Silk and Secrets(167)

She nodded, swaying a little.

Ian stepped forward to take her trembling arm. "You need to lie down."

Head bent, she made a small choked sound, and her weight sagged against him. As he slid his arm around her waist to hold her upright, he said, "Incidentally, my name is Ian Cameron."

Head still bent and face obscured by hair, she said, " Wh... why are you here?"

"My business can wait till tomorrow." Switching to Urdu, Ian said to the ring of servants, "Which of you is Miss Stephenson's maid?"

A graceful young woman stepped forward. "I am, sahib."

"Take your mistress to her tent and put her to bed. If there's laudanum, give her some so she'll sleep."

The girl glanced uneasily at the circling forest. Correctly interpreting her disquiet, Ian said, "Don't worry, I guarantee you'll be safe for the rest of the night."

The maid responded to the authority in his voice and came forward to lead her dazed mistress away. Ian had rallied soldiers in the midst of ambush, so it wasn't difficult to restore the confidence of a camp of demoralized servants.

But as he gave orders, collected Stephenson's guns, reloaded, and retrieved his weary horse, he wondered what the devil had become of little Larissa Alexandrovna Karelian.





Chapter 5





Instead of sleep, the laudanum sent Laura into a black paralysis laced by nightmare images of her stepfather. He stood before her with his familiar warm smile, but when she tried to touch him, he receded away, vanishing into the swirling darkness that had already claimed her mother and first father.

In fifteen years of nightmares, Laura had never succeeded in preventing her parents from leaving, yet it was not in her nature to stop trying. Surely if she said the right words, did the right thing, she could persuade Kenneth to stay. Yet time and again she failed. It occurred to her that perhaps she could follow him into the darkness. With immense effort, she forced her numb limbs to move and ran after his retreating figure, desperately calling, "Papa!" as she clawed through the barriers that came between them.

Then, with miraculous suddenness, she ran smack into her stepfather's solid frame. His arms went around her and finally she was safe. Weeping with joy, she clung to him. "Papa," she whispered, burrowing into his embrace. "Papa, I had such a horrible nightmare. I dreamed that you died."

A deep, unfamiliar voice penetrated the mists that surrounded her. "Miss Stephenson... Laura, wake up."

Dazedly she raised her head and found that it was not her stepfather holding her, but a stranger, a lean, harsh-faced man with a black patch over one eye. He would have been frightening if it weren't for the kindness in his voice. "You were sleepwalking," he said softly. "Are you awake now?"

Uncertainly she pushed away from the stranger's embrace and looked around. The dream barrier she had fought her way past must have been the tent flap, for she was now outdoors, standing barefoot a dozen feet from the smaller fire. Fifty feet away, by the larger fire, she saw the sleeping forms of the servants, and drowsy bullocks and horses were scattered about.

Piece by piece, her memory of the previous night returned, from her stepfather's death until the arrival of this capable stranger. Cameron, he had said his name was. Ian Cameron. Her gaze returned to the gaunt planes of his face. "So it wasn't a nightmare—my father really is gone."

"I'm afraid so. Come and have some tea. I just brewed another pot." He guided Laura to a folded blanket that had been laid by the fire. After she sat down, he poured a mug of tea, sugared it heavily, and pressed it into her hands. She drank automatically, scarcely noticing the scalding heat. In the east, the sky had a rosy tint. Soon this dreadful night would be over.

By the time she had drained the mug her haziness had cleared. It occurred to her that she should be embarrassed at sitting cross-legged in front of a total stranger, wearing only a light nightdress. Yet she was not uncomfortable, probably because Ian Cameron was so matter-of-fact about the situation. Holding the mug out, she said, "Sorry to be such a nuisance."

He leaned over with the pot and poured her more tea. "Actually, you're holding up remarkably well. Most women would be having strong hysterics in these circumstances."

As she sipped the second mug, she examined her companion. Last night he had been terrifying when he exploded out of the darkness and overpowered her, and even now the eyepatch gave him a piratical air. Yet his stern features were well-formed, and in the glow of the fire his hair was burnished auburn. It was a surprisingly warm color for a man who had the wary, fine-strung alertness of a predator. Seeing the rifle that lay near his hand, she said, "You've been awake all night guarding the camp?"