Satin Ice

"Nicholas sent Valentin to tell me that Silver was going to be all right but people don't talk to children about babies." Etaine wrinkled her nose. "I guess it's considered indelicate."

  "I did not realize." Mikhail frowned. "It is not so among my people. Children are expected to face the harsh as well as the smooth." His gaze searched her face. "But you are not truly a child. You know too much; you have suffered too long."

  She smiled faintly. "No, I'm not a child. I'm glad you see that, Mikhail."

  He sat down on the bench gazing gravely out over the garden. "Sometimes I feel I do not see enough and at other times that I see too much. It is not comfortable to see what you do not want to see." He looked down at his big hands resting on his knees. "You have known Silver for a long time. Tell me, do you know her heart?"

  "It's easy to know Silver. She never tries to hide anything."

  "I did not think so either." He did not look at Etaine. "Did she ever speak to you of the child?"

  "Yes."

  "Was it . . . Did she want the child?"

  "Oh, yes," Etaine said softly. "Silver has always been alone. The child would have made her so happy."

  "She told you this?"

  "Yes, she told me. Why do you ask?"

  "No reason." His brawny shoulders shifted as if he were shrugging off a heavy burden. "I only wondered. Some women do not want a child. I knew such a woman many years ago."

  She gazed at him shrewdly. "There was a reason, but you have no intention of telling me what it is."

  Mikhail turned to look at her. "That is true."

  She sighed. "I thought your people believed children should be able to face anything."

  He smiled slowly. "Perhaps I have been away from the Kuban too long. I do not wish to burden you with something I am not certain of myself." His smile faded. "But I will be certain in time. There must be a way to find out. . . ." He trailed off, once again lost in thought.

  Etaine tugged impatiently at the sleeve of his tunic. "Certain of what?"

  He got abruptly to his feet. "The only thing I am certain about right now is that you should be in bed." He lifted her easily in his arms and started down the path. "Silver will need you tomorrow when she wakes. You will not want to be caught lying like a slug on your bed."

  "Mikhail, won't you please tell me?"

  "NO."

  "You're as stubborn as my lioness, Sultana, when she has a toothache." She made a face at him before sliding her slender arms trustingly around the Cossack's broad shoulders. "At least promise me that you'll tell me what's bothering you when you are certain."

  "I promise that you will know someday."

  It was the only answer she was going to wrest from him and she would have to be satisfied with it, Etaine realized. Well, she could wait. Her life had taught her both patience and an acceptance of the things she couldn't change. It was only lately that she had begun to feel the first stirrings of defiance within herself. But there was no need for resistance or defiance here with Silver and her friends. Certainly not with Mikhail, who gave her not only friendship but a greater understanding than she had ever known. Yes, she could once again afford patience.

  Still, Mikhail's words had been very curious.

  5

  "Where are you going, Silver?" Nicholas asked gently. He quickly crossed the parlor to stand beside her at the French doors. "It's starting to snow and the wind is sharp. You don't want to go out into the garden today."

  Silver turned to look at him, her expression blank. "I have a cloak." She touched the marten fur trimming her black cloak. "I won't be long."

  Nicholas shook his head. "I think it would be wise to skip your walk this afternoon. Yesterday you forgot the time and were quite chilled by the time Etaine found you. Wait until tomorrow."

  She stared at him a moment, her gaze as chillingly remote as the leaden sky beyond the French doors. "Perhaps it will be even worse then." She turned away and moved toward the door leading to the hall. "But very well, it doesn't matter." Her voice held nothing but indifference. "I'll go back to my room."

  "No, I didn't mean—" Nicholas stopped. Silver was already gone, flitting like a ghost from the room. Nicholas's hands slowly closed at his sides. "Dammit, Mikhail, I can't stand much more of this. I want to break something."

  "Silver?" Mikhail leaned his elbow on the marble mantel, his gaze fixed soberly on Nicholas's face. "She has angered you?"

