7

A n early-morning breeze wafted over the city as Tsar Mikhail Fyodorovich Romanov strolled leisurely along the walk stretching atop the Kremlin’s high wall. His dark eyes closely followed the mounted regiment that practiced its riding skills down below in the vast, open area of Red Square. The horsemanship of the commander of the elite cavalry unit easily claimed his attention. Except for perhaps the Cossacks, who could mesmerize the casual observer with their daring equestrian skills, Mikhail had seen few riders that equaled the talent of this Englishman, but then, it was not the first time the colonel had been brought to his attention.

In speaking to several Russian generals. General Vanderhout had boasted of his own successful accomplishments in devising the tactics that had supposedly directed a detachment from his foreign-led division in a foray against a large band of thieves a day’s distance from the city, but Mikhail had been much enlightened when he had asked the newly promoted Major Nekrasov to report on Countess Zenkovna’s journey to Moscow. He had heard a tale of highwaymen, led by a bastard of Polish and Cossack descent, attacking the young boyarina’s entourage and then, without prior design, being put to flight by a certain English colonel and the Russian Hussars he had trained, part of the same regiment which, unbeknownst to them, performed for the tsar now.

The crisp performance and pulsing cadence of the mounted horsemen struck Mikhail’s heart with fervor as he watched from his elevated position. The helmeted heads turned in unison at the sharp count of their commander, and beneath the gilded rays of the morning sun, their swords flashed in dazzling brilliance as the men lifted those weapons high for a moment and then snapped them blunt-side against their shoulders. It was a presentation Mikhail had not previously witnessed, but an exercise he was just beginning to realize he greatly enjoyed. He’d have to make a point of meeting this Englishman in the near future, he decided. Obviously the officer had a flair for organizing flamboyant exhibitions in an open field as well as effectively proving his military prowess in actual combat.

Mikhail cocked his head thoughtfully and peered askance at his officer of the guard, who stood just beyond the field marshal. “Major Nekrasov?”

At the summons, the officer approached forthwith and, with a briskly executed salute, paid a soldier’s obeisance to his sovereign. “Yours to command. Great Tsar of all the Russia.”

Mikhail clasped his hands behind him as his eyes lightly skimmed the neatly uniformed officer. “Major Nekrasov, do you speak English?”

Nikolai was somewhat taken aback by the question, but answered without hesitation. “Yes, Your Exalted Worship.”

“Good! Then you may kindly inform the commander of the regiment which we’re now viewing that I would like an opportunity to address him within the next several days. Tell him to make a request for an audience in the petitioner’s box. He’ll be informed some days hence of my reply. Do you have any questions?”

“None, Your Excellency.”

“The man is a foreigner,” Mikhail stated thoughtfully. “Instruct him on the diplomacy of the court so he may not embarrass himself or cause me to see him unduly punished because another has been offended.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“That is all.”

Nikolai abruptly clasped an arm across his breast and went down on a knee before the tsar, who, with a casual gesture, granted him dismissal. The major took his leave with great dispatch and descended to the ground level through the closest tower. Hastening across the field toward the tightly maneuvering riders, he hailed the commander of the Hussars.

“Colonel Rycroft!” he called and, after failing to gain a response a second time, advanced another lengthy space before trying once more to be heard above the clattering hooves and sharply barked commands. “Colonel Rycroft!”

Finally the summons penetrated the din, and Tyrone reined his mount around to face the one who approached. Recognizing the major, he gave a nod to Captain Tverskoy, temporarily yielding the drilling of the cavalry unit to his second-in-command. As he awaited the rapidly approaching officer, Tyrone pushed back the leather helm and wiped a knuckle across his sweat-dappled brow.

“Colonel Rycroft!” Nikolai cried again with great excitement as he halted beside the Englishman’s steed. “His Majesty, the tsar, would like to see you!” He raised an arm and, half turning, pointed toward the high wall, directing the colonel’s gaze upward to the men who stood there. “He has been watching you for some time now!”

Tyrone raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and squinted up at the small cluster of high-ranking offi cers who had gathered there. “What do you suppose he wants with me?”

“You’ve impressed him!” Nikolai answered in amazement, almost in awe of anyone who could perform such a feat. “You’re to arrange an audience with him in the next several days!”

Tyrone dragged the reins loosely through his fingers and, gathering them close, rested his hand upon the pommel of the saddle as he cocked a brow at the major. The tsar’s recognition was what he had been striving for, but he was rather astonished at how quickly he had gained his objective. “And how should I go about accomplishing that visit?”

“I’ve been enlisted to instruct you on what will be expected. Colonel. If you’re free this evening, we can meet at my quarters. The sooner you respond, the better you’ll be showing respect for his majesty.”

“Of course,” Tyrone agreed, giving up his plans to ride out to the Taraslov house later on in the evening. In the past fortnight he had drilled his men with unswerving diligence, allowing himself no time to appease his desire to see Synnovea again and plead his cause through Ali. That was not to say that the dark-haired beauty hadn’t occupied his mind with singular persistence since he had last seen her. If anything, his moonlit visit to her bedroom had intensified his dilemma. Now more than ever, he’d wake from a fitful sleep with her face before him, a sense of her naked softness lingering hauntingly against his skin. The difficulty in banishing those persistent yet delectable memories robbed him of sleep, and though he’d pace the length and breadth of his bedchamber in an effort to settle his mind on something less disturbing, his failure left him painfully tormented by his growing desire for her. Staring at her miniature only increased his longings. Though he had once leased her about claiming an audience with the tsar, he had been far more serious about his quest than he would have admitted to anyone. Finding favor with His Majesty was essential in getting what he really wanted, and only in that respect did he deem the meeting with Major Nekrasov more important than a visit to the Taraslov manse. Without a doubt. Tsar Mikhail could open any door in Russia that had been slammed in his face.

More than a fortnight had fled since Synnovea’s arrival in Moscow, and in that time she had been forced to endure Ivan’s phlegmatic instructions, Anna’s harsh criticisms, and Aleksei’s zealous pursuits, the latter always well out of earshot and eyesight of his wife. Synnovea was beginning to feel as jittery as a tiny bird beneath the sharp, watchful eye of a raven. It seemed in every shadowed area she passed there lurked a danger of being surprised by the prince and. even more disturbing, a threat of being fondled in either a feigned or a more deliberate manner. It was maddening to find herself the prey in his game of chase, but Aleksei seemed intent on taking advantage of every opportunity that presented itself while Anna devoted most of her time and attention aiding Ivan Voronsky in his ambitious climb to fame.

