SILK AND SECRETS (37 page)

After their fierce mating, they lay spent and silent for fear of what words might bring. Juliet’s head rested on Ross’s shoulder, her bright hair a mantle over his chest, her fingers laced with his. With his other hand he slowly stroked the back of her neck and wondered where they would go from here. In the last six hours they had experienced passion driven by rediscovery, sweetness, and finally desperation; if he weren’t so tired, he would be impressed by his stamina.

Now it seemed that a fragile truce had been established, but nothing had been settled, not really. Instead, he guessed, they would go on like this, together but guarded, neither of them willing to deal with the painful issues that had briefly flared out of control and very nearly divided them again.

A peremptory knock sounded on the door and they both tensed as a servant announced that Abdul Samut Khan wished Lord Khilburn’s company for breakfast. Both of them jumped to their feet and began scrambling into their clothing while Ross called out that he would be honored to join the nayeb.

Ross envied Juliet the simplicity of her enveloping Tuareg garments; she was fully dressed, looking exactly as Jalal always looked, while he was still wrestling with his cravat. Before she went to admit the servant, Ross said in a low voice, “I’ll probably be out all day. Will you be here tonight?”

Her brows arched. “Of course.”

He was glad to hear that; he had not been entirely sure. After pulling on his coat, Ross ran a comb through his hair, arranged a calm expression on his face, and went off to his host.

The nayeb greeted him volubly. “My dear Lord Khilburn! Was the interview with the amir a difficult one? If only I had known you would be summoned last night, I would have accompanied you.” He took Ross’s hand and guided him to a spot by the table, his cold eyes a disquieting contrast with his effusive manner. “Unfortunately, important matters concerning the artillery demanded my attention and I did not learn what had happened until this morning. What did his majesty say?”

“It was no great matter,” Ross said easily as he settled onto a cushion. He suspected that the nayeb already knew what had happened the night before in the audience chamber, word for word and inflection for inflection. “The amir merely said that he had decided not to allow me to take Major Cameron’s body home for burial. Naturally I regret that, but it is his majesty’s right to refuse. When I asked permission to depart, he said that it would be granted soon.”

Abdul Samut Khan glanced about warily. A guard stood by the door at the far end of the room, his expression bored; no one else was present. “If only that were true,” the nayeb said in a low voice. “But the amir is notoriously volatile. He will grant you permission, only to withdraw it again and again, as he did with your brother. So it will go until he takes offense at something you do—or perhaps for no reason at all.”

Ross gave his host a level stare. “Then what—the Black Well, or will he execute me out of hand?”

“I cannot say.” The nayeb frowned. “The situation is difficult, and about to become more so. You must have heard that there has been trouble between Bokhara and Kokand. Yesterday the amir decided to personally lead an army against his enemies. As chief of artillery, I will go with him. That is why I was busy last night—I was making preparations to go to war, for Nasrullah wishes to leave in ten days and there is much to be done.”

“I see.” Ross considered the implications as he ate pieces of melon; the Bokharans claimed their melons were the world’s best, and they were probably right. “How will this affect me?”

“Since the amir did not have you executed last night, I think you will be safe until he leaves, for he will be too busy to think of you again.” The nayeb paused to sip his tea. “If the campaign against Kokand is successful, Nasrullah will return in great spirits, willing to grant favors to all. But if the campaign goes badly, as I fear it will, his mood will be… dangerous. Very dangerous indeed.”

“What do you suggest I do?”

Abdul Samut Khan glanced around again, then leaned close. “You should fly from Bokhara while the amir is away. Go to Khiva—the amir there is a friend to Europeans.”

This was all very interesting, but Ross guessed that something more was coming. “The way to Khiva is long and perilous. It will be difficult for a lone ferengi to escape.

“Naturally I will do anything in my power to aid you, honored friend, even at the risk of my own life.” The nayeb stroked his beard reflectively. “While escape is not impossible, it will be expensive, very expensive. If you have enough gold, I can arrange everything before I go. The amir will not learn of your flight until he returns, and by then you will be safe in Khiva.” He spread his hands apologetically. “If I were a rich man, I would take care of all of the expenses myself, but, alas, I have not the resources.”

