Forever in Your Embrace

  Vanderhout had then sought to ease his growing frustration and vicious spite by harshly berating his wife for bedding down with a fool and by lambasting the tactics that her lover-colonel had devised for the campaign. By the time he had detailed every flaw he had imagined existed in Tyrone’s strategy, Aleta knew as much as any officer in the division and took great pains to keep that information to herself, thereby helping to secure the secrecy that Colonel Rycroft had both wanted and needed for the success of the foray.

  The general’s disappointment had reached its zenith when his attempt to forestall the scheduled departure of Tyrone’s troops came up against a solid stone wall in the form of a direct mandate from the field marshal, whose missive had negated the possibility of anyone denying the colonel’s requests. Alas, the poor general could do little but fume in high-flying indignation as the colonel and a large company of men from his regiment rode out of Moscow in full view.

  Having gotten wind of all the scuttlebutt, the townspeople were positive they knew every detail of the Englishman’s mission. Word had also trickled beyond the city, appeasing the curiosity of those who made it their business to be kept well apprised of the whereabouts of the tsar’s forces.

  A day’s journey beyond the city, Tyrone had sent Avar to scout out the area ahead of them with a detachment of twelve Hussars commanded by Grigori. Four of these had served as vedettes who rode outpost fore and aft of the remaining eight during the day. In the evening, two of the twelve reported back to Tyrone and were replaced by that same number of men from the main company who then rode forward to join the advance guard. Ordered to capture any spies who would perchance report back to the thieves, Avar and his small body of men had kept a careful surveillance for offshoots of Ladislaus’s band in an attempt to avoid the possibility of the miscreants obtaining advance warnings of their approach. Thus the colonel and his troop had managed to arrive at the foot of the hill with no member of the outlaw band the wiser.

  Tyrone carefully scanned the area encompassed by a tangle of woods on either side of them as he led his men up the hill by way of a longer trail that allowed the larger conveyances easier access. The moonlight provided enough illumination for their climb, but it also threatened to reveal their presence if some wayward sound attracted the curiosity of the thieves. When a sudden rattle of a falling kettle made a horse rear and whinny in fear, Tyrone was quick to react. Whirling his own steed about, he came alongside the lumbering wagon from whence the offense had occurred and sternly rebuked the young soldier who drove it.

  “Dammit, Corporal!” he hissed. “Belay that racket ere you wake the dead! I told you to secure every last pot and kettle aboard this cook wagon. Did you need a nursemaid peering over your shoulder to remind you to get it done?”

  “Izvinitye!” The young man jerked his shoulders briefly upward in an anxious shrug as he apologized and then struggled to find the English words that would adequately answer his commander. “I did, sir!”

  “Obviously not well enough!”

  “Something broke, I think.”

  Tyrone jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Gavaritye! Get up the hill! You can make your excuses later.”

  When the last wagon reached the summit without further incident, only then did Tyrone breathe a sigh of relief. Grigori and Avar were there to assist him in directing the men in setting up the camp. Though the whole company had been cautioned about the need for secrecy, it was once again impressed upon them that all would be lost if the thieves were alerted to their presence while they labored beneath the cover of darkness.

  Whispered orders were given as supply wagons were unloaded and then pushed into narrow niches between towering firs whose boughs provided generous concealment. The horses were tied in similar protected sites close behind the encampment. Cannons were hauled into place and stealthily positioned among the firs buttressing the sharp drop-off forming the hillside, their sights directed outward toward their targets. Near the ribauldequins upon which they sat, leaden balls were stacked in generous mounds. The sod-roofed stone hovel that had once served the guards as living quarters would be utilized as a cook-house during the surveillance. Beyond its stone steps, no campfires would be permitted in any area where a glow could be detected from down below.

  His company of men finally settled themselves to get some much-needed rest, allowing Tyrone to inspect the encampment. Accompanied by Grigori and Avar, he apprised himself of the advantages and faults of their hilltop position and discussed options for remedying the latter. Below him, the narrow basin was spotted here and there with campfires that dimly illumined the steep crags and rocky hills encompassing Ladislaus’s hideout. Protected by this impenetrable fortress of stone, the bastard prince and his followers had obviously enjoyed autonomy from the rest of the world for a number of years. The only paths by which a man could enter or leave were through the passes at both ends, each of which was well barricaded and continually patrolled by two armed lookouts. A third sentry watched from the bluff above each, a prime spot for viewing anyone traversing those narrow areas. The guards’ lofty positions made it virtually impossible for a foe to escape detection once he entered the gorge.

  Tyrone had finalized his strategy with Avar’s earlier observations uppermost in his mind. Although the summit upon which they now camped had been reasonably accessible by the trail that he and his men had recently taken, his scout had forewarned him that descent into the ravine would require a perpendicular drop from the cliff, for which his men had routinely practiced by shimmying up and down ropes attached to the Kremlin wall. In preparation for the actual event, the ends of stout ropes would soon be attached to large trees edging the bluff and their coiled lengths left at the bases of the trunks, where they’d be wrapped in small tarps to protect them from the elements. Ropes frozen in unyielding ice would be of little use to them once the order to attack was given. This and other meticulous precautions were taken to expedite the soldiers’ advance into Ladislaus’s camp, a strategy the thief would hardly be expecting.

