Simon glanced back over his shoulder at Georgiana just to make sure was still behind him. It had been bad enough watching the mudslide swallow her up and carry her off. What would the Khondi do to her?
Her face was stoic, but her violet eyes echoed his own fear. Helpless to do anything, Simon felt a hard shove between the shoulder blades, forcing him to look forward if he wanted to avoid falling over his own feet.
They walked for an hour or more, passing through dense jungle and over muddy terrain. Simon’s legs were beginning to feel rubbery beneath him. He was used to physical labor, but the stress and exertion of the day were beginning to take its toll. He could only imagine how Georgiana felt, though he had no doubt she was stubborn enough to walk until she simply collapsed.
He needed to plan an escape, preferably before they reached the village. Better to face six Khondi warriors than a whole tribe. He was larger than their captors, though he supposed that meant little in the face of greater numbers and weapons. His pistol was clogged with gunk from the mudslide, so firing it would be folly. And he didn’t think Georgiana was in any condition to outrun them. He hesitated at the idea of stumbling blindly through the jungle, at night. Still, if they could—
Simon silently cursed his rotten luck. He could hear the sound of music and voices, just beyond the trees, and he knew they were at their destination. If they weren’t sacrificed immediately, they’d have to get the lay of the land and make their way in the dark.
The trees parted and Simon needed a moment to adjust to the colors and sounds of the village. Children, laughing and squealing, darted around roughly hewn huts with grass roofs. Women dressed in brightly colored skirts—some with the fabric draped over a shoulder to cover their breasts—worked together in small groups at various tasks. A few men, dressed in loincloths or skirts similar to those worn by the women, worked on the thatched roof of one house in what looked to be a repair.
As they entered the village, most people stopped what they were doing to stare at the muddy interlopers. Simon looked around, hoping for any sign of escape. Simon’s escort pushed him roughly down, forcing him to his knees. The man who’d walked next to Georgiana did the same to her.
Georgiana looked sideways at Simon. “I don’t suppose you are fluent in Khondi?” she whispered hopefully.
“I’m afraid not,” Simon murmured. “Perhaps you could use your legendary charms to good advantage here.”
“I’m not showing my best at the moment,” she said under her breath. “Though you seem to have found some admirers.”
She inclined her head and Simon followed her gaze. A trio of bare-breasted young ladies were sneaking glances at him and giggling. He and Georgiana must present quite a sight, covered in thick filth as they were. Simon raised a brow and smiled at them, drawing another round of giggles and whispers.
“They’re about to cook us for dinner and you’re flirting with them?” Georgiana snorted in disgust. “Really! You’re utterly dissolute,” she muttered.
Simon gave them a little wave. “I’m being charming.”
“You’re helping yourself to an eyeful,” Georgiana bit out.
“I’m appreciating the local customs,” Simon mused softly. “Perhaps you should be taking notes, Georgie.”
Georgiana sniffed, though she didn’t chastise him for the nickname...a small victory. Instead, she replied icily, “Perhaps you should be thinking with your head and not your—”
Simon shot her a sideway glance.
She stopped and cleared her throat. “Maybe instead of ogling naked women,” she snapped, “you could do something helpful. Like figuring a way out of here. Before dinner.”
“I am doing something helpful,” Simon argued. “I’m trying to convince these lovely young ladies to help us.” He looked back at the trio and gave a little wink, for which he was rewarded with another round of giggles. Simon noted the way Georgiana’s jaw tightened, and his grin grew.
“So, your plan is to rely on three women who couldn’t even manage to get themselves properly dressed. How reassuring,” Georgiana quipped.
“I like the way they’re dressed,” Simon said approvingly, relishing the trace of jealousy in her voice. She pulled a face at him, then shrieked as a basketful of water was dumped over her head. Simon tensed at the sound, ready to grab her, when he received the same treatment. “Bloody hell,” he bellowed. “That’s freezing!”
