Rajasthani Moon (13 page)

“We can advertise. I’ll offer a fortune to her family in return…a noble title…a plaque extolling her courage set into the walls of the palace…”

“It’s no use. Your people respect your brilliance and fear your power, Amir, but few of them love you enough to send a child to near-certain death, for any price. And as for me—I’m the scion of a harlot, cursed by a witch. No one cares what happens to me.”

I care.
Cecily bit her lip to keep herself from speaking aloud.

“Your mother was no harlot, but a royal consort.”

“Semantics. In any case, it doesn’t matter. Your mother taunts us from her grave with her counter-spell, brother. She would have known the prescribed ceremony would be impossible to complete.” Pratan shook his black locks and headed for the door. “Ready the horse. I shall disappear into the wilderness, and your problem, at least, will be solved.”

“I’ll do it.” Cecily’s voice sounded strained and foreign to her own ears. What was she saying? But the words were out—she could not call them back.

The Rajah exploded in bitter laughter. “You, Miss Harrowsmith? A virgin? I think we all know the falseness of that claim—from personal experience!”

Cecily glared at the dapper ruler. “The verse does not specify a particular orifice. If one defines virginity in terms of penetration by a male organ, then there is a part of me that is indeed still virgin.”

“Really?” Amir raised an eyebrow. “I never would have guessed, from your reactions to my toys…”

“Cecily—you cannot be serious!” Pratan searched her face. For the moment, at least, she had been successful in halting his flight. “You’ve already suffered the beast’s incursion. You know how difficult it was to accommodate his bulk. Consider the terrible effects on the more delicate tissues to which you refer.”

“We could train her,” the Rajah mused. “Stretch her rear hole with progressively larger plugs. We have more than a week until the next full moon.”

“I’d still rip her to shreds,” Pratan retorted. “No, this is crazy. Thank you for your brave offer, but I can’t accept it.”

“Please—think it over.” Cecily ran her hand up his arm, delighting in the play of muscles under his smooth skin. “This may be your only hope for freedom.”

Sorrow furrowed his brow as he gazed down at her. His lush lips pressed into a hard line. “Freedom bought at too high a price. If you were to die, as seems likely, I’d be living in a new kind of hell.”

“You have a rather finely-tuned conscience for a bandit, Pratan.” Cecily smiled up into the liquid depths of his lovely eyes. She yearned to pull his mouth to hers. “I’m tough. You of all people should know that. And I’ll be ready for you. I swear, I’ll survive the beast.”

“And why, may I ask, will you risk your body and your life for my brother, Miss Harrowsmith? What do you want, if our experiment is successful and the curse is lifted? Assuming that, as you promise, you survive?”

Cecily didn’t bother to look in the Rajah’s direction. Her gaze locked with Pratan’s. A torrent of need swept through her, not physical arousal, but something more poignant and more powerful. More than anything, she wanted to erase the sorrow and guilt from that handsome face. She craved his crooked, mocking smile. She’d do anything to lift his terrible burden—whatever was necessary.

She wouldn’t tell them the truth, though. That was far too great a risk for her to consider.

“I want my freedom, too,” she answered, turning to the Rajah, her fists resting on her broad hips. “After the ritual—whatever the outcome—you will release me and allow me to return to England.” Resolutely, she banished the image of London’s chill, murky streets that flitted through her mind. Once she was free, she could decide where to journey next.

“That seems fair. Agreed.”

“Furthermore, I want to know about your secret energy source. I want to understand how you’ve been able to flourish despite the Empire’s viridium embargo.”

“Oh, Miss Harrowsmith! That’s asking a lot. If your Queen should learn our secret, she might well use that knowledge to destroy Rajasthan—or at least bring us once again under her heel.”

“I’m offering a lot—possibly my life, to restore your brother’s. In any case, I swear I shan’t convey the details to Her Majesty—only the fact that you are clearly self-sufficient in energy. Indeed, I shall advocate for a more equal relationship between her Empire and your kingdom. I’ll argue that the Empire should treat Rajasthan as a valued ally as opposed to a vassal state.”

“Why should I trust the word of a spy?”

“Why should I risk disability or even death for a scoundrel like Pratan? We must trust one another, Rajah, or neither of us will achieve what we desire.”

