21

T he hill above Tyrone seemed to explode as another volley was launched from the cannons, this time in an entirely different direction. The men who had prodded their steeds close around him now scattered like a flock of frightened, squawking geese as the leaden balls began to pelt the opposite end of the valley. Only one of their number kept his wits and demanded aid from another two who were ready to fly with the rest. Commanding their unswerving attention, the brigand held them fast at sword point.

“Ladislaus wants these here two back!” the thief shouted as the cannons ceased firing. “Now get down here, yu yellow-livered rats, an’ bind them to yur horses—or, by heavens, I’ll run yu both through from gullet to groin!”

The threat failed to hold the two, for in the next instant they glanced around toward the crest of the hill and saw countless soldiers swarming over it and swinging outward on ropes as they thrust themselves away from the precipice and began to descend the hillside with great, bounding leaps. Faced by this new threat, the three thieves were swiftly unified in the strengthening premise that retreat was far better than certain death. Lifting their heels high, they brought them down hard into the flanks of their mounts, catapulting the animals forward in an all-out, breakneck race toward the entrance of the canyon, where an open space still remained in the pass. As they neared the opening, the three hauled their nags to a jolting halt and, almost as abruptly, whirled them in an about-face to send them flying in the opposite direction as Grigori raced into their lair with a company of mounted Hussars riding closely behind him with gleaming swords waving high.

Tyrone gathered his wife’s limp form up close within his arms and held her for a long, despairing moment, feeling such terrible remorse that he wanted to die. A building sob was wrenched from him as he buried his face against the side of her throat and began to weep. Then, like the delicate flick of a butterfly’s wings, he felt it…the unmistakable beat of a pulse. He jerked upright and stared in jubilation as the long, dark lashes fluttered against her grimy cheeks.

Slowly Synnovea roused to awareness with a muffled groan and then stared up at him, seeming momentarily confused. When she made a valiant attempt to smile, Tyrone choked on a grateful sob.

“Synnovea, my dearest heart! I thought you were dead!”

“Wasn’t I?” She grimaced as she struggled bravely to move her aching body. Then she quipped dryly, “If this is what happens when you take a lady out for a ride, Sir Knight, may I never be foolish enough to accept your invitation again.”

“Are you all right?” Tyrone questioned with anxious concern.

“Nooo!” she moaned. “At least I don’t feel all right! The way I hurt, I’m wont to think that I’ve died and gone to hell, cruel place though it be, for this is definitely not heaven! Indeed, sir! I’ve never suffered so much abuse in all my life! I fear every bone in my body has been broken—or, at the very least, bruised!”

“This is no hellish prank, madam!” Tyrone assured her with an amused grin. “You’re alive! And I most fervently thank heaven because you are!”

“Can we go home now?” Synnovea queried hopefully. “I’d very much like to crawl into our bed and rest my wearied frame for a week or two in your arms.”

“I’ll take you there, my love, just as soon as my men finish rounding up the thieves.” Tyrone glanced around him and was assured that the tide of conflict had been quickly turned to their benefit. Many of the rogues had been caught by surprise and were unarmed, while others, perceiving their impending capture, had given up without a fight. It would all be over in a matter of moments.

Lifting his wife with him, Tyrone rose to his feet again and smiled down into the green-brown eyes as his own glistened with warm tears. “My dearest Synnovea, you are the most delightful joy of my life,” he softly avowed. “And I love you more than simple words can attest.”

“I love you, Sir Knight, more than I ever thought possible!” Synnovea replied, her voice choked with emotion. Wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, she pressed her brow against his cheek as she murmured in gentle reflection, “I think, Colonel Sir Tyrone Rycroft, that I have loved you since that first moment I saw you, when you came charging through the thieves in your quest to save me. To me, my lord husband, you looked as resplendent as a gallant knight in shining armor.”

Content to be safe within his arms, Synnovea snuggled her head upon his shoulder as he carried her back to Ladislaus’s house, around which the soldiers were now herding the thieves. Ladislaus and Petrov were sitting on the steps, under the watchful eye of a single lieutenant who had bound his prisoners to a post with a heavy length of chain. Alyona was kneeling beside Ladislaus, dabbing at the trickle of blood still in evidence beneath his nose. His eyes were only for her, as if in the last few moments he had realized that there wasn’t much time left for them.

Suddenly Alyona gasped and rose to her feet as she stared toward the narrow entrance where a single mounted rider was leisurely reining his steed through the rock and rubble that had fallen there. As he came near and dismounted in front of the house, Alyona hastened down the steps and threw her arms wide with a cry of gladness before hurling herself into the welcoming embrace of her brother.

