Forever in Your Embrace (6 page)

The front hooves of the crazed horse struck earth briefly, hardly enough time for Synnovea to resettle herself before he took a bounding leap forward. Her heart matched the long, vaulting stride as she was nearly catapulted from the saddle. It was a terrifying, zigzagging flight through the same trees they had passed moments earlier. Though her pulse kept pace with startling jolts and frantic skips, Synnovea tried not to yield to the foolishness of panic. She knew she had to gain control of the stallion before she found herself the victim of her own unbridled hysteria, but it was nigh impossible to barricade herself against the cold, prickling fear that assailed her.

Leaning forward over the animal’s neck, Synnovea flowed with his movements in a concerted effort to allay his fright. She spoke in a forcefully subdued voice as she tried again to capture a flying rein, but the threat of falling inhibited her reach. Again and again she was forced to retreat to the security of the flying mane. Then, as she stretched out a hand once more in the same fearful quest, a low branch flipped the rein upward, projecting it within easy reach. Anxiously Synnovea swooped her hand around to catch it and, in sobbing relief, clutched the leather strap in her trembling grasp. Good fortune was with her, for hardly a moment later, she managed to capture the second rein in a similar fashion.

Success rallied Synnovea’s spirits. Grasping the lines securely, she claimed a small measure of control over the beast, at least enough to turn him onto the path that would lead them back to where the carriage had been halted. Even so, the stallion was reluctant to slow his stride, and though she could see the dark shadow of the conveyance through the ever-deepening gloom, Synnovea could not establish enough restraint on the headstrong animal to lend her assurance that she’d be able to halt him once they reached the area.

Captain Nikolai Nekrasov was sitting near the coach, having submitted himself to the well-practiced care of his sergeant, who was presently bandaging his arm. When the sound of thudding hoofbeats drew his attention toward the lane, he glanced around with a start, fully expecting to see one or more of the thieves returning for their plunder. Espying his charge approaching at an alarming speed, the officer jumped to his feet and shouted orders for his men to form a barrier across the road as he rushed forward to await the charging animal with arms spread wide.

The stallion proved to have a mind of his own. He came to a stiff-legged, jolting halt a short distance from the human trap and then, rearing, thrashed the air with his front hooves. It seemed his intent to continue his flight when he came down again, for his eyes flicked about in search of an avenue of escape, but as the sergeant jumped forward and seized the bridle, Captain Nekrasov whisked Synnovea from the saddle, ignoring the pain that shot through his injured arm as he swept her to safety. The stallion danced sideways in wild-eyed alarm, but the sergeant’s soothing voice and reassuring strokes soon quieted the animal until he finally acquiesced to the gentle hand.

Synnovea leaned in trembling relief against Captain Nekrasov as the strength ebbed from her shaking limbs. For a moment she yielded herself to the comforting embrace of the officer’s arm, hardly realizing the full extent of his admiration as his gaze dipped briefly into her torn bodice. Gradually the Russian officer released his constricted breath and regained control of his racing senses. The faint brush of his lips against her hair seemed accidental as he continued to lend her support, but when she caught the sound of Ali’s weak, plaintive plea, Synnovea gave him no further heed.

“Me lamb,” the servant mewled as the driver stopped bathing her brow long enough to lift her upright. “Come here an’ let me see for meself that no harm has come ta ye.”

Synnovea ran to her maid and submitted herself to the woman’s inspection while she made her own assessments of the elder’s condition. A massive black bruise now marred the wrinkled chin, and even in the meager light, Ali’s pallor was easily discernible.

The exertion proved too much for the tiny maid. Mewling a fretful moan, she collapsed into the supporting arms of the coachman, concluding the worst as she considered her mistress’s tattered condition. “Oh, me lamb! Me lamb! What did that foul beastie do ta ye?”

Synnovea soothed the elder’s fears as she sank to her knees beside her. “I’ve suffered a few minor scratches and bruises, Ali, nothing more, t
hank
s to the tsar’s officer who came to my rescue.”

