Revolutionary Hearts (6 page)

“Because if you do…” He pushed aside a tree branch and looked back over his shoulder at her. “I’ll give you any information you want.”

“What?”

“Plans to strike down rebellions. Hidden armories. Places where the independence movement will find wealthy sympathizers willing to donate money. Names of the freedom fighters that the British government has their eye on.”

Her heartbeat quickened. “And what the British Army thinks of the revolutionaries? What they think of the Hindustan Republican Association?”

“Yes and yes.”

“But … you’re not a real general.” Parineeta bit her lower lip. Still, at least he had pretended to be one. Surely he must have picked up some useful information during that time. She smoothed a hand over her hair, fumbling with the pins and managing to release her tresses from the up-do. Her hat had fallen off during the chase as well. “How can I trust that you’re telling me the truth?”

“And how can I trust you?” Warren started toward her, pointing an accusatory finger against her chest. “You’re the one who spied on me first.”

She puffed out her chest and stepped closer. The closing distance caused him to drop his hand. “You’re the one who got caught. Of the two of us, you are the one in the worse position.”

“Me? Do you really think Lieutenant Colonel Ellington won’t question why an American
spy
was meeting with a ‘research assistant’?”

She pressed her pointed index finger into his chest, agitation rising in her own. This man was determined to drive her crazy. “That’s your fault for bringing me to your event. Do not make demands of me.”

He inched closer to her until she could feel his hot breath upon her face. “You have a choice. Walk away now if you want.”

“I said nothing about walking away.” She swallowed hard as she noticed the quick rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. His lips were so close that if she turned her head, her lips would brush his. Heat spread across the apples of her cheeks. “Your information would be helpful.”

“I told you, it is yours.” He leaned toward her. His breath was heavy, and his hands were clasped together before him. Speaking with him in his office and arguing with him about their survival were two entirely different matters. “You help me, and I will help you.”

If he thought wielding weapons would be enough to take them to Lucknow, he was in for a surprise. She gave a small smile. “I believe there will be more of me helping you. How can I trust you will give me the information?”

“How can I trust that you will guide me to Lucknow?” He brushed back a stray lock of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead. There was little patience in his tone.

Many of the other generals were blond, fair-haired, and fat. Warren was different. While his complexion remained far fairer than hers, his dark brows and thick hair were striking. The height difference between them was such that if she stared directly ahead, she saw only his chiseled jaw and…

Parineeta tore her eyes away from his lips and drew away, bringing herself back to reality. In spite of the numerous tears at the end of her dress, she smoothed out the creases in her far-from-salvageable gown as if it were one of her own saris; she would look anywhere except that dangerous and demanding mouth of his.

She shook her head. This situation—this man!—was impossible. She undid the earring clasps and clenched her fists around the jewels. She could sell this jewelry later; her brother and his friends needed all the money they could get to fund their activities. “Can’t you tell me the information first?”

“That’s not how this arrangement works. First, lead us to Lucknow.”

If she actually could pass along the information he had gathered from his mission, her brother could use the view to refocus his revolutionary group’s efforts. In the early days, Raj hadn’t even realized that the British Army was aware of the revolutionary activities of the villagers. She still remembered all the late nights her brother had stayed up planning armory raids, peering over elaborate maps and discussing escape routes … only to discover the armories were already depleted. He’d returned at such late hours with nothing but a defeated expression and a voice full of disappointment.

She sighed, feeling a wave of defeat wash over her. “Why do you need to go to Lucknow?”

“That is for me to know and you to find out on your own,
pagal ladki
.”

“Crazy girl?” Parineeta scoffed. Of course, he would only know insulting Hindi phrases.

He stepped around her, ignoring her words as he pushed his way into the jungle.

How dare he force her into such situations! She scowled at his retreating figure. “Who’s the one who will guide us both? I am not crazy!”

“Then prove it to me by getting me out of this godforsaken jungle,” he replied over his shoulder.

Parineeta narrowed her eyes but continued after him. She hardly had a choice. Return back to her brother with a failed mission and live with the guilt of losing an opportunity to serve her country … or guide this crazy American to Lucknow.

Bhagwan
, of all the madmen to be trapped with!

“I’m not so bad, am I?”

“Ravana, the ten-headed king, did not seem so bad. Then he kidnapped Sita and forced Rama to go into exile.”

He scratched his chin. He’d heard the epic tale of Rama and Sita once before. Rama was an avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu, and his wife had been named Sita. Hold on, hadn’t Ravana been the king of demons?

Instead of clarifying which story hero he possibly was, she lifted her cupped hands to her lips and drank the water that pooled in the small crevice. Warren turned away and stretched, scanning the bay, where small fishing boats were tied to even more antiquated wooden posts, swaying next to the dock and creating ripples in the water. A light patter of rain fell onto the floating vessels, filling them slowly.

He craned his neck. Sleeping on jungle ground for the past few days hadn’t been safe, but it sure seemed a lot better than being captured by British hands. The monsoon air hung over their heads, sticky and inescapable. His hand swatted at a fly buzzing at the back of his neck, his palm running against the beads of sweat on his upper back in the process.

How to return to America? He’d heard of the activities of the Indian National Congress, but he somehow doubted the nationalist organization would assist an agent sent to collect fingerprints of the Indian anarchists. The rules that the NBCI had given him were simple: create Bertillon records, jot down some notes, determine how much Raj Singh’s anarchist influence might influence the United States, then find another agent to pass along the documents and get the hell out.

Not that the government wanted any civilians to know that the US feared global influences. Last he’d heard, everyone was convinced that the bureau was just a domestic organization. In truth, he was certain that the US would prefer to end any international threat that could influence Americans.

