5

S ynnovea’s slender feet fairly flitted down the stairs the next morning. She had given up all pretense of being indisposed for another day. having come to the decision that she wasn’t particularly fond of being roasted alive. She doubted that even the cleric’s stodgy instructions could be as punishing as the hellish discomfort she had endured in the solitude of her chambers. Thus, with a lighthearted ambiance and a newfound tolerance for Ivan Voronsky, Synnovea swept into the dining hall and smiled cheerily as she extended a morning greeting to the man.

Ivan had entered only a few moments earlier, but it seemed as if he had devised his strategy well in advance of her appearance, for he nearly stumbled over himself skittering around to a place where he could bar her departure from the room, no doubt fearing she’d be tempted to escape like an errant child once he confronted her. When she picked up a plate and went to the sideboard, he followed with his own platter and heaped the morning fare upon it.

“This morning, Countess, we shall address the value of humility and self-denial,” he announced, licking sauce from his thumb.

Slanting a glance toward his overflowing plate, Synnovea couldn’t resist a smiling query. “Self-denial in what respect, sir?”

Ivan sniffed arrogantly. “Well, to begin with, in your manner of dress.”

Synnovea thought he looked very dour and supercilious in his dark vestment, which he obviously considered appropriate for the seriousness of his duties. But then, he probably would have conveyed an identical demeanor if he wore nothing at all, not that she was at all interested in having her suspicions confirmed. If fate decreed that she should again be shocked by the sight of a naked man, then she’d just as soon he be a far more worthy specimen, someone with a physique as notable as Colonel Rycroft’s but with handsomer features.

Synnovea lifted her own dish aside and looked down at her sarafan of turquoise silk, wondering what Ivan had found to fault her for this time. Considering the fact that she was adequately covered from neck to toe to wrist and clad in the traditional manner of her homeland, she had difficulty understanding the cleric’s objection. “Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?” she inquired, her curiosity piqued. She was beginning to suspect that he’d be averse to anything she wore. “Is this not the proper attire of a Russian boyarina? ”

“Somewhat reminiscent of a peacock, I would imagine. Indeed, a bit too colorful to be considered demure. No modest maiden should strut about like some pretty hen in her finery.”

Synnovea played the innocent, disinclined to accept his assessments with the same appreciation that Anna might have displayed, though she seriously doubted the man would have offered such criticisms to the princess. One did not wisely bite the hand that nourished him. “I thought peacocks were male birds. Or do you mean peahens? They, of course, don’t have much finery, not like peacocks.”

“That’s strictly beside the point!” Ivan snapped in an indignant huff. “And as a young maid and now a student of mine, you’ll have to learn to show proper respect to your savants and be humble of both spirit and mode. After all, the tsar is looking for a bride, and who is to say what maid he will finally select.”

Synnovea promptly rejected such a notion. “With all due respect to His Majesty, sir, I have no wish to be subjected to the intrigue and jealousies associated with that particular position. I’m quite content living my life outside the confines and stricture of a terem and avoiding the fear of what potion might be added to my food. His Majesty has suffered much in trying to find a bride, but not as much as his wife will have to once he marries.”

Ivan eyed her narrowly, trying to plumb her logic. “What do you mean?”

Casually Synnovea settled herself in a chair at the table. “Maria Khlopova was once Tsar Mikhail’s prospective bride, and look what happened to her.”

Ivan took a seat nearby, placing his heavily laden plate before him. In his opinion, his student needed to be given an example of what might befall a woman full of wiles and deceit. “Maria was undone because, in her eagerness to become tsarina, she sought to conceal her illness from Tsar Mikhail. If not for her untimely collapse into violent and convulsive frothing in front of His Majesty and his guests, she might have accomplished her deception. Sending the Khlopovs to Siberia was hardly punishment enough for the trickery they planned.”

Synnovea stared at the man, rather amazed by his lack of knowledge. Apparently the more recent occurrences at court had escaped his attention. “Oh. but didn’t you hear? Shortly after his return from Poland, Patriarch Filaret uncovered a plot by the Saltykovs to discredit Maria Khlopova and her family. It seems that several members of the Saltykov family had doused Maria’s food with an emetic and then bribed the attending physicians to spread the lie that she had an incurable illness. Patriarch Filaret learned of their subterfuge and told his son. That’s why His Majesty has recently banished the Saltykovs from court and confiscated some of their lands.” Synnovea heaved a sigh. “Though it’s done poor Maria little good now,”

“But the Saltykovs are relatives of Tsar Mikhail’s mother,” Ivan argued. “Marfa would never abide such an edict against her kin, even from her son. You must be mistaken.”

Synnovea allowed him the benefit of a kindly smile. “That’s exactly why Marfa now staunchly refuses to give her consent to her son’s marriage to Maria Khlopova. She was positively in an uproar over his treatment of her kin.” Briefly Synnovea addressed her attention to her plate before lifting her gaze to the dumbfounded man. Though wisdom pleaded caution, the opportunity to subtly suggest that her knowledge equaled or even surpassed his was far too tempting to resist. It would only be a gentle gibe. “Do you suppose you’ve had enough instruction for the day, Ivan? I do so wish to visit the Countess Andreyevna this morning ere it gets too warm. Perhaps we could continue our discussion on the morrow.”

