Forever in Your Embrace (25 page)

Finally her trembling disquiet ebbed, and Synnovea lent her attention to repairing her appearance. She found that feat much easier than mending the damage done by the stranglehold Aleksei had placed upon her neck, for she now suffered a burning rawness in her throat and a rasping hoarseness in her speech.

Much later than she had ever supposed, Synnovea made her entrance into the great hall, where Ivan, bedecked in a black silk kaftan, seemed to preen in the admiration heaped upon him by Anna and those who were not above indulging the tsar’s cousin with ingratiating adoration no matter her particular bent. Others who were more reserved and reticent about offering the man praise watched and listened stoically from a distance.

Synnovea paused at the outer circle of guests and, from there, cast her gaze about for Princess Zelda. She espied the young woman standing with her parents near the far end of the room. By the studied formality of the three, it was evident that they weren’t at all enchanted with what they were hearing. Synnovea realized the reason when she, too, gave heed to Ivan’s statements. Prince Bazhenov had served as one of the envoys for the tsar in the negotiations that had taken place between Russia and the realm that Ivan currently spoke out against.

“I tell you, my friends, our country is at an impasse,” he declared with unusual passion. “We’ve lost our access to the Baltic by way of a treaty with Sweden, and even now they’re usurping our trade in Novgorod and other important cities. Mysteriously they’ve been granted fishing rights on White Lake, and I’ll wager we’ll soon be outnumbered by Lutheran extremists here in our own country. If we don’t resist fairly soon, they’ll likely be fathering your grandchildren! Mark my words!”

A confused blend of voices arose from several of the guests, but none dared voice any disapproval of the authority which had allowed the Swedes to infiltrate their country so insidiously. Prince Bazhenov, however, was bold enough to speak out in valiant defense of it.

“With Sweden’s aid, Tsar Mikhail has managed to bring us the first peace we’ve known with Poland after many years of conflict. What would you suggest we do now?” he queried caustically. “Take up arms against Sweden?”

Ivan was cautious about answering, having perceived the loyalty the old prince felt for the tsar. “Above all, we must
never
alienate anyone against the tsardom, for there beats the heart of our very lifeblood.” He paused briefly for effect as he pressed the tips of his stubby fingers together in a contemplative pose. “Perhaps if we seek the advice of another accomplished strategist who is knowledgeable about such affairs, we can gain some insight as to the diplomacy and tactics we should employ against the Swedes.”

“Besides the Patriarch Filaret, you mean?” Prince Bazhenov jeered.

Ivan spread his hands in sublime innocence. “Are not two heads better than one?”

The elder was immediately suspicious. “Are you suggesting, sir, that you would be a worthy candidate for that position?”

“I am only a loyal subject of the tsar, my lord,” the cleric replied with suitable humbleness. “Still, if I were pressed into service, I think I’d be able to offer satisfactory solutions to ease the plight of our countrymen.”

“No doubt,” Prince Bazhenov retorted tersely. “You seem to have all the answers, but I wonder where your suggestions would lead us as a nation.”

“Who doesn’t wonder what the outcome will be?” Ivan countered. “Even now we’re being led as a nation by one man’s wisdom. Does that give you confidence? Can you offer solid guarantees of the Patriarch Filaret’s goals for this country and our future?”

The prince harrumphed loudly, displaying his displeasure over the discussion. Begging Anna’s pardon a moment later, he excused himself and his family from the reception, giving the excuse that he had to attend an early-morning inspection with the tsar and needed his rest.

Trailing behind her parents as they prepared for their departure, Princess Zelda glanced around in search of Synnovea and smiled in sudden pleasure when that one finally emerged from the press of people.

“I thought we’d have time to talk, darling,” Zelda whispered regretfully in her friend’s ear as they hugged each other. “My husband has been telling me things that I was sure you’d be eager to hear. Vassili was wondering if you knew about the rumors making their way around the Kremlin and wanted me to find out. I wish we could talk about this, but as you can see, we must leave. Papa is nearly beside himself. Whoever this Ivan Voronsky is, he hasn’t endeared himself to Papa!”

