Synnovea clamped her jaw tightly in an effort to subdue her rising panic. Though a virgin still, she could imagine the degradation that would be forthcoming, and her mind raced in a frenzied search for escape or at least some reasonable argument that would convince the thieves to leave her and her companions unscathed.
Ali McCabe was no idealistic fool to hold out any hope that these lawless brutes would honor the gallant creed of highborn gentlemen, and certainly not when they held such a winsome captive within their grasp. The servant scrambled down from the coach and snatched up a stout stick from the ground as she hastened forward. Thrusting herself between her charge and those who sought to test the pliant curves, she raised her weapon threateningly. Though it might well mean her own death, she was totally dedicated to the defense of her mistress. “I’ll warn the lot o’ ye vile vermin!” she railed in frail, strident tones. “The next beastie ta lay a filthy hand on the Countess Synnovea will deal wit’ me. An’ I swear ta do ye ill afore I die!”
Uproarious laughter came from the slavering beasts. They readily dismissed her threats as feeble and stretched forth grubby hands to capture the prize, but Ali proved as cantankerous as an old Tatar warrior. Setting her bony jaw with unquenchable tenacity, she swung the cudgel with swift and wicked intent, cracking a fair share of knuckles and noggins. Teeth were bared in irate snarls as tempers flared beneath the vicious swat of her club. Intent now upon showing her just how easily they could trample her underfoot, the rabble began to close in around the old woman.
Captain Nekrasov surmised that he had been virtually forgotten as he observed the events from beyond the confines of the fray. Rising to the occasion, he leaned forward in his saddle and clobbered a nearby raider with a driving fist. Even as the thief tumbled to the ground, the deafening roar of an exploding pistol cracked through the air, heralding a shot that tore with splintering pain through the captain’s arm and wrenched a cry of anguish from grimacing lips. He clapped a hand to his reddening sleeve and then, in sudden wariness, glanced around, detecting the metallic clicking of several weapons close around him. At least a half-dozen flintlocks were now aimed at him, and by the fixed snarls on the faces of the brigands who held them, they were more than willing to dispense with him.
A dastardly scamp squinted up at him. “Ye’ll die, Kapitan! Ye move one eyeball, an’ ’twill be yer death.” He snapped grimy fingers to demonstrate just how quickly they could deal with him. “Just like that!”
The captain lifted his gaze as several bandits began shuffling back to open a path for another giant, this one flaxen-haired, clean-shaven, and riding on a horse. The thieves’ dispatch in giving ground to this newcomer clearly attested to their obeisance. Scars marked the newcomer’s face, giving rise to the supposition that he had fought many battles in the past. His very presence proved his success, perhaps to the extent that he had dispatched many to their death.
The man leisurely reined his black stallion to a place where he could easily assess the proceedings and settled a confident grin upon Nikolai as he shoved a still-smoking flintlock into his sash. “Your efforts to defend the ladies against such odds gives me cause to wonder if you’re daft, Captain. I’d advise you to be more careful of your life in the future. Next time I shall have to kill you.”
The thieves eyed their commander in a cautious gauging of his mood, but they found nothing unduly disquieting in the contemplative smile he swept over them. Accepting his silence as mute consent, they chortled once again in boisterous merriment and eagerly returned their attention to the countess, roughly buffeting the Irish maid about as she sought to safeguard her mistress.
Outraged gasps were wrenched from Synnovea as she twisted this way and that in a desperate attempt to escape the hands that reached out to seize her. The bandits’ eyes gleamed in avid lust, instilling within her an undermining horror of what she would soon suffer. Though she strained away from this one and that, the rending of cloth affirmed their eagerness to unmask whatever delights remained hidden from view. Her hat was knocked askew, and a sleeve was ripped from her shoulder. The stiffly pleated ruff adorning her throat was no more safe from their greedy divestment than the heavy silk ruching that trimmed the stomacher of her gown. A scream was finally torn from Synnovea as they pulled open her bodice in ravenous greed, revealing the creamy fullness swelling above a lacy chemise. One glimpse of her womanly curves seemed to incite them more, and in frenetic haste they reached out to rip away whatever else they could grasp.
