Veils of Silk (32 page)

Laura was about a hundred yards away and hadn't been noticed, so she decided to withdraw rather than intrude. But before she could, a woman carrying a baby flushed with fever stepped forward and laid the limp child on the ground in front of the sadhu. Laura frowned, for the infant appeared critically ill.

The holy man laid one hand on the infant's head and the other on its tiny chest, then closed his own eyes. Though he said nothing, the air around him seemed to shiver with unseen forces. As Laura watched, utterly engrossed, the child's unhealthily high color began to recede and it began moving its small hands and feet restlessly. After about five minutes, it gave a healthy wail of infant indignation. Weeping with gratitude, the mother dropped to her knees and thanked the sadhu profusely, then lifted the child in her arms again.

A little shaken, Laura reminded herself that children's fevers could break very quickly. Miracles might take place in other times and places, but they didn't occur in front of one's very own eyes, even in India.

Once more she was on the -verge of retreat when the sadhu raised his head and looked straight at her. "Eh, Larissa Alexandrovna," he said in fluent English with only a slight singsong accent. "You don't believe the evidence of your own eyes?"

Laura's jaw dropped. The English was surprising enough, but there was no possible way that the sadhu could know her Russian name. On the other hand, he had just spoken it. Weakly she said, "I don't know what to believe."

He beckoned for her to come closer. She did, though part of her wanted to run
away and pretend that this impossible, unsettling incident had never happened.
The villagers drew back as she approached. Uncertain what to say, she pressed
her hands together and bowed her head over them. "Namaste, holy one. You speak English very well."

"I worked for the Sirkar as a clerk in Calcutta for many years. Then, with my children settled and my wife dead, it became time for me to turn to higher
things." The holy man's black eyes were piercing, seeming to look into her very soul, but Laura felt no sense of menace.

"How did you know my name?"

"Knowledge is all around us." He made a deprecatory gesture. "Learning your name was a mere parlor trick. Such things are useful to get the attention of the unenlightened."

"Why would you want to get my attention?" she asked. "I'm just a foreign woman, and most assuredly unenlightened."

He smiled. "True, but you have an open mind and a caring heart. The proof of it is that you have not already flounced off in anger because of my nigger impertinence."

Laura winced, sure that the sadhu had heard the ugly phrase from a British mouth. "I was raised to respect all spiritual beliefs, even when I do not understand them."

He nodded. "Aye, your father of the heart was a fine man. Would that all British in India had his understanding." He smiled again, ironic amusement in his dark eyes. "I wish to offer you a bit of unsolicited advice. Seekers such as I should not do such things, but I, alas, am still far too human. I shall not free myself from the wheel in this lifetime."

More and more intrigued, she said, "What is your advice?"

"There is darkness in front of you. When it seems invincible, you can find light by accepting a truth demonstrated by the gods of India." Anticipating protest, he raised a hand. "It will not interfere with your Christian faith. You need only be open to views different from those you were raised with."

Laura thought about his words, then shook her head. "I'm afraid that I don't understand."

"You will in time, Larissa Alexandrovna." Then, audience over, the sadhu turned back to the villagers.

"Thank you, Father," she said softly, as she would have to a priest of the Orthodox Church. Though she didn't understand his methods or message, his spiritual quality was evident. She dug into her purse and left a generous donation in the begging bowl.

Then Laura walked slowly to the dak bungalow. Yes, there was magic in India, and a rather alarming commodity it was.

Ian's impromptu stint as a judge took nearer three hours than two and he was tired and hungry when he finally made his way to the dak. As he entered, Laura walked into his arms, freshly bathed, sweetly scented, and wearing a loose white gown. He gathered her close, luxuriating in her soft, womanly feel.

"Was the case a complicated one?" she asked.

After nuzzling her silky hair, Ian said, "Not really. Most disputes involve women, property, or land, and this was no exception. There wasn't even much disagreement about the facts."

Laura smiled. "Was most of the village sitting and watching the trial as if it were a stage show?"

