SILK AND SECRETS (31 page)

Finally Ross was alone with Juliet. Too alone; the communal nature of caravan travel had offered protection from his more unruly impulses. He dropped the wooden bar across the door and turned to face her. More than anything on earth, he would have liked to take her in his arms and hold her for a few minutes—simply hold her, nothing more.

But of course once she was in his arms, what he wanted would change, so he said only, “You can take the first bath.” He kept his voice low, since it was possible that spies might be listening. Fortunately the nayeb was probably the only person in the household who understood English, and surely he had better things to do than listen at doors.

Juliet was sitting cross-legged on the divan, and as he spoke, she pulled off her tagelmoust. For a moment she buried her head in her hands wearily. Then she looked up and said with equal softness, “That is three good deeds you have performed today: saving a life, freeing a slave, and arranging a European-style bath so that I could have one too. And of those three deeds, I think you deserve the most credit for the last.”

Ross grinned. “Why do you say that?”

“Saving Reza’s life is something you could not
not
have tried to do, and freeing a slave you didn’t want cost you nothing, but passing up the delights of the hammam was a real sacrifice,” she said feelingly as she got to her feet. Her voice self-mocking, she added, “If called on to lay down my life for yours, I would do so, but I do not have the nobility to decline your offer of the first hot bath.”

Ross laughed, then went into the bedroom and rummaged in his baggage until he found a plain lightweight cotton robe. “I don’t imagine you’ll want to put your present clothing on again until you’ve washed it, so you can wear this.”

“A saint,” she murmured as she took the garment from him, her fingers not touching his. “I married a saint.”

“Just don’t stay in so long that the water cools,” he warned, “or you may find out how wrong you are in your judgment.”

“My judgment is excellent,” she said loftily. “In fact, women almost always have better judgment than men.”

The devil took Ross’s tongue and he murmured, “The proof of that is that you married me, and I married you.”

Juliet’s gray eyes widened; then she went off into peals of laughter. “True, true, it’s all true,” she gasped. “My judgment was excellent and yours was dreadful.”

Why did she have to laugh like that? Perhaps Ross had hoped she would take offense at his remark and erect more barriers between them; instead, her ability to poke fun at herself was enchanting. With a lopsided smile he said, “I don’t know what the problem with me was, but I don’t think it was my judgment.”

Suddenly sober, Juliet said softly, “Oh, Ross, I do like you so. If only…”

When she didn’t continue, he asked tightly, “If only what?”

She stared at him hopelessly for a moment, then turned and slipped into the bedroom. Ross spun about on his heel and walked through the arch that led to the balcony. When he was outside, he clamped his hands on the railing while he took slow, measured breaths. She liked him. Wonderful. She admired his judgment. How flattering. During the sandstorm, she had also admitted that she desired him.

What a pity that love was not on the list, for the breach that divided them was so deep that only love might have a chance of bridging it. And even that, perhaps, would not be enough; it had not been enough a dozen years ago. As always, the truly maddening thing was that he still did not understand why she had left. The reasons she had given made sense, yet he could not escape the feeling that they were a smoke screen, designed to obscure a deeper truth.

Slowly he exhaled, knowing that his thoughts were running in an all-too-familiar circle. Turning his attention outward, he noted that the temperature had dropped pleasantly. Though city sounds were faintly audible, Abdul Samut Khan’s compound had a countrylike sense of peace. It was so quiet that it was impossible to ignore the faint sloshing sounds in the bedroom. Impossible not to imagine her stepping into the water, first one long shapely leg, then the other. Sitting so that the water came up to her breasts. Would she wash her hair first, or after she had scrubbed the rest of her? Soap sliding over that lovely, moon-pale redhead’s skin…

He found himself breathing faster, his hands white-knuckled on the balcony railing. If he didn’t get a grip on himself, he would spontaneously combust, leaving a pile of smoldering ashes on the mud-brick floor.

Reluctantly he smiled. That would be one simple way to leave Bokhara, but it would be more to the point to study the nayeb’s residence. It was a small palace in its own right, with a high wall that would keep people in as well as out. Perhaps in the morning, when he met with Abdul Samut Khan, he could get a tour of the grounds. His mind went back to the meeting with the amir, analyzing every nuance and impression for future use. He was still doing so when Juliet said quietly, “Your turn now.”

