Silk and Secrets(127)

Ross had chosen to act as valet and nursemaid to Ian, guessing that his brother-in-law would prefer his help to that of Murad or Juliet. Ian seemed barely conscious as he was guided across the courtyard and into the small building, but once they were inside, he said with some vigor, "I'd trade my immortal soul to be clean. Is that possible?"

"It should be. We tried to supply everything that a newly liberated prisoner might need." Ross unshielded the lamp and checked the two back rooms of the house. Over his shoulder he said, "There's a laundry tub here, with buckets of water, soap, and towels. Sorry it isn't possible to heat the water."

"Too much luxury might be fatal in my present condition," Ian said as he made his way into the back room. "I think that the very worst aspect of that hellhole was the filth."

The tub was large enough for Ian to sit down in the water, though space was tight. After stripping off his own chapan, Ross wordlessly helped his friend scrub away the accumulated grime. Ian's hair had to be soaped and rinsed three times before the distinctive auburn color, several shades darker than Juliet's, was recognizable.

As Ian clambered out of the laundry tub, Ross observed, "You look remarkably better than you did an hour ago."

Ian gave a faint ghostlike smile. "I feel remarkably better, though there is considerable room for improvement." He swallowed, his Adam's apple prominent in his thin neck. "I keep thinking that this is a dream and I'm going to wake up soon."

Guessing that Ian's mental state was as fragile as his physical one, Ross once more opted for lightness. "I can't imagine that your dreams would be so disrespectful to my exalted rank that you would choose a marquess for a bath attendant."

Ian's gaze sharpened. "Your brother died without a male heir?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Ross lifted a towel and started drying the other man. "Do you think you can stay in a saddle? Once we get outside the city, we're going to switch to some Turkoman horses, then ride for Persia as fast as we can."

"Nice of you to ask if I can manage, but it sounds as if sitting around and waiting for me to recuperate isn't an acceptable choice. Don't worry, I'm stronger than I look. If worse comes to worst, tie me on the horse. And if it looks like we might be captured..." Ian's breath roughened and his muscles tensed. "Promise that you'll kill me if that happens."

Appalled, Ross opened his mouth to protest, but Ian grabbed his arm, the bony fingers like a vise. "Promise me!"

Like a dank wind from the grave, Ross remembered those moments when he had been alone in the Black Well; he couldn't blame Ian for preferring death. With effort, he kept his voice steady as he said, "I promise, but I don't think it will come to that." As he finished the drying, he continued, "Sit down. You need food and some treatment for those sores."

Ian sank down on the uncushioned divan. "You thought of everything."

"If we didn't, it wasn't for lack of trying." Knowing that a man who had been on sparse rations for months would have trouble digesting meat, Ross had asked that a rice dish be left in the house. Across the room, a straw basket held two pottery crocks, one of which contained a pilaf of rice mixed with bits of chicken, vegetables, and yogurt.

There was also a jug of tea, packed in straw to keep it warm. Ross handed the tea and crock of rice to Ian. "Don't make yourself ill, but try to get some of this down. You're going to need your strength."

"It's been months since I felt hungry. I think my stomach gave up from sheer lack of use." Ian rolled a bite-size ball of rice, then popped it into his mouth and washed it down with a swig of tea. "How the devil did you and Juliet find me?"

While Ian ate, Ross began spreading salve on his brother-in-law's sores. They were ugly and some might scar, but superficial. As he worked, he gave a brief summary of what Juliet had been doing for the last dozen years, then went on to describe how the two of them had come to Bokhara.

When Abdul Samut Khan was mentioned, Ian grimaced. "So you've had dealings with that treacherous bastard, too. He can be charming when he wants to, but he's so greedy he'd sell his own grandmother for dog meat if the price was right."

Ross glanced up. "He showed me a letter you had written, saying how helpful he had been."

"That was before he asked me to give him a note of hand for ten thousand ducats, to be paid by the British ambassador in Teheran," Ian said dryly. "When I refused to do it, he denounced me as a spy. The amir was already suspicious, and when the nayeb spoke against me, it was the last straw. The next day I was arrested and taken to the Black Well."