Veils of Silk (53 page)

He swallowed convulsively. "I've been afraid many times, but this was beyond fear—it was panic so profound that it squeezed out everything else. There was no room for pain or pride or anger—only terror. Not because I was going to die, but because of how it would happen. The thought of being buried alive—of suffocating under the earth, of feeling the weight and the blackness crushing down, but still being alive…"

He stopped speaking for a long time, and when he resumed, his voice was once more utterly flat. "I was completely shattered. Ian Cameron died in that moment. The pity of it is that his body wasn't killed at the same time."

Chilled by his inhuman detachment, Laura said softly, "But you didn't die."

"No, I didn't," he agreed. "Which is how I learned that some prices are too high. I screamed, I wept, I begged, I groveled. I said that I'd do anything they wanted. If they had brought out Pyotr and told me to shoot him, I would have. Instead, they simply repeated the request that I convert. And this time I agreed. It's very easy. All one has to do is say the
Kulna
, the Muslim profession of faith: "There is no God but God, and Mohammed is His .Prophet.' So I did."

His grip on Laura's hand was so tight that her fingers were numb, but she didn't pull away. "If you converted, how did you end up back in the Well so soon?"

He shrugged. "I didn't even have the courage of my cowardice. As soon as I said the Kulna, I was taken into the palace and a doctor was sent for. I was cleaned up, fed, and treated better than I had been in a year, though I was in so much pain that I hardly noticed even when they circumcised me. I spent three days wallowing in self-loathing that was as bad as the fear of being buried alive—so bad that I knew that only death could wipe out my failure.

"Then Rahmin called and said that the amir was looking forward to putting me in charge of his artillery. I knew I could never do that, so I said that it would be a cold day in hell before I would work for the amir—that I recanted my conversion and they would have to finish killing me. Rahmin was so furious that I thought he would order me to be cut down on the spot, for Muslims hate a heretic or lapsed convert far more than they do infidels. But he managed to control himself. I assumed
that he would revert to his original plan and have me buried alive, since he'd seen how I reacted to the prospect of that.

"It was a surprise when they dumped me back in the Black Well. Probably the amir needed time to decide the most effective way of finishing me off. Ultimately they decided on a public execution." There was a long lapse before Ian added the final, anguished sentence. "Which is how a couple of months later Pyotr Andreyovich had the privilege of dying for my sins."

Though she doubted that any words of hers would reduce his guilt for that death, Laura said, "Pyotr was already dying, and the chance that you would be spared gave his death meaning."

"Perhaps, but his courage doesn't diminish my cowardice, or my culpability," Ian said, his voice dead. "Though I had never been a very deep thinker, I did believe that when the time came I would be able to die like a man. Not necessarily unafraid, but at least with honor. But I couldn't do it. The one, rather simple thing that I had to do in order to be the man I thought I was—and I couldn't do it."

On one level Laura could almost understand, but at the same time, the way he was torturing himself made her want to shake him. "So now you can't forgive yourself because pain and horror briefly overcame you—even though within a few days, you were willing to face the same death that had terrified you before? I have trouble believing that God will blame you for such a lapse."

He let go of her hand and rolled from the bed, then walked across the room. In the early morning sun, the wilted rose petals were turning brown around the edges.

He halted by the window, rubbing his temple as he stared out blindly. "I told you it sounded trivial. Admittedly it's hard to imagine that a God powerful enough to create the universe is very interested in my lapses—He's probably too busy keeping track of all the sparrows that fall. But while it might not matter to God, it matters to me."

He drummed his fingers on the windowsill. "I never paid much attention to religion—it was simply there, a duty to be performed when necessary and avoided when possible. But I denied the faith of my fathers as well as betraying myself, and by doing so, I destroyed a vital part of my spirit. Now the broken pieces won't go back together." His voice cracked, and he drew a long, shuddering breath. "Pyotr died in my place. My sister and her husband risked their lives to save mine. So much effort on behalf of a man who should have died. Who did die, but didn't get the details quite right."

What had Srinivasa said?
He torments himself because of his own perceived failings, not seeing them as necessary steps on the path
. Unable to bear Ian's grief, Laura slipped from the bed and went over to join him by the window. "It's true that after all you've endured, you can't go back to being the man you were, but you have the capacity to be better and stronger."