Ivan’s pockmarked cheeks reddened profusely as he lowered his gaze to his food. He resented being mocked and made to appear the simpleton, especially by the Countess Synnovea. whose sire had been rich enough to hire the best sages and master tutors to instruct his daughter, while he, Ivan, had found it necessary to grovel and abase himself with menial tasks in order to acquire every bit of learning he could, all in an effort to crush those reviling jeers that still haunted him from his youth. After his mother’s death, he had attached himself to the starets and the priests of the church, shared their paltry meals and tattered robes, merely for the purpose of learning the written word and delving into their weighty tomes and ancient archives. Now, having obtained a rich patroness of influential standing, he wasn’t about to be generous to those who had known only a life of ease. He wouldn’t allow this fine feathered bird to flit about in carefree abandon after making sport of him. Either she’d learn to be respectful of his importance and mastery…or else.

“On the contrary. Countess, you may not be excused today or any other day unless it is by my recommendation.”

Ivan turned from her as if in stern rebuke, but it was a ruse to protect himself from the curiosity of those green-brown eyes, which had widened in stunned surprise. Once again he became a helpless victim of a nervously twitching eyelid and of hands that trembled violently enough to spill liquid from any glass he dared hold while in the midst of those damnable afflictions. From the deepest, darkest recesses of his boyhood memories came haunting visions of his mother standing over him with lips turned sharply downward in contempt as she shouted hateful insults at the little bastard she had whelped. Though he had tried countless times to scour those distressing apparitions from his heart and brain, he was nevertheless tormented by the seizure they evoked.

The demoralizing spasm finally passed, and Ivan drew a steadying breath before facing the maiden. She had congenially addressed her attention to the meal, seeming completely undisturbed by his denial. Her lack of concern was hardly gratifying. Indeed, it was like sharp fangs gnawing at him. He yearned to taste the sweet succor of revenge and devised a plan to make her pay twofold.

Ivan’s thin lips stretched stiffly into a sneer. “It has come to my attention. Countess, that there are duties in the kitchen to which you can devote yourself instead of wasting your time associating with such questionable creatures as the Countess Andreyevna.”

Aghast at his slight of her friend, Synnovea leaned back in her chair and stared at him with eyes that now flashed fire. It seemed there was no sentiment that Ivan and the princess didn’t share. “Countess Andreyevna is a woman of sterling character, sir. Knowing her as I do, I can offer you hearty assurances to that fact.”

Ivan scoffed. “I’ve been to one of those receptions she gives. Rich boyars and high-ranking officers. Her reasons are obvious to everyone. A widow after three husbands, she’s just searching for one rich enough to keep her wallowing in luxuries from now until she dies.”

Synnovea recognized the slander to which Anna had given voice two days past. Yet she also sensed Ivan’s spitefulness, no doubt elicited by her own foolishness in taunting him. He was perhaps hoping to provoke her wrath by maligning Natasha, but Synnovea vowed not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her defeated by his little ploys. “The kitchen, you say? Well, of course. What would you have me do there that I should consider part of my studies?”

“You need to learn the humbleness of a servant before you’ll ever be considered suitable for the institute of marriage by any Russian gentleman. Princess Anna has given me leave to instruct you as I see fit, and my first order of the day will be to teach you about the ignoble concept of servitude and the hardships of serfs and peasants.” His small eyes flicked over her costly garb, losing none of their dullness. “I’m sure you’ll want to change into something less ostentatious now that you’ll be working in the kitchen.”

“Then, if you’ll excuse me,” Synnovea begged graciously, “I must return to my chambers to prepare myself, as you suggest.” Smiling all the while, she rose and removed her plate from the table. What the cleric evidently didn’t understand was that she had not only served as mistress of her father’s house after the death of her mother, but she had often worked alongside some of the servants, especially when close attention to detail had been needed in preparing the house for guests or cooking special dishes for visitors or her father. She had taken personal delight in helping the gardeners. She had loved nurturing the flowers, herbs, and vegetables and seeing their labors manifested into food for the table and large, riotously colored blooms that she had often arranged in vases and brought inside. If Ivan thought he had gained some leverage by ordering her to work, then once again he had displayed his ignorance.

Ivan grew suspicious of her obliging mien. “If you think to barricade yourself in your chambers again today, Countess, I beg you to reconsider. Princess Anna will never allow you to dawdle when I’ve assigned you specific duties.”

“Why, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” Synnovea tossed a chiding chuckle over her shoulder as she went to the door. “Really, Ivan,” she said, deliberately using the familiarity to impart her own lack of veneration for him. “there’s no need for you to sulk or fret yourself about my intentions. I’m only taking your advice.”

The winds of glee, which had momentarily filled Ivan’s sails, collapsed into dully hanging shrouds of disappointment. The very least he had been expecting was the angry outburst of a thoroughly irate female.

Synnovea returned to her chambers and doffed her attire. In its stead she donned the peasant garb she normally wore when she lent herself to household duties. Her abrupt return had ignited Ali’s suspicions, but the change of garments solidified them. Synnovea soon found herself confronted by the servant, and though she carefully explained that her assignment now included a short stint in the kitchen and that it was a more enjoyable task than suffering through Ivan’s lectures, Ali was simply outraged at the audacity of the cleric.

