Dare to Love (46 page)

“Bolt the doors,” I told him. “You and Otto and the other footmen keep them out as long as possible, but if—when they break in, I want no fighting. Don't try to resist them.”

“You intend to give yourself up to them?”

“I have no other choice.”

“I shouldn't advise it,” Klaus said sternly. “We have guns. We can hold them off until you get away. I'll get a carriage ready at once. If we hurry—”

The horses stopped in front of Chez Elena. Loud, raucous voices called out and soldiers pounded furiously on the doors. Otto had obviously already bolted the doors, but it wouldn't take the soldiers long to break in.

“No guns,” I said. “Go downstairs and see that the rest of the doors and windows are secure. Minne, you gather up the rest of the maids and take them down into the wine cellar. Bolt the door. Don't open it under any circumstances.”

“But—”

“Do as I say!” I snapped.

Minne sobbed and rushed out of the room. Klaus followed her. Going into the dressing room, I took down two of my bags and began to pack, ignoring the shouts, the furious pounding. I folded gowns and placed them in one of the bags, filling it, closing it, fastening the lock. I had no idea why I was packing. I wouldn't get away. It was just something to keep me busy. They would break in any moment now and come rushing up the stairs and … I folded another gown, neatly, took down another. There was a loud splintering sound as they used the butts of their guns on the door, the tinkle of glass as they shattered windows.

I finished filling the second bag with undergarments and placed my jewel box on top. I closed the bag and fastened it. At least two dozen gowns still hung in the wardrobe, but I would have to leave them. I was sure to be placed under arrest, and I imagined the consequences. I might be roughed up a bit, but they would have to be careful—I was an international celebrity, and Sturnburg wouldn't dare allow any real harm to come to me. I would no doubt be officially exiled from the country, taken to the border under military escort. Still … I tried to maintain a semblance of calm. Panic wouldn't help at all.

The din downstairs was deafening. More glass shattering, wood splintering. The raucous shouts grew louder, more vicious. I took a deep breath, stepped out of the bedroom and moved to the top of the staircase, my pink satin skirt rustling softly.

I paused at the head of the stairs, bracing myself. Otto and all six of the footmen stood in a huddle below, watching the rifle butts tear through the door. There was a mighty groaning noise as the hinges gave way, and then the door fell with a loud crash, splitting apart, pieces of wood scattering. The soldiers poured into the foyer, at least twenty of them, stomping, shouting, waving bayonets. The menservants were surrounded immediately and backed against the wall. One of the footmen panicked and tried to flee. A soldier raised his rifle and fired. There was a puff of smoke and a blazing red streak. The footman seemed to fly into the air with arms and legs akimbo, and then he crumpled to the floor. Half his face was missing. Blood gushed from his head, making a vivid red pool.

Otto tried to move. A soldier, his bayonet at Otto's stomach, lunged forward. Otto screamed, made a gurgling noise and fell forward, his blood spurting in crimson jets. The soldier stepped aside to let the body topple to the floor, then wiped his dripping bayonet on the back of Otto's jacket. His colleagues hooted with glee. I stood at the top of the stairs, in plain sight.

“Where is she! Where is the whore!”

“She's gone,” Klaus said. “She left an hour ago.”

“You lie!”

The soldier swung his rifle around so that the butt was turned toward Klaus. Rearing back, he drove it into Klaus' stomach with vicious force. Klaus gasped and sagged against the wall, almost losing consciousness. His face was stark white with pain, and it was a moment before he could speak.

“She left,” he said hoarsely. “You're too late.”

“Let's wreck the place!” one of the soldiers cried. “Let's burn it down!”

They seemed to go wild. They began to break furniture and tear down curtains and hurl vases against the wall, yelling lustily. I stood very still, watching the scene of horror with a curious detachment. It wasn't real. It wasn't happening. I seemed to be far, far away, and everything blurred together like a crazy kaleidoscope of movement and color, soldiers in green and white uniforms and helmets with red crests darting about in a frenzy of destruction, blue velvet curtains tearing, furniture falling, shattering, two red pools spreading on the floor. One of the soldiers climbed up on a table, caught hold of a chandelier and swung himself out on it. It came crashing down, crystal pendants scattering in every direction, and then a man stepped through the doorway and barked a sharp command and everything grew still.