“Rutting louts!” the pale-haired chieftain bellowed without warning, startling the lechers who immediately stumbled back from their prey. Passions cooled in rapid degrees beneath the icy gaze that swept them. “Would you maul the wench to death before we leave this place?” he barked. “Is that how you would treat a rare prize? Hell and damnation! Can you not see that she’s worth a pretty coin to us alive? Now loose her and stand aside, the lot of you! Henceforth, I shall claim the wench for my own, for ’tis evident you rogues are unappreciative of what has fallen into your hands!”
Daring any to defy him, the lord-of-thieves urged his steed forward. The brigands stumbled back, readily yielding ground before him until the two women stood alone. Synnovea and Ali were hardly exempt from the awe that had been elicited. The suspicion that this ruffian was to be feared more than his followers filled their hearts with burgeoning trepidation.
The lawless chieftain braced a muscular arm across the elaborate horn of his saddle and subjected Synnovea to a careful scrutiny that ranged slowly downward over the entire length of her. Though she clasped the torn bodice over her bosom, she held herself proudly aloof, seeming far more regal and refined than any woman he had ever known. Her uncommon beauty was equally unmatched.
“Forgive my delay in coming to your rescue, Countess.” His smile conveyed a leisured confidence. “My men are wont to seek diversions wherever they find them and demand recompense when heretofore they’ve found naught but injustice.”
“Injustice, do ye say!” Ali squawked, taking exception to his statement. “As if we weren’t within our proper rights ta defend ourselves against yer murdering riffraff!”
The rogue commander chose to ignore the maid. “What you see around you, my lady, are men whose every possession was stolen by those boyars who wield their power as if directed by demons and who saw fit to reduce them to serfs. Had we been of such a mind, Countess, we might’ve added to your misery by killing your escort. Your footman and the captain were foolish to challenge us. Be grateful they’re still alive and my aim true, for I might have taken exception to their faulty attempts.” He swept a hand about to indicate the soldiers, who were being ordered to dismount. “Anyone who intends to do us ill is in peril of his life.”
Synnovea realized her chin had sagged as she endured a moment of monumental dread of this man. Though he had spoken with a well-tutored tongue, she was nevertheless riveted by the disquieting realization that here indeed was a fierce barbarian the likes of whom might have ridden with Genghis Khan and his army of Mongols, except that his sky-blue eyes and flaxen hair were products of a different breed. His square jaw was devoid of whiskers, and his hair was clipped so short that it looked more like a scruffy, close-fitting skullcap. Despite the countless tiny scars that crisscrossed his face, he was still handsome in a rugged way. That fact did little to ease her qualms, for she found his demeanor absolutely terrifying.
Synnovea managed to reclaim some fragment of her composure. “And what exactly do you and your companions intend?”
“To share a portion of your wealth….” He smiled down at her with unrestrained confidence as his eyes caressed her again. “And perhaps for a time the richness of your company.” He threw back his head and laughed uproariously, raising the hairs on the backs of his captives’ necks. When he sobered, he clapped a brawny arm across his wide chest in a crisp salute. “Permit me to introduce myself, Countess. I am Ladislaus, misbegotten son of a Polish prince and a Cossack wench, and these worthy hearties”—he
swept a hand in a wide arc to encompass his roughly garbed compatriots—“are my royal courtiers. They serve me well, do they not?”
The ruffians guffawed at their leader’s wit, but Ali snorted in derision. “A bastard barbarian, and a thief ta boot!”
Ladislaus was amused by the audacity of the gnat-sized woman and nudged his stallion forward, deliberately separating maid from mistress. “Aye, old woman! That I am,” he acknowledged, peering down at her. “My father sought to pay his due by hiring tutors to teach me a gentleman’s manners and language, but he felt no inclination to gift me with the use of his name or his title. Thus, I am what I am.”
