Stolen Splendor (29 page)

"Where have you searched?" Stefan asked, his
eyes moving back to the overseer.

"The fields, the woods for several miles
surrounding the house, even your hunting lodge, my lord," Karl answered,
"but there's no sign of her. We had a track to follow for a while, then
the rains began . . ." He shook his head, at a loss.

Stefan took immediate command, his mind working fast.
"Hans, see to Brand, have another horse saddled for me at once, and bring
it to the house."

"Aye, milord!" the boy answered, dashing off.

"Karl, make sure every able man is sent out,
drivers, footmen, all of them, but in pairs. Have them cover the same ground
again, then fan out and go even farther. She's out there somewhere, maybe
injured." He paused, his voice almost breaking. God help him, he could not
think of it. Swallowing hard, he rushed on. "I'll join you in a few
moments, after I see Isabel."

His blazing eyes swept the stable, falling on every man
present. "Get on with it, all of you," he ordered. "We must find
her." At his words the furious activity began anew, with heightened
urgency. Stefan turned on his heel and strode from the stable breaking into a
hard run down the path leading to the mansion. He burst through the front door
before the startled footman could rise to his feet.

"Where is Countess Isabel?" he cried out,
streams of water running off his cloak and forming puddles on the floor.

"In her ch-chamber, my lord," the man
stammered, taken by surprise. "She has taken to her bed—"

"Count Stefan!" Gisela exclaimed, cutting off
the footman's words as she rounded the corner from the dining room. She set the
silver tray she held upon a nearby table and rushed to meet him. "I cannot
believe it's you!" She wrung her hands nervously. "Have you heard
about Lady Kassandra?"

"Yes," Stefan answered, shrugging out of his
sodden cloak. His low aside to the footman sent him scurrying up the stairs and
down the corridor to his lord's chamber for a dry cloak. Stefan turned back to
Gisela. "Has Isabel taken ill?"

"No, my lord. But the strain, coupled with the
recent accident . . ." She shook her head miserably. "I have never
seen her so distraught."

"Go to her at once, and tell her I have gone in
search of Kassandra. Hopefully the news will comfort her." His gaze moved
from her face to the footman rushing down the stairs with a cloak draped over
his arm, then back to Gisela again. "Tell Isabel not to worry. I will find
her."

Gisela could only nod, her throat constricted painfully
at Stefan's determined expression. She knew him too well. He was putting up a
brave front, but his eyes told her a different story. They were wracked by
torment . . . and fear.

Stefan quickly donned the proffered cloak,
then
he was out the front door, down the steps, and mounting
the powerful roan stallion just brought to him from the stable. The keening
wind tore at him with incredible force, and thunder split the sky as he rode
along the drive, meeting up with Karl and seven other riders at the crest of
the hill. Each held a covered oil lantern.

"The storm is growing worse," he shouted,
rain lashing at his face. "Search for as long as you can, but do not
endanger your own lives."

Karl's reply was lost on the wind, but Stefan did not
wait for him to repeat it. With sure hands he tugged upon the reins and dug his
booted heels into the stallion's sides. The animal surged forward, leaving the
others well behind as it galloped along the road and jumped over the flooded
ravine into the fields.

The lightning that surged across the boiling sky was
Stefan's guide, illuminating the great expanse of field and forest. He rode
like a man possessed. Cold terror gripped him for the first time in his life,
driving him on. He knew the estate and Kassandra's favorite trails like the
back of his hand. He was determined to search along each one, no matter how
long it took him.

Stefan's lips moved in a fervent prayer,
then
straightened into a grim line. He knew if he lost
Kassandra, he would never forgive himself for how wretchedly he had treated
her.

But as the agonizing minutes dragged into an hour of
fruitless search, it seemed as if his impassioned plea would go unanswered. The
storm was like a wild thing determined to thwart him. Small branches hurtled
through the air, striking his chest. Rain whipped his face. And as they rode
into the thick of the forest, trees were felled from the terrible force of the
wind, one nearly crashing down upon them.

