Veils of Silk

by Mary Jo Putney

  "Ross was in the best position for a shot, so I waited for him to take it. But he didn't fire, even when the tiger whirled and charged right at him. Ross went down, and I was sure he'd been killed. Scared the devil out of me. I took a wild shot at the tiger and missed, then went to Ross, expecting to find him in bloody pieces. Instead, he was fine. He had deliberately dropped to the ground to let the tiger bolt by him and escape."

  Ian's voice took on a tinge of self-mockery. "I was so relieved that he was all right that naturally I lost my temper and started roaring furiously at him, telling him how many kinds of an idiot he was. Ross patiently waited me out— he's the most reasonable man I know, it's his only fault—then said that he had decided that the tiger skin looked better on the original owner than it would on his wall. Besides, what kind of sport was it when he had a rifle and the tiger didn't?"

  Laura chuckled. "He may have a point."

  "So I realized after I calmed down. A tiger is a magnificent animal. Perhaps it's jealousy that makes men want to hunt them down. But as Ross said, the odds are stacked heavily in the man's favor, which isn't really very good sport. After his visit, I lost my enthusiasm for trophy hunting. I've concentrated on animals that could be eaten ever since."

  "Speaking of eating, when tigers develop a taste for human flesh, they definitely have the advantage over unarmed villagers," Laura observed.

  "That's why I'm going after this one. It's already killed about a dozen people in Nanda and the neighboring villages. This morning I'll scout the area of the water hole. In the afternoon I'll go to the machan so I'll be in position when dusk falls." Almost casually, he added, "Care to join me for that?"

  "On the machan?" she asked, startled.

  He nodded. "To avoid disturbing the wildlife we'd have to walk, but the pond is less than three miles from the village."

  Laura considered. Today Kenneth's belongings must be sorted, the bedclothes burned as a guard against possible infection, some of his possessions distributed to chosen servants and others packed to be taken back to Baipur. But none of that would take long, and when she was done, time would hang heavy on her hands. "I'd like to go. I've never been on a tiger hunt."

  "This won't be a colorful one with elephants and beaters," he warned, "but it will be quite safe, and might be interesting. Of course, it could also be deadly dull if the tiger doesn't put in an appearance."

  She watched intently as he began reassembling the rifle. He had a physical grace, a quality of being wholly in command of his body, that intrigued her. How would those deft hands feel if they touched her?

  Her face colored when she realized the direction of her thoughts; a decent young Englishwoman would never have such fantasies. Of course, she was neither decent nor English.

  How fortunate that Ian Cameron was uninterested in her, because he was the sort of man who could make female judgment fly straight out the window. In proof of which, Laura found herself saying, "Please forgive me if the question is horribly impertinent, but has losing an eye made shooting more difficult?"

  His thick brows rose sardonically. "Wondering if I'll be able to prevent you from being eaten?"

  "Of course not." She blushed again. "You did say it would be safe in the machan. And surely a tender young kid would be tastier than an old spinster."

  "I'm not fool enough to answer a comment like that." Again he gave a fleeting smile that was too soon over. "Actually, my shooting is better than ever. It made sense when I thought about it, because a marksman closes his off eye when aiming. Having only one eye simplifies the process, and it seems to increase my concentration on the target. It's fortunate that I'm left-handed. If I shot right-handed, losing my right eye might would have ruined my marksmanship."

  "How interesting that there is a positive benefit," she said, intrigued. "What are the other effects of losing an eye?"

  "Well, people stare more." He touched the eye patch. "Asiatics have an almost mystical respect for vision. To be missing an eye is to be incomplete and quite possibly wicked. Some natives make signs against the evil eye behind my back."

  "I didn't know that," she said in a small voice. "I'm sorry, it was rude of me to ask."

  "I'd rather be asked outright than have people try to avoid looking me in the face," he said, "I lost the eye as a result of a beating in prison and it was painful and a nuisance, to say the least. However, I was so grateful not to lose the other eye that I didn't spend much time cursing fate."

