Merline Lovelace (16 page)
Authors: Countess In Buckskin
The reluctant admission hardly qualified as a passionate, poetic declaration of devotion. Tatiana could only stare up at him, her emotions still raw and lacerated.
“Are you sure of this?”
“I’m sure.”
“Most
sure?”
sure?”
“Most sure.”
“But...? But what are we to do?”
“First, we do this.”
His mouth covered hers with the hunger that had been his constant companion since he’d ridden away from Fort Ross.
For a mindless instant, Tatiana gloried in the feel of his mouth and his hands and the muscled thighs bracketing hers. With everything in her, she wanted to fall back onto the bed and...
The bed!
Her marriage bed!
Gasping, she pushed him away. “Holy Father above, I cannot!”
She turned to the young man who stood frozen in place, the pistol still gripped in both hands. He looked stricken, as though a glorious dream had turned to ashes before his eyes. Remorse and shame flooded every corner of Tatiana’s being.
“Mikhail, I am sorry. I am so sorry.”
He turned agonized eyes to her, then to Josiah. Whatever he read in the American’s face caused his shoulders to slump. Carefully he laid the pistol on the massive dresser.
“I, too, Countess.”
Thoroughly wretched, Tatiana turned her back on Josiah and her heart. Her bare feet skimmed the wooden floorboards as she crossed to stand before the youth.
“You are my husband, Mikhail Pulkin. I said my vows to you, and I shall honor them. I...I forgot myself for a moment, for which I most abjectly beg your forgiveness. I shall not forget myself again. Ever. I swear it, by all I hold holy.”
He didn’t speak for several moments, and Tatiana had no words to ease the pain she saw in his face.
“Is that what you wish?” he asked at last, his voice low and raw. “Is that truly what you wish?”
“It’s what is right.”
Josiah scooped the counterpane off the floor and tossed it over her shoulders.
“It seems to me you’re both forgetting those woodpecker scalps. Come on, Countess. We’re going to settle this now.”
“Now?” Tatiana squeaked. “But I cannot! I have not the shoes, nor the...”
“Now!”
Bundling her up in his arms, he headed for the stairs.
Mikhail followed, his nightshirt flapping around his calves.
They stepped through the front door into the compound to find a full entourage descending on the warehouse.
The anxious sentry led the way, followed by Alexander Rotchev in nightcap and elaborately frogged dressing gown. Princess Helena paced at her husband’s heels, her hair hanging in a fat braid over one shoulder and her face fierce. Other residents in various states of undress poured from the fort’s buildings.
Josh strode to meet the vanguard, his mortified burden hissing imprecations at him with each step.
“You shall put me down, Josiah. Most immediately!”
“Not likely, sweetheart.”
“When this is done, I swear I shall skewer you with that knife of yours.”
“When this is done, you’ll have your hands too full to wrap them around a knife.”
“Pah!”
“Countess Karanova!” His face blank with astonishment, Baron Rotchev hurried forward. “Are you all right?”
“No. Yes. I know not!”
“But what occurs here?”
“Ask this rude and unmannered American.”
The baron was no fool. His gaze swung from Tatiana to Josh to Mikhail. In his kind way, he searched for the words to inform the American that he had returned to Fort Ross too late.
Princess Helena had shared too much of her friend’s pain to feel the least inclination toward kindness. Stepping forward, she pinned Josh with a cold, imperious stare.
“You will release Mikhail’s wife immediately.”
“I’m afraid you have it wrong, Princess Helena,” he replied. “Tatiana is my wife, not Pulkin’s. She was bought and paid for in the way of this land. I am reclaiming my property.”
A storm of Russian broke out all around him. The princess, the countess, the baron, and half the population of the fort seemed to have an opinion on the matter. Even Johann Sutter joined in.
“So, Lieutenant! I see now why you have the greatest of interest in the future of Fort Ross!”
Rotchev swung around, his face a study in surprise. “Johann! I did not see you. When did you arrive?”
