Love Me Again

by Wendy M. Burge

  They both heard it at the same time, a pounding on the street door. They froze in expectation, listening to the muffled voices out in the hall. When the salon door opened and a man marched in, Christina blinked at the uniform of the exhausted and bloodstained man standing before her. The facing on his uniform was yellow: Austenburg's Imperial Elite, Varek's legion. Numb, her gaze traveled up to the man's grim face.

  Clicking his heels, he bowed, and held out a missive.

  As if in slow motion she watched her hand reach out and take the parchment. There was blood on it. She didn't even see the courier's departure; all she could see was the blood staining the edges of the paper.

  “Sergei,” she whispered.

  He was at her side, his hand supporting hers, which was still extended. “Do you want me to read it?”

  Shaking her head, she opened it, the crackling of the paper the only sound in the deathly quiet room.

  Sergei, his own heart racing, watched Christina, the emotions stark on her pale face. He felt the room tilt as her shaking hand covered her mouth, and when she looked up at him tears were already pouring down her ashen cheeks. “Oh, God! Oh, God, Sergei,” she choked out. Then she was in his arms and her body was convulsing with the force of her sobs.

  Sergei closed his eyes.

  “Oh, Sergei, he's alive!” she choked out on a laugh.

  “What?” he shouted. Reaching up, he tore the note for her fingers and read, "Fear not, lark, for I am well. I love you, Varek."

  Grabbing her shoulders, he pushed her away and shook her, “Damn you, Christina! I thought he was...” He stared into her drenched eyes, and suddenly they were laughing in hysterical union as he spun her around.

  * * * *

  The next knock on the door did not bring such happy tidings.

  Robert had been wounded.

  Immediately, they were off, Christina dressed in breeches for the convenience of fast riding. By the time they reached the inn at Waterloo where Wellington was staying it was close to midnight, and still the area was a hive of activity, as men saw to the dead and wounded. The smoke and stench was so cloying it stuck in her throat and everywhere she looked the moonlight was glistening off blood. The cries and screams of thousands of men could have been a chorus straight from hell. Everywhere she stepped she had to be careful so as not to stumble on a supine form, either dead or dying or sleeping. She was relieved when she was hustled into a cramped inn and then up the stairs, the air fetid with fresh blood, sweat and smoke.

  When she entered a room the only thing she saw was Robert on the bed with two blood-soaked men bent over, and examining his legs, while he writhed and moaned as if tortured.

  She hurried over, stumbling over something on the floor, which grunted at her. Looking down, she saw Wellington glaring up at her. They both blinked at each other in surprise.

  “What are you doing down there?” she inquired stupidly.

  Sitting up, he rubbed his face. “I was trying to sleep.”

  “I'm sorry,” she muttered, then stepped around him and hurried to the bed.

  It took her a moment to grab hold of one of Robert's thrashing hands and hold on tightly. “Robert,” she called to him. Several times she leaned over him, calling out his name, before she was finally able to gain his attention. Weakly, he turned toward her, blinking at her with eyes so dazed and pain-filled that she wondered if he even knew who she was.

  Then he was saying in a voice raw with panic, “Don't let them do it.” The hand she was holding turned and now gripped hers with a strength that almost brought her to her knees as he crushed the small bones in her fingers. “Promise me you won't let them do it!”

  Frightened, Christina looked up at the doctor standing beside her, who was frowning angrily. Steeling herself, she looked down at Robert's legs and almost gagged as she stared in horror at what was left of his right thigh. His leg was a mangled mass of torn skin, muscle and shattered bone, the outer half of his thigh gone. And where his left leg lay straight on the bed, his right was laying askew. For a moment everything flickered out and then back again. Swallowing thickly, she croaked out, “Will he live?”

  “If we take the leg, he has a chance,” the man across from her reported curtly. “It's his only chance.” For the first time she noticed the assortment of stained instruments strewn about the bed, glinting dully in the candlelight.

