The Tiger Prince

by Iris Johansen

  “Probably.” Ruel smiled recklessly as his glance followed Ian’s. “But Abdar was right. His Highness and I do have a great deal of common ground. His lady isn’t my favorite goddess, but I’ve dealt with her before and I know her ways well.”

  “Which goddess is she?”

  “Kali.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything to me. You know I pay no attention to these heathen practices.”

  “She’s the wife of Siva.” Ruel strode quickly down the hall past two turbaned footmen and out the front entrance of the palace. He paused a moment on the top step, the wet heat robbing him of breath as he looked down at the muddy river Zastu winding snakelike past the palace. A scrawny, half-naked beggar crouched by the river shaded by a palm-leaf umbrella as he dispensed blessings on the passersby who tossed him rupees, and curses on those who did not.

  Kasanpore. Christ, what a miserable place. Hot, stinking, overrun by disease and snakes that crawled on the ground and walked on two legs.

  As Ian joined him, Ruel started down the hundred stone steps leading to their waiting ricksha outside the palace gates. “But that’s not Kali’s only distinction,” Ruel said. “The diety Abdar admires so much is also the goddess of destruction.”

  Jane Barnaby wasn’t what he had thought she would be.

  Ruel leaned back against the rock and pulled his felt hat forward to shade his eyes as he gazed down at the crew laboring on the track in the valley below. From Abdar’s description, he had pictured a strident, Junoesque virago, but Jane Barnaby was none of those things. Small and fine-boned, she appeared almost childlike in the baggy denim trousers, loose blue chambray shirt, and brown suede boots she always wore. A tan straw coolie hat shaded her head from the merciless rays of the sun as she moved down the row of track, stopping now and then to examine a fitting or speak sharply to a worker who was carelessly hammering a tie. Today her every step, every slightest movement, was charged with energy and vitality, but it was not always so. Often at the end of the day, when the workers had been dismissed and she thought no one present to witness her weakness, Ruel had seen her lean her forehead on the saddle of her mare, Bedelia, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion before gathering enough strength to mount her horse for the long ride back to Kasanpore.

  Jane stopped, her gaze zeroing in on a wiry Indian whose pace in pounding the steel into the ground was almost leisurely. Ruel grinned as he saw her shoulders square and jaw tighten. He recognized those signs of annoyance and determination as he now recognized every gesture and motion she made. It was odd how quickly he had learned to read the woman. He had thought the surveillance would bore him, but instead he found himself caught, intrigued, and often amused.

  She strode down the track toward the Indian and stopped before him. Ruel couldn’t hear her words, but he could tell by the scowl on the Indian’s face that the spate blistered. She turned and walked away and the Indian gazed after her, an ugly expression twisting his features. However, he kept his place, and it was not because of the brawny overseer, Robinson, who watched from the side of the road. He knew about the knife sheathed in Jane Barnaby’s left boot.

  And so did Ruel.

  After a moment the Indian picked up his huge hammer and started pounding the spike with slightly more enthusiasm.

  “Why don’t you give it up?”

  Ruel glanced over his shoulder to see Ian climbing the hill from the grove where he had tied his horse beside Ruel’s. “Why should I? She’s the key to Kartauk.”

  “You’ve been watching her for four days and she’s done nothing but work like a galley slave.” Ian crouched down beside Ruel. “Can’t you see Abdar was lying to you? She couldn’t be Kartauk’s mistress. Just look at her, the lass isn’t much more than a child.”

  “Appearances are almost always deceiving. Remind me to tell you about a whore I once had in Singapore. Mei Lei had the face of a baby angel and the delightfully corrupt talents of Delilah.” His gaze returned to the woman below. “What did you find out from Colonel Pickering about Reilly?”

  “Not much. Reilly’s uneducated but good-natured enough and drinks like a sot. He had a fairly good reputation in Yorkshire, and after he finished building a line between Dover and Salisbury, he entered a bid for this job.”

  “And the woman?”

  Ian shrugged. “No one ever sees her. She never goes to the club with him. Reilly keeps her pretty much to himself.”

