Forever in Your Embrace (15 page)

Ali stepped out into the light and squinted up at the stranger, who stood head and shoulders above her. With some curiosity, she considered his badly bruised visage before she cautiously asked, “Ye be the one what saved me mistress?”

“ ’Tis my honor to claim that fame,” Tyrone replied amiably and winced as he tried to grin at the old woman.

Peering down at the emerald brooch now nestled in the palm of her hand, Ali tapped it lightly with a gnarled forefinger. “This be the Countess Synnovea’s, all right. What be yer reward for findin’ it?”

“The reward is not mine to claim. The piece was found on the ground by one of my men. If your mistress so desires, she may lay such a favor upon him, but you need not trouble her now for a reply. I shall return on the morrow. Perhaps by then I may be allowed the privilege of addressing the countess personally.”

“I see no need for you to trouble yourself,” Anna interjected crisply over the small woman’s shoulder. “We shall have the reward sent to your regiment.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Tyrone assured her in good spirits. “I’d take great comfort in seeing the countess again—to assure myself of her good health, of course.” He met the chilling stare of the princess and deliberately ignored what it implied, having adroitly claimed an excuse to return.

Tyrone glanced down to see the sparkling blue eyes of the Irish maid resting on him with smiling approval and realized he had gained an ally. Despite the discomfort he embraced whenever he stretched his bruised, swollen lips, he gave the tiny servant his best attempt, displaying gleaming white teeth behind a crooked smile.

“Would ye be needin’ yer hurts tended, sir?” Ali offered and then glanced around in disappointment as Anna cleared her throat impatiently.

“I’m sure there are physicians to whom he can go,” the princess stated, not even bothering to hide her annoyance with the pair.

“I fear such attention is limited by the reluctance of your benefactress,” Tyrone responded with another painful grin. “I must be on my way, but if you will, you may carry my solicitations for a quick recovery to your mistress. I hope she’ll be feeling better on the morrow when I return.”

“Oh, she will be,” Ali assured him. “I’ll see to it!”

Tyrone swept the women a brief bow and, settling his hat on his head, chuckled softly as he retreated down the walk. Even if he hadn’t won the consideration of the countess, at least he had gained the support of someone very close to her who might prove of great benefit in persuading the younger woman to think more kindly of him.

S
ynnovea’s slender feet fairly flitted down the stairs the next morning. She had given up all pretense of being indisposed for another day, having come to the decision that she wasn’t particularly fond of being roasted alive. She doubted that even the cleric’s stodgy instructions could be as punishing as the hellish discomfort she had endured in the solitude of her chambers. Thus, with a lighthearted ambiance and a newfound tolerance for Ivan Voronsky, Synnovea swept into the dining hall and smiled cheerily as she extended a morning greeting to the man.

Ivan had entered only a few moments earlier, but it seemed as if he had devised his strategy well in advance of her appearance, for he nearly stumbled over himself skittering around to a place where he could bar her departure from the room, no doubt fearing she’d be tempted to escape like an errant child once he confronted her. When she picked up a plate and went to the sideboard, he followed with his own platter and heaped the morning fare upon it.

“This morning, Countess, we shall address the value of humility and self-denial,” he announced, licking sauce from his thumb.

Slanting a glance toward his overflowing plate, Synnovea couldn’t resist a smiling query. “Self-denial in what respect, sir?”

Ivan sniffed arrogantly. “Well, to begin with, in your manner of dress.”

Synnovea thought he looked very dour and supercilious in his dark vestment, which he obviously considered appropriate for the seriousness of his duties. But then, he probably would have conveyed an identical demeanor if he wore nothing at all,
not
that she was
at all
interested in having her suspicions confirmed. If fate decreed that she should again be shocked by the sight of a naked man, then she’d just as soon he be a far more worthy specimen, someone with a physique as notable as Colonel Rycroft’s but with handsomer features.

