The feast would begin in early afternoon with dancers, jugglers and other entertainers. Afterwards, bearers would bring the opal out on a palanquin, parade it past the bleacher for all to see, and place it on display in front of the prince until the animal fights were over, when a winner would be announced. Rashid Ali Khan did not present the opal as either the Burning of Troy, or the Kalki-Avatar, so they assumed he didn't know what he had, other than the largest, most brilliant opal ever to come into his possession. A stone they were certain he had no intention of losing, whether to the owner of a victorious tiger, or inadvertently to a British lord and a half-Hindu woman. Fireworks, feasting, passing of the opium pipes, and more entertainment would follow the animal fights and continue into the night.
But well before then, Elizabeth and Damon would be gone.
They'd also learned things about the prince that made Elizabeth's flesh crawl. The man derived great pleasure from forcing animals to fight to their deaths, witnessing, with gusto, the bloodshed from the savage combat. As during other such occasions, the prince and his guests would watch the cruel spectacle from the bleacher while passing around opium pipes and feasting on the most sumptuous of delicacies. And while they delighted in their decadence and debauchery, below in the fighting enclosure, handlers with iron-tipped staves would prod the animals, while sending one of them to certain death.
It was also said that the prince had eunuchs who used similar tactics to force women into doing unspeakable acts for the prince's sexual gratification. Damon expressed great concern over this, but Elizabeth would not be dissuaded from going. Damon greatly underestimated her. If she were captured, Prince Ali Khan would not get to her without first encountering the fight of his life. But it wouldn't come to that. The key to succeeding was patience, something she'd learned from the gypsies. Then she remembered that there would be at least one other gypsy attending the feast for the same reason as she. So ultimately, it would come down to which of them was the cleverest, and which had the most patience.
Two days before Rathayatra—and three days before their agreement would run out—Damon picked up the bogus stone. Damon gave the man a bonus because he'd done such a masterful job. He'd ground a piece of quartz into a stone the size of a hen's egg, then injected dyes into tiny holes drilled into it's core. Unless the stone could be viewed closely, and in bright light, the switch would not be detected. Luckily, Rashid Ali Khan's feast and horse fight would take place at night, and in torchlight.
***
Crouching in the shadows beside Damon, Elizabeth watched the vehicles as they pulled up to the side entrance to Rashid Ali Khan's compound. When the moment was right, they'd slip inside. Ironically, they wore the garb of pirate king and gypsy queen—costumes that would enable them to gain entry with the other entertainers. Instead of the breeches, however, Damon wore baggy black pants, which were tucked into high black boots. Once inside, they'd shed the garments for others. They'd be shedding them, that is, if their plan worked. Elizabeth refused to dwell on how many things could go wrong.
Damon took her arm, and said, "Let's go in with this group." Rising from their crouched positions in the shadows of surrounding woods, they fell in step with the entourage that had exited several vehicles and were funneling into the compound. Elizabeth held tight to Damon's hand, partly because she didn't want to be separated from him in the rush of performers making their way into the palace enclosure, but mostly because, for the first time since she'd parroted vows that bound her legally to Damon, it felt right to be holding his hand. She had no explanation for it though—nothing had occurred to change things since their heated exchange at dinner two weeks before, and she'd made her feelings clear about where they stood, after she'd come out of Istvan Czinka's wagon. Perhaps it had something to do with their common goal, and the danger they would be facing together to attain that goal.
As they waited in the corridor with the other entertainers, Elizabeth moved in front of Damon so she could see what was happening. For a few minutes he just stood behind her, saying nothing. But she knew he was close because she could feel his breath wafting against the top of her head. Then his arms came around her from behind, closing together over her stomach, and he bent over her shoulder and said against her ear, "Whatever happens here tonight, Elizabeth, know that I care about you."
Uncertain how to respond to Damon's unexpected remark, Elizabeth said, with humor, "To make sure nothing does happen we'd better find the palanquin bearers so I can get out of this costume, or else I might start behaving like a gypsy queen again."
Damon pressed his hands against her belly, pushing her into him so she could feel a distinct hardness. "Something already has happened," he said, "but at least I don't feel like I'm packed into a damn fishnet like I was in those bloody pirate breeches."