“I trust her.” Pratan stood behind her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Delicious heat travelled from his palm, coursing through her to settle between her thighs. “She saved Sarita from my attack, when she could have used the opportunity to flee. She shared her find from the library, when she had no incentive to do so. She could have allowed me to leave. At that point, she would have had a single adversary—you—rather than the two of us.”

Drawing her hair away from her neck, he traced a fingertip from her earlobe to her collarbone. Pleasure shivered through her. She fought to remain focused.

“Cecily undoubtedly has her own deeper motives, her schemes and her secrets. However, I believe she means us no harm, despite the fact that we’ve used her rather harshly.”

“She loved every minute…” Amir muttered, shaking his head. He clutched Sarita’s shoulders—the courtesan still clung to him like a limpet—and gave her a squeeze. “Very well. I accept your terms, Cecily.” He peered out of the window, where dawn was painting the sky a pearly pink. “Why don’t we discuss our detailed plans over some breakfast? I have an idea that may help make the next ten days more pleasant for us all.”

Chapter Thirteen

Amir’s notion involved moving the court to the summer palace at Nakki Lake, at the foot of Mount Abu. “My playroom there has a lake view,” he boasted. “That should make your—exercises—somewhat more enjoyable.”

Most of the following day was consumed by preparations. Cecily scarcely had time to consider the implications of her precipitous offer. Sarita enlisted her help in sorting and packing the necessary items to support a lavish entourage like Amir’s, everything from clothing and jewels to cooking pots and spices. The environs of the sacred mountain were somewhat isolated, so practically everything would need to be carried from Jaipur, including herds of cows and goats, cages of fowl, and enormous baskets of fresh and dried vegetables. Servants did the heavy work, but Sarita and Cecily organised the effort. The Rajah’s favourite, Cecily discovered, possessed impressive managerial skills. When she was out of Amir’s presence, she showed none of the deference or submissiveness that characterised her manner in his bedroom or his dungeon.

She and Sarita dined together. The Rajah was busy making arrangements for the smooth running of the fortress and the kingdom while they were gone. “He’s ordered me to his room tonight, though,” Sarita confided, her excitement evident. “He told me he plans to reward me for saving you from the beast.”

“You deserve a reward. But knowing your Lord,” Cecily observed drily, “I suspect your evening won’t be one hundred per cent pleasure.”

Pratan made no appearance, either.

“He’s caged until first light, down in the dungeon. At his own request.”

“Can I visit him?”

“My Lord said his brother had expressly forbidden you to do so. Pratan thinks your nearness exacerbates his problem.”

So Cecily had to resign herself to a night alone. She was not restrained in any way. Furthermore, the Rajah had apparently turned off his fiendish amplification device. No sounds of ecstatic congress reached her ears. She tossed on the feather-stuffed mattress, lonely and horny, perversely wishing someone—Pratan, Sarita, even Amir—were there to torment her. Twice, she used her fingers to bring herself to orgasm, but the climaxes felt hollow and unsatisfying.

When she finally slumbered, she dreamt of the wolf-man, slashing her breasts with his claws, probing her depths with his enormous cock. In the dream she felt no fear, only lust. And the wolf had Pratan’s eyes.

* * * *

The caravan assembled before dawn, in the courtyard where Cecily had first entered Mehrangarh Fort. The Rajah and his brother had decided to travel in the amphibious coach that had brought her to Jaipur. As she peered in the narrow door, she saw that the interior had been restyled in opulent Oriental mode, with the seats removed, the floor carpeted and piles of bright cushions strewn about.

“Can I assist you, madam?” Pratan appeared at her side, a half-grin spread beneath his unruly moustache. He appeared far more cheerful than he had the previous day. Perhaps the night had passed without his shifting to his beast form. If that were true, she was glad she’d stayed away.

“Thank you, sir.” It was indeed far easier for her to clamber through the entrance using his proffered hand to stabilise herself. She settled herself among the pillows as he crawled in to join her, taking a position on the opposite side of the vehicle.

They sat for a moment in oddly companionable silence. Pratan was first to speak.

“You needn’t do this, Cecily. I’ll convince Amir to release you in any case.”

“And let you continue to suffer from this foul curse? No—I can’t allow that, not if it’s in my power to help.”

He reached for her hand. As usual, his touch aroused her, far out of proportion to what was rational. His strength was evident in the brief squeeze he gave her fingers. She dampened as though he’d pressed upon her clit instead.

