The Wild Child (43 page)

“I was a liaison to the Maharajah of Kanphar,” he said calmly. “Knowing that he had an unofficial bandit army in the hill country, I made a bargain with him. He would send his raiders to Alwari, and I would go along to see that the thing was done properly. The bandits would get the loot, while I guaranteed the maharajah certain concessions in an agreement that was being negotiated with Kanphar.” His teeth showed whitely in the dark. “A satisfactory arrangement for all concerned.”

“My God,” Dominic said, stunned. “You murdered your own brother and his wife! How many others died at Alwari to satisfy your greed?”

Grahame shrugged. “Perhaps a hundred. Most were Hindus, who believe their fates are preordained. I was merely an instrument of their destiny. I put my own life in the hands of fate by riding into the palace, but destiny was with me. I rode straight through and out the other side, and away to safety.” He smiled a little. “Of course I’d visited Alwari and knew the palace. Still, if the gods had wished to strike me down for impiety, they could have done it. They chose to let me live.”

With a quick twist, he unscrewed the head of the cane. The damnable device divided into two weapons, one a glittering sword stick and the other a short, heavy brass club. Behind Dominic, Meriel hissed like a wildcat. Guessing that she was on the verge of assaulting her uncle, Dominic caught her wrist, immobilizing her. Better for her to run. Knowing the ruins, with a head start she should be able to escape.

He moved a step toward Grahame. “I assume you intend to kill us both or you wouldn’t have said so much, but surely two murders will be a bit conspicuous.”

“Not at all. Despite Meriel’s little spell of apparent normalcy, everyone knows she’s mad. So tragic that she killed herself on the night of her wedding celebration. A jump from the castle wall into the river, her husband gallantly losing his life in an attempt to save her.” The older man smiled again, cold as an executioner. “So thoughtful of you to come up here. I had been toying with other schemes—poison, suicide with her father’s dueling pistols, perhaps a fall—but they were more complicated. Riskier. This is far better. With you dying together, I shall inherit the hundred thousand pounds that my brother left Meriel. A pity that the estate will go back to Amworth’s family, but one can’t have everything.”

Damnation, Grahame’s plan just might work, with no one suspecting foul play. Even stab wounds would go unnoticed on bodies that spent a day or two in the river. Knowing there would be no better chance, Dominic yelled, “Run, Meriel!”

Shoving her behind him, he dived low at the older man, hoping to bring him down. In a hand-to-hand fight, he’d have a good chance, and Meriel could escape.

But Grahame was prepared. Sidestepping swiftly, he slammed the brass club into Dominic’s skull. After an instant of shattering pain, the world vanished into blackness.

Chapter 41

Meriel screamed as Dominic crumpled to the walkway, still as death. Why did the fool man have to go after her uncle? They both might have escaped if he hadn’t tried to be so damnably noble!

Rigid with panic, she dropped on her knees beside her husband. Dear God, how could she survive without him?

Though a trickle of blood ran down his temple, he still breathed. She touched his cheek with trembling fingers. He wasn’t dead, not yet.

But neither of them would see the dawn if Grahame had his way. Why had she never realized he was behind the death of her parents, and so many others? Pieces of the truth had been in her mind, but she had refused to look, preferring her safe, private world of apparent madness, where there were no unbearable memories or murderous uncles.

Consumed by rage, she looked up at Grahame, who stood a yard away and watched her with lightless eyes. “You filthy, hell-born bastard!”

“Such language, my dear. You really are an uncivilized little creature.” He raised the club. “I’d prefer to use this, since any bruises on your corpse will appear to have been caused by your fall, but I’ll spit you if that’s what you prefer.” He made a grand sweep with the sword stick. “After all, you’re my only niece, so I’ll extend that courtesy.”

She snapped, “If there is madness in this family, it is yours.”

“Mad? Not at all. Merely supremely pragmatic.” He dropped the sword stick behind him and stepped toward her, the brass club poised.

He expected her to wait weakly for her doom. Gauging her moment, Meriel sprang like a cat as he struck, dodging under the blow.

The club grazed her right arm with numbing intensity, but caused no major damage and left her uncle off balance. She darted past on the narrow edge of walkway between Grahame and the drop to the castle bailey. Scooping up the sword stick, she whirled, the blade secure in both hands. “You thought Dominic was the dangerous one, but you were wrong,” she said with lethal intensity. “For hurting him, you will die.”