Heinrich Schroder glanced at the bodies and the debris with cool indifference. His men stood at attention, plainly intimidated. His boots were glossy, gleaming black, and his white breeches were like a second skin, outlining muscular legs. His short forest green tunic was spotless, aglitter with gold braids, the epaulettes on his broad shoulders shimmering. He wore no helmet, and his skull gleamed baldly under the short, stiff fuzz of light brown hair. There was a moment of tense silence as he surveyed the scene with icy gray-blue eyes. Then he tensed his mouth, which exaggerated the jagged scar on the right side of his face.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“She's gone,” one of his men replied. He pointed to Klaus. “That one says she left an hour ago.”

Schroder glanced at Klaus. “Kill him,” he said. “Run him through. Then perhaps one of the others will tell us the truth.”

“No!” I cried.

They all turned to look up at me. The soldiers were startled. Klaus made a face. Schroder curled his lips in a sadistic smile, eyes glittering with anticipation. His men were silent, afraid to speak. Schroder took a deep breath, and a long moment passed.

“Amuse yourselves, men,” he said. “Carry on with your fun. I'll see to Miss Lopez. We'll leave in half an hour or so.”

The men cheered and gleefully continued their destruction of the palace, some of them rushing into the other rooms seeking more furniture to smash, and others to rip down drapery cords to tie up the servants. I felt a terrible chill as Schroder laughed gruffly and started up the stairs toward me, moving slowly, smiling that terrible smile. I seemed to be frozen in place, unable to move.

“I'm placing you under arrest,” he said, still climbing the stairs. “My orders are to escort you to the border.”

He moved up another step, and another. I could see the murderous hatred and the naked lust in his eyes, and I knew what he planned to do. I would “resist arrest” and he would be called upon to take strong measures and there would be an “unfortunate accident” and even if the officials disbelieved his report it would be too late. Schroder planned to murder me, but he intended to rape me first.

“I've been looking forward to this,” he told me.

“I'll go peacefully,” I said.

“No. You're going to try to escape.”

“Keep away.”

He paused on the steps and laughed. It was a horrible sound, chilling. I moved back, trembling inside. Smiling evilly, he continued up the steps. I backed away from him, my heart pounding. I was against the wall now, unable to move another step. He stopped, toying with me, savoring the cat and mouse game to the fullest. There was a table beside me, a heavy silver candlestick within reach and I seized it. Schroder leaped forward and took hold of my wrist and twisted it savagely sending the candletsick clattering to the floor. He chuckled, twisting my wrist again, and whirled me around, forcing my arm up between my shoulder blades.

“I'm going to enjoy this,” he crooned.

He wrenched my arm up higher. The pain was excruciating, sharp, hot stabbing needles. He laughed. His free arm went around my throat, his forearm pressing viciously against it. Darkness and bright orange and blue lights whirled in front of me as my breath was cut off and his arm tightened as if to crush the life out of me. My head spun faster and faster—blinding pain was the only reality, coupled with his sadistic laugh. I prayed for oblivion, for quick release into unconsciousness.

Schroder loosened his grip on my throat, relaxed it just enough so that I could breathe. The orange and blue lights vanished and my vision was blurred as he forced me along the hall toward the door of my bedroom. Taking his arm from my throat, he shoved the door open, then pressed his palm in the small of my back and with a mighty shove propelled me into the room. I stumbled forward, falling to the floor in a heap of pink satin, hair spilling over my eyes. Jolting pain shot through my body. Schroder stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Striding over to where I lay, he stood over me with legs spread wide, hands resting on his hips.

My arm felt limp; hot needles still stabbed at my throat, hurting even more as I gasped for breath. My heart was pounding … pounding somewhere else. Was I hallucinating? The noise grew louder until the whole house seemed to reverberate with it. There were hoarse shouts and tromping footsteps and terrible explosions like the one that had sounded just before the footman flew into the air and fell. Gunfire. Shouting. More shouting. Someone was shouting my name. Pounding, louder, louder, shaking the walls.…

Still dazed, I looked up and saw the glossy boots, the clinging white breeches, the green tunic. I saw the roll of flesh beneath his jaw, saw his lips, his large nose, his eyes, half shrouded now with heavy lids, saw his brow and the fuzz of hair covering his skull, all from a crazy angle, looming there above me. He seemed to rock back and forth, seemed about to topple, but I knew it was my own blurred vision that caused the illusion. The room began to spin slowly, the air filled with a bright, burning haze that shimmered. I tried to sit up, but I hadn't the strength.