Ali softly sobbed in relief. “T
hank
the blessed heavens ye’ve been spared. An’ t
hank
Cap’n Nekrasov for comin’ ta yer aid.”

Synnovea squeezed the small hand reassuringly. “It was another officer who saved me, Ali. He led his men in an attack against the brigands. We’re safe now.”

“If only I could’ve seen the event meself,” the maid murmured weakly. “I’d have enjoyed seein’ that big lummox gettin’ his comeuppance.” Barely had she said that than the aging eyelids sagged closed. Heaving a weary sigh, Ali drifted off.

Synnovea met the gaze of her gray-haired driver as she pushed herself to her feet. “You’d better carry Ali to the coach now, Stenka. She can rest there until we’re under way again.” In caring concern Synnovea continued to fret as she walked beside them. “Gently, now. Ali has had the worst of the fray.”

“Jozef and I will take care of her, mistress. Have no fear,” Stenka replied kindly and then coaxed, “You’d better see to yourself now, mistress, considering the bad fright you’ve had.”

“I will, Stenka,” Synnovea murmured and then noticed the bandage that had been wrapped around the footman’s head. Laying a hand upon his sleeve, she claimed his attention. “Your wound, Jozef—is it serious?”

Jozef shook his head and grinned. “No, my lady, but there’s a hole in my ear large enough to put a cork through.”

“Some lady will find that convenient,” Stenka remarked with a teasing twinkle in his eyes. “She’ll lead him about by the ear instead of the nose.”

Synnovea patted the footman’s arm in a conciliatory manner and managed a smile. “You’d better be wary, Jozef. In
Moscow
there are plenty of pretty maids who’ll take advantage and lead you astray.”

“I shall watch for them with great eagerness, my lady,” Jozef promised her with a chortle.

Satisfied that Ali was in capable hands, Synnovea lent her attention to their immediate departure. Nikolai’s men had suffered only minor wounds and were hurriedly repacking the carriage. The detachment of soldiers who had come to their rescue had given chase to the band of thieves, and no member of either force could now be seen. A short distance from the coach, the ground was littered with the dead, and from what she could ascertain in the swiftly gathering darkness, the highwaymen were the only ones who had suffered loss, for she could see no Russian uniform among the dead. Anxious to be gone before the raiders returned to reclaim their booty, Synnovea faced Captain Nekrasov with a query. “Shouldn’t we leave here before we’re attacked again?”

Nikolai Nekrasov was in full agreement and urged his men to double their efforts. “We must make haste to take the countess to a place of safety. Finish loading whatever is left and let us be off before we find ourselves once again beset by the brigands.”

Synnovea realized she hadn’t seen the cleric since her return and glanced around in some bewilderment. “But where is Ivan Voronsky?”

Captain Nekrasov raised his able arm to point toward a shadowed area beyond a clump of tall trees in the distance. Frowning in bemusement, Synnovea stared in the direction he indicated until a vague, pale blur became distinguishable as the leaf-shrouded form of a small, naked man. “They stole away his clothes, Countess, and every spare piece of clothing we had with us as well. We’ve nothing to share with him.”

Synnovea debated the alternatives. Ivan had been so critical of her European gowns, she didn’t think he’d accept such frivolous finery even out of necessity. Ruefully she advised, “ ’Twould seem there’s no choice but to search for clothing among the fallen.”

“I’ve already assigned that task to one of my men, my lady,” Nikolai informed her. “Though the selection may not meet with the cleric’s approval, there should be enough to clothe him.”

Synnovea silently demurred at the idea of undressing the dead and quickly excused herself. “I’ll wait in the coach with Ali.”

Though night quickly overtook them, Synnovea and her small party of attendants were soon on the road again. The pace was more cautious now as the moon cast ominous shadows far ahead of them. Each bend in the road was carefully approached. Still, the air was cooler and far better tolerated than the oppressive heat of the day.

Once again, Synnovea had to endure the presence of Ivan Voronsky, but this time he wasn’t at all inclined to argue after being so thoroughly humiliated. When he talked at all, he mumbled angry insinuations against Captain Nekrasov and his men, convinced that they had been motivated by spite to find the most obnoxious, most malodorous garments available. The outlandishly large breeches and leather doublet reeked of old sweat and garlic, a combination which made it imperative for the diligent application of a scented handkerchief.