“What! Does that toad take it upon himself ta order ye ’bout as if’n ye be some common drudge? Well, I say a pox on the man!”

“I’ll be doing nothing more than what I did at home,” Synnovea reasoned, trying to calm the maid, who, despite her bantam size, was given to exhibitions of temper and temerity befitting a mother bear whose cub had just been set upon. “It won’t hurt me in the least, I assure you.”

“Aye, me dearie, but ’twas yerself decidin’ the chores ye’d be doin’, not another givin’ ye commands like some high-an’-mighty lordlin’.” Ali flounced about the chambers in a high dander. “That toad’ll rue the day he set his mind ta doin’ ye ill, that he will!”

“Ali McCabe! I forbid you to give Ivan or Princess Anna the satisfaction of seeing us put out by his peevish bent! We’ll abide by Ivan’s dictate as graciously as we can, do you understand?” Receiving no response, Synnovea stamped her foot, demanding to be answered by the cantankerous little woman, “Ali! Do you understand?”

Petulantly the maid folded her arms across her flat chest and pouted, not in total agreement with her mistress. “He’s a beggarly scamp, that he is.”

Synnovea had difficulty maintaining a disapproving frown when the temptation to laugh was all but overwhelming, but she raised a warning finger in front of the woman’s nose. “I want you to promise me, Ali McCabe, that you’ll do all that you can to keep the peace while we’re here.”

Ali glared at the threatening digit and assumed her best martyred demeanor. Briefly she cast her eyes heavenward as if appealing to the saints and sucked air through her teeth to indicate her deep distress. Finally, with a wry shake of her head, she grudgingly relented. “Aye, I’ll be doin’ it ’cause ye told me ta, but ’twill not sit well, ye know that!”

Synnovea chuckled softly as she laid a comforting arm about the woman’s narrow shoulders and copied her brogue. “Aye, I know that, Ali, me dearest, but ’twill be better this way. Mayhap by a bit o’ kindness, we’ll be turnin’ aside their resentment.”

“That’ll be the day, for sure! Aye! Though the priests assured me miracles have a way o’ happenin’ e’en today, I still have me doubts that ye can gather wool searchin’ through a wolf’s lair.”

Her eyes sparkling with amusement, Synnovea dared to point out the error in the tiny woman’s thinking. “Perhaps you might if that’s all that’s left of the carcass the wolf has dragged in.”

Ali paused with mouth aslack. considering the truth of her mistress’s reasoning. Finally she heaved a sigh of lament. “But that bodes ill for ye, me lamb.”

“Help me finish dressing,” Synnovea sweetly urged. “Then you can put away my clothes while I go downstairs and confront the cook.” She paused to consider the wisdom of Ivan’s decree. “Poor Elisaveta. she may be in for a bit of a shock. She’ll be so nervous with a boyarina working in the kitchen, she might well burn the food.”

“’Twouldn’t hurt none if she did,” Ali rejoined tartly. “The way that crow Ivan’s been fillin’ his craw since he come ta Nizhni Novgorod, it’ll serve him right ta have ta choke down burnt vittles for a while.”

As predicted, Elisaveta. the sad-eyed cook, gawked in open astonishment when Synnovea entered her domain dressed not entirely like a servant, but not quite like a noble lady either. Her apparel might have put even Ivan’s morose convictions on servitude to rout, for her white, lace-trimmed blouse, bodice of forest green, and wide white apron decorated with variegated rows of trim and worn over a dark skirt lavishly embroidered with a colorful profusion of flowers, created a very fetching costume. Layers of lacy petticoats gave the skirt volume. Beneath the ankle-length hem could be spied slender, slippered feet and darkly stockinged ankles as trim and shapely as a man could hope to view. A large, lace-edged kerchief covered her dark head, and the single braid was left to hang unadorned to her hips.

“Countess!” Elisaveta cried, clearly flustered. “What be ye doin’ here?”

“I’ve come to help, Elisaveta,” Synnovea announced cheerily. “Is there something I can do?”

“Nyet! Nyet, spaseeba!” the plump woman squawked and waved her hands wildly above her head, as if sorely beset by worry. She had never heard of anything so preposterous! “The princess will never allow such a thing! You’re a guest!”

“But I would very much like to learn how to create those wonderful dishes you’re so gifted at making, Elisaveta, so I might instruct my own servants once I return home.” Giving the woman a pleading look, she coaxed. “Will you not teach me?”

The cook waggled her graying head as a tentative smile touched her lips. It finally deepened into a grin that dimpled her round cheeks. Tucking her massive arms under the folds of her apron. Elisaveta snuggled them up close beneath her large bosom, pleased with the lady’s compliments. “I can show ye what little I know, Countess.”

“Then I’ll surely learn all there is to be taught about cooking,” Synnovea smilingly surmised. “What will you show me first?”

