Veils of Silk (44 page)

"The English government has done many things that can't be defended," Ian said tersely. "My own people, the Scots, have suffered greatly at English hands."

"You sound like a man with a grievance that is more personal than political," Rajiv Singh said, eyes bright with interest. "Was your inheritance the only reason you left the army?"

Like Laura, the maharajah could be uncomfortably acute. "No, it wasn't," Ian said with some reluctance. "I was imprisoned while on an official mission to Bokhara, and held captive for a year and a half. The amir said he would release me if he received a letter from the British queen verifying my status."

Immediately guessing what was coming, the Rajput said, "And from pride or indifference, your government did nothing."

"Nothing at all," Ian said, not quite able to suppress his bitterness. "It was easier to think me dead and turn to more pressing matters. I would have died in Central Asia if it were not for the efforts of my family. Even before I learned of the inheritance, I had decided to resign my commission."

"So your government failed you," Rajiv Singh said pensively. Then his gaze sharpened. "No wonder you no longer wish to serve it. Would you be willing to serve me, Falkirk?"

"Sir?" Ian said, startled into military terseness.

"As you said, soldiers need to be well led. Would you like to command my army? You have a fine grasp of strategy and tactics and the ability to lead men." The maharajah gave a charming smile. "It seems a pity to waste such gifts on being a
farmer back in your own country."

It was a breathtaking offer. Ian doubted that it was made as casually as it appeared. No wonder Rajiv Singh had spent so much time talking to Ian over the last days; it had been an undeclared job interview. Ian considered the possibility. He would have wealth, power, and the chance to use his hard-won military skills fully.

But for what purpose? In peacetime, a soldier's challenge was to maintain razor-edge readiness in the face of endless, boring drill. In war, his task was to deal the maximum in death and destruction. Neither of those things were what Ian wanted for his future.

Having seen the abyss, what he most wanted was a loving marriage and the chance to sink roots in the land of his ancestors. And if life became too peaceful, he could use his seat in the House of Lords to chastise the British government when it became too overbearing. Commanding an army wasn't on his list. "It's a great honor you are offering. Your Highness," he said formally. "But I must decline."

"The offer remains open, Falkirk," the maharajah said, unperturbed. "Either way, I would like you to accompany me on a short tour of my frontier fortresses. The journey will give you time to consider the advantages of becoming my commander"

"I'll be happy to come with you, but don't expect me to change my mind."

The Rajput fixed Ian with a dark, hypnotic gaze. "You would have power, Falkirk—the ability to mold and lead men, to make your mark on history. Can you honestly say that the prospect is entirely unappealing?"

Ian smiled. "The real power is yours—I would be but a servant. My estate in Scotland is tiny compared to Dharjistan, but it is
my
kingdom, and there I will be the ruler."

Rajiv Singh laughed. "That is hard to argue with. Yet there is also much to be said for taking my salt and serving me. Unlike the Sirkar, I have never betrayed a man who served me well." He gestured at the nearest elephant, whose howdah was screened with a curtain to protect Kamala and Laura from the eyes of the world. "Talk it over with your wife. She seems happy here, and the maharani loves her. If you become commander of the army, Lady Falkirk will also benefit by your position. All women like jewels—you can deck her in diamonds if you like."

"I'll discuss the matter with her," Ian promised, "but she is not a woman who can be persuaded by diamonds."

On the plain, the light camel-guns had been replaced by heavy cannon drawn by elephants. When they had been lined up, they fired one after another at one-second intervals. Ian automatically began counting and came up with a hundred shots—enough artillery to blast a major city to dust in a day.

When his hearing had recovered, he repeated what he had said to Laura several days earlier. "Your army seems to incorporate European science with the best of the Rajput warrior tradition, Your Highness. The results are formidable."

"That is perceptive of you, Falkirk." Rajiv Singh's expression became reflective. "India is the great mother. Her strength is her ability to accept all that comes, and to make it part of herself. Every invader, every religion that has ever reached this land still remains, absorbed by Mother India."