“I’ll see you as soon as I’m able,” Synnovea promised in a softly rasping murmur. “We can talk then.”

“Take care,” Zelda bade, brushing her lips against the other’s cheek.

Watching from the doorway, Synnovea waited until Prince Bazhenov had handed his family into their carriage and the conveyance had pulled away before she retreated into the house, allowing Boris to close the door behind her. She paused at the entrance of the great hall, listening to Ivan’s voice drone on incessantly, but his views were disconcerting and she withdrew to the dining room, where she hoped she’d be able to find something soft to eat that wouldn’t irritate her throat.

No sooner had Synnovea entered than several boyars gathered close around her. They numbered seven in all and resembled one another in height, brawn, and visage, with three of them having light brown hair and the youngest four black. Even their quickly widening grins hinted of their kinship.

“Enchanting!” one of them murmured and then, heaving an exaggerated sigh, fell back in a mock swoon into the arms of a companion.

“Captivating! Completely dazzling!” another one avowed exuberantly, closely eyeing her.

“Permit me to introduce myself,
Boyarina,
” the tallest one bade. “I’m Prince Feodor Vladimirovich, eldest son of Prince Vladimir Dimitrievich, and these”—he swept a hand around to indicate his cohorts—“are my brothers, second-born Igor, then Petr, Stefan, Vasilii, Nikita, and Sergei, the youngest.”

As he introduced them, each man responded with a broad grin and clicked his heels in a brief, clipped bow. As the eldest, Feodor assumed the part of spokesman while his brothers crowded close around him. Together they awaited her response to his inquiry. “And your name,
Boyarina?
”

Smiling graciously, Synnovea sank into a deep curtsy as she strained to keep the hoarse rasp in her voice softly subdued. “The Countess Synnovea Altynai Zenkovna, recently arrived from Nizhni Novgorod.”

Sergei swaggered around his older siblings to eagerly ask, “Do you have any sisters?” Then, with a shrug, he complained, “There are so many of us, but only one of you.”

For the first time that evening, Synnovea was able to smile with lighthearted gaiety, and she gave them a pretty shrug. “I fear not, Prince Sergei. As fate would have it, I was an only child.”

“And your husband?” Curious, he cocked a dark brow and asked with bated breath, “Where is he?”

Soft, husky laughter preceded her answer. “Your pardon, most gracious Prince, but I have none.”

“A pity!” he lamented with a happy chortle.

Smoothing his kaftan in a confident manner, he stepped before her and executed a flamboyant bow. Upon straightening, he begged, “Permit me, Countess, to express an avid appreciation of your beauty. In all my score of years I’ve never seen a maid so wondrously fair. You’d bestow upon me a great honor if you’d allow me to court you—”

Immediately he was shoved aside by the dark-eyed Stefan, who offered a warm smile as he took the place formerly occupied by his brother. “Sergei is but a boy, Countess, a youth of no experience. I, on the other hand, have a score and ten years to my claim, and though ’tis also true that I’ve seen none to equal your radiance, I’m sure you’ll agree that I’m better-looking than Sergei.”

“Ha!” the hulking Igor scoffed and swung an arm backward to send Stefan stumbling in retreat. Stroking his handsome beard, Igor settled in a bold stance before her as his blue eyes twinkled back at her. “None of my brothers can equal my experience…” With a challenging brow raised, he cast glances from side to side at his siblings as he boasted, “Or my good looks.”

Hearty guffaws accompanied his statement, attesting to the skepticism of his brothers, who commenced to argue among themselves. Amid all of their squabbling, an excessive amount of rough jostling and painful nudging ensued.

“Not so! I’m the best-looking!”

“Come, now! Would you have the countess believe such lies when I’m here for her to see?”

“It’s a shame you haven’t taken a good look at yourself lately. I’ll warrant I’ve seen better faces on the hind end of a bear!”