“You have a balcony, I see,” he remarked. “That's convenient. It's perfect.”

“What—”

“You'll try to escape. You'll fall off the balcony. You'll break your neck.”

He chuckled and reached down to take hold of my hair. Grabbing a handful he pulled me to my feet, tugging brutally. I cried out. I couldn't help it. I felt sure my hair would come out by its roots. Schroder continued to chuckle, releasing my hair, curling an arm around my waist, holding me against him in a loose grip.

“I'll break your neck first, before I hurl you over,” he said casually, “just to make certain. I wouldn't want there to be any slipups.”

His voice seemed to come from a long way off. He tightened his arm around my waist, crushing me against him. His body was solid muscle. He smelled of sweat and leather and lust. As I tilted my head back, looking up into those glittering gray-blue eyes, he ran the tip of his tongue across his lower lip and lowered his heavy eyelids as he bent over to kiss me. A surge of anger stronger than the pain, stronger than my fear, shot through me. Drawing back, I kicked him and clawed his face. He let out a shout and almost lost his grip on my waist, when I kicked again, aiming for his groin with all the force I could muster.

Schroder doubled over and fell back. His eyes were glazed. His mouth was wide open. He made horrible gutteral noises. Seizing a vase, I cracked it over his head. He stumbled and almost fell. He reeled and tottered for a moment, and then he gave a mighty bellow and clenched his fists. I saw his arm swing back.… There was an explosion of pain and a burst of bright lights. I fell backwards, landing on the bed with such impact that the springs squealed. My jaw was on fire. My head was whirling. Black wings rushed toward me.

As I managed to struggle into a sitting position, Schroder started toward the bed. Outside the pounding was louder than ever, thundering, deafening. The door flew open, crashing back against the wall. Two men rushed into the room, one of them in a long black cloak. Schroder turned and bellowed again. He leaped toward the men. The man in the cloak raised a pistol and fired. There was an explosion, an orange streak, a puff of smoke. Schroder's forehead sprouted a wet red blossom and he crashed to the floor like a felled oak. Getting to my feet, I staggered and almost collapsed again, but Brence gathered me into his arms and held me close.

“You—” I whispered.

“I knew what was going to happen. I found out early this morning. I rode all day.”

“But—”

“I couldn't just ride off and leave you here, knowing what was going to happen. It seems I got here just in time.”

“The soldiers—downstairs—”

“Your student friends are taking care of them. They were pouring into the house just as I arrived, at least thirty of them.”

“They—”

“There'll be time for talk later!” he said sternly. “Now I've got to try and get you out of this bloody country in one piece.”

Half carrying me, he guided me toward the door. I tottered, still dazed, my jaw still burning. We moved down the hall and to the top of the stairs, and Brence saw that I wouldn't be able to make it down on my own. Glaring at me with dark, angry eyes, he swung me up into his arms and carried me down through the bedlam of thrashing, slamming bodies. The students had almost overpowered the soldiers, but the struggle was. still fierce. There was blood everywhere, and three students lay in a heap, covered with scarlet banners that streamed and stained the floor.

As Brence set me down, one of the soldiers broke free and raced toward us with his bayonet raised. Eric tripped him. The soldier fell. Four students jumped on top of him. Wilhelm flung another soldier against the wall, wrestled his rifle away from him and smashed his head with the butt. Hans was merrily kicking a soldier who was already writhing on the floor. As Brence led me toward the doorway, my three gallants formed a guard around us, all three flushed and elated, having the time of their lives.

A plain closed carriage was waiting, a driver I had never seen perched on the seat in front, reins in hand. Klaus had already stowed my bags inside and stood holding the door open. Brence thrust me inside and climbed in after me. Leaning out the window, I looked at the trio who had led the charge on Chez Elena, brash musketeers without plumes or sabres who grinned broadly, eager to get back to the fray.