3

S tenka maneuvered the coach along a narrow street in Moscow, passing vaulted alleyways where a labyrinth of galleries existed. The marketplace of Kitaigorod still bustled with activity even though twilight was swiftly approaching. Bazaars displayed a collection of wares organized in rows for the benefit of patrons. Flax, hemp, icons, silks, and melons had their own particular ryady , or section, from whence each was sold. Other articles, ranging from simple foods to more costly treasures of pearls, amber, and furs, were also available in the markets.

Captain Nekrasov’s detachment followed the countess’s coach as it wended its way toward the heart of Moscow, but the ragtag soldiers were largely ignored in the noisy bedlam surrounding them. Merchants loudly hawked their wares while bands of skomorokhi put on their masked mimes, musicals, or puppet shows. Prisoners, with their ankles fastened in stocks, had been incarcerated alongside the road and, in desperation, pleaded for bread and nour ishment, a necessity the city did not provide. Blind or crippled beggars diligently shook cups, blending their chants for alms with the low grunts and rumblings of bears that did clever tricks for their handlers.

Rich boyars, those Russian men of nobility, sumptuously garbed in kaftans and high-peaked or rounded hats, rubbed shoulders with the poor as well as with the more prosperously dressed peasants. It was a common sight in the marketplace to see all manner of men. What distinguished the destitute from the affluent was often merely the size of one’s purse.

The large, traveling coach continued its painstaking progress over the heavily timbered road as Stenka cried “Padi! Padi!” to urge meandering crowds to make way for them, or “ Beregis! Beregis! ” to warn others to take care of the approaching vehicle. The small, swift, elegant open drozhki were drawn by a single horse and skirted around them with incredible ease. The summer sledges moved at a slower pace, forcing Stenka to haul the four-in-hand to the far side of the road whenever the conveyances converged from the opposite direction. In winter the troikas would have halted their progress altogether, for the brisk sleighs raced down a lane with three horses abreast, throwing plumes of snow that blanketed everything they passed.

Synnovea had visited Moscow on numerous occasions, and though no less sensitive to the beauty and excitement of the city, she was unable to disregard the fact that only a few moments remained of the freedom she had long cherished under her father’s protection. For most of the day she had been inundated by embarrassing details of her recent encounter with Colonel Rycroft. In spite of his misshapen features, she found something strangely fascinating about the man, at least enough to make her blush whenever she remembered his all-too-manly form pressing against her own nakedness. The lurid details she had disregarded in a time of panic, she now privately relished like some dream-bound chit with a penchant for salacious mus ings. The recurring, often graphic recollection of those moments when her bosom had been crushed against his stalwart chest and her thighs had all but embraced the fullness he had exhibited was so provocative in recall that her nerves were often a-jangle with a concern that her companions would somehow detect her wanton thoughts. Whenever her cheeks darkened to a profuse shade, she found good cause to be thankful for the sweltering heat. For once, she was glad that Ali hid her aching head beneath the folds of a cool, wet cloth and Ivan thought only of Ivan.

At present, the cleric was all but preening in the rosy aura cast by the lowering sun, as if he imagined the radiance as some well-deserved halo or, more far-fetched, held aspirations of presenting a sublime visage to his audience. If that was truly his quest, then he failed to realize just how clearly the ugly pockmarks scarring his bony cheeks were highlighted. Though shabbily garbed in the only robe the priests of the village church had been able to spare, he seemed in much better spirits and perhaps a bit puffed up on his own importance, as if delivering his charge to the custody of her guardians were some great feat that he and no other had accomplished.

The coach left the narrow passageway and entered the open area of Krasnaya Ploscha or, as the English were wont to call it, the Red, or Beautiful, Square. The red brick wall of the Kremlin rose like a vast, many-turreted crown above the city, encircling among other structures, several multidomed cathedrals, the bell tower of Ivan the Great, the Palace of Facets, and the nearby Terem Palace, where the future tsarina would be housed. Beneath the brilliance of the late-afternoon sun, the white facades and golden domes adorning many of the buildings gleamed like a sultan’s treasure, while other bejeweled edifices, courtyards, and gardens clustered close about them, well protected behind the enveloping wall.

