Forever in Your Embrace (73 page)

“Shoot the horse, dammit! Shoot the horse! If our captives escape, we’ll likely lose our heads!” Ladislaus barked, nearly jumping up and down with impatience as Petrov leveled his flintlock and held it steady on his target. Slowly the giant squeezed the trigger, hating to see such a fine animal put down, but cherishing his own head a lot more. The discharge was followed by a mere pause of a heartbeat. Then the horse collapsed in a cartwheeling roll that sent its riders flying helter-skelter.

Tyrone swore as he rolled and tumbled to a halt in a large patch of snow. Gnashing his teeth in fierce determination, he leapt to his feet and raced back to where his wife lay motionless upon the ground. She stared at the sky above her as if utterly frozen, but he had no time to shake her from her stupor. Swooping up her limp form within his arms, he started running desperately toward the hill, from the top of which his men waved frantically and shouted encouragements as they tossed down ropes.

Thundering hoofbeats of at least a dozen horses quickly overtook Tyrone, forestalling his flight to safety as the highwaymen passed him and then drew their steeds to a skidding halt in front of him. Briefly facing the leering men as they brandished their swords in the air, he retreated cautiously, sweeping his eyes about in search of another path to safety. In turn, the men nudged their mounts toward him, grinning like fools lusting for revenge. Tyrone gnashed his teeth in unrelenting fortitude and chose to test them, first dashing to the left and then skidding to a halt on the right, running backward, then forward, all the while dodging, twisting, circling around. Everywhere he turned, the rogues closed ranks, forbidding his penetration of the living wall they had erected. Finally he was brought up short as they tightened the snare around him until it was made secure. He had no choice but to accept his entrapment and perhaps his imminent death, for they allowed him no place to run.

Slowly Tyrone collapsed to his knees and, gasping air into his lungs, bent over his wife, intending to bestow a kiss of farewell upon her parted lips. Then he realized her eyes were closed with a stillness that made his heart lurch in fear. While he rasped in air, he could detect no slightest sign of life, not even a flutter of breath from her lips. He felt an impending shout of remorse building within him, and he let her sag in his arms as he tilted his head far back upon his shoulders and shrieked at the top of his lungs toward the hill.

“Grigori! Avenge us!”

21

The hill above Tyrone seemed to explode as another volley was launched from the cannons, this time in an entirely different direction. The men who had prodded their steeds close around him now scattered like a flock of frightened, squawking geese as the leaden balls began to pelt the opposite end of the valley. Only one of their number kept his wits and demanded aid from another two who were ready to fly with the rest. Commanding their unswerving attention, the brigand held them fast at sword point.

“Ladislaus wants these here two back!” the thief shouted as the cannons ceased firing. “Now get down here, yu yellow-livered rats, an’ bind them to yur horses—or, by heavens, I’ll run yu both through from gullet to groin!”

The threat failed to hold the two, for in the next instant they glanced around toward the crest of the hill and saw countless soldiers swarming over it and swinging outward on ropes as they thrust themselves away from the precipice and began to descend the hillside with great, bounding leaps. Faced by this new threat, the three thieves were swiftly unified in the strengthening premise that retreat was far better than certain death. Lifting their heels high, they brought them down hard into the flanks of their mounts, catapulting the animals forward in an all-out, breakneck race toward the entrance of the canyon, where an open space still remained in the pass. As they neared the opening, the three hauled their nags to a jolting halt and, almost as abruptly, whirled them in an about-face to send them flying in the opposite direction as Grigori raced into their lair with a company of mounted Hussars riding closely behind him with gleaming swords waving high.

Tyrone gathered his wife’s limp form up close within his arms and held her for a long, despairing moment, feeling such terrible remorse that he wanted to die. A building sob was wrenched from him as he buried his face against the side of her throat and began to weep. Then, like the delicate flick of a butterfly’s wings, he felt it…the unmistakable beat of a pulse. He jerked upright and stared in jubilation as the long, dark lashes fluttered against her grimy cheeks.

Slowly Synnovea roused to awareness with a muffled groan and then stared up at him, seeming momentarily confused. When she made a valiant attempt to smile, Tyrone choked on a grateful sob.

“Synnovea, my dearest heart! I thought you were dead!”

“Wasn’t I?” She grimaced as she struggled bravely to move her aching body. Then she quipped dryly, “If this is what happens when you take a lady out for a ride, Sir Knight, may I never be foolish enough to accept your invitation again.”

“Are you all right?” Tyrone questioned with anxious concern.

“Nooo!” she moaned. “At least I don’t feel all right! The way I hurt, I’m wont to think that I’ve died and gone to hell, cruel place though it be, for this is definitely not heaven! Indeed, sir! I’ve never suffered so much abuse in all my life! I fear every bone in my body has been broken—or, at the very least, bruised!”

“This is no hellish prank, madam!” Tyrone assured her with an amused grin. “You’re alive! And I most fervently t
hank
heaven because you are!”

“Can we go home now?” Synnovea queried hopefully. “I’d very much like to crawl into our bed and rest my wearied frame for a week or two in your arms.”

“I’ll take you there, my love, just as soon as my men finish rounding up the thieves.” Tyrone glanced around him and was assured that the tide of conflict had been quickly turned to their benefit. Many of the rogues had been caught by surprise and were unarmed, while others, perceiving their impending capture, had given up without a fight. It would all be over in a matter of moments.

