“Yu leave here this instant, Ladislaus, or I vill! I von’t stay in yur camp an’ give birth to yur child vhile yu make another bastard vith the colonel’s wife. Do yu hear?”
“Damnation, woman! I can’t let you order me about as if I were some young whelp! What will my men think?”
Alyona rose on tiptoes to sneer in his face. “An’ vhat vill yu think, Ladislaus, if I leave now? Do yu vant me to go? Does beddin’ down vith the colonel’s vife mean so much to yu that yu do not care if I go or stay?”
“Alyona, you know I’m very fond of you….”
In unabated pertinacity, Alyona stood erect with small fists clenched tightly at her sides. Despite the initial terror she had suffered when Ladislaus had first snatched her from her parents’ home more than a year ago, she had come to love him dearly, but she wanted more from him than just a casual dalliance. His child would soon be born, and she wanted him to treat her with the same regard a man would extend to a cherished wife. “Ladislaus, yu make choice now! The colonel’s vife or me!”
The lord-of-thieves raised his hands lamely in mute appeal. As much as he wanted to pleasure himself with the beautiful countess, down deep inside he knew he couldn’t abide the idea of Alyona leaving him. From the first, she had been like a fresh, sweet breath of wind coming into his stale life. While holding herself from him in staid reserve, she had played the offended maiden to the hilt until gradually it was his heart that had melted. To his amazement he had found himself caring for her in a gentler way, courting her with wildflowers, long walks in the woods, and sonnets of love from a book he had once found in a trunk purloined from a wealthy rake. He had even taught her to read, and she had in turn placated him by sweetly reciting the verses. How could he bear to let her go when he had no doubt that she’d be leaving him bereft of every treasure he held dear?
A gunshot snatched Ladislaus’s mind abruptly from the matter of choices to the immediate needs of the moment. Of primary concern was the safety of his camp and everyone within it. He whirled away from the two women as Petrov spun his horse around to face the barricaded entrance to the pass. Above it, a guard was now shouting and waving his arms in an attempt to gain their attention. Petrov raised a hand and held it to an ear to listen, then promptly conveyed the information to Ladislaus.
“One man ride toward camp with white flag. The guard want to know, should he let the stranger in?”
Ladislaus leapt off the porch and, settling his powerful arms akimbo, frowned toward the pass for a long moment before squinting up at Petrov. “Can they tell who the man is?”
The single braid of flaxen hair fell over a massive shoulder as Petrov leaned his head far back and cupped a hand to his mouth to project his shout. “Who comes? Do you know?”
Again Petrov returned a broad hand to an ear to catch the other’s answer. Then he gaped down at his lordling chief, completely astounded by what he had just heard. “They say English colonel come here! He ride your horse!”
“What?” Synnovea gasped, flinging herself to the porch railing. Trembling now, she shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun reflecting off a patch of snow as she stared toward the entrance. As yet, she could see nothing of her husband, but that didn’t ease the sudden quaking of her heart.
Ladislaus was of a different bent entirely. Hooting in glee at the idea that his adversary would be coming into their camp, he roared his answer. “Let the rascal enter, if indeed he comes alone!”
Petrified by a sudden concern for her husband, Synnovea waited an eternity before she saw a lone rider emerging from the narrow pass. At the newcomer’s inquiring glance toward the one who stood on the knoll above him, the guard pointed in the direction of the house, prompting the newcomer to urge the stallion forward. Synnovea had no need to see his face or the tawny hair now covered by a helm to know that it was indeed her own dear husband who approached, for none rode with the confident grace he exhibited. The stallion carried him forward at a leisurely canter until he reined the steed to a halt before the lord-of-thieves.
Synnovea would have scrambled down the steps and raced toward Tyrone, but Ladislaus flung up a hand to halt her in mid-stride and promptly barked an order for her to hold fast lest she cause some harm to come to her husband. She acquiesced forthwith, but in the silence that ensued, her eyes melded with the blue ones that anxiously searched her face. At the unspoken question burning within those translucent orbs, she managed a reassuring smile to convey the fact that, as yet, she had not been harmed.
