Juliana had returned to the tent after walking out the young lady, who was happy to have been told that a young man of the village fancied her—not difficult to guess, because Hamish was friends with the lad in question—and found Mr. Stacy sitting at the table. He’d said, “Will you tell my fortune, Mrs. McBride?” and held out his empty hand.
Stacy said now, “Are you going to shoot me, McBride? If so, get it over with. I’m growin’ too old for this.”
“I don’t have a gun with me,” Elliot said, in a chill, dead voice Juliana had never heard from him before. “But I don’t need one.”
“No, they made you a savage, didn’t they?”
The two men looked at each other, Stacy not rising from his seat.
Stacy was as tall as Elliot, but his red gold hair touched his shoulders, and he wore a short beard, somewhat unruly from his life out of doors. His eyes were pale blue but not soft—they were cool, like Elliot’s. His nose had been broken once and so had the fingers on his left hand, all healed but a still little crooked.
Stacy locked his gaze on Elliot, and Elliot looked straight back.
“He has been telling me interesting things,” Juliana said.
“I didn’t come here to kill you,” Stacy said.
Elliot didn’t answer either of them. He stood rock still, his hands at his sides, his gaze on Stacy.
“I came here to talk to ye,” Stacy said.
Elliot finally spoke, his voice cold. “Talk, is it? Ye’ve made a damn good pretense of wanting to kill me.”
“No, I’ve been watching ye. Trying to decide how to approach ye. Because I knew the minute I showed myself to ye, you’d try to kill me.”
“Give me a reason I shouldn’t.”
“I don’t have one.”
Juliana watched, her hands twined together on the table. She wanted to intervene in some way, babble that all would all be well if they only sat down and talked things through. But she also sensed that these were two very dangerous men, and for this moment, silence was best. She needed to discover the lay of the land now, offer advice later.
“If you touch Priti…” Elliot growled.
“I haven’t come for the child. I know she’s yours.”
Stacy’s eyes took on a vast sadness. He’d hoped, Juliana realized, that Priti was his, but now he knew she wasn’t. When she’d caught him looking at Priti in the kitchen garden that day, he must have seen Elliot in her, and realized.
“Then what have you come for?” Elliot demanded.
“To reconcile,” Stacy said. “Or try to. And to ask ye—beg ye—for your help.”
Chapter 24
“Ye left me to die.” Elliot’s voice was soft but clear.
Stacy’s face colored behind the beard. “I know. I can never explain to you how much I regret that.”
“I cannae explain how much I regret it.”
Stacy went quiet. Juliana saw the fear and guilt in his eyes, but he closed his mouth, a thin line behind his beard.
“Mrs. McBride,” Elliot said. “Will ye tell this man his fortune?”
Juliana remained silent, Elliot’s rage pressing on her like a humid summer night. Outside the tent children shouted, men laughed, women called to one another, and dogs barked—ordinary life in all its aspects. Inside the tent was a bubble of anger, old and new, and fear.
Juliana had dressed as a stage Romany, with silk scarves borrowed from Channan, bangles from Nandita. She’d spread a colorful silk cloth across the rickety wooden table and laid a brass bowl, into which people had been dropping pennies, at her elbow.
Stacy glanced at her then back at Elliot. Elliot didn’t move. Still looking at Elliot, Stacy slowly stretched out his hand and put it, palm up, on the cloth.
“Tell him that he will die by the hand of one he wronged,” Elliot said.
“Elliot…” Juliana began.
“Tell him.”
Juliana got to her feet, her bangles jingling. “I think, Elliot, that you should listen to him.”
“He told me he’d get them to safety and come back to help me fight. Together, we could have gotten away. Alone, I had no chance.” Elliot pressed his finger to his temple. “Because of him, I live in darkness. It waits for me every day, not wanting to let me go. Because of him.”
“Believe me, I had no idea what they’d do to you,” Stacy said.
“You have no idea what they did do. When I was screaming in hunger, they cut off bits of my own flesh and tried to force me to eat them. They thought it was funny. They also thought it funny to shove me into a tiny hole for days and days and make me sleep on my own filth.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Stacy said in a hollow voice.