  He fingered the eye patch again. "I'm still adjusting to the differences. Oddly enough, though I haven't as wide a field of vision, the range has increased from what it was at first."

  He thought a moment more. "I had constant headaches at first, but they're decreasing. It is hard to judge depth and distance. Sometimes I find myself pawing the ground like a pony because I can't tell if there's a step in front of me. Don't ask me to pour a drink unless you're feeling adventurous about the results. But it's getting easier all the time."

  "There's at least one other benefit that you might not appreciate," Laura said lightly. "You look very dashing with an eye patch. When you go into society, you'll have to fight off romantic young ladies."

  His lighter mood vanished as if it had never existed. "I sincerely hope not.'' He got to his feet and lifted the shotgun and rifle. "Where do you want me to put these? Now that they're yours, you should probably keep them in your tent."

  Though Laura accepted his change of topic, his dismissal of her comment didn't change her opinion. Like it or not, the former major was fated to attract female admiration.

  How fortunate that Laura knew that marriage was not for her, or she might have been tempted to throw out some lures.

  * * *

  Ian spent a productive day acquainting himself with the water hole and the surrounding forest under the direction of Punwa, a taciturn woodsman from the village. It wasn't until they separated and Ian began walking from Nanda to the camp that it occurred to him that he felt better than he had in a long, long time.

  The challenges of the last day and a half seemed to have temporarily freed him from the dark wheel of his own misery. He was still not his old self, for the shadows of melancholy had merely retreated a short distance, not vanished. Nonetheless, for the first time he could believe that a day would come when life would again be more pleasure than pain.

  The hours he had spent in the forest had been healing. He had always loved nature, whether it was the desert, the jungle, or the beloved hills and coast of Scotland. Though not in most ways a patient man, he was capable of spending hours waiting for birds and animals to reveal themselves.

  There had been little time to enjoy the natural world since his escape from Bokhara. He had spent the previous months in convalescence and travel, and there had been no opportunity to simply be still.

  No, that wasn't true. There had been opportunity, but he had been incapable of enjoying anything.

  Ian was skirting a pond outside Nanda when a dozen wild peafowl fluttered up. The metallic blues and greens of the males shimmered with impossible beauty. They occupied an important place in Hindu myth and legend.

  But dignity vanished when the creatures began to drink. Tails tilted whimsically to the sky when they bobbed forward to dip their beaks in the water, then dropped when the birds straightened up to swallow. The flock teetered back and forth like a collection of feathered seesaws. As Ian continued on his way, he found himself smiling. There hadn't been many smiles in his life lately.

  Laura made him smile. As he resumed walking to the camp, he realized that she was the principal reason for his improved mood. He had talked more freely to her in the last day than to anyone since Pyotr had died.

  Perhaps it was because she was Pyotr's niece. Ian was intrigued by occasional gestures and turns of phrase that reminded him of her uncle. She also had some of Pyotr's character, for even in the depths of grief she was capable of humor and compassion.

  Yet he suspected that the underlying reason he felt comfortable w
ith Laura was because she, too, was suffering. Since his escape from Bokhara, Ian had learned the harsh truth behind the old proverb that misery loved company.

  The only occasion when he had felt close to another person had been the night when his sister had wept on his shoulder, convinced that her marriage was over. Juliet's pain had drawn him out of himself to try to comfort her. He had even given some advice that, Juliet later informed him, had made it possible for her to heal the breach with her husband.

  It had been much harder to be with her and Ross when they were radiantly happy. In fact, it was difficult for him to bear the company of anyone who was normal. But Laura's presence was soothing, for her pain and vulnerability were similar to his own.

  He hoped that she decided to wait for him to accompany her back to Baipur. The journey would delay his departure for Scotland for several more weeks, but that was of no real importance. He wanted to assure himself that she was back among friends before he said good-bye.