“Avar! Avar! Oh, how I’ve missed yu, dear brother!”

The scout drew back with a querying perusal and laid a gentle hand upon her belly as he softly questioned, “Do yu vant me to avenge yu, Alyona?”

“ Nyet! Nyet! ” She shook her head passionately in a fierce denial and hurried to state her mind. “Avar, if I could, I vould have Ladislaus as my husband, but they say he must go to Moscow now, maybe to be hanged.”

“From all accounts ve’ve been hearing, it iz the justice Ladislaus rightly deserves, Alyona. I cannot stop it.”

“Maybe there iz no help for him, Avar, but I still yearn to take him as husband an’ give our child a name.”

Avar pressed his lips briefly to her brow. “I’m sorry, Alyona.”

With an imperceptible nod, the young woman stepped away and, mounting the stairs again, went inside the house. The door closed slowly behind her, and in the silence that followed, they could hear her mournful weeping.

Avar approached his commander, who was applying a cold compress to Synnovea’s bruised brow. “Colonel, I’ve just now seen a curious thing, an’ I’d like permission to ride out vith a pair of men to see vhat might be happenin’.”

Tyrone peered at him askance as he continued his tender ministering. “What do you think it is?”

Avar glanced around and took a casual count of their soldiers. Then he stroked his chin thoughtfully as he lifted his gaze to meet the curious blue eyes. “I think, Colonel, it may be a full regiment of soldiers passin’ near here. Though each vears the garb of a peasant, they ride in line like an organized troop. Only the leader is vearing a cloak that looks familiar. Another is garbed richly in the clothes of a boyar.” Avar lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “If I vere to venture a guess, Colonel, I’d say they’re Polish soldiers on the move.”

“This far inland?” Tyrone stepped back from his wife and stared at the scout in amazement. “Where do you think they’re headed?”

“They now ride fast after hearin’ cannon, Colonel. Toward Moscow, maybe, or in that same general direction.”

“We must stop them!”

“We should, Colonel, but how? They outnumber us two, maybe three to one. Besides that, they have two batteries o’ cannons.”

Tyrone beckoned a young corporal forward and pointed toward the horse that Ladislaus had ridden in on, the same which the thief had once stolen from him. “Strip that stallion, Corporal, and put my saddle on his back. And be quick about it! I’ve got to ride out with Avar and have a look around.”

Stepping back to Synnovea, he lifted her carefully and carried her into the house, drawing a teary-eyed gaze from Alyona, who had curled up on a corner of the bed to cry. In some embarrassment, the small woman rose to her feet and, sweeping her hand toward the place she had just vacated, encouraged him to lay Synnovea there.

“I vill take care of yur wife, Colonel. No need to fear.”

Tyrone lowered Synnovea upon the mound of wolf pelts covering the bed and leaned down to brush a snarled tress from her brow. “I have to ride out with Avar, my sweet. I may be gone for a while. If you’re able to rest, do so. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

Synnovea and Alyona watched in silence as he crossed to the door. At the portal, he cast a backward glance at his wife before making his departure. In a few moments the women heard the rattle of hooves as the two men rode out together.

“I’m too filthy to rest,” Synnovea complained, wincing as she braced herself up on an elbow. “I’d like to wash, if I may.”

Alyona indicated a large kettle of simmering water hanging from a hook in the hearth. “I was goin’ to vash clothes today, but if yu’d like, I’ll fill a tub for a bath. Maybe yu’ll feel better after a good, varm soak.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sweeter proposal in all my life.” Synnovea slowly pushed herself to her feet, grimacing sharply as she did so. All she could remember from the fall was hitting the ground and feeling as if every bone in her body had been broken or at least jolted unmercifully by the impact. Beyond that moment, it seemed as if she had stared at the world through a stunned stupor, her breath frozen in her lungs. Moments after Tyrone had lifted her, she had lost consciousness and known nothing more until she had heard his muffled weeping.

With considerable care, Synnovea stood upright and was of a mind to think that she had accomplished a great feat. Before long she was soaking in a warm bath that the two of them had prepared. Some of the tightness began to leave her muscles, and she became a little more hopeful that she’d survive. She washed her hair, found appropriate clothing to wear from the large satchel which Ladislaus had hurriedly packed for her, and was in the process of helping Alyona empty the tub when the woman gasped suddenly and clutched a hand to her belly.

