Li Sung gazed at her impassively. "Why would you assume that?"

She persisted. "Did you?"

He shrugged. "A man has needs."

"Abdar saw you at the site with me. It's not safe for you to be seen in the city."

"I will make sure I do not lead him to Kartauk."

"That's not the question. It's not safe for you to—"

"It is not your concern."

She could feel him closing against her, drawing back into himself, and felt a surge of helplessness and frustration. Sometimes Li Sung appeared as old as Buddha and at other times he was only a sensitive, prickly, proud young man. She could not tell him it was very much her concern and that what had started as an act of compassion might now be a magnet drawing him into a net. "Will you at least promise to be careful?"

He smiled. "Always."

It was the only concession she was going to be able to wrest from him, but if the danger continued, she knew she would have to do something about Zabrie. "See that you are." She didn't wait for an answer as she glided from behind the stall, looking cautiously both ways before beginning to make her way swiftly through the bazaar.

Chapter 2

Savitsar Palace

Kasanpore, India

May 30, 1876

I’ve never seen anything like it." Ian stared in revulsion at the four-foot statue on the carved teakwood table. "What the hell is it?"

"A superb work of art." Ruel reverently touched the golden drops of blood dripping from the dagger brandished by the sari-clad woman who was the central figure before he circled the table to view the statue from every angle. "By God, look at her expression. I wonder how he caught the malevolence. ..."

"I have no desire to look any longer at that heathen idol. This Prince Abdar must be a very peculiar man to have such an object in his reception room, and I cannot see how you can call it—" Ian broke off and grimaced ruefully. "Yes, I do. Gold. You would think Satan himself beautiful if he wore a cloak of gold."

Ruel grinned over his shoulder at him. "Not just a cloak, but perhaps if he were fashioned as splendidly as this fascinating lady." His gaze returned to the statue. "I wonder who the artist was."

"Probably some twisted soul dead these many centuries." Ian suddenly frowned. "And you're not to ask Prince Abdar about this atrocity. I've heard these heathens are a bit sensitive about their gods and goddesses, and I have no desire to be thrown to the crocodiles."

"You'd have nothing to worry about. They'd choke on you," Ruel murmured. "That stiff backbone and rigid moral fiber would strangle them." He squatted to get a better view of the statue. "Now, me they'd gulp down with no trouble. Sin is always more appetizing than virtue."

"Stop mouthing nonsense," Ian said gruffly. "You're not as wicked as you—"

"Oh, but I am." Ruel smiled mockingly. "As you should know, considering that hellhole you dug me out of a few months ago. I have no more moral fiber than a tomcat and no desire to develop it. You'd best leave me and go back to Maggie and bonnie Scotland."

"Margaret." Ian's correction was automatic. "You know she hates to be called Maggie."

"Margaret," Ruel substituted solemnly. "You really should go back to Margaret, cool misty hills, and sanity. You don't belong here, Ian."

"Neither do you." Ian paused. "This heathen country isn't a decent place for any civilized man to live."

"It's more civilized than most of the places I've lived for the past twelve years. You should have been at the gold camp at Zwanigar." He shook his head. "On second thought, you probably shouldn't. The crocodiles there were human, and you're much too honorable to have survived it."

"You survived it."

"Only because I became king of the crocodiles." His smile gleamed white. "And learned how to use my teeth."

"All the more reason for you to come home. This damnable Eastern savagery isn't good for you."

"It's only a place like any other." Ruel's smile faded as he saw Ian's unhappy expression. He knew Ian hated being away from Glenclaren, but his brother had been surprisingly patient and helpful since they had arrived in Kasanpore. He said quietly, "But I promise I won't offend his royal highness with flippant remarks after all your trouble to obtain this audience for me."

"I have no faith you will get what you wish from this prince, but I knew you wouldn't give up without at least an interview."

"You're right, I wouldn't."

"Besides, my efforts will probably be of no help," Ian said. "The colonel said Prince Abdar has no fondness and little to do with his father, the maharajah."

The last trace of mockery faded from Ruel's expression. "You still have my gratitude for making the attempt. I know you think this venture is foolishness."

"Gratitude?" Ian looked startled, and then a slow smile lit his craggy, homely features. "Careful, Ruel, gratitude is one of the softer emotions. Therein lies the path to virtue."

"I'm in no danger." Ruel's stare returned to the statue. Something about it was making him uneasy. No, it wasn't the statue itself, he realized, but its place of prominence in this chamber of the palace, a position that indicated its importance to the man who possessed it. He said impulsively, "You've done your part. I can handle the matter now. Why don't you go back to the hotel and wait for me?"

"You may need me."

"Look, I've been batting around this part of the world for a hell of a lot longer than you have. I know how—"

"We'll see."

"I promise I won't let Abdar feed me to the crocodiles, dammit."

Ian didn't answer.

"All right, stay, but let me do the talking. I have an idea Abdar and I will have no problem understanding each other."

"I'm the elder. It's only fitting I put through the request."

Dear God, he actually meant it, Ruel realized. Ian didn't realize those seven years meant nothing. Ian's life at Glenclaren had plodded steadily on its tranquil course while his own had whirled as if caught up in a monsoon.

"God forbid you do anything that isn't fitting." He reached out and followed the dagger with his index finger. "And me from doing anything that is. Have it your own way. It was just a fleeting thought."

"A kind, protective thought." Ian's stern expression softened. "Another step."

"It wasn't a prot—" Ruel threw back his head and laughed. "Dear God, you'll not to be satisfied until you have me wearing a halo. How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not—"

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I see you're admiring my statue. Is she not a thing of beauty?"

Ian and Ruel turned to see an Indian dressed in a knee-length dark blue silk jacket, white silk trousers, and white turban. Tall, slim, graceful, the man moved lithely across the mosaic floor toward them. "I am very proud of my goddess. She is very dear to me." He stopped before them. "I am Abdar Savitsar."

The prince's face was plump, unlined, almost boyish, but his large dark eyes gave a curious impression of flat blankness, like an onyx that has never been faceted.

"Your Highness." Ian bowed slightly. "It is very kind of you to receive us. I am Ian MacClaren, Earl of Glenclaren, and this is my brother, Ruel."