“That was quick,” he remarked as he left the balcony and joined her inside. She was keeping well back from the archway so that no one could see her from outside.

“Your implied threat of what you might do if I hogged all the hot water terrified me,” she explained with a straight face. “I’ll wash my robes later. By the time they are clean, the water will not be fit for human use.”

She was running her fingers through her hair to comb the worst of the tangles out. Thick red tresses fell halfway to her waist, and even wet, they glowed like dark fire. It had been a mistake, he realized distantly, to give her a cotton robe of such light fabric. The material clung to her damp skin, making it clear that she wore nothing underneath—certainly not whatever she had been using to flatten her breasts. She had grown in that area over the last dozen years. As she crossed the room to perch on the divan, several inches of robe trailed on the floor, giving the highly inaccurate impression that she was frail and delicate. Slender, yes; frail, definitely not. Not a woman who could defeat a burly camel driver in a knife fight.

Before his staring could become too obvious, he went into the bedroom, stripped off his clothing with sharp, tense movements, and climbed into the tub. The warm water felt wonderful and helped loosen his tight muscles. As he started washing his hair, he thought wryly that he would be better off if the water were cold—though even chunks of ice floating in the tub would not be enough to cool the fire in his veins.

After Ross had finished bathing, Juliet washed her clothing, wrung out the garments, then hung them up. In the bone-dry desert air they would be wearable by morning. Then she joined Ross in the sitting room. He was sprawled full-length on the cushioned divan, hands folded under his head. He had also changed to a loose Asiatic robe, a striped dark blue that emphasized the tousled gold of his hair.

When she entered the room, he gave her a brief smile before returning his idle gaze to the ceiling. He looked drained, which wasn’t surprising; she was exhausted herself, and she hadn’t had to converse with the amir or endure that grueling interview with the foreign minister.

There was an irresistibly domestic air about the evening that made it seem as if sharing that wide rope bed would be the most natural thing in the world. Thank God Ross had iron willpower; as Juliet studied the long, lean length of him, she would not have given a ha’penny damn for her own.

She settled down on the floor several feet away from her husband, modestly tucking her cotton robe around her feet and ankles. The deep, crimson-patterned carpet under her was a beauty; after a brief scrutiny, she decided that it had been made by the Tekke Turkoman tribe. They might be marauders, but they made wonderful rugs.

Absently she began combing out her damp hair in the feeble hope that doing so would straighten some of the wild curling. “What do you think of what the amir said this afternoon?”

Ross frowned. “Nasullah’s reasons for executing Ian seem trumped up. He was certainly an official British representative, and God only knows what the amir considered spying.”

“I can’t imagine Ian converting to Islam, either,” Juliet said sadly. “I suppose they just invented random excuses to justify murdering him.”

“Perhaps the nayeb can tell me more in the morning, but my guess is that the recent British defeats in Afghanistan are the real reason he was executed,” Ross said slowly. “With the British forces in retreat, the amir probably decided that it wasn’t necessary to curry favor with the ferengis, so he put Ian to death.” He sighed. “It’s ironic—if the British had won, your brother might be alive now.”

“So Ian paid the price of empire,” Juliet said bitterly. “The damned bloody British empire.”

“It’s a great waste,” Ross said quietly, “but Ian knew what he was doing. Did I tell you that I saw him several years ago when I was in India? He took a month’s leave and we spent it roaming the hill country together. He loved the army, you know, and he accepted the risks of the life he had chosen.”

“He should have stayed an officer rather than letting himself be sent on a diplomatic mission.” Her mouth twisted. “You had seen him much more recently than I. Even though I had buried myself at Serevan, it never occurred to me that I would never see Ian again. I always thought that someday we would surely get together and tell each other all of the mischief we had gotten into, just like we used to do…”

For a moment her voice broke. Then Juliet shook her head, hard. It was her own fault that years that passed since she had seen her brother, and she had no right to allow her grief to further burden Ross. With an effort, she asked in an even voice, “What happens now?”

