4

S ynnovea carefully debated her alternatives. As much as she considered prostrating herself before Tsar Mikhail and begging him to release her from this prison he had inadvertently created for her, it wouldn’t be wise to do so. She’d only expose herself to harsh criticisms, if not from him, then surely from the Taraslovs, who’d be outraged by her suppositions. They’d naturally resent any grievances that would make them seem less than worthy of the tsar’s trust. And who could predict what they might say or do to save face? They could twist her petitions to their liking, possibly causing severe judgments to be leveled against her. Very simply, she could be maligned as ungrateful and hopelessly self-willed. It was therefore crucial that she hold her peace and endure whatever hardships might arise until she could think of a more judicious way of gaining her freedom.

The traditional garments of a Russian maiden would definitely be the best choice to wear on her first evening at the Taraslovs, Synnovea decided. Not only did she hope to guard against Aleksei’s rudely prying eyes by wearing such garb, but she deemed it wise not to test Anna’s tolerance. Over a ribbon-trimmed underskirt and a shirtwaist fashioned with full, billowy sleeves, she donned a sarafan of rich ruby satin elaborately stitched with threads of silk. Upon this embroidery, an ornate overlay of gilded threads had been sewn to enrich the artistry of the piece, copying the pattern of tiny flowers that embellished the blouse. Low-heeled slippers of ruby-red, bedecked with the same needlework, were also adorned with soles that formed wedges of gold. Her long, lustrous black hair had been intertwined with ribbons and woven into the customary single braid for unwed maids. Upon her head, she settled a rounded kokoshniki , formed in the shape of a crescent. Tiny jewels and beads of gold and red shimmered amid the elaborate needlework. Lastly she fastened on earrings of finely worked gold filigree adorned with delicate clusters of rubies.

When the last bow was tied, the final clasp fastened, Synnovea assessed the results in a long, silvered looking-glass, a luxury she also enjoyed while at home and was grateful to find here. At least, in furnishing the guest chambers, Anna had been keenly aware of what would please her guests, even if she hadn’t had the present one in mind at the time. Boyars never knew when they would be entertaining or housing important visitors. In short, it was far better to be prepared than embarrassed.

It had been far from Synnovea’s intent to achieve such a stunning radiance that she’d actually complicate her dilemma. Yet when she joined the Taraslovs and Ivan in the parlor downstairs, the sly, seductive narrowing of Aleksei’s eyes and the ebullient smile curving his generous lips readily summoned forth an impression of a snake slyly perusing a bird, clearly for the purpose of devouring it. Synnovea’s quick glance toward Anna caught a sharp frown being subdued behind a stiffly fixed visage and a forced smile of greeting. No words parted the princess’s grimacing lips. The prince, however, proved more vocal.

“My dear Countess Synnovea,” he murmured warmly, stepping forward to cradle her hand within the slender length of his. Garbed in a royal blue kaftan bedecked with elaborate embroidery, Aleksei looked like some bronze-skinned sheik from the deserts of Arabia. His warm brown eyes glowed with provocative fervor as they held her gaze in a commanding vise. Beneath a carefully groomed mustache, his red lips widened into a sultry smile. “I had nigh forgotten how lovely you are, my dear. You’re as enchanting as an elegant swan.”

A barrage of accusations tempted Synnovea’s tongue, and though her eyes chilled briefly to indicate her displeasure with his unabashed invasion of her privacy, she held her silence. Still, she was not above purloining some subtle revenge. Deftly she slipped her hand from his, forbidding him the opportunity to kiss the pale fingers, and opened a bejeweled fan between them. Cleverly she denied his compliments as well, aware that Anna was regarding them with icy shards of enmity glittering in her eyes. As the recipient of that chilling glower, Synnovea understood clearly what it felt like to be loathed by another woman.

“I’m humbled by such words of charity, Prince Aleksei.” She feigned a doleful look of regret. “Though sweet succor to my ears, I fear your kindness is exceeded only by your pity for me.”

Her gentle scolding brought a smile of amiable humor to Aleksei’s sensual lips. While he recognized the vexation in her distant manner, it served to whet his appetite all the more. He was intrigued by her spirit, for he had often derived ecstatic pleasure in making conquests among the most reluctant virgins and noting their subsequent compliance to his every whim. Because of the accessibility of her tremendous beauty, this particular maiden promised to be exceptionally sweet provender upon whom his ravenous lusts could be indulged. Her grace and charm would lend great satisfaction to the tryst, at least more than any in which he had recently indulged.

The prince met Synnovea’s aloof stare while his own smoldering gaze promised a fervent seduction. He was confident of achieving his goal. What woman could long resist his amorous attentions and hawkish good looks? His black hair, streaked with gray at the temples, and his warm, swarthy complexion enhanced his handsome features and accentuated his appeal despite a total of twoscore and three years behind him. As he leaned toward Synnovea, his husky whisper conveyed an unfaltering boldness. “Are you really so innocent of your marvelous beauty and its effect on men, my dear?”

“Kind sir, pity me and desist of such flattery before you turn my head,” Synnovea begged coolly, recognizing the challenge twinkling in his darkly shining eyes.

“Flattery?” He laughed in warm amusement. “Oh, nay! I fear it’s infatuation, pure and simple, that makes me speak as I do.”

