Her reaction fueled her worst suspicions about her nature. If her companion had shown the least interest in her—if his fingers had brushed her hand, or if he had smiled into her eyes—she would have melted like wax in the Indian sun.
Thank heaven Ian was oblivious to her overheated imagination. As Laura ruthlessly suppressed her longings, she swore that she would not allow herself to get into such an intimate situation again. Though the major was indifferent to her modest charms, another man might not have been.
Dusk fell rapidly, and it was nearly full dark when a tiger emerged languidly from the underbrush. In the bright moonlight, its stripes shone pale gold. Laura had never seen a tiger in the wild, and she caught her breath, awed by its dangerous beauty.
Even that tiny sound caused the massive striped head to swing toward the machan. She held utterly still until the tiger resumed its stroll. Ian silently raised his rifle, but held his fire. Laura wondered how he could identify the correct tiger at night, then remembered that he had said that the man-eater had a bad paw. This beast had no limp, so it must be the innocent tigress rather than the rogue they sought.
Catching the predator's scent, the kid gave a thin bleat of fear. Instantly the cat dropped into a stalking position and slunk toward the staked animal, tail switching and hindquarters quivering with anticipation. Laura bit her lip to prevent herself from asking Ian to shoot into the air to drive the tigress away. Doing so might save the kid at the price of alerting the man-eater if it was near.
The kid backed to the end of its tether and bleated again, its terrified cry sending a chill down Laura's spine. The sound also affected the tigress, for she abruptly abandoned her stalk. Majestic as a queen, she walked up to the kid, lowered her head, and sniffed. Briefly the large beast and the small stood nose to nose. Then the tigress gave the kid a friendly swipe with her huge tongue, using a force that staggered the little animal.
Peace having been made, the tigress moved to the water and drank, then disappeared into the night. Laura released her breath. The water hole truce had held, or perhaps the tigress's maternal instincts had been roused by the kid's vulnerability.
Laura glanced at Ian in time to see his head turn toward her. Neither spoke, and she could not see his face in the shadows, but words were not needed to know that they shared the same sense of wonder over what they had seen. For a moment she felt as close to him emotionally as she was physically.
After the tigress, traffic slowed down and eventually Laura began to feel drowsy. She was trying to suppress a yawn when Ian took off his jacket, folded it into a crude pillow, and gestured for her to lie down. By shifting his position a little, he created enough space so that she could rest.
Gratefully she accepted his unspoken suggestion. After unpinning her hair, she curled up on her side, the improvised pillow under her head. Laura had always been aware of the fact that every person had a subtle, individual scent, and Ian's jacket carried his. It made her feel safe, so safe....
She was floating in the dreamy space between waking and sleeping when the insight emerged. The reason she felt so safe with Ian was because he didn't desire her. Most men did, and she was always uncomfortably aware of their yearning. But the feeling that she got from the major was very like what she had felt from her stepfather: kindness and protection.
Because she was so accustomed to generating male desire, she had been disconcerted when Ian was not attracted to her. But the present situation was better. If he did not desire her, it was safe for them to be friends.
It was a delicious thought to carry into sleep.
* * *
Ian kept watch through the night, but the man-eater did not come. His vigil was not unpleasant. The grasses on the far side of the water hole rippled like pale silk in the moonlight, and the soft sound of Laura's breathing was as soothing as gentle music. He liked having her close.
He tried to imagine Georgina sleeping beside him, hair loose and one hand curled against his thigh, but he couldn't quite bring the picture into focus. Georgina might dance all night, but she would never stay quietly in the forest.
At dawn Laura woke and sat up, moving carefully so she wouldn't fall off the machan. A shaft of sunlight slanted through the leaves and struck the hair that tumbled luxuriously about her shoulders, turning it to glowing bronze. Her slanted eyes were the same shade, and Ian once more thought of a cat—a sleek, pretty puss who dined on cream and slept on silk.
