouble, but it failed. But I'll talk to the authorities in Bombay so they can keep an eye on this area. And keep looking through Pyotr's papers. I wouldn't mind more information on what he was up to."
"Very well." No longer able to restrain herself, Laura raised her hand to the bare, tantalizing skin of Ian's throat. His heart accelerated under her fingertips.
He caught her gaze with his and they stared at each other, mesmerized. Politics vanished in the face of older, more primal, needs. Moving as if in a trance, he put his hands on her shoulders and drew her close, then bent and touched his lips to hers. The desire that had been smoldering between them for days ignited like tinder.
He was unable to disguise his hunger, and she responded in kind, wanting to absorb him into herself. When his arms came around her waist, she shivered and pressed herself into him, her softer body compressing against hard muscle and bone.
With a groan, he lifted her from her feet and carried her to the nearby bed, then laid her across the mattress. Coming down beside her, he resumed the kiss, his tongue thrusting deep with a rhythm that she now recognized as the promise of another, more profound, possession.
As his hands moved unerringly to the most sensitive, yearning parts of her body, she yielded eagerly to the sensations that surged through her. She wanted to be swept away, to drown the warning voice at the back of her mind....
More of his weight came onto her, crushing her into the mattress. She ground her pelvis into his, feeling the hot, hard bulge of him between her legs. Sensing how she burned in secret places, he shifted to one side and raised her gown, the fabric skimming teasingly up the length of her bare legs. Then he slipped his hand between her thighs.
When he touched her moist, heated flesh, she gasped and stiffened, shaken by her shatteringly intense response. It would take very little for her to reach that frightening crescendo of need that she had experienced once before, and which she now craved with heedless urgency.
It was that very urgency that jolted her back to awareness. Dear God, she was once again on the verge of succumbing to madness. With sick certainty, she knew that every time she surrendered, the madness would grow stronger, until she would be incapable of mastering it. Already she was near that point.
Passion. Blood. Disaster. The terrified child inside her thrashed out, futilely trying to twist out from under him as she cried in a suffocated voice, "No! This is wrong. I mustn't!"
Ian went rigid, his mouth still on hers, his fingers inside her. In a wanton, greedy corner of her soul, Laura prayed that he would ignore her protest and finish what they had begun. Later, after their mutual hunger was sated, would be soon enough to agonize about consequences.
But he was too strong for her. Groaning, "Bloody, bloody hell," he rolled away and stumbled to his feet.
He leaned against the wall, burying his face against his upraised arm. He was shaking, but as Laura watched, his control clamped down. Inch by inch, the long line of his body became still and taut as marble. Without lifting his head, he said with lethal restraint, "You had really better explain what your problem is, Laura, because I can't bear much more of this."
She curled around herself, face flushed and breathing ragged as she tried to calm her outraged body. "I don't think I can explain," she whispered.
He dropped his arm and pivoted toward her furiously. "You had bloody well better try! If this happens again, I'll end up either forcing you, or leaving you." His eye narrowed. "Or is being forced what you want? If so, you'll have to find another man to give you what you want, because it's not a game I'm willing to play. I have enough shame in my life already.''
His anger was like a splash of ice water. Fighting the irrational, childish panic that had overwhelmed her, she pushed her trembling body to a sitting position and tugged her gown over her bare legs. In spite of her choking fear, somehow she must find the strength to tell him everything.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then haltingly began in the most obvious place. "At Habibur's, I told you it wasn't that I feared passion, but that I feared I would like it too much. That's the truth, Ian. For most people, I think desire is only part of life, sometimes welcome, sometimes a nuisance, but basically manageable.
"But for my parents, passion was madness." She drew in a shaky breath. "It destroyed them, and I'm sure that if I allow it into my life, it will eventually destroy both of us, too.
That's why a passionless marriage was the only kind I dared attempt."
She didn't mention that that was exactly why she had agreed to marry Ian. She didn't need to. Ian's anger faded and he became very still, with a cool, hard clarity like black glass. "Ideas like that don't come from nowhere. Why do you believe that passion is so dangerous?"
Going back to her earliest nightmare, she said, "It began when I was four or five years old. My parents had gone to a ball. It was very late when they returned, but I woke up when the door opened. I got out of bed and went into the hall and peered through the balusters, thinking that if they were in a good mood, not fighting, I'd go down and see them."
She swallowed hard. "As the door closed behind them, my father said something I couldn't hear. My mother hit him. They began fighting like animals, tearing at each other with teeth and nails, making horrible, inhuman sounds. I was terrified." Her mouth twisted. "Now, of course, I realize what they were doing. They were probably having a wonderful time, even though it looked as if they were murdering each other. But as a child, I didn't realize."
"You certainly should understand now," Ian said dryly. "A few minutes ago, we were behaving exactly the same way."
She flushed and dropped her gaze. "I know. That's why I became so frightened." She took a deep, steadying breath. "That night, I crouched on my knees and watched in horror, my hands locked around the balusters, convinced that the two people I loved most were going to kill each other right in front of me.
"When he dragged her to the floor and they began... began coupling, I got up and ran back to my room and hid under the blankets and cried. The next morning, I couldn't believe that everything was normal. My mother wore a high-necked gown and a satisfied expression, my father was in one of his most exuberant moods."
"It's not surprising that you were frightened and confused," Ian said soberly. "But surely that one incident was not enough to make you believe what you do."