by Unconquered
“You worm!” she hissed at him as she entered the small dining room. “You lied to me!”
“I did not lie,” he protested.
“You didn’t tell what you were going to do last night, you worm! You tricked me!”
“If I had told you, would you have cooperated?”
“No!”
“Didn’t Lucas please you,” he said slyly. “I have been told that he always leaves his women begging for more.”
She laughed mockingly. “I am untouched!” she said triumphantly.
His face darkened. Leaping across the space between them, he grasped her by her pale-gold hair. “You bitch! What have you done?” he shrieked into her face. “Every time you refuse to cooperate I am forced to remain here another day!”
“I warned you!” she shouted, pulling away from him. “I will not be treated like an animal! I am Miranda Dunham, wife to Jared Dunham, lord of Wyndsong Manor.”
The first blow caught her unaware. “You bitch! Miranda Dunham is dead! You are Mirushka, a slave belonging to Prince Cherkessky.” He hit her again. “Your function is to breed, and if you don’t cooperate I swear to God I’ll stand over that peasant giant and make him do his duty!”
She saw the third blow coming, and raised her hands to defend herself.
“Pieter Vladimirnovich! Don’t injure her! Remember the prince!”
Dimitri Gregorivich placed himself between them. Sasha’s cupid face was almost purple in his rage. The overseer turned to Miranda, and spoke quietly. “You little fool! Go to your room before he loses control entirely.” She fled gratefully, and he turned back to Sasha, who was now simpering to himself.
“I have never been away from Alexei Vladimirnovich. I cannot bear it, Dimi. ‘I can trust no one else but you, Sasha.’ That’s what he told me, Dimi. Now I am exiled from his sweet presence until that bitch whelps her firstborn!” His black cherry eyes glittered with self-pity and malicious anger. “Is it true? Is it?! Why didn’t he fuck her? Why!”
“Calm yourself, Sasha, calm yourself. You yourself said that Miranda Tomasova must acclimate herself to her new life. Lucas agrees with you. He did not force her because he wishes to earn her trust. He is a gentle man.”
“I don’t care if he earns her trust or not! He was supposed to fuck her! He didn’t! There is, therefore, no chance of her being pregnant, which means I am exiled here an even longer time. I want him whipped!”
“No,” said Dimitri Gregorivich. “Alexei Vladimirnovich sent the woman especially for Lucas, and although I have my reservations yet, she is perfect for him. If he forces her she will be unhappy. Unhappy women make trouble. We have never had trouble here, and the prince would not like it if there was trouble. You are hardly an expert in relations between a man and a woman. I will let Lucas handle her in his own time, and in his own fashion. If you try to interfere I will complain to Alexei Vladimirnovich.”
“I hate it here!”
“You only hate it here because you are lonely and you miss St. Petersburg. I would not offend you, dear Sasha, but among our youth is a most charming and affectionate lad whom I know would be a great consolation to you. Let me bring Vanya to you. Lucas will do his duty as he always has done it, but he must do it in his own time. If you are less concerned with the timing it will happen more quickly. Diverted, you will be happier.”
“I don’t know,” demured Sasha.
“Let me show you the boy,” tempted Dimitri Gregorivich. “He is a delight.”
“I can’t promise I’ll like him, but I suppose I can look. How old is he?”
“Twelve,” was the smooth reply, and Dimitri Gregorivich knew he had won. That night it was he who escorted Miranda to the breeding hut, for Sasha was involved with his new young friend.
Miranda was feeling rather pleased with herself for, after having fled the infuriated Sasha, she had found the kitchens. Playing on old Marya’s sympathies, she had eaten her breakfast there, which gave her plenty of time to look around. She had seen where the bread and fruit were kept, and where the waterbags were hung. Yes, she was pleased with herself.
“Where is Lucas?” she asked the overseer.
“He will be waiting for you,” came the reply.
“I can go from here without you,” she said.
“Are you anxious to see Lucas?” he asked. She ignored him, but then he said, “Remove your caftan.”
“What?” Miranda was shocked.
“Remove your caftan,” he repeated.