In other words, the ferengi was to place all his money in his host’s unreliable hands and hope for the best. Ross was not impressed with the nayeb’s stated willingness to risk his life, for it was unlikely that the Persian would be blamed for what his ungrateful guest did in his absence. Perhaps if Abdul Samut Khan was well-paid, he really would help Ross escape; perhaps not. The only way to find out would be for Ross to place his life in the nayeb’s hands, and that-he was reluctant to do.

Concealing his cynical thoughts, Ross said, “You are very brave to make such an offer, but it would be dishonorable to flee when the amir has shown me such generosity.”

His host gave him an exasperated look. “Honor is all very well, Lord Khilburn, but this is a matter of your life. Nothing can save you from the amir’s wrath save flight.”

“I will think on it.”

Abdul Samut Khan’s expression changed. “There is another alternative. Become one of us. If you convert to Islam, the amir will welcome you as a trusted adviser and grant you beautiful wives and great riches. Stay, Lord Khilburn.”

Ross had the odd feeling that for once the nayeb was sincere; however, becoming one of Nasrullah’s advisers was not an alluring prospect and would probably be as hazardous as Ross’s present situation. “You honor me, Abdul Samut Khan,” he said austerely, “but that is not possible. I have a wife, a family, and responsibilities in my own country.”

The nayeb sighed. “I do not think you fully realize the seriousness of your situation. Dead you will be of no use to yourself or your family; alive and living in Bokhara, at least you will be of use to yourself.”

Once again Ross promised, “I shall think on all you have said. But now I ask that you excuse me. The imam of the Tekkie of Khalfa Husein graciously invited me to visit the Tekkie monastary this morning, and I do not wish to keep him waiting.”

Before he could rise, Abdul Samut Khan began shaking his head sadly. “That is not possible, honored Khilburn. The amir has given orders that you cannot go about the city anymore.”

“I see.” Ross masked his face to conceal what a blow the news was. “Can I send messages and receive visitors, or will I be held in close confinement?”

“You may write letters and have visitors, and you have the freedom of the compound, but except when you are in your own rooms, you will be guarded at all times,” the nayeb said apologetically. His voice dropped again. “As you see, your situation is grave. Again I say that you must flee. Only give me gold and I shall make the arrangements.”

“How much gold would be needed?”

A calculating gleam showed in his host’s eyes. “Perhaps… ten thousand ducats?”

Ross shook his head. “I have no such fortune. It appears that my fate must stay in God’s hands.”

The nayeb said quickly, “Give me what you have and also your note of hand saying that the British ambassador in Teheran will pay the difference. You see how I trust you.”

“But the British ambassador will not honor such a note, for I am here privately, not as a representative of my country. I cannot permit you to risk ruin on my behalf.” Deciding that it was time to leave, Ross stood. “I thank you for your concern, Abdul Samut Khan. You have given me much to ponder.”

“Ponder well, ferengi,” the nayeb said with exasperation. Raising his voice, he said to the guard at the door, “Zadeh, you must stay with Lord Khilburn at all times except when he is in his rooms. Do not let him out of your sight.”

The guard opened the door for Ross, then followed him out.

Since leaving the compound was forbidden, Ross decided to go back to his rooms and write a note to the Tekkie imam to explain his absence. He must also write to his other acquaintances; with luck, some would be willing to visit him in the nayeb’s house.

As they made their way through the sprawling house, a soft whisper came from behind him. “Do not trust Abdul Samut Khan, Lord Khilburn. He pretended to be the friend of Yawer Cameron, then betrayed him, and he will do the same to you.”

Startled, Ross realized that the warning must have come from his guard, Zadeh, who was one of the younger soldiers assigned to the nayeb. Without turning his head, and keeping his own voice low, he said, “What do you think of his offer to help me escape?”

“He would use it as an excuse to take your gold, then see you charged with spying and executed,” was the prompt reply.

“I suspected as much,” Ross murmured. “Tell me, if I tried to escape from the compound some night, are there any among the guards who might… look the other way?”

“There are many who would wish to help you,” Zadeh said cautiously, “though since there is risk involved, a small gift would be appropriate.”

