Sweet Love, Survive (32 page)

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You’re not just saying that to be nice?”

“Would I lie to you?”

Her green eyes met his from under half-lowered lids.

His teeth flashed in a grin. “Let me rephrase that.”

Several kisses later he continued. “And, I might add, my lushly pregnant darling, I look forward with delight to the birth of …” He swallowed hard and smiled. “My child. Now, tell me you love me.” Apollo lowered his head, his mouth tasting Kitty’s again.

“Ummmm, I love you,” Kitty purred happily against his lips.

“You’d better,” he murmured, “because I’ll never let you go.”

And with those words all of Tamara’s malicious goading dissipated into nothingness.

    That afternoon when Kitty went as usual to survey the progress of the experimental grainfields with Edyk, Apollo begged off. In fifteen minutes he tracked down Tamara. She was in the garden behind a small white-washed villa with two of her friends, ostensibly weaving on looms set up under the walnut trees but doing more gossiping than weaving.

Apollo tramped into the high-walled garden enclosure like a bull on the rampage and with a curt, imperious gesture dismissed the two girls from their own garden. He pointed one long finger in Tamara’s direction. “You, stay.” His breathing was rapid, the restless motion of his
nagaika
stirred the air near his boot tops, his blazing yellow eyes followed the backs of the young girls leaving.

“Now, what the
devil
,” he said, his eyes turning from the empty gateway to bayonet Tamara where she stood beside the painted loom, “do you mean by talking to Kitty about my old lovers?” Apollo’s voice was thick with fury for half a dozen words and then he had it controlled. “You,” he continued with a wintry smile, “have no business bringing up such topics with Kitty—or with anyone else, for that matter.”

“She’s not one of us,” Tamara, a pampered chieftain’s granddaughter, shot back with her own brand of arrogance. Her dark eyes were cold with unleashed storms.

For a moment he was still. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“She’s an outsider, with no mountain blood in her veins.” Pride sounded chill in her voice.

Apollo’s gaze, direct and deliberate, held hers for a long moment. “Lord, Tamara, don’t be so insular.”

“She’s married to someone else!”

That remark hit a sore point. “Not for long,” Apollo
replied, and his mind jogged back momentarily into the old familiar grooves etched into his brain by constant contemplation of that wretched problem.

Her breath beating in her throat, Tamara took advantage of Apollo’s lapse into musing to move forward and touch him lightly. “Take me, Apollo. Let me love you. Send the blond woman away. …” Her hands slowly drifted up his well-muscled chest, then, clearly experienced, began to twine around his neck.

He smoothly stepped back from the clinging fingers. “No, Tamara,” he said gently.

Her anger flared at the rebuff. The same hands which only moments before had been seductively stroking now curled into tight, hard fists. “You won’t have me,” she choked out furiously, “but you’ll keep a slut who slept with every Red soldier in Stavropol!”

Apollo’s mind recoiled at the gallery of grotesque images that instantly ignited his imagination, but when he spoke his voice was steady. “Shut up, Tamara. You’ve said enough. I only came here today,” he went on, carefully explanatory, “to warn you: Stay away from Countess Radachek. I won’t have her upset.”

“
You
won’t have her upset!” Tamara screamed. “You lovesick calf.” She laughed contemptuously. “You know what everyone’s saying, don’t you? The child isn’t even yours!”

Apollo struck her with the hardened flat of his hand, the first blow he had ever directed at a woman. “If I ever hear you’ve repeated that,” Apollo said, looking down at her, his eyes grim as death, his grip on the
nagaika
turning his knuckles pale, “I’ll personally see you’re eternally sorry. I mean it, Tamara,” he whispered through lips bared in a feral grimace. “Don’t think I won’t.” His gaze, even and cold, continued to hold hers until, in the end, Tamara’s eyes shifted.

Turning, he stalked from the quiet walled garden.

Kitty went into labor unexpectedly, weeks earlier than she had anticipated.

They had ridden to Apollo’s private mountain lake for the day. It was miles up the side of Koshtan Tau, but they had traveled slowly, cautiously, making frequent rest stops, Kitty perched on an old-fashioned pillion, well cushioned and comfortable. Maybe the ride had been too strenuous; maybe the high mountain altitude had affected her in some way; maybe fate was taking a hand and seeing to it that the baby was born in the place Apollo loved most in the world.