“Please, Dimitri Gregorivich, I was cold enough last night with it.”
“If you do your duty, Miranda Tomasova, you will not need the gown.” He held out his hand, and she knew there was nothing she could do. Shrugging fatalistically, she complied with his request and entered the small structure, leaving him behind. As the door shut she saw Lucas’s bulk in the dimness, but the room darkened too quickly for her to make out his features.
“I see you are no longer frightened of me,” he said teasingly.
“You were very kind to me last night,” she said.
“I should like to be kinder to you tonight,” he replied.
Suddenly she felt shy. “Please …”
He laughed ruefully. “My brother says I am being too easy with you; nevertheless, I don’t want you hating me. We will share a bed tonight, Miranda, but we will do nothing more than sleep the sleep of the innocent.” He reached out and found her hand. “Come, little bird.”
She lay down, and felt the rope bed supports give as he joined her.
“Tonight you are also naked,” he remarked. “You made a delectable sight in the doorway, the setting sun behind you, little bird. One kind word, and I would be your slave instead of the prince’s,” he teased.
“Please, you will make me shy again.”
“I would like to put my arm around you,” he said as he did so.
She stiffened at his touch, but gradually relaxed. “Tell me what you look like?” she asked.
“I am just a man,” he said modestly. “My hair is the same gilt color as yours, my eyes are blue like the Persian turquoise. I prefer to be clean-shaven, while my brother wears a beard. Paulus is a golden blond with light blue eyes.”
He drew her closer, and they were hip to hip now. She was glad he could not see her embarrassment. “I am sleepy,” she said. “Good night.”
“Good night,” he answered pleasantly.
Shortly he was snoring lightly while she lay chilled and wakeful. God, his legs were so long, and they were as furred with soft downy hair as his chest was. She dozed briefly only to awaken when he pulled her closer and began fondling her breasts. She was about to protest when he murmured, “Mignon, sweetheart,” and she realized he must be dreaming. As his thumb rubbed insistently at her nipple she grew more tense. A corresponding ache began to build between her legs, and she realized with horror that she was experiencing desire. But how could this be? How could she feel anything having to do with love for a man whose face she’d never seen, a man who was not Jared? Pulling away from him, she moved to the farthest corner of the bed. Confused and shivering, she softly cried herself to sleep.
Miranda awoke in her own bed. She could hear the sound of an insistent rain. She rose, dressed herself, and went to the kitchens, where old Marya was grumbling. “Rain, rain, rain!” she said irritably. “It makes my old bones ache. I hope the rainy season is not beginning early this year.” She filled a small bowl with kasha, and slammed it on the table before Miranda. “Eat up, dearie. Its warmth will help keep out the chill.” She filled a mug with steaming tea, and lacing it heavily with honey shoved it across next to the bowl. “I apologize for such simple fare this morning, Miranda Tomasova, but everyone has overslept because we were kept so late last night by Pieter Vladimirnovich. He had us prepare a banquet for two, the likes of which I have never seen before.” Her tone, her entire body registered extreme disapproval.
Miranda swallowed her laughter. So it was Pieter Vladimirnovich this morning, was it? Sasha
must really be in disfavor with Marya. Miranda ate her breakfast and, seeing a row of capes of various sizes hanging by the back door, she snatched one up and hurried out into the wet morning. With Sasha well occupied and everyone else keeping indoors she had a chance to inspect the boats on the beach. Unless the rain turned into a really bad storm, she intended escaping tonight.
She knew she would not be sent to the breeding hut tonight. Farm policy for women was two nights, then a night of full rest. Dimitri Gregorivich had told her so last night. Tonight would be her night of rest, and she would certainly make the most of it. If the rain continued there would be virtually no chance of anyone being out, and her escape was assured. Sasha was nicely entangled with his new friend, and probably would be for the rest of the day and night. Yesterday afternoon, when he and the boy had been frolicking naked in the sea, she had crept into his room to steal a pair of breeches, a shirt, and a cap. Sasha was so involved with the lad that he seemed not to have missed the garments at all.