Elliot’s eyes glittered, but he kept his tone even. “You were reported dead in Lahore.”
“I know that. I was nearly beaten to death there. While I lay recovering in some back alley hole, I read in a newspaper that I’d been listed as one of the dead in the quake. I decided not to dispute it, and let it be official.”
Elliot raked his gaze down his old friend’s face, taking in the broken nose, the twisted fingers. “Who did that?”
“Jaya’s brothers.”
Jaya, Juliana said silently. Priti’s mother.
“And you were in Lahore to…?”
Stacy nodded. “Hide from Jaya’s brothers. They came to my plantation with hired ruffians after she died, wanting to kill the one who, in their opinion, defiled her. I fled, choosing Lahore because I had little reason to go to that city. But they found me there, and their ruffians did me over and left me for dead. I hoped that when I was reported dead in the newspaper, they’d assume my body had been found and lumped in with the other poor souls lost in the quake. When I recovered, I left the Punjab and never returned. Had to abandon everything I had.”
“Why are you here?” Elliot asked. “Wanting my help now?”
“They tracked me. Bloody persistent, Jaya’s brothers—never offend an Indian prince. They found a boat I’d worked on and discovered that I was still alive, and where I’d gone. I left for England. There I read of your marriage and learned that you’d purchased this house. I came up here to ask you to help me go into hiding.”
“But why should you have to go into hiding?” Juliana broke in. “They would not chase you all the way from India, surely?”
Stacy gave her a wry smile. “You would be surprised, Mrs. McBride. Jaya came from one of the native states. Small principalities surrounded by British India,” he explained when he caught Juliana’s puzzled look. “Her family was related to the ruling prince. She was rebellious and ran away from home, which ruined her forever. When I married her, I brought her under the protection of British law, but her family never forgave her—or me, the blackguard who ruined her. They decided to dedicate themselves to avenging her, once she was dead. They blamed me for her death as well. But they don’t have to follow me here, in fact. They can afford to hire agents here to do the job for them.”
Elliot’s voice was cold. “So you’ve brought assassins down upon me and my family.”
“Not necessarily. I managed to elude pursuit in Edinburgh. I’m asking for sanctuary here until I can decide what to do. You can tell your friends that I’m your distant cousin from Ullapool, or somewhere.”
“No.”
The word was as hard and icy as Elliot’s eyes. Juliana rose again, supporting herself with the table. “Elliot…”
“No.” Elliot’s tight stare moved to Juliana. “I will not put my wife and my daughter in danger, nor my family and my friends, to harbor the man who destroyed my life.”
“I don’t blame ye,” Stacy said. He curled his fingers closed. “I don’t blame ye at all.”
“Get up and get out. I want you miles away by tomorrow. Don’t hide in my woods, or under my house, or above the river. I’ll give you food, water, and money, and you get yourself away by foot, or horse, or boat, or whatever you want. Cross the ocean to Germany, hide in the Orkneys—I don’t care. Just get a
way from me and mine.”
Juliana had to press her hands together to stop herself from arguing. She had a decided opinion, but she knew that if she spoke it now, Elliot would storm away and not listen.
“Juliana, go back to the house,” Elliot said.
“To the…No, I can’t. The fête…”
“How did you get in here, Stacy? Through the back wall? Then that’s how we’re going out.”
Elliot grabbed Stacy and pushed him toward the loose flap in the tent. As Stacy scrambled through, Elliot looked back at Juliana, his eyes like a winter storm. “Stay here if you won’t go to the house. Don’t move until I come back.”
He followed Stacy out, then the tent wall fell back down to silence.
Juliana sat again in a rush, her breath leaving her. She had no idea what to do—stay here? Go after them? Try to talk to Elliot? And should she?
She didn’t have lists or organized ledgers to help her deal with this. After she’d gotten over her fright of Mr. Stacy appearing out of nowhere, she’d had the idea that he and Elliot would talk, reconcile, become friends again. What had happened with Priti’s mother was years ago—Juliana liked it firmly in the past. They no longer needed to be angry at each other.
