Forever in Your Embrace (5 page)

“Come, now, Captain, you cannot expect to keep the countess for yourself. You’re only a servant of the tsar,” Ladislaus chided, jostling Synnovea as he repositioned her on his shoulder. At her frantic struggles, he whacked her across the buttocks with a broad hand, eliciting an enraged shriek.

“Let me go, you braying ass!” Reaching around, she clawed at his neck, only to have her hand swatted away like a pesky gnat. His stinging blow nettled her, and she railed in a temper. “
You
…
You filthy, baseborn beast!
”

Unconcerned with her epithets, Ladislaus returned to his stallion and, from there, barked a series of orders. When his men gaped back at him, he snapped, “Why do you gawk at me like dumbstruck fools? Must I repeat myself? Take whatever you can lay a hand to. Then ride back to camp and await me there. The men I sent to
Moscow
will be returning soon with our new compatriots, who’ll be famished for want of food after being shackled on the city streets. They’ll want to feast and rejoice in their newfound freedom, so make them welcome. I’ll return to the camp after I’ve sported with this wench a while, but don’t expect me too soon. If she proves worthy, the tsar may have to find himself another doxy.”

A surge of hope blossomed within Synnovea’s breast as she was lowered to the back of the black stallion. The reins had been left dangling across the steed’s neck, and a short, many-tongued lash hung from the saddle horn, very near at hand. Without pause, she seized the bridle in one hand, the whip in the other, and swept the latter across her captor’s face and arms, slashing at him again and again until she drew a curse from Ladislaus who reached up to snatch the lash from her grasp. Eluding his long fingers, she leaned back, bracing a slippered foot against the brigand’s hardened chest, and shoved with all of her might.

Ladislaus stumbled backward in keen surprise at the forcefulness of the lady’s thrusting kick. He was a man well-seasoned in contests of brawn, but he had marked this winsome maid too delicate to make such a determined onslaught. Even so, she was no serious match for a man.

Another backward swipe of Ladislaus’s hand knocked the whip aside, leaving the slender arm bruised and momentarily useless as it dropped limply into Synnovea’s lap. Clenching her jaw against the pain that throbbed through it, she jerked the reins with her other hand. Alas, the long fingers were there in an instant, snatching the lines from her. A frustrated cry threaded through her gnashing teeth as she kicked at him again and again, knowing all the while she didn’t have the stamina to oppose him beyond the length of a few moments, yet in spite of the odds against her, she was desperately, stubbornly committed to the struggle.

In the next breadth of a heartbeat, Synnovea became aware of just how frail her efforts were against such a man. Ladislaus thrust a broad hand beneath her skirts and squeezed her knee, drawing a shocked gasp from her. When she shoved at his chest, his grip tightened until she could feel his fingers digging cruelly into her flesh. The pressure swiftly intensified to an excruciating degree brutally intended to force her to yield, and yield she finally did.

Having won the skirmish, if not the war of wills, Ladislaus loosened his grip and stroked his hand admiringly over her naked thigh. Synnovea’s shocked reaction was hardly subdued. Her eyes flashed with fiery indignation, and with a low, rising shriek of rage, she hauled back an arm and delivered a blow to his cheek with enough force to make his ears ring. It certainly left her arm stinging.

“Take your filthy hands off me, you vulgar viper!” she snarled. “The tsar will have your head for this!”

Ladislaus glared up at her as he withdrew his hand from her skirts and wiped the backs of his knuckles across a reddened cheek. “Before that day arrives, Countess,” he rumbled, “your precious tsar will have to find more capable men to catch me. And though rumors are in the wind that he has hired foreign cavaliers to instruct his Russian soldiers in the art of war, they shan’t defeat me. There is none in his army whom I haven’t already bested. Look you yonder if you doubt my words.” Sweeping his arm about, he indicated her escort of soldiers, who were being crowded together at gunpoint. Bestowing his attention upon her once more, Ladislaus clasped her wrists, holding her fast as his eyes bore into hers. “If you’re foolish enough to hope that some brave champion will save you, Countess, then consider now your wayward reasoning.” He thrust out his chin to indicate Captain Nekrasov, who had been trussed up tightly. He then swept a hand toward Ivan Voronsky, whose outrage had reached its zenith now that he was being forced to shed his clothes. “You see? No one will come to your rescue. It is useless for you to struggle.”