“Well, this be what I’m doin’ now,” Elisaveta announced as she waddled over to a long wooden table where she had been cleaning and heaping up separate mounds of carrots, onions, truffles, and wild mushrooms “When I finish chopping these, I’ll be making pirozhki . The master likes the little stuffed patties very much.”

Synnovea glanced up at the woman. “Will Prince Aleksei be here this evening?”

“Oh, he’s usually not gone more’n a day or two.” Elisaveta sighed heavily. “If not for him, there’d be no need for me to cook. The mistress eats less than a sparrow when the master’s here and almost nothing at all when he’s gone. It’s a pity to see all this food go to waste.”

“Surely there are enough servants in the household to eat whatever isn’t served at your master’s table,” Synnovea ventured as she perused the various boiling pots and the large bowl of dough that waited to be rolled out.

The gray head moved sorrowfully. “ Nyet , it’s forbidden.”

“Forbidden? How so?”

“The mistress won’t allow the servants to eat what’s been prepared for her and those what sit at her table,” Elisaveta explained. “It would spoil their taste for simple food, she says. There’re so many others who could benefit, if only….”

The jade-brown eyes chased to the glum-faced woman. Elisaveta hastily brushed a hand across her cheek, wiping away a tear that trickled slowly downward.

Synnovea felt her own heart wrenched by the sadness of so much food going to waste when, without extra cost to the Taraslovs, a goodly number could be helped by it. Sharing in the woman’s misery, she laid a gentle hand upon the stout arm. “Do you know of someone in particular who’s in need. Elisaveta?”

The cook’s chin trembled despite her efforts to keep it firm. “It’s my sister. Countess. Her husband died this past winter, and she’s poor in health. She has a young daughter of three at her side, but she cannot work to make ends meet. They’re wasting away to nothing, and here I be, in this fine house, cooking all this fine food, but I’m forbidden to take anything to her. I cannot even leave to help her.”

“Well!” Synnovea settled her hands on a waist that was narrow enough to be envied. If this was the state of affairs in the Taraslov manse, then she wouldn’t sit quietly by and do nothing. “I have a maid I can send to buy food and whatever else is needed, and a coachman to take her to your sister. Though I may not be allowed to leave without special permission”—Synnovea gave a small shrug as Elisaveta glanced up in surprise—“they won’! trouble themselves overmuch about the absence of my maid.”

“You mean you can’t leave here without me mistress giving you the say?” the cook questioned in amazement.

“I’m sure ’tis only for my protection,” Synnovea responded with a comforting pat on the servant’s arm.

“Hmph!” Elisaveta drew her own conclusions as she cast a glare toward the kitchen door, intending it for the woman who roamed well beyond it. She had once been employed by the family who had given birth to the Princess Anna and long ago had formed definite opinions about the woman who had sent her own aging parents to live in a monastery because she preferred to live alone with her husband in the house in which she had grown up. Even when the princess had moved to Moscow, she had not allowed her parents to return home lest they disturb the order of the home place.

By late afternoon Synnovea had finished her chores in the kitchen, whereupon Ivan, eager to demonstrate his authority over her, gave her a weighty tome to read. The garden behind the house offered a seat in the dappled shade of a tree, from which she could watch the return of Ali and Stenka, who had left some time ago on their mission of goodwill. Elisaveta came to the back door often to peer out, but Synnovea could only shake her head, having viewed nothing more than a few small carriages and a handful of mounted riders passing in front of the manse. Dismissing these, she returned her attention begrudgingly to the boring passages Ivan had lauded. The work seemed so full of absurdities she had trouble believing the cleric had actually been serious about his praise.

Dusk had tainted the sky with gloom before Synnovea finally espied the familiar coach. When she rushed into the kitchen to tell Elisaveta that Ali was returning, the cook chafed in frustration, unable to leave her duties. Hardly pausing, Synnovea swept through the dining hall and was hurrying across the hall when Anna turned from the front portal with a harsh frown gathering her thinly drawn brows.

“You should’ve discouraged that pompous Englishman from coming here when you first met him,” the princess rebuked, incensed that she had been called to the door again to answer his inquiries. The man apparently lacked the sense to know when he wasn’t welcome or was just too pigheaded to accept that fact. “Colonel Rycroft was quite adamant about seeing you this time and had the audacity to inform me that he’ll return on the morrow, as if another visit will do him any good!”

Synnovea’s eyes flew to the portal. Earlier that morning, her spirits had been strangely buoyed by the fact that Colonel Rycroft had expressed his intentions to call upon her during the day. In setting her servants upon her benevolent quest to help Elisaveta’s sister and young niece, however, she had allowed his planned visit to slip from the forefront of her mind. Regrettably Anna’s haughty outrage left no doubt that he had been treated rudely. Almost cautiously Synnovea asked, “Is Colonel Rycroft still here?”

“He was a moment ago, but he has gone now,” Anna informed her caustically. She flung up a hand in the same angry manner with which she had banished the officer from her stoop. “I informed him that you didn’t wish to be disturbed ever again by him! I gave him some coins for a reward to carry back to his man when he tried to use that again as an excuse for his return. Personally, I have grave doubts he’ll be giving them to another. A simple trick for gain, if you ask me.”

