were investigating the camp," Ian said. "Their paths crossed, so they tried to outroar each other. When you started shooting, they wisely took off."
"A caracal?" she repeated.
Beginning to wonder if the woman was drunk or dim-witted, Ian said impatiently, "Surely you've heard of caracals. They're rather like overgrown house cats with long tufted ears." He handed her rifle back. "The next time you use this, remember that the first law of hunting is never to shoot at something you can't see clearly. You didn't manage to kill anyone, but next time you might not be so lucky."
"I'm s… sorry," she said, her voice on the verge of tears.
Embarrassed by her reaction, Ian said, "No harm done." Glancing around, he found that apparently every Indian in the camp had come to watch, but there were no other Europeans; not the collector, and not young Lara. "Where's Kenneth Stephenson? I need to talk to him."
"You… you can't." Her voice broke.
Trying to control his irritation, Ian said, "This is his camp, isn't it?"
"M… my father's dead." She bent her head and ran distracted fingers through her wild hair. "He… he died of cholera. A few minutes ago. Perhaps an hour."
"Dear God," Ian said softly, feeling like a clumsy idiot. No wonder the young woman was disoriented; with her father barely dead, it was amazing that she could string a coherent sentence together. She had even attempted to defend the camp against possible danger, and while the results had been incompetent, he gave her full marks for gallantry. "You're Laura Stephenson?"
She nodded, swaying a little.
Ian stepped forward to take her trembling arm. "You need to lie down."
Head bent, she made a small choked sound, and her weight sagged against him. As he slid his arm around her waist to hold her upright, he said, "Incidentally, my name is Ian Cameron."
Head still bent and face obscured by hair, she said,"Wh… why are you here?"
"My business can wait till tomorrow." Switching to Urdu, Ian said to the ring of servants, "Which of you is Miss Stephenson's maid?"
A graceful young woman stepped forward. "I am, sahib."
"Take your mistress to her tent and put her to bed. If there's laudanum, give her some so she'll sleep."
The girl glanced uneasily at the circling forest. Correctly interpeting her disquiet, Ian said, "Don't worry, I guarantee you'll be safe for the rest of the night."
The maid responded to the authority in his voice and came forward to lead her dazed mistress away. Ian had rallied soldiers in the midst of ambush, so it wasn't difficult to restore the confidence of a camp of demoralized servants.
But as he gave orders, collected Stephenson's guns, reloaded, and retrieved his weary horse, he wondered what the devil had become of little Larissa Alexandrovna Karelian.
----
Chapter 5
Instead of sleep, the laudanum sent Laura into a black paralysis laced by nightmare images of her stepfather. He stood before her with his familiar warm smile, but when she tried to touch him, he receded away, vanishing into the swirling darkness that had already claimed her mother and first father.
In fifteen years of nightmares, Laura had never succeeded in preventing her parents from leaving, yet it was not in her nature to stop trying. Surely if she said the right words, did the right thing, she could persuade Kenneth to stay. Yet time and again she failed. It occurred to her that perhaps she could follow him into the darkness. With immense effort, she forced her numb limbs to move and ran after his retreating figure, desperately calling, "Papa!" as she clawed through the barriers that came between them.
Then, with miraculous suddenness, she ran smack into her stepfather's solid frame. His arms went around her and finally she was safe. Weeping with joy, she clung to him. "Papa," she whispered, burrowing into his embrace. "Papa, I had such a horrible nightmare. I dreamed that you died."
A deep, unfamiliar voice penetrated the mists that surrounded her. "Miss
"A caracal?" she repeated.
Beginning to wonder if the woman was drunk or dim-witted, Ian said impatiently, "Surely you've heard of caracals. They're rather like overgrown house cats with long tufted ears." He handed her rifle back. "The next time you use this, remember that the first law of hunting is never to shoot at something you can't see clearly. You didn't manage to kill anyone, but next time you might not be so lucky."
"I'm s… sorry," she said, her voice on the verge of tears.
Embarrassed by her reaction, Ian said, "No harm done." Glancing around, he found that apparently every Indian in the camp had come to watch, but there were no other Europeans; not the collector, and not young Lara. "Where's Kenneth Stephenson? I need to talk to him."
"You… you can't." Her voice broke.
Trying to control his irritation, Ian said, "This is his camp, isn't it?"
"M… my father's dead." She bent her head and ran distracted fingers through her wild hair. "He… he died of cholera. A few minutes ago. Perhaps an hour."
"Dear God," Ian said softly, feeling like a clumsy idiot. No wonder the young woman was disoriented; with her father barely dead, it was amazing that she could string a coherent sentence together. She had even attempted to defend the camp against possible danger, and while the results had been incompetent, he gave her full marks for gallantry. "You're Laura Stephenson?"
She nodded, swaying a little.
Ian stepped forward to take her trembling arm. "You need to lie down."
Head bent, she made a small choked sound, and her weight sagged against him. As he slid his arm around her waist to hold her upright, he said, "Incidentally, my name is Ian Cameron."
Head still bent and face obscured by hair, she said,"Wh… why are you here?"
"My business can wait till tomorrow." Switching to Urdu, Ian said to the ring of servants, "Which of you is Miss Stephenson's maid?"
A graceful young woman stepped forward. "I am, sahib."
"Take your mistress to her tent and put her to bed. If there's laudanum, give her some so she'll sleep."
The girl glanced uneasily at the circling forest. Correctly interpeting her disquiet, Ian said, "Don't worry, I guarantee you'll be safe for the rest of the night."
The maid responded to the authority in his voice and came forward to lead her dazed mistress away. Ian had rallied soldiers in the midst of ambush, so it wasn't difficult to restore the confidence of a camp of demoralized servants.
But as he gave orders, collected Stephenson's guns, reloaded, and retrieved his weary horse, he wondered what the devil had become of little Larissa Alexandrovna Karelian.
----
Chapter 5
Instead of sleep, the laudanum sent Laura into a black paralysis laced by nightmare images of her stepfather. He stood before her with his familiar warm smile, but when she tried to touch him, he receded away, vanishing into the swirling darkness that had already claimed her mother and first father.
In fifteen years of nightmares, Laura had never succeeded in preventing her parents from leaving, yet it was not in her nature to stop trying. Surely if she said the right words, did the right thing, she could persuade Kenneth to stay. Yet time and again she failed. It occurred to her that perhaps she could follow him into the darkness. With immense effort, she forced her numb limbs to move and ran after his retreating figure, desperately calling, "Papa!" as she clawed through the barriers that came between them.
Then, with miraculous suddenness, she ran smack into her stepfather's solid frame. His arms went around her and finally she was safe. Weeping with joy, she clung to him. "Papa," she whispered, burrowing into his embrace. "Papa, I had such a horrible nightmare. I dreamed that you died."
A deep, unfamiliar voice penetrated the mists that surrounded her. "Miss
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