The Dowry Bride (7 page)

“Nice place you have here,” she said, turning to Kiran. Talking about the flat gave her mind something else besides her misery to think about. It also helped to alleviate the awkwardness of sitting there in
his
dining room, dressed in
his
clothes and drinking
his
Ovaltine.

“Thanks. Not very spacious, but it’s a place to call home.”

“Pretty impressive kitchen, too,” she added, noting the tall, gleaming wood cabinets, the modern appliances, including a microwave oven, and the cream granite countertops.

Kiran chuckled. “Fully equipped kitchen, but I never cook. My parents invite me to eat with them at least twice a week. The rest of the days I eat out or reheat something that my mother insists on packing for me.”

“No servants?” she asked, surprised. Wealthy people always had servants. Megha knew Kiran’s parents had several. Even Amma and Appaji had a servant.

“I have one man who comes in on Sundays to clean the flat and wash my clothes and linens.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’m a typical spoiled Indian male. I don’t know how to cook or clean.”

She glanced at him curiously. “I’m surprised you live alone when your parents own such a huge house.” The Raos owned a mansion with several bedrooms.

He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “What can I say? I like my independence.”

“Maybe if Suresh had felt that way I wouldn’t be in this situation today,” Megha said thoughtfully. She wondered if Suresh would ever be really independent of his mother, in or out of her house.

“Suresh is entirely too attached to Amma,” said Kiran, confirming Megha’s thoughts.

After another awkward silence Megha inclined her head towards the drawing room. “You did a fine job of decorating this place.”

“I don’t know how to do that either—my mother did that. She’s very artistic, as you know.”

“I know.” And she was also part of the clique that planned her murder. His mother was tight with Amma, and Megha had seen them huddled together gossiping often enough.

As if reading her mind, Kiran quickly added, “I know what you’re thinking. My mother was part of the conspiracy. I’m not trying to defend her, Megha, but I distinctly heard her trying to talk Amma out of it.”

“And she didn’t think to warn me? She was going to sit back and watch me die an agonizing death?” The bitter resentment was hard to keep out of her voice.

Kiran folded his arms over the table and leaned forward so Megha could see clearly into his deep-set brown eyes and note the thickness of the lashes. His dark brows were pulled close together, forming a small ridge in between. “Like I said, what she did was wrong. She probably thought there would be a divorce. If she knew it was anything this dreadful, I’m sure she would have tried to protect you.” He must have noticed her lingering skepticism, because he said with more conviction, “Believe me, Megha, she’s not a monster. She’s a good mother to me and a loving wife to Papa. She wouldn’t stand by and see you get killed—or anybody get killed.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Megha recalled the occasions when she had visited the Raos with the rest of the family, and how Kamala had been quite cordial to her. She was not nasty like Devayani, their younger aunt, and certainly nothing like Amma. But Megha preferred to reserve her judgement about Kamala. Maybe Kamala Rao wasn’t a bad sort, but Megha still considered her one of the conspirators. At present the entire Ramnath clan and the Raos remained suspect in her mind.

“You know as well as I that once Amma gets something into her thick head nobody can talk her out of it,” Kiran reminded her.

“God, don’t I know that!” Megha rolled her eyes.

“Besides, my mother is very old-fashioned. She’d never oppose something her husband’s respected elder sister was planning, barring murder, of course.”

Megha nodded, agreeing that stringent traditions did indeed prevent a woman from standing up to her older sister-in-law or betraying her confidence. Swallowing the last of the Ovaltine, she rose from her chair. “Would you mind if I wash my clothes in your washing machine, Kiran?” She had noticed what appeared to be a washer and dryer outside the bathroom, another luxury she’d never had.

“You can wash your clothes tomorrow, Megha. You need to get some sleep now.”

“What!” Tomorrow would be too late. And sleep? In his flat? What was he talking about? Suddenly, panic set in again. She needed to get out of here as quickly as possible. Daylight was only a few hours away and she had to disappear before then.

Time was running out.

