The Tiger Prince

by Iris Johansen

  The mulatto suddenly sliced out with the machete.

  Ruel easily avoided the parry and gave a low, pleased laugh. “At last. You were beginning to bore me, Barak.”

  “Don’t just stand there.” The woman, Mila, grabbed Ian’s arm. “You said if I brought you to him, you would help. Barak will kill him.”

  “He certainly appears to be trying,” Ian murmured. He had been told when he had arrived in town a few hours earlier that she was only one of the gold camp’s whores, but she was clearly emotionally involved with Ruel. The circumstance did not astonish him. Drawn by those wicked good looks and careless, joyous paganism, women had gravitated to Ruel’s bed before he had reached puberty. However, Ian was surprised he felt no fear the woman’s prophecy would prove true. This Barak towered almost seven feet and his bull-like musculature made Ruel’s five-foot-eleven physique appear childlike in comparison. Yet Ian felt Ruel would have no more trouble defeating him than he had the bullies who had taunted his brother as a child. “I believe we’ll wait and watch awhile. Ruel never liked me to interfere in these matters.”

  The giant mulatto made another lunge, and Ruel’s torso arched catlike as the blade just missed digging into his belly.

  “Better,” Ruel laughed. “But not good enough. God, you’re clumsy.”

  Barak roared with anger and lunged again.

  But Ruel was no longer there.

  He had danced with lightning swiftness to the left, and a red slash suddenly appeared on Barak’s side. “As clumsy with the machete as you are at dealing from the bottom of the deck. I could teach you a bit about both.” He circled the huge man with the quickness of a mongoose with a cobra. “But I don’t really think it would be worthwhile. I hate to waste my time, when you’ll be dead soon anyway.”

  Ian stiffened, jarred back to the realization that this was no childhood fight that would end only with black eyes and scraped knuckles. He turned to the woman. “I think we’d better go get the local magistrate to stop this.”

  She gazed at him in bewilderment. “Magistrate?”

  “The law,” he said impatiently.

  “There’s no law here,” she said. “You must stop it. Barak wants Ruel’s claim. He cheated only to make Ruel angry enough to fight so he could kill him.”

  Ian muttered a curse as he looked around the crowded bar. God knows he was no more equipped to step into this battle than he had been for Ruel’s boyhood frays at Glenclaren, but he could see no help would be forthcoming from any of the roughly dressed men sitting at the tables in this disreputable hovel; the miners were staring at the two combatants with only amusement and a curiously hungry look distinctly more sinister in nature.

  Yet it was becoming evident Ian must do something. He could not permit Ruel to commit murder even in self-defense.

  Barak lunged again and Ruel whirled away. A long, bloody cut suddenly appeared on Barak’s upper arm.

  “You’re beginning to bore me, you son of a bitch,” Ruel said.

  Ian recognized the signs; Ruel was toying with Barak, but he was beginning to get impatient and would soon go on the offensive. He would have to do something—

  Barak had drawn blood.

  Ruel had been a tenth of a second too slow, and Barak’s machete had grazed his rib cage.

  “Excellent.” Incredibly, Ruel nodded with approval. “You should always take advantage of an opponent’s overconfidence. Perhaps your wits aren’t as thick as I thought.”

  “You lied to me. You do nothing.” The woman beside Ian released her death grip on his arm. “Don’t you understand? He helped me. He made them—and you will let him die while you stand there and watch Barak—” She darted across the room toward the two men circling each other.

  “No!” Ian moved forward, grabbing a whiskey bottle from the table beside him. He heard a shout of protest from one of the miners at the table and murmured, “I do beg your pardon, but I may need this.”

  Ruel was laughing again, but Ian could detect the slightest hardening in his expression. He was not foolish enough to ignore the warning of Barak’s pinprick and would move to finish it now.

  “Barak!” Mila jumped on the giant’s back, her wiry arms encircling his thick neck.

  Ruel stopped, disconcerted, and then started laughing again. “Get off him, Mila. He’s having enough problems.”

