SILK AND SECRETS (33 page)

The three exchanged greetings as effusively as if it had been months since they parted rather than twenty-four hours. Saleh was in high spirits from being reunited with his brother after a separation of almost thirty years, but he frowned sympathetically when he heard of the interview with the amir and the confirmation of Ian Cameron’s death. Then he relayed what his brother had told him about the amir’s dangerous unpredictability and the poisonous atmosphere of suspicion and intolerance that the ruler deliberately fostered. It was fortunate that Juliet and Ross had been circumspect the night before, for Abdul Samut Khan’s household certainly contained spies, possibly serving several different masters.

It was a sobering discussion, and when Juliet finally left to return to the nayeb’s house, she had lost much of her earlier enthusiasm for exploring an exotic new city. The more she learned of Bokhara, the more she realized how dangerous the situation was. Ross had known from the beginning and had had the courage to come in spite of that knowledge. He had always had a patience and a steadiness of temper that Juliet lacked; she resolved to do her best to match him.

The stressful days that followed tested Juliet’s resolution to the limit. She was free to come and go as she pleased, but Ross’s status, as they had suspected, was somewhere between guest of honor and prisoner. Though he was allowed to travel about the city, three armed chamberlains accompanied him everywhere, allegedly for his own protection.

Ross was permitted visitors, and a steady stream flowed through the nayeb’s house. Some callers were men he had met eight years earlier, who came to renew the acquaintance. Included were Muslim mullahs, Jewish dyers, and Hindu bankers, all of whom delighted in talking with the ferengi. Once or twice Islamic zealots came and tried to bait Ross into indiscretion, but he was adept at avoiding their traps.

Other visitors were emissaries from the amir, who asked endless questions about European technology and agriculture (“There are no camels in England?” one asked in disbelief), medicine and arts, trade and history, and whether Queen Victoria could execute anyone she wanted to. Once Ross even demonstrated how to silver a mirror and sent the result to Nasrullah; the nayeb said that the amir accepted the gift with great pleasure.

Though Juliet spent much of her time exploring Bokhara, occasionally she sat silently in the corner of the nayeb’s main reception room during one of what Ross ironically called his salons. She was fascinated by the breadth of his knowledge, for he was never at a loss for explanations. One day, when they had been in Bokhara about three weeks, she returned in the early evening to find a delegate from the amir asking about witchcraft in England.

Without even blinking, Ross mentioned the Witchcraft Act, then went off on tangents about druids and medieval trials by ordeal, before moving into the evolution of Anglo-Saxon common law. He was still going strong when Abdul Samut Khan appeared and genially bore his guest off to dinner.

Since Ross was much in demand, Juliet took most of her meals with the household slaves, who treated her like a piece of furniture, to be walked around but not otherwise noticed. Reluctant to return to the empty rooms, on this particular night Juliet stayed with the other servants after she finished eating. One of the grooms was telling stories, a traditional and highly satisfying form of Asiatic entertainment.

However, when the stories were replaced by general conversation, she went back to their apartment and settled down on the divan to do some mending. She found it ironic that in the guise of a man she was being more domestic than she had ever been as a woman, but boredom was a powerful motivator. Besides, she took secret satisfaction in lavishing care on her husband’s possessions, since she could not do the same with the man himself.

To her regret, the easy camaraderie that had been briefly between them had vanished, seared away by the pillar of fire. Her husband had retreated behind an impenetrable barrier that hurt Juliet even though she knew it was necessary. Ross had said the night of the sandstorm that staying together might drive them both mad, and as usual, he had been right. Though Juliet kept herself busy in the hopes that activity would tire her to the point where desire would ebb, that never happened.

Through hot days and restless nights the tension grew like a thunderhead. Partly that was because of uncertainty about the amir’s intentions, but the deeper cause was the suffocating frustration that came from being physically close but emotionally separated. It was a time of taut silences and deliberate distance, and Juliet knew that something must change soon, for it was impossible to continue like this much longer.