Synnovea curled her fingers, trying to claw the brigand’s face again, but she could do little more than vow through gnashing teeth, “You’ll pay for this offense, Ladislaus. You’ll be caught, tried, and hanged. And I’ll be there to see it! I promise you that!”

He laughed at her pitiful threats. “On the contrary, Countess, you’ll be the one taken and used. You’ll be my prisoner as long as I choose to keep you….”

His words were suddenly lost in a deafening roar of exploding pistols as a sudden din filled the forest glade. Ladislaus jerked around with a surprise start just as three of his men crumpled to the ground. Momentarily aghast, he watched a fourth fall forward in the saddle and slowly tumble to the ground, where he lay in grotesque oblivion with eyes staring sightless toward an ever-darkening sky.

In the next instant the narrow pass echoed with another loud volley that fused with the thunder of clattering hooves as a large detachment of mounted soldiers raced into view. Leading the charge was a dust-covered, helmeted officer who brandished a sword high above his head while his stallion surged far ahead of his troop, deep into the midst of the startled highwaymen. In roweling fear the miscreants scattered, stumbling over each other in their haste to flee from this avenging demon.

It was a full moment before the realization dawned on them that this particular officer dared far more than those who followed him. At Petrov’s rallying shout, the thieves turned and, with savage eagerness, swarmed around the foolish mortal, intending to drag him from his saddle and deal him a death blow. Alas, they were fools to think that they could kill him so easily. Like a ruthless warrior, the man filled the air with screams of dying men as he swept his blade about in a vicious, venging quest. One after another fell beneath the deadly stroke of his sword until fear again pierced the hearts of the bandits, prompting many to flee.

If Ladislaus had recently boasted that none could defeat him, then it soon became evident that this officer would be equally difficult to overcome. He seemed impervious to the paltry attempts of his attackers as he struck left and right. It was not until a huge, barrel-chested Goliath, standing at the outer limits of the fray, took up a lance and threw it toward the valiant intruder that the hearts of his foes were encouraged. The spear caught the cavalier’s helmet and sent it flying, leaving the man reeling unsteadily in the saddle. Hearty cheers arose from his enemies. Much heartened, they began to scramble toward him again.

The rush of elation that Synnovea had briefly experienced when she first espied the officer was rapidly transformed into a deepening anxiety as she saw her would-be deliverer brace an arm across his stallion’s withers and shake his head in what seemed a feeble effort to clear his muddled senses. His life hung in precarious balance as the rabble surged back toward him, and though Synnovea prayed fervently that he would recover his wits before they hacked him asunder, that dire fate seemed imminent.

Their zeal renewed, the thieves scrambled forward to finish their prey, confident now that he would soon feel the full thrust of their revenge. Perhaps none anticipated that event more than Ladislaus, who watched from the outer limits of the conflict where he held Synnovea captive. A full dozen of his men gave vent to deafening bellows of triumph, already celebrating their victory as they launched their attack, but just as before, their expectations were soon daunted. Though stunned, the officer reacted with well-versed skill, fully aware of the danger he was in. Spinning his horse about in a tight circle to keep his foes at bay, he swung the heavy sword outward in a broad sweep, nearly beheading those who dared the most. When he finally fought clear of his daze, the reddened blade flashed again with more clever aim, flailing its victims and leaving them moaning or reeling lifeless to the ground.

Synnovea saw the officer’s searching gaze reach beyond the melee surrounding him and ferret her out. In that moment he seemed much more than a man to her, though his hair was matted close to his head with sweat and his dirt-smudged face was hardly more than an indistinct blur in the rapidly deepening twilight. His breast of armor was tarnished, dented, and now liberally smeared with blood. Still, if she had ever formed a vision of a knight in resplendent trappings, he was all of that and more to her in that brief moment of time.