"I have an interesting assortment of sore muscles." She yawned and stretched her arms. "But I assume that the man-eater didn't oblige us."
"I'm afraid not," he replied. "I warned you that it might be a dull night."
To his regret, she tied her hair back with a ribbon as she continued, "I'm glad I came. It was quite an education. The kid must be grateful there was no more excitement. A second tiger might not have been as charitable as the first."
Ian handed her one of the chapatis he had brought. After they'd eaten and each had a drink from Laura's canteen, he descended from the machan, then helped his companion down. Her waist was slim and supple under his hands, and he enjoyed touching her even without the undercurrent of sexuality that would have been there before Bokhara. If only...
He swore at himself. Thinking about what might have been was a sure path to despair. He untethered the kid and they began the trek back to Nanda. By the time they reached the fields outside the village, the morning sun had loosened muscles stiffened by a night in the machan.
They were walking along a broad grassy track that divided the field on the left from the forest when Ian raised a hand to shade his eye and squinted into the distance. "There's Punwa now, coming to learn what luck we had. Would you mind waiting here for a few minutes? I need to return the kid and make arrangements with Punwa to go hunting later this morning. If the tiger won't come to us, we'll have to go to the tiger."
Laura gave him a quizzical look. "I know that you said you don't sleep much, but surely you must sometimes?"
"Not if I can help it," he said, his voice hardening. Kid in tow, he set off toward Punwa. Laura knit her brows as she watched him go. Even when he was in a more relaxed mood, the major reminded her of a tautly drawn bowstring; if he didn't learn to rest, someday he would shatter.
She turned toward the nearby field, where women and children were already working. Recognizing many of them from previous tours, Laura waved. The nearest was a young wife named Kunthi. Laura called a greeting to her and received a shy smile in return. The girl gestured toward a child who was picking wildflowers at the edge of the field. "Remember my Narwa, memsahib? He is not so little now."
"What a big boy he has become," Laura called back. "I would not have known him."
His attention caught by the conversation, Narwa gave Laura a sunny smile and began walking toward her, clutching flowers in both pudgy hands. Since he wasn't much above two years old, his legs were bowed and his course erratic. Laura smiled and perched on the trunk of a fallen tree, guessing that he would prefer to reach her under his own power.
Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Laura glanced casually to her right— and froze with shock when she saw a tiger slinking out of the forest, belly tight to the ground in a predator's stalk. This was no startled leopard or maternal tigress but the man-eater himself, a quarter ton of muscle, teeth, and claws. And the object of its hunt was Narwa. Oblivious to danger, the child was bringing Laura his bouquet.
Hoping that her voice might frighten the tiger off, she jumped to her feet and shouted, "Ian!"
Instead of fleeing, the beast accelerated, bounding out of the grass with long strides that covered the ground rapidly in spite of the limp in his left forepaw.
His charge brought him into view of the field workers, who began screaming. Kunthi was closest. With an anguished shriek she began racing toward her son, but she was too far away to reach him before the tiger did.
Hearing his mother's voice, Narwa turned and saw the gold-and-black menace thundering down on him.
He whimpered but made no attempt to flee.
Driven by pure instinct, Laura bolted across the open ground, her stomach twisting as she calculated distances and angles. Narwa was about twenty yards from Laura, the tiger perhaps sixty yards beyond and closing fast.
Ian was so far away that it would be a difficult shot even if he had heard the shouts and turned around. Worse, if he fired from his present position, he would risk hitting the child or Laura. Only Laura had a chance to make a difference.
By the time she reached Narwa, the tiger was so close that she could see the blazing gold lights of its eyes. It was bunching its muscles for the final spring when she pulled off her topi and threw it at the beast with a furious snap of her wrist.
By sheer luck, the hard shell of the topi banged into the tiger's left eye. As the beast faltered, hissing with rage, Laura bent and scooped the child into her arms without stopping.
Time seemed to slow down and every sensation was magnified. Narwa was a solid, wiggling weight, and the scented blossoms clutched in his hand tickled her neck. In the distance, the women in the field wailed their despair.
