Stolen Splendor (5 page)

She was on fire. A surging wave of ecstasy was drawing
ever closer . . . closer . . . teasing her, enveloping her in a yearning more
powerful, more exciting, than anything she had ever sensed before.

At the seeming height of her pleasure she wrapped her
arms around Stefan's neck, her long legs around his waist, her lips melding
with his in passionate fusion, their ragged breath merging as one, higher,
faster, and still higher . . . until she drove against him at the sizzling
pinnacle of her passion, clinging to him, crying out as he groaned and exploded
within her, a shattering release that whirled around them like a tempest
unleashed, a maelstrom of blinding desire.

It was a fleeting moment . . . a spellbinding eternity,
the sweetest rapture and the wildest fury . . . then she was drifting down,
down . . .

Kassandra's eyes fluttered open, and she sank back upon
the rumpled bed, spent and exhausted, her arms slipping from his neck to lie
limply at her side. She could barely see him through the entangled web of her
hair, the outline of his rugged shoulders sleek and glistening in the golden
candlelight.

Then the powerful weight of his body was gone,
collapsing onto the bed beside her, his sinewed arm wrapping about her and
pulling her close, her back pressed against his chest. She did not think to
fight him; her mind seemed dulled and sated as if from a potent drug. His
breath was
a shivering
warmth on her nape, labored at
first but easing gradually to a slow, measured cadence. It lulled her, seduced
her . . . and, in moments, she slept.

Stefan inhaled the heady fragrance of her fire-gold
hair, wrapped like a mysterious veil of intrigue around her creamy shoulders
and rose-tipped breasts, a silken fan half covering her face.

Was the wench a thief, temptress, or lady's maid, as
she had said?
he
wondered dazedly, the effects of the
wine, his long ride the night before, and the wanton passion of the last
moments finally taking their toll. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of
her lithe body melded against his own.

She had been a
virgin, that
much he knew. And as sleep stole over him, his last conscious thought was that
whatever she might be, he was not about to let her go.

Chapter 5

A candle sputtered and hissed in the silent room, its flame
flaring brightly for a brief moment, then died into a curling whiff of smoke,
the wick a glowing ember.

Awakened by the sound, Kassandra sighed contentedly,
snuggling ever closer to the radiating warmth beside her. "Hmmm . .
." she murmured, her cheek brushing against crisp curls that tickled her
nose. She smiled faintly, the steady rhythm of a strong heartbeat pulsing
gently in her ear. It seems so real, she thought drowsily, so real . . .

Suddenly Kassandra's eyelids flickered open, burning
memory flooding back into her dazed consciousness. She tried to sit up, but she
was held fast.

"Oh—!" she gasped, biting her lip hard,
tasting blood, her stifled cry echoing around the room. She froze, scarcely
breathing, fearful that any further sound, any movement, any breath, however
shallow, would surely waken the man who held her prisoner.

How long had she been lying there? Kassandra wondered
frantically, glancing at the window. The opaque shade was drawn, completely
covering the glass. She could not tell if it was day or night.

Rising panic gripped her throat, but she fought against
it, willing herself to think clearly. She lifted her head slowly, her gaze
darting about the room. It was dark and filled with shadows except for a
solitary candle still burning in a wall sconce near the door.

The door! Kassandra thought wildly. Her only means of
escape, if she could only reach it. But her heart sank. First she had to free
herself from the man who held her captive within his embrace, without waking
him.

Forcing herself to, stay calm, Kassandra took a deep
breath and looked up at him, fearful that she might find him staring boldly
back at her, his eyes laughing wickedly at her plight. But he was sound asleep,
the even rise and fall of his chest a hopeful sign that he would not wake
easily. His face was cloaked in shadow, yet even in the dark she was struck by
the rugged masculinity of his features: black brows set against a wide
forehead, commanding profile, chiseled lips, strong jawline, cleft chin . . .

Fool! Kassandra berated herself on a wave of furious
indignation. He may be handsome to look upon, but do not forget the bastard has
ravaged you, wantonly stolen what was yours alone to give. It's more likely he
lies in a drunken stupor than a deep sleep.