  Barak shook himself like a sodden bear and broke Mila’s hold. She fell to her knees on the floor.

  Barak whirled toward her, the machete raised.

  “No!” The laughter vanished from Ruel’s expression. “Me. Not her, you bastard. You want me.” He lunged forward and the tip of his dagger drew a thin red line on the back of Barak’s neck. “Do I have your attention, you stupid ox?”

  Barak cursed, whirled back to face Ruel, and took a step forward.

  Ruel balanced on the balls of his feet, his blue eyes glittering wildly, his nostrils flaring. “Now, you thieving son of—”

  Ian stepped forward and said quietly, “No, Ruel.”

  Ruel froze. “Ian?” His gaze flew from Barak to Ian, his eyes widened in shock. “What the hell are—”

  Barak sprang forward, and the machete sliced into Ruel’s shoulder. The blade had been aimed at his heart. If Ruel hadn’t spun away at the last moment, it would have cleaved his chest as it had his shoulder.

  Ian heard the scream of the woman kneeling on the floor, saw Ruel’s face contort with pain, and acted without thinking.

  He took a step forward, lifted the whiskey bottle, and brought it down with all his strength on Barak’s head.

  Glass shattered; liquor sprayed.

  The giant grunted, tottered, and fell to the floor.

  Ruel swayed, his knees began to buckle.

  Ian stepped forward and caught him before he could follow Barak to the floor.

  “Why—” Ruel stopped, flinching as pain washed over him. “Dammit, Ian, why the hell are—”

  “Hush.” Ian shifted his hold and picked Ruel up in his arms as easily as if he weighed no more than a child. “I’ve come to take you home, lad.”

  As soon as Ruel opened his eyes he realized he was back in his own shack. He had lain looking at the stars through those cracks in the ceiling too many nights not to recognize his surroundings even through this haze of feverish pain.

  “Awake?”

  Ruel’s gaze shifted from the cracks to the man sitting by his cot.

  A long, aquiline nose, wide mouth, bright hazel eyes set deep in a face saved from homeliness only by humor and intelligence. Ian’s face.

  “You’re going to be fine. You’ve had the fever, but you’re mending nicely.”

  Ian’s brogue fell pleasantly on Ruel’s ears, and for an instant he felt a sharp pang. He rejected the thought that it might be homesickness. Christ, it must be the fever. He had gotten over any maudlin yearnings for Glen-claren the first six weeks after he had left. He whispered, “What are you doing here?”

  “I told you.” Ian dipped a cloth in a bowl of water by the bed. “I’ve come to take you home.”

  “You almost took me home in a coffin. I’ve always told you to stay out of my way in a fight.”

  “Sorry. I thought it time I took a hand. You were in a temper, but you didn’t really want to kill that lummox.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  Ian wrung out the cloth and laid it on Ruel’s forehead. “Killing is a mortal sin. Life is much easier when you’re not forced to carry around those kinds of burdens. Do you wish a drink of water?”

  Ruel nodded, then studied Ian as he reached down and filled the iron dipper from the bucket beside his stool. Ian was in his middle thirties now, but Ruel could see little change brought by the years. The big, loose-limbed strength that had enabled Ian to lift Ruel as if he weighed no more than a feather was clearly still there, as was the neatly barbered black hair, the slow, deliberate way he moved and spoke.

  Ian brought the dipper to Ruel’s lips, holding it steady while he drank thirstily. “There�
�s stew in the pot on the stove over there. Mila made it only a half hour ago, and it should still be warm.”

  Ruel shook his head.

  “Later, then.” Ian returned the dipper to the bucket and gently wiped Ruel’s forehead. “This Mila appears to be very loyal to you.”

  “In a hole like this you cling to the people you can trust.”

  “I assume you’re bedding her? She did try to take that machete for you.”

  Ruel smiled with genuine amusement. “I admit I have a certain talent in that direction, but even my conceit won’t permit me to think a woman would risk being beheaded by a machete to keep me between her legs.”