Stefan had no doubt he was by himself now, convinced
the others had been driven back by the ferocity of the storm. But perhaps it
was right that he suffer alone. He rode on relentlessly, until at last it was
raining so hard, he could see barely a few feet in front of him. With a sinking
heart, he had to face reality. He would have to seek the cover of his hunting
lodge until the worst of the storm had passed, then strike out again. It would
be a waste of precious time, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Veering the stallion sharply around, he rode directly
west until he at last came to the lodge. He dismounted and led the exhausted
animal into the shelter of the small stable some distance from the logged
building. After rubbing him down and filling the trough with hay, he set out
again in the stinging rain. His footsteps were heavy as he slogged to the front
door. He pushed it open and stepped inside, closing it regretfully behind him.

Stefan leaned on the door for a long time, his eyes
adjusting to the darkness. Fatigue assaulted him, mixed with incredible
despair. But he would not allow himself to give in to it. He walked resolutely
over to the stone fireplace, where he removed his cloak, shook it out, and hung
it over the back of a chair. Wiping his hands over his face, he sat down on his
haunches and began stacking wood on the iron grates. Before long he had a fire
blazing in the fireplace, its warmth slowly creeping into the far corners of
the large room. But it could do little to dispel the chill that penetrated his
heart.

Stefan stared blindly into the orange flames, the pain
welling inside him so
bitter,
it felt as if a knife
was twisting cruelly. He listened to the howl of the wind just outside the
door, the deafening thunder, the rain pelting against the windows, and
vehemently cursed the storm that was holding him hostage within the shelter of
his lodge. How could he fight against such an enemy?

Kassandra was out there, maybe hurt . . . maybe worse.
And here he was, virtually helpless, at the mercy of a storm that seemed to be
roaring with laughter at his plight.

A low sigh suddenly drifted across the room, raising
the short hairs on the back of Stefan's neck. Instantly alert, he whirled and
crouched low on the floor, drawing the long knife he always carried from the
belt at his waist. His gaze darted about the shadowed room, falling upon the
wide bed in the far corner. The furs he had stacked there several months ago
were piled oddly on the mattress, as if someone was huddled beneath them . . .

So a poacher had also sought refuge from the storm, he
thought darkly, creeping on his hands and knees toward the bed. This was not
the first time he had found one of the thieving bastards in his lodge. Holding
his breath, he drew back the furs, one by one, with the tip of his knife, until
he was down to the last. He raised the flashing blade, poised and ready in case
he was attacked, and flung the fur aside.

Stefan's eyes widened in disbelief, his knife dropping
to the mattress at the sight of Kassandra huddled there. She was shivering
uncontrollably in her sleep, her lips tinged with blue. His mind raced. Karl
had said they searched the lodge . . . She must have stumbled upon it after
they had already gone.

"Kassandra," he murmured softly, wild with
relief. But it quickly turned to alarm when he ran his finger tenderly down her
cheekbone. Her skin was clammy and feverish.

Stefan rose to his feet and with a mighty heave pulled
the bed near the center of the room, where the warmth from the fire could reach
it. Kassandra moaned at the sudden jarring, but did not stir. He stripped the
damp chemise from her body, wincing at the dark bruises on her pale skin, and
tossed it on the floor. Covering her gently with the furs, he quickly shed his
own clothes and climbed into the bed beside her. He knew the warmth of his body
was the surest way to drive the wracking chill from her own.

Cradling her in his arms, Stefan gazed down at the
woman he loved more than his own life. He touched his lips to the bruised welt
at her temple and lightly kissed her mouth, willing his strength into her. Then
he lay his head down upon the bed, offering a silent prayer of thanks that his
plea had been answered.

Chapter 28

Kassandra snuggled closer against the broad warmth at
her back, lost in the most extraordinary dream. It was sensory more than
visual, a swirling collage of fragmented impressions: soft whispers, sweet
words, evocative scents,
thrilling
sensations. She
stretched luxuriously, her legs entangling with muscled strength. She felt so
safe, so secure, her body enveloped in a comforting presence.