Wiping his eyes, Simon heard a round of interested chattering and laughter. He assumed it was coming from his earlier admirers, though he was too busy worrying over Georgiana to care. She was shivering and sputtering. He moved to help her, but was shoved away by several pairs of hands. One of their captors lifted Georgiana’s chin. He didn’t even attempt to rein in his appreciation, Simon noted with contempt. Really, he was quite transparent. The man gestured to a group of women, who came over and flocked around Georgiana. They cooed and clucked and fussed over her, and then before he knew what was happening, they were dragging her off, singing and chanting as they went.
“Simon!” she shrieked.
“Georgiana!” he hollered, rising to his feet.
Two of the men who’d hauled them into the village laughed and grabbed his arms, dragging him back to the ground. Simon wrenched an arm free and punched one man in the jaw, receiving a knee in the gut for his efforts. Gasping for breath, he struggled to stand. He was about to swing again when an elderly man hurried up, his thin arms raised.
“Your woman is safe,” he said hurriedly. “She was taken to river. To bathe.”
Simon stopped fighting and studied the man in front of him. His skeletal face was covered with tattoos, and his ears and nose were filled with dozens of small gold hoops. “You speak English?” he asked.
“Some,” he agreed. He said something in a soft croak to the two men who had tussled with Simon. They glared in response, but walked away. He turned back to Simon and patted his arm. It was a small of act of kindness, but it was enough to send a surge of hope through Simon.
“You’re not Khondi,” Simon deduced.
“If we were Khondi, you would be dead already,” he said matter-of-factly. “We are Dongari. I am Palak.”
Simon breathed a sigh of relief, and Palak gestured for him to sit.
“Dhanyabaad,” Simon thanked him. “My name is Simon Ashford.”
Palak’s eyes lit up. “You speak Oriya.”
“Some,” Simon allowed. “Though I don’t speak Dongari, I’m afraid.”
Palak looked at him, frowning slightly. “Simon Ashford,” he said thoughtfully. “I know this name,” he said. His frown lifted and he smiled, showing a mouthful of healthy white teeth. “You know Kavi!”
Simon returned the smile, sending a silent thanks to the old spice merchant. “I do.”
“I visit Kavi when I go to Cuttack. He is a stubborn old woman,” Palak said in an odd mix of English and Oriya. “But he is honest. Not all merchants deal fairly with tribesmen.”
“He overcharges me for cardamom,” Simon said with humor.
Palak shrugged. “You are British,” he said as way of explanation. “You are lucky he deals with you at all. Kavi dislikes most British. He tells me Simon Ashford is the only British he likes. He says you treat the people with respect. Most British act as though the native Indians are little better than animals. But Kavi says you are kind. He says you helped a boy rat, and now he lives with you.”
“You mean street rat,” Simon nodded. “Baljit, yes.”
“So we are happy to meet you Simon Ashford. How did you come to be with us?” Palak asked.
“Bhooskhalan,” Simon answered, using the Hindi word for mudslide. Palak seemed to understand. “We were on our way to Pipli when the rains took down a hill. Can you show us the way back?”
Palak shook his head. “You would be better served going to Pur
i. The roads will be easier.”
“Puri would be fine,” Simon said, relieved. “We can find the rest of our party from there.”
Palak patted Simon’s arm. “Puri tomorrow! We have great celebrations tonight. You and your woman will be our honored guests, Simon Ashford.”
Simon nodded his thanks. “It would be our pleasure, Palak.”
“But first, you need a bath,” Palak said, his rheumy eyes twinkling.
He gestured to the trio of young women who had ogled him earlier. They were a short distance away, busy pretending they were busy. At Palak’s indication, they swarmed around Simon, grabbing his hands and pulling him up. “My granddaughters will show you the way.”
Simon felt his cheeks turning pink, causing the girls to titter. “I think I can manage on my own, Palak,” he said.
Palak shrugged. “British sensibilities,” he said with chuckle. “For Dongari, it is acceptable for a man to have more than one woman.”