Synnovea refrained from placating Ivan’s complaints, preferring instead to keep the filtering cloth in place so she wouldn’t have to tolerate the stench. She was also appreciative of the darkness that hid whatever gory stains bedecked the garb, for she preferred complete ignorance of the type of death wound the previous owner had suffered.

They were well on their way again before the realization dawned on Synnovea that she had made no effort to send out her escort in search of the officer who had ridden after her. The possibility that he was lying wounded or dead in the forest made her own lack of concern seem shamefully devoid of compassion, especially since he had risked his life to save her. In seeking her own security, she had dismissed any consideration for the safety and comfort of the officer. Utterly scandalized by her disregard for such a valiant soldier, she knew she’d find little relief from the fretting anxiety that now gnawed at her.

T
he golden moon nestled like a newborn babe within the cradling arms of towering pines, firs, and larches. Gradually the orb weaned itself from its earthly breast and began to climb upward in a wide arc across the night sky. Humbling a myriad of stars with its brilliance, the lustrous sphere condescendingly cast its light upon the earth, setting aglow the rustling leaves of the oaks and birches that lined the road through the village, creating scintillating flashes of light as soft breezes bestirred their branches.

Grayed wooden cottages, adorned with painted carvings and fretworked gables, were nestled close behind the trees. Small sheds, gathered like ragged skirts behind the humble dwellings, were joined together with board fences, providing a windbreak against the fierce winds which could savage the land in winter months.

The stately carriage, with its complement of unkempt guards, rumbled past the houses, drawing young and old alike to the windows. The grandeur of the coach and the frazzled appearance of its escort were noticeable even in the gloom. The small company of soldiers, some of whom were bruised and bloody, aroused speculations as to the likely cause, but no one was more aware of their shabby condition than Captain Nekrasov. At his command, the detachment rode through the town with a practiced cadence that lent some semblance of dignity otherwise lacking in the procession. The entourage passed a single-domed wooden church in stoic silence, yet when Stenka halted the conveyance in front of a sizable inn and a bathhouse was espied nearby, deep sighs of relief were heard from the grime-coated guards as they swung down from their mounts.

Captain Nekrasov entered the inn to make the necessary arrangements for his charge. His bandaged arm and bloody tunic drew curious stares, yet one did not casually delay an officer of the tsar single-mindedly intent upon his duties. Synnovea awaited the captain’s return in the privacy of her coach, unwilling to extend the innkeeper’s bemusement by the presence of two bruised and badly disheveled women.

Ivan Voronsky hastened off to beg for more appropriate garb from those in the church. As he skittered along the thoroughfare, he kept to the shadows and shielded his face against recognition, however remote the possibility of that occurrence.

The innkeeper was proud of his new bathhouse and boasted of its clever features as he directed his male guests around the facilities. The guided tour allowed Synnovea the privacy she needed to help Ali upstairs to their room. By now, the servant’s head was throbbing so painfully that even the slightest movement made her queasy. She had taken on a pallor that was sharply accentuated by the purplish swelling on her pointed chin. Synnovea gratefully accepted the tray of food that the innkeeper’s wife brought up to them, but Ali could endure only a few morsels. Solicitously Synnovea filled a basin for the tiny maid, helped her bathe and don a fresh nightgown. Finally, with an agonized groan, Ali sank onto the bed and drifted off to sleep, thoroughly spent.

Synnovea desired more than a mere token washing for herself and settled her mind on having nothing less than a thorough cleansing and a soothing soak for her own sorely bruised body. It became evident, however, that the soldiers had much the same notion in mind after depositing their gear upstairs. In passing her door they made as much noise as a stampeding herd of young colts, jostling and elbowing each other aside in a light-hearted endeavor to be among the first to reach the bathhouse. Listening to their cavorting descent, Synnovea had to wonder how they had managed to find so much energy after such a grueling day.