The wet salt wind teased at her long hair, whipping it wildly about as she reached the beach. The sea was running a trifle higher than normal, with an occasional two-foot swell, but the rain was soft. Though gusty, the wind was not a sustained one. Experience told her that by evening it would be an even, low gale. She suspected the rain would go through the night before it wore itself out. Nothing could be better, she thought with satisfaction.
There were four boats drawn up on the damp sand. Carefully she inspected them for soundness, and immediately discovered that two of them would not be seaworthy at all, for they were too old and their floorboards were loose. They might be fine for a day’s fishing within the safety of the cove, but not for a trip of several hundred miles down the Black Sea. The last two boats were practically brand new, and would be tight and safe. Unfortunately, only one of them had a good sail. The sail in the other was ripped. This, then, would be her boat. The tide was out, but she could see the high-water mark that ended just beyond the stony part of the beach. Bending, she pushed at the boat, but it was stuck in the sand. For several minutes she shoved at the boat until it finally gave and slid forward. She moved it back and forth several times, smoothing the sandy groove until the little vessel moved easily. God, she wished she might go now, but it was too risky. She had to wait. Her worst mistakes had always been made because she was impatient, and galloped precipitously into situations without stopping to think things out.
Reluctantly, she turned away from the boats and made her way back across the beach and up the hill to the villa. Tonight! She was going to escape. It would be a long time before Prince Alexei Cherkessky tangled with an American again!
“Oh, Jared!” she whispered aloud. “I am coming home to you, my darling! I am coming home!”
Chapter 12
SHE WAS BROUGHT SUPPER IN HER ROOM. “SASHA’S ORDERS,” said old Marya disapprovingly. “He and that wicked little scamp, Vanya, are lording it in the dining room. When the boy heard you ate with Sasha he had a tantrum, and so you are banished until further notice.”
Miranda laughed. “I would sooner eat alone than listen to another recitation of Alexei Vladimirnovich’s virtues. Besides, this is my night of rest, Marya. I shall go to sleep immediately after I’ve eaten. Would you think me lazy if I asked to sleep late tomorrow? Sasha won’t care.”
“Why not, dearie? Lucas can exhaust the strongest girl, I am told.” She patted Miranda’s cheek fondly. “What a good girl you are,” she said. “Once I had a pretty little girl child like you, but she died …” The old woman’s voice trailed off sadly for a moment then, catching herself, she smiled. “Sweet dreams to you, Miranda Tomasova. Good night.”
Alone, Miranda ate slowly of the delicious capon breast Marya had brought. Would there be some left in the kitchen, some she could take with her? Maybe a ham. Salted meat lasted longer at sea. Bread? Yes. Fruit. A knife. Lord, yes! She couldn’t go without a knife. Perhaps there would be a fishing line in the boat. She realized that the trip would take her close to a month providing she encountered no severe difficulties. Why hadn’t she looked for a fishing line?
Her supper finished, she lay on her bed. She dared not attempt leaving yet. It was far too early, and she could hear the servants moving about, while from the dining room came the sound of high-pitched laughter. The tiny mantel clock chimed seven, and she dozed, waking a little after eleven. Now all was quiet but for the insistent patter of rain on the red roof tiles.
She rose. Shedding her caftan, she put on Sasha’s breeches. They were a good fit. A linen towel served to bind her breasts, and then came the shirt. She retained her little black slippers, for no one would see her feet in the boat, and if she had to run she couldn’t be bothered with shoes that didn’t fit. She had decided not to cut her beautiful pale-gold hair. Instead, she plaited it into a thick braid, which she tucked beneath Sasha’s cap. She was ready.
Snatching a pillowcase from her bed, she carefully crept from her room and hurried to the kitchen. The goatskin water bags hung full, and she quickly went about the task of stuffing food into the pillowcase. The knife! Don’t forget the knife! She chose one from the rack near old Marya’s claw-footed chopping block. Then, taking a thick cloak from one of the hooks near the back door, she quietly let herself outside into the night.
She moved slowly, the water bags weighing her down and the darkness confusing her somewhat. She stopped and recalled the way as she had traveled it in daylight. Feeling more confident, she hurried purposefully forward. Soon she could hear the sound of the sea, and it was all she could do not to run to it.
