SILK AND SECRETS (47 page)

Ross chuckled. “You’re like a horse with the scent of its own stables in its nostrils.”

Juliet smiled, unabashed at the simile. They were riding in a close group, Ian just below her, and Ross and Murad ahead.

“You did it, Murad,” Ross said cheerfully. They reached a wider section of the track and he brought his horse up alongside the Persian youth’s. “You led us safely across the Kara Kum on a route that you had never traveled yourself. I think that qualifies you as a master guide.”

Murad laughed. “Words are all very well, Khilburn”— he leaned forward to emphasize his point—“as long as you don’t forget the bonus you promised if I did my job well!”

Then the playful atmosphere vanished as a ragged volley of rifle shots rang out. One of the men ahead of Juliet cried out, but she didn’t waste time looking to see which one. As bullets ricocheted from bleak stone, she dived from her horse and scrambled behind a tumble of boulders, then forced her mount down so that it would also be protected.

A dozen feet up the hillside, Ross had already taken cover, pulled out his rifle, and begun firing across the ravine, his face calm and his hands steady. Ian was just a few feet away from Juliet, behind the same pile of boulders. As she whipped her rifle from its saddle holster, he said dryly, “Thank God they’re bad shots, whoever they are.”

Juliet suspected that it was probably the stiff wind blowing through the ravine that had saved them, for it was strong enough to affect the trajectory of a ball at this range. Even so, their assailants had not been entirely ineffectual, for one of them had hit Murad. It was he who had screamed before tumbling from his horse and rolling several feet down the slope. Now he lay unconscious, his left sleeve drenched with blood, in a position too exposed to permit his companions to go to his aid.

Swearing, Juliet peered cautiously between two boulders and scanned the opposite hillside. Heat shimmered from the barren, sun-blasted sides of the gorge, distorting the air and making it hard to judge distances. One of their assailants fired again, the puff of dark smoke revealing his position before the sharp crack of the gun echoed through the ravine. Ross and Juliet both returned fire, then had to drop swiftly when their bullets attracted more in reply. The acrid scent of black powder stinging her nostrils, Juliet thought back to the initial volley and decided that there were probably between three and five attackers.

She reloaded and looked for other targets, but none were visible. “One is by that twisted pine. Have you spotted the others, Ross?”

“Two behind that pile of dark scree and one lower, to the left.” He punctuated his words with a shot, then ducked again. “I think Shahid Mahmud and his merry men have caught up with us.”

Juliet did not dispute the remark; she suspected that Ross was right, for only someone who hated them and had the instincts of a bulldog would come so far, undeterred even by marauding Turkomans. Seeing a sliver of white rise above the dark scree, she fired and reloaded, then fired again, angling the shot in the hope that a ricochet might damage someone behind the stone ridge.

In the lull that followed, she pulled out her pistol and gave it to Ian, along with ammunition from her saddlebags. “A pity we haven’t another rifle, but this might be helpful if someone tries to sneak up on us.”

“A rifle would be wasted on me, for losing an eye has probably wrecked my aim.” He checked the loading, then cocked the hammer. “But given that this is perfect sneaking country, I’ll feel better with a pistol in my hand.”

He was right about the terrain, for the ravine was such a jumble of broken rock that a careful person could move almost anywhere without being exposed to fire for more than an instant. Ruefully Juliet said, “For the moment, it’s a stalemate.”

“If we don’t change the odds, Murad might bleed to death,” Ross said, his voice hard. He fired again, reloading without haste. “And I don’t want to leave the initiative in their hands. I’m going to work my way up to that ledge, which should give me a good range of fire over the whole ravine.”

Juliet scanned the hillside behind, which rose in a series of rough steps. “I’ll make sure they’re too busy to shoot at you.”

Ross gave her a faint, sweet smile, as if they were in their bedroom in Bokhara rather than fighting for their lives in a sunstruck mountain ravine. “Your skills are so much more useful than the more typical music and embroidery.”

She almost laughed. “Just remember to keep your head and other valuable parts of your anatomy down.” She watched for a moment as he started up the slope, rifle in hand. His green-and-gray-striped chapan and white turban were so imprinted with yellow dust that he blended into the rugged terrain, and he knew how to move swiftly and silently, taking advantage of every scrap of concealment. Hardly the usual skills of an English marquess; in this, at least, they were well-matched.