  “No!” Robert screamed. Then he turned wild eyes on her. “Don't you let them, Christina, you hear me!”

  “But, Robert...”

  “No, damn you, no!”

  She felt a presence behind her and looked over her shoulder to see Wellington. He was looking down on Robert with the cold command of a superior officer. “It is not up to you or your wife, Basingstoke. The leg comes off.”

  Robert was panting, staring at his commander-in-chief with the look of a doomed animal. His head started shaking back and forth. “No, sir, please. I will get better.”

  “No, you won't, not if you don't get rid of it.” Christina was appalled at the duke's lack of humanity, and yet when she glanced back at Robert he was now laying still with his eyes closed. It looked to her as if he had suddenly given up.

  Very low, Wellington apologized to her. “I am sorry, my dear. Sometimes when they are in shock, the voice of command seems to be the only thing they can understand. Forgive my callousness.”

  “I understand, and thank you for being here.”

  “No place else for me to go just now. He has my bed,” he explained wryly, but the look in his eyes was infinitely sad as he looked down on only one of the many loyal friends he had seen wounded or killed that day. “Today I lost eight of my aides, loyal men who rode by my side and took bullets that were doubtless intended for me. And here I stand, untouched.” He sounded angry.

  Not knowing what to say, Christina turned back to Robert. She noticed the doctors staring at her, as if waiting for something.

  The next voice she heard at her shoulder was Sergei's as he began to pull her away. Instinctively, she struggled against him. Then he gave her no choice as he swept her up and bore her out of the room. She watched the door slamming behind her with a finality that had her shuddering with dread.

  Sergei took her outside of the inn, where she could not distinguish Robert's screams from those all around her.

  As Sergei held her trembling body, he looked about the madness around them and again wondered where Varek was. As soon as he could he was going to hunt the slippery bastard down and this time he wasn't going to be turned away.

  * * * *

  It wasn't until the middle of the next day that Sergei was able to find the time to leave Christina, who was completely absorbed with easing Robert's pain and fever as much as possible. She had sent him away to get some sleep, but instead he began his search for the elusive archduke.

  It took him close to five very frustrating hours to finally run his quarry to ground. And when he approached the tiny farmhouse outside Waterloo, he was amazed to see quite a few of emperor's own personal guard situated around the modest dwelling. When upon his approach he was abruptly forced back, a heated argument ensued. At the end of his tether, and seething with a rage that rarely escaped him, Sergei was soon shouting at the top of his lungs, “Damn you to hell, Vare, get out here and tell these bastards to let me in!”

  The door was jerked open and Varek stood on the threshold, a look of surprise on his strained features. His first words were, “Why aren't you with Christina? Is something wrong?” The panic on Varek's face made Sergei assure him hastily that she was fine.

  His frown easing, Varek gave an abrupt nod to the guard standing in Sergei's way, and then turned back around and disappeared into the cottage, leaving the door wide open. Sergei threw a challenging glare at the man, and when the soldier reluctantly stepped aside, he quickly followed, slamming the door behind him.

  “What the hell is going on, Vare? Why are Francis's personal guards knee deep around this place?”

  Varek shot h
im a disgruntled look as he sat down at a table that was covered in food. Sergei quickly noticed an elderly couple sitting quiet and roundeyed in the corner. “It was the only way Francis would let me leave Heilbrönn.”

  Dropping down on the bench across the table from his friend, Sergei picked up a piece of bread and suddenly realized he was famished. As if by a miracle, a bowl of the most heavenly smelling stew appeared over his shoulder, and plunked down in front of him. Sergei smiled his thanks at the timid woman, who silently nodded and then retreated back to her corner. “Will you now please tell me what is going on?” Sergei demanded between spoonfuls of the ambrosia he was shoveling into his mouth.

  His lips quirked in amusement as he watched his famished guest, Varek instead countered with, “First tell me of lark. Where is she? Is she all right?”

