Six months ago, Emily Ensworth traveled to India to find a
worthy husband; a man who catches her attention and makes
her heart speed up. The day James Macfarland sacrifices
himself is the same day Emily meets the man of her dreams.
She must learn more about this man. During her inquires,
Emily finds out he has already started his journey to
England after resigning his commission. She quickly follows
and is shocked when Gareth Hamilton comes to her rescue,
pulling her away from a deadly Black Cobra blade.
Major Gareth Hamilton is forlorn and determined to carry
out his final mission against the Black Cobra cult. They
took the life of his brave, honorable friend and brother-in-
arms, James Macfarland. Thanks to James and the very brave
Emily Ensworth, he now has proof of the identity of the
Black Cobra leader, but it has to get it into the right
hands. So Gareth and three others embark on a race to
England, in four different directions to not only stay
alive, but keep the proof safe. Gareth reaches his first
destination and spots Emily on the dock with a Black Cobra
member bearing down on her with the intent to kill. Without
any thought, Gareth bounds to the dock reaching Emily just
before the blade cuts her through. Gareth decides right
then that they must travel together.
The second book in the Black Cobra Quartet is stunningly
funny and extremely alluring with constant danger lurking
on every page. A very exciting read!
Gareth Hamilton is stunned when he recognizes Emily Ensworth
on his ship. The veil she wears is not enough to disguise
her from him - or from the man hired to kill her.
Whisking Emily to safety, Gareth realizes that the Black
Cobra is on to them. In order to protect her, Gareth must
let Emily in on the dangerous plot she is now intimately
involved in.
Emily Ensworth is no wilting flower. She knew the packet the
dying soldier thrust upon her held vital information, and
she has every intention of seeing it into safe hands. But
she is also determined to bring the men trying to kill her
to justice.
Together, she and Gareth do their best to lure the Black
Cobra and his men into the open. Putting their lives at risk
draws Emily and Gareth ever closer together, the constant
danger sparking a passion neither one can resist.
But with threats lurking around every corner, Gareth and
Emily must work harder than ever to make sure that their
newfound love isn't snuffed out before it ever has a chance.
Excerpt
September 2, 1822
Road from Poona to Bombay.
"Ul-ul-ul-ul-ul!"
The battle cries of their pursuers faded momentarily as
Emily Ensworth and her escort thundered around the next
bend. Gaze locked on the beaten surface of the dirt road,
she concentrated on urging her mare even faster-on fleeing
down the mountain road as if her life depended on it.
She suspected it did.
They were halfway down the hill road from Poona, the monsoon
capital for the upper echelons of the British governing
Bombay. Bombay itself was still hours of hard riding ahead.
About them, the usually serene beauty of the hills, with
their majestic firs and cool crisp air, was again fractured
by the ululations of the riders pursuing them.
She'd got a good look at them earlier. Clad in traditional
native garb, their insignia was a black silk scarf wound
about their heads, long ends flying as, swords flashing,
they'd charged wildly in their wake.
Their pursuers were Black Cobra cultists. She'd heard the
grisly tales, and had no wish to feature in the next
horrific instalment.
She and her escort, led by young Captain MacFarlane, had
fled at a flat gallop, yet somehow the cultists had closed
the distance. She'd initially felt confident she and the
troop could outrun them; she was no longer so sure.
Captain MacFarlane rode alongside her. Her eyes locked on
the sharply descending road, she sensed him glance back,
then, a moment later, he glanced at her. She was about to
snap that she was an accomplished rider, as he should by now
have noticed, when he looked ahead and pointed.
"There!" MacFarlane waved at his lieutenant. "Those two
rocks on the next stretch. With two others I can hold them
back long enough for Miss Ensworth and the rest of you to
reach safety."
"I'll stay with you!" the lieutenant shouted across Emily's
head. "Binta and the others can carry on with the memsahib."
The memsahib - Emily - stared at the rocks in question. Two
tall, massive boulders, they framed the road, with the sheer
cliff face on one side, and an equally sheer drop on the
other. She was no general, but while three men might delay
their pursuers, they'd never hold them back.
"No!" She glanced at MacFarlane while they continued to
thunder on.
"We all of us stay, or we all of us go on."