“Please reconsider. You may be condemning me to a life of terrible guilt.”

“And would that be worse than the beast’s life you endure now?” Cecily warred against her rising lust. The moon had set and the eastern horizon was luminous with the coming morning, but her presence and scent might still trigger his change. “I’ve made up my mind, Pratan. Nothing you can say will sway me.”

“You’re a damned stubborn woman, Cecily Harrowsmith.” He released her hand, leaving her skin tingling in the wake of his fingers. His smile belied the irritation in his voice. “I just hope you won’t regret this foolishness.”

I hope you’re right
, she thought.
Because even I don’t know exactly why I’m doing this.

“Ah, good morning, Pratan-ji!” Amir’s voice interrupted their
tête-à-tête
.
The Rajah hoisted himself into the carriage, then offered a hand to help Sarita board. He was attired in a
kurta
of scarlet satin, green pantaloons, and a black leather vest studded with gold. Cecily’s mouth watered at the ravishing sight. On the other hand, Pratan looked equally magnificent, though he wore a plain cotton shirt and trousers, both as black as his flowing hair.

To Cecily’s relief, Sarita took the spot next to her, leaving Amir to settle diagonally opposite. The last thing she needed on an extended journey was to feel the Rajah’s heat on her skin and smell his damned perfume.

“How long will it take to arrive at the lake?” she inquired, trying to hide her persistent excitement.

“I’ve taken the liberty of re-engineering some aspects of this excellent carriage you were so kind to provide”—Cecily wanted to kick him, despite her rising lust—“so we should arrive just after nightfall, I would expect.”

“
After
nightfall?” The worry in Pratan’s voice was obvious.

“But certainly before moonrise, brother. And we are well-equipped with silver implements, in any event.” He turned his attention back to Cecily. “The caravan will travel more slowly, of course. The bulk of the entourage won’t arrive for two days. I’ve arranged for essential supplies to be delivered by aerocopter. Still, we’ll be more or less by ourselves for the first day or two. I imagine we’ll come up with a variety of entertainments…”

Quick as lightning, he leaned across the gap between them to pinch Sarita’s nipple through her pink and gold sari. She gasped, her eyes going wide. The Rajah chuckled. “Unfortunately, this carriage is a bit cramped for much activity of that sort. I did consider having you travel with your arse plugged, Miss Harrowsmith—why waste any time with your preparation for the ritual? However, my brother talked me out of that plan.”

Cecily beamed a look of silent gratitude in Pratan’s direction.

“Well then.” Amir rubbed his hands together in what struck Cecily as a very British gesture. “Shall we be on our way?” Without waiting for a response, he activated the communication panel and barked an order to their driver.

The coach rolled forward towards the great gates leading out of the castle. Cecily peered out of the window at the ranks of the Rajah’s minions, lined up to see him off on his journey.

They entered the glow-lit tunnel Cecily recalled from her arrival. She stirred among the cushions, eager to catch a glimpse of the city outside the fortress walls.

“Wait!” Sarita gave a sudden cry. “Stop! Stop, my Lord!”

“What is it, pet? Are you ill?” At the Rajah’s command, the vehicle ground to a halt.

“The collar.” She pointed at the silvery band circling Cecily’s throat. “The device will activate as soon as we leave the castle.”

“Oh my God.” Cecily’s stomach turned over. Her limbs were suddenly rubber. “I had totally forgotten. I can’t leave, not unless you remove it.”

Three sets of eyes focused on Amir. “Hmm. If we take it off, you might try to escape.”

“I won’t. I give you my word…”

“Still, the word of a spy…”

“We’ve been through this already, Amir.” Cecily heaved a deep sigh, shaking her head in frustration. “If you don’t trust me, you might as well grab one of the guards’ guns and shoot me now.”

“Amir-ji…we’re wasting time. Take the damned thing off and let’s get on the road.”

“Very well.” The Rajah nodded at Sarita. The courtesan reached over to manipulate some secret control Cecily had been unable to find in hours of examination. The collar came apart into two arcs. Sarita tucked it into her travel sack.

“Thank you,” Cecily breathed, more to Sarita than to her master.

“Be sure you keep your promise, lady.” Amir stabbed the air with his forefinger, like a stern schoolmaster. “If you flee—if you even make an attempt—I’ll slit Sarita’s throat.”

