by Pema Donyo
Warren placed his back flat against one wall and twisted his shoulders to peer through the glass window. Five British soldiers marched down the street in a pack of pith helmets and pressed brown uniforms, asking questions of Indian men passing by. The Indians they talked to were well-dressed in newsboy caps and collared shirts with gray pants fit for a proper suit. There was little fear in their postures, unlike the poorer villagers he had seen before. Maybe it had nothing to do with their level of wealth. Perhaps the revolutionary fever merely coated this village thicker than the others.
Each Indian in the group shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, but the soldiers still seemed to be walking in his and Parineeta’s direction all the same.
His attention flickered from the soldiers to the scene inside the kitchen once Parineeta spoke again. “It’s urgent. I will be in contact with you soon. Don’t worry.”
He turned around and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s no time to lose.”
Ankita grabbed one of his hands and surrounded his palm with both of hers. Wrinkles pulled up against the sides of her mouth as she smiled at him. Her touch was warm. “I hope your journey to Lucknow will be safe.”
“I hope so, too. I cannot thank you enough for your kindness and hospitality,” he said in Hindi. He placed his other palm over the top of the woman’s weathered hands.
She leaned in closer. Her green veil fell forward on her forehead until it covered her gray hair. “Take good care of my Parineeta, won’t you?”
He didn’t need to think twice. “I will protect her with my life.”
An unceremonious snort echoed from the other room. When had Parineeta left the kitchen?
“He needs my protection as well!”
“That I do!” The corner of his mouth quirked upward as he left the room to join her.
Crazy girl.
• • •
Parineeta pushed aside one of the low swinging branches of the mango tree. The sticky air around her smelled damp, cool, and fresh. Even after she’d disguised Warren, she felt much more comfortable traveling through the dense jungle than through populous towns and villages. The last problem they needed was someone recognizing either of them on the main road.
“Look what I found!”
She turned around at the sound of his excited voice. He stood a few feet away from her, pointing to a mango tree. A plethora of ripe, juicy mangoes drooped down from the branches, just above his head.
She frowned. “All you think about is your stomach.” She searched the branches above the mangoes for any other signs of life up there. “There will be food when we find my brother. Let us continue on for now.”
But Warren jumped up anyway, grabbing a mango and yanking the fruit off the tree. He grabbed another and another. She walked over to him and placed both of her hands on his shoulders.
“Stop!”
He halted with a jerky motion. The confusion etched across his brow almost made her laugh. His hands clenched around the reddish-orange fruits. “Why should I?”
As if on cue, she heard the familiar sound of the tree’s inhabitants and felt dread sink into the pit of her stomach. She swiped at the fruits to try to knock them out of his hands, but he extended his arm up and away to keep the mangoes just out of her reach. “Because those do not belong to you.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Warren held up his fruit to the light, admiring his prize as if it had been given to him from Vishnu himself. “Who else could they belong to?”
A series of screeches from above answered his question.
“Aye Bhagwan,” she murmured.
Nearly a dozen monkeys began to descend the length of the mango tree’s branches to stare at Warren. Each set of beady, hazel eyes poked out of fuzzy, pink faces framed with thin coats of brown fur. Their ears pricked up, aware of the intruder. She could have sworn they were scowling. Silence filled the air for several moments.
She remained still, while he backed up against her. Yet the monkeys continued to climb down the branches, gathering in size until even she felt her jaw drop.
Before she could say a word, the group started emitting a loud, high-pitched bark. The largest monkey bared its teeth at Warren with a hiss.
He dropped the mangoes, sending all the fruit he’d gathered rolling across the floor.
She sucked in a quick intake of breath. “On the count of three, you are following me…”
“You have a plan?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“One…”
Suddenly, one of the monkeys in the back flew into the air, its arms outstretched as it missed Warren by a few centimeters. He swore. The monkey screeched again, and the others followed his example.
“Three! Go!” She took off, heading deeper into the jungle. His heavy footsteps thudded behind her, accompanying the sounds of his continual cursing in streams of English phrases she’d never heard before.
The monkeys were never far behind them, screaming shrill threats. She saw them out of the corner of her eye swing from tree to tree to keep up.
“This way!” Parineeta ducked beneath another branch as her feet hurried along the edge of a wide boulder until the rock merged with a dark cave. She ran inside the narrow opening, with Warren following just seconds behind her. The farther they ran, the more the sound of monkeys died out.
He hung his head, wheezing for breath as he put his hands on his knees. The once pristine kameez pants were covered in dirt around the ankles. “I knew I would be outrunning the British on this mission, but I never thought about the monkeys.”
“You stole their food.” She frowned. “They had every right to be angry at you.”
He held up his hands. There were scratches on his palms and along his forearms, probably where he’d brushed against a branch. “All right, I will never attempt to steal from nature again. You saved my life back there.”
She nodded. “Good. It might not be the last time. If you respect the jungle, then the jungle will respect you.”
“And what about people?”
“People do not respect you even if you respect them.”