“It’s time,” Alyona announced in a tight voice when the pain began to subside. “The baby is comin’.” She looked up at her guest and saw the sharp concern in her widened eyes. “Do yu know vhat to do, my lady?”

Synnovea nearly panicked. “Not even a notion!”

“There iz an old woman who lives in a small house down by the creek. She knows vhat to do. If yu vould go and fetch her, I vill lay out vhat she vill need.”

“Of course!” Despite the pain that her movements caused, Synnovea was already flying toward the door.

It was nearly an hour later when Tyrone returned with Avar and found Ladislaus pacing restlessly about within the small area allowable by his heavy shackles. Tyrone hardly had time to consider the reason for the man’s plight, but when he strode toward the door, the lieutenant informed him of the camp’s current events.

“I’m sorry, Colonel. Ladislaus’s woman is inside having her baby. Your wife told us all to stay outside. I would presume, sir, that her order also includes you.” The young man’s forehead crinkled in sudden concern. “Of course, sir, if it’s a matter of choices, I must respect any command you give me.”

“Rest easy, Lieutenant. I’ll not countermand my wife’s authority in this instance.”

A sigh of relief slipped from the officer’s smiling lips. “I’m glad to hear that, sir, because I would hate to disappoint Her Ladyship, since I assured her that I’d keep everyone who wasn’t needed out of the house.”

“Carry on, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.”

Glancing back at Ladislaus, Tyrone soon became convinced that the brigand was genuinely distraught over what was presently occurring in his house. To see the unruly rogue deeply concerned about the girl caused him to wonder if he was now viewing a side of the man’s character that had never been glimpsed before by anyone.

“Watch him carefully,” Tyrone bade the lieutenant, taking no chances. “Ladislaus has the strength to break any post you chain him to, so be warned.”

“You can count on me, sir!”

Grigori came across the yard and braced a foot on the bottom step as his commander turned to face him. “What did you and Avar find?”

“At least a full regiment of spies or Polish-trained mercenaries,” Tyrone answered bluntly, descending a pair of steps to speak with him. “There’s a strong possibility that they’re Polish soldiers masquerading as peasants.”

“What are we to do when we have less than a third that number of men here?” Grigori asked in sudden worry.

“We cannot hope to reach Moscow and regroup with the rest of the regiment in time to return and attack them in the field. Besides, before our departure, the good general was demanding that he be given command of my other men during my absence. We both know he has some wild notions, so he has probably dispatched them on some urgent mission of his. I regret now that I didn’t have the foresight to bring the whole regiment when we came.”

“Your plan was to avoid discovery before we took up our position on the hill, colonel,” Grigori reasoned. “We did just that, and your goal to capture Ladislaus and his bandits has been concluded successfully. Not one of us expected this foreign intrusion into our land. Still, I find it hard to imagine that these mercenaries intend to attack Moscow with less than a full army.”

“I’m sure you’re cognizant of the last two attempts of the Poles to put their own men on the throne. Perhaps the mercenaries are hoping to catch Moscow by surprise again and kill the tsar, which they may well do if General Vanderhout has been foolish enough to strip away a portion of the city’s strength and defense.”

Ladislaus had paused in his restless pacing when he overheard the men talking, and now hunkered down on his haunches near the edge of the porch as he continued to listen. Peering at them thoughtfully, he finally gained their attention and gave the colonel a grin that was no less than cocky. “You need more men, eh, Englishman?”

Arching a brow, Tyrone fixed the man with an impassive stare. “If you intend to gloat, Ladislaus, be warned. I’m in no mood to accept it graciously.”

“I wouldn’t dare gloat, Colonel, not when I’ll likely be executed soon after I’m taken to Moscow.” Ladislaus shrugged his broad shoulders. “With a babe of mine ready to be born, I can’t help but wish things had been different, that I might’ve done something better with my life.”

“It’s a bit late for remorse now, don’t you think, Ladislaus?” Tyrone asked with rampant sarcasm. “You must be as old as I am, give or take a few years, yet I bet you’ve never considered doing an honest day’s labor in your whole life. So you say now that you’re feeling put out by it all, no doubt because you’ve been caught. Well, go weep on someone else’s shoulder, my lawless friend. I don’t have time to listen to your laments.”

“I only beg a moment of your time, Colonel. That is all I ask,” Ladislaus bargained. “You just might be interested in what I have to say.”

“I’m running short on patience,” Tyrone retorted tersely.

“What do you think those mercenaries are up to anyway?” Ladislaus pressed, deliberately ignoring the other’s lack of enthusiasm.

“No good! Just like you!”