Synnovea lifted her own dish aside and looked down at her
sarafan
of turquoise silk, wondering what Ivan had found to fault her for this time. Considering the fact that she was adequately covered from neck to toe to wrist and clad in the traditional manner of her homeland, she had difficulty understanding the cleric’s objection. “Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?” she inquired, her curiosity piqued. She was beginning to suspect that he’d be averse to anything she wore. “Is this not the proper attire of a Russian
boyarina?
”

“Somewhat reminiscent of a peacock, I would imagine. Indeed, a bit too colorful to be considered demure. No modest maiden should strut about like some pretty hen in her finery.”

Synnovea played the innocent, disinclined to accept his assessments with the same appreciation that Anna might have displayed, though she seriously doubted the man would have offered such criticisms to the princess. One did not wisely bite the hand that nourished him. “I thought peacocks were male birds. Or do you mean peahens? They, of course, don’t have much finery, not like peacocks.”

“That’s strictly beside the point!” Ivan snapped in an indignant huff. “And as a young maid and now a student of mine, you’ll have to learn to show proper respect to your savants and be humble of both spirit and mode. After all, the tsar is looking for a bride, and who is to say what maid he will finally select.”

Synnovea promptly rejected such a notion. “With all due respect to His Majesty, sir, I have no wish to be subjected to the intrigue and jealousies associated with that particular position. I’m quite content living my life outside the confines and stricture of a
terem
and avoiding the fear of what potion might be added to my food. His Majesty has suffered much in trying to find a bride, but not as much as his wife will have to once he marries.”

Ivan eyed her narrowly, trying to plumb her logic. “What do you mean?”

Casually Synnovea settled herself in a chair at the table. “Maria Khlopova was once Tsar Mikhail’s prospective bride, and look what happened to her.”

Ivan took a seat nearby, placing his heavily laden plate before him. In his opinion, his student needed to be given an example of what might befall a woman full of wiles and deceit. “Maria was undone because, in her eagerness to become tsarina, she sought to conceal her illness from Tsar Mikhail. If not for her untimely collapse into violent and convulsive frothing in front of His Majesty and his guests, she might have accomplished her deception. Sending the Khlopovs to Siberia was hardly punishment enough for the trickery they planned.”

Synnovea stared at the man, rather amazed by his lack of knowledge. Apparently the more recent occurrences at court had escaped his attention. “Oh, but didn’t you hear? Shortly after his return from Poland, Patriarch Filaret uncovered a plot by the Saltykovs to discredit Maria Khlopova and her family. It seems that several members of the Saltykov family had doused Maria’s food with an emetic and then bribed the attending physicians to spread the lie that she had an incurable illness. Patriarch Filaret learned of their subterfuge and told his son. That’s why His Majesty has recently banished the Saltykovs from court and confiscated some of their lands.” Synnovea heaved a sigh. “Though it’s done poor Maria little good now.”

“But the Saltykovs are relatives of Tsar Mikhail’s mother,” Ivan argued. “Marfa would never abide such an edict against her kin, even from her son. You must be mistaken.”

Synnovea allowed him the benefit of a kindly smile. “That’s exactly why Marfa now staunchly refuses to give her consent to her son’s marriage to Maria Khlopova. She was positively in an uproar over his treatment of her kin.” Briefly Synnovea addressed her attention to her plate before lifting her gaze to the dumbfounded man. Though wisdom pleaded caution, the opportunity to subtly suggest that her knowledge equaled or even surpassed his was far too tempting to resist. It would only be a gentle gibe. “Do you suppose you’ve had enough instruction for the day, Ivan? I do so wish to visit the Countess Andreyevna this morning ere it gets too warm. Perhaps we could continue our discussion on the morrow.”