The Frolovskaia Tower was heralded as the main approach to this mighty fortress, and near it, another bauble of architectural brilliance glimmered. The exotic grandeur of the Pokrovsky Sobor or, as it was more frequently called of late, the Cathedral of St. Basil, had already bedazzled many a viewer with its many towers and bulging, uniquely shaped domes and spires that glistened beneath the sun like the multihued scales of a fish.

Stenka clucked to the horses as they crossed the open promenade in front of St. Basil’s and the squat platform of the Lobnoe Mesto , or the Place of the Brow, from whence the patriarchs bestowed their blessings on the people or, on a spot beside it, where rebels and felons were beheaded or tortured for their crimes. Stenka soon turned the team away from the Kremlin into another lane where wealthy boyars lived in large wooden mansions. Synnovea came to alert attention when she espied the stately residence of the Countess Natasha Catharina Andreyevna off in the distance. The woman had once been her mother’s dearest companion and was now the only confidante whom Synnovea could truly trust for help and counsel should things go awry with the Taraslovs.

Finally the four-in-hand swept off the main street into a circular drive, and Stenka drew the animals to a halt before an impressive mansion. The event Synnovea had been dreading had finally arrived, and she took a deep breath, bracing herself for the meeting to come.

Captain Nekrasov dismounted and, hastily dusting himself, came around the carriage to open the door for his charge. A smile curved his lips as he raised a hand to assist in the descent of the young woman with whom he had become enamored.

Synnovea heaved a sigh, dismayed by the fact that she’d be placing herself under the authority of people who were hardly more than strangers. As she approached the mansion on the able arm of her escort, a flickering glow of candles drew her gaze upward to glass-paned doors which stood open beyond a balcony that jutted outward above the front portal. There a slender woman stood framed by silken draperies, and with a tentative smile Synnovea lifted a hand in a gesture of greeting, recognizing her new benefactress. Neither smile nor nod came before the woman retreated from view. Behind her, the translucent panels fell forbiddingly into place.

Any assuagement Synnovea might have derived from a warm greeting was abruptly replaced with a morbid sense of gloom. She didn’t want to be here, away from her home, away from all the things that her father had cherished and carefully nurtured. It took great resolve for her not to retreat to her coach. If she hadn’t feared that her departure would enrage the tsar, she would’ve gladly endured all the hardships of the long trek home.

Sensing that things were not entirely as they should be, Nikolai conveyed his deepening concern in a query. “Will all be well with you here. Countess?” He had no idea what he might do if circumstances went awry for her, but he felt strongly committed to offer his assistance just the same. “If there should ever come a need….”

Synnovea laid a hand upon the officer’s sleeve and sought to reassure him—and perhaps even herself. “Princess Anna and I have met only briefly on three different occasions, Captain. I’m sure she’s just as anxious about this meeting as I am.”

The officer wasn’t necessarily heartened by her claims, but he thought it best not to upset the maid by lingering on the matter. Yet he was motivated to restate his offer and did so cautiously lest he betray the full measure of his heart. “I’d consider it an honor if you’d allow me to serve you in whatever capacity you should either desire or require, my lady. I’ll be receiving a promotion next month and shall be in the service of the tsar henceforth as an officer of the castle guard. Should you find that you have need of me, you can send your maid to summon me to your side.” Almost emphatically, he declared, “And I shall come, my lady, or I will send no one less than His Majesty to give you my excuse.”

Synnovea was overwhelmed by his chivalrous, if some what unrealistic, declaration. “I’m truly honored by your pledge, Captain Nekrasov.”

“It has been a privilege escorting you here, my lady,” he assured her warmly, meaning far more than he actually voiced.

Resolving to persevere through the forthcoming meeting with Anna, Synnovea murmured encouragingly, “My name is Synnovea. I deem the familiarity appropriate for a friend.”

“Lady Synnovea,” the captain breathed as he gently squeezed the slender hand resting upon his arm. “And if you’d honor me in like measure, my lady. My name is Nikolai.”

“Nikolai.” Issuing his name with a soft sigh, Synnovea allowed herself to be drawn to the massive entrance by the courtly gentleman.

