An Inconvenient Kiss

by Carole Kimberly

  Maahir snatched the silver from Simon’s hand, grousing in Dongari. Simon wished he understood the tribal language, because whatever he was saying didn’t sound nice.

  Palak nodded. “Maahir says you both have a claim on the woman.”

  “No,” Simon shook his head.

  Maahir said something that sounded suspiciously like a threat, then spit on the ground by Simon’s feet. Palak spoke softly to Maahir, clearly trying to soothe the larger man’s bruised ego. Maahir folded his arms across his chest. He shook his head and argued stubbornly with Palak. Finally he pointed to Georgiana.

  Palak gestured wildly with his thin hands, clearly growing frustrated with Maahir’s pouting. “Maahir wishes to challenge your claim.”

  Simon looked Maahir directly in the eye. “No,” he repeated, drawing himself up to his full height. “My woman.” Simon took a step toward him, fists clenched.

  Palak hurriedly stepped between them. “You will answer his challenge,” he said to Simon, “or you forfeit your claim.”

  Georgiana sniffed behind him. “This is preposterous! Grown men snorting at each other like a pair of enraged bulls.”

  “Miss Phillips,” Simon snapped, turning to poke an angry finger at her. “If you don’t stop talking, right now, I will let Maahir keep you.”

  Georgiana huffed and crossed her arms, but stopped grumbling.

  “I accept his challenge,” Simon said to Palak, all the while looking Maahir in the eye. “Um, what is it?”

  “Mallayuddah,” Palak said simply.

  “Agreed,” Simon declared.

  As they followed the two Dongari, Simon glanced at Georgiana—who was gripping his arm so tightly it hurt—and answered her silent question. “Mallayuddah is something like catch wrestling.”

  “Oh,” Georgiana said softly. She looked at Maahir and then back at Simon, obviously comparing their girth and finding his wanting. Her lips thinned. “Don’t you have anything else with which to buy me back? Your pistol perhaps?”

  Simon frowned at her clear lack of confidence. “I am keeping my pistol,” he told her stiffly.

  As they walked from one end of small village to the other, curious villagers began trailing behind them, chattering excitedly. Several children gathered at Maahir’s elbow and shouted what sounded to be encouragement. Simon trudged behind Palak and Maahir, assessing the large man he was about to grapple. He was no match for the other man’s brute strength. He hoped Maahir’s mass would slow him down, providing a little bit of an edge.

  They stopped at a large circle outlined by rocks on the edge of the village and Simon grimaced as he watched the chieftain’s son flex his muscles. Maahir handed his sliver rings to the man Simon had punched in the jaw.

  Simon turned to Georgiana, who appeared pale. “Perhaps you’d like to spare me a few broken bones and just marry Maahir?” he joked. “He seems a decent enough fellow. Bit brooding and hot tempered, but I’m sure he’s a good provider.”

  Georgiana looked at him as though he’d sprouted horns.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Simon muttered. He removed his khurta and watched Maahir for a moment, deciding how best to approach this particular fight. A direct attack was not the best tactic. He was tired and battered from the mudslide and the hike. He needed to get Maahir off balance. Even so, he mused, this was going to hurt.

  Georgiana was going to pay dearly for this.

  The architect of his imminent pain was oddly quiet, he realized. “Before I do this,” he said, turning to face her “if I do this, we need to make a few amendments to my expectations of your time in Orissa.”

  “Hmm,” she mumbled. Her eyes were skating across his bare chest and abdomen, so he planted his fists on his hips and stayed silent until she met his gaze. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson at being caught eyeing him. “Wait. What?”

  “New rules,” he stated. “First, may I remind you that you agreed to say you’re my wife whenever we’re outside the cantonment? I expect you to follow through with that—no matter how angry you are with me. We wouldn’t be in this mess if your pride hadn’t gotten in the way, and I swear this is the last time I save your sorry hide if you willingly cross me.”

  “Fine,” she agreed pertly.

  “Second,” he continued. “During your stay in Cuttack, you’ll listen to me without question when it comes to your personal safety. That means you’ll run when I say run, you’ll climb when I yell climb, and you’ll stay at the cantonment when I command it. No more heading off on adventures unless I approve—not even for your grandfather.”