Feeling decidedly threatened by his temerity, Synnovea lifted the fan higher to flick it in irritation before her hotly burning cheeks. She could understand more accurately now why Aleksei’s reputation had preceded him. He applied his beguiling enticements with the crafty art of a true philanderer and boldly advanced his exploits with unmitigated verve. He didn’t seem the least bit inhibited by his wife’s presence. Indeed, he was brazenly forward, showing little regard for her feelings, while he forced their guest to strike down his overtures and parry his comments in such a way as to hopefully deflect the sharp blade of Anna’s resentment.

Synnovea was adamant in her resolve not to fall victim to his lascivious gambits. Nor would she, for even a moment, allow him to entertain the idea that she would become another willing plaything. Circumventing his ploy, she deliberately drew Anna into the contest. “No need to extend your mercy to the extreme, my lord. I can see quite clearly the high degree of beauty by which I must be judged and am quite resolved to endure the shortcomings of this poor flask that you see before you, knowing it’s far beyond my ability to hold a candle to Princess Anna who would shame the very sun with her radiance.”

Aleksei drew back to stare at his glowering wife with a jaundiced eye and managed a brief twitch of a smile. “Why, of course,” he replied with a dearth of enthusiasm and then allowed himself to be more magnanimous. “I suppose it’s like the gem that’s too close at hand.”

“Sometimes,” Anna interjected in glacial tones, barely moving her tensed lips, “the rare jewel is overlooked when a more colorful yet far less worthy bauble attracts the eye.”

Ivan came forward from the windows, where he had been all but obscured by shadows, and gave Synnovea a lengthy scrutiny which by no means was intended as a compliment. “I’m greatly heartened, Countess, that you’ve finally regarded the garments of your homeland suitable to don. I was sure you were averse to wearing them.”

“On the contrary,” Synnovea replied, forcing a smile. “I simply had no desire to see such treasures ruined by the journey.”

“But surely you have less extravagant sarafans that you could’ve worn while traveling,” Ivan argued, reveling in the disapproval that Anna had already demonstrated toward the girl. To exact revenge at every turn of the hand while remaining a saint in the eyes of the princess was a temptation he couldn’t resist. “Now tell us true, my lady, was your goal to look your prettiest for your escort?”

His question awakened a nettling irritation within her. “You imagine too much, Ivan.”

Aleksei interceded on her behalf, fully aware of the hostility to which she had fallen prey. He disregarded as irrelevant the fact that his wayward propensities were primarily to blame for his wife’s animosity. For the most part, he ignored Anna’s temper tantrums and visited her bed only when no other distractions were conveniently at hand or when he wanted to maneuver her opinions on certain matters. Like most women, she found it hard to resist his lustful bent, but her penchant for nagging usually drove him off in frantic pursuit of unexplored territories. “Synnovea is fortunate to be so well traveled, and as she has clearly demonstrated, she has become well versed in both cultures and is just as comfortable in our sarafans as in those horrible, stiff English ruffs.” He turned to Synnovea. “I do applaud your diversity, my dear. You’re clearly young enough to be pliable to a variety of changes.”

Anna gritted her teeth in a badly feigned smile as her husband met her glare with a purposefully dull gaze. His dark brow lifted tauntingly, deepening her resentment until she promised herself that if he didn’t escape the manse, as was his habit at late hours, she’d take him to task for blatantly flaunting the youth of their ward in her face.

Boris entered the room to announce that a zakuski had been laid out in the dining room in honor of the guests. As the servant withdrew, Anna faced Ivan and Synnovea. “You both must be thoroughly exhausted after your recent encounter with that band of thieves.” She ignored Aleksei’s start of surprise and continued with her carefully delivered ruse of concern. She was anxious to air her displeasure with her husband in the privacy of her chambers and made the necessary excuses for their guests’ speedy withdrawal. “I shall endeavor to remember your great weariness and not delay you overlong with my chattering. But for now, a little wine and a few delicious morsels will help assuage your hunger.”

Anna led the way into the dining hall, but not without directing a warning glower over her shoulder as Aleksei fell in behind Synnovea. The princess was aware that from that angle he could appease himself with a closely attentive perusal of their young ward, a practice he had long employed with every beautiful young woman who had come into their home.

The Taraslovs and their guests came together around the food-laden buffet to partake of the caviar, sardines, balyk , ham, and other delectable selections often served prior to the main meal whenever visitors were present. In making his own way to the sideboard, Aleksei deliberately passed near the girl to sample the elusive fragrance of English violets that drifted from her before he deigned to join his wife. Boris laid out an intricately woven bread basket filled with slices of freshly baked khlebny and poured a lemon-flavored vodka for the men and a milder, wild-black-cherry Chereunikyna for the ladies.

Aleksei accepted the piece of bread that Anna had spread with a generous portion of caviar before stepping back with his libation and directing a question to their new charge. “What is this that I hear about thieves, Synnovea? Am I to believe you were accosted by renegades on your journey here?”

Synnovea had actually opened her mouth to explain when Anna interrupted with her own version. In good manner the younger woman could do naught but close her mouth and listen.

