"Gratitude?" Ianlooked startled, and then a slow smile lit his craggy, homely features."Careful, Ruel, gratitude is one of the softer emotions. Therein lies thepath to virtue."
"I'm in no danger."Ruel's stare returned to the statue. Something about it was making him uneasy.No, it wasn't the statue itself, he realized, but its place of prominence inthis chamber of the palace, a position that indicated its importance to the manwho possessed it. He said impulsively, "You've done your part. I canhandle the matter now. Why don't you go back to the hotel and wait forme?"
"You may need me."
"Look, I've been battingaround this part of the world for a hell of a lot longer than you have. I knowhow—"
"We'll see."
"I promise I won't letAbdar feed me to the crocodiles, dammit."
Ian didn't answer.
"All right, stay, but letme do the talking. I have an idea Abdar and I will have no problemunderstanding each other."
"I'm the elder. It's onlyfitting I put through the request."
Dear God, he actually meantit, Ruel realized. Ian didn't realize those seven years meant nothing. Ian'slife at Glenclaren had plodded steadily on its tranquil course while his ownhad whirled as if caught up in a monsoon.
"God forbid you doanything that isn't fitting." He reached out and followed the dagger withhis index finger. "And me from doing anything that is. Have it your ownway. It was just a fleeting thought."
"A kind, protectivethought." Ian's stern expression softened. "Another step."
"It wasn't a prot—"Ruel threw back his head and laughed. "Dear God, you'll not to besatisfied until you have me wearing a halo. How many times do I have to tellyou that I'm not—"
"Good afternoon,gentlemen. I see you're admiring my statue. Is she not a thing of beauty?"
Ian and Ruel turned to see anIndian dressed in a knee-length dark blue silk jacket, white silk trousers, andwhite turban. Tall, slim, graceful, the man moved lithely across the mosaicfloor toward them. "I am very proud of my goddess. She is very dear tome." He stopped before them. "I am Abdar Savitsar."
The prince's face was plump,unlined, almost boyish, but his large dark eyes gave a curious impression offlat blankness, like an onyx that has never been faceted.
"Your Highness." Ianbowed slightly. "It is very kind of you to receive us. I am Ian MacClaren,Earl of Glenclaren, and this is my brother, Ruel."
"English?"
"Scottish."
Abdar waved a casual hand."It is all the same."
"Not to a Scotsman,"Ruel murmured blandly.
Abdar turned to face him andRuel stiffened with sudden wariness. In spite of the childishness of that face,he felt the same uneasiness as when he had regarded the statue.
After studying Ruel for amoment, the prince returned his gaze to Ian. "You do not look likebrothers. I see no resemblance."
"We are only halfbrothers," Ian said.
Abdar's glance dropped toRuel's hand resting on the golden dagger of the statue. "You should nottouch her. For a foreigner to touch the goddess is sacrilege."
Ruel's hand fell away from thestatue. "My apologies. The texture of gold begs to be touched, and I'vealways found the temptation irresistible."
Abdar's gaze suddenly narrowedon Ruel. "You have a fondness for gold?"
"It's more of apassion."
Abdar nodded. "Then wehave found a meeting ground. I, too, have such a passion." He moved acrossthe room and seated himself on the turquoise cushions of a finely carvedpeacock chair. "Colonel Pickering told my secretary you wish to ask a boonof me. I have little time. State your request."
"We wish an audience withyour father, the maharajah," Ian said. "We've been in Kasanpore overtwo weeks trying to secure a meeting with him."