“Now, Colonel,” the leader-thief smilingly cajoled. “Didn’t I promise you that you’d be interested in my proposition? But if you’re so damned certain that you and your men can force a whole regiment of foreigners to retreat, then perhaps I’m wasting my breath.”

A weary sigh clearly expressed Tyrone’s growing irritation. “What do you have to say, Ladislaus? I’m listening.”

The rogue leader was most eager to voice his suggestion. “Suppose, Colonel, that my men and I joined forces with you and yours to turn back the foreigners…” He glanced at the Englishman and then grinned in growing enthusiasm when he realized that he had managed to gain his full attention. “If they’re up to no good in Moscow, and my band and I help to send them back to wherever they came from, perhaps the tsar would consider giving me and my fellows a pardon…if we make solemn pledges that in the future we’ll apply ourselves diligently to honest labors.”

Tyrone stared at Ladislaus in disbelief, unable to con sider the plausibility of such an offer. It seemed rather doubtful the man could alter his whole way of life at this late date. Indeed, trusting him could prove as disastrous as believing a leopard could amend its natural inclination for devouring its prey.

“What would you do?” Tyrone scoffed. “Milk a herd of goats? I’m sure you can understand why I have difficulty imagining you working at some menial trade. You’ve become too well acquainted with giving commands and having them promptly obeyed.”

“The same as you, Colonel,” Ladislaus countered and lifted his broad shoulders in a casual shrug. “Perhaps I could be a soldier like you. If His Majesty can hire foreigners to teach his soldiers to fight, why can’t he recruit Russians who can fight already? We don’t expect to be outfitted in grand uniforms like the rich boyars I’ve seen, but we could still fight in the tsar’s service and keep the Russian borders secure from invaders.”

Tyrone cocked an incredulous brow at the thief. “And once you have your freedom, you would not use it to loot and murder again?”

Ladislaus spread his hands, appealing to the Englishman’s sense of justice. “I’ve been a warrior a good many years, Colonel. Men have attacked me, and I’ve defended myself as best I can, but a murderer I’m not! I’ve never killed anyone who hasn’t first tried to take my life.”

Tyrone fixed him with a narrowed gaze. “And should I believe you’ve never lashed a man between two horses?”

“I did but jest, Colonel!” Ladislaus protested with a chuckle. “At times I must intimidate my foes into believing that they’ll be as good as dead if they fool with me. I see no harm in that. Such vivid threats have been known to deter men from violence. Besides, you owe me a favor for saving you from that scoundrel Aleksei. ’Twas his most earnest intent to see you gelded.” He tossed a grinning glance toward the interior of the house, and then stroked his chin musefully as he reasoned further with his captor. “I think. Colonel, you have much to be grateful for. Your wife seems most appreciative of the fact that you’re her husband. She wouldn’t let me touch her and swore with great tenacity that she’d kill herself before allowing me to take her. If you consider the whole of it, Colonel, she was probably better off with me than that rat Aleksei. The good prince hired me to kidnap her, but bade me to deliver her straight to him. Consider further, Colonel. Had I ignored his summons, he’d have found someone else, perhaps one of low esteem, to steal her away. That one probably would’ve served the prince’s intentions far better than I.”

Grigori laid a hand upon his commander’s arm, drawing his attention. Together the two men walked away to where they could talk privately. Ladislaus eyed the pair closely, hoping fervently that they’d allow him the opportunity he had asked for.

“What are you thinking, Colonel?” Grigori asked. “Do you really believe Ladislaus can be trusted?”

“I may never know that, but under the circumstances, I’m willing to take the chance.”

“What if he joins with the other regiment against us?”

Tyrone frowned sharply. “Then we’ll likely be killed, but I’ll make him rue this day for the rest of his brief life. That much I can promise.”

Grigori accepted his superior’s decision with a nod and then followed behind as that one strode back to the porch.

“I have no idea why I should consider giving you a chance, Ladislaus, in light of all the trouble you’ve personally caused me,” Tyrone stated curtly. “Aleksei can certainly attest to the fact that you cannot be trusted, but his experience with you only whets my willingness to grant you a few concessions… if you prove yourself worthy of them. Let this be known beforehand. Whatever the outcome today, you’ll return to Moscow with me and allow Tsar Mikhail to decide whether to grant you and your men a reprieve. If you clearly demonstrate your sincerity in helping us turn back the enemy forces, I’ll personally ad dress my plea to His Majesty for your immediate release, but be warned, I’m in no mood to be tricked. If you make me regret giving you this opportunity, you’ll be the first among your followers I will shoot. Do you understand?”

