“That’s enough, sweetheart,” I said. “You’ll get more in the morning. Everything back in the sleigh?” I called.
“No thanks to you!” he snapped. “You might have given me a hand, Marietta! My backside hurts something awful. Feels like someone paddled it with a solid oak beam.”
“You’re such a baby. Want me to kiss it and make it well?”
“Keep it up, just keep it up!”
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” I said.
“What is?”
I put the feed bag back into the sleigh. “This. Us. Just like the old days. I may be out of my mind, but—oh, Jeremy, I do love you so.”
“You do?”
“With all your quirks, all your foibles.”
“What quirks? What foibles?”
I moved over to him and reached up and touched his lean cheek and he pretended to be very cool and aloof and I smiled and stood up on my tiptoes and brushed that wide mouth with my lips and he gathered me to him and kissed me fervently and held me so tightly I felt my ribs might crack, and I gloried in it. After a long time he released me and ran a hand across his brow and said this was hardly the time or place and I said that was a pity and he grinned a wicked grin and said we did have plenty of blankets on hand and I told him it was a charming thought but we’d better wait until we also had a roof over our heads.
“You always were a stick,” he said. “No spirit of adventure, no mad impulses, no damn fun.”
“I know.”
“All that time we were traveling through Texas you remained depressingly perpendicular.”
“Not all the time,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, once, and then you got mad at me and went right back to your damnable celibacy. Did you sleep with Orlov?”
“Of course not.”
“You sure?” he asked.
“Would I lie?”
Jeremy gave me an exasperated look and helped me back into the sleigh and clambered in beside me and arranged blankets and rug and we were soon skimming along over the icy road again, the horse frisky after the oats. I moved over, nestling against him, and Jeremy curled an arm around my shoulders, keeping a tight grip on the reins with his right hand. We had been through a nightmare and we were alone in the cold, in the middle of the Russian wasteland, but we were together, and I had rarely felt such bliss.
“What happened when you got to St. Petersburg?” I asked.
“I went straight to the British embassy. I spoke to Sir Reginald Lloyd. He told me that Orlov had left for his estate in the north some two weeks before, apparently taking you with him. I got a horse and came after you. I heard an incredible din as I rode through the woods near the house. I smelled the smoke, and in a few more minutes I saw the flames. I abandoned my horse and crept through the woods, and—Jesus, love, I almost went insane. The peasants were jumping and yelling and waving pitchforks and the house was aflame and I thought you might still be inside it, thought they might have killed you.”
“What did you do then?” I asked.
“I crept closer and one of the peasants came staggering by, wearing this coat, this hat, waving a bottle of vodka. I took him out with no trouble and removed my own coat and hat and put on his and joined the melee, yelling like a banshee, waving a scythe I picked up. I grabbed one of the peasants, said I wanted the woman, the redhaired woman, and he told me Pulaski had you and intended to take you back to Pugachev’s camp, so I kept on shouting ‘Down with tyranny’ and became part of the mob, became Nikki the buffoon, making several friends during the next two days as we headed back to camp.”
“None of them suspected you?”
“The mob was composed of men from a dozen different villages. Everyone just assumed I came from a different village. When we finally caught up with Pulaski and I saw you with that rope around your neck—” Jeremy hesitated, shaking his head grimly. “It took all the control I had not to start swinging then and there.”
“But you stayed in character,” I said.
“And did a bloody fine job of it, too,” he added. “Maybe I should have gone on the stage. I have the gift, no doubt about it.”
“It’s something you can always fall back on,” I said dryly.
“Don’t imagine there’ll be much call for it in Texas.”
“Texas—” I whispered. “Will—will we really get there, Jeremy?”
“Count on it, love,” he told me. “Why don’t you close your eyes for a while now, try to get some sleep.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I replied. “There’s no possible way.”