Anna had postponed her visit to her father’s bedside, having decided her plans to honor Ivan at a reception were of greater importance. The princess and the cleric had become all but inseparable. While Aleksei roamed elsewhere, they visited boyars of great power and wealth in an effort to abet kindred spirits. If the atmosphere and temperaments were right, they carefully encouraged the airing of whatever adverse sentiments existed against the Patriarch Filaret Nikitich. Synnovea had gleaned at least this much from her bedchamber where she had been cautioned to stay during a meeting of boyars whom Anna had invited to the manse. It had certainly not been Synnovea’s intent to eavesdrop, but the outraged shouts, which Ivan seemed to liberally provoke with his suggestions, were impossible to ignore even upstairs. In light of the bizarre views the cleric had expressed during their journey to Moscow, she could only wonder if he held aspirations of uprooting Tsar Mikhail from his throne. It seemed doubtful that Anna would be party to such a goal, being Mikhail’s cousin. Even so, Synnovea couldn’t banish her own strengthening suspicions.

It was early on a Wednesday morning when Aleksei informed his wife that he’d be attending business affairs in a neighboring city and that she shouldn’t expect him back until late the following day. His announcement and departure bolstered Anna’s confidence that she could leave her charge behind at the manse and nothing untoward would transpire while she ventured out with Ivan. Shortly after the two left, Synnovea sent Ali off with Stenka to attend the needs of Elisaveta’s sister. As she awaited her servants’ return, she retreated to the Taraslov garden, where she began reviewing a book which Ivan had given her earlier in the day, no doubt to keep her aware of his power even in his absence.

It was midaftemoon when a somewhat surprised Boris opened the door for his master. “We weren’t expecting you to return until the morrow, my lord.”

“A change of plans, Boris.” Aleksei glanced casually about. “Is my wife here?”

“No, my lord. Princess Anna left more than an hour ago with…”

“The good Ivan Voronsky,” Aleksei concluded for the elder, allowing some irritation to show for the steward’s benefit.

Boris hurried to allay any husbandly jealousy. “They went to visit Prince Dimitrievich at his home, my lord. I’m sure Princess Anna would be delighted if you joined them there.”

“What? And suffer through another boring discussion of that old boyar’s prospects for producing another brood of children in his dwindling years?” Aleksei laughed with a negative shake of his head. “I think not, Boris. At his advanced age, Vladimir should be thinking of dividing his wealth between the sons he has already rather than looking for a new wife upon whom he can spawn new ones.”

Boris chuckled, having overheard for himself the old boyar’s expectations. “I’ve no doubt that it’s the wish of every man facing advancing years to be equally as capable as Prince Vladimir when they reach his age.”

Cocking a curious brow, Aleksei peered at the steward, wondering if he was voicing aspirations of his own. “Perhaps the old prince isn’t nearly as capable as he’d like everyone to believe.”

“That may be true, sir,” Boris agreed, and then heaved a sigh. “But it’s nice for a man to believe there’s some hope.”

Aleksei grinned in agreement. “Absolutely.”

Only a few moments passed before the prince entered the garden and found Synnovea sitting with her chin propped in her hands. Intent upon her studies, she failed to notice him until he spoke.

“My dear child, what are you so engrossed in?”

The softly coiffed head snapped up in surprise, and Aleksei found himself staring into startled green-brown eyes. He smiled as he plumbed the depths of her sudden disquiet. She was as skittish as a young hare that had just been cornered by a wily fox.

“Prince Aleksei!” Synnovea rose nervously to her feet. “We weren’t expecting you until the morrow. My goodness, won’t Anna be surprised!” Her breathless tone readily conveyed her rampant distrust. “I think she should be back any moment now….”

Her words dwindled to an uneasy silence as his dark eyes gleamed back at her in dubious amusement. “Come now, Synnovea,” be gently reproached. “We both know that Anna dallies overlong whenever she accompanies Ivan on one of his jaunts to fame. She has ambitions not unlike his, you know.”

Almost in mesmerized distraction, his gaze dipped to the higher curves of her bosom, which her square, lace-edged neckline coyly revealed. Even so minute a glimpse was more than he had been afforded since he had opened her bedchamber door and found her sleeping on her chaise. Since then, the girl had discreetly garbed herself in sarafans …until today. A crisp, lacy ruff now adorned the slender column of her throat and was daintily fastened with a lavender ribbon, a color found in the flowery lawn of her gown. Below the charming neckpiece, the close-fitting bodice accentuated the narrowness of her waist, while the neckline left him appreciative of the youthful luster of her creamy skin.

“May I join you?” he inquired, presenting his best manners.

“O-of course,” Synnovea replied. How could she deny him? If she had taken the initiative to tell him nay, he probably would have seized her outright.

Aleksei closed the space between them, and in swift reaction, Synnovea skirted around the marble table, where she poured herself a chilled glass of watered wine. Managing a tremulous smile beneath his ever-warming regard, she gulped a sip before she recalled her manners. Reluctantly she swept a hand to indicate the pitcher of wine and a small plate of cakes that Elisaveta had brought out to her. “Would you care for some refreshments?”

Aleksei smiled at her guise of gracious hostess, well acquainted with the ploys of a reluctant maid. She had been most eager to place a barrier between them, as if the tiny table could offer her protection against the encroachment of a passionate swain. “Perhaps a glass of watered wine.”

Aleksei accepted the goblet from her and. lifting his head, gazed out over the carefully tended garden. He wasn’t a man who normally gave himself over to the enjoyment of such simple pleasures, but with Synnovea near at hand he could feel himself relaxing in the peaceful tranquility of the glade. Perhaps if he had wed a woman who would have been content with his wealth and princely possessions instead of being driven with an insatiable ambition to have the best of everything, he might have been satisfied to devote more of his attention to nurturing a love for her. With increasing frequency now, he felt compelled to flaunt his many conquests before Anna. Perhaps uncon sciously it was his way of seeking revenge for the disquiet she awakened within him.

“Will you walk with me through the garden. Synnovea?” he invited, continuing around the table. He took her arm and swept his free hand toward the paths that were bordered with flowers. “It has been more than a season of years since I’ve taken time to admire such riotous blooms.”

Hesitantly Synnovea moved along the lane beside him. cautiously giving an excuse for a timely escape. “Elisaveta is expecting me back in the kitchen any moment now. I promised to help her make bread, so I mustn’t be away too long. She’ll come looking for me.”