“Quite clearly, Colonel.”

“Now, are you absolutely sure your men will follow you in this endeavor?” Tyrone queried as a last consideration toward caution.

Ladislaus chuckled briefly in amusement. “Since they have a fervent desire to live out the hour, I’ll venture to say, positively!”

Tyrone accepted the rogue’s word and bade the lieutenant to free the prisoners. As Ladislaus and Petrov rose to their feet and stretched, the colonel urged them to hurry. “Get to your mounts and gather yourselves and your men together in front of the house here. We’ll have to race ahead of the mercenaries in order to position our cannon and spread our forces on the hills in front of them, so we need to leave here at once.”

Ladislaus hesitated as he glanced toward the door and dared to ask the Englishman for another request. “Colonel, I’d like to speak to Alyona for a moment. If I don’t come back, I want her to know that I’m at least trying to make a better way for the two of us and our child.”

Tyrone approached the portal and, opening it, beckoned for Synnovea and the midwife to come out on the porch for a few moments. Ladislaus dipped his head in a nod of appreciation before slipping inside. Tyrone closed the door behind him and extended a hand toward Synnovea. She smiled in response and, laying her own within his, allowed him to draw her to the far end of the porch. Unable to find the words to tell her that he’d be leaving again and might not be coming back alive, Tyrone gathered her close against him and held her with a growing sense of gloom that immediately conveyed itself to her. She had only to glance around at the soldiers readying their gear to know what was coming.

“You’re riding out again?” she queried worriedly, lean ing back in his arms to search his face. When she looked past his arm, she realized that weapons were being given to the highwaymen. “What terrible thing has happened to set you in league with thieves?”

“We’ve sighted a renegade regiment nearby. They seem to be riding hard toward Moscow, for what end I’m not as yet certain, but ’tis my earnest belief that they plan to enter by stealth into the Kremlin and either kill the tsar or take him hostage. It isn’t the first time they’ve tried to seize control of the country by such a plan.”

“But how can such a feat be accomplished?” she questioned in amazement.

“By subterfuge—and more than a goodly share of boldness. If they’ve positioned spies or accomplices inside the Kremlin, then they’ll likely be able to enter secretly with none the wiser.”

“Be careful,” Synnovea pleaded desperately, letting him gather her close against him again. “You haven’t yet given me a child, and if it’s ever meant that we should be parted by death, I’d like some part of you to remain with me.”

Tyrone plied her soft lips with a gentle kiss and then, drawing back, smiled down into eyes brimming with tears. “We’ve had so little time together, my love, I hope we’ll be allowed several decades to spawn many admirable confirmations of our devotion.”

Ladislaus strode from the house, prompting Tyrone to crush a fervent kiss upon his wife’s lips before he, too, crossed the porch and descended the steps. It caused some confusion for both men when they realized they had halted beside the same horse.

“This is my stallion!” Tyrone declared emphatically, gathering the reins. “Your horse was shot, remember?”

“But we made a trade,” Ladislaus tried to argue. “Mine for yours, yours for mine.”

“Yours is dead!” Tyrone stepped between him and the horse and swung up into the saddle, from whence he grinned down upon the man as that one growled in protest. “From now on, Ladislaus, you’re going to have to limit yourself to your own possessions. I have a serious aversion to sharing my treasures, especially with the likes of you.”

Tyrone reined the high-stepping mount about, close enough to allow the animal to flick its tail across the brigand’s face, evoking a loud snort of displeasure from the giant. Accepting his helmet from the grinning Grigori, who urged his own horse alongside, Tyrone settled it on his head. Then he lifted his arm and swept it forward in a command for all to follow. It was the chortling Petrov who led a rather shaggy-looking horse to Ladislaus as his leader muttered sourly after the colonel.

“You forgot, maybe, it was your horse you tell me shoot.” Petrov inclined his shining head toward the animal he had brought near and grinned. “Maybe this beast not so fine as his or the one I shot, but better than walking, I think.”

The foreign regiment rode over the hill and was halfway across the valley before a sudden warning shout rent the silence. The men gaped in sharp surprise as a solid line of mounted, uniformed Hussars, appearing as if from out of nowhere, halted their steeds on the next rise ahead of them. As they watched in paralyzed awe, cannons were hastily rolled to positions on the brow of the hill, interspersing the cavalry unit, while the officer in command slowly raised his sword.