The rain was coming in torrents now and she could hardly see. The wind had not come about quite as she had anticipated. It blew in off the sea in fierce gusts, and she again began to have doubts about leaving in this wild weather. She reached the boat and, dropping the pillowcase of food into it, began to unload her waterbags.
“Miranda, where are you going?” Lucas asked gently.
She nearly fainted. She couldn’t see him, but he was obviously nearby. Stealthily she began to shove at the boat, and it slipped easily down toward the wildly pounding surf. She felt the tide catch at the boat, and she quickly scrambled into it.
“Miranda!”
Frantically she sought for the sail to raise it, but it was gone! Desperately she sought for the oars, but there were none. She knew that there had been oars. Where were they? Sobbing, she tried paddling with her hands, but the winds blew the boat back to shore, and then he was looming over her, dragging it back onto the beach.
“No!” she shrieked at him. “No! No! No!” In violent desperation she flung herself into the sea. Better death than this! Jared! Jared! her mind cried out to him. Oh my love, help me! Help me!
He saw her dark shape poised for a brief moment before she leaped into the water, and letting the boat go he dove in after her, catching at the sodden, heavy cloak to pull her back to safety. He dragged her onto the beach. She was coughing, sobbing, and screaming at him in a language he couldn’t understand. He tore the cape from her, and attempted to get a firmer grasp on her, but she fought him like one demented, clawing, hitting, biting. For several minutes she battled him wildly, and he was astounded by her strength. But then he felt her weaken until finally she collapsed against him, weeping piteously.
Lucas carried her up the beach and toward the nearest shelter, the breeding hut. He used his foot to open the door, and set her down on the bed. She was sobbing bitterly. He closed the door and then gathered wood from a small bin where he had put it earlier. He started a fire, stripped off his own wet clothes, and pulling her to her feet, stripped her soaking garments off of her. He then carefully spread them on the floor near the fire to dry. She had lost her cap and her hair was sopping wet. He unplaited the braid, and loosened her hair. It tumbled damply down her back.
Miranda stood shivering and naked, in shock, unable to stop crying. He put his arms around her and held her close to him. Finally, as her sobs subsided, he began to speak softly
. “There is never any going back in life, Miranda. We can only go forward. I love you. I have loved you from the moment I first saw you those few nights ago. I will not allow you to destroy yourself hungering for a life that is no longer yours. You are my woman now. The prince gave you to me, and I will never let you go!”
“No!” she whispered hoarsely.
“Yes!” he answered firmly, and then he was raising her head up to face him. A warm, demanding mouth descended on hers. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, savoring her, tasting the salt taste of her lips. He kissed her shut and quivering eyelids, her nose, her high cheekbones, her cleft chin, and then kissed her soft lips again. His tongue sought hers, but she pulled her head free.
“You promised you would not force m-me!” she sobbed.
“I am not forcing you,” he said.
“Then release me!”
“No,” he said, continuing to hold her close.
“H-how did you know?”
“I watched you this morning as you looked over the boats. Then I waited for you tonight. You are very brave, Miranda, and clever and resourceful and foolish.”
“Why did you stop me?” Her voice was anguished.
“You would have died out there, Miranda. I could not let you die.”
“If you really cared for me,” she whispered low, “you would have let me go.”
“No,” he replied. “I am not that unselfish, Miranda. A gentleman might have been that self-sacrificing, but I am a simple peasant, and could not be.” He paused, then said, “Any man who would be that noble does not deserve you. Peasants learn not to be wasteful of anything, and that includes people.” He gently trailed a finger from her shoulder down her bare arm, and she shivered.
“Don’t,” she said sharply.
His laughter was soft and insinuating. “Why not?” he persisted, and she tried to pull away from him, suddenly aware that their naked bodies were touching from breast to thigh. His free hand pushed her long gold hair aside, and he gently squeezed first her right buttock and then her left. He felt the nipples of her breasts hard and thrusting against his chest, and although she was trying very hard to hide it, her breathing was suddenly short and ragged.
