She shook her head. “There were no records and no inquiries. It’s not unusual, when you think about it. There are thousands of people in the world who have cut themselves off from their roots. Maybe my parents were a part of that group.”
“I didn’t realize there was a displaced-persons’ camp in Said Ababa,” Sandor prompted gently. He wanted to fire questions and rip aside the barriers. Patience. It was a miracle she had told him as much as she had. It was obviously very difficult for her.
“There wasn’t a camp for over a year after the revolution. The government was getting flak from several humanitarian groups, and the camp was established to quiet the criticism.” Her lips twisted. “Dimitri said the concentration camp he was sent to in Poland as a boy was more humane.”
It was the second time she had mentioned the name. “Dimitri?”
“Dimitri Sokol, my friend. When I woke up, his was the first face I saw. He took care of me until I was able to walk again. He gave me half his rations because I wasn’t able to keep the other prisoners from stealing the food the guards issued me. He protected me as much as he could.” She slowly shook her head. “Which wasn’t very much. Dimitri didn’t understand the world he’d been born into. He was the gentlest human being I’ve ever known. He was a scholar, and had been a professor at a university in Warsaw. You would have thought the study of history would have taught him that you have to fight to survive. Saints are usually the first to be martyred.”
“And was your Dimitri a saint?”
“No, only a man. A kind and generous …” Her voice broke. “I don’t want to talk about Dimitri.”
“Then don’t talk about him.” His hand reached out to cover her own on the grass. “Don’t talk about anything, if you don’t want to.”
She was silent for a few minutes. Dimitri was part of it. She couldn’t leave Dimitri out of the story and still give … She forced herself to speak. “When I was well again, he didn’t have to worry about protecting me. I was the one who took care of him. I was young and strong and I knew how to survive.” Her voice was fierce. “No one dared steal his rations or mine after I showed what would happen to them if they tried. They were animals. The war had made them animals. Do you know the key to surviving in a world of animals?”
“No.” He didn’t know if she even heard him. He had an idea she wasn’t there with him anymore.
“You have to let them know you mean every word you say. If you commit yourself, it has to be with the knowledge that it will be followed up by action. I learned all the moves and developed a few of my own. Most of the time Dimitri didn’t realize what was going on. I don’t think he wanted to live in a jungle world. I even had to stop him from giving away the food I’d fought to keep. I made sure he had blankets, that he ate, that he exercised. He told me stories and taught me lessons, and even made me laugh. He kept me human. I would have turned into an animal like the rest of them if it hadn’t been for Dimitri. Do you know he even gave me my name? The camp officials hadn’t bothered. I was just inmate 534. Dimitri said beautiful words lift the heart and I must have a beautiful name so every time I heard it I would know joy. We spent two days choosing it. It was during one of the bad times, and I think he only persisted to try to take my mind off what was going on around me.” Her voice was just above a whisper. “He gave me so much more than I gave him, and he didn’t even realize it.”
Sandor felt his throat tighten. “You probably gave him more than you knew. You loved him. He must have known that.”
“Yes, he knew I loved him. We never talked about love. It seemed foreign in that place. But he knew.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, Lord, I hope he knew. I didn’t think he needed the words, but maybe he did. Maybe he died and didn’t know how much—”
“No.” Sandor’s voice was firm and totally reassuring. “You’re right. Sometimes words aren’t necessary. Dimitri knew how you felt.” Dimitri had died. Sandor had to find a way to shift the subject away from him. He could feel the pain radiating from her. “When did you meet Bruner?”
“The day Dimitri died.”
What a stupid blunder to have made. He tried to think of a way to ease her away from the memories, but it was too late. She was back in that hideous hellhole, and her voice held all the pain of a lost soul. “There weren’t any antibiotics, did I tell you that? I did everything I could think of to keep him well, but he caught a chill and developed pneumonia. I tried to make the guards get him the medicine he needed. I screamed at them. He was dying, and they wouldn’t listen to me.” Her nails were biting into his hand. “All I could do was stay with him and watch him struggle to get his breath. He lasted for five days.”