Shouted orders sent a swelling tide of confusion rippling through the foreign ranks, turning their haste into a mad scrambling dash as they sought to bring up the artillery and spread it out in a more impressive line than the one they now faced. Clearly having the larger force, they hoped to counter the threatening attack and roll the foolish ones back upon their heels. Several musket shots rang out from their ranks, and a pair of Hussars toppled to the ground, but in the next instant the Russian cannons began to bark with deafening intensity. Recoiling in large plumes of smoke, they sent leaden balls hurtling through the air to bombard the intruders. The shots landed, eliciting startled shrieks from both man and beast as large geysers of dirt were spewed upward in front of them. When a second barrage was unleashed, it punished them severely for the dead Hussars. A wealthily garbed nobleman shouted at the commander, who, in frustrated rage, snarled out orders in rapid succession to his men. Obeying, those hearties bared their swords and spurred their steeds forward in pursuit of vengeance, just as a cannon lobbed a leaden ball down upon the princely one.

The Hussars seemed to wait on the hill with unswerving patience as their opponents charged toward them. The rival force of mercenaries quickly gained the first upward slope of the knoll, but just as they did, out of the corners of their eyes they caught movements to their left and right. In sudden alarm they glanced askance betwixt the two, and their hearts filled them with fear as they saw other men, dressed in all manner of array, swarming down upon them. The Hussars seemed to come alive as their commander swept his sword forward in a signal to charge. He led his men at a thundering pace, lifting his saber high and rending the air with a warbling wail that raised the hackles of friend and foe alike. The intruders considered their plight forthwith and came swiftly to the determination that it was foolish to stand and fight against such odds. Expeditiously they wheeled their steeds about, intending to flee, but they soon found themselves caught in a box from which they would find no successful escape, for another surge of outlandishly garbed fiends was charging up from the rear.

A pair of darkly cloaked figures crept stealthily through the trees near the Kremlin wall until they saw a wagon carrying fodder for horses moving briskly toward the tower known as the Borovitskaia . The two hastened to reach the path as the cart rumbled past and flitted alongside it until the farmer halted the conveyance at the gate, where he greeted the sentry with the warm cheer of a close friend and laughingly conversed with him, allowing the wraiths to slip inside unseen.

The two continued on, one leading the other as if by rote through the trees. They came to a spot near the edge of the Kremlin hill where they had been told to wait until a quarter stroke of the hour. At that appointed time another cloaked shade, this one noticeably smaller than the two, moved away from the Blagoveshchenskii Sobor and cautiously approached them.

“What are you two about this eventide?” a subdued voice asked from the deep cowl as the slight one neared the two.

A gruff voice issued an answer. “We’ve come a-gaming for that fanciful dish tsars are wont to seek.”

The shorter one dipped his head in acknowledgment and made the expected reply. “And what is that but a royal seat upon the throne?” The three came together, and the smaller one promptly lowered his tone to a whisper. “Your men have been given their instructions?”

The one with the harsh voice gave the information while his companion stood stoically mute. “At the appointed hour, they will create a diversion for us and start fires throughout Moscow, to which the tsar’s soldiers will be dispatched. By then Tsar Mikhail and Patriarch Filaret will have gone into the Blagoveshchenskii Sobor to pray. We’re to join ourselves with the rest of our men and kill the castle guards who have come to stand watch. We will then slay the patriarch and the tsar in the chapel and hold the Kremlin until the rightful tsar takes the throne and kills the boyars who are wont to reject him.”

“Good! I assume your men are waiting inside the Kremlin to help you in this endeavor.”

“All is in readiness, my lord.”

“The other matter is arranged also?”

“What matter is that?”

“Surely you’ve addressed yourselves to the safety of the new tsar and have found a place here in the Kremlin where he can hide until he’s ready to make an appearance, have you not?” The pointed question was met with a tense silence that demonstrated the perplexity of the two. The small man became incensed. Completely infuriated at the dim-witted simplicity of the dullards, he threw back his hood in a vivid display of rage and advanced upon the pair with a snarl contorting his pockmarked face. The back of his short-fingered hand swiped forcefully across the wide chest of the taller one, who stood the closest to him. “You fools! He’s the most integral part of this whole plot! Where is he?”

“Where any rightful pretender should be, Ivan Voronsky,” the taller one finally answered.

Ivan’s mind halted in sudden shock. Though the man had spoken Russian, the words had been accentuated with an English accent, allowing a sharply goading fear to seize the cleric’s mind. He remembered precisely where and when he had last heard it, and that had been weeks ago at the military parade held in the Kremlin.

“Rycroft!”

