“I will do all I can to help you, Katia.” The girl smiled, but there was little trust in her eyes. Lady Anna knew that might take a long time to develop; indeed, it might never come at all. “You and Mary will be safe in this corner room. I will join you later for a meal, but now you must rest while I attend to certain matters pertaining to your future.” She kissed her daughter’s forehead and whispered, “You will not be betrayed again, my darling daughter. I promise that.”
When Lady Anna returned to her own chamber, she called Sister Alexandrina to her. “I must have writing paper and the Romanov seal, Sister. I shall write two letters which you must then deliver personally to Sir Malcom Faverly at the British Embassy. Then you must go to the Winter Palace…”
“I, My Lady?” gasped the raspberry-cheeked nun.
“Do not be afraid. Sister. I will give you a ring and documents of identification. You must go to the palace and inform the Czar’s secretary that Princess Anna Romanov is alive and wishes an audience with His Imperial Majesty, Czar Nicholas.”
“He will never believe me!”
“Tell him I have information concerning Prince Oleg and Myshkin.”
“But Lady Anna…”
“Do not argue with me, Sister Alexandrina. Only do as I bid you and know that you are helping to right an ancient wrong. God will guide your steps.”
Sister Alexandrina left in a flurry of nervous confusion. No sooner had the door closed behind her than Lady Anna went to her wardrobe and prepared to reenter the world.
Epilogue
Spring in Cornwall, and the meadows stretching down to the sea cliffs were rainbow-hued with wildflowers. Katia did not know which sight moved her more profoundly, the sea of blossoms moving gently in the light breeze or the deep blue Channel waters that broke noisily against the base of the cliff on which she stood. The sun was warm on her shoulders and back, and she liked that too. In fact, since her departure from Russia more than a year before, she had known little else than pleasure. There were times, like this balmy late Spring day, when the events of her eighteenth year took on a hazy unreality; and she dared to hope that someday she would forget everything. Even Alexei. His name still had power; but with each passing day, she felt it growing less. In time, she assured herself, she would hardly remember him at all.
She had come directly from Russia to Cornwall with only a brief sojourn in London at which time she had met the gentleman who was her father’s solicitor, Sir Angus Boulton. Sir Angus had received a letter from Princess Anna explaining Katia’s origins and something of her history. In response, he and his wife had brought Katia and Mary to their estate in Cornwall and treated them as family. Sir Angus had even assured her that she would hear from her father soon.
“Michael MacDonald needed a chance to prove himself,” he explained one day soon after her arrival.
“And so, like many Scotsmen and youngest sons of this time, he emigrated to Australia with the idea of making his fortune there. I think he dreamed of one day fetching you from Russia and owning you as his daughter. Over the years, he’s done quite well in that wild land; and he’s kept in touch regularly. Through him, I was able to provide Natasha Kalino with a generous allowance as well as pay for your education at Troitza. But these last months, I’ve not heard a word from him.” Sir Angus must have read the doubt in Katia’s expression. “But we will hear, Katiana. I have no doubt of that for Michael MacDonald is no ordinary man.”
Almost a year and a half had passed since that conversation. Sir Angus remained confident and still there had been no word. Katia thought there never would be.
‘He might be dead in the wilderness,’ she thought, staring at the sea. ’Or his ship might be just beyond the curve of the world.’ She squinted and imagined she could see the point of a mast appearing where sea and sky met. Then she shook herself, feeling suddenly irritable. It was no good pretending. Michael MacDonald, her father, was gone forever. As were Alexei, Oleg, Nikki and Lady Anna. ‘I have no yesterdays,’ she thought. And her tomorrows were as uncertain as the tricky winds that played along the Cornish coast.
One hundred yards ahead along the path, Mary was gathering wildflowers in a large flat-bottomed basket. The wind caught her blue printed bonnet, tugging it off. Katia heard Mary’s bright laughter as she chased after it through the field of wild irises, and her heart swelled with love for the child and for the Little Father who had helped to bring her back to life. Lady Anna had promised to help the gifted priest, but to Katia no amount of help could repay him for the gift of childish laughter. For Mary, too, the ugly memories were fading. But sometimes, Katia saw a strangeness in her eyes that troubled her vaguely and reminded her of the penetrating vision of the Little Father.