Ross nodded, then went into his rooms. He suspected that it would be both cheaper and safer to bribe the guard directly rather than rely on the nayeb’s uncertain aid. But escaping from the compound would be only the first step, and the easiest.

Juliet spent the morning with Saleh and Murad, discussing possible courses of action, for instinct told her that time was running out. Practical conversation was a relief, for it kept her from thinking about the soul-searing night with Ross.

Later she visited several caravansaries to learn when caravans were expected to leave and what the destinations were. Toward the end of the afternoon, when the heat was at its worst and the city baked under the brazen yellow light of Central Asia, she returned to the nayeb’s house.

She had entered and was walking along a dimly lit corridor when she encountered Yawer Shahid Mahmud. He had never deigned to notice her existence before, but today a speculative glint came into the burly officer’s eyes when he saw her.

There was no one else about, and Juliet felt a prickly sense of warning. Her gaze straight ahead, she tried to walk past the Uzbek, but he reached out and caught her arm before she could slide away. “Not so fast, Targui. I have not been hospitable enough to you. Your name is Jalal, is it not?”

She did not answer, just glanced at him with narrowed eyes. He was an inch or two taller than she, and much heavier, and she did not like the way he was looking at her.

Shahid continued, “I have wondered why your master would tolerate such a surly slave, but now I know that you have hidden charms.” He gave a slow, unpleasant smile. “You should have been quieter last night.”

Juliet swore to herself. In spite of their efforts to keep their voices down, they had been overheard, and it was undoubtedly her fault. When Ross returned from seeing the amir, she had been in his arms even as the door closed. The yawer, balked of his prey, must have decided to linger outside to see what he could learn. Now he knew Juliet was female, and she had a horrible suspicion of what he intended to do about it.

She tried to pull away, but the Uzbek twisted her arm, forcing her toward the wall. “There is a famous Pushtu love song called ”Zakmi Dil,“ which means ‘Wounded Heart,” “ he said softly. ”Perhaps you have heard it? It goes
“There’s a boy across the river with a bottom like a peach, But alas! I cannot swim.” “

He smiled again and touched his tongue to his lips. “In Bokhara we are fortunate, for the great river Amu is many miles away and there is no need to swim.” With sudden violence he spun her around and slammed her face first against the wall, jerking her right arm up behind her back. “You move like a youth, as slim and graceful as a woman.”

He grabbed her buttock with his free hand and squeezed hard, his fingers digging deeply into her flesh. “Ah, yes, boy,” he said hoarsely. “Your bottom is very like a peach. You should not waste it on an unbeliever.”

Later there would be time to be grateful that he had not guessed the deeper secret of her identity; at the moment, Juliet was more concerned with escaping unravished. Rather than strike out immediately, she forced herself to hold still while Shahid fondled her, his hot breath quickening.

“You like that, don’t you, boy?” He gave a coarse chuckle. “Now I’ll show you what a real man is like. You’ll never let that whey-faced ferengi touch you again.” For a moment he pinned her against the wall with his massive body, his pelvis grinding her into the plaster. Grimly Juliet endured it, knowing that she would have only one chance to overcome his advantage of weight and position, so she must choose her time well.

Her moment came when he reached down for the hem of her robe, his growing excitement and her lack of resistance making him incautious. As soon as his hold slackened, Juliet raised her leg and smashed the heel of her boot back into his kneecap with the force of a kicking mule.

Shahid shrieked in pained surprise and lurched side-ways as his knee gave way. His grasp on her arm tightened as he fell, but Juliet was prepared. She wrenched away at an angle that would have broken his elbow joint if he had tried to maintain his grip, at the same time pulling her dagger from its sheath.

By the time the yawer realized that this would be no easy conquest, she was behind him and her knife was at his throat. Using her most guttural tone and the ugliest Persian obscenities she knew, she snarled, “Filthy swine! If you wish to fornicate, find a sow like the mother who bore you.”

When he began struggling to break away, she pressed her razor-edged blade into his windpipe with enough pressure to draw blood. “If you raise your puny rod near me again, I will cut it off and shove it down your throat.” Then she stepped back and gave him a kick in the kidneys to ensure that he would not be able to pursue her any time soon.