  Georgiana narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not my lord and master.”

  He glared at her. “I’m getting into this ring to wrestle a man nearly twice my weight so that you don’t have to live the rest of your ornery life in the jungle. I believe that gives me a proprietary claim over you, provided he doesn’t break my neck.”

  She huffed but nodded. “Fine.”

  “Furthermore, I want you to admit that you do need me, at least in this.”

  Georgiana looked as though she had swallowed a bug.

  “Ask me for my help,” he smirked. “Graciously.”

  “You’re making this rather difficult,” she said tightly.

  Simon shrugged. “If you’d prefer to make pretty babies with Maahir...”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” she groused. Composing herself she began, “Mr. Ashford—”

  “Simon,” he corrected.

  Georgiana sighed. “Simon,” she started over. “Help me.”

  Simon shook his head. “Graciously,” he mocked. “You might try something like, ‘Simon—gloriously brave and handsome Simon—I desperately need you to save me from my own wretched foolishness.’”

  “Simon,” she said through her teeth, “I. Need. Your. Help. Please.”

  “It’s a start, I suppose.”

  “Are you finished?” Georgiana asked.

  He turned to eye Maahir, who had entered the circle and was waiting for him. Simon cursed and turned back to Georgiana. “If I win, I get to see you naked,” he announced matter-of-factly.

  “No!” Georgiana said, mortified.

  Simon loved that her cheeks were turning pink. Gesturing to Maahir, he said, “If he wins, he’s going to see you naked whether you agree or not. Why shouldn’t I?”

  Georgiana scowled. “You are a British gentleman, not a Dongari tribesman.”

  “That hardly seems fair, does it?” he pointed out. “I’m doing this for you, after all. He could very well kill me.”

  Georgiana sighed. “I’ll consider it,” she finally relented.

  “Really?” Simon asked brightly.

  “No!” she said.

  He looked Georgiana straight in the eye, his tone serious. “Georgie, if something happens to me I don’t want you running blindly through the jungle. The marines will be looking for us, so it should only be a matter of days before they find you. If you do run, go early in the morning, an hour before daybreak—two at the most. Follow the river as much as possible. Puri should be a day’s walk northeast. Just promise me you won’t travel during the heavy rain, and for your own sake, watch where you’re walking.”

  She nodded solemnly. She looked over at Maahir then back to Simon. Something clouded her expression. “Simon, I...well, I think you’re being terribly brave,” she told him softly, “even if you’re also being terribly stupid. I really don’t want you to get hurt.”

  He grinned at her, knowing that was as much a declaration of feelings as he’d ever likely get from the practical Miss Georgiana Phillips. She was about to say something more, but apparently he’d left the crowd waiting too long. Georgiana reached for him as several pairs of hands pushed him into the ring.

  Palak explained the rules in both Dongari and English. “No
hitting and no kicking. The first man to take his opponent to the ground three times is the victor. You may end the match, however, if your opponent submits.”

  He looked apologetically at Simon. “You submit by tapping the ground three times. Or if you pass out. Maahir knows he should not break your neck, but he sometimes forgets. The winner gets the British woman.”

  Simon nodded. Maahir grunted his assent. Palak shook his head, but dropped his hand to start the fight.

  Maahir lunged at Simon with a fleetness a man that size should not possess, barely giving him a chance to move out of the way. So much for any speed advantage, Simon sighed. This was going to be harder than he thought.

  In an instant, Maahir flew forward and Simon braced for the impact. Maahir went low, and Simon managed to hook his elbow around the large man’s neck. Before he could squeeze, however, Simon felt himself lifted up and onto Maahir’s shoulder. “Bloody hell,” Simon cursed. He hit Maahir’s ear and clawed at his neck, gripping tightly and hoping to disrupt the forward momentum enough that the force of the coming impact wouldn’t kill him.