The Swiss strolled forward. “I come with Lieutenant Jones. We have business to discuss, my friend. Important business. But first I think you must settle this matter of the bride.”
“Yes,” Princess Helena echoed. “We shall settle this matter of the bride. But we shall do so privately, if you please. Come!”
Josh followed in Helena’s wake, a thoroughly discomfited Tatiana in his arms. Rotchev, Sutter and Mikhail streamed after them.
His jaw tightened as they approached the manager’s house. He had a good idea that the next hour was going to test his mettle far more than any high mountain blizzard.
Josh had underestimated the matter by a considerable degree. Depositing his burden on the settee, he waited while the lanterns were lit and the fire fed. Then he gave an expurgated account of his detached status in the army of the United States, his orders from President Van Buren and his journey to Mexico.
He and Ambassador Kent had agreed that the details of any deal struck with Captain Sutter would remain an absolute secret until ratified by President Van Buren. All Josh could or would confirm was the American interest in purchasing Fort Ross and, if Russia would not deal with the Americans, their support for Sutter’s bid.
Stunned, the nightcapped Rotchev turned to the Swiss. “You wish to buy this property?”
“Ja,
I do!”
I do!”
“But where will you get the monies? All you own, you have invested in the lands you now hold.”
“I vill find what is necessary. Perhaps you vill accept some payment in trade, yes?”
“I can’t accept anything without authority from the tsar...and without approaching first the British and French, as I have been instructed. I am to leave next week for Vancouver.”
“Before you go we vill talk more, yes?”
“We will talk.”
Josh stepped forward. “As will we, sir.”
“Yes, yes, we will talk.”
Tatiana clutched the counterpane around her with both hands, her throat closing as she grasped the implications of what she had just heard.
For months she’d stubbornly clung to two separate hopes. That the man who now stood before her would return, and that the tsar would relent when proof of her father’s successful experiment reached him.
The first hope she’d given up two weeks ago. The second she still refused to abandon. Now the man who only moments ago had said he’d come to claim her had betrayed her hopes and cut her to her core.
“So,” she whispered, her throat aching. “You came to Fort Ross not as my escort, but as a spy.”
He didn’t try to deny it. “I couldn’t tell you. I wanted to, many times, but I was under orders.”
“Orders,” she echoed hollowly. “And when you knelt beside me in the orchard, helping to make the cuts in the trees, were you under orders then?”
“Tatiana...”
“When you lay with me, were you but following orders then?”
“Damn it, what happened between us had nothing to do with any trees or forts or orders. You know that as well as I do.”
“I know nothing, it seems.” She surged to her feet, her knuckles white where she clutched the coverlet. “No, that is not true. I know that I hate you for this.
Most
passionately.”
Most
passionately.”
She tried to sweep past him, but he moved to block her way.
“How you feel at this moment doesn’t change facts. I bought you from Cho-gam. You came to me willingly. My seed grows within your belly. You’re mine, Tatiana, you and the babe.”
Her lips pulled back. Hurt and betrayal darkened her eyes to near black. If she’d had his knife in her hand at that moment, Josh knew she would have gutted him without a second’s hesitation.
“I shall be damned to a thousand hells before I acknowledge your so grand and noble claim.”
“Is that so?”
“That is so.”
“And I’m damned if I’m letting you return to Russia to put yourself at the mercy of a man who stripped you of all you hold dear and forced you to watch your husband’s execution. Think about that before you deny my claim. Think who can best protect you and your child. Me, or a clerk dependent on the tsar’s whim for his very life.”
Chapter Sixteen
A
few hours after sunrise, Tatiana entered the chapel for the second time in less than a week to exchange vows of marriage.
few hours after sunrise, Tatiana entered the chapel for the second time in less than a week to exchange vows of marriage.
This time, no incense filled the air with fragrant clouds. The curly bearded shepherd didn’t chant the sacred verses, nor did her groom sweat nervously and tug at his neckcloth.
