“You frighten me unduly, my friend,” Ladislaus taunted with a smirk and gestured casually over his shoulder as his men gathered close around them. “Perhaps you should consider the error of your ways, since we have no liking for boyars.”
Suddenly the stable door burst open, and Ladislaus and his men jerked around in sharp surprise to see Major Nekrasov charge inward, quickly followed by the first thrust of a dozen armed soldiers. Ladislaus immediately recognized the man who led them and the rather resplendent uniforms of the new arrivals and promptly decided the time was critical for him and his men to make their escape. It was one thing to accost a small detachment of soldiers in the wilds, but quite another matter entirely to set themselves against the tsar’s imperial guards inside the limits of Moscow, where any number of troops could be waiting to pounce on them. He had no clear opportunity to seize the wench, for he knew from experience that taking her would see him involved in another fray with the major, the likes of which he wished to avoid at the moment. With swift, leaping strides, he raced across the carriage house as he shouted warnings to his compatriots, sending them fleeing in every direction and through any available opening or door. Once outside, they fought their way to their mounts and, after swinging astride, never looked back in their haste to put the gates of the city behind them.
Aleksei was not so astute. He stepped forward to protest this intrusion into his private affairs. Then he stumbled back in stunned awe when he recognized the one who strode through the widening barrier of soldiers. Struck speechless, he fell to his knees before his sovereign lord.
“Your Majesty!” His voice squeaked as it reached a high octave. “What brings you here to my humble house at this late hour?”
“Mischief!” Tsar Mikhail thundered as his dark eyes ranged around the interior. He acknowledged Synnovea’s clumsily executed curtsy and briefly noted her bruised face and disheveled appearance before he stepped over to the colonel. Tyrone had lost his tenuous grip on reality and dangled pendulously from the ropes that secured him to the rafters. He was oblivious to the tsar, who winced visibly as he considered the officer’s striped and bloody back.
“Cut Colonel Rycroft down from there at once!” Mikhail commanded, gesturing to Major Nekrasov, who ran forward with several other men to lift and loosen the Englishman from his bonds. “Take him to my carriage. He will be tended by my own physicians tonight.”
Nikolai glanced yearningly toward Synnovea as his men took up their burden, but she paid him no heed while she gathered up the colonel’s clothing. She wept over the bundle for only a moment before handing it to a guard.
“Please be careful with Colonel Rycroft,” she pleaded through her tears as they carried him to the door.
Mikhail cocked a curious brow when he noted her concern, and then faced Aleksei with a sharp question. “Did you have some reason for whipping this man?”
“Your pardon, Your Most Sovereign Lordship and Majesty,” Aleksei mumbled as he bowed contritely. He spoke discreetly so as not to encourage more of the tsar’s disfavor. “We caught Colonel Rycroft at his quarters with our ward, the Countess Zenkovna, and he did indeed defile her in his bed. We could hardly allow his affront to a Russian boyarina to go unpunished and were in the process of administering a suitable chastisement.”
Mikhail’s tone was incredulous. “You consorted with thieves to carry out his punishment?”
“Thieves, Your Majesty? How so?” Aleksei seemed greatly perplexed.
“Didn’t you know with whom you were dealing?”
The prince sought to play the innocent. “ ’Twas the first time I laid eyes on the men. They said they were for hire, and I engaged them to instruct the colonel on the folly of insulting a Russian maid.”
Mikhail scowled in sharp displeasure and turned to peer at the countess, who stood across the breadth of an aisle. She was no longer weeping, but her demeanor indicated that she had been mentally vanquished after witnessing the whipping. “Do you have anything to say in this matter, Synnovea?”
“Your Majesty…” She spoke pleadingly from a distance, as if wary of tarnishing his presence with her guilt. “May I be allowed to come forward and speak in the colonel’s defense?”
The tsar beckoned her near. “Come, Synnovea. I’m interested in hearing what you have to say.”
Going before him, she humbly knelt and refused to lift her eyes as she struggled to cope with the shame of what she had contrived to do and what her deceit had actually brought about. “I beg your most humble pardon, Your Majesty. I’m the one completely at fault for what happened here tonight. I couldn’t find it within myself to accept the circumstances of my betrothal to Prince Vladimir Dimitrievich and did intentionally entice Colonel Rycroft to take me into his bed. I preferred to forfeit my virtue rather than be bound to the contract of marriage that had been arranged for me. Do with me as you may, Your Majesty, for I am surely guilty of this havoc which has befallen the colonel. I didn’t mean for him to be caught and chastised. It would have been better if I had been whipped.”
“I’m sure Colonel Rycroft would have found it hard to resist you, considering your beauty and his great desire to court you, Synnovea.” As Mikhail voiced his observations, he lifted his consideration to the prince. That one offered no explanation for the betrothal, though Mikhail was sure that everyone within his court knew he was seriously pondering the Englishman’s request to court the countess. Either his cousin and her husband had been totally deaf to the winds of gossip or they had chosen to dismiss his consideration of a foreigner.
