Bold Destiny

by Jane Feather

  The sirdar looked sorrowful. “Such a dreadful business. I wished to express in person my heartfelt regret for the deaths of Burnes, huzoor, and the others. I trust you will take the message back to your superiors. But we must now see how we can ensure such a thing is not repeated.” He shook his head sadly. “You must understand that my people are most unhappy. And when they are unhappy, they are inclined to be a little … impetuous, shall we say?”

  “I would have used a stronger term,” Kit observed calmly. “Can you guarantee that there will be no repetition?”

  “Alas, no.” Akbar Khan shook his head again. “I cannot. My authority and influence with the other military leaders is negligible, Lieutenant. They have individual grievances with the feringhee, and what they do about those grievances is a matter for individual decision. Some might agree to come to terms, but others …” He shrugged.

  “So what do you propose?” Kit prompted, concealing his disbelief of the khan’s statement of his powerlessness.

  “I think it might be helpful for Macnaghten, huzoor, to foster the individuality of the chiefs,” Akbar Khan said. “The more divided they are amongst themselves, the less united they will be in their grievances against the feringhee.” He stroked his beard in the way that would have put Ayesha immediately on her guard. “I am certain the Envoy has some contacts amongst the sirdars. He would do well to … to … sow a few seeds of dissension.”

  “And how is this dissension to be achieved?” asked Kit directly.

  Akbar Khan smiled and shrugged. “However the Envoy decides. Judicious rewards, perhaps; a little intimidation elsewhere, perhaps. You may rest assured I will suggest most forcefully a cessation of hostilities and acceptance of Shah Soojah. It is time for such an agreement to be reached.”

  Kit inclined his head, hiding his conviction that he had just been given the worst possible advice. Suborning the chiefs would not work, for all that the idea would probably appeal to Macnaghten. And why was Akbar Khan pretending this change of heart? He had sworn there would be no concessions while the British remained on Afghan soil, and Kit did not believe for one instant that that had changed. But he kept such thoughts to himself. “If that is all … ?” he said politely, turning toward the door.

  “Ralston, huzoor?” Akbar Khan spoke very softly.

  “Yes?” Kit turned back and felt ice enter the marrow of his bones at the unmistakable and deadly menace in the stab of the khan’s blue eyes.

  “Do you remember the game of buzkashi?”

  “Vividly.”

  “Sometimes, when a man has been wronged by another, we play the game a little differently. We do not use the carcass of an animal.” He paused. The taut line of his mouth thinned, and Kit saw for the first time the ferocity in the man undisguised. “The offender becomes the prize,” Akbar continued without so much as the flicker of an eyelid.

  Kit forced himself to meet the man’s eye, to keep his own expression impassive. Incomprehension he could not rake, and he suspected there would be little point even if he could. Akbar Khan knew what he knew.

  “Of course,” the khan said almost pensively, “if full and timely restitution is made by the offender, one is capable of generosity … of an understanding of impulse. However—” He looked Kit full in the eye. “We are jealous of our possessions, Ralston, huzoor, and unforgiving if one of our own defects. The penalty for such defection is immutable … You understand me, I am sure.”

  “You talk in riddles, Akbar Khan,” Kit said, amazed that his voice was steady in the face of such a clearly pronounced threat.

  Akbar Khan smiled, shrugged again. “You may enjoy unraveling the conundrum, Ralston, huzoor. It would certainly be profitable for you … and for another … to do so.” He clapped his hands abruptly, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet room. Immediately, one of the rangy hillmen appeared in his long coat and skullcap.

  “Escort the feringhee back to the cantonment,” Akbar Khan ordered, and without a word of farewell left both the room and his guest.

  They rode back in silence. Kit was not disposed to discuss his meeting with Akbar Khan. He could think only of his last exchanges with the Afghan. Akbar Khan had threatened the lieutenant, but more pointed had been his threat to Annabel. If Ayesha did not return, then her khan would assume she had chosen not to do so. And if she had made that choice, then she stood accused and condemned of infidelity. Kit did not know what penalty would ensue, but if he had been threatened with the role of prize in a buzkashi, it required little imagination to construct horrors for one accused of disloyalty and betrayal.

