Stolen Splendor (27 page)

"Enough with torturing yourself," Stefan
muttered under his breath, glancing down at the letter in his hand. He broke
the wax seal with his thumb and slit open the crisp packet with a thin-bladed
silver opener, then drew the folded letter from the envelope. It was dated only
three days ago. A faint smile touched his lips as he read Isabel's affectionate
salutation, but it faded abruptly, his brow furrowed into a frown, his hand
clenching the ivory paper.

"What the devil," he exclaimed, reading the
body of the letter with heated intensity.

She and Kassandra could have been killed . . . Their
carriage had suddenly lost a wheel and overturned in a ditch along the road
leading to the estate . . . Zoltan was thrown to the ground and severely
injured . . . The two horses, horribly maimed, were shot dead where they lay .
. .

Stefan read on in disbelief. Isabel's handwriting,
usually so graceful, was a blotted scrawl, as if she had written not long after
the terrifying incident she was so vividly describing. But her last paragraph
calmed him somewhat, filled with assurances that she and Kassandra were fine,
though bruised and badly shaken, and closing with a fervent wish that he return
home soon.

Stefan set the letter down and leaned his head in his
hands. Gut-wrenching emotions assailed him—worry, helplessness, frustration—and
overwhelming relief that they were unharmed. He sighed heavily. He had wished
so many times he could be there, now, after this letter, more than ever. But he
could not return to Vienna until Prince Eugene relieved him of his duties at
the winter camp, duties that were becoming increasingly difficult to
concentrate on. It had been so long since he had seen Kassandra and held her in
his arms, her jasmine-scented
hair
and her silken skin
enveloping his senses . . .

Suddenly he brought his fist down hard upon the table,
the sound reverberating through the sparsely furnished room. Damn it, man, you
cannot allow your personal desires to overrule your sense of duty, he berated
himself fiercely. Yet even as he tried to force her from his mind, she was
there, like a vision before him.

"Kassandra . . ." he murmured under his
breath, closing his eyes so he could see her more clearly. She had bewitched
his thoughts as surely as she had captured his heart.

Everything about her haunted his memory—her rich voice,
her singular beauty, her wit and intelligence, her indomitable spirit. He could
not forget how she had looked the morning he left for the camp . . . with the
dawn light spilling across her pillow, her flaming tresses flecked with gold,
and a soft smile curving her lips as she lay sleeping peacefully. How he had
longed to wake her and tell her he was leaving and why, but most important of
all, how much he loved her. Yet something had stopped him.

Stefan opened his eyes and stared blindly at the
letter, his feelings at that moment rushing back to him. Even on the
battlefield he had never felt so vulnerable. He had so much to tell her, so
much to explain, and there had been so little time. How could he make sense of
what lay deepest in his heart, in the few precious moments before he had to set
out for Vienna, then the winter camp?

And he had been afraid. Afraid that after declaring his
love, she would still denounce him. Even after the night they had shared, after
she had at last admitted her desire for him, perhaps nothing, not even his love,
could erase what had happened between them at the tavern or how relentlessly he
had pursued her, forcing her into a marriage she did not want.

Finally he had left her room, unable to bear the
thought that she might refuse his love. He wanted to remember her as she was,
sated from the heat of passion, his name, cried out during their sweetest
release, upon her lips.

Perhaps his fears had been justified all along, Stefan
thought dully, rubbing his forehead. Perhaps what had stopped him was the very
reason she refused to answer his letters, even that first one, in which he had
poured out his soul . . .

Stefan's jaw tightened in determination. No, he would
not believe it until he spoke with her face-to-face! Whatever her reasons for
not answering his letters, he was not prepared to give up so easily. Especially
now, when after being away from her for two interminable months, he had reached
a decision that might finally sway her heart in his favor.

"Commander, Prince
Eugene
and his retinue have been sighted just beyond the camp. He will be here
shortly," the aide blurted as he burst in the door, his loud voice jarring
rudely into Stefan's thoughts.