Tonight Ross returned from his dinner with the nayeb relatively early. As he came in and barred the door, Juliet put down her sewing and stretched her arms over her head. “The amount that you know never ceases to astonish me,” she said in the low voice that had become standard for them as a defense against listening ears. “Are you never at a loss for an answer, no matter what they ask you?”

“My Cambridge education is proving invaluable, but even so, sometimes I have to make things up,” Ross said with a wry smile. “I’ve found it dangerous to admit ignorance, because the amir’s questioners will assume that I am deliberately concealing information. It’s safer to be wrong than silent.”

“You may be faking, but you do it well. You certainly had me convinced.” She looked down to set the last stitches in the shirt she was mending, then knotted the thread and bit it off. “Your shirt is done. I’m running out of things to do. Perhaps I should have let my mother teach me knitting, as she was always trying to do.”

Juliet started to stand, intending to return the garment to Ross’s room, only to find that he had stepped up to take it from her. There was a moment of mild collision that knocked her off balance, and Ross automatically reached out and caught her arm to steady her.

It should have meant nothing, except that everything that happened between them was charged with meaning. As Juliet recovered her footing, Ross’s face was only a few inches from hers, close enough to see the texture of his tanned jaw, the precise shape of his mouth. She was acutely conscious of his hand on her elbow, and more than anything else on earth, she wanted to lean forward and press her lips to his. Only knowledge of the consequences of intimacy held her in check.

Juliet raised her head, and for a moment their gazes struck and held. And when they did, she caught her breath at the pain she saw in his eyes. Over the last weeks Ross had been a master of restraint, yet now she saw what his restraint was costing him. The iron control she so admired was drawn to the snapping point, and it terrified her to realize how close they stood to the abyss.

It would take so little, scarcely anything at all, for them to surrender to passion and fulfillment. And disaster.

She wrenched her gaze away, hating herself for her cowardice. Ross’s hand dropped and he stepped away. “I have trouble imagining you doing something as placid as knitting,” he said in a voice that was almost normal. “Perhaps you should take up wood carving. A knife is more your style than a needle.” Then he said good night and retreated to the bedroom.

The whole encounter was over in seconds, acute longing buried as if it had never reared its menacing head. Juliet put out the oil lamps and curled up on her pallet. Except for the first night in Bokhara, when she had used Ross’s cotton robe, she slept in her Tuareg garments, her tagelmoust ready to cover her face at a moment’s notice. At least with a barred door to protect her, she didn’t have to sleep with her face veiled as she had when crossing the Kara Kum.

A lamp stayed lit in the bedroom, and she could hear the faint scratching of a pen. Ever the scholar and observer, Ross continued to make notes of what he was learning in Bokhara; Juliet suspected that was his way of coping with tension. For her part, she merely lay still and bit on her veil until she finally began to relax.

She had just drifted into a light doze when someone began pounding on the door. Instantly awake, she rolled to her feet, pulled the veil over her face, and opened the door. Half a dozen soldiers shoved their way past, pushing her to one side. At their head was Yawer Shahid Mahmud, the captain of the nayeb’s guard.

As Ross emerged from the bedroom in his shirtsleeves, Shahid barked, “Come with me, ferengi swine. His royal majesty wishes to see you immediately.” The yawer’s broad face wore a triumphant expression that chilled Juliet’s blood. From the beginning he had hated Ross, and now he openly rejoiced in his enemy’s downfall.

Ross went very still with the knowledge of what this summons must mean. “Very well,” he said calmly as he unrolled the sleeves that had been pushed up his forearms. “A moment while I put on my coat.” As relaxed as if he had just been invited to tea, he turned and went into the bedroom.

For a wild moment Juliet wondered if he would emerge with his pistol and try to fight his way out, and her hand tightened on the hilt of her knife so that she could join in. However, Ross had more sense than to take on half a dozen armed men, and when he reentered the sitting room, his hands were empty. For a moment his gaze sought Juliet. His face was as impassive as carved marble, but when their eyes met, his held a message.