“A simple walk through the garden doesn’t require too much time,” Aleksei assured her. “I have to leave again shortly anyway. I left some important documents behind when I left this morning, and I had to come back to fetch them. I thought everyone had gone, and then I noticed you out here.” He raised his head and slowly inhaled the sweet, heady fragrance that wafted from several large blossoms adorning a nearby bush. “I had almost forgotten such pleasures exist.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Synnovea noticed that they were no longer in sight of the house, for the draping limbs of a tree now obscured the trail behind them. “I should go back now.”

“Not yet. Synnovea.” His hand slipped downward to clasp hers, and when she gasped in surprise and tried to draw away, he laughed and indicated the path ahead. “Did you ever see the dovecote? It’s just up ahead.”

Hearing a soft cooing beyond them, Synnovea conceded him a cautious victory and allowed him to draw her with him. He released her hand as they approached a white, circular structure where a dozen or more pigeons calmly roosted. Others flitted to and fro overhead. The fluttering of wings warned them of another approaching bird, and Synnovea turned to observe a dove’s flight to a slender perch jutting from an empty cubbyhole.

“This could be dangerous,” Aleksei observed drolly as other birds flew overhead. “Let’s, get away before we find your pretty gown spoiled.” Seizing her hand again, he pulled her along behind him down a footpath that turned sharply away from the cote.

Synnovea sought diligently to disentangle her fingers from his grasp, knowing they roamed farther and farther away from the manse. “Please, I should go back now.”

Aleksei held fast as he bade over his shoulder, “Don’t be afraid, Synnovea. Come. I’ve something else to show you.”

He brought her within sight of a small hut nestled against a high wooden fence which served as a barrier around the estate. Drawing her with him onto the wooden planks of the porch, he pushed open the door and would have ventured in, but Synnovea balked at the idea of being hauled into a dark cottage with a lecher. Stiffening her limbs much like a stubborn calf, she braced her feet wide and refused to be dragged forward another step.

“No!” she cried. “Let me go! I must return to the house!”

Aleksei chortled as he stepped back to her with dark eyes glowing brightly. “Come inside, Synnovea,” he coaxed, tilting his head slightly toward the open portal. “Let me make you the woman you deserve to be. No one will know we’ve spent this time together.” His red lips parted in a cajoling smile. “The servants are loyal to me None of them will tell Anna that I returned home today, so we needn’t make excuses to her.” With a brief nod. he indicated the door again. “No one comes here. The old woodcutter who lives here during the winter won’t be back until fall. We’ll have the cabin entirely to ourselves. You needn’t be embarrassed or afraid.”

“Never!” Synnovea shook her head in passionate fervor. “This thing you ask of me isn’t proper, Aleksei! You have no right to even suggest it.”

“Right? Wrong?” Aleksei tossed his head from side to side like a small boy chanting a rhyme. “Who can argue this is wrong, Synnovea. when we are meant for each other?”

“I can!” she declared hotly. “I want no part of this!”

His shoulders lifted in a languid shrug, evidencing his lack of concern for her reluctance. “I’ll take you as I will. Synnovea. It’s of little consequence to me if you struggle. I know in time you’ll come to enjoy my caresses.”

Aleksei slipped an arm around her waist, but Synnovea snatched away and glared back at him with eyes flashing with feral intensity. “If you force me against my will. Aleksei,” she warned in a low, ragged tone, “I swear you’ll reap my revenge. I’m not one of your little trollops whom you can seize and take at your whim! If Anna won’t listen to my complaints, then I’ll take them to Tsar Mikhail. But know this, Aleksei: I’ll have retribution for any offense you commit against me!”

An abortive laugh displayed his contempt for her threats. Still holding her wrist, he smirked with unswerving confidence. “Do you actually think you can threaten me and dance away to your delight, my girl? Nay, let it never be said. Your words will fall on deaf ears, for I shall make of them a lie and pledge my troth that you speak falsely. Anna will hear no slander from you. So you see how shallow your threats are? Truly, Synnovea, there’s no advantage in fighting me.”

Smiling in haughty arrogance, he seized the front of her bodice and. with a downward jerk that startled a scream from her, ripped the stomacher free, leaving naught but a chemise to hide her bosom between the rent. Aleksei stretched forth a hand to test the delectable fullness, but with an infuriated shriek, Synnovea whirled away. Alas, her attempt to flee gained her nothing, for he caught his fingers in the cluster of curls on top of her head and. hauling her back, lifted her struggling form into his arms.

Shouldering the door aside, Aleksei pushed his way into the cottage and kicked the portal closed behind him. With nary a pause, he crossed to a narrow cot in the corner and dropped her upon it. As she lit, wolf pelts seemed to en fold her and threatened to smother her as they flew over her face. Fighting her way free, Synnovea scrambled to her knees and quickly apprised herself of her surroundings. She glimpsed an opening between Aleksei and a small table standing near the head of the cot and lunged for it. intent upon slipping through the breach. Promptly he stepped to block her path, but she eluded his reaching hands and sprang to the opposite end of the bed. from whence she crawled hastily toward an open niche. He was there to meet her and thwarted her attempts again and again. Finally she sat back upon her heels, gasping air into her lungs, and glared up at him.

Casually Aleksei began slipping out of his kaftan. “You see? There’s no escape for you, my beauty.”

Tossing aside the garment, he faced Synnovea, garbed in nothing more than a thin shirt and leggings that clung closely to his scrawny legs. His wide shoulders and the roomy kaftans had made him seem heavier and more muscular than he actually was, for he bordered on thinness and was rather straight from his chest downward. Hardly the sort of physique she had been admiring lately.

Aleksei watched his captive carefully as her eyes flew about the cabin in an anxious quest for escape. She darted toward another opening, but again he caught her and, this time, shoved her back upon the pelts. She gnashed her teeth in frustration and tried to claw him, but he chortled in amusement at her attempts and batted her arms away. Holding her thus, he jerked the cot away from the wall and settled astride the narrow bed, pinning her beneath him and stilling her wildly thrashing limbs.

Synnovea was hardly subdued. When he lifted himself to tug up her skirts, she was bent on wiggling out from under him. Aleksei expected as much and immediately resettled himself across her legs.

In his eagerness to drag her petticoats out from under him, he failed to notice the slender hand closing around a honing stone that had been left on me table beside the bed. Nor did he see her fist swinging upward in an arc away from the nightstand. Synnovea forced every bit of the strength she possessed behind the blow, catching her would-be debaucher squarely against the side of his nose with the edge of the stone, setting it abruptly askew.