Blue eyes narrowed on her face. His jaw set. "Miss Ensworth,
I've no time to argue. You will go on with the bulk of the
troop."
Of course she argued, but he wouldn't listen.
So complete was his ignoring of her words that she suddenly
realized he knew he wouldn't survive. That he'd die-here on
this road-and it wouldn't be a pretty death.
He'd accepted that.
His bravery stunned her, rendered her silent as, reaching
the rocks, they pulled up, milling as MacFarlane snapped out
orders.
Then he reached over, grabbed her bridle, and drew her on
down the road.
"Here." Drawing a folded parchment packet from inside his
coat, he thrust it into her hand. "Take this - get it to
Colonel Derek Delborough. He's at the fort in Bombay." Blue
eyes met hers. "It's vital you place that in his hands-his
and no others. Do you understand?"
Numb, she nodded. "Colonel Delborough, at the fort."
"Right. Now ride!" He slapped her mare's rump.
The horse leapt forward. Emily shoved the packet into the
front of her riding jacket, and tightened her grip on the
reins. Behind her, the troop came pounding up, forming
around her as they again fled on.
She glanced back as they rounded the next curve. Two of the
troop were taking up positions on either side of the rocks.
MacFarlane was freeing their horses, shooing them on.
Then they swept around the curve and he was lost to her sight.
She had to ride on. He'd given her no choice. If she didn't
reach Bombay and deliver his packet, his death - his
sacrifice - would be for nought.
That couldn't be. She couldn't let that happen.
But he'd been so young.
Tears stung her eyes. Viciously she blinked them back.
She had to concentrate on the godforsaken road and ride.
* * *
Later that day
East India Company Fort, Bombay.
Emily fixed the sepoy guarding the fort gates with a steady
direct gaze. "Captain MacFarlane?"
As the niece of the Governor of Bombay, visiting her uncle
for the last six months, she could ask and expect to be
answered.
The sepoy blanched, olive skin and all. The glance he bent
on her was sorrowful and compassionate. "I am very sorry,
miss, but the captain is dead."
She'd expected it, yet...looking down, she swallowed, then
lifted her head, drew breath. Fixed the guard with an even
more imperious gaze. "I wish to speak with Colonel
Delborough. Where may I find him?"
* * *
The answer had been the officers' bar, the enclosed front
verandah of the officers' mess. Emily wasn't sure it was
acceptable for her - a female - to go inside, but that
wasn't going to stop her.
Idi, the Indian maid she'd borrowed from her uncle's
household, trailing behind her, she mounted the shallow
steps. Moving into the dim shadows of the verandah, she
halted to let her eyes adjust.
Once they had, she swept the verandah left to right,
registering the familiar click of billiard balls coming from
an alcove off one end, several officers in groups of twos
and threes gathered about round tables, and one larger group
haunting the far right corner.
Of course they'd all noticed her the instant she'd walked in.
A serving boy quickly came forward. "Miss?"
Transferring her gaze from the group to the boy's face, she
stated, "I'm looking for Colonel Delborough. I was informed
he was here."
The boy bobbed. "Yes, miss." He swung and pointed to the
group in the corner. "He is there with his men."
Had MacFarlane been one of Delborough's men? Emily thanked
the boy and headed for the corner table.
There were four very large officers seated at the table. All
four slowly rose as she approached. Remembering Idi
dutifully dogging her heels, Emily paused and waved the maid
to a chair by the verandah's side. "Wait there."
Holding the edge of her sari half over her face, Idi nodded
and sat.
Drawing breath, head rising, Emily walked on.
As she neared, she scanned, not the men's faces - even
without looking she knew their expressions were bleak;
they'd learned of MacFarlane's death, almost certainly knew
the manner of it, something she was sure she didn't need to
know - but instead she searched each pair of broad shoulders
for a colonel's epaulettes.
Distantly she registered that, in common female parlance,
these men would be termed "impressive," with their broad
chests, their height and their air of rugged physical
strength. She was surprised she hadn't seen them in any of
the drawing rooms she'd visited with her aunt over recent
months.