Elizabeth had no idea why, but somehow the verbal sparring no longer had the caustic edge to it as before. Placing her hands over his, she tipped her head back, and said, "Does that mean you're giving me permission to behave like a gypsy queen?"
"No." Damon drew her closer to him and kissed the side of her face. "It means I'm giving you permission to behave like a wife."
Elizabeth said nothing. The change in the dynamics of their liaison was alien to her, and she wasn't sure she was ready to assume the role of wife, if that were truly what Damon was implying. It could just be a ploy to help get her through a stressful night. And in the end, it was the opal Damon was after, not a wife. It had not been so long ago that she'd been reminded that mistresses didn't make demands on a man because they could be replaced if they did. She also knew that if Damon ever did take a wife to have and to hold, she would be one whose lineage would make her suitable for bearing the heir of Lord Edmund Damon Carlisle, Earl of Westwendham. She was most definitely not that woman.
They funneled, along with the entertainers, out of the long corridor and into a large room, where it appeared they were to wait. Some lowered themselves to the floor, while others practiced their acts. Taking Elizabeth's arm, Damon ushered her to a dusky corner and said, "You do have your knife, don't you?"
Elizabeth patted her leg with its leather sheath. "It's right here." She gave him a seditious smile. "Is this your way of telling me I've been exonerated, that you no longer worry about my slipping a knife between your ribs?"
Damon's hand still on her arm, he replied, "It's not knives slipping between ribs I'm worried about, but something else slipping between… something else."
Elizabeth knew only too well of what he spoke. They'd come dangerously close to consummation the night of the masquerade ball, and the thought of flesh enclosed by flesh in the most intimate way a man and woman could pleasure each other haunted her day and night. Especially night, when she was alone in her bed, wondering what it would have been like to have experienced that final thrust, and know that Damon would have, by piercing her maidenhead, bound them together physically, spiritually and legally...
"Some of the entertainers are going into the enclosure now," Damon said, "so it won't be long before the prince will be ready for the palanquin bearers. They should be waiting close to where the animals will be released, so we'd better make our way there."
"You're right," Elizabeth said. "And we need to get there before Istvan Czinka's contact does, although I have no idea who, in this crowd, that is." She scanned the faces for someone with swarthy skin and gold glittering from an ear. But what caught her notice was a small, hideous man with a gaunt body draped in a dhoti, a head wrapped in a red turban, and owlish eyes that kept returning to her. A Bengal monkey, wearing a red hat, sat on the man's shoulder while studying an object held between his tiny palms. But when his master raised a hand and snapped his fingers, the monkey dutifully passed the object to the man. Elizabeth also noted a snake charmer, with a caged mongoose and a covered basket that would contain his cobra. The man had a certain look. A determined set to his mouth, intense eyes that appeared to be taking in everything around him. Istvan might have sent both men. But she recognized neit
her.
Damon looked at her, curious. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
Elizabeth told him about the two men. But when she turned to point them out, the man with the monkey was gone. But the snake charmer was in plain view, sitting cross-legged on the floor, prepared to lift the lid on his basket. "If he turns his cobra on us," she said, "I'm carrying a vial of serpentina, something I got in the habit of doing when travelling with the gypsies."
Damon eyed her curiously. "You just happen to have it with you tonight?"
Elizabeth shrugged. "Just a precaution. I knew we'd be going through heavy undergrowth to get down to the river afterwards, and since snakes are always on the roam looking for water during the dry season, they're likely to be in the brush near the river."
"I hope it doesn't come to that," Damon said. "The effects of serpentina are almost as bad as the snakebite. Where are you carrying the vial?"
"It's tied to the lacings on my camisole." Elizabeth patted her chest.
Damon glanced at her hand, then said, "We'd better find the bearers and get on with things. But we need to figure out where we are first." He pulled a folded paper from the pocket of his breeches. Elizabeth peered down at the diagram, as Damon said, while pointing, "We're here, so if we go down this corridor we should come to some rooms that open onto the area outside the animal enclosure that runs in front of the bleacher. The bearers should be in one of these rooms, waiting to enter just before the start of the animal fight."
