Veils of Silk(146)

Laura was about to return her gaze to the track when a dark shape suddenly rose from the top of the boulder that Ian was passing. With horror, she realized that it was a man with a lethal blade flashing in his hand—and he was on Ian's blind side. She screamed, "Ian, above you!"

Two months earlier shouting would have been all she was capable of, but she was no longer limited by the constraints of a sheltered young Englishwoman. As the attacker launched himself at Ian, she whipped up her rifle, cocked it, and fired.

The attacker shrieked and changed direction in midair, his knife spinning away into the gorge. Alerted by Laura's warning, Ian reached for his revolver, but before he could draw, his horse trumpeted with fright and reared onto its hindquarters.

For terrifying moments, he fought a desperate battle to regain control of his mount. Only superb horsemanship kept horse and rider from pitching off the track into the gorge.

Laura's own horse shied when she shot, but mercifully didn't panic. Knowing that she could move faster on foot, she hurtled from her mount and raced up the stony trail. The attack had taken place too quickly for her to feel fear, but she made up for the lack in the moments it took her to reach Ian.

By the time she reached him, he had dismounted and was soothing his nervous horse. The attacker, a Pathan, was lying on his back on the path. A moment before, he had been the embodiment of evil, but now he was only a limp, ragged body.

Laura braced herself against the cliff, so shaky she could barely stand now that the emergency was over. "Did... did I kill him?"

"Not unless he died from his fall." His horse under control, Ian scanned the narrow pass, his one eye missing nothing. "The fellow appears to have acted alone. If he'd had confederates, they'd be all over us by now."

His words reminded Laura that her rifle was empty, so she reloaded with clumsy fingers. When she was done, Ian put one arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side. "A superb piece of marksmanship. You shot the knife right out of his hand."

She wiped her perspiring face with the tail of her turban. "Pure accident. I was actually aiming at his body because that was the largest target. My main thought was to make sure the shot was high enough so that I wouldn't hit you by accident."

"You shouldn't have admitted that. I was about to take the credit for being such a great shooting instructor." He chuckled. "I thought I was teaching you to protect your life. Instead, it appears that you saved mine."

His lightness and his touch steadied Laura. As she began to relax, she wondered if this was why she had felt so compelled to accompany Ian. Though it had been more luck than skill on her part, she may indeed have saved her husband from having his throat cut. Thank God for Russian stubbornness.

The moment of tranquility ended when the attacker's eyes opened. Ian immediately released Laura and drew his revolver. But all of the fight had gone out of the Pathan. There were clumsy bandages on his left arm and right calf, and his gaze was hopeless, like that of a man who had bet everything on one last throw of the dice and lost.

Nonetheless, Ian kept the gun trained on him. Speaking in Pashto, he said, "Are you alone?"

The man glared but didn't answer.

Ian shifted his aim to the man's abdomen. His tone conversational, he said, "Any idea how long it will take you to die from a bullet through the belly?"

In a raspy but defiant voice, the Pathan said, "Go ahead and shoot, pig. You'll learn nothing from me."

Ian cocked the revolver, wondering whether it would be possible to intimidate the man into talking, or if stronger measures would be required. Then Laura said urgently, "Ian, isn't he wearing the trousers of a Company soldier?"

Ian studied the Pathan and saw that under his ragged brown cloak and blood-stained shirt, he was indeed wearing sepoy trousers. Sharply Ian said, "Do you serve the Sirkar?"

"Aye," the man said sullenly. "A havildar and proud of it."

A havildar was the rank equivalent of a sergeant. Beginning to feel excited, Ian said in English, "Laura, get some food and water for this fellow." Switching to the Urdu used in the army, he said, "You were part of the retreat from Kabul?"

For an unguarded moment, the man shuddered. Then he recovered and spat. "You'll get no information from me, you filthy swine," he said again. "Tell your masters that Gulzar Khan died as a man—true to his salt."

Ian yanked off his turban so that his auburn hair was visible. "Your masters and mine are the same, Havildar Gulzar Khan. I am an officer of the 46th Native Infantry."

Gulzar Khan stared at him, his gaze going from Ian's hair to his blue-gray eye and back. Then he wordlessly lifted one trembling hand in a salute.