Then the yawer snapped that enough time had been wasted and the moment was over. The soldiers surrounded Ross and escorted him out. As the door closed behind them, Juliet knew that Ross had not just been reminding her of her promise not to do anything foolish; he had also been telling her good-bye.

For the first time in her life, Juliet was literally paralyzed by fear. She sank to her knees on the floor and folded over, shaking violently at the realization that she might never see Ross again. He might be put in prison. He might be executed this very night.

It wasn’t possible.
It wasn’t possible
!

But it was. The amir could, and possibly would, order Ross’s death in an instant, for no reason at all. His viciousness was so notorious that Bokharans merely shrugged and said, “This is a royal act,” when they heard stories of men who were murdered for protesting when Nasrullah took their wives. And the amir was guilty of worse crimes than that.

Savagely she bit her lip, using pain to combat her panic. She must think of what could be done to help Ross, not wallow in fear. She struggled to her feet and barred the door, then went into the bedroom, where the lamp still burned and a sheet of paper was half-covered with Ross’s neat writing. She felt that if she turned her head, she would catch sight of him. But he was gone, possibly forever.

During the weeks they had shared these rooms, she had never so much as touched the rope bed because it was Ross’s, but now she needed the sense of his presence. She lay down on the mattress and clutched one of the pillows to her stomach, curling around it in a despairing need for comfort.

What could be done? Nothing tonight, for good citizens did not go out in the streets after the king’s drums beat out their curfew. Abdul Samut Khan would be of no use; the fact that Shahid had taken Ross away meant that the nayeb was either helpless or actively working against Ross.

The Kasems were her best hope, for they had great influence in Bokhara. She would go to them first thing in the morning and ask if they would exercise that influence on Ross’s behalf. There was also a Persian ambassador in the city; if Juliet revealed herself as Guli Sarahi, the ambassador might intervene, for her fortress at Serevan had helped the shah maintain his eastern border.

She had used the last three weeks well and learned a great deal about the internal workings of Bokhara; as the dark hours passed, she sifted through every possibility she could think of to help Ross, from straightforward to desperate. She refused to consider that all her plans would go for naught if Nasrullah had already impulsively ordered her husband’s death.

It was well after midnight when another knock came on the door. At first she did not notice, for it was much quieter than the earlier one. When she finally heard, she got up and went grimly to find out who had come. If the soldiers had returned for her, they would have a fight on their hands; Ross might have gone quietly so that she would not be endangered, but she had no reason to exercise restraint.

More likely than soldiers was the nayeb, coming to shed crocodile tears for his guest while he commandeered the dear departed’s possessions. Juliet secured the veil over her face and lifted the bar. Then she stepped back and dropped a hand to her knife as the door swung open and a man entered the room. The light from the bedroom was faint, and it took a moment for her to realize that the intruder’s head glowed like burnished gold.

It was Ross. At first she just stared, not quite believing that it was really he. Then, without even checking to be sure that he was alone, she swept her arms around him, her heart pounding with relief.

He welcomed her embrace, one arm going around her while the other efficiently closed the door. Near weeping, Juliet said, “I was sure they had taken you away to prison, or worse.”

For a moment more his cheek rested against her temple. Then he gave an uneven laugh and released her so that he could bar the entrance. “That’s the impression Shahid wanted to give, and it could well have turned out that way.” He peeled off his coat and walked into the bedroom, dropping the garment onto the divan.

Following on his heels, Juliet asked, “What happened?”

“I was taken to a small audience chamber, where Nasrullah was pacing back and forth like a tiger in a cage. If he had a tail, he would have been switching it,” Ross said wearily as he sat down and pulled off his boots. “After I performed the salaam, he snarled that he had considered my request to take Ian’s body back to England and decided against it because ”Major Cameron was a traitor and an apostate and death was not enough to cleanse the stain of his dishonor.“ ”

“That’s a great pity.” With a sigh, Juliet settled on the divan several feet away from Ross and pulled the veil from her face. “But it’s less important than whether we can leave.”