"Don't you know enough to knock, man?" Stefan
demanded,
then
softened his tone at the young
officer's crestfallen look. He rose from his chair. "Is all in
readiness?"

The aide brightened visibly, snapping to attention.
"Yes, Commander. The trumpets are sounding and the pennants are raised.
All other commanders have been alerted, and their soldiers are joining ranks at
this very moment."

"Very good," Stefan said, striding from the
room and through the narrow foyer, then down the front steps of his quarters,
with the aide not far behind him. He stepped into the bright afternoon
sunlight, his keen eyes surveying the scene before him.

Uniformed men were rushing into formation from all
directions of the camp, streaming from tents, long-timbered barracks, even from
the muddy parade fields where they had been practicing drills. It took only a
few moments for everyone to scramble into line, each man in his place, row upon
dark blue row, regiments of cavalry atop their mounts and infantry alike at
stiff attention.

Brightly colored pennants flapped in the cool March
breeze. Horses neighed and snorted impatiently. An expectant hush hung in the
air, for Prince Eugene was coming to take command of his Imperial army, in
preparation for the summer's campaign against the Turks.

Stefan mounted Brand and took the reins from his
nervous aide, who was doing his best to hide his fear of the mighty war-horse.
A fine candidate for the infantry, he thought dryly, as he was soon flanked by
generals from the various contingents of the army. They set out along the
puddled road between the long, broad lines in formation to meet their commander
in chief, just now passing through the guarded entrance to the camp.

"Sound the cannonade!" Stefan roared above
the stillness, his voice echoed by thundering blasts from eighty cannon. The
heavy artillery pieces were quickly
reloaded,
then
fired three more times, the steady beating of drums filling in the intervals
between each grand salute.

Prince Eugene drew closer, riding well in front of his
plumed retinue on a prancing white stallion. Resplendent in a navy uniform
edged with gold braid, he radiated supreme confidence despite his slight
figure. His dark eyes swept from side to side, proudly but solemnly surveying
his forces. He reined in his mount as Stefan rode up alongside him,
acknowledging his approach with a bow of his head.

"You have done exceedingly well, Count
Stefan," he said seriously, meeting his gaze. "The men look fit and
ready to fight."

"My thanks, General," Stefan replied.
"But it is the men who are to be commended. They have been training long
and hard since the worst of the winter subsided. They know well the strength of
their enemy."

Prince Eugene nodded gravely, always one to identify
with the common soldier. He had worked his way u through the ranks and
considered him- self one of them. He was even known to sleep upon the ground
wrapped in a soldier's cloak, and not for lack of better lodging.

"And so they shall be commended," he agreed,
raising his voice to be heard. "See that each man is given double his
monthly pay, on behalf of our gracious emperor! And spare no meat this night,
nor
brandy. We shall feast in honor of our enemy, who await
their defeat!"

A great roar went up from the men nearby, and for those
who hadn't yet heard, shouts echoing his words passed along the formation like wildfire.
Soon the entire camp resounded with cheers and hurrahs, drawing the faintest of
smiles to Prince Eugene's thin lips. He turned once again to Stefan.

"You know as well as I that there is much to be
done, more training, more preparation, before we set out for Belgrade in May.
Ride with me now to the council hall,
then
summon
every commanding officer. The men may feast, but we have much to discuss
tonight."

Stefan nodded, reining Brand in alongside Prince
Eugene's white stallion. Soon they were joined by other commanders, forming a
long procession as they rode toward the council hall in the center of the camp.

Yet even amidst the clamor and excitement, Stefan's
thoughts flew unbidden to Kassandra, never far from his mind, and always within
his heart. As he rode beside his general, he resolved then and there that he
would request a few weeks leave as soon as their initial meetings were
completed. He had to talk to her at once, before her father returned from
Hanover, and tell her of his love and his decision.

For it was his plan to release her from her promise to
marry him. He would rather risk losing her, and perhaps gain her love, than
force her to go through with their marriage, and earn only her hate.

