Veils of Silk (23 page)

"I've never spoken of it to anyone, not even Kenneth, though my mother must have told him." She closed her eyes for a moment, and her face showed the fierce effort she was making to control her emotions. More calmly, she continued, "It was midafternoon, a Saturday just before Easter. My parents had a huge fight, and Mama went storming out." She wiped her eyes with the back of her left hand. "Later I heard a shot from my father's study and raced downstairs. "At first I was afraid to open the door. When I finally did…" Her voice broke. "He… he was so handsome. But since then, I can't think of him without also remembering what he looked like that day. I began screaming. I didn't stop for two days."

"Is this why your mother decided to leave St. Petersburg?"

Laura nodded. "She wanted to get us both away. St. Petersburg had too many memories. She was right, too. Going to another country gave us other things to think about." For the first time she noticed that Ian was holding her fist. "Lord, Ian, I'm sorry," she said ruefully. "I hit you?"

"Nothing to signify." He let go of her hand. "Shall we resume our journey? From now until we're on a British ship heading home, I'll make sure that I'm no more than six feet away from you at any time, so you won't ever have to defend yourself."

Her eyes flashed. "No! The lesson isn't over yet." She picked up her discarded rifle and began to reload.

Not quite believing what he saw, Ian said, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Face set, she replied, "I'm going to hit that damned target if I have to keep trying all night." She raised the rifle and fired. She didn't hit the paper, but this time she kept her eyes open and pulled the trigger more smoothly.

Again Laura reloaded and aimed. Eyes straight ahead, she said softly, "If I didn't love him so much, I wouldn't have hated him so much for what he did." The gun blazed. This time bark chipped from the tree trunk six inches from the target.

Ian stood by, silent except for an occasional terse suggestion. Laura wielded the rifle with a fierce concentration that told him as much about the woman he had married as she had revealed by her anguished tears.

The session seemed to last an eternity. Finally one of her shots struck the target dead center. The paper spun into the air, then drifted to the ground, a hole clearly visible in the middle. Drained but satisfied, Laura slung the rifle over her shoulder and turned to Ian. Hands on hips, she said, "Tomorrow the revolver."

He gave her a slow smile. "Has anyone ever mentioned what a formidable woman you are?"

"I am a Russian," she said with self-mocking humor, as if that fact were sufficient explanation.

Perhaps it was.

When they reached the dak bungalow that night, Laura went to bed as soon as they had eaten. She was exhausted, though not so far gone that she couldn't appreciate the fact that Ian upheld his end of the bargain by eating far more than usual at dinner.

At first she slept deeply, but later the old nightmare returned. The beginning was exactly the same. She was Lara, six years old and frightened by her parents' incomprehensible wildness. Then, as hysteria mounted, the dream abruptly shifted three years later in time. Once again she stood in front of the study, terrified to enter but knowing that she had no choice. Her small hand reached up to the cold brass knob and turned. The heavy door swung open with a screech, revealing her father's shattered body sprawled across his blood-drenched desk.

Then the dream began to take a new course. For the first time, terror burned away in a rush of fury that scoured her like flame. The familiar scene shimmered and changed. To her amazement, her father sat up, miraculously whole, and looked at her. Then he stood, walked over, and knelt beside her, taking her hands in his. "I'm sorry, Larishka," he whispered, his handsome face haunted. "Forgive me."

Laura began to cry, real tears that ran down her face and woke her up, confused and disoriented. Then Ian's arms came around her, as solid and reliable as the earth itself. She clung to him, weeping against his chest.

When her tears had abated, Ian said quietly, "The old Russian nightmare that you mentioned once?"

"Yes, but this time it was different." Skipping over the early part of the dream, she described the scene in her father's study, and how it had changed from all of the other times she had experienced it.

When she finished speaking, Ian said thoughtfully, "For fifteen years you were caught in that moment of horror. Perhaps your anger has set you free, so that now you can remember the best of your father as well as the worst." His hands stroked her back, smoothing away the tension. "I wouldn't be surprised if you never have that dream again."

"If so, I won't miss it!" she said fervently. Then, rueful, she added, "I seem to have spent most of the last two days crying on your shoulder. If I'm not careful, you may dissolve."

"It's hard to dissolve a scarecrow," he said, amusement in his voice. "Besides, there's a certain rough equality here. Think of how tedious it would be if one of us was sane and healthy while the other one wasn't. As it is, we're perfectly suited."

