Veils of Silk by Mary Jo Putney Page B

because she, too, was suffering. Since his escape from Bokhara, Ian had learned the harsh truth behind the old proverb that misery loved company.
    The only occasion when he had felt close to another person had been the night when his sister had wept on his shoulder, convinced that her marriage was over. Juliet's pain had drawn him out of himself to try to comfort her. He had even given some advice that, Juliet later informed him, had made it possible for her to heal the breach with her husband.
    It had been much harder to be with her and Ross when they were radiantly happy. In fact, it was difficult for him to bear the company of anyone who was normal. But Laura's presence was soothing, for her pain and vulnerability were similar to his own.
    He hoped that she decided to wait for him to accompany her back to Baipur. The journey would delay his departure for Scotland for several more weeks, but that was of no real importance. He wanted to assure himself that she was back among friends before he said good-bye.
    Idly he wondered why she was so set against marriage; she did not have the manner of a woman who despised men. The most likely explanation was that she had suffered a broken heart. If so, perhaps she would be willing to accept a husband when she recovered. He hoped so; he disapproved of such a waste of womanly warmth and charm. Beyond that, he felt a responsibility for Pyotr's niece; he didn't like thinking of her living the gray life of a governess in another woman's house.
    But it wouldn't come to that. Ian might be less than a man physically, but there was nothing wrong with his judgment. Laura was the sort of woman who would always attract men eager to love and protect her. She, at least, would not need to spend the rest of her life alone.

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Chapter 7

     
    Laura had dressed in her custom-made riding clothing for the trek to the machan. After the major inspected her tan divided skirt and high boots, he gave a nod of approval. "A practical outfit. A pity more Englishwomen don't do the same."
    "The divided skirt was my father's suggestion," she explained as she hooked a canteen to her belt and donned her topi. "So much time is spent on horseback in India that he thought it would be better if I rode astride except on the most formal social occasions, which means hardly ever. And he flatly forbade me to wear a corset in the hot weather. He claimed that corsets were responsible for the fact that so many Anglo-Indian women are in delicate health—they can't breathe."
    "He sounds like a man of rare good sense. I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to meet him."
    Laura was sorry, too. The thought produced one of the waves of disabling sorrow that swept through her several times a day. She fell in beside Ian and they began their hike to the water hole. The path wound among the village fields, then through light forest interspersed with grassy meadows. The sunshine and lovely countryside lifted her spirits. Though she would never stop missing her stepfather, neither would she allow herself to be drowned by despair.
    As she had observed earlier, Ian saw more with one eye than most people did with two. As they walked he wordlessly drew her attention to things she would otherwise not have noticed. In fact, his awareness of their surroundings was a product of all his senses, not only sight. It was he who heard the almost inaudible wingbeats
of a brilliantly colored sunbird that hovered like a hummingbird by a flowering shrub. Later he pushed aside some grasses to reveal a cluster of white flowers. The blossoms looked unremarkable, but when he picked a sprig and handed it to Laura, she found that they had a sweetly haunting fragrance.
    Not all of his discoveries were so innocuous. After twenty minutes of walking, he halted and threw up one hand to block Laura's progress while he studied the forest to the left. Then he beckoned her into a protected spot among the arching aerial roots of a banyan tree, directing her gaze toward a