“Alessandra …”
“I think I went crazy. I wanted to kill someone. He was the only good thing in my life and they had let him die. I screamed like a lunatic. I attacked a guard. We were cursing and rolling around in the dirt of the yard, and I remember how surprised the guard looked. They had let Dimitri die and I was just supposed to accept it.” Her voice held a note of wonder. “You would have thought they’d know I couldn’t do that.”
“No.” He ached to take her in his arms and hold her. “You wouldn’t be able to do that.”
“James was touring the camp that day, and he saw me struggling with the guard. He stopped the other guards from hurting me when they managed to pull me away from him.” She opened her eyes. “He talked to me for a long time. I don’t remember what he said. He did arrange to have a proper burial for Dimitri. He told me later I’d asked him to do that. I didn’t remember. All I knew was that Dimitri was dead and I was alone again. James came back the next day and we talked. He kept coming back day after day. Then he told me he had made arrangements for me to leave the camp and come to live with him at his hotel until he could get me papers to leave Said Ababa.”
Sandor felt a quick flare of anger. “They just turned you over to him?” He tried to keep from his tone the raw, possessive rage the thought evoked. He had no right to feel this damnable jealousy. Choices. He knew how ugly some of the choices had to be. Better Bruner’s mistress than that monstrosity of a camp.
She nodded. “The government wanted a favor. His company had sold them arms to fight their revolution. Now they were looking across the border at Sedikhan and wanted him to sell them enough arms to launch an invasion force. He wasn’t about to do it, but he stalled them until he could get me out of the country.” She fell silent, and the only sound in the shadow-shrouded forest was the rushing of the brook and the soft whirring of the cicadas. “Is it enough?”
He frowned in puzzlement. “Is what enough?”
For the first time since she had begun to speak, her gaze left the patch of sky above the pines to meet his own. “I’ve never told anyone about Said Ababa. It was the only way I could think of to show you I do trust you. Do you need me to tell you any more?”
He felt as if he were slowly disintegrating inside. She had relived that hell to give him a gift? He couldn’t look at her. “I don’t need to know any more,” he said gruffly. “Lord, yes, it’s enough.” He released her hand and bent down to lift her feet out of the water. “Your feet must be ice blocks by now.”
“They don’t hurt anymore.” She watched as Sandor took his handkerchief from his back pocket and began to dry her feet. It was an intimate gesture that filled her with poignant tenderness. “I won’t have any trouble making it to the airfield now.”
“No?” His tone was abstracted. He cradled one foot in his hands. “Poor mermaid.”
“Mermaid?”
“There’s a fairy tale about a sorceress who cast a spell to permit a mermaid to assume a human form and come live among mortals. Unfortunately, it was very painful for the mermaid to stay ashore. When she walked, it was as if she were stepping on knives.”
“Well, I’m no mermaid, and I can walk very well. It’s almost dark. Don’t you think we should be on our way?”
“Yes.” He was still looking down at her foot. He caressed her ankle
. “Put on your shoes and socks.” He began to pull on his own boots.
“I thought you wanted to bathe your feet,” she said as she began to put on her socks.
“It doesn’t matter.” He stood up and began to fasten his backpack. “I can wait. It’s not that far.”
“Four miles through the hills? Far enough.” She finished tying the laces of her shoes. “A few minutes more won’t make any difference. Why don’t you—”
“Come on.” He pulled her to her feet, reached down and picked up her knapsack, and handed it to her. “We’re not going to be walking another four miles tonight.” He didn’t look at her as he began to lead her through the underbrush. “We’re going to Limtana.”
Six
“It looks like Sleeping Beauty’s castle,” Alessandra whispered. She stood abreast of Sandor on the summit of a hill and looked down into the valley below. The gray stone castle, with its crenellated towers, appeared both grand and desolate. The grounds surrounding it had been let go, vines and shrubs forming a labyrinth. “It’s as if the castle has been sleeping for a hundred years.”
