"Watch your step, my dear wife," Alex growled, "I can't vouch for the cleanliness of my quarters. Evidently some misguided tradition of these savages requires a dozen chickens share my bedchambers briefly."
"What did you do with them?"
"I tossed them out the window."
The image of Alex chasing chickens around the room forced a giggle of laughter to surface.
Alex glared at Zena for the space of one cold second and then began to chuckle himself. He winced in pain; laughing was definitely de trop with broken ribs.
Zena noted the sharp grimaces and experienced a quiver of remorse that Alex had been beaten because of her. "I'm really sorry, Sasha, about . . . about my grandfathers cruelty to you,." she said, and her voice trembled. "I'm sorry . . . about . . . ," her hands fluttered awkwardly, "well, about all this."
"You're sorry, oh Lord." Alex's powerful frame sagged momentarily in weary dejection, as he gloomily reflected that he had come to a fine pass indeed, and all for a taste of one virginal cunt. What a damn fool, he thought. He gazed at his new wife stonily. "Not as sorry as I am, child, let me assure you," he replied gruffly.
Zena hung back near the door, uncertain of her coerced bridegroom, for his whole aspect was forbidding. Alex saw quite plainly the fear in her eyes as he stood considering her. Good God, his wife! She was now his wife! Finally, he smiled a hard, tight smile and growled softly, "Don't stand there like a wounded dog. I won't savage you. Come here." He held out his hand.
Zena walked over and took his hand. A strange smile came over his dark features. "I go to the devil in my own way. Stay with me, and I dare say you may be damned in the bargain. Are you sure you want this?" he said.
"I'm sure." She looked at Alex in adoration.
"Has it never occurred to you that you've attached yourself to a thoroughgoing scoundrel?" pursued Alex.
'"No, Sasha," she said, "but then I didn't have much choice."
Nor I; thought Alex. The strange smile still hovered about Alex's mouth. He paused, looking at her oddly, then laughed a brief, mocking laugh.
"In that case, my dear, for better, for worse." He lifted Zena's hand to his lips and pressed a light kiss on her fingertips.
"Well," he sighed, "since this is my wedding night, broken ribs or no broken ribs, I intend to make the most of it. Take your clothes off, Princess Zena Kuzan. Let me see once again what I've purchased with both considerable gold and the bruised flesh of my body."
Sasha's tone was sardonic, but he was smiling with a dancing gleam in his eye. Was he angry? His unpredictable moods were difficult to read.
Alex stood and looked at her for a few seconds. "Afraid?" he asked, speaking softly.
"No, Sasha," said Zena, standing very straight.
Alex was watching his proud, beautiful wife with a faint smile both derisive and tender. "Then, sweet pet, do remove those native clothes."
Zena began undoing the buttons. Alex lounged against the wall to watch with intent interest. After divesting herself of the silk trousers and long tunic, she stood before him in a corset of thin morocco leather. The corset was held together by strings knotted in front. The knots were of a complicated sort that required endless care.
"Take off that corset, too, dear. I'd like to see a bit more flesh."
"It's . . . that is . . . well," she stammered, "the custom of the mountains requires the bridegroom to untie the corset on his wedding night."
Alex strolled over and drew a small gold knife from his pocket.
"Custom also prohibits cutting them, Sasha," Zena explained. "It's considered a shameful thing if the groom has that little control on his wedding night. In the morning the garment is checked to see how the knots have been undone."
Alex stood there quietly during the explanation, the small gold blade open and poised for the end of Zena's narrative. Narrowing his eyes consideringly, he viewed the formidable barrier. "Among the numerous faux pas I seem to have committed against mountain ethics and custom," he sardonically drawled, "surely one more can scarcely signify."
The blade slashed up, expeditiously severing every knot of the corset. The offending garment fell to the floor. With the usual Kuzan disregard for convention Alex had cut through society's shibboleths once again.
"There now," he exhaled softly, "quite as lovely as I remembered."