A brisk rap of knuckles on the portal announced their arrival. Soon the door swung open to reveal a steward garbed in a plain white kaftan. Nikolai faced the man with an undaunted manner of one well acquainted with giving orders. “You may inform the Princess Taraslovna that her ward. Countess Zenkovna, is here requesting admittance.”

The butler eyed the captain’s bandaged arm curiously before he stepped aside and bade them enter. “The princess is expecting you. Countess.”

Synnovea was shown into the parlor where she was politely informed that she would be joined by the mistress of the house. Reassured of her comfort, Nikolai hastened outside to direct the unloading of her baggage, but upon passing Ivan, he found himself the recipient of a haughty glare.

“What ails the cleric?” the officer asked in bemusement as he joined his men.

The sergeant snorted. “Maybe he took offense ’cause you didn’t show him the same respect you gave the countess.”

Nikolai cocked a brow in dubious wonder. “I wasn’t aware that he was deserving any. If you ask me, he’s probably an embarrassment to his order, though I still haven’t determined what that may be.”

Musefully the sergeant stroked the light stubble bristling his chin. “I’d say the man is naught but a weed sprung up from a wayward seed. He’s bound to cause trouble for some unwary soul one day. I pray it may not be the countess, though I sense the man will try.”

“For her sake, Sergeant. I hope you’re wrong.”

Ivan entered the front door without knocking and stalked into the front parlor where he bestowed a chilling glower upon Synnovea. “Captain Nekrasov seems quite taken with you, Countess. Your pride must be greatly bolstered by your triumph in acquiring another male conquest.”

“ Another male conquest?” she repealed cautiously. “Are you referring to someone in particular?”

“The way that beast Ladislaus claimed you, it’s a miracle you’re even here.”

Synnovea almost breathed a sigh of relief. For a fearful moment she had thought the cleric had been talking about Colonel Rycroft. “Ladislaus saw me as nothing more than a helpless captive at his mercy. By now he has probably found another coach to strip and another woman to ravish. ’Tis indeed a pity he wasn’t captured.”

Ivan tossed his head jeeringly. “We can fault the Englishman for his escape.”

Synnovea cast him a cautious glance. “Of whom do you speak?”

“I’m referring to the officer who rode after you and Ladislaus,” Ivan explained testily. “From what I could gather from his appearance last night, Ladislaus clearly won the fray.”

Synnovea yearned to correct the cleric, but she rejected such a notion, aware that her knowledge would only arouse his curiosity. “A dreadful shame, to be sure.”

They glanced around in unison as Princess Anna Taraslovna floated across the threshold with willowy grace. An elegant, pearl-encrusted kokoshniki , adorned with gold stitchery that matched the design decorating her satin brocade sarafan , covered her head. Flowing from it in waves of shimmering gold was a gossamer veil hemmed with the same metallic threads. It dutifully covered the long braids of pale hair.

Anna Taraslovna was of an age about twoscore and bore herself with a dignified yet pragmatic confidence that brooked no interference or refusal. She was as tall as Synnovea, and her good looks, though slightly worn with the passage of years, were marked with a lean, squarish jaw and aristocratic features. Her eyes of silver-gray were bright and alert behind dark lashes. Above them finely plucked eyebrows were thinly drawn as if by a single sweep of a quill. Small, telltale wrinkles between her brows and around her lips bespoke of the heavy weight of concern and its consequence. The lightest evidence of a dewlap trembled at her throat, which was otherwise long and elegant. In spite of these tiny flaws brought on by aging, she was still a very attractive woman.

“My dear Synnovea,” Anna murmured, extending slender hands to the younger woman, who rose to her feet in response. “You haven’t changed at all since we last met. You’re just as lovely as ever.”

Synnovea dared make no reference to that particular event, but sank into a deep curtsy, acknowledging the loftier status of the other. In Russia there was certainly no dearth of princely boyars and their ladies even after Tsar Ivan the Terrible had indiscriminately laid waste to so many during his reign of terror years ago. “Thank you. Princess. I’m grateful to have the journey behind me.”

“I trust everything went well and that Ivan proved to be of great comfort and assistance to you. I was sure he would be.”