This groom stood tall and straight in a uniform she’d never seen before. It belonged to a brother officer, he’d informed her tersely when she’d emerged from Helena’s room, washed, brushed and dressed in an embroidered muslin day gown hastily retrieved from her quarters.
The dark blue uniform jacket stretched tight across her soon-to-be husband’s chest and shoulders. Ropes of gold braid draped the frogged and buttoned front. More braid decorated the collar and epaulets, and a red sash banded his waist. Clean shaven and square jawed, he looked so different from the Josiah Jones she knew that Tatiana’s sense of unreality deepened with every passing moment.
Did she really stand beside this stranger in front of solemn, unsmiling witnesses? Was that her voice pledging—yet again!—to hold to a husband and honor their marriage contract? Sweet Mother of God, would she really lie beside him this night in the bed she’d so recently shared with Mikhail?
She closed her eyes, swept by so many tumultuous emotions she knew not which to cling to. The rest of the brief ceremony passed in a haze, as did the wedding breakfast that followed.
For all that the feast had been prepared on such short notice, it left no one feeling hunger. Ale flowed freely. Crusty fish pies, pungent cheeses, platters mounded with sugared pastries and huge baskets of bread weighted the trestle tables. Alexander had even ordered the head cook to open a cask of precious sturgeon bellies and extract their roe from the preserving brine. He’d been saving the delicacy for a special occasion, he informed the assembled throng with a touch of dryness. This was as special as any he could recall.
The residents of Fort Ross took the countess’s change of husbands with the stoic acceptance of most Russians to the fate prescribed by God and the tsar, or in this case, the tsar’s representative, Baron Rotchev. No one questioned Alexander’s ruling that Tatiana’s marriage to Mikhail Pulkin was invalid due to the American’s prior claim to her person. Now they appeared as willing to celebrate her third set of nuptials as they had her second.
To Tatiana’s consternation, more than one woman came up during the noisy breakfast to whisper congratulations on her good fortune. This husband had already proved his virility, one said with a sideways glance at the groom, and looked most able to prove it many times over.
Even Helena eventually thawed. The truth be told, the princess had accepted the wisdom of this marriage long before Tatiana had. She knew well her uncle’s heavy hand, and had no more desire to let her friend feel its cruel weight again than did the American.
Any day, Helena expected a reply to the missive she’d sent notifying Nikolas of Tatiana’s return from the dead those long months ago. She had no idea what his reaction would be to the startling news, or to Tatiana’s heroic efforts to fulfill her father’s promise to increase the harvests at the fort. The princess hoped Nikolas would forgive the countess and restore her titles and wealth. She feared greatly that he would not. The American, Helena had concluded, was Tatiana’s only hope.
Seated on the groom’s right, she studied his profile from beneath her lashes. In his uniform, he looked as rigid and unyielding as any of her uncle’s hand-chosen Imperial Guards. And as ruthless. Could they bridge the chasm that now separated them, Tatiana and this so fierce American? Not only the distance caused by their harsh words of yesterday, but that spawned by their different beliefs and cultures? For her friend’s sake, she could only hope so.
From her own experience with Alexander, the night to come would aid greatly in bridging that chasm. Assuming, of course, that Tatiana intended to bed with her latest husband. If she did, she wouldn’t wish to do so in the same bed she’d shared with Mikhail.
Helena nibbled on a flaky pastry. Nothing in all her years at court had trained her for quite this situation. How did one delicately suggest to a groom where he and his bride should spend their wedding night? Setting aside the roll of sugared dough, she decided to tackle the issue head-on.
“Tatiana will not wish to occupy the quarters above stairs tonight. You are welcome to stay in our home this night, and for as many nights as you desire.”
“I appreciate your generosity, Princess Helena, but I must decline.”
“Should you not inquire as to the countess’s preferences in the matter?”
