The Beloved Scoundrel

by Iris Johansen

  “What is there to do on a ship but rest? By the time we reach Kazan, I shall be strong as a bull.”

  “Kazan? We’re going to Montavia.”

  “Jordan has decided we should sail directly to Kazan and negotiate with Nebrov from a position of strength.”

  She could see little advantage in such a move. “How kind of him to inform me. Where is Jordan?”

  Gregor nodded toward another wagon by the stable. “He is seeing to the crating of your panels.” He chuckled. “What a clever little dove you are proving to be. I never guessed what you were doing.”

  “It’s not clever to do what you have to do.” She saw Jordan coming out of the stable and strode across the courtyard toward him. She asked him, “You’ve packed all of them?”

  “I’d hardly leave one behind when it might be the Jedalar.”

  “But I’d wager you examined every panel very carefully before you had it crated.”

  He smiled. “Of course. I even measured them. Every one of them is three feet by two feet. Some of them looked a bit more intricate than others, but I could tell nothing. Any one of them could be the Jedalar. I had the crates marked with a description of the contents to save time when you decide to retrieve it.”

  “That will be helpful.” She changed the subject. “Why are we going to Kazan? Gregor says you wish to negotiate from a position of strength, but I don’t want Nebrov to think we’re offering him resistance.”

  “Nebrov won’t destroy his weapon just because he perceives it to be threatened. Besides, we may need help after we get the boy away. According to Janus, Nebrov’s power has been growing in Montavia. It would be safer to take Alex to Kazan.”

  After they got him away.

  Jordan sounded so matter-of-fact that she felt a surge of hope. She could tell herself that all would go well and Alex would be safe, but it was difficult to make herself believe it.

  Jordan’s brows lifted. “Satisfied?”

  “No, I won’t be satisfied until Alex is free. But we will go to Kazan.”

  “I’m glad you agree.” He inclined his head mockingly. “We should have the last of the crates loaded within a few minutes. Be ready to start.”

  “I’m almost ready. I’ve only to say my farewells to Dorothy.”

  “I’ve already bid her good-bye,” Jordan added dryly. “And was nearly frozen by her disapproval. She seems to think I’ve arranged Alex’s abduction just to lure you farther into my wicked web and—” He stopped, his gaze narrowing on her face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  He shook his head, studying her expression. He said slowly, “It’s Dorothy. What did she say to you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What did she say?”

  She shrugged. “That she forgives me my lack of virtue.”

  “Christ.”

  She smiled with effort. “I’m sure she considers herself very generous to a woman who is ruined in the eyes of all respectable people.”

  He gave a low curse. “She hurt you.”

  “She couldn’t help it. She didn’t even realize the hurt was there. She thought she was being kind.” She turned away from him. “I’ll be ready to leave in a few minutes.” She suddenly thought of something and asked over her shoulder, “What favor did you do for her?”

  “Favor?”

  “When I first met Dorothy, she told me you had once done her a great service.”

  “It was nothing of particular note.” When she stood waiting, he shrugged and said, “No one would publish her books. I bribed McArthy and Son to do it.”

  “I see.” She felt his gaze on her back as she crossed the courtyard to the steps where Dorothy now stood. Poor Dorothy, her finest triumph had been provided by one of the oppressive males she condemned.

  “I will go with you, if you wish,” Dorothy said gruffly. “It’s not seemly for you to travel with Jordan in this fashion.”

  Even now, when Dorothy considered her ruined, she was still striving to put things right. Marianna felt a flicker of warmth mix with the sadness. She could not condemn Dorothy for not being all that she wanted her to be; she must accept her for what she was. “Montavia is not like England. You would not understand it. You will be happier here.” She gave her a quick hug. “Good-bye, Dorothy, thank you for all your kindness to me.”

  “You will find the boy,” Dorothy said brusquely. “And you’ll be back at Cambaron by summer.”

  Marianna merely smiled, then turned and went down the steps to the wagon where Jordan was now waiting.