Seeing his enemy capable of giving chase, Ladislaus shouted a command for his cohorts to depart and swung up behind his captive, slamming his hard body against her back. He cared not a speck for the bruises she suffered. He was far more concerned with making good his own escape. Jerking the reins, he wheeled the steed about and kicked the gleaming flanks, sending the animal racing away in full retreat.

Synnovea soon found some comfort in the fact that the arm that was clasped about her was strong and fully capable of holding her secure. Otherwise she might have found herself dashed upon the ground, for the stallion fairly flew along the trail. He was of mixed Frisian breeding: strong, long of limb, and swift of pace. He could easily outdistance the short-legged breeds common to
Russia
. Yet when Ladislaus yanked the animal about to survey the path behind him, Synnovea saw to her relief that the officer had given chase and was actually gaining on them. The warrior-thief was equally surprised, for his breath caught in a sharp gasp of astonishment.

Reining his mount abruptly about again, Ladislaus cursed savagely and kicked the animal into a frightening race through the trees. The solid trunks were merely swiftly passing shadows in the darkening copse, and though Synnovea held her breath in paralyzed apprehension of that moment when disaster would halt them with a crushing collision, in a corner of her mind she found herself amazed by the agility of the steed. Without a doubt, the stallion was swift and nimble-footed, the man who rode him of equal merit. Still, the pair who gave chase followed like baying hounds led eagerly onward by the scent of their prey.

Synnovea winced as the lower branches snatched at them with ferocious greed, cruelly tearing at her bound tresses and opening long rents in her sleeves. She lifted a hand to shield her face from the spiny claws that slashed at her, but reddened weals were raised repeatedly across her arms. She prayed desperately that the punishing ride would soon come to a swift and safe conclusion, yet when she glimpsed an opening up ahead, her fear intensified into a sudden concern that they would actually escape. In rising panic she glanced over her shoulder, but her captor’s bulk prevented any glimpse of the trail behind them. Nor could she hear anything beyond the fury of their own passing. The stallion’s thudding hooves, the whipping branches, and the harsh breathing of the man who held her seemed to coalesce into a numbing roar in her ears.

Finally they broke into the clearing, and Ladislaus once again turned his mount to apprise himself of the whereabouts of the officer. Heretofore no steed had equaled the speed of his own beast. After the wild plunge through the trackless forest, Ladislaus fully expected to find himself far ahead of the other. It was indeed a shock to see just how little distance actually remained between himself and the one who gave chase.

It was no more than the pause of a breath before the ominous shape of the dark chestnut stallion and its rider charged out of the trees nearly on top of them. Synnovea smothered a startled scream, certain the forceful advance would kill them all. She glimpsed piercing steel-blue eyes beneath sharply scowling brows and, with a sickening dread, awaited the collision, feeling much akin to a helpless sparrow about to be broken by the swift assault of this fierce, hunting hawk.

Ladislaus jerked his arm free and fumbled for his knife, but in the next instant the one who pursued launched himself from his steed. He slammed into Ladislaus and, by some strange miracle, left Synnovea still mounted as he swept the thief out of the saddle. She heard an audible thud as the two men hit the ground. She glanced down over the horse’s flank and caught the flash of Ladislaus’s dagger as it was lifted high. Another hand shot upward to clasp the sturdy wrist and gradually forced the blade backward, away from its mark. A second later, the rustling of dry leaves and the thud of hard-clenched fists meeting solid flesh attested to the fierce struggle of the two men.

While they grappled beneath him, the now-skittish stallion pranced nervously and stirred up small clouds of dust. Faced with the imminent threat of the animal panicking and racing away with her, Synnovea tried to subdue not only her own deepening dread but the steed as well. Slowly she stroked the black’s neck and spoke to him in soft, cajoling tones, all the while cautiously searching for the dangling reins.

Of a sudden, Ladislaus’s head was launched backward from the force of a well-delivered blow. It thumped into the underbelly of the steed, and in the next instant Synnovea found herself fighting to keep her seat as the horse, shrieking in fright, reared on his hind legs and pawed at the air with his forelegs. Twisting her hands in the flying mane, she clung to it in desperation, fully aware of the danger of being swept off the black’s back as the two men fought beneath her with a knife.