She sighed and shivered, a hint of pressure sliding
along the curve of a breast, circling, circling, just grazing a hardened
nipple,
then
it was gone. Powerful bands drew her back
possessively, holding her closer. A warm breath blew against her earlobe . . .
oh, it tickled!

Kassandra's eyes drifted open, her hand swiping
languidly at her ear. She drew a deep breath, her dreamy gaze caught and held
by shafts of golden sunlight streaming through the small window near her head.
She watched, mesmerized, still half-asleep, as twirling flecks of dust danced
in midair. Smiling, she leaned forward, her arm outstretched, to catch a
sparkling handful.

She gasped, her eyes widening in shock as strong,
bronzed arms pulled her back and tightened around her. She froze, not daring to
breathe, suddenly fully awake. Her heart pounded with fright. Memories of the
storm tumbled through her mind, converging with her dream of only moments
before and the sheer terror now gripping her. The hand at her breast . . . Dear
God, protect her, it was real!

Her gaze fell on a crumpled pile of clothing on the
floor near the bed. Dark overcoat, breeches, black boots, with her white linen
chemise peeking out from beneath in striking contrast. Desperately she began to
struggle, her body taut and straining for escape.

"Easy, Kassandra, it's me," Stefan murmured
soothingly, holding her fast within his arms. Kassandra's heart leaped as she
instantly recognized the deep, rough-edged voice. Stefan! Her limbs felt weak
and useless as wild relief engulfed her, along with a giddy rush like
butterflies in her stomach, and a strange, excited happiness. Dazed questions
filled her mind. How? When?

Then a startling realization struck her and she forced
herself to think clearly. Even if it was Stefan, she was still in peril. She
had not forgotten how he had deceived her the last time they were together. And
at this moment she could not be more vulnerable,
lying
within his arms, unclothed, the heat of his skin burning into her own. She
fought to stay calm despite her trembling.

"How . . . how did you find me?" she finally
managed, hazarding a peek at him over her shoulder. She felt a jolt, a
tingling, as she was struck by the rugged hollows and planes of his face, the
inky blackness of his hair, the penetrating depths of his gaze, all like an
unspoken embrace. Her memories of him had hardly done him justice.

Stefan rose up on his elbow and gently rolled her onto
her back, his breath catching in his throat as he drank in the sight of her.
Her color had returned
,
her skin flushed with rose,
her lips lush and red. Gratitude filled him, a prayer of thanks in his heart.
For a moment he simply could not answer. His fingers gently stroked her silken
hair, fanning out like a fiery halo about her head. He swallowed against the
hard lump in his throat, finally trusting himself to speak.

"It appears you stumbled into my hunting lodge, my
lady," he began softly.

"Your hunting lodge?" Kassandra breathed in
surprise. Her gaze flew about the decidedly masculine room, noting its rustic
yet comfortable furnishings. So this was where he claimed to have gone those
many nights. It was amazing enough she had found any place in the storm, but
the coincidence of finding his private refuge was truly unsettling.

"Yes. Your disappearance created quite a stir last
night, Kassandra. I arrived late, hoping to surprise you, only to discover you
were missing and my entire household in an uproar. You gave us . . . me, quite
a scare."

Kassandra's pulse quickened at his last words, but she
turned away to hide his dizzying effect on her. She marveled at how even his
simplest phrase, his slightest glance, could fluster her so completely. It was
all she could do to remember his deceit.

"I set out looking for you, but the storm became
so intense, I was forced to seek shelter here, planning to stay only until it
subsided." He chuckled. "I heard a noise, and thought there was a
poacher in my bed. It was you," he finished quietly. He traced lightly
along the swollen bump on the side of her forehead. "Does it hurt?"

She winced, drawing in her breath. "Yes," she
murmured.

"What happened?"

She turned back to him, shrugging. Her brow furrowed in
confusion. "I don't know, really. I was riding,
then
I heard a shot, from a pistol, I think. It all happened so fast. I was thrown
to the ground, and that's all I remember, until I awoke and it was almost
dark."