But then Elliot revealed that Mr. Stacy had been responsible for Elliot’s being captured at all. Good Lord, if that were true, Juliana wanted to shoot Mr. Stacy herself.
How could he not have helped Elliot? Though he might not have known specifically what the tribesmen would do to Elliot, Mr. Stacy must have had some idea generally. And the tribesmen might simply have killed Elliot on the spot.
But then, Mr. Stacy had felt remorse and had gone back to try to find him. At least, he’d said so.
One thing shone in crystal clarity. Elliot was in a black rage, and there was no telling what he might do. Juliana shared a bed with him, and his powers of seduction were incredible, but she could not predict his path.
Juliana made her decision. She rose and stormed for the tent’s entrance, lifting the flap to find a fresh-faced girl just reaching for it.
“Mrs. McBride, won’t you tell my fortune?” The young woman had a few grinning friends behind her. “All of us? We long for tall, handsome husbands.”
Juliana managed a smile, trying to mask her worry and rage. “I’m afraid that Madame McBride’s head hurts too much, ladies. The fortune-teller’s tent must close for now.”
“Aye, we saw Mr. McBride comin’ in to visit ye. No wonder ye look so tired.”
“I tell fortunes.” Channan’s contralto cut through the girls’ giggling. “I know how. Come.”
She signaled with a dark hand, swept her scarves around her neck, and ducked inside the tent. Juliana thanked her silently and sped off in the direction of the house.
She found Mahindar in the middle of the lawn, showing children how to throw the balls at the bottles to knock them down. “Where is Priti?” she asked.
“With Lady Cameron,” Mahindar said.
Juliana followed where he pointed and saw Priti peering at the baby Ainsley held down to her. The tall forms of both Cameron and Daniel Mackenzie stood guard behind them.
“Mahindar, please tell Lady Cameron that I want either Lord Cameron or Mr. Daniel with Priti at all times. Tell them she might be in danger.”
“In danger.” Mahindar’s eyes widened. “In danger from who?”
“I don’t know, and it might be all right, but please tell them.”
“At once, memsahib.” Mahindar dropped the ball he’d been holding and ran across the grass to the little cluster.
Juliana lifted the scarves that trailed down her gown and hurried on to the house. She found Komal in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, pots on the stove boiling, the fire high under the clay oven.
“Where is Mr. McBride?”
Komal still didn’t speak much English, but she got the gist of Juliana’s question. She pointed with the knife to the garden door and said something in Punjabi. Juliana nodded and rushed out to the gardens and down the path.
When she reached the gate, she saw Elliot returning up the path, his rifle slung over his shoulder. Elliot paused when he saw Juliana, then he came on.
“I remember telling you to stay in the tent,” he said.
“Well, I could not, could I? What did you do to Mr. Stacy?”
“What I told you I’d do. Gave him provisions and money and sent him on his way.”
“Could we not help him more? He seemed truly sorry.”
“No.” The word was as harsh as it had been in the tent. “He’s let trouble follow him here. I will not let anything happen to you, or Priti, or Mahindar, or McGregor—anyone. If that means I throw Stacy to the wolves, then I throw him.”
“It might be too late already, you know. We’ve been insisting to the Dalrymples that Mr. Stacy is alive. While I cannot picture either Mr. or Mrs. Dalrymple as assassins, they might pass information to one.”
“Possibly. Inspector Fellows told me they’re using false names.”
“There. You see?”
“I will deal with the Dalrymples.”
“The point is, anyone looking for Mr. Stacy might already be here.”
“Then it’s a good thing I sent him on his way.” Elliot took his rifle from his shoulder as they entered the kitchen, and opened it to unload it. “Where is Priti?”
“I told Mahindar to have Daniel or Cameron stay with her.”
“Good.” Elliot gave her a look of approval. “She stays either with them or with me.” He put the rifle into its cupboard, locked it, and started out of the kitchen as though ready to return to the fête.
