From her horseback vantage point, she saw that David's reaction was pure shock. "But..."
Whatever he started to say was tamped down immediately. With a warm smile, he crossed to Laura's horse and offered his hand to help her down. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Laura. Welcome to Clan Cameron."
As she dismounted, she said, "I know this is rather sudden."
"With attractive females in such short supply, romance is often sudden in India." David scanned her with open approval. "Leave it to an experienced campaigner like Ian to act swiftly when he discovered that you weren't the schoolgirl he expected."
He signaled a groom to take the horses, then ushered his guests to the house. "Come inside and have something cool to drink. You must be parched after riding all day in this heat.''
As the three of them mounted the steps to the bungalow, David said, "I'd better warn you straight off, Ian. Everyone in the regiment regretted missing you on your earlier visit to Cambay, so the officers' mess decided that when you returned, they would give a grand ball in your honor. This way everyone will have a chance to say hello."
Ian grimaced. "I know the regiment loves an excuse to celebrate, but is a ball really necessary?"
"Yes," David said, sounding more like an older brother than the younger. As he opened the door for Laura, he added, "Having a wife to present makes it doubly necessary.''
They entered the main room of the bungalow. As David gave orders for lemonade to be served, Ian asked Laura, "Will you mind having to face a mass of strangers?"
His taut expression made it clear how much he disliked the prospect of being guest of honor at a large gathering. Wanting to remove the tension from his face, she said reassuringly, "I'm delighted at the chance to meet your friends." She frowned. "But I haven't anything suitable to wear to a ball."
"One of the local tailors is said to be a wizard with ladies' clothing, and he could make you a gown in a couple of days," David said. "I'll ask him to call on you tomorrow."
"Then we should be able to manage." Ian's voice was neutral, but he still looked strained. Laura hoped that the next few days didn't undo the progress he had made.
15th March. Beware the Ides indeed. For the last fortnight, I've been wholly undone by fever. It's so cold and damp in this filthy cell. Would have died, I think, if Ian hadn't held me in his arms when I was shivering, rubbed my hands and feet, and generally acted like a blanket. We are reduced to the most basic kind of animal warmth, like a litter of puppies.
* * *
It took time for Laura to decipher the entry, for Pyotr's handwriting was so feeble as to be almost illegible. It was her first morning in Cambay and David had taken Ian off for the day. Ian had wanted to stay with Laura so that she wouldn't have to face the inevitable callers alone. Though she would have liked to have him with her, she thought the brothers should have some time together, so she had shooed her husband off. Now she was taking advantage of the quiet to begin transcribing her uncle's journal into English.
The next entry was clearer, though not much.
22nd March. Ironic that I have come from the vastness of the Russian sky to this evil little cell unfit to lodge a donkey. I would have said once that such confinement would make me mad. Perhaps it has—or perhaps, here, I have found wisdom.
The Great Game—that is what Ian calls the silent struggle that Russia and Britain are waging across the steppes of Central Asia, what we call the tournament of shadows. I've always told myself that I was devoting my life to helping the Motherland defend her borders, but perhaps my young friend is right and I have spent my life on a game between two empires who squabble like children—a superior kind of chess for the bloodthirsty and power-mad. I loved the suspense, the danger, the knowledge that I was a hidden force whose plans could upset empires, perhaps change the course of history.
Yet now it sometimes seems that the real purpose of my life has been to bring me to the Black Well, where there are no more games to occupy my childish mind. For the first time I am forced to face my own soul. Not for nothing are prisons associated with growth of the spirit, for the wall between physical and ethereal grows ever thinner. I despise this place, and when death comes to set me free I shall be ready. Yet here I have found a friend closer than any I have known since my older brother died fighting Napoleon. Thirty years it has been since Sergei died—thirty years. In the heady delights of the Game, I had forgotten what it was like to have a friend.
Laura laid down her pen and stared at the words that she had laboriously copied into the blank journal David had supplied. Tears stung her eyes, an ache for both her uncle and her husband. Yet there was also gladness, for in the midst of adversity, Pyotr had found something infinitely precious.