Ian nodded. "The result is probably the most complex society in the world."

"What makes it possible is the caste system, which so many of the English sneer at. Here there is a place for everyone, even those who are not Hindus, like the Parsis and the Muslims." The maharajah gave Ian a challenging glance. "Though the English rule, there are too few of you to have much effect on a land so large and dynamic as this one. You will have your brief day of power and then be gone, leaving little mark of your passing."

"But we will leave some traces." Ian indicated the army in front of them. "Discipline, justice."

The maharajah snorted. "Discipline has its uses, but your British justice is a narrow, small-minded concept, best suited to tillers of the soil."

"Which is as it should be," Ian said tartly, "for they need it most. Your country has never been kind to the weak. They are preyed on by landlords, bandits, priests, and princes. In British India, life is far less hazardous, taxes are more fair, and every peasant can have his day in court and receive justice."

Rajiv Singh's eyes narrowed. "I won't deny that such things have value, or that most of your administrators are men of integrity. But taxes, thieves, litigation about whose bullock has eaten whose garden—those are trivial issues. What matters is the richness of Indian culture, the diversity of her society. No matter how hard the Sirkar tries, it can never eliminate that."

Ian had never seen the Rajput so intense. Wanting to ease the situation, he said, "Nor do we wish to. Like the Romans, we rule without trying to change people's ways." He thought of suttee and child sacrifice and amended, "At least, not usually."

Rajiv Singh snorted. "You are tolerant, Falkirk. Because of men like you, the
English yoke weighed lightly for many years. But more and more of your
countrymen seek to improve' us, to change our heathen ways. They despise the gods and customs that make us what we are. The more such Britishers there are, the more Mother India will chafe at the harness."

"I agree," Ian said. "The best of my countrymen know that our time here is limited. I hope that when the time comes for the British to leave, we will do it in peace, not anger. India and England have learned much from each other. It would be a great pity if that legacy were to be marred by violence."

On the plain, two battalions of cavalry were making a spectacular charge through each other's ranks, but the ma-harajah kept his penetrating gaze on Ian. "You are among the best of your race, Falkirk. That is why I want you by my side." Then he returned his attention to the spectacle in front of him.

Ian did the same, but his mind was not on the quality of the Dharjistani troops, nor Rajiv Singh's blandishments. It was becoming increasingly clear that the maharajah was not a man who was overly fond of the Sirkar.

The day of the military review was a holiday for many of the palace servants, and the atmosphere was festive. Meera had found the review a grand and thrilling sight. Afterward she was still excited, not ready to return to the women's quarters, so her expression brightened when she saw Zafir approaching through the chattering crowd. Meera hadn't seen him since they arrived in Manpur, and she rather missed scolding him.

The tall Pathan looked as always: arrogant, bold, and barbaric. He was also, when he smiled, quite sinfully handsome. "Greetings, little dove. Since we are both at liberty, would you care to walk with me in the park?"

She debated a moment. But she and Zafir were both members of Falkirk Sahib's household,which was rather like being family. Besides, she wanted to go. In a tone of carefully cultivated indifference, she said, "Very well, I've nothing better to do just now, but I must be back by the time darkness falls."

The palace grounds were enormous, with seven formal gardens representing the different sectors of paradise, as well as kitchen gardens and a more casually landscaped park. While the formal gardens were reserved for the use of the royal family and their court, servants were free to enjoy the park. Many were doing just that; however, the farther they strolled, from the palace, the fewer people they saw.

Meera suspected that her companion had explored the area earlier to find a place of relative privacy. Still, though the Pathan might hope to seduce her, she was sure that in his company she would be as safe as she wanted to be.

As the two wound their way through lush flowering shrubs, they exchanged news of what they had done since arriving in Manpur. Meera found that she had a gift for verbal caricature that kept her companion laughing. He seemed to enjoy her tart tongue, which was a pleasure after the restraint of her years in Mohan's household. Her husband had preferred her demure.

When the sun began dipping to the horizon, Meera said regretfully, "It will be dark soon, so it is time to turn back. Has Falkirk Sahib told you when we will leave Manpur?"