She heard hoofbeats and turned in surprise. The breeze had carried the sound a long distance for horse and rider were far back along the ridge of cliffs but moving at a gallop toward her. For some reason, she thought of Alexei riding Alladin beside the sleigh train long ago. This rider had the same natural grace.
She shook her head and tried not to sound bad-tempered when she called to Mary, “We must be getting back. It is nearly teatime.”
The hoofbeats were closer now, but she didn’t turn again. She didn’t want to see some jolly miner’s son astride a nag when she imagined someone else. The horse stopped behind her, but she did not move. She watched Mary instead. The girl ran up the path toward her, then stopped abruptly, almost spilling her basket of flowers. She stood utterly still, staring beyond Katia. Still Katia did not turn. If she looked she would know who the horseman really was. She would have to stop imagining that Alexei was standing just behind her. Alexei. Could her imagination be this cruel? When would the hope of him stop haunting her? Was it possible…?
Then his hand touched her shoulder; and like a code between them, she recognized the pressure of his fingers.
“How did you find me?” she asked without turning, hardly daring to breathe. There was no answer, just the perfectly recognizable electricity that flowed between his hand and her body. “Alexei…” She turned to him at last.
He could not hold her tightly enough. There were tears of pleasure in his eyes because she felt so good, so natural, so right within the circle of his arms.
“How did you find me?” She held his head between her graceful hands. She touched his brow, the cheeks tanned by distant suns. Could it be true? Was it really he? Or had Fate chosen to play yet another cruel game with her emotions?
“Your mother wrote me just before she went to the Czar. She told me everything.”
“The truth about that night with Oleg?” She closed her eyes, remembering; and he bent to kiss the heavy lids.
“Can you ever forgive me for being so quick to doubt you, Katia? I should have known Oleg was capable of anything but never of making you want him.” He had not kissed her lips. He was half afraid to, thinking that—like some prince in an ancient tale—he would kiss his princess and then waken to find her gone or magically altered somehow. He did not want to risk losing her again.
“But it’s been so long, Alexei.” Her words were just a whisper.
“I’ve known your whereabouts for over a year, but I could not come for you because your mother had asked me to do something for her. I have been in Australia, my darling, and I found your father. He is waiting for you at the house now. He wants to take you and Mary back to Sydney with him.”
She was light-headed from surprises. Her father, Alexei—just when life had seemed entirely placid, the tricky winds of destiny had brought this unexpected, unhoped for turbulence. Feeling the pounding blood in her veins, the throb of her awakened heart, she knew that for months she had been dead to feeling. Only now was she coming alive.
Alexei was saying, “We’ll sail aboard one of my ships. We can be married by the captain.” She went rigid in his arms. “What is it, my darling? Say you forgive me and will be my wife.”
She pulled away; and at first, because she couldn’t bear the hurt in his eye
s, she spoke staring out at the sea. “I cannot marry you, Alexei Stephanovich, but not for lack of love. I love you more now than ever before but…”
“If you love me, what else is needed?”
“Once you cautioned me against trusting. Do you recall that day beside the sleigh train?”
“You kissed me. How can I forget? But I only meant that you must not be hasty with your trust. And when I spoke, I had in mind…”
He moved to kiss her but she turned away.
“No matter whom you meant, your words were wise. I learned my lesson, and I am slow to trust now I know how the world is made.” Her blue tartar eyes were shining with tears when she looked at him, knowing that however her life was to be, the next few moments were as crucial as any she had spent in the arms of Oleg Romanov. “Love without trust is a sham, Alexei. If life has taught me anything, it is that.”
She watched the play of emotions in his expression: anger, frustration, injured pride, disappointment. When he replied, his voice was bitter. “Is Oleg to be the victor then, Katia? Can you think how it would please him to know that you rejected me?”
“But I have not rejected you!” For some reason, his bewildered expression amused her, and she laughed gently. He looked more confused. “I have only said that I will not marry you. Not yet. But if you want me, I will travel with you to the world’s end; and I will be your lover and your friend and someday…”
They needed no more words. Alexei’s warm mouth was on hers at last, and his arms held her tightly. They stood locked together as the radiant springtime world, the towering heavens and even the sun itself, spun ’round them. Over the harmony of their pounding hearts, Katia heard the wind sing among the cliffs, the timpani of crashing surf, and the music of childhood’s free and happy laughter.
The Frost And The Flame Page 34
