She chuckled. "I did rather well out of the competition, because several of the suitors were clever enough to try to buy my favor. The Italian count gave me an exquisite doll, then suggested I play elsewhere with it. The banker always brought the most incredible sweets, the Frenchman supplied me with ribbons, the general arranged for me to ride a pony, and so forth.
"Kenneth was the only one who really talked to me. When Tatyana introduced us, he went down on one knee so our eyes were leve and said that he was very pleased to meet me, Larissa Alexandrovna, as if he really was pleased. And he didn't only talk—he listened. When my mother asked for my preference, I didn't hesitate. The next day she told me that she was to marry Mr. Stephenson and we were going to live in England."
"Were they happy together, the peacock and the owl?"
Laura nodded. "Oddly enough, they were. I think my mother had had enough of high romance and melodrama. She told me once that a woman should marry for friendship and stability." Tatyana had gone on to say, with a twist of bitterness, that passion was as treacherous as shifting sand.
"It was wise of her to ask you for your choice," Ian said reflectively. "A child was most likely to look beyond the exterior trappings to the essence of the man. Kenneth Stephenson might not have been the best choice in worldly terms, but he was surely the best available stepfather for you."
Laura repressed a slight shiver. "The mere thought of having a different man as stepfather gives me the chills. But I wasn't the only one to benefit. Perhaps Tatyana didn't love Kenneth at first, but she did later. Much as she enjoyed flirting, she never looked seriously at another man."
She glanced at Ian. "Now you know everything interesting about me, Lord Falkirk."
"I doubt it, Larissa Alexandrovna Karelian Stephenson Cameron, Baroness Falkirk," he said with a smile. "But I think this is enough pillow talk for today. We need to get up, breakfast, and be on our way."
Laura nodded and climbed out of the bed, then languidly stretched her arms over her head, arching her back to loosen her muscles. She felt wonderful. The emotional highs and lows of the last day must have been good for her.
As she straightened, she saw that Ian was watching her with an odd, strained expression. As she gave him a puzzled glance, he drew her into his embrace. "Thank you for marrying me, Laura." Then he kissed her.
She loved the feeling of his lips on hers, and the warm, tingly sensation that spread through her. What marvelous, sensitive things mouths were. And the rest of him felt quite wonderful, too. When he lifted his head away, she said rather breathlessly, "Thank you for coming up with the idea, then talking me into it."
He smiled, then turned away. "I'll dress in the bathroom."
Her gaze followed him as he collected his clothing, then walked out of the bedroom. Thoughtful of Ian to leave. She had enjoyed sleeping with her new husband, but she still felt shy about disrobing in front of him. Perhaps in time she would feel less self-conscious.
As she summoned the young maid who had been assigned to her, Laura reflected on how well everything was working out. Though she had been frightened by Ian's despairing mood the night before, the aftermath had brought them closer.
As Ian had said, it was not the typical wedding night. But it was not a bad beginning for a marriage based on friendship.
12th January 1840. We made the mistake of talking politics and ever since the atmosphere has been horribly strained. Ian and I are both killingly polite, when in truth each of us would give our immortal soul to be free of the other's company for even an hour. Bloody English warmonger.
Laura smiled wryly and rested the journal on her knees. Uncle Pyotr always referred to Ian as English on the occasions when the two men were at odds.
She tried to imagine what it would be like to be confined day and night with another person, to never have an instant's privacy. Even she and her stepfather might have gotten occasionally tired of each other's company. It must have been far worse for two strong-minded military men who came from hostile nations.
She glanced up and saw that Ian had taken the three horses down to the stream to drink. It was their fourth day on the road, and they were taking a lunch break. At least, Laura had eaten. As usual, Ian had consumed scarcely enough to nourish one of the little striped palm squirrels.
They had fallen into a comfortable travel routine, moving at a pace that covered a fair amount of ground without being too tiring. Laura knew that Ian would be going much faster if he were alone, but he was always considerate of her comfort. His quiet solicitude made her feel cherished; in return, she pampered him in small ways that he seemed to enjoy.
Every night so far they had stayed at government-operated dak bungalows, which were austere but adequate. An odd sort of honeymoon, perhaps, but she was perfectly content. The pleasure of having Ian next to her more than compensated for the mild inconvenience of sleeping in a lamp lit room.
He still wasn't sleeping a full night. Often he quietly rose and went for fresh air. But he always came back, and there had been no repetition of his wedding night breakdown.
While Ian stretched his legs and took care of the horses, Laura read more of Pyotr's journal.
I5th January 1840. Ian and I almost came to blows this morning. The most ridiculous thing. I said he was giving me too much of the food, he said I was hallucinating, and we had the most tremendous row, with insults in at least five languages. Quite the wrong reason to fight—prisoners are supposed to accuse each other of taking too much of the food, not too little. But I know Ian has been giving me a larger share. I suppose he's afraid I'll die on him if he doesn't feed me up. Impertinent cub. But he's probably right.
17th January 1840. We were arguing over breakfast—or rather, I was trying to argue and Ian was ignoring me— when the world went berserk. No solidity anywhere, dust and pebbles raining down from the walls. Holy Mother, if you can't trust the earth, what can you trust? I was sure the stones were about to fall and crush us—one of the worst moments of my misspent life.
