Laura guessed that Ian was still shaken by his nightmare, or he would not have said so much. Briefly she wondered at the coincidence of his mentioning fire since she had just read that strange entry in Pyotr's journal. Perhaps later she would talk to Ian about that.
She set the thought aside. Far more important was Ian's state of mind right now.
Perching on the edge of his cot, she took hold of his wrist. His whole body vibrated with tension, and, as she expected, his pulse was hammering. "Care to tell me more? I'm something of an expert on bad dreams."
He exhaled raggedly. "In prison I welcomed sleep, for it was the only way of escape. I dreamed of my childhood in Scotland and Persia, of my family, my friends. The hard part was waking to reality, which was more beastly than any nightmare could be, particularity after Pyotr Andreyovich was taken."
He ran shaky fingers through his hair, which sweat had darkened from auburn to chestnut. "Ironic. Now that I'm free, I dream of captivity. Of death and decay and betrayal..." His voice trailed off.
"I see why you prefer not to sleep," Laura said briskly. "But the nightmares will abate in time."
He gave her a sardonic glance. "Have yours? You did say that you are an expert on bad dreams."
She hesitated, unable to give him glib reassurances. "I don't have them very often now.''
"I suppose that's something to look forward to," he murmured, unimpressed. His gaze narrowed. "What haunts your nights, Larissa Alexandrovna?"
She drew in a sharp breath, for his use of the patronymic hit uncomfortably close to the Russian setting of her nightmares. "Nothing very interesting," she said evasively. "Just some of the less pleasant memories of my childhood."
Ian accepted that. They might be friends, but that didn't mean they were close enough to share nightmares.
Changing the subject, he said, "It belatedly occurs to me that an unmarried girl should not be sitting on a man's bed. Not unless social custom has liberalized considerably in the last couple of years."
Laura became uncomfortably aware of the impropriety of their situation. Her glance fell to Ian's bare chest, with its mat of dark hair and taut, well-defined muscles, then darted away. She sensed no carnal thoughts from him, but suddenly her own emotions were scalding.
Hands clenching nervously, she got to her feet. "I imagine London is as rigid as ever, but one of the wonderful things about being in the Indian countryside is the way rules are more relaxed here. Propriety can take a back seat to common sense. You're not going to assault me just because we're alone in your tent, and I'm not going to have an attack of vapors merely because your shirt is off."
"Very true." His mouth twisted with surprising bitterness. "You're perfectly safe with me."
She knew that—and she resented the fact as much as she was grateful for it. Keeping her voice gentle, she said, "Try to get some sleep. You look tired."
He shook his head. "I'll get up now. I've had enough dreaming for one night."
She nodded and crossed the tent, but before she could raise the flap, he said, "Tomorrow we'll reach Baipur. I just want to say... thank you for being someone whose company I can bear."
Laura gave him the ghost of a smile. "I must thank you, too, for doing so much for someone who was a stranger to you. You've been a godsend this last week." Her smile deepened. "Not to mention the fact that you saved me from becoming tiffin for a tiger.''
She turned and was about to leave, but his voice stopped her again. "If I write, would you answer?" he said uncertainly. "I—I'll want to know that you're all right."
Her fingers tightened on the folds of canvas. "Of course I would. I'd like to hear from you." Then she slipped out into the night.
* * *
Notice of Kenneth's death had been sent ahead, so when they arrived in Baipur the small British community immediately drew Laura into its warm embrace—literally so in the case of Emily McKittrick, the judge's wife.
After a long hug, Emily suggested that Laura stay with her and her husband rather than be atone in the Stephensons' bungalow. Laura refused. As she explained to Emily, she had a great deal of packing to do and decisions to make, so she might as well get on with it.
Another, unmentioned, factor was that Ian would be spending the night at the McKittricks' before heading west to Bombay. Being under the same roof with him would prolong the pain of separation and increase the risk that Laura would do something foolish. Better to make the break now.
She said a quick, formal good-bye to Ian, for they had made their true farewell the night before. Then she went to the bungalow she had shared with her stepfather. Greeting the servants who had been left behind and directing the unpacking kept Laura busy for the rest of the day.