Elizabeth studied the diagram, noting the long corridor from which numerous rooms branched off. "The problem will be trying to explain to anyone we meet on the way why we're there, since we're obviously not handlers, footmen or coolies."
Damon shrugged. "We're lost."
"A quick response," Elizabeth said. "You'd make a good gypsy."
Damon gave her a rueful smile. "One gypsy in the family is enough."
His comment caught Elizabeth up short. She'd never considered them a family. The notion had the odd effect of bringing tears welling.
Damon looked at her, baffled. "What's wrong?"
She blinked away the tears. "Last minute nerves," she replied.
Watching until the time was right, they made their way toward the corridor on the diagram. As was their luck, it was unlit, and they were able to negotiate the passageway silently, and unnoticed. When they came to the end, they found one room cast in dim light. Just inside, the palanquin bearers were sitting at a small table, passing an opium pipe back and forth between them. A palanquin padded in velvet, and holding an ornate glass box encrusted in jewels, which undoubtedly contained the Burning of Troy, sat on the floor off to the side. The men were unaware of being watched. "Are you ready?" Damon asked.
Elizabeth's throat was too dry to respond . While planning for this moment the day before, they discussed the tactic they would use in subduing the bearers, and from her actions at the horse fair, Elizabeth convinced Damon that she was up to it. But now, as she stared at the scene before her, she was not so confident she could carry out her part.
"Elizabeth?"
She jumped with a start as she felt Damon's hand on her arm.
"You take the smaller one," Damon said. "He's obviously feeling the effects of the opium. I'll take care of the rest." He kissed her then and rushed into the room...
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rushing, binding, gagging and blindfolding the men happened so quickly, the poor blokes didn't have a chance to respond. But when Elizabeth went to snatch the opal from its jeweled box resting on the palanquin, she found the box empty. Hooking an elbow around the neck of the smaller of the men, she held her knife to his throat and said, "Where is the opal?"
The man shrugged.
Damon took the knife from Elizabeth, held the man in his own vise grip, pressed the blade to the man's throat until it drew a thin line of blood, and said in a commanding voice, "You've got three seconds to tell us where the opal is or I'll slit your throat."
Eyes wide with fright, the man nodded in the direction of a small leather trunk. Elizabeth rushed over and raised the lid and found inside, a small pasteboard box. When she opened it, the Burning of Troy peered out at her like a living breathing thing. If she could take it and leave, she would, but before they would have time to flee with it, the prince would be expecting the bearers to parade it in front of the bleachers and place it on display. He was waiting for the bearers now, and guards were posted everywhere in preparation for the presentation of the opal, so they had no choice but to continue with their plan.
"Hurry and switch stones," Damon said in an urgent voice. "We need to get out there."
Elizabeth raised her skirt and untied a pouch lashed to her leg. After exchanging the bogus opal for the Burning of Troy, she placed the false stone in the jeweled box on the palanquin and closed the glass lid over it. While keeping the men gagged and blindfolded, Elizabeth untied their hands and feet long enough for Damon to strip them of their tunics and trousers, then rebound the men. While Damon dragged the men, bound and gagged, into a storeroom, Elizabeth turned her back and hastily slipped off her skirt and blouse, then stepped into the trousers of the smaller of the bearers. But when she put on the man's tunic, Damon looked at her in alarm, and said, "You need to bind your breasts or we won't get away with this."
Elizabeth looked down, and said, "But I have nothing to bind them with."
Damon caught sight of her skirt. "You won't need this now." He ripped a wide panel from it. "Raise your elbows," he demanded.
"I can bind my own breasts." Elizabeth snatched the fabric and holding it over her camisole, attempted to wrap the cloth around herself. But each time she tried, it fell away.
After a third try, Damon barked, "Give me the damn cloth and raise your arms."
"Fine!" Elizabeth snapped. "But I need to retrieve the vial of serpentina so you don't bind it against me where we can't get to it." She started fumbling with the lacing on her chemise that held the vial, but the tiny silk cord had knotted and she could not untie it.
"Bloody hell!" Damon barked. He snapped the lacing, leaving the camisole gaping open, and shoved the vial of serpentina into the pocket of his trousers. When Elizabeth went to pull the garment together, he said, "Raise your arms and let's get this done!"