Lifting his wife with him, Tyrone rose to his feet again and smiled down into the green-brown eyes as his own glistened with warm tears. “My dearest Synnovea, you are the most delightful joy of my life,” he softly avowed. “And I love you more than simple words can attest.”

“I love you, Sir Knight, more than I ever thought possible!” Synnovea replied, her voice choked with emotion. Wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, she pressed her brow against his cheek as she murmured in gentle reflection, “I think, Colonel Sir Tyrone Rycroft, that I have loved you since that first moment I saw you, when you came charging through the thieves in your quest to save me. To me, my lord husband, you looked as resplendent as a gallant knight in shining armor.”

Content to be safe within his arms, Synnovea snuggled her head upon his shoulder as he carried her back to Ladislaus’s house, around which the soldiers were now herding the thieves. Ladislaus and Petrov were sitting on the steps, under the watchful eye of a single lieutenant who had bound his prisoners to a post with a heavy length of chain. Alyona was kneeling beside Ladislaus, dabbing at the trickle of blood still in evidence beneath his nose. His eyes were only for her, as if in the last few moments he had realized that there wasn’t much time left for them.

Suddenly Alyona gasped and rose to her feet as she stared toward the narrow entrance where a single mounted rider was leisurely reining his steed through the rock and rubble that had fallen there. As he came near and dismounted in front of the house, Alyona hastened down the steps and threw her arms wide with a cry of gladness before hurling herself into the welcoming embrace of her brother.

“Avar! Avar! Oh, how I’ve missed yu, dear brother!”

The scout drew back with a querying perusal and laid a gentle hand upon her belly as he softly questioned, “Do yu vant me to avenge yu, Alyona?”

“Nyet! Nyet!” She shook her head passionately in a fierce denial and hurried to state her mind. “Avar, if I could, I vould have Ladislaus as my husband, but they say he must go to Moscow now, maybe to be hanged.”

“From all accounts ve’ve been hearing, it iz the justice Ladislaus rightly deserves, Alyona. I cannot stop it.”

“Maybe there iz no help for him, Avar, but I still yearn to take him as husband an’ give our child a name.”

Avar pressed his lips briefly to her brow. “I’m sorry, Alyona.”

With an imperceptible nod, the young woman stepped away and, mounting the stairs again, went inside the house. The door closed slowly behind her, and in the silence that followed, they could hear her mournful weeping.

Avar approached his commander, who was applying a cold compress to Synnovea’s bruised brow. “Colonel, I’ve just now seen a curious thing, an’ I’d like permission to ride out vith a pair of men to see vhat might be happenin’.”

Tyrone peered at him askance as he continued his tender ministering. “What do you think it is?”

Avar glanced around and took a casual count of their soldiers. Then he stroked his chin thoughtfully as he lifted his gaze to meet the curious blue eyes. “I think, Colonel, it may be a full regiment of soldiers passin’ near here. Though each vears the garb of a peasant, they ride in line like an organized troop. Only the leader is vearing a cloak that looks familiar. Another is garbed richly in the clothes of a boyar.” Avar lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “If I vere to venture a guess, Colonel, I’d say they’re Polish soldiers on the move.”

“This far inland?” Tyrone stepped back from his wife and stared at the scout in amazement. “Where do you think they’re headed?”

“They now ride fast after hearin’ cannon, Colonel. Toward Moscow, maybe, or in that same general direction.”

“We must stop them!”

“We should, Colonel, but how? They outnumber us two, maybe three to one. Besides that, they have two batteries o’ cannons.”

Tyrone beckoned a young corporal forward and pointed toward the horse that Ladislaus had ridden in on, the same which the thief had once stolen from him. “Strip that stallion, Corporal, and put my saddle on his back. And be quick about it! I’ve got to ride out with Avar and have a look around.”

Stepping back to Synnovea, he lifted her carefully and carried her into the house, drawing a teary-eyed gaze from Alyona, who had curled up on a corner of the bed to cry. In some embarrassment, the small woman rose to her feet and, sweeping her hand toward the place she had just vacated, encouraged him to lay Synnovea there.

“I vill take care of yur wife, Colonel. No need to fear.”

Tyrone lowered Synnovea upon the mound of wolf pelts covering the bed and leaned down to brush a snarled tress from her brow. “I have to ride out with Avar, my sweet. I may be gone for a while. If you’re able to rest, do so. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

Synnovea and Alyona watched in silence as he crossed to the door. At the portal, he cast a backward glance at his wife before making his departure. In a few moments the women heard the rattle of hooves as the two men rode out together.

“I’m too filthy to rest,” Synnovea complained, wincing as she braced herself up on an elbow. “I’d like to wash, if I may.”

Alyona indicated a large kettle of simmering water hanging from a hook in the hearth. “I was goin’ to vash clothes today, but if yu’d like, I’ll fill a tub for a bath. Maybe yu’ll feel better after a good, varm soak.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sweeter proposal in all my life.” Synnovea slowly pushed herself to her feet, grimacing sharply as she did so. All she could remember from the fall was hitting the ground and feeling as if every bone in her body had been broken or at least jolted unmercifully by the impact. Beyond that moment, it seemed as if she had stared at the world through a stunned stupor, her breath frozen in her lungs. Moments after Tyrone had lifted her, she had lost consciousness and known nothing more until she had heard his muffled weeping.