His new and very pretty wife stood in the center of the room, her bare feet pressed into the luxurious kelim carpet, her exquisitely formed legs rising to the undulations of hip and waist. A womanly softness was becoming apparent on previously boyish hips. Luscious, full breasts trembled provocatively as she shivered once in the coolness of the room.
The gleam in his eyes had turned to a leaping, fitful, passionate flame. "You're cold, dear," he said huskily. "Help me undress and then into that silken cocoon of cushions. I'd disrobe myself, but these damnable ribs are touchy. I can't manage the shirt sleeves very well."
Zena aided her bruised and battered bridegroom. She gasped at the sight of the large and vivid welts and bruises on Alex's shoulders and back, visible outside the bandages that taped his ribs firmly in place.
"Oh, darling," she cried softly, "it's awful. Is there anything I can do to help? I feel terrible."
Leading her over to the cushions, Alex said lightly, "I have an idea." Lying down gingerly on his back, he held out his arms. Almost immediately he cursed and shut his eyes against the sharp pain. "Ride me tonight, wife of mine. I'm not up to my usual activity." He pulled her over his slim hips onto his eager, pulsing erection, which stood proudly stiff displaying its broad vermillion head. Within a few brief moments it was all over.
"Sorry dushka, it's been a while." He slowly drew her down to kiss; her soft, warm lips burned into his, her sweet tongue darted into his mouth, and he stiffened inside her. Alex murmured against Zena's passionate lips, "Greedy little wife, don't you know, now that we're mar-
Tied I can be quite indifferent to your charms. It isn't respectable for a husband to desire his wife."
Zena stirred deliciously on his engorged masculinity and he groaned.
"And yet respectability has never been my forte."
Bouncing delicately on the rigid shaft, Zena smiled complacently. She caressed the taut muscles of his shoulders lightly, skipping over the bandages to slide down his belly.
Alex lifted one corner of his mouth in a fleeting smile. "I perceive you feel it's your turn now."
Zena nodded languorously as she arched her back in enjoyment. Her plump, white breasts were thrust out as she sank into the bliss of pleasure. Alex gently massaged the hard nipples poised above him. Zena moaned sensuously as tremors of blazing desire tore through her body. She pressed down, grinding the shaft of love into the depths of her warmth; ripples began to move outward, the intensity of her ecstasy mounted slowly, and wave after wave of glowing, intolerable heat grew within her until the sweet urgency broke with a flowing rush. She cried out in rapture as each new flood of joy swam over her. Sinking down on Alex's chest, she lay replete, palpitating, a gentle throbbing slowly diminishing.
Alex caressed her soft, warm back, stroked the long, flowing auburn tresses, and kissed her flushed cheeks as she lay in his embrace.
After a few moments Zena lifted to rise from him, but he stayed her movement. His hands clasped her firmly at the waist and compelled her to stay. He wasn't through with her yet.
"My wedding night, sweet, and I intend to observe it fully."
He drove into her gently while she sat, confined by his firm grasp. With a mixture of passion, selfishness, and mild resentment he kept her there.
Her opulent charms were his now. Zena's exquisite body had always kindled his passion, and Kuzan selfishness was notorious, while a latent resentment incited a mild sadism. He was, after all, married now—married against his will. The hot little cunt could pay for that coercion a bit and for the bruised, aching muscles and fractured ribs. He made her stay as he came again and again, caressing her luscious body slowly to
bring himself up each time. Zena was bewildered by his silent assault. Finally she could endure no more.
"Sasha, please," she pleaded, "my legs are hurting." Her thigh muscles were painfully cramped. "Please, Sasha, let me go." Silent tears flowed down her cheeks. Alex then heard the quiet cry and noticed the tears streaming from her eyes. As swiftly as the cruel assault began, it ended.
Christ, what had come over him? He never abused women—and his own wife. Perhaps that was the problem, though. Wife, the word, the responsibility, the permanence, an irrefutable fetter around his life from now on. No excuse for abusing the poor thing, though.
He folded Zena into his arms, gritting his teeth against the pain of the embrace. "I'm sorry, child," he whispered tenderly. "I was a beast, forgive me. It won't happen again, I promise."
