The man stepped deftly to the side and caught Hawksworth's wrist in a grip of iron, laughing out loud.
"Never try to kill a Rajput with his own katar, Captain Hawksworth. He knows its temperament too well."
Vasant Rao flipped back the ragged end of his turban.
"What the bloody hell. . . !"
"We've been waiting for you by Shirin's tent. It would appear your welcome here has run out." He glanced mockingly at Shirin. "So much for your famous Muslim hospitality."
"You know very well who's responsible." Her eyes snapped back at him.
"I can probably guess." Vasant Rao released Hawksworth's wrist and stared about the burning tent. "Are you ready to ride?"
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"This is hardly the spot for long explanations. The fact is I'm here tonight to lead some of our friends back to the camp of His Highness, the prince. And you, if you cared to join us." Vasant Rao signaled the men around him to move out through the doorway. The smoke was already growing dense. "I'm afraid your fire has made our departure that much more difficult. It wasn't a particularly good idea on your part. Now we have to ride quickly."
"What about all this?" Hawksworth looked about the burning tent. "I have to . . ."