  “And their relationship?”

  Ian looked uncomfortable. “There are rumors … but no one knows for sure.” His gaze shifted down to Jane in the valley below. “I believe it’s all nonsense and she is Reilly’s ward.”

  “Because you want to believe it.”

  Ian tilted his head as he looked back at Ruel. “And you don’t. Why not?”

  Ruel realized to his surprise that Ian was right. He wanted Jane Barnaby to be the promiscuous harlot Abdar had described, and the reason lay in the odd fascination she held for him. It couldn’t be lust, he thought impatiently. How could he feel lust for this bony, big-eyed waif? Nor was it pity. Even exhausted she displayed a strength of purpose and an endurance that defied sympathy. Yet, somehow, she moved him.

  The acknowledgment caused his defenses to instantly rise. God, the sun must be addling his brains. He allowed no one to touch his emotions, and certainly not a woman whom he might have to use to get Kartauk. He turned to Ian and smiled cynically. “I haven’t your faith in human nature. We’re all what life makes us, and I’d wager Jane Barnaby’s life has been as turbulent as mine.”

  “I still think that—” Ian shrugged as he met Ruel’s gaze. “You’ve been out here for hours in the sun. Would you like me to watch her for the rest of the day?”

  “No.” Ian’s brows lifted in surprise at the quick refusal. Ruel tempered his tone. “I’m used to the heat. You’d probably get sunstroke after an hour.”

  “You’re probably right. I can’t see how you can bear it.” Ian’s voice became wistful. “It never gets this hot at Glenclaren. Remember how the cool mists on the hills rise in the morning?”

  “No, I don’t remember.”

  Ian smiled. “Then it will come as a delightful surprise when you come back to us.” He rose to his feet. “If you won’t let me help now, I’ll take my turn watching the bungalow tonight.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “You never know when to stop. You’re becoming as obsessed about watching that child as you are about your Cinnidar.”

  “She’s not a child.” The words came too sharply again, and Ruel forced himself to smile carelessly. “If you want to help, go back to the Officers’ Club and see if you can find out from Pickering if the maharajah has any passions besides his new toy of a railroad.”

  Ian nodded as he took out his handkerchief and wiped his perspiring brow. “I won’t argue with you. A cool drink on the veranda while being fanned by one of the club’s servants seems like heaven right now.” He turned and started down the hill toward the horses. “I’ll see you back at the hotel.”

  “Yes.” Ruel’s tone was abstracted as he turned to look down at the woman again. Jane had stopped by the water bearer and took the dipper of water he held out to her. As she drank, she tilted back her head, and he could see the graceful line of her throat and the dark lashes curving against her tan cheeks as she half closed her eyes against the glare of the sun.

  He waited, anticipation stirring. After she drank she would splash a little water on her cheeks and throat and run her damp palms under the heavy braid covering her nape.

  She returned the dipper to the bearer, who smiled, filled it again, and poured the water into her cupped hands.

  Ruel leaned back against the rock, watching as she cooled her cheeks and forehead and then her throat and nape. It was ridiculous to feel this absurd sense of satisfaction just because she had done what he had expected her to do. Yet the satisfaction persisted, escalated, as she returned the dipper back to the bearer.

  Now she would retrace her s
teps back to the point where the new track started and examine the ties, measure the distance between the rails to make sure it was exactly four feet eight and a half inches.

  Jane whirled and walked briskly back along the newly laid track.

  He laughed softly and tilted his hat until it rested on the back of his head. By God, he knew her. He felt as if he had never known anyone in his entire life as well as he knew Jane Barnaby. He knew every gesture, every reaction, almost her every thought.

  His smile faded as he realized the pleasure that knowledge brought him, the pleasure a man might feel in exploring the gaits of a fine horse he had just acquired or the first sensual discoveries of the talents of a mistress.

  The pleasure of possession.

  Nonsense. He had no desire to own anyone and had a passion only for what awaited him on Cinnidar. He was merely bored and it amused him to predict the girl’s next moves. Besides, it would be only sensible to familiarize himself with the way she thought if she could lead him to Kartauk.