"Have you ever seen a piece of pottery that was better after it broke?" He scooped up a handful of rose petals, then let them trickle through his fingers and drift crookedly to the floor. "Doesn't matter how good a job of patching you do, it will never be the same again."

"A man is not a piece of crockery," she said sharply.

"No," he agreed, not looking at her. "A broken plate is fortunate enough to be thrown out. A broken man is supposed to go on living."

With sudden, searing fear, Laura said, "You will, won't you? Keep on living?"

He turned to face her, his face stark. "Don't worry, Larishka. Since I haven't done myself in by now, I won't in the future. I promised that to David, and I'll extend that promise to you. Duty has kept me alive—duty to those who risked their lives for mine, duty to my family, which has suffered enough on my behalf. And remember, you wanted to hear all this. I'm not complaining, for I'm a lucky man. I have much more now than seemed possible two months ago."

He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, then clasped it to his chest, above his heart. With self-mocking humor, he said, "Since getting out of prison, my life has been one obsession after another. The first was to get back to India, to Georgina, so that everything would be all right. That didn't work, so I latched on to the idea of Falkirk. I was needed there, and it would give me a chance to expiate my sins. And then I met you." His clasp tightened. "The last and best obsession. You're not only a reason to go on living, Laura. You've made it possible to enjoy the process more than I dreamed possible."

Laura had wanted to know what haunted him, yet now that she knew, she had no idea what to say. Or no, perhaps she did. Softly she said, "I don't care if you think you're broken and badly mended. I love you as you are, far better than I could have loved you as you were."

He drew her into his arms then, resting his cheek against her temple. "In Cambay, I told Georgina
that she and I would no longer suit because I had looked into the abyss and it had changed me," he said quietly. "She asked if you had also looked into the abyss. I said yes. I was right, wasn't I?"

She nodded, her face pressed against his shoulder.

He stroked her hair with gentle fingers. "I, too, am glad that our lives have come together. I'm sorry, Laura, that I can't give you all that you want from me."

At that, the tears that had been hovering began to flow.

Fiercely she repeated, "I love you as you are, Ian." Then she raised her face and kissed him, hard.

Their bare bodies were pressed so closely that she could feel the first stirrings of response. His hands slipped down to cradle her buttocks and he pulled her against him. Desire went from a spark to a bonfire in moments.

The night before, Laura had deliberately set out to create the most romantic scene she could, using flowers and scent and seductive clothing. This morning there were none of the trappings of romance, and none were needed. They made love in the light, with only themselves and their desire.

Ian swept her to the bed and proved that he already knew the techniques of sensuality. Using hands and breath and tongue, he demonstrated all of his knowledge of what pleased her, and then went beyond. When he kissed her intimately, she froze at first. The
Kama Sutra
had described this in cool, bland words that did nothing to convey the stunning sensations. When she was incoherent with desire, he entered her. Her sense of completion was magnified now that she better understood what a miracle it was that he was whole, and that he was hers.

She crushed his moisture-filmed body to hers, and very soon she reached the level of shattering exaltation that she was coming to recognize. The climax started where they joined, then spread through her in scorching waves, filling her belly and breasts and limbs. His culmination echoed hers, passion resonating back and forth between them so that she could scarcely tell her body from his as he spent himself inside her.

When it was done, they lay limp and quiescent in each other's arms. This time Ian didn't withdraw when Laura said that she loved him.

Perhaps he would never be fully at peace with himself again, though she was unwilling to accept that as the final truth. But now
that the two of them knew everything worth knowing about each other, the result was a new level of intimacy.

If it wasn't love, it was the next best thing.

They ate breakfast late that morning. Ian enjoyed watching Laura; she had the contented expression of a purring cat. He envied her ability to put the past behind her. Having decided to accept physical passion into her life, she now seemed entirely comfortable with her decision. Not that he was complaining, since he was the prime beneficiary of her change of mind. With her tawny hair loose over her shoulders and her natural sensuality no longer suppressed, she was a sight to gladden any man's heart. Among other things.

He was content merely to look, for their early morning discussion and lovemaking had left him mentally and physically drained. Describing his unforgivable cowardice had been even harder than revealing his impotence.