The Tiger's Lady (69 page)

A wild tugging at her skirt made her frown. She looked down to see Magic before her, tail twitching, dark eyes ablaze. “Yes, little one, I know you’re worried. We
all
are. But we must hurry if we are to save him!”

The little langur began to skip up and down, wrenching Barrett’s skirts more wildly than before.

“All right, you may go with us. There might be ways that you can help, places the rest of us cannot reach.” Barrett tried to pull away. “But you must let me go!”

A shrill protest poured from the monkey’s throat. She darted to the door, then turned back to study Barrett, her dark eyes pleading.

“What are you about now? There’s no
time,
Magic! I cannot play!”

But at the door the gray creature blocked her, and began to tug her through the fields toward the great house. Barrett decided not to fight, since she had to return for her final preparations anyway. Catching Magic’s hand, she spoke slow, soothing nonsense until they came to the veranda steps.

But when she tried to pull away, Magic growled and bared a row of gleaming white teeth.

“Magic! What—”

“She is trying to tell us something,” Mita stood behind them. “She has never acted in such a way before,
memsahib.
We must follow her!”

“Very well, but only for a moment or two. I can’t vouch for how long that mix will remain stable.”

Chattering shrilly, Magic pulled Barrett down the hall past the ruined study and lunged through the door into Barrett’s bedroom. There she released Barrett’s hand and darted to the opened trunk. She plunged her head inside and began tossing petticoats and gowns to right and left.

“I’m afraid she’s overwhelmed by all this,” Barrett said softly to Mita.

“Perhaps, but…”

Just then the monkey inched out of the trunk, a white bundle clutched in triumph between her furry fingers. She jumped up and down and emitted an ear-splitting whistle.

“Oh, not that wretched thing again! Sweet heavens, Magic, this is no time for—”

But the little simian paid no attention. She threw the corset down and stamped on it, then looked up at Barrett pleadingly.

“What is it, little one?”

The monkey held out the undergarment, whimpering. As soon as Barrett took it, she came flying and knocked her back onto the bed, shoving one of the steel stays in her face.

“You wicked little—” Barrett’s forehead creased. “Whatever are you—”

And then she halted. One of the stays
was
different from the others, crumpled and badly twisted. No doubt that was the one that had bothered her so.

In amazement she watched Magic probe at the stay hole, then wrench at the steel inside.

The next minute Barrett was beside her. The seams were tightly set, and the twill hard to grip, but finally the two of them managed to work the stay halfway out.

And the lump inside did not grow any smaller.

Barrett’s heart began to pound. “Scissors, Mita. Hurry!”

She barely looked up when the woman rushed back seconds later and pressed a heavy pair of shears into her hand.

This time the twill came free with a hiss, the stay clattering to the floor.

And after it fell something else, something oval and polished, burning with fierce crimson fires.

The Eye of Shiva.

Barrett’s fingers tightened convulsively as she stared at the gleaming jewel. “Dear Lord, it was there all the time! Magic must have known. Maybe
she
put it there!”

She lifted the stone carefully. In her fingers the ruby burned, blood red and throbbing. “But how—”

Mita gave a strange, broken laugh. “I took it! May the gods forgive me, it was I!” Her hands caught in a supplicating pose. “I—I was at the brothel when Sir Humphrey was—when he—”

“You,
Mita? But you cannot have—”

“No, I am not the one who murdered him. Although if Pagan had not rescued me when he had, who can say? But as fate would have it, I was returning from an errand when I heard a low cry, and then the dropping of a heavy body. When I came to the open door, Sir Humphrey was just staring up at the ceiling, his eyes most bulging and horrible. And beneath him I found …
that.”

“And
you
brought it back?”

The slim woman nodded, tears streaming down her face. “I knew that the Tiger would never approve, for he hated the stone. But it was
his,
don’t you see? There were so many things he needed to buy when he returned, and with these attacks of Ruxley’s increasing, he would need more money than ever to pay workers…” Her fingers clenched. “It was wrong of me, I know. A most terrible wrong. But I only wanted his happiness. And then…” Her voice caught. “Then a week after we arrived, the ruby disappeared. I feared I had lost it or even that one of the workers had stolen it. But it must have been Magic!”

Barrett sucked in a lungful of air, trying to think. “I know you meant well, Mita. But—but now we have it! We can save him! Go and fetch the men. And bring fine hempen cord, a great deal of it! Hurry!”

As Mita skittered from the room, Barrett studied the stone in her hand, feeling a strange, tingling heat surge through her fingers. “Dear lord and whatever gods that listen here, please don’t let us be too late.”

Beside her Magic chattered softly, and Barrett smoothed her head with trembling fingers. “Hold on, my love,” she whispered, feeling fire curl through her palms, where she cupped the great gem.

He was jerked awake to chill and dampness, his head throbbing, blood trickling down his cheek.

“So the great Tiger awakes. About bloody time.”