“A ghastly tale of murder and mayhem.” The princess shook her head almost sorrowfully as a long, dismal sigh slipped from her. “Poor Ivan was fortunate to escape with his life. And dear Synnovea—why, it’s inappropriate for me to say what that wretched man claimed from her after he seized her and rode off into the forest….”

Synnovea gaped at the woman, feeling thoroughly victimized by her suggestive remark. The coy smile that came upon Anna’s lips and the hard flint in the gray eyes openly conveyed the injury she had meant to reap with her insinuations. Her motives seemed simple enough to her young guest. Beyond a mere ruse to cause her undue shame, the woman obviously meant to frustrate her husband’s hopes of adding yet another virgin to his collection. Synnovea didn’t mind that at all, but she certainly resented her honor being besmirched.

Aleksei was clearly taken aback. “What’s this? Synnovea, dear child, were you offended by those ruffians?”

Synnovea tossed a covert glower toward Ivan who was no doubt to blame for spawning this latest infraction. “I fear the tale has been much enlivened by hearsay, my lord. There’s no need for alarm. I was saved from ravishment by the timely appearance of an officer of Tsar Mikhail’s Hussars. Were Colonel Rycroft here, I’m sure he’d attest to my claims, which he’ll likely have to do in a report to his superior.”

Aleksei relaxed enough to smile. Though a self-proclaimed gallant, he had always prided himself in the care he took to avoid those grim maladies associated with indiscriminately lewd activities. His own father had suffered many ills and woes stemming from the disease until finally, amid excruciating agony and frenzied hallucinations, the man had ended his own life. Even to this day, Aleksei was haunted by the memory of that wild-eyed, slavering being slicing his own throat. Nearly overwhelmed as a young man by the horror of that ghastly sight, he had vowed that he would never let himself fall prey to that kind of dark pestilence. It was exceedingly more gratifying to mount the tender, pristine thighs of a virgin and, for a time, dally with her until he grew bored enough to seek entertainment elsewhere.

“And this colonel?” Aleksei directed his attention to his beautiful guest. “He was perhaps the one who escorted you here?”

“Captain Nekrasov was appointed that particular duty by His Majesty. The one who actually came to my deliverance is an Englishman in service to the tsar. He was on practice maneuvers in the area when he and his men happened upon my halted carriage and put the thieves to rout.”

“How can a foreigner claim the rank of colonel in Russia?” Anna asked caustically.

Synnovea felt her neck prickle as she took umbrage at the princess’s obvious disdain. “I would assume that Colonel Rycroft had already acquired that rank before entering the tsar’s service.”

“But he’s an Englishman!” the woman exclaimed, unwilling to dismiss that fact. “What is my cousin thinking of to incorporate an Englishman in his troops? Or is this more of his father’s doings? Patriarch Filaret will have us all killed in our beds by bringing foreign mercenaries into the city!”

“My dear, how can you speak of the good patriarch like that?” Aleksei mocked with a slanted smile.

“Ivan can tell you! Filaret has assumed the powers of the tsar through his son. His ambitions have asserted themselves beyond the duties of patriarch. Indeed! He’d be sitting on the throne today in place of his son if not for the fact that Boris Godunov forced him to become a monk to save his own tsardom.”

Aleksei scowled darkly at the cleric, who conveniently addressed his attention to the food. “Such talk is dangerous, Anna, and you know as well as I do that His Majesty has no real interest in ruling Russia without his father’s counsel. His negotiations for peace with Poland not only gained an armistice but obtained the release of Filaret. True, the treaty cost us a number of Russian towns and cities, yet it has gained us a far more valuable asset. Patriarch Filaret Nikitich has the wisdom to make the right decision for our country. If he has brought foreigners here to secure our peace and train our troops, I can find no fault against the man for wanting to strengthen our capabilities and defense. They need to be!”

“What are you saying, Aleksei?” Anna asked, amazed that her husband could lightly accept such a notion. “Colonel Rycroft is an Englishman!”

Synnovea rallied to the colonel’s defense, not entirely sure why she should feel so offended in his behalf, except that she was half English herself and felt a deep loyalty to the memory of her mother, who had been far more gracious than Anna Taraslovna could ever hope to be. “That rogue Ladislaus made light of the abilities of the tsar’s men until Colonel Rycroft confronted his pack of wolves. Then the thief had to lament the loss of those brought down by the Englishman’s sword. I, for one, am most appreciative of the colonel and his skill as a soldier. I wouldn’t be here this very moment enjoying the safety of your house if not for him.”

Anna mentally sneered at her guest’s input. “I can understand why you’d be grateful for such a one. After all, your mother was English, but other boyarinas are more discriminating than to value the presence of a foreigner.” Her mouth curved in a derisive smile as she offered a conjecture. “No doubt you found the colonel attractive.”

“No! particularly,” Synnovea replied stiltedly, somewhat miffed that Anna could suggest that her feelings of gratitude had been inspired merely by the looks of a man. But then, such an idea had likely been spawned by Ivan’s claim that she had garbed herself for the sole purpose of attracting male attention. “In truth, Captain Nekrasov is much more pleasing in appearance, though not quite as daring with a sword. I certainly valued the captain’s attendance, but after his wounding, he was allowed no opportunity to save me.”