Chapter 26

"A ride, Kassandra? But it looks as if it might
storm this morning," Isabel murmured doubtfully, her hand falling from the
lace curtain at one of the tall windows flanking the front entranceway.
"And I can't imagine you would even consider climbing atop a horse. I'm so
stiff and sore, I can barely walk without cringing." Truly, Isabel
thought, it was taking her much longer to mend from that carriage accident last
week than she had imagined.

Kassandra pulled on her riding gloves,
then
glanced up at Isabel. "I'm feeling much better
today, Isabel, really," she insisted. "And it's the first morning it
hasn't been raining for weeks now. I'll only be gone for a short while."
She smiled away the footman and opened the door for herself. "Now go and
sit down. The physician said you must rest as much as possible."

Isabel sighed. "Very well, but if it begins to
storm, you will come back at once?"

Kassandra
nodded,
a reassuring
smile upon her lips. "Rest, Isabel," she admonished gently.
"Father will be most displeased to find you still limping about—"

"All right, I'm convinced," Isabel
interjected with a laugh. As she watched Kassandra walk down the front steps, a
sudden thought struck her. "I know it's only the first day of April, so it
might still be too early, but if you see any wildflowers, you must bring me
some," she called out.

Kassandra waved and set out along the muddy path
leading to the stable, swinging her arms. It felt so good to be outdoors! She
took in great breaths of the moist air, tinged with the fresh scent of green
grass and damp, musty earth. The water-soaked ground squished under her boots,
and birds trilled gaily in the budding trees, sounds that delighted her. They
meant the coming of spring, her favorite time of year.

Yet this year was different, she reminded herself.
Spring also meant her father's imminent arrival, hastening the wretched
marriage that loomed before her like an inescapable trap.

No! She would not think about it, at least not this
morning. She walked determinedly toward the stable, smiling once again as Hans,
the stableboy who saw to her mare, rushed out to greet her. He was nearly a
full head taller, and she marveled anew at how much he had grown over the long
winter.

"Good morning to ye, milady," he exclaimed,
doffing his cap. He ran his hand self-consciously through his unruly light
brown hair, a warm blush burning his freckled cheeks. "Shall I saddle yer
fine mare?"

"Yes, Hans, if it will be no trouble for
you," she murmured, noting with faint amusement how he stared at her with
guileless admiration.

"No trouble at all, milady," he replied
eagerly, dashing into the stable. "I'll bring her out to
ye
."

Kassandra leaned against a splintered fence post,
humming a tune while she absently smoothed the light woolen skirt of her riding
habit. It seemed only a few moments passed before Hans was leading the spirited
mare into the stable yard.

"She's a beauty, that she is," Hans said
soothingly, running his hand along the mare's glistening white flank. The
animal nickered, tossing its head and flipping its long, silky tail. One front
hoof dug impatiently into the damp earth. "But a spitfire, to be sure. She
bit poor Penn in the seat of his breeches t'other day, whilst he was shoveling
feed into her trough."

Kassandra gasped. "Is he all right?" she
asked, barely suppressing a giggle behind her gloved hand as she envisioned the
awkward scene.

"Oh, aye, milady, he's fine," Hans said,
"except for sittin' down." He laughed and held the mare steady while
Kassandra hoisted herself into the sidesaddle. He then handed her the reins.
"Best to hold her in for a ways, milady, before ye give her full
rein," he cautioned. "She may be a bit skittish this morning.
Remember, she's not been rid since last month, only set free to run in the
paddock every day."

"I'll heed your advice, Hans," Kassandra
said, drawing up the reins. Her tone grew serious. "How's Zoltan
faring?"

"He's better, milady, though his leg will take a
good while to mend, or so the physician says. It was a bad fall."

"Yes, it was," Kassandra agreed, shuddering
at the memory of that day. "Well, give him my fond greetings," she
murmured. "And tell him if there is anything he needs, he must send word
to the countess or myself at once."