Synnovea struggled to curb her irritation, resenting the fact that the woman had taken it upon herself to dismiss the man without first informing her. Even if Colonel Rycroft was an Englishman bent on courting her. Synnovea considered it entirely her prerogative to grant him permission to see her or send him on his way. Taking into account that the man had risked his life to save her from ravishment or worse, he certainly deserved better treatment than Anna had obviously given him. “You say Colonel Rycroft will be returning on the morrow?”

“He may if he dares to ignore what I said, but ’twill do him little good,” Anna declared emphatically. “I won’t let you see him!”

“I can’t imagine the harm in showing Colonel Rycroft a few common courtesies,” Synnovea replied frostily, ignoring the fact that she hadn’t yet forgiven the man for not informing her of his presence prior to her bath. Even so, she reserved the right to berate him for those offenses in a manner she deemed appropriate. “I owe the colonel a debt of gratitude.”

“That doesn’t mean he’ll be accepted in this house,” the princess snapped. “I detest the man, and you’d better honor my wishes or, by heaven, you’ll wish you had.”

“And so I shall,” Synnovea assured her with a tight smile. The subject of Colonel Rycroft’s visitations was hardly worth getting into a fracas over. Still, she resented the woman making dire threats to ensure that her dictates were carried out to the letter.

Anna reclaimed her imperious demeanor. “I shall expect to be paid back for the coins I gave the man on your behalf…which brings us to another matter. You have enough wealth to compensate us for the cost of your existence here, as well as for the servants whom you’ve brought with you. It’s only fair that you pay accordingly. I’ll attach to your debt the rents I feel are due me and write you out a notice of your weekly obligation. You’ll be expected to pay such funds at the beginning of each week.”

“If you so desire,” Synnovea replied, wondering if the woman’s decision to charge her rents sprang from greed or from a growing resentment of her presence in the manse.

“I’m pleased that you’re so agreeable, Countess.”

Declining comment to the converse, Synnovea begged, “I should like to go and dress for dinner now.”

Rigidly Anna inclined her head, granting permission, and watched as the younger woman crossed the hall. But when Synnovea passed the stairs and continued toward the back of the house, Anna hastened to follow her. “Where are you going?” she questioned with sudden suspicion and stated the obvious. “Your chambers are upstairs!”

Synnovea never paused in her stride, but tossed back an answer as she gained the doorway. “I’m going out to fetch Ali to help me dress. She’s in the carriage house with Slenka.”

Anna shot a worried glance toward the front door as Synnovea departed through the rear. She had no way of accounting for the time that had elapsed since she had sent the colonel on his way, but she refused to take any chances that he was still dawdling nearby.

Lips tightly set in an angry grimace, Anna stalked to the front portal and snatched it open, more than primed to chastise the man for his delay. Finding no one upon whom to vent her rage, she casually sauntered out onto the stoop and, from there, glanced up and down the thoroughfare. The horse was gone from the tethering post and the street was empty save for a lone carriage wending its way past the manse. Smiling smugly, Anna closed the door again, assured that the Englishman had taken his leave. Perhaps she had managed to impress him with the fact that he wouldn’t be received in her house. If not, then she’d find a more effective way of crushing his aspirations for winning the attentions of a rich Russian countess.

Synnovea dashed along the narrow pathway that led from the house to the stables and was in the process of rounding a hedge when she caught sight of the familiar black stallion tied to a hitching rail near the rear gate. She stumbled to a halt as her eyes flew in search of the indomitable colonel. He was standing near the coach with his leather helm tucked beneath one arm, his other hand casually resting on the hilt of the sword that hung at his side. He seemed quite affable as he conversed with Ali, whose eager giggles were mingled with sly looks and animated flourishes of her pale hands. Far-fetched as the idea seemed, the old woman gave every indication that she was flirting with the officer.

Colonel Rycroft was garbed more in the mode of a working soldier than he had been the previous day. Somewhat rough, worn but equally slender boots had been pulled up over tan canions. Trunk hose of a taupe leather, discolored from much use, covered his hips, while a thick leather cuirass swathed his chest. Beneath the armored vest, he wore a full-sleeved blouse absent of any adornment. Dark bruises were still visible around his eye and cheek, but the swelling, which had once distended his brow and lip, had dwindled in size, lending him more of a human, if not handsome, appearance. His hair had recently been clipped close against his nape and was now smoothly combed, allowing sun-bleached strands to show amid the tawny brown.

Ali glanced around and, espying her mistress, eagerly beckoned her forward. “Mistress! Here be the officer what saved ye from the highwaymen!”

Colonel Rycroft turned abruptly to face Synnovea, and though his eyes were shaded by the approaching dusk, they seemed to linger on everything they touched. Synnovea had no way of discerning the workings of the man’s mind, but perhaps that was just as well for her own peace of mind, for she had never felt so completely devoured in all of her life as when this Englishman looked at her.

Tyrone Rycroft was momentarily of the conviction that he admired the countess garbed in clothes almost as much as he had when he had seen her wearing nothing at all, but then he wasn’t being quite truthful with himself. Though they were strangers at best, vivid memories of her entrance and departure from the wooden tub swept with recurring frequency through his mind and had the ability to snatch him awake from the deepest sleep.