  Pain replaced the helpless frustration on Nicholas's face, and then only weariness remained. "No, I don't want to break Silver. Though Lord knows it would be easy enough to do. She's as brittle as an ice statue." He whirled away from the French doors with barely controlled violence. "Did you see her just now? She didn't even argue with me, for God's sake. She obeyed me." He began prowling back and forth. "And she scarcely eats a bite at meals these days."

  For an instant the corners of Mikhail's lips quirked as he realized this latter circumstance was the ultimate proof of the seriousness of Silver's condition in Nicholas's eyes. The smile was never realized. There was too much suffering in Nicholas's face for Mikhail to permit himself levity. "She is not herself," he agreed. "Perhaps if you give her a little more time—"

  "Time?" Nicholas interrupted harshly. "How much time is it going to take? It's been three and a half months. She lost the baby in July. It's November now."

  "She grieves."

  "Do you think I don't know that?" Nicholas's dark eyes were blazing in his taut face. "A blind man could see how she's hurting. I try to help her but she won't let me. She looks at me with those blank eyes and—"

  "She won't let anyone near enough to soothe her sorrow," Mikhail said gently. "Etaine also grieves for her, but she cannot help either."

  "Well, someone's got to help her. This can't go on. She's like a sleepwalker." Nicholas threw himself into the high-backed chair by the fireplace. "We've got to find a way to wake her up. I never thought Silver would react like this. I expected . . ." He ran his fingers wearily through his hair. "Whatever I expected, it wasn't this damnable melancholy."

  "Silver is not the wild child she was when we first met her," Mikhail said slowly. "She has suffered much since then and it is natural she would change."

  Nicholas flinched. "Thanks to my intervention in her life, you mean. I suppose you believe I should send her home?"

  "Perhaps. Would you?"

  "No." Nicholas gazed broodingly into the fire. "I won't let her go. But I can't stand to see her like this. I have to find a way to jar her out of her godawful trance. It's getting worse every day, and soon I won't be able to reach her at all."

  "You are right, she is not becoming better. Still, I thought if we waited—" Mikhail paused. "I think I know a way to make her come awake."

  Nicholas's gaze flew to his face. "Then why the hell haven't you done it?"

  "Because I am not sure it is a good way. She is not of a calm temperament, and it is possible that she will . . ." He shrugged. "But at least she would no longer be a sleepwalker."

  "What the devil are you talking about?"

  "I cannot tell you. I will speak to Silver, but I will not tell you what I will say to her."

  Nicholas's eyes widened in surprise. "My god, when have there ever been secrets between us, Mikhail?"

  "Not until this moment," Mikhail said sadly. "I am sorry, my friend, but it must be this way."

  "But dammit, I won't—" Nicholas broke off in exasperation as he saw the determination in Mikhail's face. "Merde, Mikhail, now isn't the time for you to turn obstinate."

  Mikhail did not reply.

  Nicholas gazed intently at the Cossack. "You truly believe you can bring Silver back to us?"

  "I do."

  "Then do it."

  "You are sure?"

  "I'm sure of nothing except that Silver has to be freed from this hellish prison she's locked herself into." Nicholas shook his head wearily. "Keep your secrets if you must. But for God's sake, help her."

  Mikhail straightened slowly, his arm dropping
from the mantel. "Now?"

  "As soon as possible."

  Mikhail nodded and spun on his heel, crossing the room in several long strides. The door closed softly behind him.

  Nicholas stared into the depths of the fire. Why must Mikhail be so damned mysterious? He had never been anything but open through all the years they had been friends. It was Silver. Silver was the answer to all the changes that had taken place around and within him in the past months. But why should Mikhail be permitted to help her when he could not?

  God, he was actually consumed with jealousy of Mikhail. How petty when the only thing of importance was that someone help Silver to become well and whole again. Mikhail had called Silver a wild child, but perhaps it was he, Nicholas, who deserved the description. He certainly felt wild at the moment, wild with despair and frustration, wild with worry and desire.