Synnovea managed a fleeting smile. “We were waylaid by thieves, but I shall allow Ivan Voronsky to relate the details of the attack. He was offended nearly as deeply as Captain Nekrasov was wounded.”

Startled by the news, Anna faced Ivan, expecting an explanation, but his ragged appearance obviously caused her greater shock, for she was quick to suggest, “You’ll of course want to refresh yourself before we talk.”

Several soldiers entered the hall, making Anna’s brows gather in annoyance as she noted the abundance of trunks being carried in, but she promptly faced the steward, who had entered the parlor bearing wine-filled goblets on a tray. “Boris, be good enough to escort the soldiers upstairs to the countess’s chambers and direct the good Voronsky to the quarters I’ve reserved for him. Clean garments are awaiting him in the blue chest.”

The servant left his burden on the table and bade the soldiers to follow. Trailing far behind them, the sergeant carried a small bag in his hand and another huge chest balanced on his shoulder. Upon espying Ivan, he set the dusty valise at the cleric’s feet before making his way to the stairs.

“Oh, but I see you’ve brought clothes with you,” Anna surmised as she recognized the satchel.

Ivan shook his head, drawing a perplexed frown from his benefactress. “On the contrary. Your Highness, I’ve been stripped of every possession I took with me, even the clothes off my back. Indeed, I’m grateful to have escaped with my life.” He laid a hand limply into the palm of the other and raised a brow, lending dramatic emphasis to his claim. “It was most severely threatened. Princess, but I’ve accomplished your bidding, as you can see, and, despite the great losses I’ve suffered, have escorted the countess here as you instructed me to do.”

Synnovea had the greatest urge to roll her eyes heavenward at his exaggeration. She noticed, however, that he readily elicited the princess’s dismay.

“Anything you’ve been deprived of during your mission of aid will certainly be replaced, good Voronsky,” Anna assured him. “You must tell me of this dreadful event soon or I shall be overwhelmed by curiosity and worry. Come to my chambers after you’ve attended to your needs. You can explain what has transpired then.”

“Though I suffered unduly, my lady, I’m alive to tell of my hardships, for which I’m indeed thankful,” Ivan valiantly avouched and, with a brief bow. took his leave.

Anna faced her young charge and made no attempt to hide her disdain as she perused the plain but fashionable gown the younger woman wore. It was apparent the girl didn’t regard herself a Russian boyarina , but rather, a lady of English blood.

Remembering the edict her cousin had issued. Anna seethed inwardly, resenting the arrangement, yet she forced a smile that was at best stiff. “Would you care for some refreshments, Synnovea? Boris has brought glasses of chilled Malieno for us to savor on this warm day. My cook, Elisaveta, keeps the flasks stored near the ice the servants haul into the cellar during the winter. I find the wine quite refreshing myself.”

Synnovea accepted the libation and tentatively sipped the dark red liquid. She had sensed her new guardian’s displeasure over her attire and waited tensely as that one slowly sipped the brew.

“First let me express my deep remorse over your father’s untimely death, my dear,” Anna continued. “I understand that he took a fever and died quite suddenly.”

Tears still had a tendency to blur Synnovea’s vision when she reflected on her recent loss. “Yes, I’m afraid so. My father appeared so hale and hearty before his illness, we were truly astounded by how quickly he was taken from us.”

Anna latched onto the single word we with keen interest, hoping it held some significance. She would’ve snatched at dust motes if they’d have given her an alternative to what the tsar had forced upon her. “Did you have other relatives visiting you at the time, my dear? Your aunt from England, perhaps? It was my understanding that you have no kinsmen here in Russia with whom you could’ve gone to live. Is that indeed the case? I’m sure, since we’re hardly more than strangers, that you’d likely feel more comfortable living with relatives or a close acquaintance.”

Synnovea felt a sudden surge of empathy for the princess, for it was apparent that Anna felt as trapped by the tsar’s decree as she did. His Majesty might have supposed that he was bestowing great compassion upon each of them by bringing them together, Anna as a childless wife, and she, a young woman without parents, but he had failed to consider that as two entirely different individuals who had never been intimate friends and who were totally bereft of bonding by blood ties, a definite threat existed that they’d eventually become enemies caged in the same house together, one forced to extend her hospitality and the other compelled to accept it. Synnovea could only wonder if the day would ever come when one of them would gather enough courage to approach Mikhail with a plea to be released from this uncomfortable arrangement he had concocted for them.