  Idly he wondered why she was so set against marriage. She didn't seem to despise men. Most likely she'd suffered a broken heart. If so, perhaps she would be willing to accept a husband when she recovered.

  He hoped so; he disapproved of such a waste of womanly warmth and charm. He also felt a responsibility for Pyotr's niece. He didn't like thinking of her living the gray life of a governess in another woman's house.

  But it wouldn't come to that. Ian might be less than a man physically, but there was nothing wrong with his judgment. Laura was the sort of woman who would always attract men eager to love and protect her. She, at least, would not need to spend the rest of her life alone.

  Chapter 7

  Laura had dressed in her custom-made riding clothing for the trek to the machan. After the major inspected her tan divided skirt and high boots, he gave a nod of approval. "A practical outfit. A pity more Englishwomen don't do the same."

  "The divided skirt was my father's suggestion," she explained as she hooked a canteen to her belt and donned her topi. "So much time is spent on horseback in India that he thought it would be better if I rode astride except on the most formal social occasions, which means hardly ever. And he flatly forbade me to wear a corset in the hot weather. He claimed that corsets were responsible for the fact that so many Anglo-Indian women are in delicate health. They can't breathe."

  "He sounds like a man of rare good sense. I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to meet him."

  Laura was sorry, too. The thought produced one of the waves of disabling sorrow that swept through her several times a day. She fell in beside Ian and they began their hike to the water hole.

  The path wound among the village fields, then through light forest interspersed with grassy meadows. The sunshine and lovely countryside lifted her spirits. Though she would never stop missing her stepfather, neither would she allow herself to be drowned by despair.

  Ian saw more with one eye than most people did with two. As they walked he wordlessly drew her attention to things she would otherwise not have noticed. In fact, his awareness of their surroundings was a product of all his senses, not only sight. It was he who heard the almost inaudible wingbeats of a brilliantly colored sunbird that hovered like a hummingbird by a flowering shrub.

  Later he pushed aside some grasses to reveal a cluster of white flowers. The blossoms looked unremarkable, but when he picked a sprig and handed it to Laura, she found that they had a sweetly haunting fragrance.

  Not all of his discoveries were so innocuous. After twenty minutes of walking, he halted and threw up one hand to block Laura's progress while he studied the forest to the left. Then he beckoned her into a protected spot among the arching aerial roots of a banyan tree, directing her gaze toward a tree about a hundred yards away.

  Obediently she shaded her eyes with one hand and peered upward, wondering what she was supposed to see. Her jaw dropped when she recognized the creature lounging among the dappled shadows.

  A leopard. The great cat's spots were near-perfect camouflage as it sprawled lazily along a branch, paws and tail drooping with the boneless ease of a child's rag toy.

  When the rasping voice of a leopard sounded right next to Laura, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She gave a strangled gasp and whipped her head around, fearing to find that a leopard had dropped onto her companion.

  To her amazement, she discovered that Ian was making the sounds. Bemused, she glanced back at the real leopard, wondering how it would react.

  Slumber disturbed, the cat's head shot up and its ears cocked forward. After a moment of intense listening, it flowed silently down the tree trunk and vanished in the grass.

  Nervously Laura watched the rippling stalks that indicated that the panther was coming to investigate what it clearly thought was a rival. She didn't believe that Ian would allow either of them to be eaten—but apart from cocking the hammer of his rifle, he seemed remarkably unconcerned by the fact that a dangerous predator was stalking them.

  After a taut minute had passed, the leopard emerged from the high grass a dozen feet away from Laura and Ian. Whiskers twitching and body low, it hesitated and swung its head back and forth, sniffing curiously as it tried to locate its fellow.

  When its gaze reached Ian and Laura, the furry face took on an expression of near-human shock. The leopard's reaction was so comical that Laura almost laughed aloud. The beast looked like a vicar enraged by the discovery of a frog in the baptismal font.