  He deliberately changed the subject. “But she’ll keep an eye on me until I’m better. You don’t have to stay.”

  “Are you sure you won’t have something to eat? It will strengthen you and I’d like to be able to travel in a fortnight.”

  “I’m not going with you.”

  “Of course you are. What do you have here? Mila tells me Barak has recovered and taken over your claim.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Ruel muttered.

  “Probably.” Ian grimaced. “But I admit to being glad he occupied himself stealing from you instead of wreaking vengeance on me.”

  “You should have thought of that before you interfered.”

  “Possibly.” He smiled faintly. “Particularly as you weren’t able to fight my battle for me as you did when we were boys.”

  “You were never merciless enough. You could have bested anyone in the glen, but you never learned to go for the jugular. You can’t let anyone—”

  Ian interrupted. “I suppose the minute you’re on your feet you’re going to go after Barak and try to retrieve your property?”

  Ruel thought about it. “No.”

  “Very sensible.” Ian tilted his head to study Ruel’s expression. “But not at all like you. As I remember, you always believed in taking an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.”

  “Oh, I still do,” Ruel said. “But these days, when the issue isn’t important, I sometimes let fate exact vengeance for me.”

  “Which means?”

  “The claim here was played out a week ago.” He smiled with supreme satisfaction. “I’m going to enjoy thinking about that bastard breaking his back working that claim and getting no more than a pouch of gold dust for his trouble.”

  “I see.” Ian paused. “Then your gold mine was another failure like Jaylenburg?”

  Ruel stiffened. “What do you know about Jaylenburg?”

  “Just that you staked a claim, stayed there for six months, and moved on.” Ian dipped the cloth again and wrung it out. “You’ve moved on a good deal. Australia, California, South Africa …”

  “You seem very knowledgeable.”

  “Not really. I paid a young man to find you, but he always managed to just miss you until Krugerville.” He shook his head as he laid the cloth on Ruel’s forehead. “You’re not a boy any longer. You can’t chase rainbows for the rest of your life.”

  “I’ve never chased rainbows.” Ruel smiled faintly. “I was always after the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, never the rainbow itself.”

  “Gold.” Ian pulled a face. “You always told me that you’d find your gold mine and become the richest man in Scotland.”

  “And I will.”

  “You ran away from Glenclaren when you were only fifteen and haven’t found it yet.” “How do you know?”

  Ian glanced around the crudely furnished hut and then up at the cracks in the ceiling. “If you did, you’ve become more miserly than old Angus MacDonald.”

  Ruel found his smile widening. “And how is the charming Maggie MacDonald? Did you ever wed?”

  Ian shook his head. “You know Margaret has her duty to her father. She will not wed while he needs her by his sickbed.”

  “Still? Good God, at this rate you won’t be wed until you’re both doddering on the grave.”

  “It will happen as God wills.” Ian changed the subject. “What is Cinnidar?”

  Ruel stiffened, his gaze flying to Ian’s face. “Cinnidar?”

  “It seems to be on your mind. You kept repeating it while you had the fever.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, just the one word … Cinnidar.”

  Ruel relaxed. “It’s not important. Just a place I visited once.”

  “You’ve visited too many places. It’s time you came home and put down roots.” He paused. “Father’s dead.”

  “I know. I got your letter.”

  “You didn’t answer it.”

  “There was no point. He had stopped being important to me years ago.” He added, “So had Glenclaren.”

  “And me?”

  “You were Glenclaren.”

  “I cannot deny that.” Ian smiled. “I love every pond, stone, and moth-eaten tapestry of the old place.”

  “Then go back there.”

  Ian shook his head. “Not without you.” He looked down at the floor, and the next words came awkwardly. “It was not because I did not have love for you that I didn’t come after you while Father was alive. I knew he was wrong and treated you badly. It just seemed … difficult. I have always regretted that—”

  “Guilt?” Ruel shook his head. “For God’s sake, I knew you always walked a fine line between the two of us. I didn’t expect anything of you.”