The clear blue mountain lake was bordered by sweet-smelling meadow grass and silver firs; the valley surrounding it was fringed with spiky pine. A rustic pavilion, scarcely more than a roof to keep out the rain, nestled in the silver firs near the lake shore.

Kitty didn’t mention the pains at first, really no more than a murmuring ache. She had had some intermittent contractions earlier that morning but they had subsided, and those types of erratic cramps had occurred occasionally in the last few days with no lasting results. It was too early in any event; the baby wasn’t due for some time. Kitty was familiar with the rudiments of the birthing process, having managed a large estate for years, but in fact her isolation from any close female friends had denied her the particulars of a woman’s travail.

At midafternoon, just prior to their departure, Kitty rose from the fragrant bed of clover and meadow grass where she and Apollo had been lying, enjoying the heat of the sun, and suddenly a warm gush of fluid ran down her legs. Her first
reaction was panic. They were miles from the mountain aul and she didn’t know what was happening, or if vaguely she did know, she didn’t want it to happen now, here.

Nearby Apollo was gathering their picnic things. His initial reaction to Kitty’s horrified gasp was panic as well, but he instantly concealed his response when he saw the fright in Kitty’s eyes. With a start he saw she was soaked, faint tinges of blood coloring the thin white silk of her loose trousers.

“Apollo …” Kitty faltered in a weak voice, suddenly afraid. “It’s too early! What are we going to do? It’s two hours back down the mountain and—”

Horrified, Apollo watched her double over, her arms curled around her stomach, pain etched like brush marks across her face. He tossed aside the picnic gear and rushed to her side. Swinging her into his arms, he strode rapidly to the pavilion, placing her gently on the Dargo-loomed rug near the coarse stone fireplace. Before he could straighten from his kneeling position, another convulsive pain wrenched across Kitty’s abdomen and her arms tightened around his neck, a whimper breaking from her clenched lips.

“Try and relax,
dushka
,” he whispered into her soft hair, her fingers digging into his shoulders. His large hands stroked her back, trying to soothe and comfort while his mind was numbed with a fear he had never known in four years of battle.

“It
hurts
. Oh, Apollo, it
hurts
,” Kitty moaned quietly into his chest, everything in the world obliterated by the piercing shock of pain. Then slowly the spasm subsided; her grip on Apollo’s shoulders eased and loosened.

Drawing away, he seated himself beside her, his own breath still tight in his lungs. Taking her small hands in his warm grip, he squeezed them softly. “Once the water breaks, things progress pretty rapidly, I think.” He was trying to sound calm and objective even while his mind was trying to find a way out.

Kitty’s brow knit worriedly. “I don’t know what to do, Apollo. I mean it, I don’t know! Daria knows everything; I was counting on her.” She took a deep breath. “There’s no choice, though,” she said faintly. “You’ll have to deliver the
baby.” Her fearful eyes searched his face anxiously, looking for the support she desperately needed.

Apollo, who thought nothing of riding hundreds of miles deep within enemy territory, who casually handled dynamite and nitroglycerine as if they were toys and playthings, knelt saying nothing, his gaze on Kitty, his temples moist as if he stood in the heat of the midday sun. He looked as horrified as he felt. I can’t, he thought, ashen to the roots of his sun-bleached hair. I can’t! Then another lacerating shock tore through Kitty.

“Apollo!” she wailed in urgent appeal, her stricken eyes lifted to him.

Apollo, who had never seen Kitty so frightened, was shattered. Drawing her into his arms, he cradled her against his shoulder, a cold sweat tracking down his neck and spine under his black silk tunic. Inhaling like a drowning man to steady his nerves and violently beating heart, he said with difficulty, “You can do it, Kitty. I’ll help. I’ve seen babies born in the refugee trains the last few years.” He smiled at her encouragingly, her head resting against his arm now that the contraction had passed. His voice was calm, soothing, responsible, while inside he shook with trepidation. What if something should go wrong? Any number of problems could arise. It was impossible to leave Kitty and go for aid. Lord God, he silently prayed, help us.

Although Kitty had been practicing some of the village midwife’s relaxation techniques over the last few weeks, no one, she thought a trifle resentfully, had ever said it would hurt this much. With the clawing pain receding to a dull ache, her breathing became more normal. Looking up at Apollo, she attempted a small smile. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid you have two babies on your hands, me and the one about to enter the world. I’m not very good about pain. Daria never described it like this.”

