Forever in Your Embrace (30 page)

In the ensuing days, Synnovea realized that she would have to make a choice fairly soon or see her options seriously hindered by Anna’s return. Whether to nobly abide by the betrothal contract or to seek freedom at the expense of her own honor, that was the question she’d have to answer for herself. The more dutiful course for a chaste maid would be to comply with Anna’s dictates, which would issue her forthwith into a respectable marriage with Vladimir. The alternative was drastic. Should she dare such an escape, damaging slurs would likely be brought to bear upon her name and she’d have to face the threat of being ostracized by her peers. Society was wont to judge a fallen woman harshly, and she’d be no less susceptible than the foulest tart. Still, if she could somehow preserve the secrecy of her actions
or
even feign her defilement (if such a feat were possible), then perhaps her ploy would yield her everything she yearned for.

Despite the clarity of her options, finding an acceptable answer to the riddle that confronted her was far more involved and complicated than Synnovea had thought it would be. The difficulty lay in her burgeoning apprehensions about the role of conniving seductress that she’d have to play with Tyrone, the only man she deemed suitable for the deed. Not only was he more acceptable to her than anyone she presently knew, his reputation as a rake, however false that might have been, solidified his credentials. Despite the best-contrived plans, however, events had a way of going awry. At the very least, she could suffer the rending of her virginity, but more disastrously, she could even bear a bastard child nine months later. Was her freedom to choose a husband worth the risks she’d be taking?

Synnovea’s fears far outweighed her dedication to gaining her own end, and she solemnly approached the idea that she just had to do what was proper. Her parents would have expected her to keep herself pure until her wedding night, and even if she had to marry Vladimir, she’d likely outlive him. Then she’d have the freedom to wed whomever she wished. All it would take would be waiting weeks, months, or even years for an old man to die….

Synnovea recoiled at such a diabolical notion as yearning for a human being to die, and she promptly found herself back at the crux of her dilemma, whether to ignobly pine for her husband to succumb to some malady or, by devious means, to seek the liberty to marry for love.

It was not until Synnovea ventured out with Natasha and Ali to a small, rough-hewn chapel located beyond the outskirts of the city that she actually became cognizant of just how persistent Aleksei was to see her wed and, in that endeavor, how closely he—and others—observed her comings and goings. The three women had set aside other duties to help a kindly old monk who devoted himself to acts of charity. Whether old, blind, wretched, decrepit, or lame, those in want were never turned away from the humble, tumbledown sanctuary where the kindly Friar Philip labored to serve their needs. His main concern was tending
his flock,
which included anyone who came to him lacking sufficient food, clothing, or peace for the soul. The afflictions of the poor were often decreased to a more tolerable level by his compassion or by those who assisted him in his selfless struggle. To his following, he was known as Saint Philip, though he wore shabby robes and denounced the acquisition of wealth for the church, which many of the Josephites had insisted upon. A number of the more powerful members of that particular sect had demeaned his attempts as self-serving and claimed that his real motive was to destroy a higher order of ordained servants to appease his own vindictive bent. They continually sought evidence to convict the man of his crimes.

Natasha was just as adamant to rally her friends to his cause and found Synnovea to be a willing participant. Upon their arrival early that morning, the women addressed themselves to the task of preparing a meal in the kitchen, located in a lean-to behind the chapel. Even though their coach evidenced their wealth, they wore plain garments made from a common cloth to ease the apprehensions of the poor, who had reason to be wary of the nobility. Soon after the food had been cooked, Synnovea busied herself handing out loaves of bread and ladling a hearty stew into wooden bowls held forth by ragged peasants who shuffled past. Natasha sorted apparel from several bundles that she had either sewn or collected from friends, while Ali entertained the younger children with mimes and craggy-voiced songs, allowing their mothers to search through the donated clothing in an effort to fortify their families for the approaching winter.

Into this gathering of destitute humanity, Aleksei came swaggering arrogantly in, bearing himself like the mighty prince he obviously envisioned himself to be. Forcing the more unsightly commoners to scurry out of his way, he strode up to the two countesses and, with flamboyant mockery, bowed before them. Upon straightening, he glanced around in lofty disdain. “How generous you ladies are to devote your time to serving these paltry beings. Ivan Voronsky would be impressed.”

If Aleksei had declared that only one sun existed in the sky, Synnovea would’ve found some argument to refute his claim. “I doubt that Ivan has any real perception of charity other than what goes into his own pockets.”

Synnovea realized the peasants who had been waiting in line for food were now hanging back, fearful of moving past the elegantly garbed prince. “Begone with you, Aleksei!” She swept a hand about to indicate the ones who were shuffling away. “Can’t you see what you’re doing? They’re afraid of you!”

“Afraid of me? Why so?” His astonishment was badly concocted. “I’ve only come to witness your compassion toward these foul-smelling oafs. What has set you on this path of benevolence anyway? Are you seeking to pay penance for your sins?”

Synnovea’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “My greatest sin has yet to be committed, Aleksei. That’s when I’ll hire henchmen to string you up. Just why are you here, may I ask?”

“I’ve come as you have, as a benevolent lord to give ease to the poor.” He turned and addressed the friar. “See here, Philip, or whatever your name is! I’ve come to give my dues to your cause.” He drew forth a few coins of meager worth and scattered them at the elder’s sandaled feet.

“I will t
hank
God for your kindness, my son,” the white-haired monk murmured graciously as he knelt to pick them up. Though he sensed the boyar wanted to see him groveling at his feet, he couldn’t ignore the insufficiencies plaguing his small ministry.