Aleksei’s pained yowl seemed to shake the hut right down to its foundation as he reeled backward from the blow. He clasped his hands to his face, a vivid array of colors bedazzling him as an unbearable agony blinded him to everything else. Several red droplets splattered onto his white shirt, and as his sight cleared and he spread his hands, he gaped down in slack-jawed awe at the splotches. He could hardly believe his blood had been spilled by so slender a maid, yet the anguish was too intense for him to doubt the fact. Emitting a groan, he pressed a finger beneath his nose and tried to curb the dribbling flow, but alas, it could not be stemmed. The slightest touch sent sharp, splintering shards of excruciating pain shooting upward from his nose into his brow. From there, his torment expanded and seemed to reach to the very ends of his nerves. The anguish was too great to bear, and losing all desire to fulfill his lustful cravings, he lifted himself from the bed and stumbled in an agonized stupor to the wash stand, where he snatched a towel and pressed it tightly beneath his nose.

Synnovea dared not pause. Amid a flurry of flying skirts, she leapt from the bed and raced through the door. No one witnessed her frantic entrance into the manse, but it wasn’t until she had locked the door of her bedchamber firmly behind her that she felt safe from Aleksei and whatever revenge he might seek. Oblivious to the heat, she waited with bated breath until at long last she heard his carriage rumble away. Then she went to the window to watch and saw his stallion trailing behind at the end of a tether. That fact lent her some hope that he wouldn’t be back for several days.

It was the third Sunday after Synnovea’s arrival when cooling breezes finally brought a welcome respite from the hot, sweltering days of summer. Scudding gray clouds chased across the early-morning sky and gave some hope to hearts yearning for rain. In only a few weeks the weather would begin to take on a chill and the intense heat would be but a memory.

Aleksei had returned two days earlier, giving the lame excuse that he had broken his nose after a fall from his stallion. For the sake of his handsome profile, he had endured the torment of his nose being righted by a physician, but by now, it could be determined that a definite lump would mar the previous sleekness of it and no doubt serve to remind him by whose hand he had acquired the wound. A dark purplish swelling around his nose and beneath his eyes tarnished his handsome visage, evidencing the depth of his injuries, and he was wont to liberally indulge in strong intoxicants to ease the pain that still plagued him. He was no longer doubtful of Synnovea’s ability to do him ill and, for the time being, was reluctant to challenge her stilted reserve, fearful that another such blow would see him completely undone.

On this particular Sunday, Aleksei had announced that he would remain at home, for his vanity prevented him from pursuing other light-o’-loves until his swollen nose dwindled in size and the bruises faded. Earlier, Anna had made arrangements to go with Ivan to a private chapel belonging to the immensely wealthy boyar, Prince Vladimir Dimitrievich. The ancient widower had his heart set on another marriage, and since neither Ivan nor Anna wished him to be distracted from their discourse by the presence of a comely young maid, the possibility of Synnovea accompanying them to the chasovnyas was simply out of the question. Yet, while her husband remained abed, Anna didn’t trust Synnovea to stay behind either. Thus, she was left with no other choice but to allow the girl to arrange her own sabbatical, as long as it was well away from the Taraslov manse and the invalid, Aleksei.

Whatever reasons Anna had for letting her go, Synnovea was relieved to have finally been granted some freedom. Even the woman’s dire warnings to return before dusk couldn’t diminish her enthusiasm. She even went out early to wait for Stenka to pull the coach around into the drive and wasn’t at all unnerved by the fact that Aleksei came to stand near the windows of his upper-story bedroom. He couldn’t do much harm to her today.

For the outing. Synnovea had outfitted herself in a sarafan of ice-blue satin liberally adorned with seed pearls and delicate appliques of white lace. A similarly embellished kokoslmiki had been settled upon her head, and a blue ribbon, sewn with the same dainty pearls, had been woven through the single dark braid. A matching cloak accompanied her. but after reaching her destination, Synnovea decided to leave the garment behind as she prepared to alight from the coach. The temperature was still warm and the sun had begun to peek intermittently through the clouds. lending her some assurance that the weather would remain clear throughout the day.

Stenka halted the conveyance a short distance from a church on Red Square, close to where the Countess Natasha Andreyevna had paused outside her own carriage. As Jozef swung open the door for his mistress, the older woman hurried across to greet her friend. Catching sight of her. Synnovea descended the steps in a lighthearted rush as Natasha laughed in glee and spread her arms wide. In a thrice of steps, the younger was enfolded within the elder’s embrace.

“I should scold you for not coming to see me,” Natasha fussed and drew back amid a profusion of tears. “Or have you forgotten that I’m not welcome at the Taraslovs?”

“Oh. Natasha, you know I haven’t.” Synnovea replied as her own gaze blurred. “But until today. Anna hasn’t allowed me to venture beyond the limits of their estate.”

Natasha searched the teary green-brown eyes. “It must be difficult for you to live under such strictures when you’ve been able to enjoy the same freedom granted to women all over England and France. Your mother laid a good foundation for you by instructing Aleksandr in the genteel deportment of an English gentleman. For a Russian, your father was surprisingly receptive to her persuasions. But then, Eleanora had a most endearing way about her.”

“A change may be coming fairly soon.”

“How so, my dear?”

Synnovea lifted a hand to caution the elder. “Mind you, there’s been no indication as yet that Anna will actually go see her ailing father. Nor should I dare suggest that she’ll grant me permission to visit you, but I rather suspect that she won’t feel too confident leaving me alone in the house with Aleksei.”

“I can hardly blame her there. The man is a rake of the first merit.” Natasha raised her brows briefly to lend emphasis to her insinuations and gently patted her young friend’s hand as she urged, “Take warning, my child.”

Synnovea’s own brows flicked upward in agreement. “Oh, I’ve learned by experience what a horrible lecher he is. I’m afraid to leave my bedchamber while that greedy crow waits to pick my bones. Once his nose is mended, he’ll likely seek revenge.”

Natasha’s elegant brows gathered in bemusement. “What happened to his nose?”

“I broke it when he accosted me.”

For a moment the older countess stared at the younger, completely flabbergasted. Then, as the humor of it settled in, she began to laugh in rampant delight. “Poor Aleksei, he’s never been abused by a woman before. ’Tis a rare one who doesn’t adore him. Hopefully, you’ve thwarted his attempts sufficiently, and he’ll be careful about approaching you in the future.”