“Such a rescue must be construed as fortuitous unless by chance there was a weightier hand guiding events,” Anna rejoined in haughty aloofness. “It was indeed fortunate that Colonel Rycroft happened to be near enough to come to your aid. Perhaps he was only waiting there to advance your appreciation of his exploits.”

“Considering the danger the Englishman was in, I find no evidence to support your insinuation that he might have arranged the attack for his own gain,” Synnovea countered with uncompromising fervor. “’Tis simply inconceivable. He very nearly laid down the highest price a man could pay for my deliverance and, in the process, killed many of Ladislaus’s men. I, for one, am deeply grateful for having escaped the brigands and am equally relieved that Colonel Rycroft came through it alive as well.”

Anna bestowed her regard upon Ivan, who was cramming a caviar-stuffed pancake into his mouth with such greed that one had to wonder if he intended to embark upon a long fast on the morrow. “Was that the way you perceived it, good Voronsky?”

The beady eyes flicked upward in surprise and momentarily fastened on the princess. Realizing an answer was expected, Ivan worked his lean jaw vigorously to dispense with the food. He swallowed hard and promptly washed the mass down with an ample swig of vodka before he cast a glance toward Synnovea and found himself the object of her curiosity. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he cleared his throat and spoke for once in agreement with her, knowing she could name him a liar if he dared dispute her words. “’Tis much as the countess has said.” He noticed a spark of irritation in the silver eyes and hastened to mollify his hostess. “Though it’s impossible for me to clearly discern what was in the heart of the Englishman at the time. He was rather brutal in his assault on the thieves.”

Synnovea was incredulous. “Sir, are you suggesting that Colonel Rycroft should have treated them like errant children and slapped their wrists or perhaps waited to launch his attack until they had actually killed one of us? Thieving bands rarely show compassion for their victims. They seize and slay, whether a man be noble or common born. I say that we’re lucky to have escaped alive! And as for that, I’m sure you have cause to remember Petrov threatening you with dire consequences unless you gave him more coins to appease his greed.”

Seeing his chance to extract a greater measure of concern from his benefactress, Ivan validated her claim. “And quite violently so. The oaf would have thought nothing of taking my life.”

Aleksei considered the scholar with a slyly malevolent smile. “I see no scars from your encounter, Ivan. Indeed, you seem in rare good health and of superior appetite. I daresay we shall be enjoying your company for many a meal yet.”

A deep blush stained Ivan’s pockmarked face as he felt the sting of the man’s sarcasm. The prince was immensely fond of casting aspersions upon his poor frame, perhaps because they were both cognizant of the one from whom he garnered protection. Being favored by the princess certainly had its reward. Her presence guaranteed Ivan impunity from physical aggression, which allowed him to enjoy a prideful arrogance. He was not above flaunting his position over the prince or even needling him about it now and then. Actually, the idea seemed quite appealing at the moment. “As it stands now, my lord, you’ll be seeing more of me for some time to come.”

“Oh?” Aleksei’s dark brows jutted sharply upward as he awaited the cleric’s explanation.

“The princess has wisely prescribed a daily tutoring of your new charge.”

“What?” The single word came unbidden from Synnovea’s lips, and she turned to stare aghast at Anna, unnerved by Ivan’s announcement. “You don’t mean to say that you’ve engaged this…this…”

“Synnovea!” Anna snapped sharply, halting the insults that threatened to rush forth from the astonished woman. “Remember your place!”

Synnovea drew herself up in rigid silence, daring no further utterance while she bristled in outrage, but her mind ranged far afield, already searching for some avenue of escape. Coping with Ivan on a diurnal basis was not a situation she was capable of enduring. Their journey to Moscow had convinced her of that!

Anna smiled at the younger woman, demonstrating a cool reserve that bordered on frigidity. “The fact that you’ve been sent to me for instruction will eventually lead to your advantage, Synnovea. You were indubitably coddled by your father and allowed to nurture unpleasant tendencies. That will cease, of course. I’ll not tolerate boorish manners…or an argumentative disposition. If you’re wise, my dear, you’ll learn to curb those inclinations. Do you understand?”

It was readily apparent to Synnovea that any objections she offered would be considered of a quarrelsome nature. Being thus warned against speaking her mind, she held her tongue, yet inwardly she still stewed.

Ivan’s pleased smirk evidenced his own satisfaction with what he considered a well-deserved subjugation of the countess. He was not above heaping burning coals upon the hapless victim. “You may trust that my directions will be thorough. Princess. I’ll address myself with careful diligence to polishing your ward’s manners.”

Aleksei seemed immensely pained by such a prospect. “Surely this is some kind of jest, Anna. Synnovea has no need of more tutoring. She has been enlightened by some of the best scholars in the country. You can’t possibly mean to prolong this arduous climb to knowledge.”

“The girl needs instruction in the rigors of life and conventional decorums,” Anna stated obstinately, daring anyone to challenge her decision.

“Damned nuisance, if you ask me!” her husband retorted. Slamming down his glass, he turned with a harsh scowl and, offering no excuse or explanation, stalked to the pair of doors leading into the hall and threw them open.

“Where are you going?” Anna demanded, sensing that she was about to be denied his company for yet another evening.