  “The work is going too slow.” Patrick stretched his long legs out before him under the dinner table and lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips. “The maharajah paid me a little visit this afternoon and the bastard says he wants the railroad finished before the monsoon season.”

  “Well, he’s not going to get it.” Jane looked dully down at the rice and chicken on her plate. She felt too tired to eat but knew she must. Food brought strength and she had to keep strong. She picked up the fork and attacked the rice. “The rains start in two weeks and we’ve just finished the bridge across Sikor Gorge.”

  “That leaves only another twenty-five miles of track to lay before you join with the track we laid from Narinth. At six miles a day we—”

  “We’re not doing six miles a day. We’re lucky to do two.”

  Patrick muttered a curse. “Then push them, dammit.”

  Jane’s hand tightened on the fork. “I’m doing the best I can. You know the workers won’t listen to me.” She smiled mirthlessly. “Those who don’t regard me as a freak look on me only as a woman and therefore unworthy of attention.”

  “The crew listened to you on the Yorkshire job.”

  “Because most of the time you were on the site. They thought I was only mouthing your orders.” She met his gaze across the table. “It might be the same here if you’d just make an appearance every day.”

  He flushed. “This infernal heat gives me a headache. You have Robinson to back you up.”

  “Robinson is only an overseer. Come just for an hour or so. Then you can go back to Kasanpore.”

  He was silent a moment and then a smile lit his ruddy face with warmth. “You’re right. From now on I’ll be there every day until the job is done.” He studied her face. “You’re looking a bit ragged. Why don’t you stay in bed tomorrow and get some rest?”

  “I’ll be fine after a night’s sleep.” She took another bite of rice. “But it really would help if you’d come with me tomorrow.”

  He frowned. “Good God, you sound like a nagging fishwife. I said I’d come, didn’t I?”

  “Sorry.” She finished the rice on her plate. “You’re not eating.”

  “It’s too hot to eat.” He refilled his glass from the bottle on the table. “And even if I were hungry I couldn’t stomach this slop. I don’t see why you had to send Li Sung to Narinth. I haven’t had a decent meal since he left.”

  She hurriedly glanced down at her plate. “Sula isn’t a bad cook. I needed someone in Narinth to make sure the work on the station was going well.”

  “No one would pay any attention to the orders of a chink.” He flushed defiantly as he saw the expression on her face. “Well, they wouldn’t.”

  “No more than they would a woman,” she agreed. “But he can watch and report if we’re being cheated by the subcontractor you hired to do the work.” She stood up and began to stack the dishes on the table. “Try to eat a little, or you’ll have a bad head in the morning.”

  “Later.” Patrick lifted the glass to his lips and she knew he’d leave the meal untouched. “That friend of the prince’s came with the maharajah.”

  She stiffened. “Pachtal?”

  Patrick nodded. “Seems a pleasant enough fellow. He said to give you his regards.”

  “Really?” She tried to make her tone noncommittal. “Did he say anything else?”

  “No.” Patrick made a face. “The maharajah said it all. He wanted to know where his locomotive was and when we’d finish laying the track.”

  “You told him the locomotive would arrive in a few days?”

  “If the damn boat doesn’t sink to the bottom of the river with it,” Patrick said gloomily. “It would be just our luck. Nothing else has gone right on this job.” He brightened. “At least, he’ll be pleased with the locomotive. It’s going to sport so much brass, he’ll well nigh be blinded by it.”

  Her gaze flew to his face. “How could we afford to do that? We barely had enough cash left to afford the engine itself.”

  “I managed to cut a few corners.” Patrick didn’t look at her as he sipped his whiskey. “The maharajah likes a little flash and glitter, and we need to keep him sweet-tempered.”

  “That’s true enough.” She stood looking at him, frowning. “What corners?”

  He waved a vague hand. “I just eliminated a part here and there. Nothing important.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I said so, didn’t I?” Patrick’s tone turned testy. “I’ve been a railroad man since I was a lad of fourteen, Jane. I think I know what I’m doing.”

