Forbidden Jewel of India

* * *

Anusha woke, suddenly and completely alert, with that thought still in her mind. She had been foolish to fear, it seemed. Her rest had been undisturbed, her blankets were still tight around her. Herriard was moving about, attending to the horses.

From the light it was just past dawn and she must have slept for at least two hours. And he had slept not at all. Anusha watched from beneath half-closed lids as he checked the horses, led them to a patch of longer grass where they might snatch a few mouthfuls. Lack of sleep seemed to have simply made him more alert, the lines of his face tauter.

He was not at all like the men she had lived among for so many years, Anusha decided. Most of the Indian men were slender, lithe. There was an English word and she searched for it. Yes, sleek, that was it. Nick Herriard was not sleek, he was too big, too overtly physical. The high cheekbones, the big nose, the strong chin—all asserted power and will. Anusha remembered the feel of his muscles under her hands and shivered, just as he turned and found her watching him.

She thought that colour came up under the golden tan, then he gestured towards the fire. ‘There is water heating if you want to wash. I will go and scout the road.’

Anusha waited until he had walked out of sight, his musket in one hand, then disentangled herself from the blankets. She used the convenient bush, then washed as best she could. He came back, whistling tactfully, as she was rolling up the blankets.

‘All right?’ He did not wait for her answer, but squatted by the fire and began to make tea, throwing leaves into the boiling water from a pouch that lay amongst the food he had set out. It was the same as last night and the bread would be dry. And she supposed from the brisk manner with which he was preparing it that she should have done this while he was away. She had never been without servants before, either.

‘Eat,’ Nick said, pushing the food towards her and pouring tea into a horn beaker. ‘There is no one in sight, we should get on.’

‘When will we be able to get more food?’ Anusha chewed on the dry bread and wondered if the cheese had been this pungent the night before.

‘When we come across someone who can sell us some.’

‘The next big village is—’

‘We are not going through villages, big or small. Do you want to leave flags to mark our route?’

‘But surely they will give up? We could be anywhere by now.’

* * *

Nick washed the stale naan down with tea that was too hot and contemplated the haughty, exquisite face of the young woman opposite him. It was a reasonable question and she was sorely in need of reassurance and comfort, despite the mask she was putting on.

But what Anusha was going to get was a bracing dose of reality and he was going to allow his irritation with this entire situation to ride him. It was the only way he was going to be able to ignore the tension in his groin and the heat that seemed to wash through him whenever he looked at her. Or when she looked at him. He was still recovering from the impact of those grey eyes studying him as he dealt with the horses. It was odd that she should affect him so—Miss Lauren’s spiky personality was hardly alluring.

‘How many armed men do you think it would need to take me?’ he asked. When she just shook her head, he answered himself. ‘Eight, ten perhaps. I have three muskets, but we have lost our other marksman and besides, muskets take time to load. I am good, Miss Laurens, and lucky—I would not be alive today if I was not—but I am just one man. And the maharaja’s spies will have told him that. It will be a blow to his pride that you have escaped him, so he can easily spare a dozen riders to come after us. And they’ll know we’ll be heading east, that is the logical direction to go in.’

He expected fear, possibly tears. Instead she looked at him down the straight little nose that she had definitely not inherited from her father and said, ‘Then teach me to load a musket and go somewhere that is not logical.’

So, he had not been wrong—she had her father’s intelligence after all and her late mother had the reputation for both learning and political cunning. He could have his hands full with her. Even as he thought it he winced at his choice of words—he wanted very much to have his hands full of Anusha Laurens.

‘All right, I’ll teach you to load, that makes sense.’ At least, it would if she could manage it. He had short India Pattern muskets with him, not the British army Land Pattern version, but even so she would be wrestling with a weapon almost forty inches long. ‘And I can aim directly at the Jumna River to find a boat and not head further south-east to Allahabad. But I must do it by the sun and stars—there were no detailed maps of this area and any deviation will add time.’