  At the gate of the cantonment, their escort left them as uncommunicatively as they had joined them. Kit dismissed the havildar and his troop at headquarters and went in to report.

  As Kit had feared, Akbar Khan’s advice fell on fertile soil. The Envoy rubbed his hands together. “Yes, yes, I think he is quite right. If we are able to sow discord amongst the various factions, then it will weaken the opposition to the shah. If the chiefs fight amongst themselves, they will not be able to fight us.”

  “But how should we do this, Sir William?” quavered Elphinstone from the depths of his armchair.

  “We will employ Mohun Lal. He has the ear of many of the sirdars, but has always been loyal to us. He will know whom to bribe and whom to threaten.” Sir William nodded happily. “Indeed, perhaps we can go further than this. If we could achieve the removal of some of the most malevolent leaders, then the opposition would be in considerable disarray.”

  “How ever is that to be achieved?” asked the general, blinking.

  “Why, by assassination, of course,” Macnaghten told him. “We will put a price on their heads and you’ll see how the bounty hunters will come running.”

  Kit could not control his exclamation of disgust, and the Envoy regarded him with irritation. “Did you say something, Lieutenant?”

  Kit sighed. “Do you really think treachery is the answer, Sir William?”

  “We’ll beat those perfidious savages at their own game,” the Envoy announced. “Why, it was one of their own who suggested it.”

  “And you would trust the advice of Akbar Khan? Why would he attempt to assist us?”

  Macnaghten’s annoyance increased visibly. “The man knows perfectly well that he cannot hope to defeat us in the end. Once Major Griffiths reaches us from Kubbar-i-Jubbar and General Nott’s brigade arrives from Kandahar and General Sale comes from Jalalabad, we’ll put an end to this revolt once and for all. Akbar Khan, quite realistically, does not want to be associated with the wilder factions amongst his people. When this is over, he will want to come out of it on the right side.”

  “Quite so,” murmured Kit. “If you’ll excuse me, General … Sir William, I have to supervise the inventory-taking.”

  “Yes … yes, Lieutenant.” Elphinstone waved him away and Kit left the office feeling contaminated. Since when did the British army stoop to such repellent tactics? But then Macnaghten was not a soldier. He was a civilian politician who thrived on intrigue; a man for whom assassinations and bribery were not in the least dishonorable. And the soldier who should have put an immediate stop to the plan was too enfeebled to do anything about it.

  “How did it go, Kit?” Bob Markham hailed him as he made his way to the stores. He listened to Kit’s description of his conversation with Akbar Khan and subsequent one with the general and the Envoy. His expression of disgust mirrored Kit’s. “Dear God,” he muttered. “Have they lost all reason? Military force is the only way to achieve superiority, and he’s talking assassination! Mohun Lal is a treacherous bastard, too. It’s just the sort of assignment to suit him.” He swung his cane in a vicious swipe at the hedge, sending sere leaves flying. “How’s the lady, by the way?”

  “Restless,” Kit said. “I ought to go home and make sure she’s not doing something she shouldn’t be. She did promise to behave with circumspection, but I don’t know whether she really understands what that means here.” He scratched his head, a
worried frown drawing his eyebrows together.

  Bob grinned faintly. “You’re becoming uncommon grave these days, dear fellow.”

  Kit looked rueful. “It’s such a responsibility, Bob. How can I be sure she doesn’t suffer for this? If Lady Sale and the other old cats get a whiff of who and what she is, she’ll never be accepted anywhere. She says she doesn’t wish to be accepted anyway, but that has to be nonsense. She doesn’t really understand what she’s saying, because she can’t imagine what life will be like.”

  “Assuming we get out of here?”

  “Yes, assuming that.” Kit’s frown deepened. He looked upward at the circle of mountain peaks, blending gray and cold with the lowering sky. And he thought of Akbar Khan. “I should have left her where she was, Bob.”