"Exactly, and offering comments as well. It was probably the most exciting thing to happen in Hirsar in months." Ian linked his arm around Laura's waist and drew her down on the shabby wicker sofa. "A man called Manoj claimed that his wife Rithu had been abducted by a fellow called Kasturi. Kasturi denied that there was an abduction and insisted that Rithu was living with him of her own free will. Rithu agreed and flatly refused to consider returning to Manoj, then listed her reasons why not in embarrassing detail."

Laura chuckled. "Women must be independent in these parts."

"Rithu certainly is," Ian said, amusement in his voice. "Manoj was resigned to losing her, but since she had cost him seventy-five rupees, he demanded that amount in compensation."

"That's a lot of money to a villager."

"She was a very handsome wench," Ian explained. "I agreed that compensation was in order and there followed much dickering over price. Everyone in the audience had an opinion. Even though she must have known it was a negotiating position, Rithu herself was quite insulted when Kasturi said she was worth only twenty-five rupees since she was no longer new. Finally I decided that fifty rupees was a fair price and ordered Kasturi to pay that. He didn't have that much money, but friends contributed the rest and Manoj received his compensation.

"All well and good—until a haggard woman stood up and asked what would become of her, Kasturi's wife? With tears running down her face, she explained that she was ill and without relatives in the village. Now that her husband had taken a younger wife, was she to be put out to starve and die?"

Laura frowned. "The judge's task became more difficult."

"Actually, the situation solved itself in the most unexpected way." Ian ran his hand down Laura's arm, momentarily distracted by the feel of firm, smooth flesh beneath the light fabric. "No one had mentioned that Kasturi had a wife already, and I was wondering what the devil to do when Rithu went up to the older woman and hugged her, saying that they would be as sisters. Rithu will care for Tetri and share Kasturi's gifts equally. But the strangest twist was still to come. Manoj stood and said that since Kasturi now had two women to care for, he would return the fifty rupees, for Kasturi would need the money."

A catch in her voice, Laura said, "What can one say about such generosity?"

"As a judge, I gave my heartiest approval. As a man, I decided that there is hope for the human race." Ian got to his feet. "I'll wash up now. I assume that once again dinner will be an aged and leathery fowl rendered palatable by long stewing in a curried sauce?"

Smiling, she also rose. "Yes. I'll be joining you, since I decided I'd rather eat with you than alone. Later I'll tell you about the sadhu I met."

"A paragon among women," he murmured. Without thinking he ran an appreciative hand over Laura's round backside. His wife gave him a surprised glance when he touched her, but didn't protest. She really had the most delectable curves imaginable.

Whistling softly, he went off to the spartan washroom. The world was a fine place.

He began to rouse from sleep when Leela turned in his arms, her hand moving drowsily down his torso. He responded to her touch instantly, for it had been too long since they were together. But he took his time, knowing that traveling the road was as important as reaching the destination. Tenderly he ran his hand through her flowing black hair and inhaled the scent of jasmine. Leela was still half asleep, her bare knee tucked between his legs, her warm breath caressing his shoulder. The night air was heavy with sensual promise. As desire grew, he kissed her temple and moved his hand to her breast.

The breast beneath his hand was not that of petite Leela but the lusher curve of a larger woman.

The realization jarred Ian into wakefulness with a shock like ice water. There was an instant of violent disorientation when he thought that he was in prison, dreaming of happier times. But the hair that tickled his face was real, and when he saw that it was lustrous bronze rather than shining black, reality snapped into focus. He was in a village called Hirsar, and the woman in his arms was his wife, not his former mistress.

Yet wakefulness included a stunning shock: his sexual arousal was genuine. The blood burned in his veins in a way he had almost forgotten, and had thought he would never know again. Incredulous, he slid a hand down his body and confirmed that he was not still dreaming. His erection was real; he was a whole man again.