Synnovea was about to giggle, but gasped instead as the offended one doubled his fist and bashed the nose of the one who had insulted him. The brothers promptly set themselves to determining the matter by force, at least until a throaty harrumph came from close behind them. The sound had an effect on the brothers that Synnovea found no less than astounding. It cooled their tempers like a pail of icy water. In sudden haste they stumbled backward to open a path for an older man who ambled forward with a rolling gait, as if he had spent his lifetime on the deck of a ship. Not even Colonel Rycroft or Ladislaus matched this one’s height, for the newcomer was at least half a head taller than either of those two stalwarts. Synnovea had some difficulty hiding her own amazement as the white-haired ancient approached her. Upon halting beside Sergei, the old man laid a huge hand upon the lad’s shoulder.

“What is this bickering about now?” he rumbled in a deep voice, closely perusing the young maiden.

“The Countess Zenkovna has no sisters, Papa,” the youth answered. “We were trying to decide which of us would court her.”

“Indeed?” The comely maid had already aroused the old man’s interest, and he was much encouraged by his son’s comment. Though a bit slender for his taste, she was nevertheless rounded in all the right places and had enough height to accommodate his enormous frame. The idea of such an event appealed to him, and with a brightening gleam in his eyes, he swept a forefinger beneath his heavy mustache, flickering up the curving ends. He offered his most ardent smile, displaying a full set of white teeth. “If you’ll allow me to introduce myself, Countess. I’m Prince Vladimir Dimitrievitch, and these, as I’m sure you’ve already ascertained, are my sons. Have they introduced themselves?”

“Most capably, my lord prince,” Synnovea responded, dipping again into a polite curtsy. In the next moment she braced herself for the worst when she happened to glance past his arm and espied Anna forging a channel through a collection of guests who had meandered to the doorway to watch the antics of the princely brood.

“What’s going on here?” the princess demanded, trying to sound gracious, but failing badly. Whatever disturbance was transpiring, she marked Synnovea as the source of the trouble. A sidelong glare clearly conveyed that fact to her ward, giving that one cause to wonder what punishment would be forthcoming.

“My sons and I were making the acquaintance of this fair maid,” Vladimir explained. “Might I ask why we were not informed of the Countess Zenkovna’s presence sooner?”

Anna opened her mouth several times while she struggled to find some viable reason and finally, with a feeble smile, replied, “I wasn’t aware that you wanted to meet her.”

“Nonsense! Any man would be interested in making the acquaintance of a beautiful woman. At least, she doesn’t bore me to tears!”

His comment carried the full weight of his rejection of Ivan’s discourse as well as a firm rebuff for Anna’s attempts to sway his considerations in favor of the cleric. Though he might have been deemed an ancient by the standards of some, Vladimir hadn’t yet lost his wits. What he had heard tonight led him to wonder just where Ivan’s loyalties were rooted.

In spite of her temporary defeat, Anna fixed a smile on her lips and, with as much graciousness as she could convey, faced Synnovea. “I believe I saw Natasha’s carriage coming up the lane in front of the house. Would you care to greet her, my dear?”

“Yes, of course.” Once again Synnovea sank in gracious obeisance before the elderly prince. “If you’ll excuse me, Prince Vladimir, my friend has arrived, and I’d like very much to see her.”

Bestowing a smile upon her, the old man inclined his head, granting his permission. Synnovea slipped quickly through the guests, greeting friends and acquaintances as she went. When she entered the main hall, Aleksei was just making his way down the stairs. Though she saw no immediate evidence of a wound, he was descending very carefully, as if fearful that his head would tumble from its perch. At her hesitant glance, he gave her a menacing glower, leaving no doubt that he wouldn’t rest until he had either his revenge
or
his way with her.

“Synnovea, my dear child!” Natasha cried with a cheery laugh from the doorway, claiming her attention. “Come here and let me look at you!”

Coolly rejecting Aleksei’s silent threat, Synnovea turned and eagerly extended her hands in welcome as she hastened forward. “Natasha, you look absolutely ravishing!”

The elder laughed and sashayed around in a circle for the benefit of the younger woman. Her black and silver-trimmed
sarafan
not only complimented her porcelain skin but also lent dramatic emphasis to her darkly lashed, ebony eyes. When left undraped, her black hair seemed touched with a hoary frost, but at the moment, the mass was covered by a shimmering, silver-hued veil and a
kokoshniki
adorned with finely wrought silver filigree and precious stones.