Polished black boots swam in front of his throbbing eyes, from which his eye patch had been long ago torn free.

Something about those boots…

The toe flashed out and crashed into his head with gut-wrenching force.

Pagan tried to struggle upright, tried to reach out, but found he was immobile, trussed like a chicken. Slowly the black waves of pain subsided and he made out the man who paced before him, whip in hand, his face marred by a grotesque, empty eye socket.

Pagan’s lips curled in a sneer. “It’s you again, Rand. Where’s Ruxley? Or is he once again too afraid to come himself?”

His captor merely smiled. “So, Pagan, I see you remember me. How long has it been, three months? Four? You remember that night in Colombo, of course. The night you took my eye.”

The black boots crunched closer, only inches from Pagan’s face.

“An eye for an eye, the Bible says. Only fair, seeing that you nearly took mine too.” As Pagan spoke, he was thinking wildly.

Of course! The boot print. Why hadn’t he noticed sooner? It was uneven, dragging at the inner left instep, the mark of a man with a weakness in the leg.

The mark of the man Pagan had wounded in the attack three months ago in Colombo.

“Hardly the same thing, old friend.
You,
at least, have an eye left.” The boots came to a halt. “But not for long. I think I’ll enjoy cutting you up in little pieces. I just wonder if
she
will enjoy watching. Of course, it will make her so very inventive in her efforts to persuade me not to continue.”

The man threw back his head and laughed, his face twisting, his eyeless socket wrinkling obscenely. “Yes this might be quite the most fun I’ve had since I led that little raid up in the Punjab in ‘53.”

A moment later his boot ground down against Pagan’s hand and he began to laugh.

“Is that the place?”

Barrett crouched behind a line of boulders and eased the heavy leather satchel from her shoulders.

Beside her Mita nodded. “Yes, most certainly, miss. It is just beyond that hill, the waterfall that the note mentioned. But where are the jackal-hearted one and his crow-begotten followers?”

“Close by, no doubt,” Barrett said grimly.

Overhead the moon sailed in silent splendor, wreathed by feathery clouds, pouring silver light over the narrow, rocky valley.

Barrett frowned. She didn’t like it. They were bound to be seen going up to the top. But maybe that was just as well. Yes, maybe that could be turned in her favor.

She turned urgently to Mita. “You remember everything we discussed? You have the bottles, the twine?”

“I am remembering, miss. Every detail, oh, most perfectly!”

Barrett caught a chill breath, trying to fight down the fear that seized her stomach. “Then … I’m off. Wait here until I’m out of sight.”

She rose slowly to her feet, tugged the dark blanket from her shoulders, and straightened her peach dress.

There were many disguises, Pagan had said, and one never knew which one might work best. She prayed that he was right.

With a final, quick tug of her low décolletage, Barrett plunged toward the waterfall.

She was halfway up when she heard the rush of gravel behind her. She spun about, only to feel hard fingers lock over her mouth.

“Too bad I had to kill your friend Creighton,” a harsh voice growled. “He would have enjoyed the sight of you in that dress, Miss Winslow.”

“Who are—”

There was time for no more. Her hands were wrenched behind her back. The next moment she felt a grimy cloth shoved between her lips and knotted tight. Then she was shoved forward, up the hill.

She stumbled once, and her captor jerked her sharply to her feet. Tears streamed down her face, but she concentrated on the pale curtain of the waterfall above, trying to see where he was taking her.

Once again she pretended to sway and then went to her knees, all the while studying the terrain. Suddenly a metal barrel prodded her back.

“Hurry up, bitch. No more games, or you’ll never see your lover again. And judging from the way you were moaning the last time I saw you, while he plowed you proper by the waterfall, I’d say a man between your legs is
just
what you need.” The fingers tightened, biting into her shoulders. “Only that man is going to be
me,
hear? And your bloody viscount is going to have a little treat in store for him while he watches.”

With a cruel laugh the man shoved her forward, right into the overhanging curtain of the waterfall. Barrett gasped, freezing in the rush of chill water. When she emerged, her dress clung to her shivering body as wind poured from some hidden corner.

Her eyes widened. Before her stretched a narrow tunnel lit by torches.

An underground cave! Right here beneath the waterfall.

“Get going.” A booted foot jabbed her in the back, nearly knocking her to her knees.

She stumbled forward. At least now she knew that Pagan was still alive.

Around them came the echo of dripping water. Beneath the glowing torches the walls sparkled with the flare of imbedded crystals—sapphire, ruby, and amethyst.

But all were too small to be of value.

Unlike the great ruby that Barrett carried hidden beneath her gown. But she must not speak of that until the time was right.

Her surly captor pushed her forward, wind surging around her face. A few moments later she stumbled into a great cavern studded with solid stone columns from floor to ceiling.

And at the far side of the cavern, pinioned against the ground, lay Pagan, blood pooling over his brow.