Don't know quite how it happened, but when the quake ended, Ian and I were kneeling in the middle of the cell with our arms clutched around each other, me bellowing prayers in Russian and Ian swearing in English. Such great brave officers. I felt like an idiot, but Ian sat back on his heels and began to laugh, and then I had to do the same. After that it isn't possible to be angry with each other anymore.
Laura smiled a bit mistily. The self-deprecating humor in Pyotr's journal couldn't disguise the terror of the earthquake, or the complicated, ever-strengthening bonds between the two men.
She glanced up to see Ian approaching. "Time to go, Lady Falkirk." As she rose, he added, "What were you smiling about?"
"I just read about an earthquake, when you both thought the walls were collapsing," she explained as she packed the Bible in her saddlebags. "Pyotr described how it resolved a period of strained relations between you."
"I don't recall that the incident did either Pyotr Andreyovich or me much credit," Ian said dryly, "but it's true that after that, we never again had problems getting along.
"Actually, I thought it was a rather sweet story." Accepting Ian's aid, she mounted her horse, then grinned down at him. "But do you know what most impressed Pyotr with the nobility of your character?"
Ian swung into his own saddle. "What was that?"
"The fact that you gave him the pouch of tobacco and clay pipe that you had on you when you were imprisoned. Pyotr was rapturous in his praises of your generosity."
Ian shrugged. "I seldom smoked and it was obvious that he would enjoy the tobacco more than I. He made it last for months. Of course, he could only use the pipe when there was a friendly guard who would light it for him."
"Giving it may have been a small thing for you, but it meant a great deal to him," she said as they set their horses in motion, the pack animal ambling along behind Ian.
Changing the subject, Ian said, "You need some practice shooting—this evening, if it's not too late when we stop. You pro
bably won't be attacked by a tiger again, but you really ought to be better prepared than you were at Nanda.''
Laura made a face. "I don't like guns."
"This has nothing to do with liking them. It's a simple safety precaution."
"But it really isn't necessary," she argued. "Within a few weeks we'll be on our way back to Britain."
"Which means that there are several more weeks here in India," he said patiently. "Granted, we're unlikely to run into trouble, but you never can tell when you'll need to use a weapon. If something happens and you have to defend yourself, you should do it competently."
She gave him an unenthusiastic glance. "If I had been more competent, your head might have ended up mounted on the wall above someone's fireplace."
He smiled. "My first lesson will be on how to recognize a suitable target."
She sighed. Her husband had the expression men always wore when they were telling you what to do for your own good. But she was good at evasive maneuvers. Surely she could avoid a shooting lesson for the time it would take them to get to Bombay. She looked around for something interesting enough to justify a change of topic.
Ian had chosen this remote, seldom-traveled road because of the spectacular scenery. They were currently riding along a narrow, forested valley flanked by towering stone bluffs.
Laura's idle gaze followed the path of a kite, a common Indian bird of prey. As it approached the base of one of the cliffs, she expected it to sheer off, but instead it abruptly vanished. "That's odd," she said. "A kite flew right into that cliff."
Ian's gaze followed her pointing finger. "Perhaps there's a cave there," he suggested.
"Could we stop and explore?" Laura asked hopefully.
"If you like. It shouldn't be hard to get up there." He turned his horse from the road and began working his way through the light undergrowth, the packhorse behind and Laura bringing up the rear.
A few minutes later they were at the foot of the cliff. Laura scanned the sheer face, then pointed. "The kite vanished over there, in the clump of boulders below the darker rock."
After they had ridden the last few hundred yards, Ian swung from his horse and tethered it. Face set, he said, "If you keep an eye on the horses, I'll see what I can find."
Laura bit her lip as an unwelcome thought struck her. "We can skip this, Ian. Having spent a couple of years in a prison, you probably don't share my enthusiasm for caves."
"For God's sake, Laura, I'm not so incapacitated that I can't make myself enter a cave," he snapped.
It was the first time Ian had been short-tempered with her, and Laura guessed that his anger confirmed exactly how difficult it would be for him to go underground. Yet though she could understand, his words still stung.
Her reaction must have shown, for Ian's voice softened. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have barked at you. You're right. Caves used to interest me and now I loathe the very idea of them. But better to face fear than run away from it."
"You're hard on yourself."
"Scottish Calvinists usually are." Expression tight, he stare at the tumbled boulders. He seemed to be drawing in on himself, marshaling his strength. She guessed that his ability to make himself do what must be done had kept him alive.
He set off on his search and was lost from sight. A few minutes later the kite erupted into the air with an indignant shriek, the limp body of some small creature in its claws.
Ian called out, "The kite has shown the way. There's a cave, all right, and the entrance is large enough for a person to enter." He emerged from between the rocks. "Of course if a man can enter, so can bats, leopards, hyenas, snakes, and so forth."
Laura made a face. "Wouldn't there be signs of that?"