Though the words were delivered lightly, Laura realized that they were quite true. Like called to like; the fact that she and Ian were both troubled might be why they were so understanding of each other. With an uneven chuckle, she settled into his arms. "I know that there's always supposed to be a silver lining, but you must have looked hard for that one."

"I did have to dig a bit." He massaged her temples with sensitive fingertips. "Think you can go back to sleep now?"

"I think so. I feel as if I've just set down a boulder I've been carrying for years." Yet though Laura was relaxed, and even content, it was a long time before she slept again.

The fury and hatred she had denied for fifteen years had lost some of their power now that she had faced them, and it was possible to think of her father with kindness. More that that, with love. Yes, he had been wickedly wrong to kill himself as he did, but he and Tatyana had been victim of their natures, torn by forces that raged beyond control. It wasn't difficult for Laura to understand her parents. After all, hadn't she inherited their dangerous capacity for wildness? At least her father's devastating example had demonstrated the dangers of passion. For that, at least, she supposed she should be grateful.

When she finally slept, she had a new dream. In its way, it was as alarming as her Russian nightmare, though it was far more enjoyable. She was in the chapel of the hidden temple, where men and women celebrated the many forms of union.

But this time Laura was one of the lithe-bodied women who gave herself with such abandon, and the man whose strong body joined with hers was Ian. The sensual pleasure that she feared and craved surged through her. It was a rage of irresistible rapture, both beautiful and terrible, and it bound her, body and soul, to the man in her arms.

Once more she woke with tears in her eyes, and this time she did not fall asleep again.

As their horses began the descent to Cambay, Laura scanned the streets and buildings that spread into the distance. "The cantonment is enormous. Of course, even a small military station is large by the standards of civil administrators. Were you always posted here?"

"No, for the first nine years the 46th was stationed in Ferozepore, on the edge of the Punjab. I was delighted, of course." Ian's smile was sardonic. "There were plenty of opportunities for action, and at nineteen I was mad keen for a taste of glory."

"I gather that war didn't live up to your expectations?"

Ian was silent for so long that Laura thought that he wouldn't reply. The closer they had gotten to Cambay, the quieter he had become.

But as they finished descending from the hills and rode onto the plain, he said, "War is incredibly ugly and often pointless, and it brings out both the best and the worst of human nature. With life and death the stakes, war is the ultimate game, the supreme test of courage and honor. That's why it never goes out of fashion. Once my illusions wore off I found no joy in battle—yet I can't bring myself to regret having experienced it."

It was a brief, piercing glimpse into a world that had been inhabited not only by Ian, but by Laura's father and uncles. Unsure what she expected to learn, she said, "Would you have given the same answer three years ago?"

"Three years ago, my simple mind was never disturbed by deep thought or ambivalance," he said. Pointing to a road on the left, he continued, "We turn here. That's my brother's bungalow under the trees."

It was a spacious, pleasant-looking place. "Will we be staying long?" she asked. "I wouldn't mind sleeping in the same bed for several nights in a row."

"Three days should be enough to take care of the basic social obligations," Ian said tersely.

Laura was uneasy about the visit herself, for she was about to meet the first member of Ian's family. Though he had assured her that the Camerons would love her, Laura was uncomfortably aware that a peer of the realm could have made a much better match than one with an orphaned, Anglo-Russian female of unremarkable face and nonexistent fortune. Of course Ian's injury had made it impossible for him to marry in the usual way, but no one would know that. His friends and family would think that Laura was an odd choice, possibly a designing female who had tricked Ian into marriage.

Sharply she told herself to stop worrying about what other people might think of her. They were married, and she didn't regret it. She didn't think Ian did, either.

They reined in their horses in front of the bungalow. Ian dismounted and went to assist Laura down. Before he reached her, the front door swung open and a young man in a scarlet-coated uniform bounded down the steps. "Ian! Glad to see that you've made it back. Did you have a successful trip?"

Though the newcomer had darker hair and a more compact build, Laura had no trouble identifying him as Ian's brother, for there was a strong facial resemblance. However, the grin on David's face was uncomplicated, quite different from Ian's guarded expressions.

"Very successful, David," Ian said, shaking his brother's hand with obvious pleasure. "Not only did I find Pyotr's niece, but I married her. Let me introduce you to my wife, Laura."