“I really don’t think he’ll let my affront slip past without demanding some sort of restitution. The uncertainty of how and when it will come leaves me positively skittish.”

Natasha heaved a sigh, extending her sympathy toward the girl. “’Twould ease your situation if you could leave their house fairly soon. Do you have any idea when Anna might depart?”

“If she goes at all, it certainly won’t be until after Saturday next. That’s when she intends to honor Ivan Voronsky with a grand celebration.”

“Ivan Voronsky?” Natasha repeated the name incredulously and looked at the younger woman with growing sympathy. “Oh, my dear Synnovea, I do pity your plight. I only wish His Majesty had seen fit to send you into my care, but I’m sure he had no idea we were close friends, especially if Anna told him that I was only interested in your father. There’s no question that Tsar Mikhail thought he was doing you a favor by sending you to Anna. After all, she is his kin, and under normal circumstances it would be deemed an honor to be the ward of the tsar’s cousin. He greatly admired your father, and now that Aleksandr has been taken from us, I know His Majesty would like to be assured of your welfare, so please, try not to judge him too harshly, my dear.”

“I shan’t, of course. He proved the depth of his concern by sending Major Nekrasov to escort me to Moscow. But tell me, Natasha, if Anna does go to visit her father, will you allow me to stay with you during her absence?”

“Oh, my child, need you ask?” Natasha laughed gaily. “Of course you may! Indeed! I won’t tolerate the idea of your staying with anyone else!”

The bells in the belfry began to clang, and as the last grew silent, a lilting hymn drifted from the church. The two women turned their attention to the sweet, melodious voices that beckoned and walked arm in arm into the magnificently embellished interior. A rosy aura, softly cast from the mica windows, seemed to infuse the very air around them as they stood together in a section reserved for women and children. There, they murmured prayers, sang songs, and listened to the oration of the priest and the angelic hymns of young boys dressed in white vestments. It was a peaceful time, like so many others they had shared in the same church, except that now there would be only the two of them after the services. The memory of Aleksandr Zenkov remained sweet to each, and with tears misting their eyes, they clasped hands, silently mourning his passing.

Three hours later, the two women emerged from the church to find dark clouds looming over the city. Lightly splattering raindrops brought sweet respite and stirred forth a refreshing essence, but Synnovea was averse to seeing another gown ruined and stood in the shelter of the portico, worriedly viewing the seemingly endless breach that lay between the church and her coach. Conveyances had already become ensnared in a tangled maze created by drivers intent upon picking up their passengers without delay. Whatever open spaces remained were quickly filling with people hurrying from other churches located in the same area.

“I never expected this,” Synnovea said forlornly. It seemed like a century had passed since she had felt such freedom, and after so many weeks without rain, she couldn’t believe that it had started this very moment.

“Stenka is nearer,” Natasha declared. “We won’t have to wait as long for him to get through.”

Synnovea cast a dubious glance upward at the dark clouds. “Yes, but it may be another hour before the path clears enough for him to get through. But then, the way the sky looks, we’ll get soaked in any case.”

“I guess our only option is to run for it.” Natasha lifted her cloak and spread it wide as a shelter for them. “We’d better leave now, before we’re caught in a downpour.”

Synnovea huddled beside Natasha under the costly lent as they left the protection of the portico. They had barely ventured forth when a heavy torrent was unleashed upon them, dispersing the crowd ahead of them. Synnovea caught sight of Jozef scampering down from the footman’s seat in his eagerness to be at the door when they arrived. Presently Stenka was leaning down from his lofty bench, talking with another man, who had halted beside the coach. As the driver lifted an arm to point, the one to whom he spoke twisted about to search the crowd for her. Though garbed in an enveloping cloak and a wide brimmed hat. the man was unmistakable. It look no more than a glimpse of that male visage to bring Synnovea to a sudden, disconcerted halt. The dauntless Colonel Rycroft had ventured forth in search of her again.

Synnovea had no opportunity to retreat as he came at a run toward her, nor even a chance to react. Without warning, a force from behind struck her solidly against her back and sent her sprawling forward onto her hands and knees. The culprit, a huge, simple-minded lummox who had panicked after finding himself separated from those who led him, glanced down briefly as he plowed past her. In spite of the blinding torrent that washed down upon them, a group of strapping youths raced for their mounts, all but treading on the heels of the oaf. By the time they saw Synnovea, it was too late for an orderly evasion. They leapt over, around, and finally upon as one fell short of his goal and came down on her foot, startling a cry of pain from her lips.

Frantically Natasha pushed against those who came dangerously near, but her strength was far too flimsy against such stalwart forms. “Begone with you!” she railed from beneath her cloak. “Can’t you see where you’re going?”

In the next moment, a dark shape loomed over Synnovea, abruptly discouraging the progress of the youths, at the same time causing Natasha to stumble back in some awe. The cloaked form momentarily provided a protective screen around the girl before the man bent and gently lifted her to her feet.

Synnovea was keenly aware of Colonel Rycroft’s arm slipping around her waist and of his hard body pressing near, lending her both shelter and support as she took a limping step forward. A piercing pain shot through her ankle, causing her to wobble and smother a cry. In the next instant, she was being whisked off her feet by arms that were iron-thewed and completely capable, the very essence of a fantasy a maid might create for herself. Her pulse leapt rather strangely as he clasped her to him, and she slipped her arms around his stalwart neck with the same intensity that she had once employed when faced with the threat of drowning. His hat offered some protection from the pelting bombardment of rain, and she pressed her brow against his cheek, giving no regard for the impropriety of her actions. Tyrone lifted a shoulder to cradle her more securely against him and ran with long, sprinting strides toward her carriage, bearing her as easily as he would a child.

Utterly amazed by the boldness of the chivalrous man and, in no smaller degree, by Synnovea’s, willingness to accept his aid, Natasha Andreyevna gaped after them for one short, astounded moment before she, too, scurried toward the coach, albeit at a much slower pace than that of the one who had spirited away her friend. Her cloak and slippers were now completely soaked, proving more of a hindrance than a benefit, thwarting her efforts to be on hand when the two reached the conveyance.

Jozef swung open the door, allowing the colonel to mount the step unrestricted by anything more than his winsome burden. After springing onto the step, Tyrone leaned inward to deposit Synnovea safely upon the seat. For the briefest time, his lips caressed her dampened cheek before wandering around to taste the soft mouth that parted in surprise. A quick intake of breath evidenced the lady’s astonishment as his tongue passed over her lips in a gently provocative manner and flicked ever so briefly into the moist cavern. For barely an instant, Synnovea bent toward him, yielding him access as she savored the taste of his mouth, but she remembered herself abruptly and pushed back against the cushion. Excruciatingly aware of the unseemliness of her actions, she turned her burning face aside.