The thought flooded Kassandra with giddy relief, giving
her the courage she needed. Fueled by her growing outrage, she pushed gingerly
against him, trying to free herself. She nearly choked, her heart banging
against her chest, when he suddenly rolled over onto his back, sighing heavily,
his arms falling to his sides.

She hesitated for the barest moment, motionless, her
breath caught in her throat. God help her if he awoke! But he slept on, his
breathing deep and steady.

Kassandra could hardly believe she was free of him.
Waiting no longer, she crept to the other end of the wide bed.

Damn! She cursed inwardly as the wooden bed frame
creaked from her furtive movements. She was still not out of danger, she chided
herself, swinging her long legs over the side of the mattress and stepping onto
the floor.

At least the carpet would mask her footsteps. She
looked around, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Where were her clothes?

As she took a few steps from the bed, her foot fell on
a linen garment lying crumpled on the floor. She picked it up, cold fury
welling inside her as she surveyed what was left of her chemise.

Filthy bastard! Kassandra raged. Tears rolled down her
flushed cheeks as the enormity of what had happened hit her with full force.
She was ruined! She dropped the mangled garment, wiping the wet stains from her
face with the palm of her hand.

Suddenly a glint of light near the bed caught her eye
and she turned, inhaling sharply. Her gaze fell upon his sword, still propped
up against the chair where he had left it, the polished blade brightly
reflecting the candlelight.

Kassandra walked trancelike to the chair and fairly up
the weapon, testing it in her hand. It was fairly light, surely no heavier than
the swords she had wielded in her fencing classes at Wyndham Court. She moved
to the bed and stared coldly at the man sleeping there, his bronzed body in
dark contrast with the white linen sheets.

It would be so easy to kill him now, to run him through
with his own sword. Surely it would be a rightful revenge for what he had done
to her. She pointed the sword at his chest, the blade steady even though she
was trembling, the deadly tip aimed directly at his heart.

She stood for a long moment, her overwhelming hate
a bitter
bile upon her tongue. He deserved to die . . .

Suddenly he groaned and rolled onto his side, his back
to her, startling Kassandra from her deadly reverie. She dropped the sword upon
the bed as if stung and backed away, fearful that at any moment he might wake
and discover she was no longer beside him. All thoughts of revenge fled from
her mind. Sweet Lord, she had to get out of there at once!

She fell to her knees, desperately groping on the floor
and beneath the bed for her clothing. She dressed hurriedly, her hands shaking
uncontrollably as she fumbled with the laces of her bodice. At last, after
several agonizing moments, she was ready.

Money, you will need money to hire a carriage if Zoltan
is no longer at the cathedral, she reminded herself. Spying the coat of his
uniform tossed over the back of the chair, she quickly rummaged through the
deep side pockets, her eyes lighting when she pulled out a small velvet bag
filled with coins. She slipped the bag into her bodice; then, with a last
glance over her shoulder, she stole silently to the door.

She turned the polished knob, her heart pounding in her
ears. But the door held fast. The bolt! Open the bolt! Her fingers grasped the
heavy iron lock and slid it back. Once again her hand tested the knob, twisting
it slowly. She could have cried with relief as the door swung open, squeaking
on its hinges.

Kassandra held her breath, cautiously peering into the
short hallway that led to the main corridor. She could hear the low rumble of
voices and outbursts of raucous laughter filtering up the stairs from the
tavern below, but there was no sound coming from any of the adjacent rooms.
Confident that she would not be seen, she opened the door just wide enough to
squeeze through it,
then
closed it quietly behind her.
She edged along the wall, stopping when she came to the darkened corridor.

" 'Ere
we go, love, just
up these steps," a woman's shrill voice called from the bottom of the
stairway. "Now, mind
ye
, I take on only one at a
time. Tell yer friend there to go have another draft of wine. He'll have to
wait his turn just like the rest of 'em."

Kassandra's throat constricted in fear as heavy
footsteps sounded from the stairs, the wooden steps creaking loudly under the
weight of the woman and her companion, their drunken laughter echoing down the
long corridor.