Mikhail looked down upon the bowed head of his subject and gently laid a hand upon the disarrayed curls. “I will talk more of this with you and the colonel, Synnovea. You may arrange a time to see me two days hence, but for now, I would have you find safety beyond this house. Is there someone to whom you can go?”
“Countess Andreyevna is a very close friend of mine, Your Majesty. My coach may be waiting even now to take me back to her home.”
“Excellent! Then go! And mind you, speak no word of this matter to anyone. I’d be averse to having the anger of the boyars aroused against the colonel. Nor would I see you harmed by wagging tongues. Do you understand?”
“Your kindness is beyond measure, Your Majesty.”
When Synnovea had gone, Mikhail faced Aleksei with a stiff smile. “Where is my cousin anyway? I would have a word with her.”
“Anna is not here, Most Sovereign Lord. Her father was ailing and asked her to come and stay with him for a time.”
“Should I, then, believe that this matter rests solely upon your shoulders?”
Aleksei gulped and tried to recoup his scattered wits as he carefully asked, “What matter do you mean, Your Worship?”
“Did you not make arrangements for the betrothal between Countess Synnovea and Prince Vladimir Dimitrievich while you had full knowledge of the colonel’s interest in courting her? Or should the blame be laid solely upon Anna?”
Aleksei spread his hands in a helpless quandary. “Of course we heard of the colonel’s interest, but we weren’t aware that we had to give a foreigner serious heed. At the time, it seemed prudent to arrange a marriage between the girl and Prince Vladimir, considering the old man’s wealth and the fact that he would treat Synnovea kindly. At least, Anna thought so.”
“I see.” Mikhail pursed his lips as he pondered the prince’s answer. “And did Anna not hear of my considerations toward the colonel?”
“What considerations are those, Your Majesty?” The dark brows came together as Aleksei feigned bemusement. “Have we erred in some way and offended Our Supreme Highness?”
“It could be,” Mikhail retorted angrily. The other man apparently thought he could be fooled by a guise of innocence, but he wasn’t that gullible. “ ’Twould seem that I erred in sending Countess Synnovea here to be my cousin’s ward. I should have given more consideration to the fact that the girl was raised unfettered by most of the strictures of other boyarinas. In view of her upbringi
ng, ’tis understandable that she felt compelled to rebel when you arranged such a betrothal for her. That matter is of no consequence now. You’ll discreetly inform Prince Dimitrievich that Countess Synnovea is unable to marry him for the simple reason that I have decreed otherwise. I must warn you that if you spread one word of this affair involving the colonel beyond Vladimir, who hopefully is wise enough to keep silent, I shall personally be in attendance when your tongue is detached from the place where it now resides. Do you have any questions?”
“None, Your Most Gracious Worship. I shall be completely reticent concerning this matter.” Extremely anxious to placate the tsar, Aleksei bowed several times to lend emphasis to his ingratiating show of respect.
“Good! Then we understand each other.”
“Most affirmatively, Your Majesty.”
“Then I shall say good night and farewell, Prince Taraslov. I hope you’ll never again be so foolish as to address your venom upon someone to whom I have given favor, nor hire thieves to see such mischief done. I’ve yet to judge you on the truth of this affair, but I’m patient enough to see justice carefully preserved until I am otherwise persuaded. For your sake, I hope you’re innocent of deliberately consorting with thieves, because if you’re not, I’ll see that you receive a harsher sentence than any of your cohorts.”
With that, the tsar stalked out of the carriage house, leaving Aleksei unusually pale and haggard-looking.
13
Synnovea arrived at the Palace of Facets much earlier than the time designated for her appointment with His Majesty Mikhail Romanov, the Tsar of all the Russias. It was exactly twoscore hours after His Royal Highness had first bidden the countess to come and see him, and though her apprehensions hadn’t been alleviated by even the slightest degree, she was nevertheless the very essence of serene beauty as she waited outside his private offices. Not only did she appear composed and sweetly demure in a mauve sarafan and beribboned kokoshniki, but she gave every indication that she was content with her summons. But then, she had little choice after making a decision to set the record straight about what she had done.
It was here that Synnovea became a compassionate witness to the carefully executed entrance of Colonel Rycroft. His movements were slow and painfully stiff, but only the slightest grimace could be noted by the one who watched him move away from the doorway. The antechamber was narrow enough that he couldn’t miss seeing her. At first, his only indication at having done so was a brief upward flick of a tawny brow. Then his scowl deepened and his jaw tightened beneath tensely flexing muscles. Disinclined to take a chair, he stood ramrod-straight while he stared stoically toward the entrance to the tsar’s chambers. Synnovea had never seen such a tenacious stance, but the message he conveyed was clear. He was loath to even acknowledge her proximity.
Some moments later, Major Nekrasov came out to escort the colonel into the tsar’s presence, and in the stark solitude following Tyrone’s passage, Synnovea was reminded of the contempt she had heard in his voice shortly before the first stroke of the whip. He had thrust her away in distaste and given his hearty approval for Ladislaus to take her for his own, confirming Natasha’s warnings that he would come to hate her for her coyly contrived entrapment. The knowledge of his vehement rejection now evoked within her a gloomy regret for which she could find no assuagement. So bleak were her hopes to reconcile herself to him that it wouldn’t have surprised Synnovea at all to hear the objections which the Englishman was presently voicing in response to the tsar’s suggestions.