  Swallowing, Sergei shook his head in exasperation and sighed. Varek always was single-minded to the point of obstinacy where Christina was concerned. “As I said before, she is fine. With me looking out for her, how can you doubt it? She is at Wellington's headquarters in Waterloo right now. Basingstoke lost a leg and, of course, she is with him.”

  Varek's gaze sharpened, and Sergei foresaw his next question by saying gently, “It is most likely he will live, Vare.”

  Varek looked away, despair crushing him, “Of course. And now she has even more reason to stay by his side,” he said heavily.

  Sergei paused in his chewing as he thought about that, and then silently agreed. “Now, about the guards...”

  Varek's mind still fretting with this last frustration seemed not to hear him at all. When Sergei repeated the question, Varek looked over at him as if in a daze, and answered, irritation ripe in his voice, “There is an assassin on my tail, and Francis learned of it. I was on my way back to Austenburg when he had me intercepted and brought to Heilbrönn.”

  Sergei blinked at him. “Did you know of this assassin?”

  Giving Sergei a testy glance, he nodded.

  Very calmly, Sergei put down his spoon. “And you didn't tell me?” he asked in a voice silky and low.

  Varek's eyes narrowed as his expression turned belligerent. “That's right, I didn't tell you!”

  Sergei took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Damn you, Vare, how long have you known?”

  “Sophy. My error was placing her in Francis's custody, where he also learned of the plot.”

  “And knowing this, you went to Austenburg alone?”

  “You are not my keeper, Sergei.” Then he wished he could pull back the words when Sergei's face fell with a confused hurt. The look in Varek's eyes when they met Sergei's was filled with a comradeship that neither had ever forgotten.

  “I would die for you, Vare, don't you know that? You and Christina are the only people in this damn world I care about. If something happened to you, do you have any idea what would happen to her? Or to me, for that matter?”

  Varek dropped his face into his hands and wearily rubbed it. “Bröchre has marked me, Serge. I am as good as dead, with or without you by my side. In fact, Sophy told me that I was to be killed in battle, to hide the assassination. I find it amazing I am still alive. And I would just as soon you stay out of it.”

  The silence that followed this announcement was deafening. When he looked up Sergei was staring at him with an expression of blankness that had Varek wondering what he was thinking.

  “Who hired him?” Sergei asked in a detached voice.

  “Roget.”

  Surprise lit the deadened look in Sergei's eyes.

  Wryly, Varek smiled, “I know it's a bit hard to comprehend, but apparently Roget has been behind the brewing rebellion in Austenburg for years. Patient devil; I have to say that for the bastard. I do believe I deserve a knife in the back for my utter stupidity. How could I have been so bloody blind?”

  “I never did like the worm, as Christina always liked to call him, but it is hard to comprehend that he would go to such lengths. And why?” Sergei shook his head in wonder as he thought of the little weasel of a man who always seemed to be underfoot. “What are your plans now?”

  Varek shrugged. “When things have settled here, I will take a contingent of Francis's troops and crush the rebellion and officially dissolve the duchy. I had prayed to do it peacefully, but my optimism is long gone. At this point I can only hope to succeed before Bröchre does.”

  “Don't be an ass!” Sergei snapped back as he pushed the half-eaten bowl out of his way, his appetite suddenly gone.

  Gently, Varek told him, “Being realistic doesn't necessarily mean I am an ass.”

  “Yes, and you thought you would be dead in battle and you are still bloody well here, aren't you? When you go back I am coming with you.”

  Now Varek was frowning, as he said stiffly, “Absolutely not!”

  “You,” Sergei snarled as he shot to his feet and pointed a finger in Varek's angry face, “have no fucking say in the matter! Whether it is at your side or trailing behind, I am coming!”

  Varek watched as his friend stormed out of the cottage, the door slamming behind him. After a thoughtful moment, Varek found he was suddenly feeling more light-hearted than he had been since saying good-bye to his lark. Turning, he grinned at his hosts and said simply, “That was my friend.”

  In unison, they nodded and grinned back.