If I become that vengeful again, he thought, I'd better find some gypsy whore to abuse. Or there was always Amalie; she enjoyed little perversions.
"Go to sleep, child, I promise to never be a brute like that again."
Alex fell asleep immediately and slept like a crusader on a marble tomb. As the product of a pampered and indulged existence, Alex saw no reason to question his perversions.
Zena lay awake unable to ignore all the extraordinary ramifications of their relationship and marriage. She had vaguely understood that by his cruelty Alex was making her pay for the unaccustomed bonds that had been snapped onto his freedom. But the accomplishment of this union had been totally outside her control. No one had asked for her opinion in the arrangement of her marriage.
But amid all the bewildering tumult Zena knew she loved Alex with all her heart; knew that his body next to hers warmed her both physically and emotionally; knew she cherished the unborn child as a pledge of her love for this reckless, irresponsible, unutterably charming man. She hoped with a passionate optimism that they could build a life of joy and contentment together. She would let the future clarify and reconcile all the perplexing uncertainties.
Alex's ribs wouldn't permit an exhausting ride through the mountains yet, and so the newly married couple tarried in Iskender-Khan's village for three more days. But no one saw the honeymooning pair. They never left their apartment.
On the morning of the fourth day as they prepared to depart for Podolsk, Alex and Zena joined the family at breakfast. In addition to Iskender-Khan, Nikki and Bobby (who sported a small tcherkness in imitation of his grandfather) and a tall, dark, sun-bronzed warrior with slanted, incredibly wolfish, yellow eyes had joined the company. One glance sufficed to ascertain that Kuzan blood flowed through his veins. He was remarkably like his father.
Alex nodded to everyone at the table and seated Zena. He held out his hand to the mountain knight and said, "A half brother, I presume. Welcome to the family, although God knows if you want to admit to the relationship," he grinned.
The stern-faced warrior shook his head gravely, then returned the smile. "I'm quite content with my patrimony, little brother."
Their eyes met evenly, their broad-shouldered torsos carried analogously on slim-hipped, long-legged frames.
"You leave today?" the knight inquired.
"Yes," Alex replied.
"We'll travel together, then."
"Wolf has decided finally to accept my offer of a visit to St. Petersburg," Nikki interjected.
"In that case we can become better acquainted enroute. I don't think you've met my wife, another relative of yours, no doubt," Alex drawled.
"Yes, a cousin I believe," and he politely bowed over Zena's hand with all the grace of the most polished courtier.
On the trip back to Koslovodsk, Alex and Wolf became friends. Wolf was nonpareil as a mountain warrior, and while the cavalcade progressed at the extremely slow pace of Zena's litter, Nikki, Wolf, and Alex took the opportunity to do some hunting. The camaraderie of the expeditions off the trail was an agreeable delight to all parties. Nikki was extremely proud of his two sons. Since there was no stigma attached to irregular births in the highest Russian aristocratic circles,8 Wolf was and would be accepted as one of Nikki's heirs with all the concomitant honors and deference. The fact that he was astonishingly handsome, like all the Kuzans, was simply an added fillip. And with the aura of wild, barbarian ruggedness surrounding him, due to his rearing in the Caucasus, he was sure to titillate every female heart in St. Petersburg. Nikki was realistic about the sensation Wolf would cause in the gilded drawing rooms of the Empire's capital. He sighed resignedly to himself. The problem of escaping numerous irate husbands in the mountains would merely be exchanged for escaping a new group of husbands.
Resting only one night in Kislovodsk, the party continued by train to Moscow. Zena, Bobby, and Alex returned to Podolsk, while Nikki and Wolf went on to St. Petersburg.
Part IV
THE ARRANGED MARRIAGE
1
Zena and Alex settled down to an apparent domestic tranquillity. Alex experienced a fierce masculine possessiveness toward Zena. The circumstances that made him the first man to have touched her somehow made him proprietory, as though Zena were exclusively his. He had never experienced a feeling of possessiveness in regard to a woman before. Exclusivity had hitherto been rigorously avoided. Alex had always viewed promiscuity tolerantly, asking of his women only that the bed be vacant from the previous man. He hadn't cared particularly if the bed was still warm. Fastidiousness was no requirement.