  Hackles rising, the cat spat furiously at the man who had the impudence to speak like a leopard. Then the beast whirled and bounded away with fluid, heartstopping grace. In the blink of an eye, it was gone.

  Laura discovered that she was holding her breath, so she exhaled shakily. "What was that all about?"

  Ian gave her the closest thing to a real smile that she had seen yet. "I thought you might be interested in seeing a leopard. Lovely creature, wasn't he?"

  "Yes, but I prefer cats that aren't large enough to eat me," she said with asperity.

  "We were in no danger. Look how he ran away when he saw that we were humans."

  Laura arched her brows. "Are you going to try to convince me that leopards never attack humans?"

  "No," he said as they resumed their progress. "But killing humans is an aberration. Men talk about the law of the jungle, but animals seldom kill except for food." A hard edge entered his voice. "Humankind could learn a great deal from them."

  Ahead a flock of green bee-eaters whirled away, disturbed by the approaching humans. Laura looked not at the birds but at her companion, and at the slight smile on his face as his gaze followed them upward.

  "Did you know that if you sit and watch for an hour almost anywhere in India, you can usually count a hundred species of birds?" he said. "I used to make a game of it. Once I counted one hundred seventy-three breeds in an hour."

  Laura felt a rush of sympathy so intense it threatened to choke her. What had it been like for a man with such love of the outdoors to be locked in a dank, filthy hole without sunshine or flowers or birdsongs? It must have been hell in the truest sense of the word.

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked, "Why didn't you go into the forest service instead of the army? You know more about the Indian countryside than anyone I've met here."

  "I probably would have been wiser to do that, but to an energetic eighteen-year-old, civilian duty sounds dull." He gave her an ironic glance. "I was mad keen to go into the army and defend the empire from the heathen. The young lack a proper respect for life." He checked the angle of the sun. "Time to stop loitering. The woodsman, Punwa, will be waiting for us."

  Another ten minutes of walking brought them to their destination. The machan was a crude platform a dozen feet above the ground, built in a tree that gave a clear view of the water hole. The builders had placed it downwind so that human scent would not disturb the animals that came to drink.

  Ian linked his hands together to provide a foothold for Laura, and she scrambled up to the platform. He himself waited on t
he ground until Punwa arrived with the kid that was to be used as bait.

  After the small creature was tethered and the woodsman had left, Ian swung easily up to join Laura. "The man-eater is an old male with a bad paw and a distinctive limp. Punwa says that a young tigress sometimes comes here as well, but she has never attacked a human. So if a tiger shows up and I don't shoot, it will be because it's the wrong one."

  "Won't she eat the kid?"

  "Probably. We'll have to hope that the right tiger comes. Even if he doesn't, we'll have plenty of company." He settled down with his back against the tree trunk, rifle and ammunition convenient to his left hand. "It's interesting. Since all animals need water, they usually observe a water hole truce. Creatures that are enemies elsewhere will ignore each other when they're drinking."

  They both fell silent. Though it never would have occurred to Laura to choose to spend a night watching a pond, she found the ever-changing cavalcade fascinating. A suspicious, quick-eyed jackal trotted up to the far side of the pond and lapped its water at the same time that several of the graceful spotted deer called chital were drinking near the kid.

  As the jackal left, a troop of exuberant rhesus monkeys romped up, acting much like a human family pick-nicking in the country. They were soon followed by a chattering flock of parakeets, the noisiest of the pond's visitors. Some of the visitors showed mild curiosity in the kid, but none disturbed it.

  Interesting as the parade was, Laura found herself distracted by Ian's closeness. The machan had room for two people, but only just, and their shoulders almost touched. Her senses heightened until she was conscious of his slightest movement. While her gaze might be on the dive of a little blue kingfisher, all head and beak, her skin prickled with awareness of her companion's breathing, and the warmth of his body.

  For eight years she had tried to forget the magic of a man's touch, but Ian was making a shambles of her resolutions. She wanted to reach out and embrace him, bury her face against his throat and taste the salt of his skin.