She gave him her best duplicitous smile. "Wouldn't dream of missing this trip, doushenka. After a fortnight or so of sleeping rough in the Himalayas, that drafty castle of yours is going to seem as luxurious as Rajiv Singh's palace."
"More spunk than sense," he said in a resigned tone, but the respect in his glance warmed her.
She was intensely glad that she had insisted upon coming on this trip. Whatever happened, at least they would face it together.
* * *
As Meera cleaned up after breakfast, she gave her placid pony a glance of distaste. Though she had become accustomed to riding, the pace they had set the last few days had been bruising. In one way, she'd be glad to reach Habibur's. But only in one way.
She glanced over at Zafir, who was loading the pack pony. There was an odd kind of intimacy on this hasty journey, for in many ways they were behaving like husband and wife, each taking care of their share of chores, relying on each other. But that was the only intimacy, for Zafir was withdrawn, not the teasing man she had fallen in love with.
She got to her feet and scanned the ground to make sure that nothing had been forgotten. It was a pleasant little campsite, private and protected in a grove of trees well off the road. It was the last privacy they would have. Walking over to Zafir, she said, "We'll be at Habibur's today?"
He nodded. "We should be there not much after noon."
"Will you stay the night?"
He shook his head. "No, little dove. I'd like to, but I can't afford the time. Matters are grave, and a half day might make a critical difference."
She made a wry face. "I knew the situation must be perilous, for you haven't tried to seduce me once since we left Manpur."
That caught his attention. His abstracted gaze sharpened. "It would not be honorable to try when you are under my protection. You have made it clear you are waiting for our marriage bed."
She lifted her head, her face stark. "Then I was sure we would have a marriage bed. But there is danger now. You are a soldier. You might be killed."
"It's possible," he agreed. "Danger is my job, little dove. If war comes, I must return to my regiment immediately. But if anything happens to me, you will have a place with my uncle for as long as you wish. Or if you choose to return to your own people, my aunt and uncle will help you."
"It isn't my own people that I want," she said vehemently. "It's you."
She moved close and laid a hand on his wrist, soft and graceful. "Perhaps you cannot spare a half day, but surely you can spare an hour?"
He stared at her, realizing that his lovely little dove had something specific in mind. She made it clear exactly what with her next sentence. "Give me something to remember, beloved," she whispered, raising her arms and sliding them around his neck.
He didn't need a second invitation. All the playfulness and teasing of their relationship fell away, leaving only this, the urgent need of a man and woman to be together. And as he kissed her, he knew that this was the ultimate reason men went to war. Not just for glory, or greed, compelling as those things were, but because of this fierce tenderness, the need to protect his home and woman, with his own life if need be.
As he laid her down in the soft grass, he knew that as urgent as his message was, this was equally urgent. Falkirk Sahib would not begrudge a man an hour with his beloved if it might be the only hour they would ever have.
* * *
Though less than a week had passed, Dharjistan seemed like another world. Laura shifted stiffly in her saddle, thinking ruefully that Ian had spoken the truth when he said she'd be doing a lot of riding. This sort was nowhere near as enjoyable as the gallop they'd had their last afternoon in the palace.
Ian had taken Laura at her word that she could ride as well as any man, and he set a hard pace. They crossed the flat, dusty plains of the Punjab without incident. On the occasions when they went through a sizable town, Laura donned the dark, all-encompassing burqa and attracted no notice at all.
Occasionally Ian struck up conversations with villagers or other travelers, expertly extracting information without seeming unduly inquisitive. Word had spread of the British loss in Afghanistan, and it was a frequent subject of discussion. The Punjab had never been under British rule so the natives did not feel directly affected, but most took a certain malicious satisfaction in the downfall of the ferengis.
They were also very curious about how the Sirkar would respond. Laura, who listened but never spoke, could see for herself how critical the situation was. Weakness on the part of the British now could trigger an avalanche of opposition.
After three days of hard riding, they had entered the stony hills. It was the most desolate country Laura had ever seen, so barren that it was hard to see how anyone could live in it. The mountain peaks were covered with snow and everything else seemed to be jumbled rock, with only the most tenacious plants clinging to a precarious existence.