Not knowing if he felt like smiling or crying, Apollo said, “I don’t suppose she’d dare. Who the hell would ever have a child if they knew?”

“I’ll warn you now,” Kitty said sheepishly. “I think I’m going to be screaming.”

Apollo, his strong fingers brushing a damp curl off her cheek, replied gently, “You just scream all you want.” His light touch smoothed the hair over her shoulders. “I wish,” he continued quietly, “I could take the pain for you. You’re too delicate … too small. Oh, damn!” His golden eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I don’t want you to suffer.”

“Just hold me,” Kitty whispered, “and I’ll be all right—” Already another contraction was creeping up, spreading agony slowly, corrosively. She breathed softly, trying to remember Daria’s admonitions on relaxing. The tentacles of pain were tightening their grip. She cried out softly; her fingernails went through Apollo’s silk beshmet, leaving half-moons in his skin.

Lifting her higher in his arms, he held her gently, afraid he might add to her pain, tensing his muscles to enfold her with infinite tenderness.

The afternoon died aflame in a crimson-washed sunset, but Kitty was unaware of nature’s glorious adieu to the day. She was wrapped in a cocoon of nearly constant hurt. The breathing helped, but it didn’t do more than soften the worst cutting edges of the insidious agony pulling, stretching, digging into her tender body.

When the sun went down Apollo eased away briefly to build a fire in the fireplace, then returned to cradle Kitty, soothing, crooning, kissing away her tears. Day turned into evening, evening into night, the moon dropped low in the western sky and nothing had changed. He was beginning to worry. Cautioning himself to avoid imprudent alarm, he reminded himself that a first confinement was almost always lengthy. But, he thought with inner alarm, Kitty’s contractions had been so constant and intense for the last several hours he wondered how much her fragile body could take. Even though he had witnessed several births, he had no way of recognizing the signs of complications, no way of knowing how much stress Kitty’s delicate body could absorb before rebelling in some dangerous way.

He reminded himself that he had seen children born under much worse conditions. The woman they found on the train platform at Orel last November had barely been alive, but they had carried her into their railway car and later that night in Apollo’s bed she had given birth. A fragment of hope kindled in Apollo’s fearful mind, for even under those terrible circumstances both mother and child had lived. God willing, Kitty’s labor would end as successfully.

By the middle of the night, all Kitty knew was pain and fear. There was no relief from either, and between contractions she faced the thought of dying. The torturous cramps peaked one after another, but the baby didn’t seem to move. If something was wrong, neither of them knew what to do. Tears of sadness mingled with the tears of pain in her eyes at the thought of leaving Apollo. Try to breathe rhythmically, she told herself through the rising curtain of clawing anguish trying to suffocate her.

In his own enormous terror, Apollo made a decision. He’d wait two more hours, and if Kitty’s labor hadn’t progressed, he’d start down the mountain with her. He couldn’t just sit here and watch her die.

It was then that he started talking, partly in an attempt to distract Kitty, partly to drag his mind from his numbing fear. While he stroked and comforted Kitty with steady, gentle hands, he talked about their summer together; about the days fishing and the afternoons in the orchard under the pear trees; about Pushka and Karaim; about the new sun terrace they had built; about the way Leda had taken to Kitty. And when he ran out of current subjects he talked about his childhood, about school lessons and riding games and visits to Paris, about nurses and tutors and relatives.

He was unused to sustained talking and it took effort to dredge up subjects and topics and events, but he persevered, talking himself hoarse because it seemed to soothe Kitty, seemed to ease the furrows of pain on her sweat-drenched brow.

Once when miraculously she appeared to be dozing lightly, he dashed the few yards to the lake and brought back some
of the cool mountain water. In the course of the long, slow hours of the night, between her contractions, he attempted to make Kitty more comfortable. Moving her closer to the fire, he carefully stripped the damp clothes from her, washed her gently, and slipped one of his silk shirts over her shoulders. He brought two more rugs from a storage chest, placing them as close to the fire as the heat would allow. Spreading a cashmere shawl on top of the rugs, he lifted Kitty onto the cushioned bed, adjusting her comfortably in his arms.