Silk and Secrets(29)

Another thing that she had not fully realized until tonight was just how much it must have hurt his pride to have been abandoned by his wife. A private person like Ross would have hated being the subject of gossip. It had been easier for her, for she had left respectable society behind. She had not had to face the stares and whispers of people she knew.

She wondered what he felt about her. Had he wanted to bed her tonight, or had he kissed her merely from curiosity? She suspected that the matter could have gone either way.

Even now, if she went to his room and slid in beside him, he might be willing to tumble her, for it seemed that he still found her attractive. It would not be the same as the passion they had shared when he had loved and trusted her, but it would be profoundly satisfying on a physical level.

A pity that it wasn't possible to disconnect her body from her emotions, for physical intimacy would come at a price of emotional devastation. If she and Ross became lovers again, she would never survive the ending of the affair. And end it surely would, for the underlying problems would not go away.

Juliet realized that she was lying curled up on her side, clutching a pillow to her chest as if it were a life preserver. The corner was damp with tears. Taking a deep breath, she rolled onto her back and forced herself to relax, one muscle at a time, starting with her toes and working her way up her body.

She must take control of herself or this expedition to Bokhara would be catastrophic. To endure the journey, she and Ross would have to work together efficiently, without doubts and recriminations. She couldn't moon over him like a lovestruck milkmaid. She must do whatever was necessary to help Ross, and, if he still lived, Ian.

And when they returned safely to Serevan, she must have the wisdom and dignity to let her husband go once more.





Chapter 6





The next morning Ross awoke from a restless sleep feeling like the survivor of a shipwreck. But he had survived, and confronting the Amir of Bokhara should be easy compared to facing and accepting his own failings.

He had just finished dressing when a servant summoned him to break his fast. Ross followed with some reluctance, wondering if he was being taken to Juliet. To his relief, the only person sitting at the low table in the small sunny dining room was the elderly Uzbek who seemed to be an overseer for Serevan.

The Uzbek wore a white turban and a brilliantly patterned robe of the woven silk material called ikat. When Ross entered the room, he inclined his head politely. "Salaam Aleikum, my lord," he said, offering the traditional greeting that was a wish for peace. "I am Saleh, the most humble servant of Gul-i Sarahi. Pray forgive me for not rising to greet you, but my knees are old and feeble and they protest when they are used too often."

Ross folded down onto a cushion by the table with the ease of long practice. "Aleikum Salaam," he said, returning the wish for peace. "I am greatly honored that you have asked an inconsequential traveler to share bread and salt with you. I would be desolate if your knees were to suffer as a result."

Saleh laughed, his eyes bright and curious above his gray beard. Clearly he had something to discuss, but first he plied his guest with tea, white cheese, and fresh hot bread.

When Ross had finished eating and was sipping another cup of tea, Saleh said, "You speak Persian with great skill, my lord."

"The beauty of the language rewards its study." And, like most Eastern tongues, it encouraged flowery expression. Switching to Uzbek, Ross said, "But if you prefer, we can use another language."

Saleh's expression lit up. "Ah, you speak the tongue of my homeland. That will be most useful in Bokhara."

Ross gave him a sharp glance. "Juliet, or rather Gul-i Sarahi, told you of that?"

"Aye. This morning she told me that her brother was taken prisoner by the amir, and that you will go together to learn his fate." Saleh picked up a peach and used his thin-bladed knife to begin peeling off the skin in a continuous strip. "I have considered the matter and believe that I should accompany you."

Ross raised his brows, wondering if everyone at Serevan was going to decide to come along. Still, a native Bokharan could be useful. "The road is long and hard, and danger lies on all sides. Are you sure you wish to go?"

"In truth, no." The Uzbek finished peeling the peach, then sliced it into pieces. "I am an old man and fond of my comforts. But I owe a considerable debt to Gul-i Sarahi, and going with her to Bokhara may be a small repayment."

Interested, Ross said encouragingly, "Indeed?"

"I came of a good Bokharan family and was considered a promising young scholar," Saleh explained. "But the amir took a dislike to me. Not the present amir, Nasrullah, but his father, whom Nasrullah killed. In fact, Nasrullah murdered his brothers as well, just in case one might have wished to displace him. A difficult man, the amir, but such is the way of royalty.