Ali’s eyes fairly snapped as she swung her makeshift weapon toward the stallion, but in swift reaction Ladislaus kicked the piece from her hands, spinning the elder about. Struggling to keep her balance, Ali staggered back several steps, but she was fully alert a moment later and unwilling to relent when the man threw a leg over the horn of the saddle and slid to the ground. She skittered toward him and launched a fresh assault with her cudgel. His arm swept out almost gently to knock the club away, but Ali caught the muscular limb and clung to it with as much pertinacity as an outraged bee who had just been swished by the tail of a horse. Before he could shake her off, she sank her teeth into his bronzed skin. A low growl issued forth from the thick throat as Ladislaus jerked free. In the next instant, his fist shot forward, striking the small, wrinkled chin. It was no contest. Ali’s eyes rolled upward, and she slowly slithered to the ground in a senseless void.
“Yooouuu monster!” Synnovea railed, incensed by his heavy-handed treatment of her maid. Flying at him with fingers curled into claws, she raked her nails across his face, drawing blood, but with a backward swipe of his arm Ladislaus sent her stumbling away. She fared better than Ali and, though shaken, managed to retain her senses. Her fury remained undiminished, and she berated him in scathing tones. “You cowardly oaf, is this the best your brawn can display? Have you no courage to face one of your own size? Or does the dainty form serve your inflated valor better?”
Ivan Voronsky carefully kept his distance through this fray, justifying his lack of assistance by blandly dismissing the countess’s predicament as something she rightfully deserved. If she had garbed herself appropriately and given credence to his warnings, she might have escaped the rogue’s attention. He wasn’t about to draw notice to himself and court certain disaster because of her foolishness.
Synnovea tried to scurry past the thieving lordling in an effort to reach her maid, but she promptly found her way blocked. Her head snapped up in rising ire, and with lips curling in sneering distaste, she raked her gaze down his long form. Above hide breeches, a leather jerkin hung open to reveal a broad, muscular chest. His arms were bare and bulging with rippling sinews, evidencing a strength that could easily immobilize her. In all, he was a fine specimen of mighty brawn, but at the moment, she saw the epitome of a cruel beast.
Ladislaus stared into the most enraged green-brown eyes he had ever chanced to view. The flaring orbs fairly seared him in her hot displeasure. “You needn’t fret, Countess,” he consoled almost pleasantly. “Your servant will live through this with nothing more to boast about than a small bruise and an aching head.”
“Should I, then, be grateful for your gentle care of us, milord Ladislaus?” Synnovea sneered, offended by the fact that she and all who were with her were completely vulnerable to the frivolous whims of these black-hearted plunderers. “You halted my coach on this lonely road and gave your foul consent to your murderous band of cutthroats to do whatever mischief they might construe. You abused the captain of my guard and, by your twisted reasoning, cast him as the villain! You wounded my footman and now my maid. Would you, beastly tyrant, have me fall to my knees before you in humble apology for daring to travel where your bloodthirsty vipers lurk? Ha!” With a toss of her head, Synnovea demonstrated her belief that such an idea was preposterous. “Were I armed, knave, you’d be breathing your last this very moment! That’s as much as I sympathize with your claims of ill-treatment from the hands of boyars! Whoever your father is, I’ve no doubt he fervently regrets the creature he spawned during a passing night’s whimsy.”
Ladislaus braced his massive fists against his hips and grinned in hearty amusement at her insults and logic. “I’m sure the old rascal has had much cause to repent that deed, for I give him no more homage than he has given me. ’Twas only his pride at finally siring a son after a brood of daughters that led him to have me tutored at all. He even tried to take me into his home after his wife died, but my pious little sisters couldn’t abide the idea of having a nameless whelp under the same roof. They chided him continually for bringing shame upon the family until he was forced to send me away. Aye, he saw me tutored with the best of them, but he gave me nothing else, not even a father’s affection.”