While Laura got a firm grip on Narwa, she pivoted to her right, hoping the heavy tiger would be further slowed by having to change direction. Then she sprinted toward the tree trunk, which would give some protection if she could get behind it.
She had once been told by an experienced hunter that if a tiger missed its first rush, it was slow to recover and attack again. Surprisingly often its quarry escaped. But the hunter had been talking about tigers who stalked fleet-footed deer, not a woman burdened by a frightened, kicking child.
Behind Laura the tiger's snarl rose to a vicious pitch, but she dared not take the time to look back. The tree trunk was only two strides away. If they could reach it...
Before she could complete the thought, she was struck in the side with a brutal force that knocked her clear off her feet. She landed on her back, Narwa still clutched in her arms, and looked up into the horrifying face of the tiger. It roared, a deep sound that frightened her to her marrow and revealed dagger-long fangs that could bring down a buffalo.
Tigers usually killed with teeth rather than claws, but the massive paw swinging toward Laura looked lethal enough to finish off both her and the child. She began to roll, cradling Narwa in her arms. If she was on top when the tiger struck, perhaps the boy would escape harm.
Laura found it bizarre to know that in a moment she would be dead. She had never imagined such a lurid ending to her life. Perhaps she should be thinking about the state of her soul, but her last thought was a hope that Papa would be waiting for her, and Tatyana....
The deep boom of a rifle shattered the air, followed an instant later by another shot. The tiger roared again, this time with pain. Laura looked up to see it rear into the air, the terrifying bulk blocking the sun as the beast twisted and lashed out helplessly with its forepaws.
With a hair-curling howl, it collapsed to the earth, legs still thrashing. Before one of the flailing, lethally clawed paws could hit Laura or the child, Kunthi reached them. She was a small woman, but with superhuman strength she seized Laura beneath the shoulders and dragged her clear of the tiger's death throes.
When Laura and the child were safe, Kunthi pulled Narwa into her own embrace, weeping and rocking back and forth as she cradled her son, who was bellowing with outrage.
Too numb and breathless to move, Laura was still sprawled on the ground among Narwa's crushed flowers when Ian arrived on the scene, having covered the distance in an amazingly short time. He dropped to his knees beside her.
"Laura, are you hurt?" he asked urgently. He laid down his rifle and raised her to a sitting position, one arm around her shoulders.
"I don't know," she whispered, having trouble finding the breath to speak. "Its paw struck my right side."
After examining her side and hip, he whistled softly. "You were incredibly lucky. Your canteen took the force of the blow. It was torn off and is lying over by the tiger. Good God, the claws shredded the lower edge of your skirt! I don't see blood, though. Do you feel pain anywhere?"
Laura made a gingerly assessment. Her ribs were sore, but the metal canteen seemed to have prevented any serious injury. "Just bruises, I think." She smiled unsteadily. "Papa gave me that canteen. He said it might save my life, but I don't think this is quite what he had in mind."
"Perhaps he was watching over you this morning." Ian shook his head. "When the tiger knocked you down, I thought you were done for. If it had connected solidly..."
By this time, half the village had gathered around and everyone was chattering excitedly. One of the last to come was Narwa's gray-faced young father, who pushed through the crowd and embraced his wife and child.
More calmly, Punwa examined the dead tiger. "Fine shooting, Cameron Sahib. Both bullets through the heart."
With Ian's help, Laura managed to get to her feet, then shuddered as she stared down at the tiger. The beast was enormous, at least ten feet long from its nose to the tip of its tail. If it had been just a fraction faster, she would be dead now, and probably Narwa with her.
She began to shake and Ian's arm went around her. In spite of the sun's heat, she felt chilled and was grateful for the warmth of his lean body. "How did you manage to shoot twice so quickly?" she asked. "The shots were only a few seconds apart."
"My rifle is a breechloader," he explained. "It can be fired much faster than a conventional muzzleloader, especially when one is terrified out of one's wits."