  Without looking at Dorothy, he lifted Marianna onto the seat and then climbed up himself.

  “Wave farewell to her,” Marianna said in a low voice.

  “The devil I will.”

  “She has a great fondness for you. She will be hurt if you’re cold to her.”

  He shot her a look. “And what about your hurt?”

  “I don’t need you to fight my battles.” Then she demanded, “Wave farewell to her.”

  “Obstinate woman.” The faintest smile curved his lips. He lifted his hand in Dorothy’s general direction and then snapped the reins to put the horses in motion.

  As the two wagons rolled out of the gates of Cambaron, Marianna glanced over her shoulder at the castle. Lord, how frightened she had been the first time she had caught sight of those four towers. Three years of her life had been spent within those stone walls. It was strange to think that she would never see them again. No matter what the outcome of this journey, she and Alex would not return to Cambaron. She felt an instant of poignant regret and then firmly dismissed it. Cambaron had never really been her home, and she must remember what Grandmama had always told her.

  “What are you thinking?”

  She looked around to see Jordan observing her.

  She was not about to tell him she never intended to return to the castle. Yet Jordan was a part of Cambaron, and she had a sudden desire to share this leavetaking with him. She said haltingly, “Grandmama often had to travel from place to place in order to do her work, and at first she was very unhappy. She would just start to love a place and feel comfortable, and she would have to give it up and leave again. Then she suddenly realized that she wasn’t really giving up anything, because with every window, every panel she had created, she had left a part of herself behind. She said ‘Leave your mark, Marianna, and no one can ever take anything away from you.’ ”

  “She sounds like a very wise woman.”

  “Very wise.”

  She again looked back over her shoulder at the castle that had sheltered six hundred years of power and privilege. Generations of nobility had come and gone; even royalty had cast their tall shadows in those halls. Yet she would defy any of them to claim they had brought more to this place than she had.

  She whispered, “By God, I’ve left my mark on you, Cambaron.”

  CHAPTER 12

  February 25, 1812

  Rengar, Kazan

  Smell it, Marianna.” Gregor lifted his head and sniffed enthusiastically. “There are no scents on earth like the ones here in Kazan.”

  Marianna obligingly sniffed, but she could tell little difference from the scents here and those at Domajo and Southwick. “Very nice.”

  “You needn’t be polite. We all know Gregor suffers from an incurable malady,” Jordan said as he joined them at the rail of the ship. “He believes that even the air in Kazan is sweeter, the horses bigger and faster, and the people stronger and more intelligent.”

  “I believe it because it is true,” Gregor protested. “You will see, Marianna.” He took her arm and pulled her toward the gangplank. “Come, Jordan, why are you tarrying?”

  “The horses have to be saddled and unloaded.” He followed them down the gangplank. “The palace is over four miles from the dock. It would be pleasant to have some form of transportation, don’t you think? Even though Cambaron horses are only adequate compared to Kazan’s vastly superior horseflesh.”
/>   “Palace?” Marianna asked.

  “If we’re to receive help, we must petition the ravin,” Jordan explained. Then, as he saw her worried frown, he added, “It’s only a formality. Kazan has no desire to let Nebrov keep a weapon that could be aimed at them.”

  “This has gone on too long,” Marianna said. “We don’t need another delay.” The journey from England had seemed to last an eternity, stretching her nerves to their limits. The idea of having to linger in a foreign palace was unbearable.

  “There’s a possibility that there may also be some information waiting for us,” Jordan said. “Janus is watching Nebrov, and he has orders to send identical messages to the ravin at the same time he sent them to me.”

  “There they are.” Gregor strode toward the horses being led down the gangplank. He soothingly stroked the nose of his big stallion. “Here we are on hard, firm ground again,” he crooned. “You will be much happier now.” He swung onto the saddle. “Come, let us go.” He didn’t wait for them but spurred ahead down the cobblestone street.