And five minutes later my eyelids grew heavy and I pulled the blankets up and snuggled against him and felt warm and safe and secure. Jeremy curled his arm tighter around my shoulders, and his warmth, his strength became part of a blissful dream as I drifted off to the soft, scraping noise of wood on ice and the steady clop-clop of the horse. The dream captivated me, melted into lovely fragments, faded away, and I slept a long time, and later, much later, something evil, something frightening pierced the layers of slumber and I, shivered and moaned. It came again, a sound, and I sat up, alert, gripped with terror. It was daylight now. Jeremy turned to look at me and gave me a warm, reassuring smile.
“Have a nice sleep?” he inquired.
“Some—something woke me up—a noise.”
“Nothing to worry about,” he said casually. “It was just a wolf.”
“Oh, my God—”
I had forgotten about the wolves.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jeremy scoffed at my alarm and patiently explained to me that wolves were shy, harmless creatures that presented absolutely no threat. I told him I didn’t know what kind of wolves he had encountered in the past but Russian wolves were unique unto themselves and did indeed present a most definite threat. He smiled at my charming, typically female naivete and, while not actually patting me on the head, managed to infuriate me with his insufferable, typically male attitude of superiority. I had a big, strong man with me, his manner implied, and there was nothing to worry about.
“I happen to know a little more about this than you do,” I said sharply. “I’ve been in Russia longer. They do attack people.”
I told him some of the stories I’d heard, and Jeremy listened and smiled again and said Russians thrived on high drama and loved to exaggerate and, besides, both of us were excellent shots, had three rifles, a pistol, and plenty of ammunition.
“Relax, Marietta.”
“I find that rather difficult when we’re being pursued by a pack of starving, bloodthirsty wolves!”
“One lone wolf,” Jeremy said, “and he was probably scared by the sound of the sleigh, probably turned tail and hurried back to his den as fast as he could. It isn’t like you to fall to pieces like this, love.”
“I’m not falling to pieces!”
“You could have fooled me.”
“Go to hell! I just happen to be extremely frightened of wolves.”
“Nary a wolf in sight,” he said.
He was right, and a good twenty minutes had passed since the howling had awakened me. I was probably overreacting, but I still resented his smug attitude and his infuriating calm. I rubbed my eyes and gazed at the drab day. The sky was a solemn gray, filled with heavy clouds of even darker gray. The few rays of sunlight that managed to filter through were thin and white, dim, and the usually blinding white snow was tinged gray, too, dull and depressing and bleak. It was extremely cold.
“It looks like it’s going to snow again,” I said miserably.
“Does indeed,” he replied.
“I’d give half my gold for a cup of hot coffee.”
“Wouldn’t mind a cup myself. You hungry?”
“I could use a plate of scambled eggs and some crisp bacon,” I replied. “Some hot muffins and orange marmelade would be nice, too, even some kippered herring.”
“’Fraid you’ll have to settle for less, love.”
Jeremy pulled on the reins, bringing the horse
to a halt. He got out of the sleigh and stretched and yawned sleepily, then pulled the bag of oats out and patted the horse on the back and tied the bag around its neck. I sat under the blankets, still apprehensive, keeping a sharp eye out for the wolves. Jeremy stretched again, throwing his arms wide, leaning back. His sheepskin coat flapped open, and I saw the fine white lawn shirt beneath. Sometime during the night he had tied a bright red scarf around his neck, and it gave him a rakish, piratical look. The wide, mobile mouth, the slightly twisted nose, the vivid blue eyes added to that impression, as did the pistol and the knife thrust into the waistband of his snug black breeches.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.
“Where are you going? Jeremy, are you out of—”
“Nature calls, love.”
I had five minutes of stark terror, sitting there in the sleigh with one of the rifles gripped firmly in my hands, and when he sauntered back onto the road I whirled it around, pointing at his chest. He let out a frenzied yell, jumping at least three feet. I calmly put the rifle down and began to remove food from the bags: bread, sausage, cheese, apples. Still shaken, Jeremy gave me a severe, heated lecture about firearms and safety to which I paid not the slightest attention.