“ OUT! ” Prince Aleksei flung back over his shoulder. Halting in the hall, he braced his arms akimbo and bellowed at the top of his lungs. “ BORIS! ”

Rushing footsteps were heard in the hush that followed the master’s summons. A moment later, the white-haired steward breathlessly made an appearance. “Here I am, Your Highness.”

Facing the man, Aleksei continued in a lower commanding tone. “Hie yourself out to the stable and tell Orlov to ready my drozhki with my fastest horses. I’ll be going out this evening.”

“Immediately, sir?”

“Would I urge you to make haste if I had the patience to wait for our guests to dine?” Aleksei barked sharply. “Of course I mean immediately!”

“As you wish, sir.”

Synnovea lifted her gaze to find Anna staring rigidly toward the place where, only a moment ago, her husband had stood. The typically pale cheeks were now imbued with a vibrant shade of red, and except for a small tick at the corner of her mouth, she appeared to have taken on the quality of stone.

Ivan dared no further comment, and the meal was soon entered into and stoically endured. Synnovea was completely distraught over the idea of Ivan becoming her tutor, and though under normal circumstances she would have savored each course, the roasted grouse with its cranberry sauce seemed as tasteless to her as the flaky pastry stuffed with steamed vegetables and dressed with a light sauce. Ivan was profuse with his compliments to the cook and devoured every morsel with gusto, totally amazing Synnovea. His slight frame seemed much too frail to handle the amount he consumed, and she could only wonder how he accomplished such a feat without bursting open.

When the meal came thankfully to an end, the two guests retreated to their respective chambers. Anna was left to make her own way to a suite of rooms she shared far too infrequently with Aleksei. Even their arguments were more tolerable than the loneliness that greeted her and the wild imaginings of her mind that placed her husband in the arms of another woman.

The night proved as wearisome for Synnovea as the journey she had just endured. She found nothing within the stuffy shadows of her bedchamber to assuage her apprehensions, for she could foresee only doom descending upon her in the days and weeks ahead. How in the world would she be able to maintain a quiet, gentle manner under such conditions? She’d be defeated before she even began, for if there was one thing that Ivan seemed proficient at, it was provoking her temper.

Synnovea tossed restlessly upon her bed. unable to sleep while her mind raged on in a state of turmoil. It was only when her thoughts drifted unbidden to Colonel Rycroft and the moment wherein he had held her close against his sleek, manly body that she was strangely lulled into a peaceful slumber.

The heat of the night was oppressive, holding the land in a stagnant vise until the morning sun lifted its burning face above the horizon and unleashed its sweltering rays far beyond the vales and hillocks that surrounded the city. Even at an early hour, the dusty roads seemed to shimmer in undulating waves beneath the full light of the heavenly fireball. Those who could, took shelter where they could find it, whether in grand houses or beneath lackluster trees that struggled for survival.

Oblivious to the insidious warmth creeping through the house, Ali arose from her tiny cot, much refreshed after a lengthy night’s sleep. She busied herself in the narrow room, bathing, dressing, and unpacking her belongings until sounds of movement finally came from the larger chamber. With a quick knock and a cheery smile, she bustled into the adjoining room, but halted in sharp surprise as she espied her mistress sitting in bed with an elbow braced upon a knee, staring listlessly across the room. Her mistress’s solemn countenance hinted of a troubled spirit, and Ali gently laid a consoling hand upon the slender arm, thinking she understood the reason for the countess’s dismay. “Ah, me lamb, be ye mournin’ again for yer pa?”

Though Synnovea braved a smile, the sparkle of tears in her eyes readily evidenced her pensive mood. Wistfully she sighed. “If I had been wise, Ali, I would’ve eagerly sought marriage while Papa was still alive. Then I wouldn’t be here now, contending with the dictates of strangers.”

Ali hadn’t been with her mistress all these many years without learning to keenly perceive the young woman’s moods. Something dire had happened. “Me lamb, have the Taraslovs been unkind ta ye?”

Synnovea dared not reveal the full extent of her concerns. The maid was too loyal to keep still about a lecher spying on her. Nor would Ali take kindly to Ivan being engaged as her tutor, but that fact couldn’t be hidden like the other, for it was about to become part of her daily routine.

“I was in error, Ali, when I thought we’d soon be parted from Ivan.” Synnovea saw the servant’s brows lift sharply in suspicion, and with a small shrug, she added, “He’s to instruct me while I’m here. Anna has declared it so.”

“Ye don’t say!” The diminutive woman settled her fists firmly on her narrow hips and snorted in contempt. “An’ what would the li’l weasel be teachin’ ye, pray tell? How ta hide from yer left hand what yer right one be doin’? Aaarrgghh!” She shook her head in acute disgust. “I’ve had a bad feelin’ in me bones ’bout that warty li’l toad since he first hopped onta yer stoop.”

“Nevertheless, Ali, we must keep silent about his faults lest we antagonize the princess. I fear she dotes upon the man.” A darkly winged brow was raised in question as Synnovea met the tiny woman’s gaze. “Do you understand?”

“Aye, that I do, me lovely. Still, if the Princess Anna is imposin’ his teachin’ on ye, what must she be thinkin’ herself? He’s not so hard ta see through if’n a body be carin’ ta take a close look. Ta be sure, if he’s a man o’ God, then I’m the butcher’s uncle. Makes me wonder if the princess has all her wits ’bout her.”

