"We are visitors in Dharjistan and could plead ignorance. At most, we would be scolded and told to leave the garden," the Pathan said carelessly. "The maharajah would not have the servants of his guests executed for such a trivial reason."
Though Meera was not entirely comforted by this speech, she couldn't resist the idea of seeing the private gardens. She glanced around uneasily as they walked, but they saw no one else. Soon they were deep in the royal preserve.
"Ah, that must be the famous banyan tree," Zafir said, gesturing ahead.
Banyan were the most distinctive trees in India, for the aerial roots that dropped from the branches turned into additional trunks where they touched the soil. Those in turn shot off more branches and aerial roots. The result was as complicated as a wooden spider's web, with trunks and roots going in all directions. The area under a banyan was often used as an open bazaar, and a large one could shelter hundreds of people.
"What's famous about this one?" Meera asked after careful study. "It looks like any other banyan to me."
"They say the maharajah had a throne built into the tree, and that he sometimes receives visitors here," the Pathan explained. He began circling around the massive perimeter of the banyan, Meera following nervously.
On the far side they found the throne, which had been carved from a root, then decorated into a seat fit for a king. Zafir promptly sat on it. "Not bad," he said. "Come, give me a kiss so we can tell our grandchildren that you were fancied by the man who sat on the throne of Dharjistan."
Part amused, more horrified, Meera hissed, "Idiot! If anyone finds us here, the maharajah might decide to slit your nose or remove your ears."
Grinning, the Pathan pulled her onto his lap. Even as her body melted in response to his embrace, Meera thought with exasperation that men were excited by the most alarming things.
He whispered in her ear, "Better yet, shall we see if we can conceive our first child on a throne?"
"No, you barbarian," she exclaimed, scrambling off his lap. "I want to leave right now!"
With a chuckle, he got to his feet. Then his amusement abruptly evaporated. "Too late," he said softly. "Someone's coming."
As Meera listened, she also heard the voices of approaching men. Zafir grabbed her around the waist and boosted her into the branches over their heads. A moment later he swung up beside her, then guided her higher yet to a place where the interwoven branches formed a crude platform. As birds squawked angrily at the humans who had invaded the tree, he settled down with his back against a trunk and drew her into his arms.
The branches and dark green leaves would prevent anyone below from seeing them, but as Meera lay still as a mouse in the arms of her beloved, she plotted hideous punishments on him for getting them into this. For one of the men below was the maharajah himself.
She recognized Rajiv Singh's voice speaking in the formal Persian used by the court. It was the same language that Mohan had had Meera learn so she could read to him.
Unsubdued, Zafir tugged Meera's scarf off and began nibbling her ear. She caught her breath to prevent herself from gasping out loud. As desire curled through her, she decided that she would definitely murder him some day. But not just yet.
Greatly daring, she slipped a hand through the folds of his clothing and stroked his bare chest, which she had been longing to do. The taut muscles rippled under her touch. Wondering how he would react to being sensually tortured under such conditions, her hand began to move lower.
Suddenly she stopped, shocked by what the men below her were saying, Zafir, who didn't understand court Persian, wanted to continue their game, so his hand moved toward her breast. She grabbed it and shook her head, her face deadly serious, when he looked at her questioningly.
Dislodged the vehemence of her head shake, the red flower behind her ear tumbled loose with mocking slowness. Zafir made a lightning grab that just missed.
The blossom dropped between two branches and continued falling, its progress marked by faint, almost inaudible rustling sounds. Though Meera prayed that the flower would be caught in the tree, it made its way all the way to the ground.
The men below stopped speaking for a moment. Then the maharajah barked a sharp question.
For a heartstopping instant there was silence. Meera was so frightened that she stopped breathing. Though trespassing in the gardens might be a minor crime, eavesdropping on a prince could be lethal.
Then a monkey shrieked directly over their heads. It was answered by another. A furious squabble broke out, which sent twigs and leaves tumbling to the ground. Since a monkey might have brought the flower into the banyan, the men, reassured that they were private, resumed their discussion.