The noise will surely wake him! .Kassandra thought
wildly. Her worst fears were suddenly confirmed when a sharply uttered curse
came from within the corner room, then what sounded like a chair crashing to
the floor.

She waited no longer. She bolted into the corridor,
determined to dash down the stairs and through the tavern to the street. But
the stairway was blocked by the weaving, belching couple, a heavy-set blond
woman
and a rough-looking sailor.

"Heh, there, dearie, what's yer rush?" the
woman yelled amiably. A bleary grin twisted her rouged face until her companion
lunged at Kassandra, tripping over the dozy and knocking both onto the stairs.
"Ye
stinkin'
swine, not enough woman for ye,
eh?" she blurted angrily, cuffing him on the side of the head.

Kassandra whirled and fled the other way, trying the
doorknobs to several rooms. A few were locked, while one opened into a small
bedroom that was occupied, the scantily clad woman shouting out crude
obscenities, much to the delight of her prone companion, until Kassandra
quickly slammed the door shut.

There must be another way out of this tavern!
her
mind screamed, as she tried yet another doorknob. This
one turned easily in her hand, and she almost fell down a narrow flight of
stairs in her haste to escape. Stumbling and groping in the dark, she lifted
the latch on the wooden door at the bottom of the stairs and pushed with all
her strength. The door swung open so suddenly that she fell to her knees on the
ground, the late afternoon sun blinding her.

Momentarily stunned, Kassandra pushed her hair from her
face and struggled to her feet. At least it was still daylight, she thought
gratefully, noting her surroundings. She was now at the back of the tavern, the
Danube Canal only thirty odd feet away. Several sailors loitering at a nearby
wharf spied her and called out, gesturing for her to join them, their leering
grins arousing sheer terror in her.

You must find your way back to St. Stephen's, Kassandra
reasoned, fighting again to stay calm. Without another glance at the sailors,
she turned and fled down the alley beside the tavern, their crude taunts
ringing in her ears. Each breath tore at her throat, her chest heaving from
exertion.

Will this nightmare ever end?
she
wondered wildly, reaching the cobbled road that wound in front of the tavern,
the same street on which she had almost been trampled earlier that day.

She began walking hurriedly in what she hoped was the
direction to the cathedral, dodging passersby, carriages, and sedan chairs with
their scurrying footmen that clogged the street. Suddenly she spied an empty
carriage in front of a coffeehouse, the stout driver leaning on the lacquered
side as if waiting for someone. She ran toward him, startling his horses as she
called out to him. The two spirited animals neighed and snorted, their hooves
nervously pawing the cobblestones.

"Pl-please, sir, I need . . . a ride to . . . St.
Stephen's . . ." she gasped breathlessly, slumping exhausted against the
carriage.

"Eh, there, what do you think yer doing, wench,
scaring the horses like that?" the driver shouted angrily, grabbing the
bridle of the nearest horse and making clicking sounds with his tongue to calm
them. But his tone softened as he noted her obvious distress.

"If it's the cathedral you want, miss, yer heading
the wrong way," he said, pointing his thumb in the opposite direction.
"And this carriage isn't for hire. I'm waiting on a fine gentleman inside,
sorry to say, for I'd like to oblige
ye
."

Kassandra drew out the velvet bag from her bodice,
ignoring the man's raised eyebrow. She opened it, her eyes widening at the
bright gold coins tumbling into her open palm. She had stolen a small fortune!
But she quickly recovered her composure, holding out three of the coins to the
astonished driver.

"If you please, sir," she murmured, her gaze
not leaving his face, "I will pay you three more as soon as we arrive at
St. Stephen's."

The driver gaped at the coins in his hand, nodding his
head,
then
quickly pocketed them. He fumbled for the
door, opening it with a bow and a flourish,
then
gallantly held out his arm.

"My thanks," Kassandra said tersely,
accepting his offer of assistance. She stepped into the carriage, relief
surging through her. "I'm in a great hurry," she added. "You
must get me to the cathedral as quickly as you can."