SILK AND SECRETS (38 page)

As he collapsed, groaning, she turned and resumed walking down the hall, forcing herself to maintain a normal pace, as if she was totally unafraid of what he might do to retaliate. Nonetheless, she kept the dagger ready in her hand and listened hard for the sound of footfalls in case he should recover more quickly than she expected. The force of his furious gaze burned between her shoulder blades until she turned the corner.

When Juliet was out of his sight, she drew a trembling wrist across her forehead before she cleaned and sheathed her dagger. She had been lucky; if Shahid had not underestimated her, she would have been in serious trouble. As long as she was in this house, she would have to be careful, for he was the sort who would take being bested as a mortal challenge.

A pity that killing the head of the household guard would not go unremarked. Then she smiled shakily and continued on her way. In truth she was not so coldblooded that she could slit a man’s throat in anything short of a life-or-death situation, and this had not been that. Not quite. But she did not like to think of what would have happened if Shahid had discovered she was a woman. After raping her, he would undoubtedly have claimed her disguise was
prima facie
evidence that she and Ross were both spies, and then nothing could have saved them.

When Juliet reached their rooms, she found a servant just leaving, so she brushed silently past and closed the door behind her. After dropping the bar in place, she pulled off her tagelmoust and buried her sweaty face in the fabric.

Ross was sitting on the divan with a notebook, but he looked up with quick concern. “Is something wrong?”

“Not really.” She managed an uneven smile as she emerged from the folds of her veil. “Shahid Mahmud made an improper advance but misjudged my ability and willingness to defend myself. Fortunately I was wearing boots rather than sandals.”

“Damnation!” Ross swore furiously as he swung to his feet and pulled her into a protective embrace. “How did the bastard discover that you’re a woman?”

“He didn’t.” In spite of the late-afternoon warmth, Juliet found herself shaking with relief as Ross’s arms went around her. There was nothing like a bit of crisis to reduce a relationship to essentials; for them, that meant mutual comfort and protection. “He heard enough last night to guess that our relationship is not strictly master and servant, but it must not have occurred to him that I could be female.”

Ross’s embrace tightened. “I see. A pity we can’t kill him. At least he can hardly complain to the nayeb that my servant would not allow himself to be raped. I suppose that all you can do is exercise caution and not let him find you alone again, but just in case, it might be wise to carry your pistol.”

“Avoidance is better. Killing or wounding Shahid would bring about an investigation that we can’t afford.” Wearily Juliet stepped away from Ross and sank onto the divan. On the low table was a dew-covered pitcher of the ice and grape-syrup mixture that had just been delivered by the servant. She poured goblets for both of them. “It is time to talk about how we are going to leave Bokhara.”

“The situation has just gotten worse.” Ross sat down and gave her a summary of his interview with Abdul Samut Khan.

Juliet frowned as he finished. “So now you are under house arrest. I hope the nayeb is right that the amir will be too busy to think of you between now and the time they go to war. I think we should make our escape as soon as Nasrullah leaves the city.”

They had both finished their
rahat i jan,
so Ross lifted the pitcher and refilled their glasses. “You have been exploring possibilities ever since we got here—what do you propose we do?”

Juliet gave him a fond smile; she had always loved the fact that Ross was open to suggestions as only a truly strong man could be. “First, I think we should send Saleh and Reza back to Persia. There is a large caravan leaving for Teheran in a few days. That will leave just you and Murad and me.”

Ross nodded, following the direction of her thoughts. “And the three of us are the strongest. You’re thinking we should get some good Turkoman horses and ride west as fast as we can? I’ve thought about that and agree that it may be our best chance, but it will be dangerous. Crossing the Kara Kum was bad enough in the spring— at this season, the heat is killing and we’ll probably be pursued at least part of the way.”

“Yes, but Turkoman raiders have been marauding through that desert since long before Genghis Khan. We can survive it too, as long as we travel fast and light.” She leaned forward, her hands moving emphatically. “We came here along the main caravan track, but there is a secondary route that goes south of Merv and Rafitak. If we go that way, we are less likely to be pursued, and less likely to run into Turkoman raiders as well.”

