Mahindar turned back to his pots of spices, reflecting mournfully that his supplies were too low. He’d become acquainted in London with another Punjabi who knew where to find the best Indian spices in the city. Mahindar had started sending the man money and a list of needs, and the man sent back, by special delivery, lovely jars of turmeric and saffron, the mixture called masala, and peppers that Mahindar could not find in the English or Scottish markets. He would have to write another letter to his friend and post it soon.
As always when Mahindar thought of what had happened to the sahib, and the enmity between Sahib McBride and Sahib Stacy, he felt remorse. He might have prevented the fight, might have prevented the journey into the wild lands during which the sahib had been stolen.
Mahindar had searched and searched after the sahib had disappeared, but hadn’t been able to find him. He’d searched every day. Those long months had been the worst time of Mahindar’s life.
“Not your fault,” Channan repeated.
Hamish, not understanding a word of what they said, swept the floor in a rush of energy, as he did everything else. “So Nandita doesn’t have any children?” the lad asked.
“No,” Mahindar answered, switching to English. “She was married very young—fifteen or sixteen she was, but her husband was a soldier. He was arrested and killed, sadly.”
“What had he done?” Hamish asked, the broom slowing.
“Nothing at all,” Mahindar said. “He saw someone else doing something they shouldn’t, so they came for him one night and pretended to arrest him for treason. They shot him like a dog.” He shook his head. “Poor little Nandita.”
“That’s terrible.” The broom stopped altogether, and Hamish leaned on it, his red brows drawn. “Is that why she was hiding in the boiler room?”
“She is afraid of soldiers and guns. They mean grief to her.”
“Poor thing.” Hamish’s sympathy glowed from him. “Does she speak any English?”
“She knows a few words only.”
“Well, I’ll just have to teach her then.” Hamish looked down at the broom, realized it was at a standstill, and began sweeping vigorously again.
Mahindar noticed Hamish hadn’t offered to teach Channan or Komal English. He went back to his spices, smiling to himself, feeling a little better.
Dinner was slightly delayed because when Elliot and Priti returned, they were covered from head to foot in black mud.
“What on earth happened to you?” Juliana asked, coming into the flagstone passage to discover the source of the delay.
She found Priti in the laundry room, standing inside the huge metal sink, Channan pumping water over her and scrubbing her with a large sponge. Elliot, stripped to the waist, was standing at a smaller sink, with Mahindar scrubbing just as hard.
“Riverbank,” Elliot said, spluttering as Mahindar squeezed a giant sponge full of water over Elliot’s head. “I slipped in, and Priti fell in trying to rescue me. The bank we climbed out onto was this color.” He pointed to the tar-like mud on his kilt.
Juliana fought back the urge to laugh, and at the same time she didn’t know what to say to him. Elliot seemed relaxed, happy about his escapade with Priti and the comic way they looked.
Mahindar kept slopping the sponge, which was at least two feet wide, all over Elliot’s body. Elliot gleamed, wet, his arms glistening with water that pattered to the floor, the tattoo stark on his skin.
He grabbed the sponge from Mahindar. “Enough. Get Priti upstairs and dry.”
Mahindar relinquished the sponge with a sigh, as though realizing the limit to which Elliot would put up with his ministrations. Elliot scrubbed himself over, sloshing water onto his face and torso.
His kilt was drenched, and so were his bare legs, his boots left outside the back door. He snatched up a towel and rubbed his hair vigorously as he started out of the laundry room.
Juliana flattened herself against the wall in the passage between laundry room and kitchen as Elliot strode out, wearing only his kilt. He halted when he saw her, and he stepped close to her, his gray eyes glittering in the dim light of the hall.
Despite the toweling, Elliot was still wet, water beading on his lashes and dripping from the ends of his short hair. He said nothing, only leaned closer, closer. Now Juliana’s bodice was wet, the front of her skirt smudged with mud from his kilt.
His breath heated her lips, and his hands, one still holding the towel, went to either side of her. His gaze swept downward, then he skimmed his lips from her forehead to her chin.
The light touches sent warm shudders through Juliana’s body, heat curling in her belly. She wanted to latch on to him and pull him close, despite her still-spinning thoughts, and rise to him for more of his kisses.
“Did you have a nice walk?” she babbled. “You and Priti? Besides falling into the river, I mean?”
Elliot didn’t answer. He skimmed kisses down her face once more then came to her lips, parting them with his. Juliana’s head went back to the wall, and Elliot slanted his mouth over hers, his heat and his body covering her.
He licked slowly into her mouth, coaxing her tongue over his in return. She tasted the water on his lips, the salt of his sweat, the excitement of him. The length of his hardness, firm through the wool of his kilt, unashamedly pressed her skirts.
Elliot eased the kiss to its close then touched his lips to the corner of her mouth and the tiny dimple there. Still saying nothing, he straightened up, hooked the towel around his neck, and walked away.
Juliana’s heart pounded, the heat between her legs incandescent. She clutched the wall, the only thing supporting her, while she watched his kilt swing against his bare legs as he strode back through the passage to the main house.
Juliana was still standing there when Channan came to her with a stiff brush, to clean the water and mud from the front of her frock.
Elliot came downstairs again fifteen minutes later, dry and fit, feeling better than he had in a long while. He’d put on one of his formal kilts and a jacket, and had jerked a comb through his damp hair.
Juliana emerged from a room below, every sleek hair in place, her gown none the worse for wear after his impromptu kiss. Stopping to taste her while she’d stood against the wall in the kitchen passage had been impossible to resist.
Elliot reached the bottom of the staircase and held his hand out to her. Juliana looked a bit strained about the eyes as she took it, her face too pale.
Next time Elliot went for a walk, he’d take her with him. Juliana would love the beauty here, and there was so much of it to show her. And if he had to struggle up a riverbank again, he couldn’t think of more enjoyment than getting muddy with her.