  Marianna shook her head in wonderment. She had never seen Gregor so full of joy. His scarred face had been luminous. “He’s so happy.”

  “He’s home,” Jordan said simply.

  “He must care a great deal for you to stay in England.”

  He lifted her onto her saddle. “I know that fills you with amazement, but, yes, he does care about me.” He swung onto his horse and nudged him forward. “And, of course, there is always the matter of duty. Gregor always does his duty.”

  In spite of the mocking words she became aware of an odd tension suddenly charging him. It dawned on her that he could be mitigating the difficulty of getting the ravin’s help. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong. Everything is perfect. Ask Gregor.”

  “You don’t like Kazan?” Her forehead knitted in perplexity. “But isn’t protecting Kazan the reason you’re determined to get the Jedalar?”

  “I never said I didn’t like Kazan. It’s far more home to me than Cambaron.”

  The words were restrained, almost noncommittal, but there was something beneath them, something in his expression. Then she realized what it was. Why, he truly loved this country. In spite of his mocking words regarding Gregor’s passion for his homeland, his feeling was just as deep. But, being Jordan, he would not lift his mask to reveal it. “It’s not at all like Cambaron.”

  Nothing could be less like that rocklike bastion of power than this city. Exotic onion-shaped towers and tall, graceful needle-thin spires abounded here. Instead of the sod or stone houses she was accustomed to seeing in the English countryside, the principal building material here appeared to be wood. Nearly all the houses and shops were flat-roofed and similar in design, but each had its own stamp of individuality, such as a lacy carving on a window box or colorful tiles on a doorstep. As they picked their way through the marketplace, she noticed each booth or stand had its own copper or porcelain samovar over a small fire.

  She pointed at a tall flumelike structure at one side of the market where crowds of people had gathered. “What is that?”

  “An ice slide. Every town and village in Kazan has at least one.”

  She watched a little boy careen madly down the ice-coated funnel and land in a thick bank of snow. He picked himself up, whooping joyously as he ran around to get in line at the ladder again.

  “Alex will love it.” she said eagerly, without thinking. “Can we—”

  But Alex was not here. Alex might never—

  “Yes, he will,” Jordan said firmly. “We’ll probably never get him off it.”

  Hope. She must not despair; they still had hope and determination. Looking away from the children on the slide, she quickly changed the subject. “Gregor says the reason you hate Napoleon is because you love Kazan. Is that true?”

  “Gregor has a habit of simplifying things.”

  “Is it true?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose it’s true.”

  “Why? It’s not your country.”

  “Because I wasn’t born here? Cambaron was given to me. I chose Kazan.”

  “It’s so … different.”

  “More than you know.” He smiled crookedly. “The first months I was here, I hated it. The people of Kazan didn’t realize what an honor it was to have me in their midst. They cared not a whit for my title or my money. I was not a savant, nor had I proved myself in battle. Therefore I was nothing. It was a very chastening experience for the spoiled hellion I was at the time.”

  “Why did you stay?”

  “There were reasons.” He grimaced. “One of which was anger. I would not be considered of unimportance. So when Tartar raiders descended on Kazan, I went with Gregor and his men to the steppes.”

  “War?”

  He nodded. “Kazan is nearly always at war with someone. Our land is rich only in minerals, but we have a valuable sea link to the Mediterranean.”

  “Our land?”

  “It became mine on the steppes. I bought it with blood.”

  She shivered at the simple words that revealed so much. Those wars had changed him, hardened him, burned away the softness, and left him one with these strange, brutish people.

  He was looking at the fluted towers of the distant palace, and she again became aware of some indefinable emotion seething just below the surface.

  “Are you apprehensive about meeting with the ravin?”

  “Not apprehensive.” His tore his gaze away. “Let us say, a trifle disturbed.” He spurred forward. “Come. At the speed Gregor is traveling, he’ll be sitting in the audience chamber before we even reach the palace gates.”