“Did you have someone visiting you at the time of your father’s death?” Anna repeated, making no effort to curb her exasperation at the girl’s delay in answering.

Synnovea vividly recalled the venom the princess had displayed toward their friend at the last diplomatic function to which her father had escorted them. Anna’s hostility had seemed to surprise everyone but the recipient of her disfavor. Indeed, it had been so apparent that Synnovea had grave doubts that it had diminished since then. “Countess Andreyevna was visiting us at the time.”

Anna drew herself up in cool reticence, unable to squelch the animosity that rose within her at the mention of that woman’s name. “I wasn’t aware you had befriended Natasha. What with her stealing your father’s affections from your mother and trying to take her place in your life, I had imagined that you hated her.”

Feeling her cheeks warm with rising ire, Synnovea stared into the swirling dark liquid as she twirled her goblet. “I’m afraid you misunderstood the relationship my father enjoyed with Natasha. It wasn’t one esteemed by lovers, but a friendship based on mutual respect. The countess was my mother’s friend long before she became ours. And as far as I know, my father and Natasha were never lovers and never discussed plans to marry each other. They were simply good friends, that is all.”

Anna’s lips twisted grimly as the girl defended a woman whom gossips had labeled immoral. A widow after three husbands and a whole host of other men chasing her, eager to be the fourth! Why, the very idea of a boyarina inviting men to her socials like some unscrupulous harlot was absolutely unheard of! “As far as you know,” Anna goaded. Her tight smile barely disguised the malice churning within her. “But then, you may not have been aware of what was really going on behind your back.”

“There is that possibility, of course, but only a minute one,” Synnovea responded and considered her wine in an effort to hide her irritation. The princess was dragging up stale slander, talk which she had probably been instrumental in starting in the first place. To hear it again reawakened Synnovea’s resentment.

“How long did you say your mother has been dead?”

“Five years,” Synnovea replied in a strained whisper.

“Speak up, please,” Anna snapped, ignoring how trite and petulant it might seem for one of her standing to act in such an acrimonious manner, but she had never asked for the girl to come and live in her home. And she most certainly didn’t want her here. “I can barely hear what you’re saying. And I don’t like being kept waiting for a reply either. You’re not backward, so stop acting as if you were. In the future I must insist that you pay heed to whatever is being said and be more punctual with your response. Is that too much to ask?”

“No, Princess.” Synnovea’s reply came readily enough and was spoken in a clear tone, but the task of suppressing a freshening ire was a hard-won victory. Still, she knew the folly of being drawn into a quarrel with the princess.

“That’s better!” Anna set her goblet aside and rose to her feet as Boris led the soldiers downstairs again. Synnovea followed her example, and Anna made haste to dismiss her. “I’m sure you’ll want to refresh yourself before the dinner hour. Boris tan show you to your chambers.”

Though the woman turned to leave, Synnovea saw the necessity in delaying her. “I pray a moment more of your time. Princess, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Anna faced her again with brows sharply elevated over cool gray eyes. “Yes, Synnovea? What is it?”

“I brought some of my servants with me to attend my needs while I’m here, and I must arrange a place for them to stay. If you have room to house them here, that would serve my purposes well. My coach and horses should also be stabled if there is enough space.”

Anna’s thin lips twisted in vexation. “You’ve taken much upon yourself if you think to keep them here. There’s little enough room for your maid in your chambers without expecting us to house your coachmen and equipage as well. You’d better send them back to Nizhni Novgorod. You won’t be needing them while you’re living here with us.”

“Then if you’d allow my coachmen to rest here for the night,” Synnovea replied with far more cordiality, “I shall make other arrangements on the morrow. I shouldn’t like to be without my coach while I’m here and thereby impose an inconvenience upon you whenever I have need of it.”

Synnovea fervently desired to live in peace with the Taraslovs, at least until she could disentangle herself from their protection and become her own mistress, but if it meant being imprisoned within the confines of their home and permitted to venture out only at their whim, she knew she wouldn’t be able to endure such restrictions for very long. She wasn’t a child, and she didn’t believe it was Tsar Mikhail’s intent for his cousin to treat her like one.