Thoughtfully Ladislaus considered the pair who exchanged unspoken assurances of adoration with nothing more than their eyes. Then he turned his perusal solely upon his rival, espying no scabbard or pistol, only an empty sheath where a knife should have been. “Are you a witless fool, Colonel, to enter my camp with naught to protect you but a white flag and your own arrogance? Do you not ken that my men can drag you from my horse and strip the flesh from your bones, just as they did when we last met? Have you no scars to remind you of that event?”
“I’ve come for my wife,” Tyrone stated unflinchingly, leveling his gaze upon the renegade. “I won’t leave without her.”
Ladislaus laughed with boisterous mirth and spread his arms wide in exaggerated amazement as he mockingly reminded his foe, “But you said that I could have her, my friend. Don’t you remember? Now pray tell us, Colonel, have you changed your mind?”
“If it’s a fight you want, Ladislaus, I’ll give it to you,”
Tyrone avouched in a low, rumbling tone. “But I’m not leaving here without my wife.”
“What? And cheat my compatriots of the sport of tying you between two horses and wagering which steed will get the better of you in the end? Come, now, Colonel, I’m not as selfish as all that.”
Tyrone lifted a hand and, glancing briefly toward Synnovea, beckoned her to draw near. She obeyed instantly, evoking a growl from Ladislaus, who leapt forward to catch her, but the thief was brought up short by the bulk of the black stallion as Tyrone nudged the animal into his path. Grinding his teeth in rage, Ladislaus sprang upward to seize his adversary from the saddle, but with a flick of his wrist, Tyrone reined the animal sharply about again, deftly jarring the brigand’s senses when that one met the whirling steed head to head, the hard way. An audible thunk was followed by an even louder yowl of pain before Ladislaus stumbled back in a dazed stupor, clasping a hand to his face. A quick swipe of a finger beneath his nose assured him that he was bleeding profusely from his left nostril.
Petrov coughed abruptly to curb another threatening burst of laughter. Then, with hard-won composure, he straightened his demeanor and, assuming his best doleful expression, swung down from his steed. Solicitously he helped Ladislaus to the steps of the porch, where he urged their leader to sit still until he recovered his wits. Alyona flew inside and, reappearing a brief moment later with a wet cloth, gently dabbed at the blood oozing from Ladislaus’s nose.
While the rogues’ attention was diverted, Tyrone reached down and, grasping Synnovea’s arm, swung her up behind him. Petrov’s flintlock made a swift and ominous appearance. Its cyclopean bore was leveled convincingly toward the middle of the leather doublet as the huge man rumbled out a warning. “Keep still, Colonel, or you will die now!”
Though Synnovea clasped her arms tightly around her husband’s waist and pressed close against his back in anxious fear, Tyrone countered the giant’s threat almost casually. “If you kill me, Petrov, these hills will crumble down upon your shining pate. I swear they will.”
Petrov hooted loudly in amusement before he jeered at the colonel. “Are you God to call down mountain upon us, Englishman?”
“Heed my warning carefully with an attentive ear, Petrov,” Tyrone urged. “If you need proof of my power, I shall give you a small sampling, but I must first kindly insist that you divert your aim for the moment to negate the possibility of your weapon discharging accidentally once you realize I have such power.”
Petrov’s eyes flicked quickly toward t
he rugged, tree-lined hilltops as he wondered what to make of the man’s proposal. He was curious enough to want to see what would follow. Although he turned the bore away from their foe, he held the pistol positioned where he could swing it around upon the man in the flick of an eye. As he cocked a brow and closely observed the colonel, that one raised the white flag and then brought it down sharply in a fluttering descent.
Instantly a thundering explosion rent the silence, followed in quick, ear-numbing succession by several more blasts, each of which caused both Petrov and Ladislaus to start in sudden shock. They gaped in utter amazement as the cannonballs repeatedly pummeled the hills around the second entrance, loosening large boulders and rocks that subsequently began to tumble into the canyon. The falling debris gave momentum to the guards who had been on duty there. Spurred on by churning fear, they raced away as if the demons of hell were nipping at their heels, all the while casting anxious glances over their shoulders as they sought to outrun the falling fragments.
Hardly anyone noticed Tyrone whirling the steed about and racing off toward the far side of the canyon until Ladislaus scrambled to his feet and thrust a massive arm out to point toward the departing colonel, bringing Petrov’s attention to bear upon the two who were obviously attempting to escape in spite of the questionable direction in which they were riding.
“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 thank 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 knigh
t 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?”