He had been content as the pet of all the married women of St. Petersburg and Moscow, dispensing his favors like a sultan with a seraglio at his command. Each night had been a game of bedroom roulette. He was still young enough that the game had never bored him.
Now he found his friends teasing him, mocking him mildly for having settled into domesticity. Alex flared and bristled at the teasing, but underneath he was satisfied, and the lure of other women held no charm.
One evening a week after returning home, Alex and Zena attended a small dinner party hosted by Yuri. Alex, after surveying the assembled guests with very perfunctory interest, had retired to the library. Zena was off in the cardroom, having been persuaded by Yuri's aunt to join her in a hand or bridge. Alex wasn't in the mood for cards,
and he certainly wasn't in the mood for dancing, which was being noisily pursued by mazurka lovers in the ballroom next door. The library was restful, and Alex was drinking himself into inebriation. The prescribed inanities of conversation rolled off his tongue more smoothly when well lubricated by brandy.
Yuri found him a quarter hour later. "Come, sit down. I'll pour us both another drink."
Dropping into deep-cushioned armchairs flanking the fireplace, the two friends drank in silence for some moments.
"All of society is buzzing over your marriage," Yuri said. Alex grimaced. "Do you know what they're saying about the Archer's marrying?" grinned Yuri.
Alex lounged in his chair and looked at Yuri, absolutely unmoved. "I never speculate on such irrelevant subjects."
Yuri laughed lightly. "Shall I tell you?"
"It appears," Alex said, smiling a little, "you are bent on just that."
"They are saying 'God help his wife'," said Yuri with a comical twist of his eyebrows.
"Amen," Alex muttered inarticulately and drained his glass. Giving Yuri a keen look, Alex uttered a laugh that was not without its cynical edge. "Society's concerns are as pressingly significant as usual, I see."
"Speaking of significant concerns, allow me to congratulate you on the tender event in store. I understand, Sasha, your young wife is with child," Yuri said with a discerning look.
"Good Lord, damnable gossip travels fast. We've been back in town scarcely a week, and I didn't even know myself until a few weeks ago," Alex retorted, somewhat chagrined at his best friend's leer.
"Ah, well, the knowing eye of a woman scorned is astonishingly keen, I've always found. Sweet Amalie informed me of the news yesterday, and no doubt the entire range of acceptable Moscow society has also been titillated by the news. I give it twenty-four hours at the ou
tside to reach the scandalmongers in St. Petersburg."
"As long as that," drawled Alex ironically.
"They'll be counting on their fingers for weeks," Yuri warned.
Alex shrugged an elegant shoulder. "There's only one way to handle it, and that's to brazen it out, as usual, while the gossips have a field day. No matter how they count, they're going to come up short. We've been married only three weeks. It's a Kuzan family tradition, these short pregnancies after marriage," Alex said with a guileless smile.
"Must say, my friend, I envy you the next few months," Yuri sighed eloquently. "My experience proves there's never a more amorous period in a woman's life than the early months of gestation."
"I wouldn't know, Yuri, since I've never endured one woman's company for more than a fortnight previously," Alex retorted dryly.
"In that case," Yuri suggestively grinned, "you are, my fine stud, in for a pleasant education."
The days swiftly passed, Alex's moods varying erratically. By and large he was content, having settled down to changes in his life that weren't altogether distasteful, but on occasion he was not altogether reconciled to his new state of matrimony. The days of absolute freedom were gone, and when he dwelt on it, it was galling. He had always ordered and ruled everything to his will and was unaccustomed to the slightest check. In the following weeks one could often see impatience on his face as he fumed at the extra strain of the inevitable maneuverings necessary in a household no longer bachelor.
But then his mood would fluctuate fitfully, and those dark thoughts would vanish. Zena's presence pleasured him, and the gentle swelling of her body gave him an inexplicable feeling of pride. His child was growing in her; the notion of fatherhood hitherto studiously ignored was a pleasant conceit to him.