“And just where do you think you’ll keep them?” Anna challenged acidly.

Though Synnovea knew her suggestion would prick the woman to the core, it was a far more acceptable alternative than what Anna had in mind. “I’m sure Natasha will per mit me to use her carriage house while I’m here. She lives only a short distance away.”

“I know where she lives!” Anna snapped, offended by the girl’s efforts to instruct her. Her inability to present a plausible excuse by which she could fortify an outright denial of the girl’s petition only deepened her resentment, yet Anna knew the foolishness of testing her cousin’s sense of fairness.

It was a rare event indeed when Anna acceded to anyone but Tsar Mikhail’s dictates. Even then, she had a strong aversion to accepting his will over her own, a fact which she kept prudently to herself. By disguising her reversal now as submission to her husband’s authority, she hoped to save face. Fairly soon she’d take her revenge by demanding enormous remunerations for the added expense of housing servants and stabling horses. If the girl wanted them near her so badly, then by heavens. Anna would see that she paid dearly for the privilege.

“Prince Aleksei wilt have to decide if you can keep your coachmen and use our facilities while you’re here.” Having issued that statement, Anna excused herself with a curt nod and left the room, throwing back over her shoulder, “Boris will see you to your chambers.”

Synnovea heaved a sigh of relief, feeling as if she had just won a horrendous battle, but only by the skin of her teeth. Obviously Princess Anna was going to be a lot more difficult than she had first surmised.

Returning outside, Synnovea gave instructions to her coachmen and left them to find their own way to the carriage house. Then she paused to bid farewell to the captain. “Thank you for your care and kindly consideration, Nikolai. I hope we shall meet again in the future.”

Gallantly Nikolai bestowed a kiss upon her slender fingers. “Adieu, my fair lady, but I pray that it may not be for long.”

Synnovea had no way of knowing what the morrow would bring and could find no adequate response. “Take care, Nikolai… druga . my friend.”

“I’m honored by your friendship. Lady Synnovea. Perhaps we shall meet again…and soon. It would give me great pleasure to see you…now and then.”

Lightly touching two fingers to her lips, Synnovea reached up and pressed those same digits against his lean cheek. “Even if we’re destined never to cross paths again, Nikolai, remember that I shall value you as a man worthy of my trust. His Majesty did me a great service by sending you to serve as captain of my escort. I’m truly indebted.”

Synnovea moved away before Nikolai could offer further comment and waved to the rest of the soldiers, who grinned and responded in kind. Then she slipped an arm around Ali’s thin waist and gently guided her to their suite of rooms in the manse.

In the flickering glow of nearly a score of candles that burned atop a trio of candelabra, it became immediately evident that their new accommodations could not be faulted. A tiny cubicle just off the main bedchamber was furnished with a narrow bed and basic essentials to meet Ali’s requirements for comfort and cleanliness. Within that tiny niche, Synnovea pushed open the windows to let in the cooling evening breezes and then folded down the linens on the cot. Intent upon the maid’s comfort and full recovery, she bade the maid to rest until it was time for the servants to eat. After blowing out the tapers, she withdrew and closed the door quietly behind her.

The main bedchamber was spacious and comfortably furnished with a chaise, several large chests, and a canopied bed draped with gold silk panels. A heavily decorated porcelain stove stood in a favorable spot where it would provide heat for both rooms during the winter. In all, the room was fit for royalty, yet at the moment, Synnovea felt much like an impoverished orphan within its opulence. Simple truth, she’d have been much happier at home, living well away from the Taraslovs.

Privately ensconced at last behind closed doors, Synnovea washed thoroughly and then wrapped a long robe about her naked body before snuffing out the candles. The chaise was inviting, and she collapsed in pure exhaustion upon its cushions. Though she needed solace and rest from the ordeal of her meeting with Anna, sleep seemed as evasive as the legendary firebird that Tsar Ivan had purportedly searched for in a Russian fable. Her mind wandered far afield, lingering for a time on the servants whom she had left to tend her home and the myriad questions they had presented about her expected return, which, sadly, had been beyond her ability to answer.