Simon shook his head, and the girls chattered around him. “I don’t need more women,” he grumbled. “The one I have is difficult enough.”
* * *
Before Simon was finished cleaning up, he’d amassed a small crowd of onlookers. Bathing with an audience of young Dongari ladies watching him from the riverbank proved to be a rather uncomfortable experience. Not that he was shy, usually, but they made no attempt to mask their interest in him. And they hid his clothes, which made him rather cross when all was said and done. He was stuck standing in the river until Palak came down and chased the girls away.
Palak was still chuckling when Simon emerged from the water. The old man handed Simon a pair of churidars, tight-fitting trousers, or what the British officers called Moghul breeches. He also gave Simon a khurta, a tunic that was supposed to be loose but proved to be rather tight across the chest.
“I think you will like this better than the dhoti,” Palak said, referring to the short skirt he and his tribesmen preferred. “We wear our festival clothes today, so you may use this until your clothes are dry.”
“My thanks,” Simon said.
“You are strong,” Palak said, tapping Simon on the chest as he struggled with the buttons. “Robust. That is why the women admire you. You will make many babies.”
Simon gave up the fight, opting to wear the shirt with the top few buttons open. “Perhaps,” he said.
He allowed Palak to lead him back to the village, scanning the huts and the crowds in hopes of catching a glimpse of Georgiana. The sly old man cast him a sideways glance and said knowingly, “She is waiting for you.”
Simon chuckled. “Rather obvious, am I?” he asked.
Palak shrugged. “She is a beautiful woman,” he said simply.
She’s more than just beautiful, Simon thought a moment later when he saw Georgiana. She was wearing the same coarse material as the village women, but somehow the effect was different. The fabric tied at her shoulder before it crossed over her full breasts and wrapped around her slender waist and the slight flare of her hips. She’d fastened a scrap of thin material around her chest for modesty’s sake, but it did nothing to conceal the luscious curves beneath. If anything, it accentuated them. He let his gaze wander lower and forgot to breathe when he noticed that her legs were bare from mid-thigh down. It took an act of great willpower not to ogle her lean, perfect legs and delicate ankles.
Simon forced himself to look up, praying she couldn’t read his thoughts. Meeting her eye wasn’t much better, he decided. Her hair, still damp from her bath, hung in thick waves around her shoulders and down her back. The whole effect was provocative. Wanton.
Introducing Georgiana to Palak proved difficult, as his head was swimming. Thankfully, Palak dispensed with formalities and was talking animatedly in Hindi and English, telling her all about life for the Dongari as they strolled through the village. Georgiana was smiling and asking so many questions that Palak struggled to keep up. For a moment, Simon worried that her incessant curiosity would offend their host. But Palak was clearly charmed, and he happily chatted with a level of enthusiasm that rivaled hers. Simon relaxed and devoted his full attention to ogling Georgiana.
She wasn’t just beautiful, Simon reflected, trying not to stare at her perfectly formed naked shoulders and legs. She was a shock to the system. He’d spent nearly every single day of the last weeks with her, and she still managed to command his senses. She was transcendent.
Georgiana may not be royalty in name, he mused, but she certainly exacted a tribute from those she conquered. She was a beautiful, alluring princess, captivating and subjugating those around her—well above the touch of an ordinary man.
His princess.
Palak ducked into a hut, and Simon’s princess turned to him. “Did you enjoy your bath?” she asked acidly.
Simon, quickly recovering his wits, nodded. “The Dongari are very hospitable.”
Georgiana narrowed her eyes. “Exactly how much hospitality did you enjoy?”
“Georgie,” he tsked. “An independent lady like yourself should not ask such questions. It makes you sound...”
“If you say ‘jealous,’” she muttered, “I will slug you.”
Simon smirked, loving that she was jealous. “I was going to say desperate.”
Georgiana practically choked on her anger. “Degenerate. Are they letting us go soon?”