“You shouldn’t kiss me in public!” she scolded in a whisper. “What if someone were to see us?” Though the downpour served as a protective shield around her coach, it was still daylight, and there was no accounting for what Jozef could see through the gaps between the window frames and the shades that had been lowered to keep out the rain.

“If you won’t let me visit you in private, my sweet, how else can I kiss you?” Tyrone reasoned with a teasing grin, drawing her furtive gaze. The dripping brim of his hat shaded his eyes and part of his face, but she could hardly ignore the fact that his gaze was riveted upon her mouth. Tyrone leaned toward her again, wanting more. “What man, after tasting your lips, can easily turn aside from such intoxicating nectar?”

With a gasp Synnovea pressed a hand to his chest to halt his advance. She didn’t need to be told what he intended; she could see it in his eyes. The inexplicable tumult he evoked within her was reason enough to be cautious. For the sake of her own emotions and the situation in which she had been cast, she’d be far better off avoiding the man, for she seemed wont to dismiss every rational thought and traditionally accepted behavior in his presence, as if she had no will of her own. “Nevertheless, Colonel, I must insist that you control your ardor ere you see me disgraced.”

“Halting the sun in the sky might prove an easier task, my lady,” he murmured warmly as his fingers stroked along the inside of her arm, quickening the rhythm of her heart as his lean knuckles brushed the sodden cloth adhering to her breast.

Synnovea was amazed at her own breathlessness and struggled to convey an indignation appropriate for an offended boyarina . “You’re too familiar in the way you handle me, sir, and if you do not desist, I shall be forced to scream.”

“Before you alert others to your cause, my lady, feel how swiftly my heart races.” He captured her hand and pressed it to his breast. “Is this the heartbeat of a frivolous suitor?”

Touching him was like being near a lightning bolt when it plunged into the ground. Synnovea could feel the force sizzling through her and every nerve standing at attention. Thoroughly unsettled by what she was experiencing, she sought to disentangle her trembling fingers from his warm grasp. “Please unhand me. Colonel,” she whispered. “You’ll have my coachmen wondering what we’re doing.”

Sensing her rising panic, Tyrone complied, yet he watched her yearningly until she had to turn her face aside from the heat his eyes conveyed. She made every effort to slide across the velvet seat, but her sodden clothes hindered her, and as she braced cautiously upon the edge of the cushion and tried to rise, he saw her wince. In growing curiosity he lifted the muddied hem, revealing an ankle that was now swollen and darkly bruised. “Why, you’ve been hurt.”

“Truly, Colonel, it’s nothing!” Synnovea insisted, blushing at his forwardness. When he sought to take her ankle within his grasp, she quickly dragged her foot away and once again saw a need to advance her escape to the far corner of the seat. “’Tis but a small bruise, nothing more. ’Twill heal quickly enough.”

Tyrone was thoroughly perplexed. After seeing and holding far more of her than just a shapely ankle, he couldn’t understand why she should be so abashed by his inspection. But Jozef still stood near the door, and it seemed advisable not to question the lady lest the man hear them over the deluge beating down upon the roof.

“A cold compress may help reduce the swelling,” Tyrone suggested, having dressed a variety of wounds in his years as an officer, including many of his own. “You should stay off the foot for at least a day or two, just to give it time to heal.”

“’Twould seem I’m indebted to you once again, Colonel.” Synnovea blinked the raindrops from her lashes and reluctantly met his unwavering regard. She could feel water trickling into the crevice between her breasts and yearned to pluck the clinging sarafan from her bosom, but that would hardly be seemly. She waited wide-eyed as his gaze delved into hers, having no idea what he searched for.

“Is something the matter?” Self-consciously she dragged her headdress off and wiped the dribbling moisture from her brow. “I know I must look a sight.”

“Aye. that you do, my lady,” he breathed huskily, admiring everything his eyes touched. “A sight I’ve rarely seen.”

“Do I look as horrible as that?” Synnovea asked in some chagrin, mistaking his words.

Tyrone chuckled softly. “As beautiful as that, you should ask, my lady.”

“You tease me, sir,” she chided, unable to subdue the subtle curving of her lips.

His grin was warmly cajoling. “The beating of my heart would surely affirm the truth of my words if you’d but give me your hand again.”

“I think not,” she whispered, finding little strength in her voice.

“Then accept my devotion for what it is.”

Synnovea felt a suffusing warmth eroding the barrier that she was striving hard to erect. Shoring it up proved far more difficult than she might have supposed, and she hurriedly changed the subject lest she find herself consenting to his courtship. “May we take you somewhere, Colonel?”

“There’s no need,” Tyrone declined, distracted by her beauty. “My horse is nearby.” Yet he made no effort to leave as he continued to stare at her. He was curious to know how many more aspects of her character were waiting to be glimpsed and treasured, like a collection of precious pearls on a strand. He had first seen the outraged countess clutched in the arms of her captor, then the wanton seductress taking a bath and, later, perched upon her windowsill. He had admired the winsome sprite in peasant garb, the gossamer-garbed maid in her bedchamber, and now the vulnerable young girl in need of a champion to defend her.

Though she seemed abashed by this most recent occurrence, he was crushingly aware of the strongly protective instincts that had surged within him when he had seen her in danger of being trodden upon. His reaction had been far more complex than he could rationally explain even to himself. Not so long ago he had been absolutely certain that all those softer, more vulnerable emotions a man could feel for a woman had been utterly destroyed by betrayal and deceit, and though he greatly desired to claim Synnovea as his mistress, he was not at all sure he wanted his heart entangled in a relationship that he had hitherto considered merely a rutting fever.

Tyrone mentally detached himself from his musings and chuckled as he glanced down at his own wet garb. “Neither of us is in any condition to offer comfort to the other, my lady, at least not in a way that would be proper.” If he hadn’t been thoroughly convinced that she’d turn him down flat, he would have invited her to his quarters, but he knew the foolishness of rushing her. It was far better to cool his heels and his hot blood until he could be assured of her willingness to yield him everything he desired.

Lightly touching the brim of his hat, Tyrone met the troubled eyes that watched him so intently. “Another time…Synnovea.”

