Nine
I knew I shouldn’t have gone out riding without an escort, but there was so much on my mind that I had felt I simply had to get away by myself for just a little while. I had left the house immediately after breakfast without telling anyone of my plans, had gone directly to the stables and asked the groom to saddle the chestnut mare. For over an hour I had been riding wildly over the grassy plains with the wind tearing at my hair and stinging my cheeks. Exhausted now, I dismounted and led the mare toward a cluster of large rocks with a gnarled tree growing beside them, spreading a thin patch of shade. The sky was a pale yellow-white, and from the position of the sun I figured it must be after ten.
“There, girl,” I said, tethering the mare to the tree. “We’ll rest for a while.”
I stroked her jaw and gave her a lump of sugar I had brought along for her. She whinnied in delight, stretching her neck. The vigorous exercise had stimulated me, and I felt keenly alive, all lethargy vanished. I sat down on one of the tannish-gray rocks, relishing the solitude. All around me the land stretched in bleak monotony broken only by an occasional twisted tree or a pile of boulders like this one. I could see the line of hills in the distance, and the heat waves were already beginning to shimmer visibly. I might have been the only person in the world.
I thought about what had happened yesterday in the bazaar. I had discussed it with Sally, and she had been incredulous. If Ahmed had escaped the massacre, why hadn’t we seen him the next morning? I must have been mistaken, she assured me, and I had finally had to agree with her. The Indian youth I had seen had borne a striking resemblance to Ahmed, true, and he had been wearing similar clothes, but it simply couldn’t have been him. I had never seen him close up. He had been built like Ahmed, had had the same handsome, arrogant features, but he had probably been some sly village youth who had been watching me hoping he might have an opportunity to snatch my bag, afraid to come too close because of Corporal Burke. I realized that was the only explanation, and Sally agreed.
I spread out my blue riding skirt and leaned back against the rock. It was so peaceful here, so calm. It was good to be away from everyone. Breakfast had been uncomfortable, Reggie complaining vehemently about having to go on the tiger hunt, Dollie trying to soothe him, telling him it would be an exciting experience for “the girls” and adding that the relaxation would do him a world of good. Reggie snapped that he wouldn’t be able to relax a minute and complained that Michael should have been able to find some way to put the rajah off. Sally said she was personally looking forward to it. I kept silent, remembering my experience with the rajah and, like Reggie, not at all enthusiastic about going. Dollie asked Reggie if he had decided who would be included in the party. He grumbled and fussed, saying he would think about that later. Dollie said she certainly hoped Michael would have returned in time to go along, as his presence would help considerably.
I brushed a strand of hair from my temple, thinking about Michael and that passionate kiss he had given me yesterday morning. I remembered those fervent lips covering mine, those strong arms crushing me against his hard, powerful body. There had been nothing gentle about that kiss. It had been decidedly ardent, and it had proved that the cool, rather reserved officer could be as exciting a lover as any of those I had encountered in the pages of novels. He had been charming and gallant that first night at the dance, but it had been all on the surface, automatic, a role he played because it was expected. He had been preoccupied at the time and, with the exception of that afternoon by the stream, had treated me ever since with a warm, polite courtesy that was pleasant but hardly stirring. He had been holding back, but he hadn’t held back yesterday. I had glimpsed a different Michael, bold, reckless, determined to take what he wanted.
I could never be happy as an army officer’s wife. Michael knew that. He intended to leave the military. He told me he had plans, that he wasn’t yet prepared to discuss them. I had sensed an undercurrent of excitement when he spoke about them. They were big plans, he had said, and I wondered what they could be, why he had been so evasive. He had said he could make me happy. I was beginning to believe he could. I missed him already. I missed that warm smile, that quiet manner, that attentiveness that made me feel so important. Having glimpsed a new side of him, I wanted to discover more. He was an enigma, complex, full of hidden depths that were vastly intriguing. I knew that when he returned our relationship was going to take on a whole new dimension. That rough, impassioned kiss had proved it. Michael was no longer going to hold back out of consideration of my feelings. He wanted me, and he was going to employ a dynamic approach to try and win me. I still wasn’t certain about my feelings, but I was already anticipating his return, just as he had intended.
The horse began to neigh and move about restlessly. I looked up to see what had disturbed her. On every side the brownish-green grass waved in the breeze like a moving sea, and there was nothing else in sight but the occasional tree, the clusters of rock. Then I saw the horseman on the horizon, silhouetted against the yellow-white sky. I stood up, alarmed. As he drew nearer I recognized the magnificent black stallion. Robert Gordon tugged on the reins, slowing the horse to a walk. He stopped a few yards away, looking at me with dark, angry eyes, his mouth a severe line.
“What if I were a Thug?” he asked harshly.
“But you’re not,” I replied.
“What if I were a thief, a villain, a cutthroat?”
“Are you?” I asked sweetly.
“You’re a bloody little fool, Miss Gray. I thought you had more sense. After all that’s happened you come riding out here all alone. I suppose you didn’t give a thought to what might happen.”
“What I do is none of your business, Mr. Gordon.”