Another captain-blonder than MacFarlane-and two majors, one
with light brown hair….she had to tug her gaze on to the
other major, the one with rakish dark hair, then she finally
found the colonel among them-presumably Delborough. He had
dark hair, too.
She halted before him, lifted her gaze to his face, set her
teeth against the emotions surging about the table; she
couldn't let them draw her in. Down. Make her cry. She'd
cried enough when she'd reached her uncle's house, and she
hadn't known MacFarlane as, from the intensity of their
feelings, these four had. "Colonel Delborough?"
The colonel inclined his head, dark eyes searching her face.
"Ma'am?"
"I'm Emily Ensworth, the governor's niece. I..." Recalling
MacFarlane's instructions - Delborough's hands and no others
- she glanced at the other three. "If I could trouble you
for a word in private, Colonel?"
Delborough hesitated, then said, "Every man about this table
is an old friend and colleague of James MacFarlane. We were
all working together. If your business with me has anything
to do with James, I would ask that you speak before us all."
His eyes were weary, and so sad. One glance at the others,
at their rigid expressions - so contained - and she nodded.
"Very well."
There was an empty chair between the two majors. The
brown-haired one held it for her.
She briefly met his eyes, a tawnier hazel than her own.
"Thank you." Ignoring the sudden flutter in her stomach, she
sat. Determinedly directing her gaze forward, she found
herself staring at a three-quarters empty bottle of arrack
at the table's center.
With a shuffle of chairs, the men resumed their seats.
She glanced at Delborough. "I realize it might be irregular,
but if I could have a small glass of that...?"
He met her eyes. "It's arrack."
"I know."
He signaled to the barboy to bring another glass. While they
waited, beneath the table's edge she opened her reticule and
drew out MacFarlane's packet.
The boy delivered the glass, and Delborough poured a half
measure.
With a smile that went awry, she accepted it and took a
small sip. The sharp taste made her nose wrinkle, but her
uncle had allowed her to partake of the liquor in an
experimental fashion; she knew of its fortifying properties.
She took a larger sip, then lowered the glass. Quashing the
impulse to look at the brown-haired major, she fixed her
gaze on Delborough. "I asked at the gate and they told me.
I'm very sorry that Captain MacFarlane didn't make it back."
Delborough's expression couldn't get any stonier, but he
inclined his head. "If you could tell us what happened from
the beginning, it would help us understand."
They'd been MacFarlane's friends; they needed to know. "Yes,
of course." She cleared her throat. "We started very early
from Poona."
She told the story simply, without embellishment.
When she reached the point where she'd parted from the
gallant captain, she paused and drained her glass. "I tried
to argue, but he would have none of it. He drew me aside -
ahead - and gave me this." She lifted the packet. Laying it
on the table, she pushed it toward Delborough. "Captain
MacFarlane asked me to bring this to you."
She finished her tale in the minimum of words, ending with,
"He turned back with a few men, and the rest came with me."
When she fell silent, the distracting major on her left
shifted. Spoke gently. "And you sent them back when you came
within sight of safety." When she glanced his way, met his
hazel eyes, he added, "You did the best you could."
The instant she'd sighted Bombay, she'd insisted all but two
of the troop return to help their comrades; unfortunately,
they'd been too late.
Setting a hand on the packet, Delborough drew it to him.
"And you did the right thing."
She blinked several times, then lifted her chin, her gaze on
the packet. "I don't know what's in that - I didn't look.
But whatever it is...I hope it's worth it, worth the
sacrifice he made." She raised her gaze to Delborough's.
"I'll leave it in your hands, Colonel, as I promised Captain
MacFarlane I would." She pushed back from the table.
They all rose. The brown-haired major drew back her chair.
"Allow me to organize an escort for you back to the
governor's house."
She inclined her head graciously. "Thank you, Major." Who
was he? Her nerves were fluttering again. He was standing
closer than before; she didn't think her lightheadedness was
due to the arrack.
Forcing her attention to Delborough and the other two, she
nodded. "Good evening, Colonel. Gentlemen."
"Miss Ensworth." They all bowed.
Turning, she strolled back down the verandah, the major
pacing slowly alongside. She waved to Idi, who fell into
step behind her.
She glanced at the major's carefully blank expression, then
cleared her throat. "You all knew him well, I take it?"