“You’d do better to t
hank
me,
old man,” Aleksei sneered, staring down his less-than-perfect nose at the elder. “I’ve power here on earth to see you imprisoned for consorting with thieves.” He indicated the tattered folk who huddled in growing apprehension of the boyar’s intentions. “Have I not seen the likes of these rogues stealing bread?”

“Oh, but surely, if they have, it was only a morsel or two, and you would forgive them for such meager offenses,” the monk hurriedly entreated as he struggled to his feet. “Many would starve without the bit of food they’re given here.”

“Have I not also seen you feeding those foul prisoners locked in stocks in Kitaigorod? Perhaps you’re also in league with the rogues who come to stealthily seek their release. I heard it said that the felons who escape flee the city to take up with bands of raiders and highwaymen. Perhaps they even stop here for sustenance to aid them on their way.”

The holy man spread his hands in appeal as he begged for understanding. “It’s true that you may have seen me helping the convicts fettered there, but the law makes no provisions for their needs. Whether guilty of pitiful deeds or those declared unworthy of reprieve among more worldly judges, they grow equally famished for a piece of bread or a cup of water. I don’t question them about their crimes when I distribute food. I only try to assure them that there is love and forgiveness for whatever they’ve done. But your pardon, my son, are you so perfect and pure that you’re able to cast the first stone at these poor wretches?”

Aleksei’s face took on a ruddy hue as he lifted his head in haughty arrogance. “I’m a prince! An aristocrat by birth!”

A kindly smile curved the wrinkled lips of the elder. “Do you seek to impress God with your aristocracy when all are equal in His sight, my son? None are perfect, whether prince or pauper.”

Tossing his head in contempt, Aleksei confronted the holy man with a sneer. “Is God blind to the faults of thieves and murderers?”

“God sees all, my son, but He also forgives. We need only ask with a contrite heart.”

Aleksei scoffed. “If there
is
a God!”

“Each man must decide that for himself, my son.”

The prince’s brows lowered darkly. “It’s foolishness to believe in something you cannot see!”

The kindly priest spoke gently. “I’m sorry, my son, but I don’t understand why you’ve come here if that is your belief. Do you seek counsel from a fool?”

“Oh, I’ve heard of your kind,” Aleksei derided. “You can be certain of that!
Bozhie liudi!
Men of God! Holy fools! That’s what they call you!
Skitalets!
Holy wanderers! You set up your
skity
in areas like this in compliance with that so-called order of Nilus Sorsky, that most foolish of fools! But you know as well as I do that Nilus died after his arguments against the wealth of the church were overridden by Joseph Sanin, and thereafter his followers have been persecuted by the Josephites and the grand dukes of Muscovy—as
you
will be!”

“Your knowledge of history seems well intact, my son, but you haven’t yet answered my question. Do you seek counsel from me?”

Aleksei laughed caustically. “You couldn’t possibly instruct me with your fool’s wisdom, holy man. I came only to guarantee the safety of my ward while she is among these filthy peasants.”

The monk shifted his gaze toward the young countess, who earlier that morning had arrived with her maid and the Countess Andreyevna. In recent years the latter had proven herself a most gracious and generous benefactress. Though he tended a garden and a small flock of sheep to enable him to serve the needs of the poor, he was grateful when such kindly and charitable workers as these offered their assistance. They had even sent their coachman to purchase more food when it had become evident that there wouldn’t be enough victuals to feed everyone who came. Now, because of them, all who ventured in today would be fed.

“None here would harm her,” the priest declared. “These people are appreciative of what the
boyarina
is doing for them.”

Aleksei responded with a snort of derision. “It’s beneath the countess’s station to consort with these vile vermin.”

“What kind do you suggest she consort with?” the holy man asked, beginning to understand the prince’s motives. “Do you mean to persuade her to go back with you, perhaps?”

Synnovea cast a pointed glare toward Aleksei, gaining his attention. Without a word she strode to the front door, luring him away from the old man. There she turned on him with fire in her eyes. “If you’re capable of any decency at all, Aleksei, then I beg you leave here and let us be,” she ground out in muted tones. “ ’Tis obvious what your real concerns are. Even Saint Philip now sees through your ploys.”

“You must heed my words, Synnovea,” the prince insisted. “I won’t let you thwart my plans.”

“And I warn you, Aleksei! You’d better heed mine! I’ve had enough of your lies and your filthy attempts to bed me! Now get out of here ere I take a lash to you! And don’t
ever
come back!”

Overhearing Synnovea’s threat, Natasha approached them with an amused smile. “Beware, Aleksei. I do believe the girl means it.”

His sharply penetrating scowl bore into the younger countess. “I’ve hired men to follow you wherever you go, Synnovea. You’ll not escape! They’ll hound you until you beg me to set you free of them.”

“Shall I complain to Vladimir about your close attention?” Synnovea needled. “He has wealth enough to send guards of his own to protect me from your spite.”

“Aye! Send for him!” Aleksei challenged. “He’ll insist upon speaking the vows posthaste just to save you from the ruffians I’ve hired. Then I’ll have my revenge that much sooner.” Saying nothing more, he swept into a shallow bow and stalked out.

Synnovea glared after his departing form and was somewhat surprised when he strode beyond his mount and made his way to an open field where a large party of mounted riders awaited him. From a distance the men appeared to be nothing more than unruly rabble garbed in a variety of outlandish apparel. Synnovea could only question Aleksei’s wisdom in hiring such questionable guards, for they looked more like cutthroats and renegades.