  “Everything will be just the way you had anticipated, Colonel,” Grigori stated with a measure of excitement and pride imbuing his tone. “Once we utilize the cannons, the outlaws will be imprisoned down there. After our men take them captive, another gun blast or two will open the front pass to allow us to depart.”

  “The plan seems simple enough to forestall the possibility of failure,” Tyrone mused aloud but continued in rueful reflection. “Still, I’ve seen the best of schemes fail for the most asinine reasons. As yet, we don’t have any idea if Ladislaus is even down there, or if he’ll soon return if he isn’t. We can only bide our time until we actually see him. I pray we won’t have to wait too long with winter nigh upon us.”

  “I shall add my prayers to that petition, Colonel,” Grigori readily offered. “I have no liking for the frigid winds that will sweep over this hill.”

  A cold, blustery morning followed the regiment’s nocturnal arrival to the summit. Crisp winds blew in plumes of snow that whisked into the cowls of widely flying cloaks and flapping tent doors and puckishly frosted fingers and noses. The ominous portent evidencing the fierceness of the winter ahead might not have been so difficult to bear had they spotted their quarry. Though Tyrone and his men carefully canvassed nearly every crevice and cranny they could view from their lofty perch, no one caught a glimpse of the lordling thief. Not even the powerfully built Petrov or the towering Goliath was sighted, leaving the soldiers little choice but to suffer through the anguish of waiting until the rascals came within their grasp.

  A fortnight came and went, and still they saw no glimpse of their prey. Tyrone grew restive. He could only wonder where Ladislaus had taken himself and others of his band and what mischief they were presently brewing, whether they were busy attacking unsuspecting travelers again or perhaps raiding a village in some area far afield of their camp. Unable to endure the wait without gaining some knowledge of what was happening beyond their hilltop perch, Tyrone sent Grigori a
nd Avar out to search for some trace of the brigands. As he awaited their return, he chafed in unbridled restlessness. He would’ve preferred to ride out and scour the countryside himself, but he knew the folly of being recognized by Ladislaus. Hence Tyrone was forced to abide where he was, though he longed desperately to have this raid behind him so he could return with fervent haste to the one he loved.

  20

  The lunar sphere cast a silvery essence down upon Moscow as it climbed in a lofty arch across the night sky. Coldly aloof and forbidding in its nocturnal setting, it lent no warmth or cheer to Synnovea’s heart as she stared dejectedly into the blustery darkness beyond her bedchamber windows. If someone had ventured to ask, she’d have been wont to declare that her husband had already been gone for a year or more. Since his departure, it seemed as if her life had paused in solitary flight, much like the moon, which now lent an illusion of being momentarily frozen in its heavenly orbit. It was a cold hard fact that through the remnant of this eventide, she could look forward to nothing more exciting than huddling alone beneath the quilt in an effort to warm herself. If she were fortunate, treasured memories would wash over her like softly cresting waves, bringing mental images vividly to life. At times she could almost sense Tyrone’s presence, his face looming before her, lending her solace from her abject loneliness and reawakening her to sweet remembrances of when they had made love, of his huskily whispered words brushing her ear and his long, hard body moving upon her own. Such memories provoked longings that were difficult to subdue, and she’d then lie awake, tortured even more by their separation.

  Hourly she fretted for her husband’s safety, loathing the wars and conflicts that might snatch his life. Though she sought to keep her fingers and mind actively occupied, she found no abatement for her deepening anxieties. The threat of Ladislaus was too real, too well marked in her memory to allow her to dismiss her apprehensions with menial tasks.

  Heaving a disconcerted sigh, Synnovea turned from the windows with no heart to face the solitude of her lonely bed. Aimlessly she meandered about the bedchamber, taking no note of its elegant appointments as she thought back on the weeks which had recently plodded past. She now had a clearer sense of how one could suffer a feeling of unbearable isolation even in the midst of caring friends. Though Ali had liberally practiced her Irish wit in hopes of entertaining her, Synnovea could hardly manage a vague smile for her tiny maid. Even Natasha and Zelda’s cheery companionship had failed to ease her gloom.

  Social outings had not helped in the least. If anything, they had set her more on edge, especially during those two separate occasions when Prince Aleksei and Major Nekrasov had dared to approach her in public. Though the presence of a pair of hefty guards riding atop her coach or following closely behind while she roamed the marketplaces of Kitaigorod had dissuaded her persistent suitors from extending their visits to only a few moments, they had voiced their causes with equal fervor. Concerned that his earlier visit might have caused her dismay, Nikolai had displayed his merit as an honorable gentleman by offering a quietly spoken apology. Aleksei, however, had proven himself as adamant to have her as he had been in the past. If anything, his quest for fleshly appeasement and simple revenge had grown even stronger since she had become the wife of a man whom he now considered an adversary, as if the idea of stealing her away, whether by captivation or forcible capture, had become something of a challenge to him. Though the pair of guards, whom Tyrone had hired to protect her, both hindered and annoyed the prince, Synnovea wasn’t entirely certain that they’d be successful in keeping Aleksei from his purpose.