"It was certainly a more effective weapon than my topi!"
"Yes, but throwing the topi was the difference between escape and disaster. It was quick thinking on your part." His arm tightened around her, and when he spoke again, there was cold anger in his voice. "Look at the tiger's left paw, the crippled one. That's the scar of a bullet. A hunter wounded the beast, then didn't track it down to finish the job. The stupid fool was probably responsible for turning this tiger into a man-eater."
"If the Hindus are right, justice will catch up with him in another life," Laura said with brittle humor. "Perhaps he'll come back as a mouse and be eaten by a cat."
Ian's expression lightened. "I sincerely hope so."
The village headman came over. "You are shaken, memsahib. Would you like a ride back to your camp in a bullock cart?"
Knowing how jarring a bullock cart was, Laura shook her head. "I would rather walk. It will relax me."
Ian said he didn't need another tiger skin, so the headman promised the pelt would be sent to Baipur after it was tanned. From there it would be forwarded to whatever new home Laura chose. She would enjoy walking on this particular beast.
Finally they resumed their interrupted walk to the camp. Laura felt steadier, but she was still glad to take Ian's arm.
When they were out of sight of the village, he said, "If you ever come back to Nanda, you may find that the villagers have set up a small shrine to the tiger lady."
"They might turn me into a minor deity?" she said, bemused.
"Such things happen. Some Punjabis established a cult in honor of a British political officer." An amused glint in his eye, he added, "I think you'd make a decent deity. How many women would take on a tiger before breakfast?"
She shuddered as an image of looming fangs flashed through her mind. "I still can't believe that I did what I did."
"Diving into the path of a man-eater is not a rational action, but under life or death circumstances, one often reacts from pure instinct. It's like being in battle."
"Then thank heaven I'm not a soldier!"
He looked into her face, his gaze warm. Then, to her surprise, he bent over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "It's a privilege to know you, Larissa Alexandrovna."
The touch of his lips was fleeting, but for some reason Laura's knees weakened again. Perhaps it was Ian's use of her true Russian name that made the moment special.
As they continued along the path, she realized ruefully that she would cons
ider challenging another tiger if it meant that he would look at her like that again.
Chapter 8
I don't know how Ian manages to maintain his spirits, but thank God for his laughter and good nature. We talk of almost everything, except politics, and learn much from each other. I now remember to call him a Scot, not an Englishman, and he uses my patronymic, as a decent Russian would. Can harmony between our two hostile, suspicious empires be far behind?
Laura smiled at Pyotr's ironic comment. Every night she read some of his journal before going to sleep. Her progress was slow, partly because it took time to translate her uncle's sparse, cramped words, more because she found the effort as emotionally draining as it was rewarding.
The last time she had seen Pyotr she had been little more than a child, and his letters over the years had mostly been witty accounts of his travels. Through his journal she was coming to know him as a man, and she mourned his passing even more.
At the beginning her uncle wrote about his unexpected imprisonment and gradual loss of hope in terse, infrequent entries. The pace picked up and the tone became lighter after Ian was condemned to the Black Well. Their companionship had been a vital support for both men.
She was learning as much about the major as about Pyotr. When first imprisoned, Ian had been able to laugh at adversity, and his physical and emotional strength had helped keep her uncle alive. But as the months dragged on, he had lost the ability to laugh. She hoped that someday he would find it again.
But she would never know if Ian Cameron would recover from his experiences, for tomorrow they would arrive back in Baipur. The day after, he would be gone from her life.
She sighed and decided that it was time to get to sleep. "Turning to the next page of the Bible, she started to tuck in her bookmark. Then she stopped, her brows drawing together. Most of the entries were written in the margins in tiny, precise script, but this page had several lines sprawled across the printed text. There was something frenzied about the lettering. Moreover, the words were written in the almost illegible scrawl that marked Pyotr's handwriting toward the end of the journal, when his health had deteriorated.
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