"Tomorrow he goes on a tour with the maharajah and I go with him," Zafir said. "The major said we would be absent for five or six days. We leave for Bombay a few days after that."

"So tomorrow you are off again," she said, unable to conceal a note of disappointment.

He grinned. "Have you missed me, little dove?"

"Miss such a great, rude lout? Of course not," she scoffed.

Meera should have known the dangers of teasing the Pathan, for he immediately swept her up in his arms. As she squealed, he deposited her on the branch of a tree that stretched parallel to the ground at a height that put her face level with his. She grabbed the limb for balance, which left her with no hands free to fend off Zafir. He leaned forward to kiss her, murmuring, "I shall remind you what you have been missing."

By the time he had finished reminding her, she had lost all desire to push him away. As she relaxed, he moved forward against the branch so that her knees were straddling him. Meera found the position wickedly exciting in spite of all the clothing that separated them. She let out a long sigh of pleasure when he caressed her breast, but when his exploring hand moved below her waist, she jerked her head back and inhaled sharply. "Stop, you mustn't do that."

His hand paused but did not withdraw. She said,"Please," a little desperately, for she knew her will was weak.

To her relief he eased back, though he kept his hands on her waist. "I was hoping you were a lusty widow who cared nothing for conventions," he said sadly. "Instead, you have a boring determination to preserve your virtue."

"I most certainly do!" she sputtered indignantly. "Why should I ruin myself with a ruffian of a hill bandit?"

He chuckled. "Then I have no choice. I must marry you."

Meera was so startled that she would have fallen off the branch if Zafir hadn't steadied her. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, little dove, I am." He kissed her lightly. "For one of the few times in my life, I am. Will you be my wife and bear me strong warrior sons who will laugh in the face of fire?"

Her immediate reaction was to say a resounding, "Yes!" But common sense prevailed. "Which interests you more," she said warily, "me or my jewels?"

"I'm glad you're not penniless, but I come of a good family and have done well as a soldier of the Sirkar. My wife will never be reduced to selling her jewelry to survive." His expression became tender. "But if I didn't love you, all the jewels in India would not persuade me to make you my wife."

When he looked at her like that, she would agree to anything. She inhaled shakily and reminded herself of one of the major obstacles to marriage. "Would I have to become a Muslim?"

"Yes," he admitted. "Myself, I would not mind if you kept to your own ways, but my children must be raised as believers. I will not try to persuade you that Islam is better than your own beliefs, but remember—Muslims do not burn widows."

"But Muslims do take more than one wife." Meera's eyes narrowed at the thought. "Do you have other wives?"

"Ah, my little dove is jealous!" he said with delight. "No, sweet one, I have no other wives. Though the Koran allows four, it is not Pathan custom to have more than one, except sometimes if the man is rich, and his first wife has borne him no sons."

That reminded Meera of another potential problem. "I might be barren—I was married for three years without conceiving."

"Mohan was an old man," Zafir said simply. "I am not."

She had to smile at his sublime confidence. "I do not think I am barren. But if I am wrong, will you put me aside?"

"No, you would still be my chief wife, the head of my household," he assured her. "If I die, you will always have a home and position with my family."

"Won't they resent me as a foreigner?"

"Not since I have chosen you. In particular, my mother will be glad that I am finally taking a wife." His gray eyes gleamed wickedly. "If you are concerned that you are barren, I can help you find out." Once again hands began gliding over her hips.

Meera swatted at him. "Behave yourself, barbarian. The only way I will lie with you is if we marry."

"I'm willing." His expression sobered. "Marrying me will mean giving up the life you know, and you will lose some liberties that a Hindu woman has. But you will gain other liberties, along with security and protection. Though Pathan women must be veiled when they venture into the outside world, within the compound they have influence and respect. If you accept me, I will do my best to make it easy for you to become one of us." He raised her hand and kissed her fingers. "And I do love you, little dove, not just because you are beautiful, but because you have the heart of a lioness."