The horse munched blissfully on the oats, and we ate our extremely unconventional breakfast. I borrowed the pistol from Jeremy and took a short walk myself, returning a few minutes later to find him curled up under the blankets fast asleep, the black sheepskin hat tilted down over his eyes, his mouth open. Poor darling. Filled with love, I smiled, and then I removed the bag of oats from around the horse’s neck and climbed into the sleigh, nudging him over a little. He made an angry, snorting noise, flopping heavily against me as soon as I had pulled the blankets up around my legs. I gathered the reins up and clicked them. Jeremy sank down farther and farther as we started off, finally settling his head in my lap.
The pistol at my side, I held the reins firmly and clicked them occasionally, prompting the horse to trot even faster. We sped through the gray morning. Jeremy moaned now and then and made puffing noises in his sleep, changing positions, wrapping his arms around my legs, his head still resting heavily in my lap. I felt wonderfully maternal, for there was so much of the little boy in this extremely virile man. I stroked his cheek. He snorted irritably. He had so many engaging, endearing quirks. How could I ever have believed I loved anyone else? Now that I had him back, I never intended to let him out of my sight again. How I loved him. How I longed to prove that love with every fiber of my body and soul.
The morning wore on and the sky grew darker still and the shadows spread pale violet across the grayish white snow. My arms began to ache a bit from holding the reins so long. Although it was impossible to tell from the light, I reasoned it must be almost noon. Jeremy had been sleeping four or five hours. I sighed, shifting my position on the seat. The light grew dimmer. The clouds were threatening. I braced myself, determined to let Jeremy sleep for as long as possible. Perhaps another hour and a half passed before I caught a glimpse of the gray shadow bounding through the trees on my right. It was the merest glimpse, so brief I couldn’t be sure I had actually seen it, but my blood ran cold nevertheless.
You’re not going to panic, I told myself. You’re not going to wake Jeremy up. You’re going to be very, very calm. It probably wasn’t a wolf at all. It was probably just a shadow. My hands were trembling as I gripped the reins, and my legs were trembling, too. I pressed my boots down hard on the floor of the sleigh, trying to steady my legs. Cold waves seemed to wash over me. You must get hold of yourself, I scolded.
I clicked the reins, urging the horse to go faster still, and another fifteen minutes or so passed and I kept watching the woods to my right, and I saw only crusty mounds of grayish white snow and thick tree trunks and pale violet shadows. Jeremy groaned again in his sleep, burrowing his head in my lap, and I began to relax, began to believe I had imagined it all, and then I glimpsed it again. There could be no mistake this time. The wolf leaped from behind a mound of snow and darted behind another mound, disappearing, but not before I saw the long, emaciated body covered with gray fur, the glowing greenish eyes, the lolling tongue. It had been following us all this time, perhaps since early morning, keeping just out of sight, patient, waiting.
Too frightened to think coherently, I clicked the reins frantically, and the horse picked up even more speed and the wide wooden runners spewed crusty showers of snow on either side of the sleigh, and the sleigh rocked and skidded and the wolf kept up, in plain sight now, leaping, loping, edging closer to the road. Although wearing blinders and thankfully unable to see the wolf, the horse sensed my panic and galloped even faster and I saw that I was going to lose control and turn us over if I didn’t slow down.
What to do? What to do? In my panic, strange as it may seem, it didn’t occur to me to wake Jeremy. We sped down the icy road, thick woods on either side, and my arms felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets and I felt a stabbing pain in my back and knew I couldn’t keep up this speed a minute longer. My foot touched the butt of one of the rifles. I knew then what I had to do, it was the only solution. I pulled gently on the reins, slowing the horse down, and from somewhere deep inside I miraculously found some semblance of calm that formed a barrier against the shrieking panic still alive inside.
I slowed the horse down more, even more, and the wolf slowed down, too, moving along at a lazy gait, head turned toward the road, watching with dark greenish eyes, curious, cautious yet utterly brazen. Now, I told myself. I let go of the reins and the horse continued to trot slowly down the road. I reached down to grab the rifle, knocking Jeremy’s head out of my lap. The wolf growled, the long body tensing, preparing to leap. Jeremy tumbled to the floor of the sleigh, waking with a start as I swung the rifle into position and saw the wolf leaping, saw it sailing toward me like a gigantic gray arrow.