“I’m sure you’ve taken great delight in withholding your regard in return and bringing him a like amount of humiliation by becoming a thieving scoundrel,” Synnovea rejoined bitingly. “ ’Twould even seem you’ve extended your revenge by entrapping others in your devious exploits.”
“Your imagination is most vivid, Countess. I’m sure you’ll prove entertaining through the long winter nights ahead. But to say that I revel in retribution when I seize treasures as rare as you lends far too much credit to my vindictiveness. I assure you, my lady, I’m not a man to spite myself to gain recompense from an aging cur.”
Synnovea clenched her fists in the folds of her skirts, refusing to yield this brigand any show of hysteria. “I believe you’re nothing but a coward,” she sneered. “Even with nigh forty men under your command, you made your appearance well after the danger had passed, like some sly weasel fearful of coming out of his hole. Now you make brave noises while your men hold us at gunpoint.”
Ladislaus shrugged, unaffected by her criticism. “I keep my wits while others lose theirs. I watch until all things are made secure.”
“You’re nothing but a nameless cur who lurks in obscurity while your pack of wolves strip away the wealth of honest men!”
“Think what you will, my lady,” he invited, sauntering leisurely around her. “Your opinions are of little concern to me. They’ll change nothing.”
The lady was indeed one of exceptional beauty, he concluded. Readily visible were the regal looks of the highborn in her delicate features and lofty bearing. The green-lined brim of her hat was pinned to the crown on one side by an emerald-studded clasp and was reminiscent of those worn by foreign cavaliers. Upon her departure from the coach, it had lent her a jaunty appearance, but it now sat ridiculously askew atop her head. Her silky black tresses, once woven into a sedate chignon beneath the hat, had been disturbed by her recent mauling. Feathery wisps now flared outward from her temples, as if set on ends by her rage.
“Fate has surely been kind to me this eventide, bringing such a beautiful boyarina within my keeping,” he mused aloud. Reaching out a hand, he lightly rubbed his knuckles against a hotly flushed cheek. “I’m indeed honored by your presence, Countess.”
Synnovea flung off his hand and glared at him with all the defiance she could muster. “I’m sure you’ll understand if I fail to appreciate your sentiments, Rogue, for I most desperately abhor being your captive.”
“In time you’ll come to appreciate me, my lady. Most women do.”
“The stars will fall from the heavens before the event of such an occurrence!”
Ladislaus grinned back at her. Her fiery spirit had whisked away any lingering impression that she was a cold and haughty wench. Not even remotely so, he reflected in growing admiration. “My predictions will come true, Countess. They always do.”
“You boast absurdities,” Synnovea jeered in disdain. “I’ll never cease to abhor you and your kind! I can only pray that some miracle may spare me and my escort from the evil you and your foul followers plan.”
“Nothing short of a miracle will save you from what I intend, my lady,” he promised, his
voice imbued with a huskiness that evidenced his deepening interest. “As for me, I’m sure I’ll enjoy this night with you as I have no other.”
Synnovea served quick death to the notion that her ravishment would be some tender interlude that he might leisurely savor. “Let me assure you that I’ll fight you with everything I’m capable of delivering.”
Ladislaus recognized the loathing distaste flaring in her eyes and lifted his shoulders in bland dismissal of her threat. “Be assured, Countess, your reluctance will be a welcome diversion from the women who squabble over me.”
Reaching up, he swept the hat from her head and plucked the brooch from its brim. He held up the bejeweled piece in a dimming shaft of light and then, turning aside to search out Petrov, tossed it to him. “A reward for you, my friend, for spying out the lady’s coach.”
The hulking brigand caught the gift between the palms of his hands and roared in glee as he considered it. “What say you, Ladislaus? This bauble be worthy of your attention.”
The lord-of-thieves caught Synnovea snugly against his side and held her in a steely vise. “Aye, Petrov, but the countess is a far more enticing piece, definitely a wench to warm me through the long winter to come.”