  Desire? How had that word intruded into his consciousness when he had so carefully avoided admitting even to himself how much he wanted Silver.

  What a selfish bastard he was, he thought in disgust. She had lost their child just a little over three months before. If he had been a more civilized man, he would have been able to deny his hunger for her. It had been beyond his capability to banish the car-nal feelings he experienced when he looked at her, but he prayed God that he had hidden them well. She was carrying a heavy enough burden without being forced to accept a man who wanted to rip off her clothes and bury himself in the silken heat be-tween her thighs.

  The muscles of his stomach clenched at the thought, and he was aware of the familiar response in his groin. No, he must not feel this. . . .

  He leaned back in the chair and forced himself to relax. He closed his eyes, trying to also close his mind and memory to the erotic thoughts that persisted in insinuating themselves among the tenderness and aching sympathy he felt toward Silver.

  He must forget passion. Perhaps for a long, long time. Maybe forever, if Mikhail couldn't manage to rouse Silver to some semblance of normalcy.

  But Mikhail couldn't fail in that task. Dear God, he had to rouse her.

  What in heaven or hell was Mikhail saying to her?

  "Come in."

  Silver's voice was subdued, totally lackluster as she responded to Mikhail's knock. When he entered the bedchamber she didn't turn away from the window where she was standing watching the slowly falling snow.

  Nicholas was right, Silver had lost weight these last few months, Mikhail thought sympathetically. In her high-necked green wool gown she appeared almost fragile, and that was a word he would never have thought he'd use to describe Silver.

  He closed the door behind him. "I must talk to you."

  "Yes?" Her tone was without interest. "If you like."

  "I do not like." Mikhail made a face. "I only hope I will do no real harm in this. Will you look at me, Silver?"

  She obediently turned to face him. Her expression was unmarked by any emotion whatever. "Of course. Has Nicholas changed his mind about letting me walk in the garden?"

  "No." Mikhail hesitated, wondering how to begin. It would come as a shock ... But a shock was what Silver needed to pierce through the barrier she had built around her emotion. "I have something to tell you."

  She gazed at him blankly.

  He took a deep breath. "I believe your child was murdered."

  Something flickered in the depths of her eyes. "What did you say?"

  "Murder," he said bluntly. "You were given something in the sassafras tea you drank that afternoon to cause you to miscarry your child. It was a potion made from rye grass."

  She gazed at him incredulously. "It isn't possible. Who would want my child dead?"

  "I do not know. That is for you to discover. If you choose to do so."

  "If I choose—" She broke off and turned back to the window. "How could you know this is true?"

  "The potion has a fragrance I know well. Even masked by the sassafras, that scent still lingered in the cup when I returned to the garden after you had lost your child. I suspected that there was something not right when the pain started so suddenly. I had gone through it before, you see. My wife found an old woman in our village who knew of the potion and persuaded her to give it to her. My wife was not clever about herbs and potions and took too much. She killed not only the child but herself. I found her too late and she bled to death." He repeated, "I know that scent well. It is something I cannot forget."

  "Why did she—" Silver stopped. She knew she should be shocked and sympathetic at the tragedy Mikhail had suffered. Somewhere deep within her she did feel sympathy but she couldn't seem to get past the stunning realization of her own loss. The wall of ice she had carefully erected and tended for so long was melting, leaving jagged edges that seemed to draw fresh blood with every passing second. "You're sure I was given this herb, Mikhail?"

  "I am sure."

  "But who? I can't think of anyone who would want to do such a monstrous thing. I've done no harm to anyone here. I don't even know anyone in St. Petersburg except the people who live in this house."

  "There are a few others you have met here. Mon- teith, Dr. Rellings . . . During the week after you lost the child I paid a visit to court and asked a few questions." He shrugged. "I could find out very little. I do not belong to their world because I am neither a servant nor a master. However, there are rumors that the English doctor was a great favorite of the married ladies of the court. It is said he was very obliging about removing the awkward consequences of their indiscretions. It could be that the potion was already ground into the sassafras when he gave it to Nicholas."

