Juliet was momentarily startled by his haste, but managed to conceal it. Ross was right; if there was any chance that Ian was still alive, speed was vital. Glancing at the sun, she estimated that it was two hours until noon. "We'll be ready."
"Good. We'll need camels for crossing the Kara Kum desert. I assume we can get some in Sarakhs?"
She nodded. "I know a man there who will sell us decent camels for an only mildly extortionate price. Some of my men can ride with us to Sarakhs, then bring our horses back here."
That settled, Juliet scanned her husband's well-tailored European coat and trousers, her brow furrowed. After years of seeing only loose, multilayered Eastern clothing, it was strange to see a man in garments that followed the form. Finding herself disturbingly aware of the contours of his lean, muscular body, she took a deep, slow breath. There were other, less personal reasons to be concerned about his mode of dress. "I think it is a mistake for you to wear Western clothes."
"Dressing like this is a calculated risk on my part," he explained. "Whatever status I might have in Bokhara is as a ferengi who has traveled a great distance to plead on behalf of my countryman, so I thought I should look the part. Also, I was afraid that wearing Asiatic clothing would leave me open to charges of being a spy, since it's unlikely that I can convincingly pass as a native."
"Those are valid points," she agreed, "but I think we will all be safer if you wear local dress until within a day's ride of Bokhara. Though it would have been hard to conceal your foreignness when traveling with just your servants, it's much easier to be inconspicuous in a caravan. All you have to do is dress like everyone else and cover your hair with a turban. I can get you local clothing if you're willing to wear it."
"English dress worked well enough at first, but since it almost got me killed yesterday, I suppose it's time to change my strategy." His glance fell on Juliet's dark blue veil. To take advantage of the spring sunshine, she had loosened it to lie in coils around her neck. "Since we're on the subject of clothing, I'm curious about your tagelmoust. How do you prevent the indigo dye from staining your skin?"
How like Ross to think of such a thing. "You've found me out: this is not a genuine Tuareg tagelmoust. To avoid stains, I use a European fabric of the same color and texture."
"I'm glad to hear that vanity is not entirely dead."
"One needn't be very vain to dislike having blue skin," Juliet retorted, glad to hear a teasing note in his voice. "Speaking of skin, it helps that yours is sun-browned. Allow it to get dirty, and no one will guess that you are a ferengi."
"You're in no position to throw stones," he pointed out. "I never saw a Targui who was remotely as clean as you."
"That doesn't matter, since I probably won't meet anyone in Turkestan who has ever seen one of the Tuareg." She looked down at her black robe. "Still, in the interests of accuracy ..." She handed him the rifle, then lay full-length on the ground and began rolling in the earth.
To her delight, Ross began to laugh. "You're absurd."
When Juliet had rolled over several times, she stood and began brushing off the surface dust. The result of her labors was a robe with a nicely mellow amount of ground-in dirt.
There was a gleam of amusement in her husband's eyes, and he had lost some of his coolness. "It's fortunate that no one will know what the Tuareg look like, since every one I ever met had brown eyes. However, gray eyes are not unknown in Central Asia, so yours shouldn't attract too much unwelcome attention. I think you'll need a new name, though. Since Gul-i Sarahi is Persian, someone might think it an odd choice for a North African male."
She wrinkled her nose. "I already have too many names, but I suppose you're right. Do you have any suggestions?"
He considered. "How about Jalal? It sounds a bit like Juliet and Gul-i Sarahi, so it should be easy to respond to."
"Fine. But you'll need another name too."
"My servants pronounce my title as Khilburn, which sounds suitably Central Asian, so I'll use that." He regarded her thoughtfully. "It will probably be best if you pretend to know little Persian and speak as little as possible."
"Are you telling me that if I keep my mouth shut, I'm less likely to get into trouble?"
"Exactly."
Juliet chuckled. "Much as it pains me to admit it, you're right. Very well, I'll be silent and eccentric with everyone but you and Saleh. But there is also something you must be careful about, Ross. Or rather, Khilburn. Forget those beautiful manners the duchess taught you. Don't help me with heavy loads, allow me through a door first, or show me any of the courtesy you usually show a woman. In fact, forget that I'm a woman."