I pulled the trigger. The impact of the blast knocked me back against the seat, the butt of the rifle kicking painfully against my shoulder. The explosion was deafening, and through the thick puff of smoke I saw the wolf hang suspended in mid air for a second, saw its chest splattering red and slimy pink as the force sent it hurtling backward, crashing to the ground at the edge of the road.
The horse reared, coming to an abrupt halt, and the sleigh skidded violently. I dropped the rifle, trembling all over. Jeremy climbed up off the floor of the sleigh, his face chalky white, his blue eyes full of shock and, it seemed, twice their normal size.
“Jesus Christ!” he yelled.
“I shot it,” I said.
“What the hell is going on!”
I pointed. He was standing in the sleigh now, and he turned and looked at the shattered gray heap at the side of the road and saw the crimson pools on the snow and sat down abruptly. Beads of perspiration began to break out on his brow. After a moment he reached down and picked up a canteen, looked at it, put it down, picked up another. Unfastening the top, he took a great gulp, tossing his head back, and then he wiped his mouth and handed the canteen to me.
“Here, you’d better have a swallow.”
I gave him a grateful nod and raised the canteen to my lips. I expected water, of course, and as the raw vodka burned the insides of my mouth and scalded my vocal cords and set my chest afire I coughed and spluttered, eyes smarting with tears. Jeremy took the canteen from me and screwed the top on and set it down while I continued to burn and blink the watery tears from my eyes.
“Why—in—hell—didn’t you—wake me up!” He enunciated the first five words slowly, carefully, ending in a roar.
I couldn’t speak. My vocal cords were still on fire. I waved my hand in front of my open mouth, as though to cool the fire, and Jeremy glared at me with blazing blue eyes that were positively murderous. The sleigh shook as the horse pranced skittishly in place.
“You—you’re scaring the horse,” I whispered hoarsely.
“I could strangle you, Marietta! Of all the goddamn foolish, idiotic, imbecilic
—letting me sleep when—”
He couldn’t go on. His voice started to tremble and he cut himself off and wiped the perspiration from his brow and sat there with a face still several shades whiter than normal. I opened a canteen of water—making bloody certain it was water—and took a long swallow and sighed with relief as the burning ceased. Jeremy still looked like a man in shock.
“I—I didn’t think about it,” I said.
“You—didn’t—think—about—it.”
He was being very, very patient, and I was beginning to grow just a bit weary of it.
“You were asleep and I saw the wolf, only at first I wasn’t sure it was a wolf and I didn’t see any sense waking you up and then when I saw it again I was so frightened I forgot all about you and drove faster and faster. The wolf kept up with the sleigh and moved closer to the road and I knew it was going to attack and then I placed my foot on the rifle and remembered we had the rifles so I just slowed down and shot it.”
“You just shot it,” he said.
“I’m an excellent shot. You know that.”
“What if you’d missed?”
“I didn’t, did I?”
“Goddamn, Marietta—”
“Listen, you son of a bitch, I happen to love you with all my heart and soul, but there are times when I’d gladly slap you silly—particularly when you assume that patient, superior air. I am not, nor have I ever been, a weak, defenseless female who turns into jelly at the first sign of danger, and you had better be damned glad I’m not!”
“I am. I am!”
“Do you feel less a man because I shot the wolf?”
“I’m glad you shot the goddamn wolf!”
“All right, then.”
“All right!”
“We’re both a little upset,” I said.
“Life would have been so much simplier if I’d married Janette Henderson when I was twenty-six years old. She was rich and she was reasonably attractive and her father wanted to take me into the business—he was a coal king in Newcastle, a whole fleet of barges—but no, I wanted adventure, I wanted to live, and, by God, I did.”
When Love Commands Page 53
