Stephenson… Laura, wake up."
Dazedly she raised her head and found that it was not her stepfather holding her, but a stranger, a lean, harsh-faced man with a black patch over one eye. He would have been frightening if it weren't for the kindness in his voice. "You were sleepwalking," he said softly. "Are you awake now?"
Uncertainly she pushed away from the stranger's embrace and looked around. The dream barrier she had fought her way past must have been the tent flap, for she was now outdoors, standing barefoot a dozen feet from the smaller fire. Fifty feet away, by the larger fire, she saw the sleeping forms of the servants, and drowsy bullocks and horses were scattered about.
Piece by piece, her memory of the previous night returned, from her stepfather's death until the arrival of this capable stranger. Cameron, he had said his name was. Ian Cameron. Her gaze returned to the gaunt planes of his face. "So it wasn't a nightmare—my father really is gone."
"I'm afraid so. Come and have some tea. I just brewed another pot." He guided Laura to a folded blanket that had been laid by the fire. After she sat down, he poured a mug of tea, sugared it heavily, and pressed it into her hands. She drank automatically, scarcely noticing the scalding heat. In the east, the sky had a rosy tint. Soon this dreadful night would be over.
By the time she had drained the mug her haziness had cleared. It occurred to her that she should be embarrassed at sitting cross-legged in front of a total stranger, wearing only a light nightdress. Yet she was not uncomfortable, probably, because Ian Cameron was so matter-of-fact about the situation. Holding the mug out, she said, "Sorry to be such a nuisance."
He leaned over with the pot and poured her more tea. "Actually, you're holding up remarkably well. Most women would be having strong hysterics in these circumstances."
As she sipped the second mug, she examined her companion. Last night he had been terrifying when he exploded out of the darkness and overpowered her, and even now the eyepatch gave him a piratical air. Yet his stern features were well-formed, and in the glow of the fire his hair was burnished auburn. It was a surprisingly warm color for a man who had the wary, fine-strung alertness of a predator. Seeing the rifle that lay near his hand, she said, "You've been awake all night guarding the camp?"
He nodded. "I doubt it was necessary, but I knew people would rest better if there was a lookout."
Thinking that he carried himself like a soldier, she asked, "Are you in the army?"
He gave her a sharp glance. "I used to be a major in the 46th Native Infantry."
His expression did not encourage further questions, so she returned to drinking her tea. Her companion might have resigned his commission, but mentally she started thinking of him as Major Cameron; he was too forceful to think of as plain Mr. Cameron.
It was now light enough to distinguish colors, and the forest had become an arena of competitive bird choirs. The servants began stirring at the other fire, and soon the clearing filled with the scent of baking
chapatis
, an unleavened bread that was cooked on a griddle.
Ian took advantage of his companion's distraction to study her appearance, since the night before he had been unable to determine much except that she was a bit above average height. Now the dawn light revealed that her eyes were an unusual shade of clear light amber, almost the same color as her long straight hair. Though Laura did not have Georgina's vivid, cream-and-gold prettiness, her features were strong, and she had a contained quality that hinted at mysteries. It was an intriguing face, the sort one remembered long after mere prettiness was forgotten.
His gaze drifted lower. Though she showed an unfeminine lack of fussiness about the unconventional circumstances, the figure revealed by her nightdress was very feminine indeed.
He sighed, thinking that it was further proof of his incapacity that he could
Dazedly she raised her head and found that it was not her stepfather holding her, but a stranger, a lean, harsh-faced man with a black patch over one eye. He would have been frightening if it weren't for the kindness in his voice. "You were sleepwalking," he said softly. "Are you awake now?"
Uncertainly she pushed away from the stranger's embrace and looked around. The dream barrier she had fought her way past must have been the tent flap, for she was now outdoors, standing barefoot a dozen feet from the smaller fire. Fifty feet away, by the larger fire, she saw the sleeping forms of the servants, and drowsy bullocks and horses were scattered about.
Piece by piece, her memory of the previous night returned, from her stepfather's death until the arrival of this capable stranger. Cameron, he had said his name was. Ian Cameron. Her gaze returned to the gaunt planes of his face. "So it wasn't a nightmare—my father really is gone."
"I'm afraid so. Come and have some tea. I just brewed another pot." He guided Laura to a folded blanket that had been laid by the fire. After she sat down, he poured a mug of tea, sugared it heavily, and pressed it into her hands. She drank automatically, scarcely noticing the scalding heat. In the east, the sky had a rosy tint. Soon this dreadful night would be over.
By the time she had drained the mug her haziness had cleared. It occurred to her that she should be embarrassed at sitting cross-legged in front of a total stranger, wearing only a light nightdress. Yet she was not uncomfortable, probably, because Ian Cameron was so matter-of-fact about the situation. Holding the mug out, she said, "Sorry to be such a nuisance."
He leaned over with the pot and poured her more tea. "Actually, you're holding up remarkably well. Most women would be having strong hysterics in these circumstances."
As she sipped the second mug, she examined her companion. Last night he had been terrifying when he exploded out of the darkness and overpowered her, and even now the eyepatch gave him a piratical air. Yet his stern features were well-formed, and in the glow of the fire his hair was burnished auburn. It was a surprisingly warm color for a man who had the wary, fine-strung alertness of a predator. Seeing the rifle that lay near his hand, she said, "You've been awake all night guarding the camp?"
He nodded. "I doubt it was necessary, but I knew people would rest better if there was a lookout."
Thinking that he carried himself like a soldier, she asked, "Are you in the army?"
He gave her a sharp glance. "I used to be a major in the 46th Native Infantry."
His expression did not encourage further questions, so she returned to drinking her tea. Her companion might have resigned his commission, but mentally she started thinking of him as Major Cameron; he was too forceful to think of as plain Mr. Cameron.
It was now light enough to distinguish colors, and the forest had become an arena of competitive bird choirs. The servants began stirring at the other fire, and soon the clearing filled with the scent of baking
chapatis
, an unleavened bread that was cooked on a griddle.
Ian took advantage of his companion's distraction to study her appearance, since the night before he had been unable to determine much except that she was a bit above average height. Now the dawn light revealed that her eyes were an unusual shade of clear light amber, almost the same color as her long straight hair. Though Laura did not have Georgina's vivid, cream-and-gold prettiness, her features were strong, and she had a contained quality that hinted at mysteries. It was an intriguing face, the sort one remembered long after mere prettiness was forgotten.
His gaze drifted lower. Though she showed an unfeminine lack of fussiness about the unconventional circumstances, the figure revealed by her nightdress was very feminine indeed.
He sighed, thinking that it was further proof of his incapacity that he could
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