  “Matters are coming to a pretty pass,” commented his friend as they reached the stores. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you express regret for anything before. What happened to the ‘play and be damned’ Kit Ralston whom we all know and love?”

  “I think I grew bored with him,” Kit said seriously. “Look, would you do me a favor, Bob? Take my duty here. I have to go and talk to Annabel.”

  “My pleasure,” Bob said easily. “And the next time I draw the short straw with a patrol, I’ll pass it on to you.”

  “Agreed. Thanks.” Kit strode off, suddenly certain of what he had to do.

  Annabel was watching from the front window, as she had been doing for the last hour, and as soon as she saw him turn onto the street, she flew out of the house.

  “Where have you been? I have been quite distracted with worry,” she scolded, flinging her arms around him in the middle of the street. “Have you only just got back from Kabul?”

  “No,” he said. “About an hour and a half ago. Annabel, for God’s sake, get back into the house! You’ve no veil and no cloak. You cannot behave like this in the middle of the cantonment!”

  “Oh, rubbish!” she declared, stepping away from him and planting her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing green fire against her milky skin, her heavy copper plait swinging against her back. “How dare you not let me know that you were back and safe!”

  “I had to report straightaway,” he said, looking distractedly around the fortunately empty street. “Please, go inside. Anybody could be watching from a window.”

  “Let them! You could have sent me a message. Or did you assume I wouldn’t care one way or the other?”

  “I am going into the house even if you are not,” declared Kit, deciding that removing himself from the open street was the only avenue open to him at this point. He marched into the bungalow with Annabel, still furiously castigating him for his thoughtlessness, at his heels.

  “Now, stop railing at me, you green-eyed lynx,” he said, once they were behind the front door. “I am not accustomed to having people waiting and worrying about me, so I didn’t think to let you know I was back. I apologize, and I won’t do it again. Satisfied?”

  “Oh,” she said, the wind quite taken out of her sails. “I suppose I must be, in that case. Tell me what happened.”

  “I need a drink first,” he said, going into the sitting room. “Or are you going to turn the Puritan again?”

  She made no reply, but stood watching as he poured himself a shot of brandy, tossed it back, and reached again for the decanter. Then he took his hand away. “No, one’s enough.” He turned to face her. “Annabel, you have to go back to Akbar Khan.”

  Her jaw dropped ludicrously. “I have to do what?”

  He tossed his shako onto the couch. “You must go back to Kabul. He knows you’re here.”

  “I told you he would.” She spoke very quietly, and was holding herself very still now. “What did he say?”

  Kit grimaced. “Tell me, do they really use their enemies as the prize in a game of buzkashi?”

  Annabel nodded. “It is not uncommon.”

  “Are they alive?” He didn’t know why he had this fascination for all the gory details, but somehow he could not help himself asking.

  “To start with,” she said baldly. “But not for long. Did he threaten you with that?”

  “In a roundabout way,” Kit replied. “But that isn’t why you must return.”

  “I do not blame you for being afraid,” she said gently. “He is a frightening man.”

  “You are in greater danger than I,” Kit said. He bent to poke the sullen fire into a resurgence of life. “He made it very clear that if you returned to him, then he would be … generous, I think was the word. But that if you failed to do so, then the penalty for such defection would be visited upon you.”

  Annabel scratched her nose absently. “I would not expect less. But he said he would take no reprisals against you, if I were to return of my own free will?”

  “Mmmm. He would forgive an impulse.”

  “That is more generous than I expected.” She continued to scratch her nose until Kit took her hand away.

  “You’ll scratch a hole.”

  “My nose always itches when I think,” she offered with a slight smile. “I had believed that if I left you at the very beginning and returned to Akbar Khan, then he would take no revenge upon me but he would be avenged upon you, which is why I accepted initially that I could not leave you. But matters have now changed between us. If he is saying that there will no vengeance against you, I will return for that reason, and only that reason, if you wish it.”