“The commander must have been out of his mind letting you do something like this.”
“Reggie knew nothing about it. I—I slipped off.”
“I just happened to go by the stables to check my horse. I noticed the mare you always ride was missing, so I questioned the groom. When he told me you’d gone off without an escort, I could hardly believe it. I’ve been riding all over these bloody plains looking for you, imagining God knows what.”
“Here I am, safe and sound.”
“It’s no joking matter!”
He was seething with anger. I could see him fighting to control it. He glared at me for a long moment, and finally he shook his head in exasperation. Swinging one leg over the saddle, he slipped off the horse with that pantherlike grace I had noticed when he was in his native disguise. He was wearing brown leather knee boots and a suit of corded tan tweed, the jacket hanging open to reveal a white shirt and the dull orange scarf tied loosely about his neck. A dark brown hat with a wide brim protected his face from the sun. As he moved slowly toward me he seemed to emanate power and authority, his presence so vital and commanding it was like an invisible force crackling in the air around him. He stopped a few feet away from me, resting his hands on his thighs.
“I could brutally assault you,” he drawled. “I could strangle you to death. No one would ever know. You’d simply disappear without a trace.”
“I trust those aren’t your intentions.”
“Don’t get clever with me, Miss Gray. I just might forget myself and give you the thrashing you deserve for pulling something like this.”
His anger was under control now, but there was an undeniable menace in his voice. I realized with horror that he was perfectly capable of carrying out his threat. I remembered the way he had shoved Sally to the ground and pulled me roughly over to the horse that day he had come upon us in the desert. Robert Gordon was no polite, considerate gentleman. He wouldn’t hesitate to strike a woman. I glared at him rebelliously, defiant, refusing to be intimidated.
“You don’t frighten me,” I snapped.
“No?”
“Not in the least!”
“You’re headstrong, impulsive and far too independent for your own good, Miss Gray. Most girls your age, with your background,
are sitting in parlors with their embroidery.”
“Are you implying that that’s what I should be doing, Mr. Gordon?”
“God forbid.”
“I’ve always had freedom to do what I wished. I—”
“I’ll wager you can’t even cook,” he taunted.
“I’ve never had to,” I informed him. “I’ve been far too busy translating the Latin poets and studying Greek philosophy. I happen to believe that women have as much right to an education as a man.”
“Greek philosophy isn’t going to do you much good when we’re living in a tent in the middle of the Sahara desert.”
I didn’t deign to reply to that absurd comment. His anger had vanished completely now, and those dark, glowing eyes seemed to be filled with something akin to amusement. He stood there with his legs spread apart, hands still resting on his thighs, and a wry smile played on his lips. He was enjoying himself, enjoying my obvious discomfort. I couldn’t be near the man without experiencing a whole series of tumultuous emotions, anger foremost among them. That arrogant, aloof, lordly manner made me want to lash out at him, and it took a great struggle to maintain any sort of composure when he looked at me with such cool mockery in his eyes.
“You don’t even have a pistol,” he remarked.
“Of course I don’t!”
“What if there were a cobra coiled under that rock?”
I stepped aside gingerly, glancing back at the rock. Robert Gordon was considerably amused. I didn’t find it at all amusing and told him so in no uncertain terms. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a long revolver with a handle of polished horn.
“Ever use one of these?” he inquired.
“Certainly I haven’t.”
“If you’re going to go gadding about like this, it’s high time you learned. Here, take it.”
“I wouldn’t touch—”
He thrust the revolver into my hand, and then he stepped behind me and placed both his arms around me, guiding my hand with his own. I tried to pull away, but his arms tightened, holding me prisoner. There was nothing I could do but lean back against him.
“You hold it like this—” and he wrapped my fingers around the gun in the proper grip—“with your index finger on the trigger. Don’t pull it! Not yet. You take aim, looking along the sight.”
“The sight?”
“You are dim, aren’t you?” He indicated the sight. “You hold it thus, until the sight is centered on what you want to hit—in this instance, the rock over there in the grass. Is it in your sight?”
“I think so.”
“This isn’t a game, Miss Gray. Your life could depend on this.”
“Mr. Gordon, this is—”
“Shut up! All right, take aim. Got the rock in your sight? Now you squeeze the trigger.”
I squeezed. The explosion was deafening. The chestnut mare reared up on her hind legs and squealed loudly. The more sophisticated stallion continued to nibble at the grass, unperturbed. The impact knocked me back against his chest. His chin rested just above my right shoulder. I could smell leather and tobacco and a strong, male odor of sweat and skin.
“Did I hit it?”
“Nowhere near,” he replied. “We’ll try again.”
“This is utterly ridiculous. I have no intentions of—”
His arms tightened about me in a brutal grip, and he leaned forward until his lips were inches from my ear.
“You’re going to learn to use a pistol, Miss Gray. In fact, you’re going to become a crack shot. You may as well resign yourself. I’ll keep you here all day if need be.”
“You’re hurting me!”
“Let’s have another go at it. Take aim this time. That rock’s no more than thirty feet away. You couldn’t possibly miss it.”