Ross shrugged, his unfocused gaze never straying from the plaster ceiling. “The amir will summon me for another audience in a week or two. With luck, he will give permission to take Ian’s body back to England and we will leave as quickly as possible.”

“And if we aren’t lucky?”

“He refuses to release Ian’s body, which would be regrettable but not disastrous,” he said in a flat voice. “Disaster will be if the amir refuses us permission to leave.”

Juliet nodded silently; everything he said confirmed her own speculations. “Then what?”

“We’ll worry about that when it happens.” Ross sat up and swung his legs to the floor. “Do you want the bed? I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

“Neither do I.” She smiled and gestured toward the pallet she had made up against the wall. “As a faithful slave, my rightful place is lying by the door with dagger in hand to defend my master.”

A dagger would be equally useful for defending her virtue, Ross thought dryly. He did his best to avoid looking directly at Juliet as he said good night and went into the bedroom. It was going to be difficult enough to sleep knowing she was in the next room; there was no point in adding more fuel to the fire.

When the haunting call of the muezzin sounded at dawn, Ross awoke feeling much refreshed. It was rather nice to sleep in a bed again, and knowledge of Juliet’s closeness had given him pleasant dreams rather than ruining his rest.

After dressing, he emerged, yawning, into the sitting room to find that his wife was already up and clothed once more in her anonymous Tuareg garb, though she had not yet covered her face with her tagelmoust. As she perched on the divan, the dark robes and veil framing her pale face gave her a fleeting resemblance to a medieval nun. A sacrilegious image; no nun should ever radiate such restless energy or such sensuality.

Oblivious of his improper thoughts, she asked, “Do we need a plan for the day?”

Ross thought about it; he was never at his best when he awoke. There was only one thing he was good at first thing in the morning, and without female cooperation it was impossible to demonstrate. Wrenching his mind back to Juliet’s question, he said, “I hope to talk to Abdul Samut Khan as early as possible. Besides finding out more about Ian’s captivity, I want to learn whether I am an honored guest or a prisoner.”

“A little of both, probably.”

“That’s what I suspect, but you should be able to go out without hindrance.” He paused, mentally reviewing what needed to be done. “I’d like you to visit Saleh and Murad and make sure they have met no unexpected problems. Probably you should check with Saleh before you take Reza to him, but I think the sooner the boy is away from my dangerous presence, the better.”

“Shall I buy a couple of horses?” she suggested. “The camels aren’t very convenient for riding in the city.”

“That’s a good idea. Then you can take the camels to Hussayn Kasem. He said he’d stable them for us, and if we don’t need them again, he’ll give Julietta a good home.”

Juliet grinned. “You really are sentimental about that silly beast.”

He considered pointing out that the camel appreciated affection more than its namesake did, but decided that it was too early in the morning for inflammatory statements. “This looks like a good time to show you the sundry gifts, bribes, and weapons I have hidden in my luggage.”

“Very well.” She swung lithely to her feet. “Every time you dug into your bags, I wondered what new treasure you would come up with.”

“The art of successful exploring has much to do with having a good supply of gifts,” he explained as he led the way into the bedroom. “I think I’ll disarm Abdul Samut Khan by giving him one of my compasses and explaining how it works. That way, when he has my luggage searched, he won’t think the compasses are dangerous spy devices.”

Ross showed Juliet everything that might be useful to her if something happened to him, and had just concluded by giving her a small pouch of gold coins when a knock sounded from the other room. After pulling up her veil and tucking the pouch away, Juliet opened the door to find a boy who politely invited the honorable Lord Khilburn to break his fast with Abdul Samut Khan.

Glad that the nayeb was willing to have their discussion early, Ross followed the slave to the master of the house’s private quarters, where his host greeted him jovially.

Ross returned the greeting, then folded down to a spot by the table and produced the two gifts he had decided on. The first was an Arabic translation of
Robinson Crusoe,
which had proved wildly popular everywhere in the Islamic world. Since the Koran was always studied in its original Arabic, all educated Muslims could read the language fluently, and Abdul Samut Khan accepted the book with obvious pleasure.