His jaw jutted above the tight gold collar. “I will provide for my wife.”
“Will you?” Helena’s jaw set at a similar angle. “Tatiana has suffered much these past months. As long as she is within the walls of Fort Ross, I give you to understand that she will not suffer more.”
“Nor will she suffer outside these walls, if I have anything to say in the matter.”
The steely promise in his voice did much to ease Helena’s ire. This was not a man to turn from danger, nor to run recklessly into it, as did Tatiana’s irresponsible first husband.
“And outside the walls is where I intend to take her now,” he added in a tight, controlled voice.
Josh had had enough. Of the noisy, curious crowd. Of the overpowering smell of fish eggs slathered on white bread. Of the silent, unsmiling woman at his side. He and Tatiana had to settle matters between them before he left Fort Ross once again to complete his mission in the Oregon Territory.
Rising, he addressed the surprised princess.
“Will you excuse us?”
“I...” She looked beyond him to Tatiana. “Yes, of course.”
Executing a small bow, Josh turned to his wife. She glanced up at him, her face a mask of polite civility. That was how she intended to conduct herself in this marriage, she’d informed him when they’d signed the contracts a few hours ago. Politely. Civilly. She asked only the same of him.
Josh figured he had an entirely different definition of civility than she did.
“Gather what you need for a few days,” he instructed quietly. “I’ll meet you outside in thirty minutes.”
She didn’t stir. “Where do we go?”
“Someplace where we can talk.”
She regarded him for several moments, then nodded. “I shall meet you outside.”
With a grunt of relief, Josh shucked Rutherford’s dress uniform and pulled on his buckskin leggings. A loose white linen shirt and his familiar flat-crowned hat would be all the clothing he needed during these warm summer days and nights. Slinging his possibles bag over one shoulder and his powder horn over the other, he grabbed his Hawken and went to raid the kitchens.
He was waiting with two heavily laden mounts when his bride appeared. She’d changed her filmy muslin gown for a more serviceable one of blue linen. Without a word, she handed him a small carpetbag. Josh tied it behind his saddle and aided Tatiana into hers.
“Where do we go?” she asked again as he moved to his own mount.
“To a deserted cabin some miles south of here, on the edge of the bluffs. I spotted it when I traveled south.”
“Ah, yes. When you went to Sutter’s Fort, to plot these so wonderful schemes of yours.”
Josh rammed his rifle into its fringed holder. “We’ll talk of them later.” Swinging into the saddle, he led the way through the gates.
After the tumult of the past night, the short journey should have provided a welcome stretch of calm. With the rainy season well past, the sun shimmered in a clear and cloudless sky. Fields that hadn’t fallen under the plow wore a mantle of colorful wildflowers. Their light fragrance carried on the breeze gusting from the cliffs. Some miles south of the fort, the checkerboard pattern of plowed fields and riotous flowers gave way to low, rolling hills covered with native grasses. Cattle and sheep ranged the open lands, tended only by the occasional shepherd and his dog.
Just past noon, the travelers arrived at the north bank of the Russian River. Dismounting, they walked their mounts onto a Hat-bottomed ferry operated by a smiling Pomo. It took both the boatman and Josh working hand over fist to pull the raft across the fast-flowing river to the small landing on the opposite bank.
A well-tended farmstead occupied the land on the south side of the river. Rail fences surrounded the wood and adobe structures that served as ranch house, granary, threshing and winnowing floors, and a large barracks for the farm laborers. Always alert for new arrivals, the manager of the ranch and his red-cheeked, aproned wife came out to greet the travelers.
The news that the Countess Karanova had taken yet another husband less than a week after they’d feasted and drunk toasts at her last wedding stunned the Russians. After Tatiana’s clipped explanation, they stammered out their best wishes and invited the travelers to share their noon meal. Since the wedding feast still sat heavy in their bellies, both Josh and Tatiana declined everything but cool, refreshing ale and a slice or two of bread.