His first reaction was transcendant joy. Looking back, he realized that there had been subtle signs of improvement for some
time. He had always enjoyed Laura's closeness, but what had at first been simple physical pleasure had gradually developed sexual overtones. In fact, the spice of desire was brightening the whole world. Today's evaluation of Rithu, the runaway wife, had included a distinct element of masculine admiration.

Ian's first impulse was to bend over and kiss Laura with deep, sexual possessiveness. He wanted to share his joy with the woman who had had so much to do with his recovery, and express his gratitude with all the skill and passion at his command. His head was inclining to her when he stopped as abruptly as if he had run into a brick wall.

Laura had married him precisely because he was incapable of physical intimacy. Time and again she had repeated that the situation was exactly what she wanted, and she would never have accepted him under any other conditions. The restored potency that was a source of exulation for him would mean fear and repugnance for her. A deep shudder passed through him. His whole body throbbed with desire,all of it focused on the lovely, warm woman by his side-but to act on that desire would betray his wife and destroy what few shreds of honor remained to him.

Had passion always been so insistent, so irrational, so dangerously hard to control? Knowing that he must get away from Laura before he did something unforgivable, he rolled away and slid from the cot. The plank floor rough beneath his feet, he stumbled to the window, then stared into the night. Wearily he rubbed at his aching temples, his brief exhilaration turning bitter as bile when he tried to assess the implications of what had happened. On some deep, half-unconscious level, he had vaguely thought of his impotence as both punishment and symbol for the appalling cowardice he had shown in Bokhara. He had even grimly accepted that there was a certain fitness to the idea.

Now it appeared that his punishment was going to be far subtler and cruder. Laura had given her warmth and acceptance unstintingly when he had needed it. She trusted him, or she would not have become as relaxed with him as she was now.

He turned and bleakly regarded his wife. To betray the covenant they had made would be despicable, yet there was no way in heaven or hell that he could spend the rest of his life sharing a bed with her chastely. If he tried, sooner or later—and, depressingly, he knew that it would be sooner— passion would overcome honor and shatter the foundations of the marriage they had made.

For a moment he considered the possibility of seeking physical release elsewhere, then dismissed it. Such a solution might be less immoral than violating his wife's trust, but his Calvinist conscience rebelled at the thought of lying with another woman, and not only because he would be futilely pretending that the woman was Laura.

Nonconsummation was grounds for annulment, and perhaps ending the marriage would be the wisest course. But an annulment would be as much a betrayal of their agreement as physical intimacy. He had pledged to support and cherish his wife, and doing so was a pleasure as well as a duty.

Laura lay curled on her side, one hand tucked under her husband's pillow. In the dim lamplight, she was all soft curves and mysterious shadows. His heart twisted as he studied her. He could never let her go, even if annulment was legally possible.

Silently he crossed the room and stood over her, thinking how lovely she was. While sharing a bed had given him a general idea of what lay beneath her modest white gown, he would much prefer to slide the garment off and see for himself. Then he would press his lips…

When he realized that his hand was reaching out to her, he spun away from the bed before he lost what sense he had left. After a spell of restless pacing, he concluded that his best hope was that, in time, he could help Laura overcome her aversion to the idea of marital relations. Though she might fear sex, she was not a cold woman; already she was far more at ease with him that she had been at first. In time, she might be willing to allow intimacy, if only for the hope of children. If that happened, he was confident that she would find lovemaking rewarding for its own sake. Perhaps a little gentle caressing when appropriate might interest her in further explorations.

With grim humor, he realized that he was contemplating the seduction of his own wife. And that was something he dared not attempt, because once he began, he might not be able to stop. For the time being, he must keep his distance from Laura, for coercing her either physically or emotionally would be despicable. Though he wanted her desperately, mere submission would not be enough. She must give herself freely.

His gaze was irresistibly drawn back to his wife's peaceful face. He felt closer to her than he ever had to anyone, except perhaps his sister and Pyotr Andreyovich, in different ways. Yet he could not tell Laura of his miraculous recovery, because doing so would damage their developing relationship. She would become wary of him. And justly so.