He glanced at her. "He'd served with us, alongside us, for
over eight years. He was a comrade, and a close friend."
She'd noticed their uniforms, but now it struck her. She
looked at the major. "You're not regulars."
"No." His lips twisted. "We're Hastings's own."
The Marquess of Hastings, the Governor-General of India.
This group, and MacFarlane, had worked directly for him? "I
see." She didn't, but she felt sure her uncle would be able
to enlighten her.
They emerged onto the verandah steps.
"If you'll wait here for a moment?"
It wasn't really a question. She halted and, with Idi beside
her, watched as the major raised a hand, attracting the
attention of a sepoy sergeant drilling his troop on the maidan.
The sergeant quickly presented himself. With a few words,
the major organized a group of sepoys to escort her back to
the governor's residence deeper in the town.
His innate yet understated air of command, and the
attentiveness and willingness, even eagerness of the
sergeant to obey, were as impressive as his physical presence.
As the sepoys hurried to form up before the steps, Emily
turned to the soldier beside her and held out her hand.
"Thank you, Major...?"
He took her hand in a warm, strong clasp, met her eyes
briefly, then half-bowed. "Major Gareth Hamilton, Miss
Ensworth." Releasing her, he looked at the well-ordered
sepoys, nodded his approval, then turned again to her.
Again met her eyes. "Please. Be careful."
She blinked. "Yes, of course." Her heart was thumping
unusually quickly. She could still feel the pressure of his
fingers around hers. Drawing in a much needed breath, she
inclined her head and stepped down to the dusty ground.
"Good evening, major."
"Good evening, Miss Ensworth."
Gareth stood on the steps and watched Emily Ensworth walk
away across the sunburned ground toward the massive fort
gates. With her porcelain complexion, rose-tinted and pure,
her delicate features and soft brown hair, she looked so
quintessentially English, so much the epitomization of
lovely English maids he'd carried with him through all his
years of service.
That had to be the reason he felt as if he'd just met his
future.
But it couldn't be her, couldn't be now.
Now, duty called.
Duty, and the memory of James MacFarlane.
Turning, he climbed the steps and went back inside.
* * *
3rd September, 1822
My room in the Governor's Residence
Bombay
Dear Diary,
I have waited for so long, and will admit that I had
fallen into the habit of imagining it would never happen,
that now it might have, I find myself rather cautious. Is
this what my sisters meant when they said I would simply
know? Certainly, my stomach and my nerves proved to be
singularly sensitive to Major Hamilton's nearness-as Ester,
Meggie and Hilary foretold-but how reliable is that
indicator?
On the other hand, this does sound like fate playing her
usual tricks. Here am I, virtually at the end of my stay in
India - a sojourn expressly undertaken to broaden my
horizons vis a? vis marriageable gentlemen, exposing me to
more specimens of varying character so that my well-known
"pickiness" might become better informed - and I finally
stumble on one who affects me, and after an entire day, I
have barely learned his name and station.
It is no help that Aunt Selma remains in Poona, too far
away to provide advice, and so all my information needs must
come from my uncle, although Uncle Ralph does answer without
thinking of the motives behind my questions, which is all to
the good.
Until I know more about Major Hamilton, I cannot know
if, as I am starting to fervently hope, he is "the one" - my
"one," the gentleman for me - so my most urgent need is to
learn more about him, but from whom?
And I need to spend more time with him, too - but how?
I must devote myself to finding ways - I have only a few
days left.
And after all these years of waiting for him to appear,
and coming all this way before meeting him, sailing away and
leaving my "one" behind just doesn't bear thinking about.
E.
* * *
September 10, 1822
The Governor's Residence, Bombay.
Emily frowned at the Indian houseboy standing in the patch
of sunlight slanting across the silk rug in her aunt's
parlor. "He's leaving?"
The boy, Chandra, nodded. "Yes, miss. It is said he and his
other friends have all resigned their commissions because
they are so cast down by the death of their friend the captain."
She resisted the urge to drop her head in her hands and tug
at her braids. What the devil was Hamilton about? How could
he be her "one" if he was so cowardly as to run home to
England? What about honor and avenging a friend-a comrade
and fellow officer killed in the most ghastly and gruesome
manner?