“No, I have to wash them now. And can I…uh…borrow some money from you?” Oh dear, it was so awkward asking for money, even if it was a small loan. “I need to get on the earliest possible bus to Hubli. I’ll return the money as soon as I get there.”

Kiran’s brows snapped back together once again. “You can’t go out there alone!”

“I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do. You’ll stay here.”

“I can’t! I’m a married woman.”

“I will not let you out of here until I know you’re safe.”

“You can’t dictate to me, Kiran. Technically, you’re my cousin-in-law. And since Suresh and you grew up together almost like brothers, you’re more or less my brother-in-law.” What was he thinking? It was a ridiculous idea, even more absurd than her appearing on his doorstep, begging for help. All she’d intended to do was borrow some money and request him to drive her to the bus stop. She’d definitely not envisioned any of this. Even the shower and the food and clothes he’d offered her were unexpected and utterly generous.

She looked at herself dressed in his clothes and frowned. What was happening here? Things were spinning out of control. She needed to focus on what to do next and not sit here drinking warm milk and admiring Kiran’s flat, much less wear Kiran’s clothes. And allow him to bully her in the bargain.

He came around the table to stand beside her, his face still drawn in a serious scowl.
“Technically,
you would have been dead by now, too. I’m not letting you out of my sight, Megha. If Amma can find you and punish you, she will. She wants her precious son to be viewed as a grieving widower, not a divorced man. She’ll come to Hubli and drag you home so she can finish you off. Is that what you want?” His eyes searched her face for a second, looking for a reaction. Perhaps satisfied with the alarm flashing in her eyes, he said, “I didn’t think so.”

He was right. She was the one who’d come to him looking for help, and not the other way around, so she didn’t have a right to get defensive with him. She was stuck in Kiran’s home then, at least for a day. But after that?

Evidently interpreting her silence as submission, Kiran motioned her to follow and led her to his bedroom. When he noticed the uncertain expression on her face he laughed, surprising her once again by shifting from grim annoyance to wry amusement in an instant. “Don’t worry, Megha, I plan to sleep on the sofa. You can use my room.”

“I’ve imposed on you enough, Kiran,” she protested. “I can’t throw you out of your bedroom, too. I’ll take the sofa.”

He nudged her inside. “Don’t argue.”

Kiran peeled back the bedspread and instructed Megha to lie down. She obeyed reluctantly, looking small and helpless against the stark white sheets in his large bed. Her face looked flushed. He knew it was from the embarrassment of lying down before a man other than her husband and also from baring her legs. He noticed she had beautiful limbs, long and slim and shapely. Several angry red scratches were evident in places. There would be scabs forming soon. He hoped they wouldn’t leave behind scars, marring the beauty of that smooth, creamy skin.

Then his eyes came to settle on her feet. Her right sole appeared raw and bloody. He lifted the foot in his hand to examine it. “Oh no, Megha, there’s a cut here.”

Megha’s gaze dropped. “I know my feet look disgusting. I must have stepped on broken glass or something on my way here. I had no time to put on my
chappals,
” she said, referring to the slip-on footwear commonly worn in India.

He turned on his heel. “Stay right there. I’ll get some bandages.”

She put up a hand to stop him. “Kiran, I think I might have left trails of blood all over your flat. My foot has been bleeding for some time now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

She looked contrite. “I may have ruined your beautiful carpet, too.”

“I’ll clean the floor and carpet later. Your foot needs attention first.” He hastened out of the room.

Within a minute he was back with a white, rectangular plastic box tucked under his arm. In his hands he carried a glass of water and two white tablets. Putting them in Megha’s hand, he handed her the water. When she lifted a questioning brow, he said, “Pain relievers—they’ll help to remove the soreness from your muscles. You fell down and hurt yourself, didn’t you? And all that running—you’re going to be sore by morning.”

Nodding, she swallowed the pills and set the glass on the nightstand. Meanwhile he flipped the plastic box open and pulled out a tube of antiseptic ointment, a bottle of alcohol, and a variety of bandages and gauze. He sat on the edge of the bed, lifted the offending foot and placed it in his lap. What a dainty little foot, he thought, noticing her toes curl. No fancy nail polish or pampering with pedicures and lotions here. Although the skin was rough from all the abuse her feet had suffered, the toes and arches were nicely shaped, and the nails neatly cut.