He patted his left pocket. Crumpled notes of information on Raj Singh were tucked away, ready to be sent to the United States. But what if those weren’t the rules of the FBI? Would this new organization that the NBCI had folded into want him to stay? He groaned in frustration. No point in questioning. First, find the other agent in Lucknow.

He turned his head to address Parineeta. “How far is the walk from here?”

“You cannot walk all the way. Soon we will travel by train.”

He thrust his right hand into an empty pocket. “We have no money.”

“The passage will be free.”

“Free?” Perhaps the heat was getting to him. He wiped off the sweat dripping from the side of his forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve. He’d abandoned his coat and tie long ago in favor of the white shirt he wore underneath.

“I know some of the passengers.” She paused. “They will be willing to pay for us.”

“I guess you already know other people headed to Lucknow, then. Who do you know on the train?”

“My brother and his friends.” Parineeta picked up the clay pot back on the dock and filled the container. She’d changed back into a traditional sari once they'd reached the nearby market. She'd also been the one to buy their food and drink after Warren had made the mistake of accompanying her into a market in a previous village. He hadn’t realized it was possible to catch the judgmental attention of so many strangers until that day.

“Your brother?” He raised a brow. Why would that anarchist be headed to Lucknow?

She smirked.

That’s not an answer.
Still, he figured it was better not to press the issue. He was at the mercy of wherever this enchanting former spy guided him. No use in denying a free ride, no matter how it came about. And they weren’t accomplishing anything standing around like this, even if his stiff joints protested in movement this morning.

He walked toward her, the muscles in his legs stretching with the strain. His limbs could use a lift by locomotive. He’d grown accustomed to riding horses, and he’d gained experience driving cars … walking for long distances was an entirely different story.

“So then you agree to take the train?”

Worry tied Warren’s stomach in knots. “What? What’s so funny?”

She tucked a stray lock of brown hair back into her thick braid, winding down one side of her shoulder and peeking out of her sari. “This is no ordinary train ride.”

“I know, we’re running from British soldiers.” He wished she’d stop looking so damn amused for no reason. The sight was even more unsettling than the strange looks he received in the village. He’d been surprised at how adept she had been in knowing where to go; even with a blasted map he wouldn’t have been able to cover this much ground on his own. If someone were racking up a debt between them, he was much more indebted to her.

Parineeta’s smirk widened into a grin. She was the one with power now, not him. “We are going to join my brother’s train robbery.”

• • •

“We need to make our fire earlier next time. It’s not safe to be on the move this late.”

“Perhaps if you had gathered more firewood like I asked of you…” Who would have thought pretend generals would be so bossy even after their covers were blown?

“I know how to construct an automobile from spare parts, I can fluently speak and read thirteen languages, I am trained in seven different kinds of martial arts forms…”

“…but you do not know how to build a fire in this jungle,” Parineeta finished. “And you do not know the proper price when haggling for samosas. And you do not know which way it is to Lucknow.”

Warren’s shoulders slumped. “They don’t teach you those things during training.”

“It seems my upbringing has made me better prepared for your mission than you are.” It was almost endearing, how much he tried to make himself seem useful for their journey. She stoked the fire, poking the medium-sized stick into the flames. The fire was fine; she just found herself enjoying teasing this man. It was the least torture she could inflict upon him, considering the ultimatum he’d given her a few days before, though he had agreed to help in the robbery. She hadn’t expected him to agree as soon as he had. She pushed her braid away from her collarbone and out of the fire’s way.
Unless he had changed his mind.

“You are still willing to help in the train robbery, you said?”

Warren shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not if you want to be in Lucknow before the British find you,” she quipped. She pursed her lips. “But you seem willing.”

“Maybe I am.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she set down the stick she had been using to stoke the fire on a nearby rock. “We can stop with the mysteries now.”

He snorted. “We? I hide nothing. You are the one who remains a mystery.”

She stared into the fire, watching the amber flames dance before her eyes without focusing on anything in particular. Crickets chirped in the background while the firewood singed and crackled under the orange heat. How annoying. This man could tell when she still possessed secrets to keep. “How am I a mystery?”

“How did you become involved in the independence movement?”

She looked up from the flames and directly into Warren’s gaze. He’d taken off his button-up shirt in the heat of the day; his skin seemed more bronzed by firelight. She wished he'd kept on his evening wear for the party. If not for the flames between them blocking the image of his chest, Parineeta would have surely looked away. “Why are you so curious about the revolutionaries?”

“See what I mean? I know nothing about you.” Warren threw up his hands. “You’re more of a mystery than me.”

“No.” She glanced at the foliage behind him. The large, flat leaves of the jungle trees covered them on all sides, shielding their forms—and the fire, she hoped—from prying eyes. For the moment, she felt safe.

“Let me guess: Is it another secret you don’t want me to know?”

She sighed. It would be hours until dawn. There was no other way to pass the time than answer the pestering questions. Perhaps if she satisfied his fleeting curiosity, he would trust her with more information. “My brother was the first in my family to be involved with the revolutionaries. He told me about Gandhi’s noncooperation movement. Then he and his friends from another village joined another independence group.”

“How does one become involved in this group, anyway?” He stood up and stretched his arms above him. The hard muscles of his bare chest gleamed by the flames. She resented the way her heart raced at the sight. Too distracting. Couldn’t he put on a shirt? Or at least a scarf around his neck to cover his chest, like the other men in her village did. Even a vest would have been fine.

She tried to concentrate on the heat from the flame and not the heat emanating from her cheeks. She’d seen plenty of shirtless men laboring in the fields before. None of the rest had ever caused her lips to pucker and her palms to perspire. “Word of mouth.”

Warren sat next to her. She could feel the intensity of his eyes upon her. “But surely there must have been some event or some idea that triggered everyone to begin meeting.”