  Kit frowned, trying to make sense of the statement. “You must return for your own sake,” he finally said. “I should never have brought you here in the first place. It was a piece of complete lunacy …” He pounded one fist into the palm of his other hand. “I have been obsessed by you, Annabel-Ayesha. And I have never learned to govern my impulses. I have always taken what I wanted, and always believed that I did no harm. But I have placed you in the gravest danger, and I would undo that.”

  She shook her head. “I am here now because I choose to be, Christopher Ralston. I told you that this morning. I will decide when or if I should leave you, when it is my own skin at stake. If we are talking of yours, then you may make the decision.”

  “Are you suggesting that I am in such fear of Akbar Khan that I would send you back to protect myself?” He sounded incredulous.

  She heard the anger beneath the incredulity. Her hands opened in a gesture of placation. “I am not suggesting anything. Just examining the issues.”

  “Oh, no, you weren’t just examining the issues. I have told you before that it is time you realized there is some backbone to the race of your birth.” His gray eyes held hers in fierce challenge, and finally she was forced to drop her own.

  “Make the decision,” she said quietly.

  “You know it is made.” He poured brandy into two glasses. “And we will drink to it, Annabel Spencer.” He held out a glass.

  Hesitantly, she took it. “A gesture of acceptance? An act of repudiation?” Her lips curved in a smile that was not humorous. “By drinking this, Ralston, huzoor, I abandon the laws of Islam and embrace those of your race?”

  “Your race,” he said, and raised the glass. “To us, Annabel-Ayesha.”

  “To us,” she returned, closed her eyes, wrinkled her nose, and drank. “Ugh!”

  Kit laughed. He fell back on the couch and laughed until he thought his chest would burst. “Sweetheart, I will never ask you to take another drop,” he promised, holding out his arms to her.

  She dropped onto his knee. “Good. There are some sacrifices I would prefer not to make. Do you want to finish this?”

  “No.” He took the glass from her and put it with his own on the side table. His hand slipped beneath her tunic, caressing the soft, bare skin. “Do you never wear any underclothes?”

  “Corsets and petticoats and drawers?” She laughed against his mouth, her breath warm and sweet as her lips brushed his. “No, Ralston, huzoor. It is not the Afghan way.”

  The tip of his tongue partnered hers for a long moment, flickering bet
ween her lips in a tantalizing dance redolent with erotic promise. Then he drew back, holding her hips lightly, his hands warmly imprinting the curve or her body beneath her silk trousers. “I think the Afghan way has certain things to be said in its favor.”

  “Must you go back to work? Or could we go to bed?”

  “We could go to bed.” He tipped her off his knee and stood up. “Bob is taking my duty for me.”

  “Oh, I must remember to thank him when next I see him,” she said mischievously. “There must be some way I can repay him.”

  “You’ll leave the repayment up to me,” Kit pronounced.

  “But I am sure I could offer—”

  “I am sure you could!” Kit interrupted her mischiefs “But I don’t find Ayesha’s game amusing, Miss Spencer.”

  “How very prudish of you,” she retorted. “I made sure you had a reliable sense of humor.”

  “I do have, but not where my women are concerned.”

  “Oh. So I’m one of your women, am I?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “How many have you had?”

  “I can’t remember. Would you please go into the bedroom?”

  “Why do you not have a sense of humor where your women are concerned?”

  “Because an ugly joke on that subject landed me in this godforsaken hole,” he said shortly, closing the bedroom door after them.

  Annabel bounced onto the bed. “Tell me.”

  “Not now.”

  “Yes, now.”

  “It’s a tedious tale, Annabel, and there are much more exciting things to do.” Catching her face between his hands, he kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the point of her chin, before bringing his mouth to hers.

  “Now tell me,” she demanded, the minute he drew back.

  “I don’t think this is the way Afghan women are supposed to behave with their lords,” Kit mused, still holding her face. “Aren’t you supposed to be utterly accommodating?”

  “I will become Ayesha when you have satisfied Annabel’s curiosity.” Her eyes gleamed a challenge and an invitation.

  Kit pursed his lips, wondering which he should accept first. They were both irresistible. “Let’s compromise,” he suggested. “Take off your clothes so that I can play with you while I tell you.”