“Perhaps we’ll understand in time what Anna sees in him. Until then, give her no cause to take us to task. I’ve a feeling she’s well acquainted with devising punishments for actions she considers offensive. As for me, I must keep my own wits about me and refrain from angering Ivan overmuch.” A long moment passed before the corners of Synnovea’s lips lifted puckishly and a mischievous gleam brightened her eyes. She arched a meaningful brow toward the servant. “Still, I might plead a few days’ rest before my studies begin.”

Catching her intent, Ali responded with a gleeful cackle. “Ta be sure, me lovely! Ye’re deservin’ o’ that much, what wit’ travelin’ from Nizhni Novgorod in such a dither an’ bein’ attacked by thieves ta boot! Why, ’tis a wonder ye’ve lasted this long wit’out faintin’ clean away.”

And so the two plotted to confound the schemes of Princess Anna, at least for the day. When assured that the household was up and moving about, Synnovea sent the Irish maid down to convey the message that she was temporarily indisposed with a painful headache and would be unable to address her attention to Ivan’s instructions. It was certainly no lie Synnovea had concocted, for every time she thought of being forced to study the scholar’s views, she suffered a deep revulsion and her head began to throb.

Anna had to accept the excuse or confront Synnovea openly and accuse her of falsehood. Though tempted to march up to her new charge’s chambers and express her suspicions, upon further consideration Anna decided to bide her time to see what the girl’s manner would be on the morrow. It would indeed be a miracle if the girl managed to tolerate her chambers the whole day long.

Ensconced upstairs, Synnovea remained oblivious to just how narrowly she had escaped Anna’s interrogation. By midafternoon, however, she had started questioning her own wisdom in avoiding Ivan’s lectures. She couldn’t be entirely certain if someone with a vicious bent had deliberately planned her torture or if the location of her rooms had never been considered, but Synnovea soon became convinced that there wasn’t another chamber in the whole manse as unbearable as her own. Situated on the west side of the house, the rooms became a sweltering oven soon after the daystar reached its zenith.

In determining her alternatives, Synnovea realized there was none she cared to exercise. She couldn’t escape from her chambers without drawing some inquiry or challenging remark from Anna, and she refused to give the woman that satisfaction. Thus, in an effort to cope with the heat, she lounged about in a thin shift that soon became a transparent film over her perspiring skin.

Ali closed the heavy draperies on the west side to shade the chambers and pushed the windows wide on the front of the house, allowing the sultry breezes to flow through the room. Still, the cruel flaming tongues of the summer sun proved unrelenting, and Synnovea sweltered in the heat. Seeking a way to combat her mistress’s distress, the maid went down to the kitchen and asked Elisaveta’s permission to fetch ice from the supply stored in the cellar. She brought back a large chunk to the upper rooms and, after breaking it into smaller pieces, wrapped them in a linen towel.

Synnovea heaved a grateful sigh as she rubbed the cooling towel over her bare skin, leaving refreshing wet trails in its wake, but as the afternoon wore on, she found herself unable to bear the stuffiness of her compartment and went to perch cross-legged on a windowsill shaded and protected from the street by a large tree growing at the front of the house. There she lazily stroked the ice-filled cloth along her arms as she observed the comings and goings of passersby who seemed urgently intent upon completing their errands and finding shade. Too disturbed by their own discomfort to concern themselves with another’s obscure presence, those who ventured forth quickly retreated from sight, leaving the broiling thoroughfare virtually empty.

Synnovea draped the ice-laden towel around her neck and leaned her head back against the window frame. Closing her eyes, she allowed her thoughts to roam homeward. Her musings helped to assuage her loneliness and seemed so real at times she could almost smell the breezes that wafted from the rivers near Nizhni Novgorod. She recalled the numerous times her father had ridden up the lane to their home, and even fancied that she could hear the slow clip-clop of his horse’s hooves and the familiar creak of a leather saddle which, during the summer months, had always accompanied his dismounting at the front of their house. Although her recollections were stirringly detailed, they were flawed to some extent. It was the custom of Russian gentlemen to bedeck their mounts with silver bells, necklets, and wealthy trappings, which allowed their approach to be heard from some distance away. Yet in spite of her desire to vividly recall her memories, Synnovea couldn’t quite convince herself that she could hear the soft tinkling of tiny bells.

The muted click of booted heels on a stone walk caused Synnovea some perplexity as she continued to reminisce. It was clearly not the stride she had come to recognize as her father’s. Opening her eyes and tilting her head aslant, she scanned both ends of the thoroughfare. The street was devoid of travelers, but when she shifted her gaze nearer the Taraslov manse, she saw a tall man striding up the path toward the front portal. His footfalls were unmistakably the ones that had confounded her.