  “ ’Tis obvious your husband is afraid of being cuckolded during his absence.” Aleksei had smirked in haughty arrogance after falling in beside her during a tour through the marketplace. He cast a glance at the two brawny giants following closely upon her heels. “A chastity belt might have been less costly than those clumsy oafs he has employed.”

  Synnovea had managed a less-than-tolerant smile as she replied with derision, “Why, Aleksei, can it be that you’re outraged because my husband has actually dared to thwart your lecherous little ploys by engaging men whose loyalty to him is unswerving? Such fealty to an Englishman must seem strange to you, what with them being Russians. Why, I’d even venture to guess that their allegiance to him is so firmly rooted that you’ll find your princely status of no consequence to them, surprising as it may seem. I don’t imagine that you’ve ever experienced such loyalty yourself.”

  Aleksei’s dark eyes had skimmed her with a strange mixture of angry insolence and hungry fervor. “My dearest Synnovea, you remind me of a well-preened swan gliding over the warm waters of a lake, completely oblivious to the dangers of the hungry wolf lurking in the tall reeds near shore.”

  Synnovea had responded by lifting a lovely brow in chiding condescension. “Be careful, Aleksei. You could get snared wallowing in the treacherous bogs of conceit ere you learn your lesson. His Majesty hasn’t yet forgotten your last miserable undertaking to steal me from the colonel. A second attempt just might cost you your head.”

  Her reminder hadn’t been kindly accepted by the prince, whose eyes had chilled to a piercing darkness that promised dire consequences. “You should’ve learned by now just how adamant I can be when I set my mind to a matter, Synnovea. I do so hate to repeat a lesson I’ve already taught, but it’s evident you aren’t willing to take me at my word.”

  With a last smug smirk, Aleksei had stalked away to his waiting coach without a backward glance. Now, nearly a week later, Synnovea had cause to hope that he had given up the idea of seizing her for his own lecherous purposes, for she hadn’t seen him at all, not even with Anna or others with whom he consorted. She could only pray that he had left Moscow in search of some new conquest.

  Synnovea doffed her robe and slipped between the cool sheets, recalling the many times that Tyrone had been there, and his arms had reached out to draw her close against his hard body. Now an empty void greeted her, and darkness was the only thing that enveloped her after the tapers were snuffed out. Solemnly she stared across the room at the moon hovering in a starlit sky beyond the windows, and she wondered how she’d ever be able to get through untold weeks, perhaps even months of lonely anguish.

  Fighting the chill of the lonely bed, Synnovea rubbed her hands briskly over the sleeves of her nightgown, but her arms remained cold beneath them. Nothing sufficed in comparison to her husband’s embrace, and her heart pined to have him with her once again. She drew his pillow to her breast and hugged it fiercely, just as she yearned to do with him.

  Much later, when Tyrone meandered through her drifting dreams, it seemed as if she floated on a gently wafting breeze, and for a while she was content…at least until she was rudely snatched to awareness by a broad hand clapped tightly across her mouth. It masked nearly half her face, effectively squelching a scream that was born of terror. Against her struggling efforts, a gag was stuffed into her mouth and secured by a narrow strip of cloth wound tightly between her teeth. Her captor leaned over her as he knotted the rag behind her head, and Synnovea’s heart nearly leapt from her breast as she recognized the pale, scruffy thatch that covered the man’s head.

  Ladislaus!

  Her mind screamed the name out in dread as she struggled vainly against the overpowering strength of his huge hands. She now knew this would be no simple robbery which would end in a swift departure of the culprit. As his casual disregard of her emerald brooch had once attested, Ladislaus wanted her—and everything a woman could yield to a man!

  The renegade prince flipped her over onto her stomach and, seizing her wrists, lashed them securely behind her back. He wrapped the bedclothes around her so tightly that her breathing became seriously restricted. In burgeoning panic Synnovea thrashed her head back and forth, desperately seeking some opening from whence she could draw breath. Finally Ladislaus recognized her dilemma, rolled her over, and tucked the quilt beneath her chin.

  “Is that better?” he asked, his voice libe
rally imbued with humor. In the meager light, the pale orbs sparkled with merriment as he leaned close. “I’d be dreadfully put out with myself if you were to pass away from lack of air ere I’ve made love to you, my beauty.”

  A thousand insulting epithets came to mind as Synnovea writhed in protest and glared up at him, but Ladislaus only chuckled and swept her up from the mattress. He tossed her casually over a shoulder and made his way around the end of the bed. Upon passing the open door of her dressing room, he paused to reflect upon the insufficiency of the nightgown she wore beneath the quilt. It would hardly keep his men from ogling her, nor would it keep her from freezing during the long ride to his den.

  “I suppose you’d prefer to garb yourself rather than wander naked around my house. Though I’d appreciate such a sight, I rather doubt Alyona would.”