He blinked, startled by the swift turn of events. Then he laughed. “You think that a child like you can injure a trained soldier?” He lunged, seeking to disarm her.

As he caught her shoulder, she stabbed underneath his grasping arms. The blade slashed along his ribs, ripping through his shirt. Warm blood splashed on her as she wrenched free of his grip and retreated.

“You little bitch!” Grahame touched the wound, then looked at the dark stain on his fingers with disbelief. “For that, your death will be far more painful.”

“There will be no deaths here tonight.” The deep voice came from Kamal, who was racing up the steps behind Grahame three at a time, a curved dagger in his hand.

As Grahame swore, Meriel said, “Shall we slice him into ribbons, Kamal?”

“No, milady,” Kamal said gently. “He is mine. If I had known he was the devil responsible for the massacre at Alwari, I would have killed him long since.”

Grahame dropped the club and yanked a double-barreled pistol from under his coat. “A gun is riskier, but you’ve left me no choice.” He cocked the hammer and aimed at Kamal. “No one will hear a gunshot over the shouting at the bonfire.”

“Kamal!” Meriel screamed. A sharp, double crack split the night. One pistol shot or two? There was a clatter of metal as a cloud of black powder stung her eyes.

Another voice—Dominic’s?—barked, “Meriel, grab his gun!”

No, not Dominic, Maxwell, who had come up the steps behind Kamal. Meriel dropped the sword stick from the walkway and darted forward to snatch the pistol that had spun away from her uncle. The barrels were gouged—Maxwell had shot the gun from Grahame’s hand, making the bullet meant for Kamal go astray.

“It’s all over, you bastard,” Maxwell snapped. “You’re outnumbered and out of weapons, and if you’ve seriously hurt my brother, I will borrow Kamal’s knife and help Meriel cut you into small, bloody pieces.”

“Three against one aren’t very sporting odds,” Kamal observed as he moved, soft-footed and implacable, toward Grahame.

“I don’t give a damn about sportsmanship at the moment,” Maxwell said with menacing coldness, his expression vividly demonstrating how much he differed from his brother. Dominic was the civilized man, Meriel realized. She, like Maxwell, was a bloodthirsty savage beneath the skin. No wonder she hadn’t had any desire to marry him—they were too much alike. It was Dominic who owned her soul. Dizzy with relief that the danger was past, she dropped the pistol and stepped toward her husband, who lay unmoving between her and Grahame. She was uttering a fervent prayer that his injury was not serious when her uncle seized her, sweeping her so high that her feet dangled in the air. “I may die,” he snarled,

“but not alone!”

He swung her around toward the river and clambered up into an embrasure. She struggled violently, knowing that this area of the wall was a sheer drop, but Grahame was too large, too strong and enraged. He lurched forward, and she felt the horrifying emptiness of the abyss beneath her, saw moonlight glinting on water far, far below.

Then strong arms locked around her legs. For a ghastly moment she was being torn in half. Then she was wrenched from Grahame’s grip and dragged back to safety. She crashed to the walkway as her uncle’s scream echoed from the ancient castle walls.

Dazed, she realized that Dominic had ripped her free with the weight of his own body, pulling her down on top of him. Ignoring her bruises, she wrapped herself around his warm, familiar form. “You’re all right!”

He gave a shaky laugh. “I don’t know if I’d go that far— my head is going to ache for the next week—but I think I’ll survive.”

Weeping, she buried her face against his neck. “I love you, Dominic. Don’t you dare die before me.”

He became very still. “If you love me, Meriel, I may just live forever.”

The moment of privacy ended as Maxwell knelt beside them. “You weren’t hurt badly, Dom?” Carefully he brushed back his brother’s hair, revealing a bloody laceration.

“I blacked out, but I’m better than I have any right to expect.” Dominic shakily pushed himself to a sitting position, then got to his feet with his brother’s help.

“A good thing it was your head Grahame hit,” Maxwell said lightly. “That’s too hard to damage.”

As Dominic laughed, Meriel glanced at Kamal, who stood by the parapet, gazing down into blackness.

“Is there any chance my uncle might survive the fall to the river?”

“None at all,” the Indian said pensively. “The wheels of karma grind slow, but they grind exceeding fine.”