  Maahir grunted against Simon’s efforts, heaving him to the ground an instant later. Pain exploded throughout Simon’s body, and although he tried protecting his skull when he landed, his head actually bounced. Thankfully the rains had softened the hard dirt into thick clay, somewhat tempering the blow. Even still, Simon saw stars. He lost his breath in a huge whoosh, and it was only by some miracle that he managed to maintain consciousness and twist away before Maahir’s meaty fist came smashing down.

  The Dongari were shouting and cheering and hooting. Palak had stepped inside the circle and was lecturing Maahir, presumably about his bad sportsmanship. Simon used the break to catch his breath and shake off the stars. He was lucky, he mused sardonically, as the concussion was probably mild.

  “Maahir gets the first fall,” Palak announced. The villagers cheered. Regrouping, Simon moved back to his starting position. Palak said something to Maahir that made the big man frown. He glared at Simon but nodded.

  Palak gave the signal to fight and this time Maahir wasted no time. He charged at Simon like a wild boar, going low again and knocking them both to the ground. Simon rolled as he landed. He didn’t quite get far enough away, unfortunately, because Maahir’s foot lashed out and caught him in the gut. As he doubled over, another kick came flying at him. Simon moved in time to avoid a direct kick to the face, though Maahir’s heel did catch his ear. Sharp pain burst through his head and Simon wanted to retch.

  Palak once again intercepted Maahir before the any further damage was done. Simon dragged himself to his feet and caught his breath, holding his ear and wishing that the world would stop spinning.

  Again Palak announced the score. “Second fall goes to Maahir.”

  Simon glared at Palak. “I thought you said no hitting or kicking,” he accused. “He seems to be doing both.”

  The old man shrugged. “Maahir will not listen. He says he does not have to follow the rules with you because you are not Dongari.”

  Simon snorted, more to stall for time than out of anger. “Apparently the British are not the only people who treat others unfairly.”

  Palak’s mouth flattened at this accusation. He said simply, “No rules. One more fall and Maahir is the victor.”

  He announced this to the villagers, and the crowd cheered at this news. Simon felt his stomach drop. “No rules?” he asked. Palak nodded.

  Simon looked at Georgiana, who had by now turned white as a sheet. There was genuine fear in her eyes, but for a fleeting moment, Simon thought he saw something more. Of course, it was more likely that he was seeing things due to a head injury rather than any real passion from Georgiana.

  Simon looked first at Maahir, then to Palak. “No rules.”

  Palak gave the signal and Maahir flew forward. Simon dove out of the way, forcing the bigger man off-balance before scooping up a handful of clay. With a yell, he threw it into Maahir’s eyes.

  As Maahir yelped, Simon lunged, thrusting his fist into his opponent’s throat. He didn’t hesitate to take another swing, punching Maahir in the groin. He swung again, hitting him square in the gut as he hooked the top of his foot on the back of the Maahir’s ankle. He kicked the tribesman off his feet. Simon kicked him in the jaw, wincing at the crunch it made, then threw himself down and planted his legs across Maahir’s chest.

  Grabbing Maahir’s wrist, Simon pulled it to his chest and forced his opponent’s thumb up. With his opponent’s arm trapped between his thighs, Simon pushed his legs down hard and leaned backward, hyper-extending Maahir’s elbow.

  “Submit,” he grunted.

  Maahir was sweating from the pain. He shook his head and struggled feebly. Simon shifted his leg and brought it down hard on the man’s stomach. Maahir gasped, panting for breath.

  Simon gripped tighter and squeezed his knees together. He leaned farther back this time, grimacing as Maahir yelped in pain. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said through gritted teeth. “Submit.”

  Maahir flailed, trying in vain to break away. Simon retaliated by squeezing his legs even tighter to apply more pressure to Maahir’s arm. The tribesman cried out.

  “Submit, damn it,” Simon ordered. The thought of breaking his arm made Simon sick to his stomach.

  Finally Maahir tapped the ground three times with his free hand. Simon released him and stood up. His heart was racing and he registered that his legs were shaking. In truth, he felt as though he’d just run ten miles through the jungle muck. He offered his hand to Maahir, who grudgingly took it.

  “Simon Ashford is the victor,” Palak announced, patting him heartily on the back.