“It is a minor track because the water supply is less reliable,” Ross pointed out, “and without a knowledgeable guide, we’ll have trouble finding what water is there. Horses can travel much faster than camels, but they need water more often, and we won’t be able to carry enough to get us and our mounts across hundreds of miles of burning desert.”

“Murad has not traveled this particular route, but over the last several weeks he has talked with men who have, gathering detailed information on where the water holes are.”

Ross made a face and leaned back against the wall. “Murad is well-intentioned but he got lost even in Persia, which he claimed to know. Are you willing to put your life in his hands?”

“Yes, because I think this is our best chance,” Juliet replied. “There is desert in all directions, but it would be dangerous to go east or south because of the fighting around Kokand and Herat. North to Khiva would be better, but eventually we would have to go back across the Kara Kum anyhow. If we head west, all we have to do is reach Serevan, and with luck we can do that in five or six days of hard riding.”

“We may be that lucky, though I wouldn’t bet serious money on it.” Ross ran his hand through his gold hair, his face troubled. “I’m willing to take the chance, but I hate the idea that you and Murad will be risking your lives unnecessarily. Perhaps Murad should draw me a map and I can go alone.”

“Three people will have a better chance than one.” Juliet leaned forward, her expression fierce. “We’ve been over this before. Murad knows the risks and is willing to accept them. And make no mistake, Ross, there is no way in hell that I will let you go across that desert without me.”

He looked startled for a moment, then gave a slow smile and reached out and gently brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “What a terrifying female you are. It sounds as if I have no alternative but to agree to your plans.”

Juliet gave him a mock scowl. “Right you are, ferengi.”

His momentary amusement fading, Ross reached inside his coat and drew out a small folded piece of paper, then handed it to Juliet. “I wrote this today. It will probably never be needed, but I thought you should have it.”

She examined the note distrustfully. It had been sealed with wax and marked with Ross’s signet ring. “What is this, your last will and testament?”

“No, that is in England—I always put my affairs in order before I leave the country. Though since we are on the subject, your income is guaranteed for the rest of your life,” he said in an expressionless voice. “What I just gave you is an affidavit verifying that if you have a baby next year and say that I fathered it, you’re telling the truth.”

Juliet stared at the affidavit as if it were a viper. She was quite aware of the possible consequences of the previous night’s passion, but the issue was so profoundly complicated and upsetting that she had refused to think about it. “This will only be relevant if you are killed but I survive and bear a child,” she said tightly. “That isn’t very likely.”

“True,” Ross agreed, “but it would be remiss of me not to make provisions for the possibility. There is a great deal of property involved—if we were to have a son, he would be the next Duke of Windermere, and a daughter would be a considerable heiress. Since we have been separated for years, if you just sent a letter to England saying that I had left a legitimate heir, you would certainly face doubts and perhaps legal challenges from whichever cousin inherits after me. I wouldn’t want you to have to face that.”

Juliet’s trembling fingers curled over the statement spasmodically.
Our son. Our daughter.
“You think of everything,” she said, her tone brittle. “But what if I have a baby and don’t want to give it up?”

“I’m not suggesting that you give it up)—I just want to ensure that any heir of mine will receive what it is entitled to.” His voice roughened. “This is probably the only hope of a child I’ll ever have. If the amir decides to remove my head in the next few days, I’d like to die with the knowledge that perhaps I’ve left something meaningful behind me.”

Juliet had not known that he cared that much about having a child. She had not dared let herself know. Her voice low, she said, “Don’t worry. If… what we are talking about comes to pass, you can trust me to do everything in my power to give your child the future you would want for it.”

“I do trust you.” He took her hand, his fingers lacing with hers. “I’m just trying to make matters as simple as possible.”

If Ross died, nothing would ever be simple again. Juliet closed her eyes to block incipient tears; she had already cried once today, and that was one time too often.

She was grateful that a knock sounded on the door before she had to speak.

