Stephanie Laurens
The Untamed Bride
The first book in the Black Cobra Quartet series, 2009
Prelude to The Black Cobra Quartet
The five officers at ease in the elegant rattan armchairs arranged before the massive mahogany expanse in the Governor-General’s study sat silent and still; Hastings’s passage was the only movement stirring the heavy, humid air.
The old man’s color was high, his fists clenched, the muscles in his shoulders and arms taut. Colonel Derek Delborough, Del to all who knew him, seated at one end of the row of chairs, eyed the signs of his commander-in- chief’s agitation with cynical detachment. It had taken Hastings long enough to summon him and his men, Hastings’s personally appointed special officers.
Behind Hastings, the white plaster wall was broken by two teak-framed windows shaded by the wide balcony beyond yet already shuttered against the burgeoning heat. Hanging between, a portrait of the king, painted when he’d still been Prince Florizel and the darling of Europe, stared out over this outpost of English wealth and influence. The room was amply endowed with rosewood tables and teak cabinets, many intricately carved and inlaid, glowing in the light that seeped through the shutters to glint off myriad ornate brass fittings.
Airy, spotlessly clean, richly and exotically appointed, the room possessed a timeless serenity underlying its utilitarian function, much like the subcontinent itself, a large portion over which Hastings now ruled.
Immune to any soothing ambience, Hastings continued to pace heavily. “These depredations on our convoys
“I understand”-Del’s own drawl was the epitome of unruffled calm, a sharp contrast to Hastings’s terse tones-“that the Black Cobra’s activities have been escalating for some time.”
“Yes, damn it! And the Bombay station didn’t think it worthwhile reporting, let alone
The four men seated to Del’s right glanced his way. At his nod, they reached out and took one of the documents each; sitting back, they perused the reports.
“I’ve heard,” Del went on, reclaiming Hastings’s attention, “that the cult of the Black Cobra first reared its head in ’19. Does it have any previous history, or was that its inception?”
“That was the first inkling we had, and the locals in Bombay hadn’t heard of it before then. No saying it hadn’t been lurking in some backwater somewhere-God knows there’s enough of these secretive native cults-but there’s no reports, even from the older maharajahs, of its existence prior to mid-’19.”
“A
“Indeed, and it’s him you’ll need to eliminate. Either that, or do enough damage to his forces”-Hastings flung a hand at the documents the other four were reading-“the rabble he uses to murder, rape and pillage, to make him scurry back under whatever rock he slithered out from.”
“‘Murder, rape and pillage’ hardly does the Black Cobra justice.” Major Gareth Hamilton, one of the four officers who served under Del, glanced up, his brown gaze pinning Hastings. “This reads more like deliberate terrorization of villages, which suggests an attempt to subjugate. For a cult, that’s ambitious-an attempt to seize power beyond the usual bleeding of money and goods.”
“Establishing a yoke of fear.” Captain Rafe Carstairs, seated three seats along from Del, joined Gareth in tossing the report he’d read back on the desk. Rafe’s aristocratic features showed evidence of distaste, even disgust, which told Del that the contents of the report Rafe had read were truly dreadful.
All five of them seated before Hastings’s desk had seen human carnage unimaginable to most; as a group they’d served through the Peninsula campaign in the cavalry under Paget, then been in the thick of the action at Waterloo, and had subsequently taken commissions with the Honorable East India Company to serve under Hastings as an elite group of officers deployed specifically to deal with the worst uprisings and instabilities the subcontinent had thrown up over the past seven years.
Seated between Gareth and Rafe, Major Logan Monteith’s lip curled as, with a flick of his tanned wrist, he sent the report he’d read skating to join the others on the desk. “This Black Cobra makes Kali and her
Beyond Rafe, the last and youngest of their five, Captain James MacFarlane, still faintly baby-faced even though he was twenty-nine, leaned forward and carefully laid the document he’d perused with the others. “Has Bombay no clue as to who’s behind this? No trail-no associates, no area in which the Cobra has its headquarters?”
“After more than five months of active searching, Bombay has precisely nothing beyond a
Rafe snorted. “Any fool could have predicted that. Ever since we slapped them down in ’18, they’ve been spoiling for a fight-
“Exactly.” Hastings’s tone was acid, biting. “As you know, Ensworth is now governor in Bombay. He’s performing well in all other respects, but he’s all diplomat, no military man, and he freely admits that when it comes to the Black Cobra he’s in over his head.” Hastings’s gaze raked them, coming to rest on Del. “Which is where you gentlemen come in.”
“I take it,” Del said, “that Ensworth isn’t going to get his nose out of joint when we ride into his patch.”
“On the contrary-he’ll welcome you with open arms. He’s at his wits’ end trying to reassure the merchants while simultaneously balancing the books for London-not easy when every fifth convoy is plundered.” Hastings paused, and for a moment the strain of managing the far-flung empire India had become showed in his face. Then his jaw firmed, and he met their gazes. “I can’t overstate the importance of this mission. The Black Cobra
“No argument there.” Rafe came out of his characteristic lounge and rose to his feet as Del and the others did.
Hastings let his gaze travel over them as they ranged shoulder-to-shoulder before his desk, a solid wall of red in their uniforms. They were all over six feet tall, ex-Guardsmen all, hardened by long years of battle and command.