  "Why would he do such a thing?"

  "Rubles. Men can be bought."

  Silver's palms touched and then spread on the cold panes of the window. She needed that coolness. The ice was gone, leaving only a parched, burning desert in its place. "You believe he did this horrible thing to my child?"

  "It is a possibility. Or the potion could have been added as the tea was brewed here on the island. Nicholas's servants are loyal, but again—"

  "Rubles," Silver finished bitterly. "I can't believe that anyone could hate me so much. To kill my baby ..." Her hands pressing against the glass slowly curled into fists. "You swear that you aren't lying to me, Mikhail?"

  "I swear, Silver. Your baby was taken from you."

  "Butchered," she whispered. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window. "My little girl. Monstrous."

  "Yes," Mikhail agreed quietly.

  There was no sound in the room, yet Mikhail was aware of a clarion call of rage and hurt vibrating from the woman by the window. Then Silver slowly straightened and turned to face him. Her eyes were dry, glittering crystal in the dimness of the chamber.

  "Why didn't Nicholas tell me?"

  Mikhail hesitated.

  "Why?" The question snapped like a quirt between them.

  "I did not tell him of the potion in your tea."

  "Why not?"

  "I thought it best." His gaze shifted away from her face to the snow falling beyond the panes of glass. "Nicholas would—" He broke off and turned away. "I have told you and that should be enough. I will be downstairs in the study if you have need of me."

  "Wait, Mikhail. I need an answer."

  "No more."

  "Just tell me if you questioned Dr. Rellings."

  "Dr. Rellings is no longer at court. Two days after you lost the child a note was found in his lodgings saying that he had returned to England."

  Despair and rage flowed through her in a wild tide. "Did you find out nothing else at court? Do you have no clue as to who did this?"

  Silver saw the muscles of Mikhail's broad back stiffen with sudden tension. He didn't look at her as he opened the door. "I told you that no one would talk to me." He closed the door behind him.

  Silver stood in the center of the room, every muscle of her body rigid, her fingernails biting into her palms. It wasn't enough. Mikhail knew or suspected more than he was telling her. She could feel it. F
or some reason he was choosing not to tell her everything he had found out. Well, she would find out for herself. Someone had killed her child, and by heaven, she would find a way to exact vengeance. First, she must tell Nicholas and then . . .

  Nicholas.

  It had been Nicholas who had given Etaine the cup of sassafras tea to give to her with instructions to make Silver drink every drop.

  Nicholas's mother had told her Nicholas would despise a child born of Silver's heritage.

  Nicholas had never actually said he wanted the child.

  Why should he want either Silver or her child? She had forced him at gunpoint into marriage and he had shunned her bed from that moment.

  "No," she whispered. It couldn't be Nicholas who had done this. She had learned many things about him in the past months and she could have sworn he would never commit this hideously evil act even if he hadn't wanted her child. It had to be someone else. But who? Nicholas's mother had not been pleased that she was with child, but would any sane woman kill a child just because it had a half-breed's blood? Surely not.

  And Mikhail had not told Nicholas. Was it because he knew his friend Nicholas already knew of the potion?

  No, she could not tell Nicholas either. She must know she could trust him before she confided in him, and there was no trust in her heart now.

  Not for anyone.

  She must think. Mikhail had gone to court to seek out the answers and so the truth must lie there. He had said he didn't belong to that world and therefore no one at court would speak readily to him. Well, she didn't belong to their world either. She knew noth-ing about the court or those fine noblemen and women, but she would learn. She would study their ways and make them her own until she had wrested from them the information she needed. She would find out who was behind the killing of her baby.

  And then she would plunge her knife into the black heart of the murdering son of a bitch.

  "I want to talk to Valentin," Silver announced as she stood in the doorway of the study. "Have you seen him this morning, Mikhail?"

  Mikhail nodded. "As I came downstairs he was going into the parlor to join Nicholas."