This time the servant on the other side proffered an invitation for Lord Khilburn to dine with Abdul Samut Khan. Ross muttered something unflattering under his breath. “I’m a little tired of his company, but I suppose there is no help for it.” Raising his voice, he ascertained that there was time for a bath and ordered that water be brought up.

After Ross had bathed and gone to join his host, Juliet took advantage of the water, soaking a long time as an antidote for the stresses of the last twenty-four hours. Then, clean and dry, she settled down and worked through her escape ideas step by step, making notes of questions that must be addressed.

Finally Ross returned from his dinner. Juliet had not been quite sure how the evening would end, for over the last day there had been both joy and conflict between them. But Ross made it very simple by yawning and offering her his hand. “It’s late, Juliet. Let’s go to bed.”

Taking his hand and going with him was the most natural thing in the world.

Five days after Ross’s fateful interview with the amir, Juliet had a private meeting with Muhammad and Hussayn Kasem. Knowing that if she went to their home her Tuareg garb would make her conspicuous to the ubiquitous Bokharan spies, she had sent a message saying that she would come to their busy fabric shop, where she would blend into the steady stream of people.

When she entered the shop’s shadowed interior, Hussayn approached as if she were just another customer, but it did not take long for him to guide her into the back of the building on the pretext of searching for new stock. The shop was a labyrinth of rooms, all piled with rolls of lush fabric that glowed with color like Aladdin’s cave. Drawing aside one last embroidered curtain, Hussayn gestured Juliet into a small thickly carpeted room where his father sat cross-legged by a samovar.

Unhurriedly the Kasems served their guest with tea and spiced cakes as inquiries were made into everyone’s health. After etiquette was satisfied, Muhammad said, “I have heard that Khilburn is now confined to Abdul Samut Khan’s house. I find that disturbing, for the British officer Cameron was treated the same way shortly before he was sent to the Black Well.”

“What you have heard is true.” Carefully Juliet set down her delicate porcelain teacup. “Khilburn has decided that the amir is not going to grant him permission to leave, so he must escape in secret. He has sent me to beg for your aid.”

“There is no need to beg, for it will be our privilege to assist him,” Muhammad said graciously. “What might we do?”

“Escaping the nayeb’s house should be easy, but it will be harder to leave the city because the gates are always guarded. Also, we will need desert-bred Turkoman horses, the kind of mounts that it might not be possible to purchase in the city.” Juliet drew out a small leather purse that clinked with gold coins and laid it beside the samovar. “We will need three horses. Of course Khilburn will pay for them, for such animals come very dear.”

“It would be dishonor to accept money from the man who saved my father’s life,” Hussayn said as he waved away the money. He stroked his dark beard absently as he thought. “It should not be difficult to pass through a city gate if you leave with a caravan, for in such a crowd the guards are more concerned with checking goods than people. If you make your escape from the nayeb’s house on a night when we have a shipment leaving, you can join our group until you are safely outside. It would be best if you choose a caravan leaving by an eastern gate, for that will bring you out near our country estate, where we will have horses and supplies waiting.”

Juliet had hoped that he would suggest exactly that. Bowing her head, she said, “Excellent. Do you know when, in the next few weeks, you will be shipping goods from the city?”

After conferring, the Kasems offered several possible dates. Then the discussion moved to other aspects of the escape plan. When the three of them had covered everything that Juliet could think of, she rose to take her leave.

His eyes shrewd, Hussayn remarked, “Your Persian is far more fluent than you showed on the journey across the Kara Kum, Jalal. Are you in truth a Targui?”

She hesitated a moment to choose an explanation that would contain the essence of truth. “No, my lord, this is but a disguise. I am also a ferengi. For many years, I have been… sworn to Khilburn’s service. I could not allow him to undertake such a dangerous mission without me.”

“I see,” Hussayn murmured. “Khilburn is fortunate in his servant. But then, he is a man who inspires loyalty. May God protect you both on your journey home.”

As she bowed and left, Juliet fervently seconded the Bokharan’s wishes.