She suspected that he was taking liberties with several sets of sacred text, but there were more important questions to ask. “Tonight I remembered everything that happened at Alwari. You were there, weren’t you, Kamal?”

He turned from the river and regarded her with eyes as deep as eternity. “I was one of the many sons of the Maharajah of Kanphar. Not the heir, but an officer in my father’s army. Sometimes I rode with his bandits to assure they did not exceed his wishes and wreak too much havoc.” His voice became heavily ironic. “It was a most important, responsible position. Great things were expected of me.”

Quietly Meriel moved to stand in front of him. “So we met at the massacre.”

Kamal’s face twisted. “I knew there was something different that night, for the raiders were joined by a stranger, a fanatic who spoke Urdu like a native and cried out for British blood. Though I disliked our mission, I did my part in the destruction—until I heard a scream. I looked up, and on the balcony above was a burning woman, the most terrifying sight I have ever seen.”

“Hiral cursed you, didn’t she?” Meriel had picked up enough Hindi to catch the gist of that tormented cry.

He nodded. “She commanded me to save you, on pain of my own soul. Then she dropped you into my arms. You were fragile as a bird, your silver hair flying about you. As I held you, I had a… a revelation about the sacredness of life. For the first time I truly understood the consequences of the violence that had been my path.”

An image flashed through her mind: Kamal’s horror-struck expression, the light of the burning palace in his eyes as he held her safe. “So you rescued me, and took me to the zenana.”

He spread his hands eloquently. “I knew you would be safe there. Despite my recognition that I could no longer be a warrior, it took me many months to realize that a different life was impossible as long as I was my father’s son. Then I heard that you were to be given in marriage to a neighboring prince. I went to my father and suggested that it would be better to return you to the English, who would be most grateful.”

Meriel nodded, seeing the rest. “You went to Cambay, and were asked if you would escort Mrs. Madison and me back to England.” Her uncle had long since left India, so there had been no one at the fort to recognize that Kamal had been part of the original raid. He had merely been a polite, well-educated Indian who could be trusted to serve well. “You were a prince, and Mrs. Madison thought you a harem guard.”

“I was grateful for that—it separated me from my past, and provided a path to penance. But one lifetime will not be enough to atone for my crimes.” He regarded her stoically. “I cannot expect you to forgive me my part in the massacre, when I cannot forgive myself.”

Tears stinging her eyes, she went into his arms. “Of course I forgive you, for you have been my salvation.”

He hugged her for a moment. “Thank you, little flower.”

She stepped away from him, feeling that the door had just closed on the first phase of her life. Now she understood what she was, and why.

Maxwell said thoughtfully, “Much as I’d like to see Grahame’s name blackened as it deserves, I suppose it’s more discreet to simply allow it to appear that his death was accidental.”

Meriel shivered as she thought of the attention that would be drawn by a public revelation of her uncle’s crimes. No one would benefit by the resulting scandal. “The less said about that beast, the better.”

She turned to Dominic, who enfolded her with warmth and tenderness. Though she had been slow to recognize love, she understood it now, for it blazed in her heart, searing every fiber of being with passion and protection, friendship and bone-deep commitment. “Once you said that you would leave Warfield if I asked you to. If I’m ever mad enough to ask— don’t go.”

He laughed and kissed her ear. “Don’t worry, my love. I’m not sure I would be gentleman enough to keep my word about that.”

She burrowed against him, feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath her ear. “You don’t have to be a gentleman, as long as you never, ever leave me.”

Epilogue

Efficient as always, Lady Lucia Renbourne had managed to pick a perfect September day for her wedding. Her marriage was in the parish church at Dornleigh so longtime neighbors could attend. The ceremony went smoothly, except when the nervous groom dropped the ring, which rolled halfway across the church’s stone floor before being retrieved by the groomsman. Dominic sympathized entirely—he’d been a bundle of nerves even though there’d been a much smaller audience when he and Meriel married.

The ceremony ended in a radiant kiss, after which the guests poured into the churchyard to await the bride and groom. Dominic made sure that Meriel was firmly attached to his arm. Though she was much more relaxed in crowds than she had been, it was altogether too easy to misplace someone her size. As children rushed happily about waving sticks with ribbons rippling from the end, people chatted and small baskets of rose petals were distributed for later use. Growing restless, Meriel surveyed the well-planted churchyard. “I’ll be right back.”