Cecily turned in shock to the woman beside her. Her eyes were round and her mouth was set in a thin line, but otherwise she did not react to her Lord’s vicious threat. Cecily captured the courtesan’s hand and held it tight.

“You bastard,” she hissed. “You’re worse than your wicked mother.”

Amir burst into laughter. “Cecily, Cecily… Can’t you tell when I’m joking?”

“I see no possible humour in your so-called jest. If I were to escape, be assured that I’d take Sarita with me.”

“She wouldn’t go. Would you, pet?”

Sarita shook her head, apparently still mute with horror.

“She loves me too much. And she knows that, in my own way, I love her.” He donned an innocent expression that might have fooled someone who didn’t know him. “Let’s go, then.”

* * * *

The voyage was far from comfortable. Despite Amir’s enhancements, the poor roads still made for a bumpy ride. Pratan’s cheerful spirits had fled. He paid no attention to his companions, staring out of the window with a scowl twisting his lips. Furious at Amir for his cruelty, Cecily refused to be drawn into conversation, giving monosyllabic replies to direct questions she could not ignore. Sarita dozed among the cushions. Perhaps her diabolical master had kept her from sleeping the previous night. Cecily sneaked a glance at the girl’s wrists and noted the tell-tale abrasions. Poor creature!

Foiled in his attempts to bring some levity to their group, Amir finally gave up and buried his nose in a book. Once freed from his scrutiny, Cecily breathed a bit more easily, but she still felt restless. Her body hummed with low-level arousal because of the proximity of Pratan and his brother. She watched the landscape fly by, villages and farms alternating with vast stretches of emptiness. Every hour brought them closer to Mount Abu and her destiny. She did not want to think about what awaited her at the end of their journey.

* * * *

They arrived in good time despite the road conditions. The carriage crested a hill. Cecily gazed out to see the calm waters of Nakki Lake spread out before them, gilded by the setting sun. Across the lake loomed the conical bulk of Mount Abu, crowned with gold as the fiery orb sank behind it. On the near shore, just below them, Akanksha Palace gleamed in the waning light, a fantasy in white marble.

“The lake is ancient and holy,” Pratan commented. He had roused himself from his funk. “The palace, though, is fairly new. My father built it as a gift for my mother. ‘Akanksha’ means wish or desire.” His face clouded, and Cecily’s chest ached in sympathy.

“It’s lovely.” Cecily spoke the plain truth. Though fashioned of stone, the edifice had the delicacy of a cloud. It looked like some confection of spun sugar, all airy balconies and minarets, graceful arches and courtyards open to the sky.

The few retainers who had arrived beforehand by air had set candles in the tall windows. As the sun dropped out of sight and the light faded, the place twinkled as though inhabited by fireflies.

“Gorgeous,” Cecily murmured. The coach had left them just outside the gate, in a circular courtyard centred on a fountain. She recognised the motif—Krishna and the Gopis, the milk maids who so adored him. The palace was no less wonderful at close range. Carved friezes decorated the exterior walls, gods and goddesses entwined in sacred congress. Inside, the ceiling rose twenty feet or more, vaulted like the great cathedrals of Europe. Silver chandeliers bearing hundreds of candles dangled from the apex. Meanwhile, a cool breeze wafted in from a terrace that overlooked the dark lake.

She gazed around her in wonder. Pratan stood by her side, brooding and silent. Amir had disappeared with the sleepy Sarita, presumably conveying her to their room.
A palace named desire.

On impulse, she seized Pratan’s hand. “Stay with me tonight.” The raw need in her voice astonished but did not deter her. “Please, Pratan-ji. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I dare not, lady. The moon is still below the horizon, but already I feel her energy. I must hasten to my cage. Every minute I spend here with you increases the danger.”

He tried to extricate himself from her grasp. She clasped his hand to her breast, feeling her nipples knot under her blouse. Brazen, she rubbed his palm over one taut nub, striking sparks that sizzled down to her pussy.

“I’m not afraid. You didn’t hurt me before…”

He snatched his hand from her grasp and backed away. “Have you really forgotten the pain, woman? The blood? Leave me be!”

“Pratan…”

“And if I bite you, and make a monster of you as well? No, no… We must not be together at all, not until the night of the ritual.” He strode off down the corridor, towards the sleeping chambers where she knew they’d set up his iron cage.