The moon floated high. From her bare bed she could see every object clearly in the room. The window was wide open, but no air came to her. She was feeling sore and uneasy lying there. She couldn’t sleep. Her mind dwelt on her brother and what he had said, and she sweated with fury. Then she rested on her elbow, chewing her underlip and thought of Kirmira and how he had failed her.

Sitting up impatiently, she glanced at the moon outside. It must have been past midnight. Her orders were to scour for the new trespassers in the jungle. And kill them. She grimaced as she straightened up and swung her long legs to the ground. Her mind churned, restless and frustrated. She needed some fresh air and a brisk walk.

She walked into the shadowed woods, a rough shawl draped over her shoulders, aware that two stout soldiers were eyeing her, taking in her lissom figure. Their eyes approved, but by now, she was used to approving male stares. Approval no longer interested her; she needed more. She needed action, a person who would act upon his intentions.

Her long strides took her almost to the fringe of the forest. The trees thinned out to gently slope down towards the closest village. Sweat running down her face, Hidimbi knew all she had to do was quicken her pace into a run and dash to escape.

But she couldn’t run. It wasn’t just that Hidimb was sure to find her. She could not run away like a coward. She glanced up at the rustling trees, which were whispering to her to stay back. She loved them too much to give up on them. For their sake, for the sake of her people, she had to remain and fight it out.

A sudden movement caught her alert eye. She moved quickly, silently padding up the mud path, pausing on the top slope for a glimpse, smelling danger in the night air. She didn’t like it. It came hot and close to her. She thought maybe a storm would start up. Or it was the presence of unwelcome humans here. Her mind raced back to Hidimb’s mention of five youths and an old woman and how she was supposed to kill them on sight.

She peered gingerly through the leaves. She spotted them immediately with the moonbeam falling full on five sleeping forms against the recess of a broken cave, but watching over them was a bulky figure and from his stance, she could gather he was well prepared for any attack. The hulking silhouette at last came out of the shadows as the moon moved, looking straight at her. She started, retreating quickly into the night, her gaze shifting rapidly to the looming shadow of the tall man standing across the way, apparently regarding her. The two black dots of his eyes seem to bore into her brain, her heart halting, her breath stuck in her throat.

She stood motionless in the moonlit semi-darkness observing him, as he moved gracefully, lithe and light for his massiveness. He was utterly magnificent, she thought, her eyes widening in awe, aware that her blood was racing, her heart was thumping and aware that she had never seen a man she wanted so badly as this one. There was a virility like a hot juice oozing from him. He was surprisingly very young, his dark hair fell in thick waves on his broad, muscled shoulders. The sight of him kindled a spark inside her that had been waiting to be ignited ever since she had become a woman; till now, no man had succeeded in setting it off.

Maybe he had an instinctive feeling that he was being watched for he suddenly stepped back, out of her sight. She peeped out, searching for him.

“Who’s there?” he called out in the still air.

His thick, gravelly voice was soft but deliciously prickled her skin.

He was crouched forward like a leaping panther, sleek and ready to spring. Through the shadows, she looked more closely at him as he drew near, the scent of his bare body stronger with every step. Again, she felt a strong, hot, sudden desire stab through her, taking her by surprise as he approached her. Now poised just a breath away, she saw he was incredibly tall – massively set together, big-boned with long arms and legs and a magnificent breadth of chest: all vigorously masculine. Even the huge bare feet gave her by their very size a thrill of pleasure; their dimensions suggested a certain firmness of character, a masterfulness, which was intensely stirring. She peered up, quickly scanning him: he was fair, with blunt features – a square-shaped face, large, widely spaced eyes and a short nose. His eyes were large and brown, but the brown was very pale, and looked rather tired already. His mouth, notwithstanding its thin lips, was well-shaped over a broad, clenched jawline, revealing character.

She caught her breath, pressing her hands to her face. It felt as if her whole future life was in the hands of this man. She stepped back in the shadows. What was she thinking of? she asked herself. He was a stranger. She was angry with herself at feeling so sexually moved.

She retreated softly, turning down the path and concealing herself behind a thick tree. She would not allow herself to peer out, she thought as she stilled her body. With unsteady fingers, she grasped the hilt of her dagger. Would she need it? Or rather, did she have it in her to kill him? She spent a disciplined minute, ruminating, determined to be sure. If he was still waiting, then she would have to come out and speak to him. She suddenly found herself muttering a prayer that he would be waiting.

She began to move away, making an effort not to look around to see if he was following her. Why should he? Or would he, thinking her to be a danger to him? She paused, holding her breath. She heard a movement and turned around in time to see he had followed her.

“Come out, I can see you!” he warned, his voice tight as it once again rolled over her, sending delectable ripples over her body.

She stepped out, hesitantly, out of the cool moonlight, moving lightly and with easy grace.

The man blinked. She was the loveliest thing he had ever seen in his life. She was unbelievably tall, young and fresh-looking, high-breasted and long-legged, with hips that had curves and just the right weight. Everything about her was exciting, from her thick, long, glossy hair, the quality of spun silk, to her shapely bare feet, and she had attracted his unwitting attention with the force of an inferno of a forest fire. She looked up at him and all seemed to go hazy. He blinked again. Her eyes were the colour of the verdant trees around them and they slanted upward giving her an enigmatic air.

They were alone in the semi-darkness, close to each other, and he had to check a strong impulse to take her in his arms. This impulse both annoyed and startled him, and he was frankly aghast at his reaction.

Excerpted with permission from from Bhima’s Wife, Kavita Kané, Penguin India.

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