He remained quiet for a moment. The cave blocked out sounds from outside and let little light waft in through the opening. Still, she could make out his soft expression. “I know what you mean.”
The corner of her mouth twisted into a wry smile. Of course he did not. Still, it was sweet of him to empathize. She raised her veil from around her shoulders to cover the sides of her head.
“How do you know so much about the jungle, anyway?” He leaned against one side of the cave, and she watched his face slip into the shadows. “I thought your entire family worked for the previous general who lived in that house before me. Surely he didn’t send you out for tasks in the trees.”
The unbidden memories sent a fresh wave of pain straight to her heart. “When I was younger, I worked as a maid in the house. But the previous general was… He would instruct me to scrub the floors from dawn until sundown, when I would finally receive a break to eat a meal. All his servants were treated in such a manner.”
“Why?”
“I do not believe he saw us as people. We were simply ‘coolies’ who could be worked like dogs. I would often escape into the jungle, and eventually I no longer worked in the house at all.”
“I see.” Warren reached out to envelope both of her hands into his smooth ones. She flinched. Yet as her skin grew accustomed to the touch, she relaxed her hands in his. It alarmed her how much more at ease she was becoming around him. It was almost as if he provided a source of comfort, something she couldn’t quite name and didn’t care to. “I do not understand why anyone would be cruel to you, though.”
He rubbed his thumb in a circular motion over her hand. Shockwaves from his touch jolted up her arm.
Danger. She wrenched one of her hands from his hold and pivoted on her heel. But his right hand still gripped hers with firm pressure. Her torso twisted as she kept her face turned from h
is. “Then you do not know enough of the world.”
“I think I do.” His voice was low and husky. A chill ran up Parineeta’s spine and unfamiliar heat pooled in the pit of her stomach. “I’ve seen and known many women during my life. No agent’s or colonel’s daughter has ever been more courageous or intelligent than you.”
Parineeta spun her head around. She wanted—no, she needed—to believe this man. No one had ever said the honeyed words that left his mouth to her before. They were so sweet that she could almost taste her grandmother’s syrup. He squeezed her hand and brought her body ever so closer to his. His musky scent lingered in the air, and she would have sworn he could hear her heartbeat.
“You called me intelligent in the past. Am I?” She lifted her chin, reclaiming her pride and throwing off whatever feeling this man gave her. She would not buckle to her knees before him. “I am here to learn information from you and nothing more, yet you seem to draw me into dangerous situations.”
Warren lifted his thumb to graze the top of her cheekbone. She struggled to keep her breathing under control as she met his gaze. The brown hair she had grown accustomed to seeing so coiffed and slicked back had fallen from its former grace and hung loose over his forehead, the ends brushing the top of his eyes.
When he spoke, he sounded distant, as if in a trance. His eyes remained fixed on hers. “I wish every woman was like you.”
She felt her cheeks flush. No man had ever spoken to her with such boldness before. A heady rush swept through her body as he inched closer to her, removing the gap between them as he inclined his body toward hers. His stubble scratched the side of her cheek, and his scent bombarded her senses, removing all rational thought. It was only her and him, in this moment, free and alive and closer and closer….
His lips brushed against hers, softly at first, then more insistent. She clutched the collar of his kameez. Could he hear her heart pounding? His right hand threaded through her hair, combing through her waves and falling along the sides of her sari. His other hand pressed into the small of her back, molding her body against his.
Her body naturally reacted in the same way—hungry and yearning against his lips. She put everything she had into the kiss, all her years of rejection and feeling unwanted and being unable to marry due to her skin. Too dark for the British to view her as an equal, too light for the men in her village to forget who her father was. She’d never kissed a man before. And this one made her feel like a flame burning up from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.
Chapter Seven
He pressed her further back against the cool stone behind her. His body covered hers as she arched against him and wrapped one of her legs around his waist. Warmth filled her to the core. She needed more. Her hands fell to the hardened muscles of his upper arms as her hair fanned out against the cave wall behind her.
The weight of his body felt amazing against her own. He pushed further against her, running his hand up and down her arm as his chest covered hers. She’d never known such heat before. Her hands fell from his arms to roam down the length of his back, where her palms splayed against his chiseled muscles. She moaned against his neck when he drew away for breath, unable to trap the sound inside her.
He paused and rested his forehead against her own. When he spoke, he drew in ragged breaths between each word. “Parineeta, I think I may…”
A cold hand gripped her heart. “Stop.”
He looked up, confusion furrowing his brow. “What?”
She glanced down at their position. One of her legs wrapped tightly against his waist, while the other had drifted up the back of his ankle. What was she doing? How could she? She pushed him off her, sending him reeling backward. “Stop. Do not say one more word.”
He tried to reach for her arm, but she held up one hand in warning.
“I am not my mother,” she whispered.
His face fell.
“My mother fell for a man’s words once, too. He had no interest in her soul, only an interest in her body. She believed he loved her.” Parineeta swallowed hard. “I will not make her mistake.”