Then Juliet turned and gave full attention to the opposite side of the gorge, grateful that her breechloader could be reloaded and fired so swiftly; their enemies would not realize that only one person was shooting at them. But as she pumped off rounds at every sign of movement, she hoped that Ross was successful, for she didn’t like their situation one damned bit.

Shahid Mahmud’s cursing became a steady stream of obscenities, for his perfect ambush spot was flawed by wind and a rocky terrain that offered the enemy too many places to hide. By misjudging the wind’s force, the Bokharans had lost their initial advantage of surprise; now that both parties had gone to ground, they might spend the rest of the day blasting away at each other without damaging anything but their ammunition supplies. Damn the wind, damn his men for not being better shots, and most of all damn himself for hitting the guide rather than the ferengi.

Then his eyes narrowed as he saw a wisp of dusty green move on the far side of the ravine. Khilburn was the only one in his party wearing that color. The Uzbek kept a sharp watch and was soon rewarded by another glimpse of green farther up the slope.

Shahid swore even more as he realized that the infidel was climbing to a better position. Because the other side of the gorge rose toward the plateau, the bastard could go higher than the Bokharans; if he wasn’t stopped, he would secure an impregnable position. Hence Shahid must stop him, but he would have to cross to the far side of the ravine for the best shot.

Shahid crouched and dashed to another boulder, to the right and below him. Immediately a ball whizzed by, so close that it buzzed like a lethal hornet. Bare seconds later another bullet chipped stone by one of the other Bokharans. Damnation, the ferengi’s men were good shots. But they’d have to see a target before they could hit it, and as Shahid began gliding from boulder to boulder, he made very sure that no one saw him.

Climbing the blistering hillside had been slow work, but Juliet did a superb job of covering him, and Ross managed to reach his objective without attracting lethal attention. The ledge turned out to be a tilted shelf of stone that angled downward more steeply than he had realized from below. Flattening himself on his stomach, he crawled down the slanting surface, the coarse stone gritty under his fingers.

When he reached the edge, he raised his head cautiously and looked across the ravine. As he had hoped, he had a clear shot at three unsuspecting Bokharans. His mouth tightened when he saw that none of the men in sight had the distinctive burly build of Shahid Mahmud. A pity; if Ross could have shot the officer, it might have stopped the fight without anyone else dying.

Very well, so be it. Ross did not enjoy killing, but if forced to choose between the lives of his friends and those of nameless strangers, he would do what was necessary. He spent a moment planning his shots, forcing himself to think of the Bokharans as targets rather than men. Then he set the rifle to his shoulder, took careful aim, allowed for the effect of the wind, and squeezed the trigger.

The first ball sped deadly and true into the target’s chest. Without pausing to watch the man crash to the ground, Ross reloaded and fired again. The second target was moving, trying to flee this unexpected new peril, and Ross hit only his shoulder, but it was enough to make the man shriek and drop his weapon as he spun about and clutched the wound. He wouldn’t be doing any more serious shooting today.

By this time the third Bokharan had ducked out of Ross’s view, but putting two of the enemy out of action greatly improved the odds for the ferengis. After reloading again, Ross inched his way a little farther down the slab, taking comfort in the fact that another ledge jutted out about twenty feet below him; even if he fell, he probably wouldn’t break his neck. Lifting his head, he tried to locate Shahid Mahmud, who must be somewhere on the far side of the gorge.

Ross never felt the bullet that hit him.

Juliet wanted to applaud when Ross’s shots rang out over the ravine. When the second bullet provoked a yell, Ian gave an approving nod. “Sounds like Ross got one.”

Fiercely Juliet said, “Two. With his marksmanship, his first shot would have killed someone outright.”

She glanced up and saw a puff of black smoke drifting from his ledge, dissipating rapidly in the stiff wind. Catching a brief glimpse of his white-turbaned head, she winced at the precariousness of his position; a good thing he had a better head for heights than she did.

Another shot blasted out, rebounding harshly from the barren walls of the gorge. Juliet knew immediately that something was wrong, for the gun had the sound of a Bokharan weapon but had been fired from the ferengi side of the ravine.

