Forever in Your Embrace

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

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

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

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

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

  “Forbidden? How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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