"Fine!" she clipped, irritated to be trapped in such a compromising situation, knowing the reaction if would cause Damon, and her response. Something neither of them needed right now. She lifted her elbows and stood rigid while Damon wrapped the cloth around her. "Not so tight," she groused. "I can hardly breathe."
"Sorry, but I'm trying to get the job done. It's not easy for me to bind your breasts without holding them and kissing them, and the quicker it's done the better." He shoved the end of the fabric between her breasts to hold it secure, then looked at her, and said, "You're my wife, Elizabeth, and I still want you as much as I ever have." He reached for her face.
Elizabeth tipped it from his touch. "No, I am not your wife, Damon. Our marriage is simply the means to an end. Don't try to make anything more of it." And that was the plain, simple truth. He'd made that clear on the steamer, and nothing had changed. Whether half-British, or half-Hindu, she was still nothing more than a posh-rat, a woman unworthy of living among gypsies, and unworthy of bearing the heirs of a British earl, which Damon would prove himself to be, once they recovered the opal. She was only worthy of being a man's mistress.
But that would change when Shanti Bhavan would become hers. The jute would bring in enough money for her to live well, as an independent woman, and she'd be no man's mistress or wife. She did not need a man in her life.
Damon snatched up their clothes, tossed them into the trunk, and shut the lid with a thud. "Then let's get on with this so I'll have my opal, you'll have your plantation, and we can have this marriage annulled and go our separate ways." He started removing his shirt.
Elizabeth said nothing. Damon's words expressed exactly what she wanted, but hearing him say them was like having a cloak of de
spondency settle over her. But she could not dwell on that now. Time was running out. Snatching up the tunic, she slipped it on, then replaced the scarf she'd tied around her slicked-back hair with the bearer's pugree. After spreading a thin layer of brown bistre on her face, she was satisfied that she would pass as a young, male bearer. She was also certain that the prince would not be familiar with his lower male servants. But, whereas the clothes of the smaller bearer fit her reasonably well, the tunic of the larger stretched tight across Damon's thick chest and broad shoulders, and Elizabeth saw him grimace as he struggled to fasten the pants over his distended male part. "I don't need this tonight," he grumbled, tugging at his crotch. "I'm hard as hell from binding your breasts and no relief in sight."
"Maybe the prince could use another eunuch." she quipped. "I'm sure it could be arranged. It would solve your problem, and it certainly would solve mine, at least for the next two days. Your male problem has been nothing but trouble for me since the start of this sham of a marriage. I have been forced to look at it, and hold it against my will, and almost lose my virginity to it, but not for much longer."
Damon looked at her soberly, and said, "If you'd let me bed you properly as your husband, Elizabeth, you would not feel that way. I'd make it good for you."
Why his words affected her, Elizabeth didn't know. But it made her want to put her arms around Damon and tell him she'd lied, that the sight of him thrilled her and aroused her and made her feel things she'd never felt before. But most of all, she wanted to tell him that if he were emasculated, he'd never be able to awaken that private pleasure in the only way she wanted him to do it now. Instead, she said, "I think we need to get going."
The muscles in Damon's jaws bunched. "Right."
They lifted the poles onto their shoulders and made their way down the long corridor toward the area beneath the bleachers. There, they paraded before to the cheers of an opium-inebriated crowd, then set the palanquin on a raised platform in front of the prince and stepped aside. As Elizabeth and Damon watched, the prince eyed the opal through the glass lid. Brows drawn, he leaned toward the box and raised the lid with one tapered finger and eyed the opal yet more closely. The man sitting beside him also bent over the stone, and the two of them seemed to be discussing it. The prince shook his head slightly, as if in doubt, then he reached out to lift the stone from the box, but just as his fingers closed around it, the man beside him passed him the opium pipe, and the prince reached for it instead. After taking a long slow puff of opium, he settled back and closed his eyes. After another long draw, the stone seemed to have been forgotten. And Elizabeth and Damon took their places at each end of the palanquin, where they would remain until the animal fight, at which time they'd discreetly make their exit.
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