was Narwa's gray-faced young father, who pushed through the crowd and embraced his wife and child. More calmly, Punwa examined the dead tiger. Glancing up, he said, "Fine shooting, Cameron Sahib. Both bullets through the heart."
With Ian's help, Laura managed to get to her feet, then shuddered as she stared down at the tiger. The beast was enormous, at least ten feet long from its nose to the tip of its tail. If it had been just a fraction faster, she would be dead now, and probably Narwa with her.
She began to shake and Ian's arm went around her. In spite of the sun's heat, she felt chilled and was grateful for the warmth of his lean body. "How did you manage to shoot twice so quickly?" she asked. "The shots were only a few seconds apart."
"My rifle is a breechloader," he explained. "It can be fired much faster than a conventional muzzleloader, especially when one is terrified out of one's wits."
"It was certainly a more effective weapon than my topi."
"Perhaps, but throwing the topi was the difference between escape and disaster. It was quick thinking on your part." His arm tightened around her, and when he spoke again, there was cold anger in his voice. "Look at the tiger's left paw, the crippled one. That's the scar of a bullet. A hunter wounded the beast, then didn't track it down to finish the job. The stupid fool was probably responsible for turning this tiger into a man-eater."
"If the Hindus are right, justice will catch up with him in another life," Laura said with brittle humor. "Perhaps he'll come back as a mouse and be eaten by a cat."
Ian's expression lightened. "I sincerely hope so."
The village headman came over. "You are shaken, mem-sahib. Would you like a ride back to your camp in a bullock cart?"
Knowing how jarring a bullock cart was, Laura shook her head. "I would rather walk. It will relax me."
Since Ian said he didn't need another tigerskin, the headman promised that the pelt would be sent to Baipur after it was tanned. From there, it would be forwarded to whatever new home Laura chose. She thought that she would enjoy walking on this particular beast.
Finally they resumed their interrupted walk to the camp. Laura felt steadier, but she was still glad to take Ian's arm.
When they were out of sight of the village, he said, "If you ever come back to Nanda, you may find that the villagers have set up a small shrine to the tiger lady."
"They might turn me into a minor deity?" she said, bemused.
"Such things have happened before—some Punjabis have established a cult in honor of a British political officer." An amused glint in his eye, he added, "I think you'd make a decent deity. How many women would take on a tiger before breakfast?"
She shuddered as an image of looming fangs flashed through her mind. "I still can't believe that I did what I did."
"Diving into the path of a man-eater is not a rational action, but under life or death circumstances, one often reacts from pure instinct. It's like being in battle."
"Then thank heaven I'm not a soldier!"
He looked into her face, his gaze warm. Then, to her surprise, he bent over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "It's a privilege to know you, Larissa Alexan-drovna."
The touch of his lips was fleeting, but for some reason Laura's knees weakened again. Perhaps it was Ian's use of her true Russian name that made the moment special. But as they continued along the path, she realized ruefully that she would seriously consider challenging another tiger if it meant that he would look at her like that again.
----
Chapter 8
I don't know how Ian manages to maintain his spirits, but thank God for his laughter and good nature. We talk of almost everything, except politics, and learn much from each other. I now remember to call him a Scot, not an Englishman, and he uses my patronymic, as a decent Russian would. Can harmony between our two hostile, suspicious empires be far behind?
Laura smiled at Pyotr's ironic comment. Every night she
With Ian's help, Laura managed to get to her feet, then shuddered as she stared down at the tiger. The beast was enormous, at least ten feet long from its nose to the tip of its tail. If it had been just a fraction faster, she would be dead now, and probably Narwa with her.
She began to shake and Ian's arm went around her. In spite of the sun's heat, she felt chilled and was grateful for the warmth of his lean body. "How did you manage to shoot twice so quickly?" she asked. "The shots were only a few seconds apart."
"My rifle is a breechloader," he explained. "It can be fired much faster than a conventional muzzleloader, especially when one is terrified out of one's wits."
"It was certainly a more effective weapon than my topi."
"Perhaps, but throwing the topi was the difference between escape and disaster. It was quick thinking on your part." His arm tightened around her, and when he spoke again, there was cold anger in his voice. "Look at the tiger's left paw, the crippled one. That's the scar of a bullet. A hunter wounded the beast, then didn't track it down to finish the job. The stupid fool was probably responsible for turning this tiger into a man-eater."
"If the Hindus are right, justice will catch up with him in another life," Laura said with brittle humor. "Perhaps he'll come back as a mouse and be eaten by a cat."
Ian's expression lightened. "I sincerely hope so."
The village headman came over. "You are shaken, mem-sahib. Would you like a ride back to your camp in a bullock cart?"
Knowing how jarring a bullock cart was, Laura shook her head. "I would rather walk. It will relax me."
Since Ian said he didn't need another tigerskin, the headman promised that the pelt would be sent to Baipur after it was tanned. From there, it would be forwarded to whatever new home Laura chose. She thought that she would enjoy walking on this particular beast.
Finally they resumed their interrupted walk to the camp. Laura felt steadier, but she was still glad to take Ian's arm.
When they were out of sight of the village, he said, "If you ever come back to Nanda, you may find that the villagers have set up a small shrine to the tiger lady."
"They might turn me into a minor deity?" she said, bemused.
"Such things have happened before—some Punjabis have established a cult in honor of a British political officer." An amused glint in his eye, he added, "I think you'd make a decent deity. How many women would take on a tiger before breakfast?"
She shuddered as an image of looming fangs flashed through her mind. "I still can't believe that I did what I did."
"Diving into the path of a man-eater is not a rational action, but under life or death circumstances, one often reacts from pure instinct. It's like being in battle."
"Then thank heaven I'm not a soldier!"
He looked into her face, his gaze warm. Then, to her surprise, he bent over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "It's a privilege to know you, Larissa Alexan-drovna."
The touch of his lips was fleeting, but for some reason Laura's knees weakened again. Perhaps it was Ian's use of her true Russian name that made the moment special. But as they continued along the path, she realized ruefully that she would seriously consider challenging another tiger if it meant that he would look at her like that again.
----
Chapter 8
I don't know how Ian manages to maintain his spirits, but thank God for his laughter and good nature. We talk of almost everything, except politics, and learn much from each other. I now remember to call him a Scot, not an Englishman, and he uses my patronymic, as a decent Russian would. Can harmony between our two hostile, suspicious empires be far behind?
Laura smiled at Pyotr's ironic comment. Every night she
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