Ivan’s pockmarked cheeks reddened profusely as he lowered his gaze to his food. He resented being mocked and made to appear the simpleton, especially by the Countess Synnovea, whose sire had been rich enough to hire the best sages and master tutors to instruct his daughter, while he, Ivan, had found it necessary to grovel and abase himself with menial tasks in order to acquire every bit of learning he could, all in an effort to crush those reviling jeers that still haunted him from his youth. After his mother’s death, he had attached himself to the
starets
and the priests of the church, shared their paltry meals and tattered robes, merely for the purpose of learning the written word and delving into their weighty tomes and ancient archives. Now, having obtained a rich patroness of influential standing, he wasn’t about to be generous to those who had known only a life of ease. He wouldn’t allow this fine feathered bird to flit about in carefree abandon after making sport of him. Either she’d learn to be respectful of his importance and mastery…or else.

“On the contrary, Countess, you may
not
be excused today or any other day unless it is by
my
recommendation.”

Ivan turned from her as if in stern rebuke, but it was a ruse to protect himself from the curiosity of those green-brown eyes, which had widened in stunned surprise. Once again he became a helpless victim of a nervously twitching eyelid and of hands that trembled violently enough to spill liquid from any glass he dared hold while in the midst of those damnable afflictions. From the deepest, darkest recesses of his boyhood memories came haunting visions of his mother standing over him with lips turned sharply downward in contempt as she shouted hateful insults at the little bastard she had whelped. Though he had tried countless times to scour those distressing apparitions from his heart and brain, he was nevertheless tormented by the seizure they evoked.

The demoralizing spasm finally passed, and Ivan drew a steadying breath before facing the maiden. She had congenially addressed her attention to the meal, seeming completely undisturbed by his denial. Her lack of concern was hardly gratifying. Indeed, it was like sharp fangs gnawing at him. He yearned to taste the sweet succor of revenge and devised a plan to make her pay twofold.

Ivan’s thin lips stretched stiffly into a sneer. “It has come to my attention, Countess, that there are duties in the kitchen to which you can devote yourself instead of wasting your time associating with such questionable creatures as the Countess Andreyevna.”

Aghast at his slight of her friend, Synnovea leaned back in her chair and stared at him with eyes that now flashed fire. It seemed there was no sentiment that Ivan and the princess didn’t share. “Countess Andreyevna is a woman of sterling character, sir. Knowing her as I do, I can offer you hearty assurances to that fact.”

Ivan scoffed. “I’ve been to one of those receptions she gives. Rich boyars and high-ranking officers. Her reasons are obvious to everyone. A widow after three husbands, she’s just searching for one rich enough to keep her wallowing in luxuries from now until she dies.”

Synnovea recognized the slander to which Anna had given voice two days past. Yet she also sensed Ivan’s spitefulness, no doubt elicited by her own foolishness in taunting him. He was perhaps hoping to provoke her wrath by maligning Natasha, but Synnovea vowed not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her defeated by his little ploys. “The kitchen, you say? Well, of course. What would you have me do there that I should consider part of my studies?”

“You need to learn the humbleness of a servant before you’ll ever be considered suitable for the institute of marriage by any Russian gentleman. Princess Anna has given me leave to instruct you as I see fit, and my first order of the day will be to teach you about the ignoble concept of servitude and the hardships of serfs and peasants.” His small eyes flicked over her costly garb, losing none of their dullness. “I’m sure you’ll want to change into something less ostentatious now that you’ll be working in the kitchen.”

“Then, if you’ll excuse me,” Synnovea begged graciously, “I must return to my chambers to prepare myself, as you suggest.” Smiling all the while, she rose and removed her plate from the table. What the cleric evidently didn’t understand was that she had not only served as mistress of her father’s house after the death of her mother, but she had often worked alongside some of the servants, especially when close attention to detail had been needed in preparing the house for guests or cooking special dishes for visitors or her father. She had taken personal delight in helping the gardeners. She had loved nurturing the flowers, herbs, and vegetables and seeing their labors manifested into food for the table and large, riotously colored blooms that she had often arranged in vases and brought inside. If Ivan thought he had gained some leverage by ordering her to work, then once again he had displayed his ignorance.

Ivan grew suspicious of her obliging mien. “If you think to barricade yourself in your chambers again today, Countess, I beg you to reconsider. Princess Anna will never allow you to dawdle when I’ve assigned you specific duties.”