“Only a little over two.” Sandor’s lips twisted. “Naldona’s caretaking evidently didn’t include the grounds.” He turned away. “Come on.”
“No!” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You said yourself the castle was bait for a trap. It looks deserted, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it is. Naldona could have men stationed on lookout to report back to him if they see someone.”
“I’m sure he does, but they won’t see anyone,” He glanced back over his shoulder. “You’re a very argumentative woman. Do we have to go over it all again? I’m not about to make you walk another four miles, after the pace I set today. We’ll start out at dawn, once you’ve had a chance to rest.”
“But it’s stupid. Can’t you see that? If you insist we stop for the night, let’s camp here in the hills. It’s not safe for you down there in that castle.”
“For me?” His face softened. “Do you know that’s the first time you’ve said anything to indicate you might be the tiniest bit upset if Naldona managed to cut my throat, as he’s been promising?”
“Of course I’d be upset.” She scowled at him. “Though you’d deserve it for being so foolish.”
He chuckled. “No one could accuse you of being overly sentimental. Men in my particular state are often foolish. All the poets say so.” His smile faded. “I want you to see my home, Alessandra. It’s important to me. I can’t promise it will be absolutely safe, but I wouldn’t run the risk if I didn’t have an edge.”
He was asking her to trust him again. He didn’t say the words, but the implication was there. And she knew she was going to do it, she thought with resignation. “Oh, all right.” She gestured for him to lead the way. “But your edge had better be damned sharp, Sandor.”
He was leading her toward a clump of rocks a few yards away. “It’s one you’ve experienced before, though I don’t believe you recall it with any degree of pleasure.” He bent down, his fingers exploring the weed-covered ground. “Ah, here it is.” He pulled upward. Earth and weeds rose to reveal a neat hole approximately three feet square.
“A trapdoor.” Alessandra slowly shook her head in resignation. “Don’t tell me. A secret passageway. Right?”
“Right.”
“I wonder why you Tamrovians even bother to build streets. You seem to be so fond of crawling around underground.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, love. Every respectable castle has to have a secret passage. It’s part of our local color.” He gestured. “After you. Hold fast to the railing in case the stairs are slippery. You see how civilized we are here in Limtana? No crude ladder, like the sewer in Belajo. Real stairs.”
“I’m impressed,” she said as she took a tentative step into the darkness. “However, I’ll be more impressed if you tell me your ‘color’ is completely rodent-free.”
“Well …” His lips lightly feathered her ear as he followed her down the steps. “As much as I’d like to reassure you, the last time I was down here was when I was ten years old. I can’t vouch for the rats.” He closed the trapdoor and flicked on the flashlight. His blue eyes were dancing in the soft glow illuminating the darkness. “But I can promise you Limtana is guaranteed to be alligator-free.”
His expression reminded her of the mischievous ten-year-old he must have been when he used this passage as a playground. The cynical lines and weariness she had thought permanently carved in his face were entirely gone. “You’re happy,” she said softly. “Why are you so happy?”
“I’m home.” He gently nudged her forward. “I had a wonderful time in these passages when I was a boy. They were a family secret, so I couldn’t bring any of the servants’ children down here to play with me. It didn’t really matter, though. Down here I could pretend I was anything I wanted to be. I had a huge Irish setter named Boris, and he would skid along this passage like a …”
The words and remembrances flowed over her on the mile-long walk down the stairs and through the long tunnel. Confidences, experiences, childhood practical jokes. He seemed to want to share them all with her. She found herself listening with amusement and an odd, maternal tenderness. And then they were climbing a long flight of steps again and she glanced over her shoulder. “Where does the passage exit?”
“In the nursery. I found it quite convenient.”
“I imagine you did.” She smiled gently. “You must have had a very happy childhood.”