Synnovea wasn’t sure how to react when a suitor made no effort to disguise the intense hunger in his eyes. She felt the heat of a blush suffuse her cheeks as he considered every detail of her, from shapely ankles and the slender feet that brought her slowly forward to the wisps of hair that had escaped the kerchief and now curled softly against her face. “Colonel Rycroft, this is a surprise,” she stated, astonished by the slight tremor in her voice. “Princess Anna just now advised me of your visit, but she also told me that you had left.”

“I delayed my departure when I saw Ali arriving by coach, and I came back to chat with her.” Tyrone set aside his helmet and closed the remaining distance between them, giving Synnovea a grin that she was just beginning to suspect was naturally lopsided. “I’m greatly favored by your appearance and your apparent good health, Countess. I was afraid I’d again be forced to leave here bereft of an opportunity to see you. Now that I have, my heart has come alive again. The merest glimpse of you nourishes my very soul.”

His eyes glowed with such warmth beyond the thick length of his dark lashes Synnovea was of a mind to think that no other smile bestowed upon her by a man had ever turned so quickly into a leer. The burning heat in her cheeks refused to abate when he fed his senses upon every minute detail of her and plied her with such silken words. The sudden suspicion that he had practiced the same cajolery on other maids abruptly accomplished a cooling. “I regret that you’ve had to come all this distance to fetch the reward, Colonel. I should’ve sent Stenka to take it to you.”

Tyrone thrust a pair of fingers into a small purse hanging from his belt and drew forth a pouch of coins. Taking her slender hand, he turned it over and pressed the soft leather bag upon her palm before closing her fingers around it. For a moment he encompassed her small fist within the warmth of his hand. “I shall gladly pay the man myself as evidence of the delight that I glean from your company, my lady,” he avouched with warmly persuasive boldness. “I only used the reward as an excuse to see you again. If I hadn’t wanted to come, I could’ve sent my man to fetch it.”

Synnovea cautiously withdrew her hand from his, fearing he’d detect her frantically leaping pulse and mistake it for something more than a growing uneasiness. How could she not feel a restive disquiet at his touch when his mere presence set her at odds with herself? “I cannot allow you to suffer the payment of the reward, Colonel.” She earnestly sought to return the purse and was frustrated by his refusal to accept it. “I fear you can ill afford the loss of these coins.”

“The cost is of little consequence, my lady,” Tyrone replied chivalrously, his tone subtle as silk. “The prize I seek is of far greater worth to me.”

One glance at Ali was enough to convince Synnovea that the petite woman was secretly applauding the man as a challenger for her heart. As much as she disliked disillusioning the old servant, the Englishman was defi nitely not in her plans, in the near or the distant future. Even if she had thought him handsome, which didn’t seem quite so farfetched now, he was still a roaming adventurer who apparently called no country his home, not even England. She wanted something more, at the very least a husband who’d be close at hand for most of their marriage. “Your sacrifice is pointless, Colonel. Princess Anna would prefer that you not return at all.” Synnovea felt a prickling of her conscience as she laid the full weight of rejection upon Anna, but she ignored the prodding as she stated what was near to being the truth. “I’m under her guardianship and must respect her wishes. You must also.”

Raising a querying brow, Tyrone searched the variegated orbs until they fell in nervous confusion. After a long pause, he released a pensive sigh as he contemplated her blushing cheeks and downcast lashes. He peered briefly askance at Ali and saw the servant’s troubled frown and the disappointment clouding her eyes. Had he been of such a mind, he might have offered the tiny woman some hope to rally her spirits. He knew himself well enough to be confident of one important fact, and that was when he wanted something badly enough, he wasn’t inclined to give up until absolutely certain no chance remained for him. After their meeting in the bathhouse, he had come to the realization that Synnovea was a woman he could not easily forget. Princess Anna had made her aversion to him apparent, and he warted to believe that Synnovea’s answer had been forced upon her by the dictates of the older woman, but even if she agreed with her guardian, her rebuff was but a small hindrance to his ultimate goal, and that was simply to win the maid for himself.

“I can only hope Princess Anna will change her mind about me in time,” Tyrone rejoined. Knowing he’d likely frighten the girl with what he was about to say, he kept his voice smooth and pliant, though the fires of his enthrallment were ignited anew by the nearness of her. “But I must confess, Countess, that I’m more concerned with your desires and wishes than I am with the feelings of others. You offer the brightest hope for companionship that I’ve seen here, and I’m reluctant to ignore the fact that you exist merely because I’ve been ordered not to return. The very sight of you kindles an unquenchable joy within my heart. In truth, Countess. I find myself hopelessly enamored.” He paused for a moment to allow her time to absorb his words, and then continued with a lazy shrug. “’Tis a fact I’ve learned in my life that when great toil and effort have gone into winning a prize, ’twill be esteemed far more than if it had been easily gained.” He managed a twisted grin without a wince of pain. “My lady, I can only avouch that I’ve not yet begun to do battle for the honor of your company.”

