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‘Take Pavan.’ He tossed her the reins when he got back to her. ‘Walk slowly towards that bush.’
Puzzled, but obedient, her heart thudding uncomfortably high in her throat, Anusha did as she was told. Behind her Nick walked backwards, sweeping a branch over their tracks. She realised as she reached the bush that it was on a very slight swell in the ground, but even so, it was too thin and too low to hide a donkey behind, let alone two horses.
‘Are you going to shoot the horses?’ She slid to the ground as he backed behind the thorn bush next to her.
‘No need.’ He removed both saddles, then whistled, two clear notes, and the horses folded their legs, sank to the ground and rolled on to their sides, necks stretched out. ‘Get down.’
Anusha lay behind the swell of Pavan’s belly as Nick spread the dun-coloured blankets over both animals, then propped the two muskets up on Rajat’s flank and began to check over his hand guns. He laid everything out in order—ammunition, guns, sabre—loosened the knife in his boot and then glanced across at her. ‘Army horses, both of them,’ he explained, then glanced down at her hand. ‘What the devil have you got there?’
‘A knife, of course.’ She would keep the one in her boot hidden until it was absolutely necessary and she had to kill someone. Or herself. A dark excitement was surging through her, as strong as the fear. She wanted to hurt the people who were attacking Kalatwah, her family, her kingdom. For the first time she understood what had taken those warriors out to fight to certain death, understood the spirit of the women who had gone to the flames rather than face slavery and shame.
‘You are not going to need it.’
‘But there will be a fight, a battle.’ She could hear them coming now, the faint drum of hoofbeats. The maharaja’s men had picked up their tracks.
‘Not unless I have made a mistake.’ Nick was rubbing handfuls of dust over the musket barrels to mask their shine. ‘They should ride past, find the bay, conclude it was a ruse to send them off the road.’
‘But we must kill them!’
‘Bloodthirsty little wild cat,’ Nick said, low-voiced. She sensed amusement in him. He had a strange sense of humour if he found this funny. ‘If they do not come back, then the maharaja knows they have found us and will send more men. If they go back without seeing us, he will conclude we have gone another way.’
‘Oh. Strategy.’
‘Tactics, to be exact. Now, be quiet.’
There were eight riders. They passed at the gallop, vanished. Anusha released her pent-up breath and slid a little closer to Nick.
Time stretched on. Her left leg was becoming numb. ‘They have gone.’
‘Wait.’
As Nick spoke she heard them returning more slowly, scanning the ground as they came, the bay on a leading rein. They rode past, then the only sound was the buzz of insects, the rumbling of Rajat’s stomach under her ear, the mew of a hawk high overhead.
‘Stay here.’ Nick began to ease away. ‘You can let go of my coat.’
‘Oh!’ Anusha’s fingers cramped as she released her death-grip. ‘I didn’t realise I was holding it.’ But Nick was already moving, a musket in each hand, pistol in his sash, keeping low over the ground as he dodged from bush to bush.
It was like trying to see a ghost—if she took her eyes from him he would vanish. She blinked and he was gone into the long grass. Even behind the bulk of the horses she felt incredibly exposed, utterly alone. She had not realised what a large emotional space he filled. An infuriating, man-shaped, protective space.
What would she do if she heard shooting? Anusha studied the weapons he had left behind. One musket, one pistol, the bag that contained the ammunition, his sabre. Now was not the time to learn how to reload, but she could take it all to him. She worked out the best way to carry the weapons, wondering if the horses would obey her and get to their feet.
A hand closed around her ankle.
Anusha twisted, her knife in her hand, her other lashing out, fingers bent, nails raking down.
Nick laughed and rolled to one side, releasing her foot. It was the laugh that made her temper snap, that and the long-held tension. Anusha dropped the knife and launched herself at him, intent on hurting his male pride, if nothing else.
The next moment she was flat on her back with her hands pinned above her head and the weight of one very large man on top of her. And he was still laughing. ‘Wild cat. I was right.’
‘You—’ Words, and breath, failed her. ‘Get off me.’