Whirling, he stepped down from the footrest and immediately had to dance aside to avoid colliding with Natasha, who, beneath the shelter of her cloak, had been forging head-downward through the driving rain. His encroaching form caused her head to snap up in surprise. Just as swiftly, her jaw plummeted. Once again Natasha found herself confronting a looming height and shoulders that looked no less than immense beneath sodden rain gear. Taken aback with a fair amount of awe, she gaped up into lean features and shadowed eyes, unable to voice an intelligible greeting.

A stiff twitch of a smile accompanied Tyrone’s muttered apology. Then, tugging his hat down lower over his brow, he hunched his shoulders against the pummeling droplets and swung up onto the back of his steed. After a brief backward glance toward the coach, he rode away.

Synnovea felt as if the glow had just been taken from the day. The memory of her name being breathed in a soft caressing sigh from Tyrone’s lips filled her with a secret pleasure that made her smile, but she promptly squelched it as Jozef handed her companion into the interior.

Natasha felt definitely akin to a drowned rat as she dragged her rain-soaked skirts through the door and fell back into the seat beside her young friend. Considering her difficulty in reaching the shelter, she might have paused at least to catch her breath, but she was much more interested in learning the identity of the stranger who had rushed to the assistance of her beautiful companion. “My goodness, dear, you certainly attracted the attention of a most capable protector. He seemed quite willing to move heaven and earth to keep you from harm.”

The woman paused, noting Synnovea’s sudden and decidedly nervous preoccupation with her ankle. It wasn’t at all difficult to imagine the girl’s reluctance to discuss the incident, and Natasha deftly turned the conversation to another matter. “I’ll be most upset with you, Synnovea, if you haven’t made plans to come home with me today for a visit. You left some clothes there the last time you visited with your father, and since you don’t have to be back until later, I’d be immensely pleased if you’d stay and chat with me for as long as you dare.”

Synnovea laughed, feeling her discomfiture easing. “I’d be delighted to stay for the rest of the afternoon if you’d have me,” she assured the woman. “I loathe the idea of returning to the Taraslovs, especially while Aleksei lurks in wait for me there. Spending time with you will serve as a healing balm, for which I’m in dire need. Still, I mustn’t be late or Anna will find some way to discipline me.”

Natasha’s heart went out to the young woman. It seemed a visit would do them both good, of that she had no doubt. Directing her attention to the soggy footman, she gave him a smiling nod. “Your mistress will be joining me at my home, Jozef, so we can be off now if you’re inclined to leave this deluge.”

“That I am, my lady,” he replied with a chuckle and closed the door. The coach swayed slightly as he climbed to his rear seat, and a brief moment later, Stenka set the horses into motion.

Synnovea dragged off the sodden headdress and heaved a wistful sigh in distraction. “He always catches me at my worst.”

In spite of the pelting rain, the softly whispered complaint reached Natasha’s ears, kindling her curiosity to a roaring flame. “Who, dear?”

Realizing she had been caught thinking aloud, Synnovea tossed Natasha a glance askance and lifted her shoulders in an evasive shrug. “No one, Natasha. No one at all.”

“Oh,” the elder muttered glumly, slumping back against the seat in disappointment. She knew the girl would never tell when it was a matter she held dear, and evidently the topic of the stranger was a subject Synnovea preferred keeping to herself. If the maid’s reaction served as an indication, then Natasha was inclined to believe that whoever the tall man was, he had already made quite an impression on her young friend. Natasha sighed forlornly. “I suppose I must remain ignorant of the identity of the gallant gentleman who carried you to the coach, for it’s clear you have no intention of confiding in me.”

In restive unease, Synnovea dismissed the matter. “’Twas no one of any import, Natasha. Really.”

The elder countess responded with a sublime smile. “Nevertheless, I can see that you’ve been thoroughly unsettled by the man.”

A deep blush stained Synnovea’s cheeks, and in an attempt to turn aside the other woman’s curiosity, she feigned distress over her sodden gown. “Ruined! Absolutely ruined! And it was one of my favorite gowns!”

“You did look exquisite in it,” Natasha reflected aloud. “But then, my dear, you look exquisite in anything you wear. I’m sure that’s why you attracted your friend in the first place. He seems quite taken with you.”

“He’s not my friend,” Synnovea insisted.

Natasha smiled smugly. “Well, my dear, from what I could see of the two of you through the rain, he certainly wasn’t your enemy. Tell me, what does Anna think about him?”

“He’s an Englishman. Need I say more?”

Some understanding dawned as Natasha considered the other’s flushed cheeks. “Then Anna has forbidden him to visit you.”

Synnovea nodded mutely and desperately scoured her thoughts in search of another subject upon which they could comfortably converse. She almost relaxed as she recalled the reason she had wanted to see her friend in the first place. “Dear Natasha, please forgive me for being so bold, but Anna’s cook has a sister who, though ailing now, will be needing work when she improves. Do you have some kind of position she can fill?”

Natasha wasted no moment in asking, “Can she cook?”

A vague shrug accompanied Synnovea’s reply. “I fear I know very little about Danika’s capabilities, other than the fact that she’s in need, but I can certainly ask Elisaveta what her experiences have been.”

“If she can cook, send her around when she’s well,” Natasha suggested. “My old cook died since you last visited me, and I need to find a replacement ere I lose my wits trying to teach the scullery maid how to boil water. You know, with all the guests I have, the meals can be something of a disaster without a proper cook on hand.”

“The woman has a child at her side,” Synnovea cautioned her friend. “A daughter of three.”

Natasha smiled at the idea. “’Twould be delightful to hear the laughter of a young child around the house. Sometimes I get so lonesome in that huge place, in spite of all the company I have. The house needs a little sparkle to brighten its dark mood. And if you’re kept from my side, dear Synnovea, then I must find another little girl to cher ish.” Her lengthy sigh hinted of a nostalgic mood. “I wish I could’ve had children of my own. As you know, I outlived three husbands, but none of them could get me with a child, as much as I wanted one. I’ve long despaired of my barren state.”

Synnovea reached out a hand to rest it with genuine affection upon the elder’s. “I shall always think of you as a woman I’ve loved nearly as dearly as my own mother, Natasha.”

Bright tears blurred the woman’s dark eyes as she looked upon the other with great fondness. “And you, my dear, beautiful Synnovea, are the daughter I never had, but desperately wanted so very much.”