“I plead your pardon, Your Majesty, but I must respectfully decline.” Tyrone tried to check his darkly brooding vexation, but it was impossible for him to even consider such a proposal. “I could never take the Countess Zenkovna as my wife after she used me for her own end. If, in the months and years to come, my life’s blood is required upon a field of battle, then I hope it will be spilled honorably as a soldier in your service, but your recommendation is too much to ask of me.”
“I fear you’ve mistaken my words, Colonel Rycroft.” Mikhail smiled benignly. “I don’t request your compliance with my proposition. While you’re here in this country, you’ll obey my every directive. It’s my express wish that you take Synnovea to wife with all possible haste. I promised her father before his death that I would see to the welfare of his daughter. I would be lax in the performance of that pledge if I allowed you to escape your personal participation in this affair without seeking some remuneration for what has been done.”
“Was not the scarring of my back enough punishment for my involvement?” Tyrone asked bluntly.
“The whipping was indeed dreadful, but it hardly corrects the problem. Synnovea has confessed her guilt in deliberately seeking you out to be her champion of sorts.” Mikhail glanced up briefly as a faintly audible snort came from the colonel. After musing briefly on the disdain visible in the man’s visage, he continued with unswerving dedication to his proposal. “Nevertheless, you were the one who accomplished her deflowering and are the only one who can properly amend the situation. After all, you’re no young whelp who can plead innocence. You’re old enough to accept the consequences of your actions and, may I presume, far more knowledgeable about this matter than the maid. ’Tis obvious she had good reason to believe you were willing to bed her or she would never have considered her defilement by you a viable option…which causes me to think that surreptitiously you had already begun courting the maid. Is that not true?”
Tyrone’s face darkened to a ruddy hue. “I saw her several times, but for the most part, Princess Anna denied my requests.”
“Did you take it upon yourself to see the girl in private?”
Most reluctantly, the colonel admitted that fact. “I did, Your Majesty.”
“And were you successful?”
“Aye.”
“Where did this tryst take place?”
“In her bedchamber at the Taraslovs’.”
“And did Synnovea invite you in?”
“No, Your Majesty. I climbed through a window after I had awakened her.”
Mikhail was aghast at the man’s audacity. “And if you had been caught and been forced to pay penance, would you have claimed that the girl had deliberately enticed you into her chambers?”
“No, Your Majesty. She had cautioned me to leave.”
“Well, there you have it!” Mikhail threw up a hand, indicating the matter settled.
Tyrone was not so willing to accept defeat. “Your Majesty, will you not kindly ponder my position?”
Mikhail was losing patience with the persistence of the man. “Was Synnovea not a virgin ere you took her into your bed?”
Tyrone’s lean cheeks flexed tensely with the effort of keeping his temper under tight rein. “She was a virgin, but—”
“Then there is no more to be said! I wouldn’t have another man mend your wrongs because you were duped by a young chit! Would you roar deception on a field of battle if you were tricked by a general whose face still bore the fuzz of his youth?”
“No, of course not, but—”
Mikhail slammed his open palm down upon the arm of his chair. “Either you’ll marry Synnovea or, by heaven, I’ll see you discharged without honor from your service here!”
In the face of such a threat, Tyrone could only yield to the monarch’s authority. He abruptly clicked his heels as he gave the tsar a crisp salute. “As you so deign, Your Majesty.”
Mikhail reached up and jerked on a silken cord, bringing Major Nekrasov quickly back into the chamber. “You may escort the Countess Zenkovna into my presence now.”
Tyrone dared to interrupt, bringing the major to a halt as he made another plea. “I beg a moment more of your time, Your Majesty.”
Mikhail was immediately skeptical of what the colonel would request. “Yes? What is it?”
“I shall abide by your order as long as I am here, Your Majesty, but once I leave, I’ll no longer be under your authority.” Tyrone paused as the tsar inclined his head in cau
tious agreement and then continued in a respectful tone. “If you should determine at that time that I have pleased you in the performance of my duties and have held myself away from Synnovea, which may be confirmed by her inability to produce an heir of mine, will you grant me an annulment from this marriage ere I return to England?”
Major Nekrasov’s head snapped around, and he glanced between the two men, feeling horrendously distraught by the fact that Synnovea would be marrying another. Knowing he would have gladly endangered his own life in his quest to have her as his wife, he couldn’t even begin to understand the colonel’s request.
Mikhail was abruptly taken aback by the Englishman’s petition, but he could find no viable way to refuse. If the dissolution wasn’t granted here within the boundaries of Russia, the colonel would likely seek it in England. Mikhail would not tolerate a Russian countess being subjected to that kind of humiliation in a foreign land. “If all will be as you say near the time of your departure, and you still wish such a separation, then I shall grant your petition. But I must remind you that you still have three years to serve under my authority.”