He nodded. “I was lucky. I had two parents who loved each other and loved me, a home that was all a home should be, the whole countryside to run wild in. I was damned lucky to—” he broke off, his expression clouding. “Lord, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. You must think I’m an insensitive bastard.”
“Because I didn’t have all those things?” She shook her head. “Perhaps I did. I don’t know what my life was like before the revolution in Said Ababa. Perhaps life was very good for me too. I hope it was.”
“But you don’t remember.” His expression was somber. “Haven’t there been times when you wanted those memories back?”
“No.” Her voice was low, but firm. “What I’d gain wouldn’t be worth what I might lose. I’ve had enough nightmares in my life without risking more. I am what I am. A background and a family tree couldn’t change me now.”
And sometimes there were reasons for the mind to erect barriers, he thought. She was probably right not to try to resurrect the past. There was too much danger of those memories being tragic. “A family tree can be something of a bore anyway.” He carefully kept his tone light as he drew even with her at the top of the stairs. “I’m weighed down by the branches of my noble ancestors. I’ll be glad to share them with you.” He met her gaze with sudden gravity. “I’ll be glad to share everything with you. My childhood, my memories, the love I knew and still know. There’s nothing frightening in my past.” His voice was velvet-soft. “Let me share those good times with you, Alessandra.”
Her throat was so tight, she found it difficult to swallow. She blinked back tears. Tanzar. The one who is all. Gentleness, strength, laughter, sensitivity.
“That’s … very kind of you.” The words were awkward and pitifully inadequate but all she was capable of at the moment. “I don’t know what to say.” She smiled shakily. “I don’t think there are any books written about how to accept a gift of that magnitude.”
“You just accept it.” He kissed her cheek with infinite tenderness. “As I give it. With all my love.”
Love. She stiffened with shock. This wasn’t the casual endearment he had used before. Her gaze flew to meet his with a sudden sense of panic. “Sandor, I don’t know—”
“Shh.” His fingers covered her lips. “Not now. I know it’s too soon. Just think about it. Okay?”
How could she help thinking about it? She nodded jerkily. “Okay.”
“Good.” He reached around her to the knob on the blank wall facing them. It took a little tuggi
ng, but the panel finally slid far enough for them to sidle through the opening. “Well, at least we know Naldona hasn’t discovered the passage. For a moment I thought we’d have to chop our way through the wall.” It took him as long to tug the panel back in place as it had to open it.
“Can I help?”
“No, I think I’ve got it.” He slid the panel the last few inches and turned to face her with a slightly droll smile. “Maybe I should have used the passage more frequently after I reached adolescence. I don’t remember it being this difficult to budge when I was a child.” The ray of the flashlight danced around the dusty room. “And I remember this nursery as being larger.”
“Have you ever considered that you might have been smaller?” Alessandra asked solemnly, her lips twitching.
“Possibly.” The beam suddenly pinpointed something across the room. “But some things stay the same. Come on, I want to introduce you to Leo.”
“Leo?”
“My rocking horse.” He was striding quickly across the room. “It belonged to my great-great-grandfather and was passed down from father to son. It was always my favorite toy.”
The large wooden rocking horse was a dappled gray with a black mane, sporting an embossed red saddle and gay golden tassels hanging from the bridle. His dark painted eyes appeared to glow, and there was an eager smile painted on his lips. “He’s wonderful,” Alessandra said softly. “He looks as if he’s ready to waltz off to another adventure just over the horizon. Why is he called Leo? Isn’t that name usually reserved for lions?”
Sandor nodded. His hand ran caressingly over the black mane. “My father said he has the heart of a lion. He gave Leo to me when I was four years old. He told me his history and the history of all the Karpathans who had ridden him over the years.” He pointed to a deep scratch beside the right stirrup. “My grandfather did that. One morning he crept into his father’s room and stole the spurs off his boots. He didn’t see why he couldn’t have spurs to ride his horse too.” Sandor tugged at one tassel. “In some ways he was more real to me than the live pony my father gave me a year later.”