I did. I missed it three more times in a row, although the bullets did seem to be getting closer. Gordon was growing more and more impatient, and there was a distinct edge to his voice when he spoke.
“If you don’t hit that bloody rock this time, Lauren, I’m going to believe you’re deliberately trying to miss it, and if I believe that I’m going to be very, very angry. Do you understand me?”
“Damn you! I can’t help it if I keep missing!”
“You’d better not miss this time,” he said ominously.
“I don’t know how you expect me to hit anything with you holding on to me like this.”
“Aim!”
I aimed. I pulled the trigger. The rock shattered, chips flying in every direction. I was startled—and vastly pleased with myself.
“Now are you satisfied?”
“Not at all. A child of five could have blown that rock to pieces the first go round.”
He released me and, taking the pistol, carefully reloaded it and put it back inside his jacket, thrusting it into the waistband of his trousers. He had been holding me so tightly that I felt stiff and sore, and I felt curiously elated as well, pleased with my accomplishment. Although I would never have admitted it to Gordon, the lesson had been exceedingly stimulating.
“You’ll do better tomorrow,” he told me.
“Tomorrow?”
He reached up to adjust the brim of his hat, slanting it down on one side. It made him look quite dashing. With the pistol concealed under his jacket, he might have been a highwayman getting ready to pull a job. His expression was bored, his voice a casual drawl.
“Since you seem determined to take these morning rides, and since your soldier boy is no longer here to accompany you, I’m taking the job. We’ll continue with the lessons each morning.”
“And what will Mrs. Simpson have to say to that?”
“I was wondering when you were going to bring her up.”
“I—I saw you with her at the bazaar yesterday.”
“I saw you, too, and your expression was one of pure moral outrage. In answer to your question: Mrs. Simpson won’t say a word. It’s none of her business what I do.”
“You bought her a bracelet—pure silver. She clung to your arm like she owned you. She—”
“I don’t intend to discuss Valerie Simpson with you, Lauren. I have my reasons for seeing her.”
“I feel quite certain you have. It doesn’t take a great deal of imagination to guess what they are. You can forget about escorting me on my rides, Mr. Gordon. I’ve just decided to give them up.”
“You’ll be at the stables at nine-thirty in the morning,” he told me. “I’ll be waiting. I suggest we start back to the garrison now before I do you bodily harm. I’ve exercised considerable restraint up till now, but I’m fast losing my patience.”
Chin tilted haughtily, I marched over to the mare and untied the reins from the tree. Cool, dignified, ignoring him entirely, I put my foot in the stirrup and swung myself up, only I didn’t go up. My foot slipped and I went down with considerable impact, landing on a particularly sensitive portion of my anatomy. Robert Gordon didn’t say a word, nor did he make any attempt to come to my aid. He simply gazed at me with a bored expression. Catching hold of the stirrup, I pulled myself up and brushed off my skirt. If I had had the gun in my hand at that moment I would have shot to kill, and I felt certain I wouldn’t have missed.
We returned to the garrison in silence, Gordon immersed in thought and apparently unaware of my presence on the horse beside him. When we reached the stables I quickly dismounted, handed the reins to the groom and hurried away without a word, picturing in my mind the anger and frustration Robert Gordon was going to experience the following morning as he waited and waited and I failed to appear. I had every intention of giving up the rides. I would find something else to occupy my time. The man was insufferable, and it was unthinkable that I should deliberately spend time with him. He could wait all morning long, but it would do him no good. I wouldn’t be there.
As my riding skirt had been unfortunately soiled by my tumble, I was wearing a pale tan dress sprigged with tiny rust red and brown flowers and miniscule black leaves, a highly becoming garment
that really wasn’t at all suitable for riding. I had brushed my chestnut hair until it gleamed with silvery highlights, and as I approached the stables I was confident that I had rarely looked better. Robert Gordon was leaning casually against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, and he didn’t seem at all surprised to see me. I gave him a cool nod, and, ignoring me, Gordon called for the groom to bring the horses.
In the days that followed, I was cool and exceedingly formal, treating him with a polite indifference frequently difficult to maintain. I was determined to retain my dignity at all costs. Gordon treated me with a curious combination of weary impatience and surly disdain, that mockery always lurking just beneath the surface. I could tell that he considered me a foolish girl, and that irritated me, but somehow I managed to keep my poise, even when he was berating me for being so awkward and clumsy with the pistol. At other times he was remote, deeply immersed in thought and completely ignoring me. His harsh face would be fierce then, his scowl causing a little hump of flesh to swell above the bridge of his nose.
Dollie was absolutely horrified when she learned that I was going out riding with him each morning. It was unsuitable, she claimed, most unsuitable. I told her that I had been out riding with Michael and failed to see how my riding with Gordon was any different. There was all the difference in the world, she protested. Why, the man was openly carrying on with Valerie Simpson, it was the talk of the post, and heaven only knew what terrible things he might do to an innocent young girl. Reggie’s reaction was near apoplexy, and I found myself championing Gordon against both of them. For some reason their ardent disapproval made those early morning rides all the more exciting.
Danger at Dahlkari Page 18