Juliana stepped in front of him. “Elliot.”
Elliot halted, impatient. “I’ve done what I’ve done, love. That’s an end to it.”
Behind him, Komal kept chopping vegetables, watching in her quiet way. Juliana gathered strength from the woman’s silent assessment and lifted her chin.
“I want you to tell me everything that happened to you, Elliot. When you were captured, what they did, and how you escaped. I need to know everything. Please.”
She could have no idea how beautiful she was with the indigo scarf wrapped around her red hair, the blue and gold silks trailing down her shoulders. The head scarf brought out the blue of her eyes, which were now large in her ashen face.
“I don’t…”
The words I don’t want to speak of it came so easily to Elliot’s lips. So easily did they quiet the well-meaning questions put forth by his family, his friends, even Mahindar.
But Juliana had already heard what he’d spat to Stacy, the festering anguish that had welled up inside him. He’d stopped himself before he’d let worse come out—how he’d been used as a pack animal, the various forms of torture they’d tried on him simply to observe the results.
Maybe he could hold back the very worst. Elliot didn’t want to watch Juliana’s eyes change when she realized the full horror of it all. He didn’t want to confirm that the lad she’d smiled upon at her debut ball was dead and gone. Juliana had asked to marry the young man who’d charmed her into the kiss, not the wreck of a man who’d dragged her to the altar.
But he would tell her a part of it. Juliana deserved to know something of the stranger she had married, and why he’d found it necessary to cast Stacy and his plea for help away.
Elliot gave Juliana a tight nod, took her hand, and led her up the stairs to their bedchamber, where he shut and locked the door behind them.
Chapter 25
Elliot told her. He started with Jaya and the fact that at first it had been almost a ménage à trois—he and Stacy had been young and found being lovers to the same woman exciting. Jaya had preferred Stacy, and when Stacy was slow to acknowledge his feelings for her, she came to Elliot.
Stacy had returned from a business trip to find Jaya giving him an ultimatum—he marry her or she would stay with Elliot. Stacy, realizing that he loved the woman, had grown angry at Elliot, thinking he’d tried to steal Ja
ya, then Elliot stepped aside and let Jaya leave with him.
Elliot had thought that the end of the matter. He and Stacy had gone north to Rawalpindi then to the borders of Afghanistan to meet with a trader who ran on up into the Hindu Kush and beyond to Samarkand. Elliot related to Juliana the attack on the English families, the plan to get them to safety, and Stacy abandoning Elliot to his fate.
As Elliot spoke it came back to him, all the things he tried so hard to push away. The beatings, the night they’d clamped his hands to a table and calmly pulled out his fingernails, one by one. How they’d beat him with metal rods until he couldn’t stop the screams.
They’d sometimes take him out of his cell deep in the tunnels and talk to him. Elliot understood them a little—their dialect had been similar to those in the northern Punjab. They’d thought him a British spy, and asked when the soldiers would come marching. They hadn’t believed Elliot when he said he knew nothing, neither did he care.
The torture, the alternate starvation and halfhearted feeding, the sleeplessness leading to long periods of unconsciousness had nearly killed Elliot. His captors expected him to die at any moment, they said, had even shown him the pit where they’d throw his body. Wild animals would find him there and tear him apart. They threatened to throw him in even before he was dead.
Elliot talked in a monotone, relating horror after horror, his eyes closing while his lips moved. He no longer saw the room, or heard the laughter outside, or felt the solidness of the floor beneath him.
He hadn’t realized that his words had drifted to silence. His eyes remaining closed, his lids too heavy to open.
Then he smelled the rosewater soap Juliana liked so well, sensed the brush of her on his skin. Her warmth slid along his body, and still he couldn’t open his eyes or reach for her.
“I never told them about you,” he said, his lips stiff. “They questioned me and tortured me, but I never once said your name. You were mine, my secret. The one thing they could never take from me.”
She skimmed her fingers up his arm under his loose sleeve. “I don’t feel worthy of that.”
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