  Twenty-two

  Christina felt herself floating, and then blessed coolness drifted over her. Her lids felt too heavy to lift, but she finally opened her eyes and saw the room moving about her. Her head was resting on a broad shoulder.

  Frowning, she lifted her head and looked about her. Sergei was carrying her out of Robert's room. “What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice scratchy with weariness.

  Sergei's gaze was grim as he glanced down at her. “I am taking you to bed. If you don't get some rest you will be as ill as Robert. Laure has plenty of servants to watch him for a few hours.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to argue, then she decided she was too tired to try. With a sigh she dropped her head back onto his shoulder and let him take care of her. When he lowered her onto her bed, she snuggled into the cool sheets, which seemed to drift down over her like magic. Instantly she was drifting off to sleep again. Bending down, Sergei lifted her little shadow onto the bed and lifted the cover so Katie could burrow under and curl up beside her mistress.

  Sergei stood over her for a long time, fighting with his conscience. How could he leave her, especially now of all times? But how could he let Varek go off to Austenburg and into that nest of vipers alone? Rubbing his eyes, he made his way over to the daybed, and stretching out on it, he lay there staring up into the darkness. Earlier, before he had gone to get Christina, he had closed the heavy draperies tight, but still the endless noise from the streets could be heard. They were back in Brussels, having carefully moved Robert to the cleaner comfort of the Metternichs’ rented house. The shouts, curses, laughter, even the crying of broken men were an endless cacophony of sound that Sergei didn't think he would ever forget. Bloody hell, how he hated war! And here he was contemplating walking into another one beside Varek.

  Smiling wryly, he closed his eyes and tried to catch a bit of the rest he had forced upon Christina. He wasn't looking forward to the talk he would have with her when she awoke.

  However, when he next opened his eyes it was morning, and Christina was gone. Cursing, he shot up and got tangled in the blanket Christina must have placed over him sometime during the night. “Damn that woman!” he grumbled as he strode out of the room and into Robert's, where he found her trying to hold down a hysterical, fever-ridden man.

  “Damn it, Christina,” he shouted as he ran over and forced Robert down.

  Christina barely heard him, as Robert was doing his own share of cursing her.

  “I want to go home, you stupid bitch!” Robert raged as he tried to throw off the added strength of Sergei's weight. “Let me up! What is wrong with you people?”

  In a matter of minutes
his shouting had the room filled with enough help in the form of stalwart footmen that it didn't take long for Robert's thrashing body to be firmly restrained. His fever-glazed eyes glared condemningly at Christina as he panted under the constraining hands.

  Seeing Christina's stricken expression, Sergei took her by the shoulders. “He doesn't know what he is saying, Christina.”

  “I know that, Sergei, but he is constantly telling me how he wants to go home. What am I going to do?”

  “What do the doctors say?”

  “That to move him such a distance right now would probably kill him.”

  “Then you'll have to stay here,” he reasoned in a calming voice. “Once the fever dies, he will become more lucid. Just be sure to have the footmen close by and you should be fine.”

  Christina, hearing something strange in his voice, turned to look at him with a curious frown. It was then that she noticed how distracted he was, which was so out of character for Sergei. He usually had the steady calmness of a cool summer day. Casting a quick glance at Robert, and satisfied that he had dropped off into another exhausted doze, she pulled Sergei out of the room. “What is going on, Sergei?”

  Running a hand through his disordered hair, he wondered how he was supposed to break the news of his defection to her. Sighing, he took hold of her hand and led her back into her room. As she watched him firmly close the door, Christina became more frightened by the moment. She was relieved when he began to speak.

  “I saw Varek yesterday.”

  Her heart started to pound heavily. She couldn't understand why he continued to watch her with such serious intent. She clenched her hand and waited.

  Seeing her stark fear, he assured her as quickly as he had done Varek. “He is fine, Christina. My God, the two of you have such a sense of the morbid.” When she looked as if she didn't trust him, he took her hand again, and together they sat down on the edge of the bed. “Truly, he is fine. I wouldn't lie to you about that.”