Synnovea was aghast at his unswerving persistence. If she had given him special leave to court her as he pleased, he could not have been more brazen or confident of himself. Still, there was something about his declaration that left her fairly breathless with excitement. Yet knowing the trouble that Anna could cause both of them, she made another effort to dissuade him. “Colonel, I beg you to consider the authority under which I now reside. I’m not free to do as I please. I must adhere to the wishes of those who now decide matters for me.”

“Would it help if I petitioned the tsar for his favor?” Tyrone queried with a hint of humor shining in his eyes. He closely observed her reaction. If truly cold and haughty, then he’d have his answer soon.

The lovely mouth dropped open in astonishment, and Synnovea stared at him, astounded that he could suggest such a thing. The initial shock of his question eased only slightly as she hurried to deny the possibility. “Indeed no, sir! Gracious, no! I mean, the whole of Moscow would be aflutter with the news! You mustn’t! I forbid it!”

Ali coughed behind her hand as she fought a private battle not to cackle in glee. She had been an eager witness to the colonel’s pleas and had found it hard to contain herself in her desire to give encouragement to her mistress. She was absolutely ecstatic with the Englishman’s determi nation to fight for what he wanted. As evidenced by his deeds and words, this was no weak-willed swain who could be tossed about with every conflicting wind. This man knew his own mind and zealously sought to gain what he desired to have. And with a name like Tyrone, he had to have a fair amount of Irish blood in him somewhere. It certainly would account for his unfaltering fortitude.

“No need to worry, my lady,” Tyrone assured Synnovea with a grin. Her response had not cooled his ardor in the least. “I’ll win his favor first, and then make my petition.”

Synnovea pressed a hand to her throat in horrified dread that he’d actually take his suit all the way to the throne. Surely he was jesting! Surely she had nothing to fear! Surely he would not!

“As much as I am loath to leave you, ray lady, I must return to duly now,” Tyrone informed her in a warm murmur. “I have a late drill and, on the morrow, a full day on the training field. Even if Princess Anna hadn’t warned me away, I rather doubt that I’d be able to break away long enough to visit you, but never fear,” he added with a wink and a promise, “you’ll be seeing me again fairly soon.”

He gave her a brief bow and then, retrieving his leather helm and settling it on his head, strode back to the stallion. After swinging up into the saddle, he reined the steed about to face the two women and casually touched two fingers to the brim in a salute of farewell before turning from them mid nudging the stallion with his heel.

“He’s a bold man,” Ali declared happily as she watched him ride away. A grin teased the corners of her wrinkled mouth, and in the silence that followed she cast a brief glance toward her dumbstruck mistress and smugly folded her arms across her chest. “Ye know, he reminds me o’ yer pa when he came courtin’ yer ma. He wouldn’t take no for an answer either. He persisted till he finally persuaded yer ma’s kin ta give her ta him in marriage. But then, me dearest Eleanora, God rest her soul, she thought the sun an’ moon rose an’ set especially for Count Zenkov!”

“Well, I don’t think the sun and moon rise and set for Colonel Sir Rycroft!” Synnovea declared in a huff, regaining a fair measure of her tenacity. “But I can imagine that he may try and tell them what to do!”

“What can ye expect, me dearie?” Ali tossed her head in rampant delight. “He’s a commander o’ His Majesty’s Hussars! An’ an Irishman ta boot, I’ll wager!”

Synnovea fixed the scrawny woman with an accusing glare. “Ali McCabe, you’re supposed to be on my side, not his. The way you were eyeing him, a body would think you were measuring him up for an appointment as my husband!”

“Now, now, me lamb, there’s no reason ta get yerself in such a snit,” Ali soothed. “I be likin’ the man, that’s all.”

A vexed sigh, definitely related to a snort, accompanied a glower of genuine distrust. “I know you only too well, Ali McCabe, and I’ve no doubt that you’ll be discovered as an accomplice to the colonel should he persist in this foolhardy endeavor. You’re not to be trusted around such a man!”

“Can I help it if I’ve a keen eye for pickin’ a prime man?”

Synnovea settled her hands on her waist and groaned in mute frustration. The occurrence was rare indeed when she could out-argue Ali McCabe. “I don’t suppose, after your delight over the colonel’s visit, that you remember what I sent you out for.”

Ali squawked at the idea that she was growing addlepated. “Ye know I do!” Her temper mellowed as her mood changed to one of compassion. “An’ a poor sight I saw, too! Elisaveta wasn’t far wrong. Her sister is in a bad way. I cooked an’ tended her an’ the little girl, Sophia. Then I gave them a few coins an’ promised some more ta a neighbor woman so she’d look after them till I come back. Wit’ a little care, they’ll be fine, but Danika will be needin’ ta find work ta support herself an’ her child once she’s up an’ about.”

“I doubt that Princess Anna will allow her to come to work here, not with a child hanging onto her skirts.”

“But surely, there be somethin’ we can do,” Ali fretted in concern.

At the moment, Synnovea could think of no better plan than sending the pair to her home in Nizhni Novgorod, but as difficult as the journey had been for them, a woman in a weakened state of health would be unable to endure it. A new idea promptly came to her, and immediately her hopes brightened. “Perhaps the Countess Natasha would be willing to hire her on.”

