Silk and Secrets(40)

"This makes Ian's death seem real," she said, struggling to keep her tone even. "In my mind, he was still twenty, with endless energy and exuberance. To think of him emaciated, tortured, perhaps, so weak he could barely stand... it seems so wrong." She drew a shuddering breath. "When we were young, we both wanted to see the whole world, to dare everything there was to dare. And now Ian's adventuring days are over, ended in blood in front of a crowd of bloodthirsty strangers."

Her voice broke. A vision of her brother suffering had replaced her mental image of him in strength and health, and it was impossible to dislodge. Dully she wondered if that was how adventures usually ended—in pain and senseless tragedy, thousands of miles from home.

For a moment Ross touched her shoulder in silent commiseration. His sympathy almost broke what remained of her control. Juliet bent her head and buried her face in her hands, wanting to weep for all her losses: for the murder of her brother, for the weary erosion of youth and hope, for the death of love. Most of all, for the death of love.

Angrily she drew the back of her hand across her stinging eyes, wiping away the tears. Feeling the need to breathe more deeply, she pulled her veil down, letting the wind touch her face for the first time in many hours.

"Do you want to abandon the journey?" she asked when her voice steadied. "If we are going to turn back, now is the time."

"I've considered it," Ross said slowly, "but while Abdul Wahab witnessed the execution, we still don't know why Ian was killed. Such knowledge could be valuable for the government as well as your family, and the only way to learn the whole story is to go to Bokhara. Plus, it would mean a great deal to your mother if Ian's body could be returned to Scotland for burial."

"It would also mean a great deal to me." Juliet wanted to say more, but her throat closed and she could not.

"Come. Let's walk before we go back." Putting a light hand on the back of her waist, he guided her toward the open desert.

As she began walking, she wondered if Ross was even aware that he was touching her. Probably not; the contact had the casual familiarity of an old friend, with nothing erotic about it. She could tell the difference from the night before, when there had been lucent passion between them.

For her, passion still burned. All day she had been constantly, painfully aware of her husband's nearness. But she sensed that he had turned off desire as thoroughly as if he had extinguished a lamp. That he could do so did not surprise her; it had been far more surprising that he had ever wanted her in the first place.

She had not understood his interest when she was seventeen, and now she understood it even less. Yet because he was the only man who had ever made her feel truly desirable, the withdrawal of his regard left her bereft.

Thank God there was still some sympathy between them, even if it was only a pale shadow of what had bound them together in the past. For tonight, as she struggled with the vision of her brother's death, she needed his kindness.

After several silent minutes, when the only sound was the faint crunch of gravel beneath their feet and the whisper of the wind, Ross said, "Do you ever miss Great Britain, Juliet?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "I miss the greenness. Strange to think that the British see rain not just as normal, but frequently as a nuisance. Here, water is a gift from God."

He chuckled. "Here, sunshine and heat are considered normal and sometimes a nuisance. During a bad summer in England, those same things are considered a gift from God."

"That's true, isn't it? It is human nature to yearn for what is rare." She fell silent again, wondering how much she could say without admitting more than she wanted to. "Much as I love Serevan, I will always be an alien in Persia. I did not fully realize the extent to which I was formed by European values until I began living in the middle of a foreign society. Oddly enough, I have less trouble dealing with the men than the women."

"I assume that is because the way that you live—riding, carrying weapons, giving orders—is exclusively male behavior here. You have never lived a life as circumscribed as that of Eastern women, so you have less in common with them."

"Exactly so." Juliet gave a self-mocking smile. "At first I tried to change things. I wanted to liberate the women of Serevan, persuade them to go unveiled, to demand more respect."

"From your tone, I gather you met with little success."

"None at all." She sighed. "The women of Serevan were happier with their veils, their women's quarters, their separate lives. Finally I gave up. Even Saleh's wife, who is intelligent and wise, just listened, then tut-tutted and said that it sounded like an Englishwoman's life is an uncomfortable one."