The tall man approached him, sweeping back the hood of his own cloak. “Aye, Ivan Voronsky, ’tis Colonel Sir Rycroft, at your service.” Tyrone swept a hand toward his companion as he casually introduced him. “And my good man, Captain Grigori Tverskoy, to aid you in all your endeavors. Your Polish friends were found out ere they reached Moscow, and I fear your intended tsar was blown to bits by the careless aim of our artillerymen. A tragedy, to be sure. I’m sure Tsar Mikhail would have preferred to see him beheaded alongside you.”

Ivan snatched forth a dagger and raised it high, intending to sink it into the chest of that stalwart one who addressed him with scorn, but his wrist was seized in a steely grasp and wrenched around to a painful height behind his back, startling a cry from him as an agonizing jolt of pain wended its way from wrist to shoulder. Almost casually, Tyrone plucked the knife from Ivan’s hand, eliciting another highly indignant screech from the grimacing lips. At the sound, there quickly arose from the area of the Palace of Facets a confused burble of voices which soon was overridden by shouted commands that compelled the guards to seek the source of the noise.

Ivan’s heart began to hammer as he realized he wasn’t going to escape from the trap the two had laid for him. All the money the invaders had put aside for him suddenly seemed a paltry sum in view of the price that would be exacted from him for treason against the tsar.

“I’ve got gold! I’ll give you all of it if you’ll just let me go!” Ivan pleaded frantically over his shoulder. He had to be gone before the palace guards reached them or it would be too late to make good his escape! “It’s more than both of you will ever make in your lifetime! Please! You must let me go!”

“What portion does Princess Anna receive from what you promise to us? She is your accomplice, is she not?” Tyrone queried as he leaned over the cleric’s shoulder.

“Princess Anna? Why, she was merely a pawn I used in my attempt to enlist the aid of wealthy boyars to the cause.”

Grigori clasped his fingers in the cleric’s lank hair and lifted that one’s head to peer leeringly into his sharply honed features. “Have Russian boyars also promised you gold to make it worth your while?”

“No! No! But I tell you there is enough already to fill your coffers to the brim! Those fools wouldn’t hear of a Pole claiming the throne. Indeed, they seemed content to let a simple puppet rule the land.”

“What fool would seriously consider being subjugated beneath the rule of a Polish tsar?” Tyrone chided. “As for the gold, I think I can speak for both of us. You see, we’re quite content with what we already have and are grateful that our heads will remain firmly attached to our shoulders while yours will not.”

Ivan Voronsky’s demeanor crumpled, and he began to sob bitterly, as if all the woes of the world were crushing down upon him. His loud weeping turned to wails of anguish and frustration, until it seemed as if he had no more strength to stand. Weakly he collapsed against the man who held him in an unrelenting vise. Above his muffled crying, running footfalls could be heard rapidly approaching.

“What goes on here?” an officer demanded, unsheathing his sword as he raced through the shadows toward the three. Over his shoulder, he called for reinforcements before slowing his pace to make a more cautious approach. Closely perusing the cloaked figures, he came to a halt and questioned sharply, “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, ’twould seem,” Tyrone replied solemnly, lifting his head to meet Major Nekrasov’s startled stare.

“Colonel Rycroft! I thought you were gone!”

“I was,” Tyrone answered simply. Then he dipped his head to indicate the grieving cleric, whom he held firmly ensnared by one hand. “We came across a force of Polish mercenaries who had been hired to help this man assassinate the tsar and the patriarch. We camped on the outskirts of the city so none would know of our presence, just in case there were more spies afoot than we had been led to believe. We came here searching for the one whom the mercenaries said they were to meet. The Poles couldn’t lay a name to the traitor, so we had to find him ourselves. I believe you’ve met the man when you escorted the Lady Synnovea to Moscow. He is your prisoner now.”

Nikolai peered down at the glowering cleric, who bared his teeth and hissed like a small, poisonous viper caught by the tail. Breathing in some of the foul stench emitted by his harsh breathing, the major became convinced anon that the man’s present behavior was a truer manifestation of his character than he had thus far exhibited.

Nikolai gestured for the men who had answered his summons to come forth and take the prisoner away to the tower known as Konstantin Yelena . With stoic reserve, the major watched as they grappled with the snarling, struggling man who had taken on the ferocity of a rabid wolf. Finally they managed to subdue him with two lengths of chain and hauled the maddened beast away at the end of his fetters.