  Gregor was not sitting in the audience chamber; he was pacing impatiently as Marianna and Jordan walked into the room. “I’ve sent a message that we are here. It should not be long.”

  “Not unless it’s deemed wiser to keep us waiting,” Jordan said. “One never knows.”

  “You are being unfair,” Gregor told him. “She will come.”

  Marianna felt a ripple of shock. She?

  “Jordan seldom feels it necessary to be fair to me. You should know that by now, Gregor.”

  Marianna turned toward the doorway and the woman who had spoken.

  Another shock, this one of stunning proportions. She knew this woman. She had spent hours studying that strong, beautiful face. It was older now, with tiny crow’s-feet at the corners of the slanted green eyes, but it was still beautiful and even stronger.

  “I’m always fair to you. I’m merely cautious. You know how I hate to be disappointed.” Jordan came forward and lifted the woman’s hand to his lips. “You look lovely as always and perhaps even a little younger.”

  Jordan’s mother. Marianna continued to stare in astonishment. Jordan’s mother had died when he was only a baby, and yet, looking at the two standing side by side, Marianna had no doubt they were mother and son.

  “Of course I look younger,” the woman said. “I’ve decided I shall never grow old. Next year I intend to order all the clocks in Kazan stopped.”

  “And all the calendars burned,” Gregor added. He lumbered toward her. “I shall see to it personally.”

  A brilliant smile lit her face as she turned to him. “Gregor. Have you been well?”

  He nodded. “Well enough.”

  “With the tiny exception of a knife wound in his chest,” Jordan remarked.

  The smile faded from her face. “Who?”

  “Nebrov’s man, Costain.”

  Her expression hardened. “Did you kill him, Jordan?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not? Do it yourself, or I will see that it’s done.”

  “I believe the matter concerns me, Ana,” Gregor said mildly.

  “Be quiet, Gregor. I’m not too pleased with you either. You must be getting feebleminded to let yourself be wounded by that vermin.”

  She was the one who was being unfair, Marianna thought with irritation. “He was not feebleminded. There wer
e seven men,” Marianna interjected. “And he walked six miles in the snow after they wounded him.”

  The woman turned her head. “Ah, you have a champion. You must be Marianna Sanders.” Her keen glance raked Marianna from head to toe. “Gregor wrote me a good deal about you. I would like to see the window you did of me.” She grimaced. “Though that’s the only part of Cambaron I shall ever want to see again.”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “I would have been dead, if I’d stayed there.” She turned and stared challengingly at Jordan. “It was strangling me.”

  Jordan ignored the provocation. “Marianna, I’m honored to present Her Majesty, Ana Dvorak, Ravin of Kazan.” He smiled. “And you’ll be delighted to know you don’t have to curtsy. It’s not the custom in Kazan. A mere inclination of the head to show respect is all that’s required.”

  “Providing that one feels such respect,” Ana Dvorak said with irony. “I suppose that Gregor’s wound is connected to the message I received from Janus three days ago?”

  “You’ve had word?”

  She nodded. “Come with me and we’ll talk.” She turned to Gregor. “Find her suitable quarters. Sandor is somewhere about. I will see you at supper.” She impulsively reached out and touched his arm. “I’m not entirely unpleased to see you, mado.”

  “You are very pleased to see me,” Gregor corrected.

  She chuckled. “Perhaps.”

  Marianna turned to Gregor as soon as they departed. “Why does everyone at Cambaron think she’s dead?”

  “Because she wished them to think it. We planned it very carefully so that everyone would believe she drowned in a boating accident. That way there would not have to be a body.”

  “We?”

  “She needed me. I helped her.”

  The sentences were spoken with utter simplicity as if his helping Ana Dvorak could be the only course of action whenever her need for him arose.

  Gregor led her from the chamber. “Ah, Sandor.” He hailed a bearded young man hurrying down the corridor. “The ravin wishes quarters for the belka. Near the garden, I think.”