He let out a deep exhale. “Why are you comparing me to him?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You are all the same.”
“I would never abandon you.”
“I hardly know you!”
He stepped back at her exclamation. The force of her words startled even her. “I am supposed to use you as a tool for revenge, not a man to fall in love with. I have no time to...” To what? To care for someone? Surely not to fall in love.
“Neither did I. I always thought I needed to leave for my next assignment, that there was no point in settling down with any girl.” Warren set his jaw. His shoulders stiffened. “Parineeta, I didn’t plan this.”
She hated the way her name sounded on his lips, so tender and so tinged with desire, hated it more than the torrential monsoon rains, more than the endless days when the past general had worked her to the bone. At least they didn’t offer her a glimpse of something she’d never have. “I will not fall for your sweet words and flattery. I know better than to trust men like you.” She looked away.
Warren stepped toward her, a few twigs crackling beneath his weight. She remained fixed to the spot, avoiding his gaze. The closer he came, the more her body ached with longing. Her chest rose and fell with each purposeful breath she took, determined to calm herself.
His breath was hot against her cheek. “How can I prove it to you?”
“You can’t.”
Without another word, Parineeta stormed out of the cave.
• • •
Warren banged his fist against the cave wall. Pain flooded his arm, but that didn’t stop him from punching the rock’s surface one more time. How could he have been so stupid!
What in the world had possessed him to kiss her so suddenly? No wonder she’d thought he’d tried to take advantage of her. What had he been thinking? He rested one hand against the stone wall, biting his curled forefinger as he brought his fist to his mouth. He hadn’t been thinking, of course. His body had gravitated toward her, guided by nothing other than the incredible softness of her skin and the instinctual need for sensation. He hadn’t even realized what was happening until she’d pushed him away.
He shut his eyes, trying to will the image of the half-Indian beauty from his mind. How her lithe body had felt beneath him, how he’d been pressed so close against her full hips… He clenched his fists. Now she’d never let him touch her again.
He’d thought she was pretty when he first met her, but somehow she drew him in further each time he saw her. She was beautiful in an effortless, unassuming way. It was as if the sharpness of her features and the sensuality of her frame had magnified until he could no longer ignore them. She really had no idea about her effect on him.
One moment he’d simply been grateful that she’d saved his life, and the next moment he’d found himself clinging to her kisses, unable to let go. There was something different about her. Something daring, even adventurous. Maybe it was the fact that she was a spy, too.
He wanted to laugh. What was that phrase the NBCI instructors repeated to all new recruits during training? Don’t fall in love. He’d never had a problem with the simple mandate until that moment, when he was running from the damn British army and had to go to Lucknow to deliver confidential information for the American government.
He frowned. She’d been right to push him away. He couldn’t give her what she deserved. Stability and social acceptance would always elude her as long as she was with him. Neither of those two ways of life had ever been his, and he had no desire to claim them for his own. He could only give her a life on the run. She deserves far better.
Warren walked outside to join her … and stopped dead in his tracks. Waiting for him stood several men with their fists curled around guns, tapping the weapons against their free hands. The expressions on all their faces were severe as they studied him, trying to make out who he was.
�
��Ah, there he is!”
He turned his head at the sound of Raj’s voice. Parineeta stood next to her brother. Her own expression was blank, and her lips were pressed together into a tight line.
Raj was holding a gun in each hand, the revolvers down at his sides. He smiled. “My sister tells me you have decided to join us. The more of us at work, the more successful the mission will be. You may accompany us to Lucknow.”
Parineeta finally looked up at Warren. Her blank expression was replaced by one of amusement. “I believe you know my brother. These are his friends. They belong to the freedom fighter group called the Hindustan Republican Association.”
She gestured to the men surrounding them on all sides. The band of anarchists, or so the NBCI had feared they were, looked like any other men—collared shirts, grey vests, pressed pants. None of them could have been over the age of thirty.
One man with a thin mustache stepped forward. He seemed the strongest of the group. His arms were crossed in front of him, but he nodded to Warren. “Ashfaqulla Khan.”
Another man, this one without any guns, also stepped forward. He was slightly rounder than Ashfaqulla, a white fedora perched on his head. “Bismil.”
The other men introduced themselves in turn, each regarding Warren with a wary eye. Nevertheless, he felt a sense of acceptance within their circle. It seemed that Raj’s friendly salute was enough to convince them to trust a stranger for the time being. There were seven people in total, and, according to Parineeta, more would join them at the station.
They set up camp for the night. Warren continually tried to speak with Parineeta, but she ignored him each time he approached her. The moment he entered within a few yards of her, she would immediately start talking to one of Raj’s friends. The routine repeated itself until he finally gave up. It was time to focus his attentions instead to helping the other men find firewood.
He set to work picking up pieces of wood outside the official camp. The men who had introduced themselves as Ashfaqulla and Bismil were not far away.
Ashfaqulla strapped his lanky arm around Warren’s shoulder. “How does a white man like you end up fighting an Indian’s battle?”