The visitor’s wide-brimmed hat prevented a clear view of the stranger’s face, but she immediately recognized the proud bearing and crisp, purposeful stride of a military officer. This particular fellow was outfitted in the mode of a foreign cavalryman, though that fact puzzled her, for she couldn’t feature Anna allowing a European to visit her domain unless by royal decree. Neither could Synnovea imagine Captain Nekrasov or anyone of similar reserve wearing anything but Russian garb. A sword had been strapped over the visitor’s trunk hose of deepest brown. Beneath them he wore lighter-hued canions, over which long boots had been pulled up to his thighs. Compared to the skirted kaftans boyars wore and the long tunics and wide-legged pantaloons of Russian soldiers, such close-fitting hosiery and breeches seemed almost shameless. Yet the man had the length of leg and narrowness of hip to complement the garments as perhaps few could. His shirt gleamed dazzling white beneath the sun. A wide collar lay open over his leather doublet, and was trimmed with lace as were the turn-backed cuffs. In all, the man’s manner of dress was more reminiscent of an English cavalier….

Synnovea smothered a gasp of dismay as it came to her just who the man might be. Cautiously she leaned outward to peer through the lower branches of the tree and almost gasped when her worst suspicions were confirmed. There, tethered to a hitching post near the entrance to the drive, was an animal that had been forever forged in her memory. Her wild ride through the forest on the back of the headstrong stallion had left such a lasting impression that she had no doubt that she’d be fearful of approaching another steed for some time to come. Once the pride of Ladislaus, the black horse now glistened from the care and attention of his present owner.

Worrisome doubts cast the darkest veil of mistrust upon Colonel Rycroft’s reasons for paying a visit to the Taraslovs. In rising panic Synnovea could imagine him deliberating seeking revenge because she had left him without granting him permission to court her. If he meant to cause her shame, then he’d surely tell all to Anna, who would then hasten to her cousin with the complaint. No predicting what would follow.

Or was she being too skeptical of Colonel Rycroft’s motives and not giving him a chance to prove himself a gentleman? After all, he had been in a position to take her by force and had held himself in restraint. It seemed rather silly to fly into a state of hysteria or to burrow down into a hole like a fearful mole just because the Englishman had been bold enough to come to the manse.

Her pummeling fears eased to a more tolerable level as Synnovea made an earnest effort to subdue them. Deliberately turning aside her doubts, she had to admit, if only to herself, that when she had been all but wallowing in the tedium and despair of her predicament, the officer’s presence offered a more promising diversion from the boredom of her confinement than she had hitherto hoped to find.

Though proper decorum demanded that a young maid squelch any show of pleasure over a strange man’s visit and to regard such a one with stilted aloofness, Synnovea leaned back with a smile, luxuriating in her freedom to enjoy a few delights in the secrecy of her mind. She found it especially stimulating to peruse the colonel at her leisure. Having admired the memory of him in the altogether, she now let her gaze glide over him with meticulous care, unaware that her eyes gradually took on a warming glow. It truly seemed a waste of his extraordinary physique that the man wasn’t more handsome. His long, muscular thighs accepted the sleek, glovelike fit of the boots with ease, but then, having gained firsthand knowledge of the perfection of their length, she was hardly surprised. The short trunk hose were narrow enough to be suggestive and no less arresting to an innocent maid. An abashed giggle escaped Synnovea as she became aware of the source of her curiosity, but she quickly squelched her amusement when she realized that Ali might be near. With a dismayed grimace, she cast a wary glance askance to see if the maid had been there to witness her response. Much to her relief, she found that the chambers were empty save for herself.

The front door was pulled open, and Synnovea leaned outward as much as she safely dared, anxious to learn what matter had brought the Englishman to the Taraslov manse. She dearly hoped he wouldn’t disappoint her by proving himself a cad.

“ Dohbriy dyehn ,” he greeted, tucking his hat beneath his arm. “ Pazhahlusta .” After the polite plea, he carefully pronounced the syllables “Goh-voh-reet-yeh lee vwee poh-ahn-GLEE-skee?”

Synnovea cringed at his effort to question the steward’s ability to understand English. As was to be expected, there followed a long pause. Boris, who spoke no English, had no doubt gone to fetch his mistress, who could.

“May I be of assistance to you, sir?” Anna inquired upon her arrival at the front portal.

Colonel Rycroft swept his hat off in a gracious bow. “Princess Taraslovna, I presume?”

“I am she. What is it that you want?”

“A favor, if you would be so kind,” the colonel answered and then, with a soft chuckle, offered an apology. “I haven’t been in your country very long, and my Russian is poor and laborious to the point that I fear I confused your butler. Forgive my intrusion, but I am Colonel Rycroft, Commander of the Third Regiment of His Majesty’s Imperial Hussars. I was fortunate enough to be of service to the Countess Zenkovna on her way to Moscow, and I was wondering if I might be permitted to speak with her for a few moments.”

“I’m afraid that will be impossible, Colonel,” Anna replied stiffly. “You see, the Countess Zenkovna isn’t feeling well enough to receive visitors today. She has retired to her chambers, and only her maid has been allowed to see her.”

“Then perhaps I might be granted permission to return on the morrow.”

“Have you a reason to bother her?” Anna’s tone was definitely stale and unenthusiastic.

“One of my men found a brooch that we believe belongs to the countess. I’d like to question her about it, if I may.”

“If you’d care to give me the brooch, Colonel, I shall see that it’s taken up to her straightaway.” Anna stretched forth a slender hand expectantly to receive the mentioned item.