A vision of the four men as they'd stood around the table in
the officers' bar swam across her mind. Her frown deepened.
"All of them-all four-have resigned?"
When Chandra nodded, she specified, "And they're all heading
back to England?"
"That's what everyone says. I have spoken with some who know
their servants-they are all excited about seeing England."
Emily sat back in the chair behind her aunt's desk, thought
again of those four men, of all she'd sensed of them,
remembered the packet she'd placed in Delborough's hands,
and inwardly shook her head. Any one of those four turning
tail was hard enough to swallow, but all four of them? She
wouldn't lose faith in Hamilton just yet.
They were up to something.
She wondered what.
She was due to board ship on the eighteenth of the month,
sailing via the Cape to Southampton. She needed to learn
more about Hamilton, a lot more, before she left. Once she
was convinced he was not as cowardly as his present actions
painted him, as he was going home she could-somehow
would-arrange to meet him again there.
But first...
She refocused on Chandra. "I want you to concentrate on
Major Hamilton. See what you can learn of his plans - not
just from his household but from the barracks and anywhere
else he goes. But whatever you do, don't get caught."
Chandra grinned, his big smile startlingly white in his
mahogany face. "You can count on Chandra, miss."
She smiled. "Yes, I know I can." She'd caught him gaming,
which was forbidden for those on the governor's payroll, but
on learning his need for rupees to pay for medicine for his
mother, had arranged for him to have money advanced from his
pay, and for his mother, who also worked in the governor's
mansion, to receive better care. Ever since, Chandra had
been her willing slave. And as he was quick, observant, and
all but invisible in Bombay's busy streets, he'd proved
extremely useful in following Hamilton and the other three.
"One thing - Hamilton has no other Anglo friends, just those
three officers?"
"Yes, miss. They all came from Calcutta some months ago, and
have kept to themselves."
Which would explain why she'd learned nothing of Hamilton
through the Bombay social grapevine. She nodded to Chandra.
"Very well. Let me know what you learn."
* * *
September 15, 1822
The Governor's Residence, Bombay.
"He's left?" Emily stared at Chandra. "When? And how?"
"This morning, miss. He took the sloop to Aden."
"Him and his servants?"
"So I heard tell, miss - they were already gone when I got
there."
Mind racing, she asked, "The other three - have they gone, too?"
"I have only had the chance to check on the colonel, miss.
Apparently he left on the company ship this morning.
Everyone was surprised. No one knew they were leaving so soon."
The company ship was a mammoth East Indiaman which went via
the Cape and Southhampton. She was due to board a sister
ship in a few days.
"See what you can learn about the other two-the other major
and the captain." If all four had precipitously departed
Bombay...
Chandra bowed and left.
Emily felt a headache coming on.
Gareth Hamilton - he who might be her "one" - had left
Bombay via the diplomatic route. Why?
Regardless of his motives, his sudden departure left her
with a very big unanswered question - and an even bigger
decision to make. Was he her "one," or not? She needed more
time with him to tell. If she wanted to get that time,
following him might - just - be possible. If she acted now.
Should she follow him, or let him go?
Closing her eyes, she revisited those moments in the
officers' bar, the only moments on which she could judge
him. Surprisingly vividly, she recalled the sensation of his
fingers closing around hers, felt again that odd leap of her
pulse, the frisson that had set her nerves jangling.
Felt, remembered, relived.
On a sigh, she opened her eyes. One point was inescapable.
Of all the men she'd ever met, only Gareth Hamilton had
affected her in the slightest.
Only he had set her heart racing.
* * *
September 16th, 1822
The Governor's Residence, Bombay.
"Good evening, uncle." Emily swept into the dining room and
took her seat on her uncle's right. They were the only two
at dinner. Her aunt was still in Poona - which was a very
good thing. Flicking out her napkin, she smiled at the
butler, waited for him to serve her and step back before she
said, "I have an announcement of sorts to make."
"Oh?" Her uncle Ralph rolled a wary eye her way.