  “I expected it of myself.”

  For an instant Ruel felt a rush of warmth as he looked at Ian. Affection? God, he had thought those gentler feelings had been burned out of him years before. Affection was dangerous, and it was far safer to skate on the surface of emotion than plunge into that quagmire. He said deliberately, “But then, you always were a fool.”

  “Aye.” Ian smiled gently. “But foolishness or not, I mean to give you back your place at Glenclaren.”

  Ruel stared at Ian with exasperation mixed with helplessness. Ian had always felt guilty about their father’s treatment of Ruel, and now it seemed he was determined to put things right. Ruel was too familiar with his brother’s dogged obstinacy not to realize Ian, once set on a course, would not give up. “Why should I go back? There’s nothing I want there.” He could see no softening in the resolution hardening Ian’s features, and for the first time realized Ian might actually become a problem. Christ, he had a hell of a lot to do in the next few months, and he didn’t need Ian plodding behind him, trying to lure him away from his goal. “Dammit, I don’t want you here.”

  “Unfortunate.”

  “You’ll get in my way.”

  “Only until we board the ship. I’ll leave you alone once we’re on our way home.”

  “I’m not going to Glenclaren. When I’m well enough to travel I’m going to Kasanpore.”

  “Not to this Cinnidar?”

  “Let’s say Kasanpore is a way station on the way to Cinnidar.”

  Ian frowned. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of this Kasanpore.”

  “India. The city of Kasanpore is the primary residence of the province ruled by the Maharajah of Savit-sar.”

  Ian shook his head. “You’ll be much better off at Glenclaren than traipsing off to another heathen country.”

  “I’m going to Kasanpore,” Ruel said through his teeth.

  Ian gazed at him for a moment before sighing in resignation. “You have sufficient funds for this journey?”

  “The claim produced exceptionally well for over three months. After I give a small nest egg to Mila, I’ll still have enough for my purposes.”

  “Good, then you can afford my company. Unfortunately, Glenclaren is still as land-rich and pound-poor as it was when you were there. I’ll go with you and wait until you tire of this foolishness.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ll wait some more.”

  “Ian, dammit, I have something important to do in Kasanpore. I don’t have time to—”

  “God will provide the time,” Ian said tranquilly as he stood up
and moved toward the stove. “But you can tell me all about your business in Kasanpore later. I’ll get you a bowl of stew and you must stop this arguing and eat. As I said, you’ll need your strength for the journey.”

  Kasanpore, India

  May 6, 1876

  “A good evening to you, Miss Barnaby. Has no one told you that foreign ladies should not be in this section of town after dark without protection?”

  The tone was low, smooth, but an underlying menace darkened the words. Jane’s heart lurched and then sped to breakneck pace as she glanced over her shoulder. Only a few yards behind her she saw Prince Abdar and the beautiful young man, Pachtal, who had accompanied him when he had come to question her at the site. Dear God, she had thought she was being so careful, and yet tonight she hadn’t even realized she was being followed!

  She responded instinctively, breaking into a run, flying down the dark, deserted street.

  It was too late. They’d been too close. Before she reached the corner, a powerful hand gripped her shoulder and spun her around.

  Abdar stood before her. His handsome young companion moved behind her and grabbed her arms, forcing her to drop the knapsack she carried as he pulled both her arms up behind her.

  “It’s not courteous to run away when I wish to speak to you,” Abdar said as he set the lantern he carried down on the ground. “I think we must chastise her for that discourtesy, Pachtal.”

  Jane bit her lower lip to keep back a scream of agony as Pachtal lifted her left arm and twisted it. Prince Abdar’s smooth, childlike face framed beneath the white turban swam through the tears stinging her eyes.

  “You were most uncommunicative when we had our little discussion a few days ago. I thought it best we have a more private interview. Now, where is Kartauk?”