"There are no signs of larger beasts. The snakes and bats I can't vouch for. Just a moment while I get a couple of lanterns." He went to the packhorse and rummaged through their store of camping equipment. Because of Ian's dislike of sleeping in the dark, they were well supplied with lamps and oil.
Laura was disconcerted when he pulled his revolver from his holster and offered it to her, butt first. "Remember how I just said that you never can tell when you might need a weapon? It's wise to be armed when going into an unknown cave that might be inhabited by hungry or angry animals."
"Even when you're just a few feet away?"
"Even when I'm just a few feet away," he repeated. "Danger can come from nowhere in an instant, and there is no substitute for being prepared."
She put her hands behind her back and stared at the revolver with acute dislike. "If you insist I go armed, give me the shotgun. That doesn't require much aiming and a face full of buckshot should discourage even a hyena."
"Fair enough, if you don't mind carrying the extra weight." He loaded the shotgun and handed it to Laura.
Carrying the weapon gingerly in her left hand, she followed Ian through the rocks to the cave entrance, which was about a yard across and almost six feet high. There was a small open space in front of the dark cleft, but all around were massive boulders. "It's interesting how well hidden the entrance is," she said. "Unless one is exactly in this spot, it's invisible. If I hadn't seen that kite, we'd never had known there was anything here."
"Interesting indeed," Ian murmured, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I wonder if it is entirely an accident." Without further comment, he ducked his head and disappeared into the passage. A minute later, he gave a soft whistle of astonishment, the sound echoing from the walls of a substantial chamber.
Eagerly Laura followed, shotgun in her left hand and lamp in her right. The entryway was a dozen feet long and curved to the left with a surprising amount of uniformity. The bend blocked natural light, and when she emerged into the chamber the only illumination was from their lanterns. But that was enough to reveal a sight that made her gasp in blank astonishment.
It wasn't a cave that they had found. It was a temple.
Chapter 12
Enthralled, Laura turned in a slow circle. The chamber was perhaps twenty feet wide and twice as long, with a ceiling that arched well over their heads. A double row of pillars carved into lacy filigree ran the length of the temple. The far end was shadowy, but she could make out the contours of a statue that was larger than life size. Every inch of the walls was covered with paintings that showed vivid color even in the lamplight. "Magnificent," she breathed. "How old do you think this is?"
"A thousand years? Two thousand? Your guess is as good as mine. Probably hasn't been used in centuries, but it's in splendid condition." Lamp lifted high, Ian began walking the length of the chamber. "This might have been a natural cave to begin with, but a huge amount of work went into expanding the space and smoothing the walls."
"Do you think we'll find a fabulous ruby in the navel of a solid gold statue?"
"I doubt it. The really wealthy temples are famous places of pilgrimage, while this shrine must have been used by a fairly small group of people. Used, then abandoned, but not before the worshippers concealed the entrance. At least that's my guess." Ian studied the painting of a man wrestling with a serpent. "Even if there were valuables here, I wouldn't touch them. Bad luck to steal from a temple, even an abandoned one."
"You're right, of course," she said repentantly. "But this is still a wonderful adventure. Do you recognize what deity the temple is dedicated to?"
Ian raised his lamp and gestured toward the statue, which depicted a majestic being who danced within a ring of fire.
"Siva in his aspect of Nataraja, the Lord of the Dance. He symbolizes the endless cycle of life—creation, preservation, destruction, then rebirth."
Laura stared at the image, fascinated. Limbs supple and face serene, the four-armed god stood perfectly balanced on one foot, his other leg eternally poised for the next step of the dance.
Even without Ian's explanation, she would have found the sight deeply affecting. The temple and statue were more than beautiful. They inspired the reverent awe that Laura associated with Christian churches.
As she walked toward the statue, she discovered a doorway tucked behind one of the pillars on her right. Curious, she stepped through and found herself in a much smaller chapel. Instead of more paintings, the walls were entirely covered with carving. Groups of human figures were interspersed with bands of abstract design to create a dazzling richness of form.
It took a moment for Laura to see beyond the general effect to the details, but when she did, shock ran through her like a lightning bolt. Her shotgun dropped from nerveless fingers, hitting the stone floor with a metallic clatter.
Barely managing to hang onto the lamp, she gasped, "Merciful heaven!"
The exquisitely carved figures were engaged in what were usually called lewd acts. In the wavering lamplight, they appeared to writhe as if they were alive, and their actions left nothing—absolutely nothing—to the imagination.
Hearing the fall of the shotgun, Ian called sharply, "Laura, is something wrong?"
She tried to answer but no sound came out of her choked throat. A moment later Ian whipped through the door of the chapel, revolver in hand. Then he stopped dead, his gaze going from Laura to the walls, then back again. "Damnation."
Laura swallowed hard. "D... do people really behave like that?" She gestured toward one group of figures.
"I've never heard of a real man who could stand on his head while making love to three women simultaneously," Ian replied. He uncocked his revolver and bolstered it, then came over and put his arm around Laura's shoulders. "Are you feeling faint? You look white as a sheet."
She hid her face against him, feeling hot and humiliated and a little dizzy. But the figures drew her mesmerized gaze again. "Are.. are male organs really that large?"
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