"We should reach it by day after tomorrow. We're averaging over two miles a day. We'd be doing even better than that if we didn't have to do some additional clearing on each side of the road."
"But you've chosen to angle around the crossing."
"Another three days." She moved toward the table and tapped a spot on the map. "Here. We'll have passed the crossing two days before the deadline specified by the contract."
"Perhaps." He smiled. "And perhaps not. Cinnidar has been kind to you so far, but you mustn't count on your good luck lasting."
"It will last."
"No trouble with the elephants?"
"We haven't seen one elephant since we started through the jungle. Dilam doesn't expect any trouble. She says elephants are creatures of habit and by circumventing the crossing we'll avoid a direct confrontation."
"They're closer than they were three months ago when we passed here. I heard them as I rode into camp."
"We always hear them. It doesn't mean anything. According to Dilam, they're constantly talking to each other."
"I was watching Li Sung and Dilam working together as I came into the encampment. They seem to be getting along much better. No problems there?"
"Li Sung has no problems with Dilam as long as she—"
"Doesn't try nesting with him?" Ruel's brow arched inquiringly. "I take it she's given up her aim in that direction?"
She shrugged. "Who knows? She doesn't talk about it, and Li Sung realizes how important this railroad is to both of us. We've all been too busy to worry about anything but getting the work done." She stared directly into his eyes. "Which is what I have to do now."
"Ybu always run away when I come to see you."
"I have work to do. I have no time to talk."
"I also have work to do, but I make time for you." His voice was almost caressing, but the words held a subtle menace. "I'll always make time for you, Jane."
Always. The foreboding word sent a smothering sense of relentless inevitability through her. He would never give up, never leave her until he was satisfied she had suffered enough. God, she was weary of it all. "Are we through here? I have to get back to work."
"Aye, I've found out what I needed to know." He turned away. "I'm going to the refinery in the village and then pay a visit to the palace to see how Ian is faring. I'll be back in five days."
"Don't bother. I won't have time to give you a report. In five days we'll be past the crossing and forging toward the canyon wall."
"Oh, it's no bother." He smiled over his shoulder. "Do you know, part of me actually wants you to meet that deadline. You've done a fine job and I admire good work."
She stared at him, too surprised to speak. Why could he not remain hard and mocking all the time? Just when she had her defenses raised against him he would change, soften, remind her of that other Ruel she had known in Kasanpore. She could feel her defiance draining away as she looked at him. Leave, she prayed silently, go away. He was like her sickness, the fever draining her of strength.
"Since I'm clearly dismissed, I'll do as you so kindly suggest." He turned away. "Good-bye, Jane. Five days."
She stared blindly down at the map after he left. Five days. There was no reason to be nervous. She had fought this fever before and won. The work was going extraordinarily well. The Cinnidans labored quickly and cheerfully and they had not encountered any insurmountable obstacles. What could possibly happen to hinder her from reaching her goal on time?
. . .
Ian leaned back on his pillows, his breath coming in little pants, an expression of unutterable pleasure on his face. "Margaret . . ."
She moved off him and nestled close, her fair hair splaying over his naked shoulder. "I'm surprised you can still speak. I must have not performed well."
"Wonderful . . . You're always wonderful." His hand gently stroked her hair. "Did I give you pleasure?"
"Yes." As usual, the lie stuck in her throat, but Kartauk had told her it was important a man be made to feel powerful and dominant after the act. She kissed his shoulder. "You always please me."
"I don't know how. I lie here like a lump while you do—"
"Haven't you noticed? I'm a very willful woman. I enjoy guiding the course." She raised herself on one elbow to smile teasingly down at him. "Who knows? Considering my nature, you might not have been able to give me half this pleasure if I were forced to only submit meekly."
"You meek?" His finger traced her lips. "Never."
"I certainly hope not." She resumed her former place beside him. "Again?"
He laughed in delight. "Do you think me such a stallion?"
"Of course. Why do you think I made you wed me? I suspected the son of the laird would have the same lustful vigor as his father." She nestled her cheek against his arm. "But I suppose I must let you rest awhile." She could already detect the lethargy signaling exhaustion and knew he'd be asleep in a few minutes. "You're much stronger since you came here. Cinnidar has been good for you."
"Has it?" he asked wistfully. "Then perhaps I can go home soon."
"Not yet." He was not really better. His cough was almost gone, but he was still losing weight and she had the panicky feeling he was drifting away from her.
"Soon? Glenclaren needs me."
"I read you the letter from the vicar. Everything is going splendidly."
She felt the sigh that rippled through his body and knew at once she had said the wrong thing. It was so difficult to strike the balance, she thought in frustration.
"You're right, I'm lying to myself. I'm not needed. Not by you and certainly not by Glenclaren."
"Don't talk foolishness," she said. "We both need you. We'll always need you."
He shook his head.
She could feel the tears sting her eyes, but she must not let them fall. He did not need weakness but strength from her. But, dear heaven, she was weary of fighting this battle. "Do you doubt I love you?"
"No, but love is not need. I give you only pain. If I weren't here, you'd find a strong, whole man who could give you joy . . . and children."
Children. It always came back to that. She made her tone light. "Who knows? You may have given me a babe tonight." He didn't answer and she felt a spurt of panic. Always before she had been able to inject a tiny hope, but even that was fading in him. "It could have happened," she said desperately. What difference did another lie make if it kept him with her? "You're stronger now and you've been—"
"Shh . . ." His lips brushed her temple. "My dear love, my bonnie love. I'm so tired. Won't you let me go?"
Her hand tightened on his arm. Did hearts truly break? She had always thought the phrase foolish, but she felt something breaking, rending inside. "I cannot."
"I believe I would be happier. You want me to be happy."
"So much," she whispered. "You know . . ." She couldn't go on.
"Are you weeping, Margaret? You see, I do hurt you even when I don't mean to."
"I'm not weeping."
"Because you won't let yourself. You will not let me see you weep."
"Why should I wail? I have the man I have loved all my life, who brings me pleasure and who—"
"You never give up, do you? Sweet Margaret . . ."