“We’ve been invited to join them for a celebration this evening,” Simon explained. “They’ll show us the way to Puri tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Georgiana groused. “We can’t stay here! Jane and Grandfather must be worried sick!”
Simon shrugged. “Be thankful they aren’t sacrificing us.” At her pout, Simon let his languorous gaze rake over her curves before he added, “It’s not so bad, Princess. They gave you a shirt.”
Georgiana glared at his blatant leering. “I’m not speaking to you.”
Palak came out with a large tribesman, a man not as tall as Simon but nearly twice as wide. He wore the dhoti, and his bare chest was covered in tattoos and patterned scars. Around his neck were a series of six thick silver rings. His nose and his ears were pierced like Palak’s, though his many hoops were silver. Palak introduced him to Simon as Maahir, explaining in the odd mix of languages that he was the chieftain’s son. Simon bowed his head in respect and expressed his gratitude in English, Oriya, and Hindi.
Palak then turned to introduce Georgiana, though he needn’t have bothered. Maahir looked at her for a long moment, his face completely stoic, ignoring the greeting she was extending him, and turned back to Palak. The big man said something in guttural Dongari, pointing to Georgiana as he did. Palak shook his head, gesturing at Simon as he spoke. Eventually, Palak turned to translate. “Maahir congratulates you, Simon Ashford. He says you and your wife will make beautiful children.”
Georgiana snorted. “Wife?” she said, shaking her head. Before Simon could stop her, she announced, “I’m not his wife.”
Simon sighed, glowering at Georgiana. Palak looked at them intently. “She is your woman, yes?”
“Yes,” Simon said, at the same time Georgiana said, “No.”
Maahir looked back and forth between them. Then he unclasped the silver rings from around his neck. Pointing to Georgiana again, he said something in Dongari before offering the rings to Simon.
Simon looked at Palak, who shrugged. “For the woman.”
Not wanting to offend their host, Simon took the proffered rings and inclined his head. Maahir nodded. Then he scooped up a yelping Georgiana, threw her over his shoulder and started to walk away.
“No!” Simon shouted. Maahir stopped and turned around, giving Simon a first rate look at Georgiana’s naked legs and barely-covered derrière. Tearing his eyes from her backside, Simon looked to Palak for help. “Why is he taking her?”
“Sinc
e you did not want her, Simon Ashford,” Palak explained, “Maahir will take her for his third wife.”
“I do want her,” Simon protested. “I do! There’s been a misunderstanding.”
Palak threw up his hands. “You want the woman? Why did you sell her to Maahir?”
“You sold me?” Georgiana squeaked from over Maahir’s shoulder. “Simon, how could you?”
“I didn’t!” Simon insisted. “Well, in hindsight I suppose I did. But I didn’t mean to sell you.”
“I insist you buy me back!” Georgiana demanded.
Palak shouted something at Maahir, who glared but walked back to them and Simon offered the silver hoops. The large tribesman shook his head, grunting.
“He’s not selling,” Simon told her through gritted teeth. Damn, now what? he wondered. Forcing his voice to a calm he certainly didn’t feel, he turned to Palak. “I want her back.”
Palak shrugged. “She is not yours,” he said simply.
Simon shook his head. “She’s my fiancée,” he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Fiancée. Betrothed.”
At Palak’s confused look, Simon explained, “Wife-to-be. We were going to be married when we returned to Cuttack.”
The old man thought about this for a moment. He poked Georgiana, who was still draped over Maahir, in the thigh. “You are Simon Ashford’s wife-to-be?”
“Yes,” she agreed eagerly. “Wife-to-be.”
Palak spoke quietly in rapid Dongari, his voice sharp. Maahir argued, but after more prodding by Palak he set Georgiana down. Georgiana scurried behind Simon and peeked out at the tribesman from behind Simon’s shoulder.
Maahir puffed out his chest and glared at Simon, who handed back the silver hoops. “Sorry, old chap,” Simon said. “I saw her first.”
An Inconvenient Kiss Page 17