The news that the countess and her husband intended to spend the next few days in the ramshackle shepherd’s hut at the edge of the bluffs astonished their hosts even more. Exchanging a bewildered glance with his wife, Ivan Petrov tried to dissuade Josh.
“It is but a shack,” he protested. “Four walls and a roof, with only dirt for a floor. You cannot sleep on the earth.”
“I’ve bedded down on the ground many times before. So has my wife.”
The word sounded strange to Josh’s ears. To Tatiana’s, as well, if the swift look she threw him was any indication. Rising abruptly, she took a hurried leave of their hosts and strode outside.
When the shepherd’s hut came into view some time later, Josh experienced a momentary qualm. Protected by only a stunted cypress tree, the weathered, roughplanked building leaned into the wind at the edge of a bluff. Gulls swooped and dived above it, while the surf washed onto a narrow strip of sand at the base of the cliffs.
“Maybe Petrov had the right of it,” he told Tatiana, his brow creased. “This place looked far sturdier in the shadows of dusk, the last time I passed by.”
A stiff breeze tugged tendrils of Tatiana’s hair free of the braids coiled at either ear and whipped them against her cheek. Putting up a hand to protect herself from their sting, she surveyed the isolated scene.
“It will do.”
It would more than do.
The windswept grandeur seeped into Tatiana’s soul like a soothing balm. Fort Ross seemed far distant from this lonely meeting of the sea and sky. Russia another world entirely. What better place to sort through the tangled ties that bound her to the man who’d betrayed both?
By unspoken agreement, she and Josiah fell into the routine they’d established during their weeks together on the trek. While he descended to the narrow beach to gather driftwood for a fire, Tatiana unpacked the gear strapped behind the saddles. Tugging the heavy buffalo robe with her, she pushed open the door to the hut and cautiously stepped inside.
A flicker of white on black drew her startled gaze to a pile of debris in one corner. A bushy tail shot straight up, and Tatiana backed out of the hut far faster than she’d walked in. Leaving the small shack to its present occupants, she made camp under a twisted cypress tree some distance away.
She had the horses hobbled, the tin coffee pot unpacked, and the buffalo robe rolled out when Josiah returned with an armload of wood.
“The hut is home to those odorous creatures with the white stripe,” she explained.
“Skunks?” He dumped the wood and dug in his bag for his flint. “I’ll get a fire started, then smoke them out.”
“No, no, it is not necessary.”
“I didn’t intend for you to sleep in the open.”
She tilted her head, her eyes carefully shuttered as they met his. “Where did you intend for me to sleep, Josiah?”
“Beside me on that robe...if you so choose.”
“And if I do not so choose?”
He hunkered down to strike a spark with the ftint. “I told you our first night together that I don’t do the fandango with any woman who doesn’t wish me for a partner. That includes my wife.”
The painful constriction that had wrapped itself around Tatiana’s lungs for the past hours eased a fraction. In her anger and hurt, she’d let herself forget this man’s strange code. He had not taken what she’d offered willingly in exchange for his escort through the mountains. He would not take what she did not offer now.
It struck her anew how little she understood him. Why should that surprise her? From the moment they’d met, she thought bitterly, he’d withheld from her what he did not wish her to know. Now she knew nothing except that he had loved a woman named Katerina. That he served in his country’s army in some unspecified capacity. That his seed had taken root within her.
And that he had betrayed her.
“Why did you not tell me why you escorted me to Fort Ross?”
Other books
Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance by C. M. Stunich
September Canvas by Gun Brooke
The Lost Tohunga by David Hair, David Hair
Soul of the Dragon by Natalie J. Damschroder
Pulse - Part Three (The Pulse Series) by Bladon, Deborah
The Case of the Gilded Fly by Edmund Crispin
Extreme Vinyl Café by Stuart Mclean
A Witch's Curse by Paul Martin
Blood Money by James Grippando
The Opposite of Invisible by Liz Gallagher