enjoyed touching her even without the undercurrent of sexuality that would have been there before Bokhara. If only…
He swore at himself; thinking about what might have been was a sure path to despair. He untethered the kid and they began the trek back to Nanda. By the time they reached the fields outside the village, the morning sun had loosened muscles stiffened by a night in the machan.
They were walking along a broad grassy track that divided the field on the left from the forest when Ian raised a hand to shade his eye and squinted into the distance. "There's Punwa now, coming to learn what luck we had. Would you mind waiting here for a few minutes? I need to return the kid and also make arrangements with Punwa to go hunting later this morning. If the tiger won't come to us, we'll have to go to the tiger."
Laura gave him a quizzical look. "I know that you said you don't sleep much, but surely you must sometimes?"
"Not if I can help it," he said, his voice hardening. Kid in tow, he set off toward Punwa. Laura knit her brows as she watched him go. Even when he was in a more relaxed mood, the major reminded her of a tautly drawn bowstring; if he didn't learn to rest, someday he would shatter.
She turned toward the nearby field, where women and children were already working. Recognizing many of them from previous tours, Laura waved. The nearest was a young wife named Kunthi. Laura called a greeting to her and received a shy smile in return. The girl gestured toward a child who was picking wildflowers at the edge of the field. "Remember my Narwa, memsahib? He is not so little now."
"What a big boy he has become," Laura called back. "I would not have known him."
His attention caught by the conversation, Narwa gave Laura a sunny smile and began walking toward her, clutching flowers in both pudgy hands. Since he wasn't much above two years old, his legs were bowed and his course erratic. Laura smiled and perched on the trunk of a fallen tree, guessing that he would prefer to reach her under his own power.
Between one heartbeat and the next, the scene changed from pastoral peace to horror. Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Laura glanced casually to her right— and froze with shock when she saw a tiger slinking out of the forest, belly tight to the ground in a predator's stalk. This was no startled leopard or maternal tigress but the man-eater himself, a quarter ton of muscle, teeth, and claws. And the object of his hunt was Narwa, who, oblivious to danger, was bringing Laura his bouquet.
Hoping that her voice might frighten the tiger off, she jumped to her feet and shouted, "
Ian
!"
But instead of fleeing, the beast accelerated, bounding out of the grass with long strides that covered the ground rapidly in spite of the limp in his left forepaw.
His charge brought him into view of the field workers, who began screaming. Kunthi was closest. With an anguished shriek she began racing toward her son, though she was too far away to reach him before the tiger did.
Hearing his mother's voice, Narwa turned and saw the gold-and-black menace thundering down on him. He whimpered but made no attempt to flee.
Driven by pure instinct, Laura bolted across the open ground, her stomach twisting as she calculated distances and angles. Narwa was about twenty yards from Laura, the tiger perhaps sixty yards beyond and closing fast. Ian was so far away that it would be a difficult shot even if he had heard the shouts and turned around. Worse, if he fired from his present position, he would risk hitting the child or Laura. Only Laura had a chance to make a difference.
By the time she reached Narwa, the tiger was so close that she could see the blazing gold lights of its eyes. It was bunching its muscles for the final spring when she pulled off her topi and threw it at the beast with a furious snap of her wrist.
By sheer luck, the hard shell of the topi banged into the tiger's left eye. As it faltered, hissing with rage,
He swore at himself; thinking about what might have been was a sure path to despair. He untethered the kid and they began the trek back to Nanda. By the time they reached the fields outside the village, the morning sun had loosened muscles stiffened by a night in the machan.
They were walking along a broad grassy track that divided the field on the left from the forest when Ian raised a hand to shade his eye and squinted into the distance. "There's Punwa now, coming to learn what luck we had. Would you mind waiting here for a few minutes? I need to return the kid and also make arrangements with Punwa to go hunting later this morning. If the tiger won't come to us, we'll have to go to the tiger."
Laura gave him a quizzical look. "I know that you said you don't sleep much, but surely you must sometimes?"
"Not if I can help it," he said, his voice hardening. Kid in tow, he set off toward Punwa. Laura knit her brows as she watched him go. Even when he was in a more relaxed mood, the major reminded her of a tautly drawn bowstring; if he didn't learn to rest, someday he would shatter.
She turned toward the nearby field, where women and children were already working. Recognizing many of them from previous tours, Laura waved. The nearest was a young wife named Kunthi. Laura called a greeting to her and received a shy smile in return. The girl gestured toward a child who was picking wildflowers at the edge of the field. "Remember my Narwa, memsahib? He is not so little now."
"What a big boy he has become," Laura called back. "I would not have known him."
His attention caught by the conversation, Narwa gave Laura a sunny smile and began walking toward her, clutching flowers in both pudgy hands. Since he wasn't much above two years old, his legs were bowed and his course erratic. Laura smiled and perched on the trunk of a fallen tree, guessing that he would prefer to reach her under his own power.
Between one heartbeat and the next, the scene changed from pastoral peace to horror. Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Laura glanced casually to her right— and froze with shock when she saw a tiger slinking out of the forest, belly tight to the ground in a predator's stalk. This was no startled leopard or maternal tigress but the man-eater himself, a quarter ton of muscle, teeth, and claws. And the object of his hunt was Narwa, who, oblivious to danger, was bringing Laura his bouquet.
Hoping that her voice might frighten the tiger off, she jumped to her feet and shouted, "
Ian
!"
But instead of fleeing, the beast accelerated, bounding out of the grass with long strides that covered the ground rapidly in spite of the limp in his left forepaw.
His charge brought him into view of the field workers, who began screaming. Kunthi was closest. With an anguished shriek she began racing toward her son, though she was too far away to reach him before the tiger did.
Hearing his mother's voice, Narwa turned and saw the gold-and-black menace thundering down on him. He whimpered but made no attempt to flee.
Driven by pure instinct, Laura bolted across the open ground, her stomach twisting as she calculated distances and angles. Narwa was about twenty yards from Laura, the tiger perhaps sixty yards beyond and closing fast. Ian was so far away that it would be a difficult shot even if he had heard the shouts and turned around. Worse, if he fired from his present position, he would risk hitting the child or Laura. Only Laura had a chance to make a difference.
By the time she reached Narwa, the tiger was so close that she could see the blazing gold lights of its eyes. It was bunching its muscles for the final spring when she pulled off her topi and threw it at the beast with a furious snap of her wrist.
By sheer luck, the hard shell of the topi banged into the tiger's left eye. As it faltered, hissing with rage,
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