Tyrone handed over the piece, and then, as the princess made to close the door, he stepped nearer, placing a booted toe upon the threshold to prevent her from shutting the barrier. Anna gaped down at the formidable wedge before she glanced up at the man in surprise, wondering if she should scream. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Tyrone smiled pleasantly as he clarified his position. “If you don’t mind, Princess. I shall await an answer. You see, if the brooch doesn’t belong to the Countess Zenkovna, then by all means it must be returned to the man who found it.”

“If you insist,” Anna replied icily.

“I must,” he answered simply.

“Then wait here,” she snapped. “I shall fetch her maid for you. I’m sure the woman will be able to recognize the piece if it truly belongs to her mistress.” Anna lowered her gaze pointedly to his foot and then raised a meaningful brow as she looked with steely coldness into the man’s eyes. “Boris will attend the door while I’m gone.”

With a casual nod to the woman, Tyrone retreated several paces. As he waited, he clamped his hat on his head again and, strolling away from the door, leisurely moved into the shade of the tree, the very same that hid the upper windows of the countess’s bedchamber.

Smothering a gasp, Synnovea pressed back against the window frame and held her breath as the colonel paused in the outer boundaries of the shade. She chanced no movement lest he discover her, but her heart seemed wont to race frantically as she imagined the deep chagrin she’d suffer if he should glance up. Her chemise was far from adequate as a covering, and though she dared not look downward for fear of attracting his attention, she could feel the delicate batiste clinging cloyingly to her wet skin.

Even as Synnovea stared at the man in roweling apprehension of detection, it seemed as if some sharp instinct warned Tyrone that he was being watched. Abruptly he raised his head, and Synnovea gasped sharply when she found herself caught. Frozen by the shock of her discovery, she could only gape back at him, while he, in so brief a moment, drank in every detail of her beauty, the mass of dark hair piled casually high upon her head, the soft tendrils curling wetly against her throat, the bare arms and the gossamer cloth that clung like a hazy film over her delicately hued breasts. The slow grin that came to his lopsided lips evidenced his deep appreciation of her beauty. Her appearance gratified his sharply honed curiosity and completely appeased his reason for coming. In truth, this vision of incomparable beauty assured Colonel Tyrone Rycroft once and for all that he hadn’t conjured the Countess Synnovea in some wanton dream.

Synnovea leapt from her perch with a muffled groan of despair and flung herself far from the window to stand panting for breath in the middle of the room. Her cheeks flamed more from the scorching heat of his perusal than from the sultry confines of her prison. Now her heart kept time with her racing mind. What must he think of her? What tales would he spread of her brazen exhibition? Had she not given him enough to stare at in the bathhouse without embarrassing herself a second time? Oh, if he’d just go away! Back to England where he belonged! Without humiliating her further!

The front door creaked as it was pulled open, and Tyrone snatched his mind free of its entanglement and, sweeping off his hat, concentrated on presenting a cool-headed aplomb as he turned his gaze from the window. Whatever else came of the day, his brief glimpse of the countess had been well worth the long, blistering ride from his quarters.

Ali stepped out into the light and squinted up at the stranger, who stood head and shoulders above her. With some curiosity, she considered his badly bruised visage before she cautiously asked, “Ye be the one what saved me mistress?”

“’Tis my honor to claim that fame,” Tyrone replied amiably and winced as he tried to grin at the old woman.

Peering down at the emerald brooch now nestled in the palm of her hand, Ali tapped it lightly with a gnarled forefinger. “This be the Countess Synnovea’s, all right. What be yer reward for findin’ it?”

“The reward is not mine to claim. The piece was found on the ground by one of my men. If your mistress so desires, she may lay such a favor upon him, but you need not trouble her now for a reply. I shall return on the morrow. Perhaps by then I may be allowed the privilege of addressing the countess personally.”

“I see no need for you to trouble yourself,” Anna interjected crisply over the small woman’s shoulder. “We shall have the reward sent to your regiment.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Tyrone assured her in good spirits. “I’d take great comfort in seeing the countess again—to assure myself of her good health, of course.” He met the chilling stare of the princess and deliberately ignored what it implied, having adroitly claimed an excuse to return.

Tyrone glanced down to see the sparkling blue eyes of the Irish maid resting on him with smiling approval and realized he had gained an ally. Despite the discomfort he embraced whenever he stretched his bruised, swollen lips, he gave the tiny servant his best attempt, displaying gleaming white teeth behind a crooked smile.

“Would ye be needin’ yer hurts tended, sir?” Ali offered and then glanced around in disappointment as Anna cleared her throat impatiently.

“I’m sure there are physicians to whom he can go,” the princess stated, not even bothering to hide her annoyance with the pair.

“I fear such attention is limited by the reluctance of your benefactress,” Tyrone responded with another painful grin. “I must be on my way, but if you will, you may carry my solicitations for a quick recovery to your mistress. I hope she’ll be feeling better on the morrow when I return.”

“Oh, she will be,” Ali assured him. “I’ll see to it!”

Tyrone swept the women a brief bow and, settling his hat on his head, chuckled softly as he retreated down the walk. Even if he hadn’t won the consideration of the countess, at least he had gained the support of someone very close to her who might prove of great benefit in persuading the younger woman to think more kindly of him.