In greater detail Synnovea mulled over the qualms she had battled after receiving the tsar’s message. Anna was his cousin and touted to be his favorite, though some close to the monarch had offered the theory that the princess had been the one to exaggerate their fondness for each other since their contact in past years had been, at best, distant, Anna had just recently moved to Moscow from the small province wherein she had grown up. Mikhail, on the other hand, had been sequestered for most of his life in a monastery where, as a child, he had been taken by his mother. Throughout his youth it had been a safe haven from the dark plots, schemes, and intrigue of ambitious boyars. Considering the fact that they hadn’t spent much time together over the years, the deep regard the cousins supposedly shared for one another didn’t seem likely.

No, their relationship really didn’t bother Synnovea as much as Anna’s aversion to Natasha. With the princess’s most recent insinuations roiling in retrospect through her mind, Synnovea was hard-pressed to think kindly of her hostess. Indeed, if Anna continued to express her animosity toward Natasha, a sharp wedge would likely be driven between them, and they’d be ever at odds.

Curling up on her side, Synnovea stuffed the pillows beneath her head as she probed the possible causes for Anna’s intense dislike. Natasha had socialized with affluent boyars for many years now, having gained a substantial number of friends over the course of three marriages, but Anna stubbornly refused to recognize her as a person of any import. Earlier in the year Natasha had reproved Ivan Voronsky for his gauche manners in insulting one of her guests and had kindly advised him to be more considerate in the future. Having witnessed his overt contempt for anyone who wasn’t immediately appreciative of his every thought and deed, Synnovea could imagine the scope of his complaints to anyone who would lend him a sympathetic ear. The princess certainly seemed a gullible candidate.

As for Prince Aleksei, it was widely rumored that he had a roaming eye that was wont to wander to maidens much younger than his wife. For years, the blame of a barren womb had been laid upon Anna, but of late, gossips were more apt to surmise the judgment against the princess had been unfair, since it was believed that Prince Aleksei was scattering his seed among a whole battery of young women whose reputations had never been publicly compromised. When the tsar had issued his decree, Synnovea had found such hearsay disturbing, for she had had no way of knowing what she’d encounter under the Taraslov roof. It was one thing to vie with Anna, but quite another to be ravished by the woman’s lecherous husband.

Sleep finally lent peace to Synnovea’s troubled mind. but alas, it was only a brief respite. She came awake in slow degrees, her mind roaming in a detached search for the cause of her disturbance. She couldn’t remember hearing anything, yet she was inundated with a feeling that something wasn’t quite right in her universe.

From beneath sluggish lids, the jade-brown eyes wandered in a drowsy inspection of the ceiling. A shaft of light stretched across it, reaching to the far wall to her right. Languidly Synnovea lifted a hand to the luminous ray and thought it strange that only the tips of her fingers caught the glow, and they, in turn, were cast in similar shape against the wall above a dark configuration that looked very much like the head and shoulders of a man.

The shadow moved, and with a gasp Synnovea sat upright in sudden alarm, realizing this was no figment of her imagination. She swung about to face the door from whence the light was flowing and saw to her surprise that it had been pushed open. A tall man stood silhouetted against the candlelight filling the hallway, but as her gaze fell on him, the intruder moved beyond the doorway to the left and, with muffled tread, disappeared from sight.

Synnovea glanced down at herself and realized that her silken robe had fallen open to reveal a goodly length of thigh and the upper curves of her bosom. Her cheeks fairly flamed with indignation as she snatched the silken robe closed and leapt from the chaise. By the time she reached the door, not even the shuffle of footfalls could be detected. Squat tapers burned in several sconces located along the corridor, dispelling any shadows that might have invited one to lurk there. Across the hallway, a door stood ajar, opening into a room that was as dark as the night outside.

A wary prickling crawled upward along Synnovea’s nape. If the man was waiting there, expecting her to follow, it seemed advisable for her to stay behind a locked door where she’d be safe. Retreating, she pushed the heavy portal closed and slid the bar home noisily, forbidding any further intrusion by Prince Aleksei Taraslov, a most notorious debaucher of women!