  The crowd closed in on Simon, chanting and cheering. Too tired and too unsteady to fight the human tide, Simon allowed himself to be swept along in the excitement. His blood was pounding in his ears, and everything seemed rather fuzzy. It was as though he were no longer part of his own body, an unmoored ship flowing with the current.

  Out of nowhere, Georgiana appeared before him. The crowd pushed them together, patting him on the back, touching Georgiana’s hair, and swarming all around them. She looked up at him, still shaken from the bout, and Simon blinked.

  Georgiana was staring at him with those intoxicating eyes of hers, and Simon just barely stopped himself from swaying into her. Abruptly he found his anchor and returned to himself. He braced himself for the scathing put-down that typically followed any display of masculine prowess conducted in Georgiana’s presence.

  Instead, she threw her arms around his bare neck and clung to him, heedless of the mud and the crowd. He ignored the hoots and taunts of the surrounding Dongari and hugged her back, allowing himself to sink into her softness and warmth. Whether she was holding him up or he was keeping her up was impossible to tell. Simon was beyond caring.

  She smelled as exotic as she looked—like sandalwood and flowers—and he gave up the struggle of keeping his hands to himself. He stroked her back, her shoulders, tangling his grip in her hair, loving the silky feel of it under his fingertips. He wanted to stay just like this, with her, forever.

  He felt her trembling in his arms. Of course, that might be his own shaking. “Are you crying, Princess?” he asked.

  “No,” her voice cracked. “Maybe. I thought he was going to kill you,” Georgiana said into his chest. “You might have been killed and it would have been my fault.”

  Simon reluctantly let her go and tilted her chin up so he could see her face. Mud covered the cheek that had nestled his chest, and her hair was muddy from his hands. The violet of those splendid eyes was so rich, they looked as dark as the midnight sky. There was a warmth to them that he’d only glimpsed on the rarest of occasions—after kissing her, he realized. Simon knew then he’d caught her without any of the walls she built up as protection. Her thoughts, her feelings, lay complete
ly bare and vulnerable.

  What he saw gave him goose bumps.

  He stroked her jaw with his thumb, leaving a thick line of mud in its wake. “I’m fine, Georgiana,” he said. “Really. I landed on my head, so no damage done.”

  Georgiana gave a shaky laugh. “Are you sure? He threw you awfully hard.”

  He nodded, letting her caress his cheeks, his jaw. “I’m fine, love.”

  “Where did you learn to do that?” she whispered. “I’ve never seen a gentleman fight so dirty.”

  “Fighting for your life during war has some benefits,” Simon said wryly. “And I was the catch-wrestling champion of our local fair three years running, much to my father’s dismay. Ashfords never fight fair if we can help it.”

  “Oh God, I was so scared, Simon,” she babbled, throwing herself into him again. “If anything happened to you, I—”

  He felt the exact moment Georgiana withdrew from him. She stopped whatever she was going to say and exhaled. Disentangling herself, she stood upright, looking away for a moment to regain her composure. When she looked at him again, her face was shuttered and the warmth in her eyes had dissipated.

  Disappointment and longing coursed through him with such force that it made him want to howl.

  “Is your vision all right?” she asked, her ragged tone the only indication of any deeper feeling. Her eyes were cool once more and she methodically began checking his skull for injury. “Do you have a headache? Do you think anything might be broken?”

  “I’m all right, Georgie.” Simon felt his lips twitch in spite of himself. His practical princess had returned.

  Georgiana frowned a bit as she continued her examination. “I don’t know what you find so amusing, Mr. Ashford. And stop calling me Georgie.”

  Simon allowed himself to grin unabashedly. “I was just thinking,” he said slowly, “that I’m very thankful to be alive.”

  Chapter Ten

  After Simon had bathed for a second time and Georgiana had wiped away the mud from her face and arms, the Dongari began their celebration with music and a beverage Palak called kallu. Georgiana surmised from the old man’s description of the collecting and fermenting processes that the whitish liquid was a type of palm wine. She and Simon sat together and allowed the Dongari to lavish them with cups of the sweet liquid. Georgiana was feeling quite muzzy when the women came to take her away from Simon’s side.