In the next instant, right in front of her horrified eyes, her husband pitched over the edge of his ledge. At the same time, a hoarse victory shout echoed obscenely through the gorge.

Ross fell with eerie slowness, his descent broken by the tenacious shrubs that clung to the rocky cliff. One of the branches caught his turban and ripped it loose to wave in the wind like a banner, exposing the burnished gold of his hair. His rifle fell separately, spinning in the sun before hitting somewhere below with a hard metallic clatter.

Then he vanished from sight as he landed on a ledge below the one he had been shooting from.

“Ross!” Juliet screamed. Sheer blind, mindless terror possessed her so thoroughly that she did not even know that she had started running toward him until Ian grabbed her and dragged her to the ground.

“Jesus Christ, Juliet!” Ian swore. “If you’re going after Ross, keep down—you can’t help him if you get killed too. Give me the rifle—I’ll try to cover you.” He wrenched the weapon out of her nerveless fingers, then uncocked the pistol and pressed it into her hand. “Take this. You might need it.”

Numbly she accepted the weapon, anything so that Ian would release her to go to her husband. When he did, she raced frantically up the slope, keeping down, but only barely.

Ian watched his sister for a moment, then turned and pointed the rifle across the ravine, letting off a shot just to let the enemy know that the ferengis were still in business. To his surprise, the bullet went exactly where he had intended. With grim humor he started shooting in earnest. He was pleased to learn that losing an eye didn’t seem to have hurt his marksmanship at all.

His blood singing with triumph, Shahid began moving toward his victim. There was a chance Khilburn was still alive, for Shahid had been shooting from an awkward angle and the fall from the ledge, while dramatic, was not in itself sufficient to kill unless he landed badly. First Shahid would make sure that the ferengi was dead; then he would climb to the higher ledge and use the vantage point to shoot the others at his leisure. Though perhaps, if he was careful, the Targui would survive long enough to suffer further indignities. His rifle ready in his hand, the Uzbek snaked his way across the broken ground.

When Juliet scrambled onto the ledge where Ross had fallen, she found that it was an unexpected pocket of sand and gravel held together by tough grasses. She prayed that the relative softness had mitigated the effect of the fall.

Ross lay on his side, his face handsome and relaxed, as if he were sleeping, but the blood staining his blond hair told a more frightening story. Her breathing jagged with fear and exertion, Juliet knelt and checked his throat for a pulse. When at first she could not find one, suffocating despair flooded through her. Then, miraculously, she felt a strong beat under her fingertips, a pulse that represented not just his life but her own, for if Ross were dead, the best part of Juliet would die too.

Her heart a jumble of prayers, gratitude, and threats of what she would do if God didn’t spare her husband, she laid the pistol on the ground and made a quick examination. Apparently the bullet had grazed his skull, but there seemed to be no other major injuries.

Needing a bandage, Juliet jerked off her tagelmoust. Her hair broke out of its crude braid and spilled over her shoulders, but she brushed it back impatiently, then tore off strips of cloth. She had just finished tying a pad over Ross’s wound when she heard the rattling of pebbles as someone approached.

She whipped her head up just in time to see Shahid heave himself onto the ledge, his rifle at the ready. He was less than ten feet away and there was a paralyzed moment of mutual shock as they stared at each other.

“A woman!” the Uzbek gasped, his eyes widening with astonishment as he saw Juliet’s face and the thick waves of bright hair that tossed in the wind. “So Khilburn’s Targui boy is really a skinny ferengi whore.”

The Koran commands mercy toward women and children, but that was a directive Shahid had never obeyed. An expression of evil delight on his face, he raised his rifle to shoot. “Now you will join your lover in death.”

But he was too slow. During the stunned moment when Shahid was absorbing the fact that she was female, Juliet raised the pistol and cocked it.

Then, holding the gun with both hands so there would be no mistake, she shot Shahid Mahmud through the heart at point-blank range.

The ear-piercing crack of Juliet’s pistol pulled Ross back to hazy awareness. Though his body refused to move, he managed to open his eyes a slit, just enough to see the impact of the ball spin Shahid around, then knock him from the ledge. As the Uzbek’s body crashed noisily down the cliff, Juliet lowered her pistol with shaking hands.