  “I just wanted to be—”

  “It’s too hot in here.” Patrick pushed back his chair, stood up, and grabbed his glass and bottle. “I’m going out on the veranda, where it’s cooler.”

  And where there were no troublesome questions to make him uncomfortable, Jane thought as she watched him walk toward the door leading to the screened veranda. His step was a little unsteady, but he wasn’t staggering, which meant he probably hadn’t been noticeably inebriated during his interview with the maharajah and Pachtal.

  Pachtal. Both his presence and his message were obviously meant as a warning that she had not been forgotten by Abdar. During the past two weeks she had been scrupulously careful not to leave the encampment. Abdar must be seething with frustration, she mused. She smiled with grim satisfaction as she carried the dishes to the kitchen adjoining the dining room.

  The tall, sari-clad servant woman was in the process of scraping bits of chicken into Sam’s bowl and straightened with a guilty smile as Jane entered the kitchen. “I know the dog is not supposed to be in here, but I thought only this once?”

  “It’s all right, Sula. Just don’t let the sahib see him.”

  Sula nodded. “The meal pleased you, memsahib?”

  “Very good.” Jane gave her an abstracted smile as she set the dishes on the countertop. She then bent and patted the dog’s silky head. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so complacent about Pachtal’s visit, when it might have signaled the end of the waiting game Abdar had been playing. She had meant to visit Zabrie before this and ask her to set up a way for Kartauk to leave the city, but the pressure of work had caused her to ignore everything but the laying of the track. She should really go see the woman tonight.

  No, not tonight. She could feel the cold lethargy of exhaustion dragging at every limb. Why did she care anyway? Li Sung was right; Kartauk was using her as much as she had used him. But it made no difference; she did care. She had never been able to bear the idea of cruelty to the helpless—though the idea of Kartauk being helpless was ironic. Yet while Abdar held the power in Kasanpore, Kartauk was without—

  Dear heaven, her mind must be as weary as her body to meander like this. She would wash up and go to bed and try not to think of Abdar, his father, Kartauk, or the monumental pressure of the work waiting for her tomorrow.

  As she crossed the living room on the way to her bedroom she heard Patrick humming to himself on the
veranda. For a moment she felt a flicker of fierce resentment. He was happily drowning his worries in his bottle of whiskey, leaving her to solve their problems.

  “Jane?” Patrick called.

  She stopped but did not turn toward the veranda. “Yes?”

  “I meant it about you staying in bed tomorrow.” His tone was soft, caressing, almost affectionate. “We can’t have you falling ill again. Whatever would I do without you?”

  Jane’s resentment vanished. He did care about her and God knows he needed her. “I won’t be ill. I’m just a little tired.”

  “Well, take care of yourself.”

  Easy to say but almost impossible to do when the work never ended, she thought ruefully. “I will.” She started quickly toward the bedroom door again, but a little of the lethargy and discouragement had dissipated in the surge of warmth she had felt for Patrick. He might use her, as Li Sung claimed, but he had rescued them both from Frenchie’s and given them freedom and a roof over their heads. For that alone she would always be passionately grateful.

  She lit the oil lamp on the table beside her narrow mosquito-net-draped bed and started to unbutton her loose shirt. She felt better now and would feel still better when she had washed away some of the sweat and dirt of the day. It would be foolish to put off going to see Zabrie when Abdar was clearly becoming an active danger again. The bath would revive her. Then she would be restored enough to set out for the city and deal with Zabrie.

  “What is this place?” Ian whispered, peering at the large two-story sod house across the street.

  Ruel’s gaze never left the doorway through which Jane Barnaby had just passed as he answered. “Zabrie’s. The Kasanpore version of a house of ill repute. Not exactly the kind of place a respectable lady visits.”

  “Zabrie … ah, yes, Abdar mentioned the place, didn’t he?” Ian frowned. “Abdar could have lied about its purpose.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I spent two nights here last week.”