Veils of Silk (61 page)

Her head swung around, and she glared at him with feral golden eyes. "No! I won't leave you here alone."

"You will," he said in a voice that cracked like a whip. "I said you couldn't come unless you were willing to obey me like a subaltern. That time has come, and there will be no arguments. My duty lies here. Yours lies in going for reinforcements."

Smoldering, she said, "So I'm to leave you to face an army?"

"Save your sympathy for the Afghans. Their position is far more dangerous
than mine." His voice softened. "Believe me, Larishka, my chances of survival are excellent. That cave is virtually impregnable. It's quite possible that the Afghans will retreat and try to force the Khyber Pass instead. Even at its narrowest, it's hundreds of yards wider than this."

"What if they decide to fight their way through you?"

"Then I might die here," he said coolly. "But even if I do, I may be able to hold off the Afghans long enough to stop the rebellion from starting. Remember, the Punjabis won't rise unless the Afghans come, and Rajiv Singh won't try anything alone. Isn't that more important than my life? Even, God help me, more important than both our lives?"

Tears stinging her eyes, she stared at him. Never before had she so clearly seen the core of steely strength that had enabled Ian to survive torture,, starvation, and endless darkness. In his determination to do whatever was necessary, whatever the price to him personally, she had never loved him more. Throat tight, she said, "I suppose that is worth more than either of us. Very well, I'll go without any more arguments. But how close do you think British troops might be?"

"If everything went smoothly—if 'Roaring' Rawdon took the bit between his teeth as soon as Zafir and David delivered the news—the advance guard could be here within a few days."

Laura didn't bother to point out that if things hadn't gone well, it could be weeks until reinforcements were sent to Jallalabad,
for Ian knew that as well as she did. She looked up the steep slope to the cave
and decided that she could climb it. "I'll help you carry up supplies."

"Good. That will speed things up. If you start back soon, you can be out of the pass before darkness falls."

Laura went to her horse and unpacked the majority of the food and a full waterskin. As she did, Gulab Khan, who had been slumped half-conscious on the back of Ian's horse, revived a little. "Your servant is talkative, huzar," he muttered.

"She's not my servant," Ian said dryly. "She's my wife."

The Pathan's head came up. "A woman?" he said, incredulous.

Ian nodded. "I rely on you to defend her, Hayildar."

"With my life, huzar," Gulab Khan said gravely.

Laura gave both men an exasperated glance. She wasn't sure if Ian was trying to insure her an extra measure of protection, or whether he hoped that responsibility would revive the wounded man, but it seemed obvious that she was more likely to defend Gulab Khan than vice versa.

Without further words, she slung the sack of supplies over her back and began climbing. It wasn't quite a cliff and there were a number of handholds. Even so, she was panting with exertion when she reached the ledge at the cave mouth.

Ian was just behind. Swinging up beside her, he set down his rifle and the heavy saddlebag of ammunition, then looked along the pass toward Afghanistan. "This is as close to an invincible position as I've ever seen."

Stepping a safe distance back from the edge, Laura followed his gaze. "If you build a stone barricade with gaps to shoot through, it will give you some extra protection."

"Good idea. I'll do that while I'm waiting for company." Ian turned and went back into the cave. His voice sounding hollow, he said, "This is larger than I expected."

Laura followed. The cave expanded into a chamber high enough to stand in, then narrowed again and disappeared back into darkness. Ian indicated a trickle of moisture down one wall. "Since there's water here, I can hold out indefinitely. The cave might have another entrance as well. Feel the air moving?"

Laura scarcely heard his words. Her main reason for climbing to the cave was to give her husband a private farewell, and now her emotions were paralyzed by the knowledge that they were about to part, possibly forever. Voice choked, she said, "Be careful,
doushenka. "

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her fiercely. "I will be. For God's sake, you do the same. Believe me, I hate the idea of sending you off even more than you hate the idea of leaving me here."

She clung to him, willing herself to memorize this moment exactly. The feel of his body, the sound of his voice, the sense of completion she had found only with him—all were so real that it was impossible to believe that she might never experience them again. "I love you, Ian," she whispered.

His embrace tightened until her ribs hurt. "I've had a great deal of good fortune in my life, Larissa Alexandrovna, but none greater than meeting you." His faint accent thickened to a Scottish burr. "God gae with ye, my bonnie lass."