Several days elapsed after Synnovea’s initial meeting with Natasha before she was again allowed to venture beyond the boundaries of the Taraslov manse. Having heeded the colonel’s advice for her ankle, she had suffered no longer than a pair of days. At present, the house was in the process of being prepared for Ivan’s reception, and it was in this endeavor that Anna sent her out to purchase food in the marketplace of Kitaigorod. She had given Synnovea strict orders on what to get, where to buy it, and how much to pay. Anything above that cost would have to come from her own pocket. The princess seemed to stress that fact and advised Synnovea to be prudent. In addition, she warned Synnovea not to dawdle or there would be penalties.

Stenka halted the coach in Red Square near the markets of Kitaigorod, and Synnovea walked with Ali and Jozef the rest of the way to search out the requested items. For the outing, Synnovea wore her peasant attire, not wishing to lend the impression that she had wealth. If her affluence was doubted, the merchants would be more inclined to settle for less.

Synnovea marked the time when she began, taking Anna’s threat seriously. She shopped efficiently, accepting the suggestions and wisdom that both Ali and Jozef of fered. Each time their baskets were filled, the footman rushed back to the carriage to unload them while the two women continued browsing through the ryady , searching for the best vegetables and fowl.

At last the purchases were concluded, and Synnovea and Ali were returning to the coach amid the squawking and honking of the outraged hens and geese, which Jozef had confined in a pair of crates. Upon rounding a corner, they came in sight of a company of mounted soldiers, dressed out in resplendent regalia, who were approaching from the opposite end of the thoroughfare. Synnovea’s heart began thumping night out of her chest as she espied Colonel Rycroft at the fore of the troop. The stallion he rode was a dark liver chestnut, more beautiful than any she had previously seen. She distinctly recalled that he had said he had paid for his mounts to be shipped from England, and could only assume that this steed had accompanied his arrival in Russia. The sight of the man spiffed and polished in a handsome uniform was so stirring that she felt inclined to pause and stare in admiration, except that Ali, intent upon catching his eye, did a sprightly scamper around an approaching coach and began to wave her arm and shout his name in an eager quest to gain his attention.

“Colonel Rycroft! Yoo-hoo! Colonel Rycroft!”

“Ali! Stop that!” Synnovea gasped, abashed at the undignified conduct of her servant.

Ali promptly obeyed, but realized to her great delight that she had already gained the officer’s attention. An amused grin twitched at the corners of Tyrone’s lips as he honored the servant with a casual salute. Then he lifted his head and swept his gaze over the crowd beyond her, searching for the one whose face and form now filled many of his waking moments and all of his lusting dreams. Thought shaded by a polished helm, his blue eyes glinted with a light of their own as he located amid several crates the profusely blushing and thoroughly mortified countess.

Synnovea desperately yearned for a large crevice to open up in the earth beneath her feet and swallow her up. The hole failed to appear, and she was forced to stand and submit to the colonel’s sweeping inspection as he rode near. Stiltedly she responded in kind when he gave her a nod of greeting. It was absolutely impossible for her to ignore the fact that the wayward grin was decidedly more pronounced and that people all around her had turned to stare. Heads came together like melons rolling into a steeply sloped ravine, and had it not been for the loud honking and cackling of fowl, she might have heard a kindred noise from a cluster of women who stood nearby.

Unbeknownst to Synnovea, the serenely smiling Natasha Andreyevna stood at the outer perimeter of the commotion, digesting the event and the comments of her princely companion with great relish. Her escort just happened to be an administrator in the tsar’s courts and was keenly knowledgeable about the current happenings within the palace. The fact that the Englishman was at the heart of the rumors circulating throughout the Kremlin certainly intrigued her, and she was not above suggesting that Prince Zherkof introduce her to the one who had so completely captured the tsar’s attention.

“Ali McCabe!” Synnovea moaned in misery when she realized they had attracted the curiosity of a vast number of shoppers in the marketplace. “You have made me rue the day my mother hired you!”

Stenka and Jozef choked back their laughter and deliberately devoted themselves to loading the purchases into the coach as the Irish woman wiped away a giggle behind the back of a scrawny hand. Feigning the innocence of a saint, Ali met the accusing stare of her mistress and shrugged her thin shoulders in confusion. “But what did I do?”

“Everything worthy of damnation!” Synnovea groaned and lifted a hand in plaintive appeal to the sky. “Oh, for a plain, simple maidservant who knows when to keep her silence! ” Lowering a sinister glare upon the woman, she addressed Ali with a chiding finger once more in evidence. “You have caused me tremendous distress this day, Ali! Do you not ken how imperative it is that I avoid the attentions of Colonel Rycroft? But what do you do but hail him from afar at the top of your lungs like some tavern wench! And to the glee of every long-winded gossip within range of hearing! Do you understand what you’ve done to me? This is sure to get back to Anna’s ears ere we even arrive home. Believe me, I’ll never hear the last of it!”

“Hmph!” Ali folded her thin arms petulantly. “As if me own dear self ne’er swaddled yer backside from the day ye were born an’ I’ve no wits in me poor noggin ta know what ye be needin’! Ye carp ’bout me manners when it’s yerself ye should be lookin’ ta! Tyrone is a right fine gentleman, e’en if I say so meself! An’ if ye had eyes in yer fine head, me pretty darlin’, ye’d be a-thinkin’ so, too!”

“Tyrone, is it? And, pray tell, who lent ye permission ta be usin’ his Christian name?” Synnovea mimicked sassily. “Are ye so in league wit’ the man that ye’re now his copemate? Tyrone, indeed!”

“’Tis a right fine Irish name, it is!” Ali argued. “A proud name, ta be sure!”

“Colonel Rycroft is an Englishman!” Synnovea stated obstinately. “Knighted on English soil! He is not an Irishman!”

“Oh, ’tis the good Sir Tyrone, is it? Well, I’ll wager me skirts his ma were a proper colleen ta win a man’s heart.”

Synnovea threw up her hands in disgust. “I’ve neither the patience nor the time to argue with a woman of your temerity, Ali McCabe. We must return to the Taraslovs before their servants are sent out to bring us back.”

“Aren’t ye a wee bit curious ’bout where the colonel might be takin’ his men bedecked in all o’ their finery?” Ali asked, hoping to incite some interest. “Couldn’t we follow a ways just ta see?”

“Never!” Synnovea served quick death to the notion. She wasn’t about to allow the colonel the privilege of thinking she was chasing after him. Why, the very idea of lending him encouragement made her quake. He had proven himself quite tenacious as it was. She could only wonder how assertive he’d become with a little encouragement.