Megha kept her eyes averted. She was probably embarrassed about her foot resting on his thigh. Such close contact between the two of them was strange, he had to admit. And disturbing. Right now, his thigh was tingling, sending out a few sparks from her closeness.

He thought of something as he examined the seriousness of the wound. “Have you ever had a tetanus injection?” He hoped to God she’d had a dose of tetanus sometime within the last few years. If not, he’d have to drag her to his doctor friend’s clinic right away. Tetanus infections could become fatal.

To his relief, she said, “I accidentally cut myself with a kitchen knife two years ago and our family doctor gave me an injection.” She held up an index finger to show him her scar.

“At least tetanus can be ruled out then.” Suppressing his male reactions, he quickly soaked cotton balls with alcohol and swabbed the wound. She winced a couple of times.

He glanced at her. “Sorry, I know it stings like hell.”

“That’s okay.” She observed in silence as he worked on her wound. Her expression didn’t reveal much.

Kiran fell into deep thought, wondering what was going through Megha’s mind. She had run for miles in the dark, probably fallen several times, then climbed over a wall, and managed to find her way here. Good heavens. He’d probably never know the depths of the horrors she had lived through during the night.

He inwardly fumed at the atrocities she had suffered. As if running from certain death wasn’t bad enough, she had to fight off a drunken brute on the streets in the middle of the night. She was a brave girl. It took guts to do what she had done. Well, at least she was here now, in one piece and relatively safe. From now on he would protect her. If he’d had any doubts earlier about what to do with her, they had vanished now.

As he attended to her, he knew exactly what he had to do. He’d keep her here, where he could keep a close eye on her.

He liberally applied the ointment on her sole and put an adhesive bandage over the cut. Then he wound a strip of gauze around the injured area and secured the bandage. Satisfied that everything was in order, he pressed her foot, giving it a gentle massage and making sure the dressing wasn’t too tight. Then he swabbed her legs, arms and hands with alcohol before smoothing a light film of ointment over them, all the while admiring the satiny texture of her skin. “There, that should make it better,” he said, spreading a little of the salve on her scratched chin and withdrawing his hand before he was tempted to caress her face or do something entirely inappropriate.

Megha refused to look him in the eye. He could tell she was discomfited by his closeness, perhaps even a little puzzled by what she considered extreme coddling on his part. In the kind of background she was used to men didn’t do things like this for women. But he wanted to do it for her—take care of her, heal her and ease her pain. There was something about Megha that touched the very depths of his heart and soul.

But then, what was that other, guarded look in her eyes? “Megha, what’s the matter? You’re not scared of me, are you?” She shook her head. “Don’t worry, I would never dream of taking advantage of you.”

This time she met his eyes. “I’m not scared, Kiran—I’m touched by your compassion. Suresh would never have done this for me. Even when I had a miscarriage, he didn’t bother—” Her eyes widened, as if realizing she had inadvertently said something she hadn’t meant to.

“You had a miscarriage?”

She nodded with obvious reluctance.

“When?”

“I…uh…a few days ago. In fact, it happened the day you and I ran into each other by the riverbank—very late that same night.”

He digested the information for a minute. He clearly remembered that evening, every tiny detail. She had looked sad and tired and disheartened, but he’d had no idea she was expecting.

She sent him a soulful plea. “Promise you won’t say anything to anyone? Only my parents know about it. Amma would kill me if she found out.” The irony of her own words hit her instantly. “What am I saying? Amma was about to kill me even without knowing about the miscarriage.”

Kiran grunted in sympathy. His loathing for Suresh went up another notch. “I’m sorry about the miscarriage, Megha. That baby probably wasn’t meant to be,” he consoled her.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she agreed, the faraway look in her eyes telling him she was recalling that night.

“Get some sleep now.” He returned the first aid items to the box. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow—”

“I’m going to take a day off from work and we’ll plan a course of action together.” He waited for her to settle back on the bed and pull the covers over herself.