Chapter 1

1

Cambay, Northern India, Summer 1844

C aptain David Cameron entered his bungalow after an afternoon of drilling his men under the brutal sun. With a sigh, he removed his hat so he could wipe his face with one of the small towels hanging on a rack by the door. "If the day was any hotter, my pith helmet would be melting off my head."

His friend, Captain Alan Roberts, who shared the bungalow, lay on a wicker chaise under the huge fan, its fabric-covered vanes slowly turning, powered by a servant stationed on the verandah outside. Eyes closed, he murmured, "I don't mind if I get sent to hell when I die. It can't possibly be hotter than this. By the way, you have a nice fat letter from home."

Pleased, David collected the letter from the tray that held correspondence and sank into a chair that was also under the fan. The letter was from his older brother Ian in Scotland. He accepted a cool glass of lemonade from the house servant with a murmur of thanks, then opened the letter.

Greetings from cool, rainy Scotland! By the time you receive this, it will be high summer in Cambay and only slightly cooler than the hinges of Hades. I think of summer in India whenever I feel inclined to complain of too much rain. Without rain, Scotland wouldn't be so green, after all!

A surge of memory swept away the heat and dust of the day, filling David's mind with mist and cool green dreams. The younger brother of a baron, David's father had become a diplomat so his children had spent years living in exotic desert kingdoms. But they'd been sent back to Britain for schooling and spent long holidays with their uncle, Lord Falkirk, on the eastern coast of Scotland.

All parts of the world held beauty, but Scotland had captured David's heart from his very first visit. His mother said he had a Celtic soul, and she was right. His vague plan for his future, if he didn't die in the meantime, had been to accumulate enough worldly goods to buy a home of his own in Scotland.

The dream had strengthened after his brother Ian unexpectedly inherited the Falkirk title, married, and left the Indian army to return to Scotland. David didn't want the title because that would mean his brother was dead, but he'd envied Ian's return to Scotland. He'd also envied Ian for finding a warm and wonderful wife.

A fierce, unexpected idea seared through David like a lightning bolt. He was almost thirty. Since he wanted Scotland and a family, why wait? He was too much a Scot to live extravagantly, so he'd used his savings to export Indian luxuries like jewels and silks to Britain. Reinvesting his profits over the years had gradually built a comfortable fortune. Enough to leave the army and return to Scotland if he wished.

The realization that he could achieve his dreams now was breathtaking. He began to make mental calculations. It would take some weeks to resign his commission and wind up his affairs here. How long before he could leave for Scotland?

When he came out to India, it had been on a sailing ship around the Cape of Good Hope and the six month journey had been considered a speedy passage. Steamships had changed that. He could take a paddler to Suez, overland to Alexandria, then another steamship to England and be home in two months or so.

A slow smile spread across his face. A rational man would ponder and weigh the pluses and minuses of leaving the army and returning home, but David was a Scot, which meant he was only rational some of the time. The biggest decisions of his life tended to be made in a heartbeat, and he hadn't regretted any of them. This felt right .

He moved to his desk and began a letter to Ian and Laura.

I've decided it's time to sell out and return to Scotland. Barring the unforeseen, I'll be home for Christmas. If you see a nice Scottish lassie you think might suit me, invite her to Falkirk for Hogmanay!

Home for the holidays….