He gave her one last kiss, aching and sweet. Then they climbed down the cliff to the trail, Ian below so that he could catch her if she slipped. But she didn't slip. She could not afford to falter, for Ian's life might depend on whether she could bring help in time. Though the cave might be almost impregnable, his ammunition was limited, and there was only one of him to an army of Afghans.

Laura mounted and set off, Gulab Khan behind her on Ian's horse. She looked back only once. Ian stood watching her go, as still as the stones surrounding him. He hadn't donned his turban yet, and his hair glowed with dark red fire in the cool winter sun. She wanted to turn and race back to him.

Instead she lifted her hand and blew him a kiss, knowing that she would never forget how he looked at this moment. He smiled, then turned away.

As Laura picked her slow way back through the pass, she was mutely grateful that Gulab Khan knew that she was female. Otherwise he might have sneered at her tears.

Ian heard the Afghans long before he saw them, for it was impossible for masses of men to move through the mountains soundlessly. At first it was a vague noise, like the buzzing of distant bees. Eventually it resolved into individual components. Voices, including an occasional shouted curse. Footsteps and the clatter of hooves and sometimes the heavy thumps of equipment and supplies. Any soldier would recognize that an army was on the move, though the sounds were curiously thin because they were spread over miles of winding track.

It was midmorning and Ian was waiting patiently. He had made all his preparations the day before. After building a crude defensive wall on the front of his ledge, he had climbed down to the track and piled stones into barricades at several points. The Afghans would have to shift the rocks to pass, and they would have to do it under his rifle. Though such defenses might riot be needed, he would rather be overprepared than the opposite.

The night had been quiet. Using dry fuel that wouldn't smoke, he had built a small fire. After cooking all of his flour into chapatis so that he would have a supply of cold food, he leaned against the wall of the cave and watched the fire fall into embers. It was a simple pleasure, the kind that prison had taught him to appreciate.

His mood was a blend of resignation and fatalistic calm. In spite of his reassuring words to Laura, he thought it unlikely that he would escape this engagement with his life. In combat, there were a thousand things that could go wrong. Even if all else went well, eventually he would run out of ammunition.

Yet there was a fitness to dying this way, for sacrifice in a worthy cause was the only way he might redeem his lost honor. Not that anyone else would ever know or care how he had betrayed himself in Bokhara, except Laura, and she had shown herself to be remarkably tolerant of his weaknesses. But he cared, and his sense of failure had made it impossible for him to tell his wife how much she meant to him. Even if he had been poet enough to find adequate words, he would not have done so. Laura deserved a man of untarnished courage and integrity, not an all-too-human failure whose greatest talent was an unheroic knack for survival.

Even though he had hated sending Laura away without his protection, he was fairly sure that her life was not at risk. Meeting Gulab Khan had been a stroke of blinding good fortune. Not only had the havildar supplied vital information, he and his clan were honorbound to protect Laura because of the assistance she and Ian had rendered. It was far better to have an Afridi as a friend than an enemy, so she, at least, would be safe.

The sounds were getting louder. Though it was hard to judge in the echoing gorge, he guessed that the first Afghan would come around the bend very soon. He was ready, his rifle loaded, more cartridges close to hand, a wet rag on which to rest the barrel of his gun to reduce overheating. Thank God he had a breechloader, which could be fired much more quickly than the primitive muzzleloaders carried by most Afghans.

Though this was not the first time he had fought for survival among desolate mountains, before he had always had friends by his side. Comraderie was the great compensation of military life, for facing death together forged a bond like no other. But this time he would fight, and likely die, alone.

So be it.

The first man rounded the bend. Ian unhurriedly raised his rifle and squeezed the trigger. The ball sped off, deadly and true, with a flat report that shattered the air. The Afghan screamed and staggered sideways until he pitched into the gorge. As he fell, his voice resonated horribly from the stone walls until it ended with sickening suddenness.

As Ian swiftly reloaded, another man bounded around the corner, body crouched and jezzail ready as he scanned the mountain. Ian fired again. Another shot, another casualty. This one, luckily, fell on the path rather than off the cliff.

He shot half a dozen men before they stopped coming. Six bullets, six casualties. It was superb marksmanship, but Ian took little pleasure in it. Efficiency in killing his fellow man was grim necessity rather than a source of pride.

There was a long pause. His gaze on the track opposite, Ian sipped some water, for slaughter was dry work. Eventually a voice called out in Pashto, "Who is there? We are not your enemies. If you want tribute for allowing us passage, we will pay it. Then you can join us in our jihad against the British, for we can use a warrior like you."