After observing their departure until they were out of sight, Nikolai turned almost reluctantly to face his rival. “Colonel, there is a matter of grave concern of which you need to be made aware. Shortly after you left the city, the Lady Synnovea was kidnapped by a band of men who closely matched the descriptions of Ladislaus and his cohorts. Countess Andreyevna said your wife’s disappearance wasn’t discovered until the next morning, after the guards you had hired to watch her were found gagged and bound in the garden. By then it was too late to scour the countryside with any hope of halting their flight. I’m sorry.”

“Ease your mind, Major,” Tyrone replied. “At present, my wife is safely ensconced in my camp outside the city.”

Nikolai was momentarily taken aback by surprise. “Considering how adamant Ladislaus has been to have Her Ladyship for himself, I was sure no one would ever see her again. How did you manage to get her back?”

“’Twas my extreme good fortune to be in the right area at the right time.” A slight smile etched Tyrone’s lips. “You may be relieved to hear that Ladislaus has decided to repent of his lawless ways and has come to ask full pardon from the tsar. At present, he’s also in my camp, sporting a wound that’s more impressive than serious. Nevertheless, he’s happy showing off his new son. Without the help that he and his men gave us, we’d never have been able to capture the mercenaries.”

“Ladislaus here? In your camp? Can that really be true?”

A lopsided grin made an appearance as Tyrone gazed back at him. The major only reflected his own disbelief when the thief had made his proposal. “I know it sounds farfetched. Major, but Grigori can confirm what I say.”

“I was reluctant to believe it myself,” the captain offered, “but it seems that Ladislaus dotes upon the sister of our scout. Now that he’s a father, he feels he must make a better way for his offspring than he had growing up. Ladislaus was tutored by some of the best, but his father—a Polish prince—refused to lawfully claim him as his son. Ladislaus has asked the girl to marry him, and if he’s pardoned, he’ll then avail himself of the opportunity to seek an honest profession.”

Major Nekrasov chortled at the wonder of such miracles. Then he cleared his throat behind a hand as he prepared to speak of an entirely different matter. “Colonel Rycroft, I’m not sure if you know that General Vanderhout insisted upon taking the rest of your regiment out, along with troops from other regiments, on the premise of evaluating their performance….”

Tyrone braced himself as he and Grigori exchanged worried glances. “What is it, Major?”

“Well, as far as I’ve been able to ascertain, General Vanderhout had no idea how fierce Cossacks can be when they’re set awry…”

“Go on, Major,” Tyrone prodded impatiently as that one paused to look at him. “What has happened?”

“There was a complete rout, Colonel. Your men wanted to stay and fight, but General Vanderhout didn’t want to take the chance that they’d anger the Cossacks more than they had been already. He ordered your men back to Moscow and followed swiftly with the others, making a valiant attempt to outrun the Cossacks, who had threatened to set fire to his heels if he dallied overlong in their territory. Once the general passed through the outer gates of Moscow, the Cossacks entertained themselves with the debris your commander had left behind in his haste, not only muskets but several cannons which had been requested by him. The Cossacks built large campfires, hooted and cavorted while they harassed Muscovites morning and night with their newfound artillery. No real damage was done, at least none that I’m aware, but ’twas nearly three days before the Cossacks finally ceased their chicanery and took themselves off to seek other diversions. Since then, the general has been in hiding. I believe he’s ashamed—and possibly afraid—to show his face.”

Grigori burst into laughter and made no effort to curb his amusement as Major Nekrasov glanced at him obliquely. It was a full moment before Tyrone was able to speak without following his second-in-command’s example.

“All appears to have gone well in our absence,” he commented drolly.

Thoroughly bemused, Nikolai contemplated the Englishman, who seemed to have trouble hiding a smile. “You appear to be taking the news exceptionally well, Colonel. I rather assumed that you and the general were good friends, what with Vanderhout being a foreigner and your commander and all….”

“I needn’t look to foreigners or those of my own circumstance for friendship. Major.” Tyrone laid an arm around Grigori’s shoulder and pulled him close against his side. “Here is a true friend, Major. He is one who seeks my good. As for General Vanderhout…well, I value him considerably less than my most casual acquaintances.”

Tyrone swept a hand to his brow in a casual salute of farewell. Even as the pair made their departure, occasional spurts of laughter drifted back. With something akin to a perplexed smile flitting across his face, Major Nekrasov turned and made his way toward the Palace of Facets, where he would tell the tsar everything that Colonel Rycroft had related to him. Then he would escort His Majesty to the Blagoveshchenskii Sobor , where Tsar Mikhail would meet with the patriarch and priest for an hour of private worship. Father and son would no doubt want to offer a special prayer of thanksgiving because the culprits had been caught before completing their mission.