Silk and Secrets(165)
She managed to keep her voice calm and her step steady, but inside she quivered with grief and fear. She had always refused to consider what she would do if her stepfather died; in India, where disease was swift and lethal, she had been as likely to die as he was. But now he was gone and her life would change utterly. She had lost not just her family, but her home and financial security. She wanted to collapse on the ground and wail like a child.
When the fires were steady and the servants had begun to settle down, Laura beckoned to the three grooms. "Come, we must move the animals closer. They are in more danger than we are."
The men exchanged uneasy glances. "Don't worry, I'll guard you." Laura tried to sound cool and confident. "Padam, stay here with the pistol. Mahendar, bring the rifle and come with me."
Laura made a show of cocking the shotgun, then led the way through the cluster of tents. Behind her the youngest groom carried a torch. Their shadows swayed wildly as the small group walked to the edge of the clearing where the horses and bullocks were tethered. The animals were nervous and hard to handle, and the grooms had their hands full soothing their charges so the beasts could be led to a safer spot near the center of the camp.
Laura took the rifle from Mahendar so that he could help the other men. Then she chose a position between the line of animals and the forest and waited, shotgun in hand, the rifle lying ready at her feet. Again she reminded herself that no animal was likely to attack the camp, but this close to the forest it was harder to maintain her calm.
The tropical night pulsed with life, mysterious and dangerous. Shifting shadows looked like crouching beasts that vanished when she looked directly at them. In the distance jackals howled, and once the distinctive cough of a panther sounded from a spot that was shockingly near. She jumped and tightened her grip on the shotgun, but there was nothing to be seen in the teasing shadows. After wiping sweaty palms on her skirt, Laura raised the barrel of her weapon again and trained it at the forest darkness.
When trouble came, it was fast and incoherent. Two feline roars shattered the silence, so close that she half expected to feel claws sink into her flesh. A shrill whinny sounded behind her, and she glanced back to see a pony rear and jerk its reins free from the groom who was trying to calm it. Eyes rolling, the pony bolted, setting off a chorus of frightened bellows and whinnies from the other animals. The youngest groom shouted, "The tiger comes!" and pointed at the forest beyond Laura.
As Laura spun around, she heard rustling in the undergrowth. In sudden panic she fired one barrel of the shotgun at the sound. She had forgotten to brace herself for the recoil, and the gun jerked, sending the shot high as the stock kicked bruisingly into her shoulder. Acrid smoke stung her eyes and her deafened ears rang, but she gripped her gun more tightly and discharged the second barrel, this time aiming lower.
Irrationally convinced that an enraged tiger was about to burst out of the forest, she dropped the shotgun and grabbed the rifle that lay on the grassy turf by her feet. The weapon had the power to fell an elephant; as her finger curled around the trigger, she prayed that if the tiger attacked, her aim would be good enough to stop it.
* * *
Imprisonment had sharpened Ian's senses, and he smelled and heard Stephenson's camp long before he saw it. But as he drew close enough to identify individual noises and odors, he pulled his horse to a stop so he could listen more closely.
Something was wrong. It was past midnight and the camp should be quiet, but instead it was wide awake. More than that, he detected the subtle aroma of fear, a scent as unmistakable as it was indescribable.
He frowned. This was a safe, settled part of India, and it was unlikely that bandits would have attacked. Still, he had been a soldier for too many years to ride heedlessly into an unknown situation. He dismounted and led his horse away from the path, moving silently over the soft leaf mold.
As he neared the campsite, he heard sharp human voices speaking Urdu and the grunts and whickers of agitated animals. He tethered his horse, then cautiously approached the perimeter of the camp, his bolstered revolver ready to hand.
The boundary where forest met clearing was marked by thick undergrowth, which provided convenient cover. Stopping behind a large bush, he peered into the clearing. A churning group of men and bullocks blocked his view of the tents, but the layout confirmed that this was the camp of a British official.
His gaze went to the single guttering torch, which illuminated a youth who was trying to coax a nervous pony toward the tents. Other shadowy human shapes were moving about, but before Ian could study them, all hell broke loose. Two feline roars, one bass and one tenor, sounded from the shrubbery to his right. As the blood-chilling sounds split the night air, the pony whinnied shrilly and broke free, bullocks began bellowing, and someone shrieked that the tiger was coming.