“An’ do ye think Princess Anna will be lettin’ ye visit Countess Natasha long enough ta ask her?” Ali queried, doubting the possibility. “Ye know she has no likin’ for the countess.”

“Anna will never restrict me from going to church,” Synnovea said resolutely. “I shall be able to speak with Natasha about the matter there.”

“An’ once the princess finds out ye’ve talked wit’ the countess, ’tis in me mind she won’t be lettin’ ye go back.”

“She can’t be as forbidding as all that,” Synnovea replied. Still, her words lacked conviction.

Ali responded with a genuine snort of derision. “Ye might as well be locked in a tsarina’s terem as much freedom as ye’ve got here. Ta be sure, the princess won’t be takin’ it kindly, ye seein’ the Countess Natasha behind her back.”

“Let’s not fret about that now,” Synnovea urged, taking Ali’s arm. “Elisaveta is waiting to hear about her sister, and I must get dressed for dinner before Princess Anna comes out in search of us!”

A short time later. Synnovea joined Ivan and Princess Anna in the great hall. Promptly thereafter the woman presented her with a bill, but it was not until Synnovea had returned to her chambers that she noticed Anna’s accounting for the reward did not match the total coins that Tyrone had given her in the pouch. Either he had taken some out or the princess had greatly enlarged upon the amount she had supposedly given him. Yet there had been no need for the colonel to give her the purse. He could’ve kept the whole of it for himself, and she would never have known the difference. His fervent declaration that he had used the reward merely for the purpose of visiting her made Synnovea wonder about the greed of the princess. Anna had more than enough wealth of her own; why should she lie to gain more?

In the morning Synnovea returned to the dining hall to find Ivan already filling his plate. He seemed rather smug about his performance as disciplinarian and closely watched for further infractions upon which he could pounce. Synnovea was almost relieved when the front door was thrown open and Aleksei came striding into the room, looking as formidable as the burly Petrov. He was unshaven, his red eyes bespoke of many hours quenched with copious libations and riotous living. He was also as irascible as his appearance indicated.

“You there!” he bellowed at Ivan, giving the smaller man a violent start. The plate slipped from the cleric’s bony hands and crashed to the floor, where it flung food helter-skelter as it gyrated in undulating circles. Aleksei seemed almost mesmerized by the whirling dish until it finally ceased its motion. Then he raised glowering eyes and fixed them on Ivan. “You seem brave enough when my wife is present,” he taunted with a contemptuous sneer. “Why do you quake with fear now?”

Ivan swallowed convulsively and tried to ignore the vindictive prodding of the other man. Little evidence remained of the brashness he had displayed in the presence of his patroness. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked with trepidation, “Princess Anna hasn’t awakened yet, Your Highness. Do you wish me to fetch her for you?”

“When I want my wife, I’ll fetch her myself!” the prince bellowed, setting the other man back upon his heels. It was only when he glanced toward the disquieted Synnovea that Aleksei made an attempt to control his temper. Though his nostrils still flared with rage, he released his breath in low, irritated snorts until he was able to speak to Ivan in a fairly reasonable tone. “I’ve just been informed by a messenger that Anna’s father has fallen ill in the monastery. Her mother would like her to come as soon as possible. It’s in my mind that the princess will deem you a worthy escort whenever she decides to go. She usually takes her time making up her mind about when to leave, but at least you’ve been warned of the possibility.”

Ivan seemed stunned by the prospect of yet another long, arduous journey ahead of him, especially when they could be waylaid again by renegades. “But I just returned—”

“You’ll have more than enough time to ready yourself,” Aleksei cut in with weary indifference. “She isn’t inclined to rush off at anyone’s behest.” Having thoroughly detached himself from any smallest concern for Ivan’s discomforts, he raised his head in silent eloquence and stared at some distant point until the cleric quietly departed the room.

Aleksei took up a plate and began selecting tidbits from the platters that Elisaveta had laid out upon the sideboard. He cast a glance askance to note the countess’s reaction and caught the worried frown that drew her brows together. “Do I detect a hint of sadness in your sweet visage, my dear Synnovea?” He smiled slyly, knowing full well what troubled her. “Or perhaps a concern that after my wife leaves the two of us will be ensconced entirely alone here in the house with only the servants in attendance.”

Synnovea answered him unflinchingly. “I’m sure when the time comes, Anna will be willing to give me permission to stay with Natasha during her absence. ’Twould be unseemly for you and me to remain in this house together without a proper chaperon. You know how tongues are wont to wag, and I wouldn’t want to see your sterling character besmirched by my presence here.”

Aleksei threw his head back and laughed in uproarious amusement at the absurdity of her suggestion. “You’re a woman of clever wit, Synnovea. I find myself much refreshed by your presence.” His brown eyes gleamed warmly as he stroked a forefinger beneath his mustache, sweeping up the ends. “I shall enjoy getting to know you better.”

“When we’re properly attended by others, of course,” Synnovea agreed with a crisply challenging smile.

Settling briefly into a pert curtsy, she left him to dine alone and made her way to her own chambers. She was not at all anxious to be within close proximity to the man when the princess gave vent to her tirade. Perhaps she was merely speculating on Anna’s displeasure, but she had sensed that the woman was anxious to take him to task for his recent absence.