She smiled. She and Ralph had always got on well. "Don't
worry - it's only a minor change in my plans. As you know, I
was scheduled to depart on the company ship two days hence,
but after speaking with others I've decided that, as I came
by that route, I should instead go home by the direct and
more scenic way." She waved her fork. "See Egypt and the
pyramids - and as it is the diplomatic route, there's
unlikely to be any serious danger, and plenty of embassies
and consulates to call on for help if luck says otherwise."
Ralph chewed, frowned. "Your father won't like the idea, but
then he won't know - not until you're standing in front of
him again."
Emily grinned. "I knew I could trust you to see the salient
point. There's really no reason I shouldn't go home that way."
"Assuming you can find passage at short notice. Your parents
are expecting you back in four months - going via Cairo
you'll be able to surprise them, if you can find a berth-"
Seeing the light in her face, Ralph broke off. "You've found
one, I take it."
Emily nodded. "And yes, it's on one of the sloops the
company regularly uses, so the captain and crew are vouched
for."
Ralph considered, then nodded. "Well, you're the most
sensible young lady I've ever known, and you'll have Watson
and Mullins with you, so I trust you'll be all right." He
cocked a brow at her. "So, when do you leave?"
CHAPTER 1
17th September, 1822
My cabin aboard the sloop Mary Alice
Dear Diary,
As usual, I will endeavor to record my thoughts at 5
o'clock every afternoon, before I dress for dinner. This
morning I departed Bombay, and I understand we are making
good time as the Mary Alice slices its way through the waves
to Aden.
And yes, I acknowledge that it's undeniably bold to be
pursuing a gentleman as I'm pursuing Major Hamilton, but as
we all know, fortune favors the bold. Indeed, even my
parents should accept the necessity - they sent me to Bombay
because I dragged my heels over choosing any of the young
men who offered, opting instead to wait for my "one," as all
my sisters - and I suspect my sisters-in-law, too - did. I
have always maintained that it was simply a matter of
waiting for the right man to appear, and if Major Hamilton
proves to be my right man, then at the ripe old age of
twenty and four, I doubt anyone would argue against me
pursuing him.
Of course, I have yet to determine if he truly is my
"one," but I can only decide that after meeting him again.
Speaking of which...he and his party are two days ahead of
me.
I wonder how fast a sloop can go?
E.
* * *
1st October, 1822
My cabin aboard the Mary Alice
Dear Diary,
The answer to my last question is: quite amazingly fast
when all sail is risked. My being extra-charming to the
captain and challenging him to demonstrate how fast his ship
can go has paid a handsome dividend. We passed the Egret,
the sloop carrying the major and his household, sometime
last night. With luck and continuing fair winds, I will
disembark in Aden before him, and he will have no reason to
suspect I set out on this journey to follow him.
E.
* * *
October 2, 1822
Aden.
"What the...?" Gareth Hamilton stood in the bow of the Egret
and stared incredulously at the pale pink parasol bobbing
through the crowd on the wharf alongside.
They'd followed another of the company sloops into the
harbor, and had had to wait for that vessel, the Mary Alice,
to be unloaded first.
His bags, along with the minimal luggage carried by his
small but efficient household - his batman, Bister, his
houseman, Mooktu, an ex-sepoy, and Mooktu's wife, Arnia -
were being stacked that very minute on the wooden wharf, but
that wasn't the cause of the consternation - to put it
mildly - that had seized him.
He'd noticed the parasol bobbing down the gangway of the
Mary Alice, tied up almost at the end of the long wharf.
He'd watched the bearer, a lady in matching pale pink
skirts, tack and weave through the crowd. She and the
contingent of staff following at her heels, with one heavily
muscled man clearing a path through the noisy, jostling
throng ahead of her, had to pass along the wharf beside the
Egret in order to enter the town.
Until a moment ago, he hadn't been able to see the parasol
holder's face. But passing the Egret, she'd tipped the
parasol aside and glanced up-and he'd glimpsed...a face he
hadn't expected to see again.
A face that, for the last few weeks, had haunted his dreams.
Yet all but immediately, the damn parasol had come up and
re-obscured his view.
"Damn!" One part of his mind was telling him, calmly, that
it couldn't possibly be she, that he was seeing things he
wanted to see…some other part, a more visceral part, was
already sure.
He hesitated, waiting to see again - to know for sure.
Movement in the crowd behind the parasol caught his eye.
Cultists.
His blood literally ran cold. He'd known they'd be waiting
for him - he and his people were expecting a welcome.
But Emily Ensworth and her people weren't.
He'd vaulted the railing on the thought. He landed on the
wharf, his gaze locked on her.
He came up from his crouch with considerable momentum,
cleaving his way bodily through the crowd. He came up with
her just in time to grab her and haul her away from the
blade a cultist thrust at her.
Her gasp was drowned beneath a cacophony of sound -
exclamations, shrieks, shouts. Others had seen the menacing
sword, but even as the crowd turned and garrulously
searched, the cultists melted away. Taller than most, Gareth
saw them pull back. Over the heads, one cultist - an older,
black-bearded man - met his eye. Even across the distance,
Gareth felt the malevolence in the man's gaze. Then the man
turned and was swallowed by the crowd.
Mooktu appeared by Gareth's shoulder. "Should we follow?"
Bister was already further afield, scouting.
Gareth's instincts screamed follow, to pursue and deal
appropriately with any cultist he could find. But...he
glanced down at the woman he still held, his hands locked
about her upper arms.
Her parasol now askew, he looked down into wide, moss-hazel
eyes. Into a face that was as perfect as he recalled, but
pale. She was stunned.
At least she wasn't screaming.
"No." He glanced at Mooktu. "We have to get away from here -
off the docks - quickly."
Mooktu nodded. "I'll get the others."
He was gone on the word, leaving Gareth to set Miss Ensworth
back on her feet.
Gently, as if she were porcelain and might shatter at any
instant.
"Are you all right?"
As the warmth - the heat - of his hard hands fell from her,
Emily managed to blink. "Y-yes." This must be what shock
felt like.
Indeed, she was amazed she hadn't swooned. He'd seized her,
dragged her from danger, then held her close, effectively
plastered to the side of his body. His brick-wall hard,
excessively warm - not to say hot - body.
She didn't think she'd ever be the same.
"Ah..." Where was a fan when one needed one? She glanced
around, and noise suddenly assaulted her ears. Everyone was
talking, in several different languages.
Hamilton hadn't moved. He stood like a rock amid the sea of
surging humanity. She wasn't too proud to shelter in his lee.
She finally located Mullins - her grizzly ex-soldier guard -
as he came stumping back through the crowd. Just before the
attack, a wave of bodies had pushed him ahead and separated
them - then her attacker had stepped between her and Watson,
her courier-guide, who'd been following on her heels.
Her people were armed, but having lost her assailant in the
melee, they gradually returned. Mullins recognized Hamilton
as a solider even though he wasn't in uniform, and raised a
hand in an abbreviated salute. "Thanking you, sir - don't
know what we'd've done without you."
Emily noted the way Hamilton's lips tightened. She was
grateful he didn't state the obvious - if not for his
intervention, she'd be dead.
The rest of her party gathered. Without prompting, she
quickly put names and roles to their worried faces -
Mullins, Watson, Jimmy, Watson's young nephew, and Dorcas,
her very English maid.
Hamilton acknowledged the information with a nod, then
looked from her to Watson. "Where were you planning to stay?"
* * *
Hamilton and his people - a batman, in his mid-twenties but
with experience etched in his face, and a fierce Pashtun
warrior and his equally fierce wife - escorted her party off
the docks, then, with their combined luggage in a wooden
cart, continued through the streets of Aden to the edge of
the diplomatic quarter, and the quietly fashionable hotel
her uncle had recommended.
Hamilton halted in the street outside, studied the building,
then simply said, "No." He glanced at her, then past her to
Mullins. "You can't stay there. There're too many entrances."
Stunned anew - and she still hadn't managed to marshal her
senses enough to think through the implications of the
cultists' attack - she looked at Mullins to discover him
nodding his grizzled head.
"You're right," Mullins allowed. "Death trap, that is." He
glanced at her and added, "In the circumstances."
Before she could argue, Hamilton smoothly continued, "For
the moment, at least, I'm afraid our parties will need to
stay together."
She looked at him.
He caught her eye. "We need to find somewhere a lot
less...obvious."