Bertrice Small

by Unconquered

  Spring arrived in late March, and with it a letter for Sasha from Prince Cherkessky. Miranda was seated in the sunny salon with him, and she was startled by his moan.

  “Sasha, what is it?”

  “Oh, God!” he cried, and his voice rose to a keening wail of anguish. “He has left me, Mirushka! I am alone! Alone! Ohh!” And he fell to his knees, sobbing bitterly.

  Miranda rose and, crossing the room, bent awkwardly to retrieve the prince’s letter from Sasha’s grasp. Quickly she read the elegant French script.

  Alexei Vladimirnovich had been married on the eve of the Russian Christmas to Princess Romanova, and she had instantly proved fertile. The new Princess Cherkessky was expecting the heir to the family fortunes in very early autumn. Alexei Vladimirnovich believed it better that Sasha remain at the farm in the position of manager. His presence in St. Petersburg could easily upset the princess, and in her delicate condition that was unthinkable. After she had put two or three children in the nursery and Cherkessky’s line was assured, then Sasha might return to his master in St. Petersburg. In the meantime he was to remain in the Crimea. It would be only four or five years at the most.

  The prince expressed pleasure at the impending arrival of Miranda Tomasova’s child, and reminded Sasha to be sure and inform him immediately when his beautiful slave woman whelped her first baby for him. She was to be returned to the breeding hut within three months rather than the usual six, and put to stud with Lucas again. With luck they could have another child by her the same time next year.

  Miranda shuddered. The prince was certainly an unfeeling brute. The man obviously cared for nothing except money.

  The letter closed with the prince wishing Sasha well, and reminding him that if he disobeyed his master’s orders, whatever had once been between them would be forgotten in the prince’s anger and the punishment would be the most painful and severe that could be devised.

  Miranda put the letter down and looked at Sasha. The man was now huddled in a heap on the floor, weeping piteously. She narrowed her gaze dispassionately. Perhaps in losing the one person he loved, Sasha would now understand her feelings.

  Then a marvelous thought began to take form. If she could use the prince’s cruelty to turn Sasha against him, then maybe, just maybe, she could convince Sasha to retaliate against Alexei Cherkessky! What greater revenge could Sasha take than to free the long-sought breeder?

  She smiled to herself. She would convince him to take her and Vanya to Istanbul on the prince’s yacht. He would also take the money the farm would receive in late June, when the farm would host buyers from all over the world at its annual sale. Her smile widened. What a sweet revenge! The prince would be robbed of the fattest part of his yearly revenues as well as her, his prize mare! First, however, she must win Sasha to her side. She bent over and put motherly arms around him.

  “Sasha, Sasha, do not grieve,” she soothed. “Please, dear friend, come and sit on the settee with me. Please, I cannot lift you.”

  Her gentle, sympathetic tone penetrated, and he stumbled to his feet and crossed the room with her, falling on the settee. “Oh, Mirushka, how could he do this to me? I knew he must marry for the family’s sake. I would have behaved properly. I have always behaved well. I never embarrassed him. I am, after all, also a Cherkessky by blood.”

  “Dear Sasha, what can I say to you?” she murmured. “Now you have been torn from the one person you love in this world. Believe me, I understand. Oh, I understand!”

  He raised his tear-streaked face and gazed sorrowfully at her. “And now I understand you, Mirushka. I do, and I beg your forgiveness!”

  She cradled him in her arms as if he were a child.

  “Poor Sasha, poor Sasha,” she crooned sadly. But there was a triumphant smile on her face.

  During the next month she subtly played with him, and upon him, as on a fine instrument. She went along with his moods, loved him, was properly indignant for him. Gradually he began to lean on her and to trust her. Soon she felt safe enough to suggest revenge. Given a few well-chosen words, he would come up with the right solution all by himself.

  She had to be careful. If Lucas discovered what she was planning, he would try to stop her again. He was extremely attentive to her these days, taking her for long walks on the beach, holding her little hands in his big paw as any loving young husband might do. Once he had said, “I am going to ask Dimitri Gregorivich if I may suckle upon your breasts before they give you the herb that stops your milk. I shall be your only child, Miranda, and finally you will love me—as I love you.” No, Lucas must not suspect that she had found an escape plan.

  The boy Vanya was another concern. His round, childish face contrasted with his sharp little dark blue eyes. He watched her with Sasha for several weeks, finally daring to accost her one afternoon when she was alone.

  “Why are you being so kind to Sasha?” he demanded boldly.

  She eyed him with amusement, for she had every right to slap him and order him away. She asked him, “Do you love Sasha?”

  “Of course! He is the only person who has ever really loved me. I am not just one of the slave children to him. I am special.”

  “Would you like to remain with Sasha always?”

  “Oh yes, Mirushka!”

  “Then trust me as Sasha does. Ask me no more questions. Keep your agile little mind on other things, and speak to no one about your curiosity. If you do these things I can promise you a long and lovely life with Sasha.”

  “What if I speak with Lucas?” the boy demanded slyly.

  “Then none of your dreams will come true, Vanya. Though you do not understand it now, believe me when I say that I am the key to your happiness. Betray me, and you will be sold off this very year.”

  “Can you really do all that, Mirushka?” His childish voice held a note of fear.

  “Yes, Vanushka, I can,” she answered him in a voice so confident that he believed her.

  “I will be loyal to you,” he promised fervently.

  She smiled sweetly at him. “I know you will,” she said, and patting his plump, rosy cheek with one hand, she popped a chocolate into his mouth with the other. “Run along, and play now, Vanushka. I want to take a nap.”

  May came, and the pastures were filled with lambs and kids and colts and calves, all gamboling in the bright green grass. The children frolicked in the warm sea, and Miranda was within six weeks of giving birth to the child as she called the unwanted growth within her. She had no feelings for it. She longed only to be rid of it. The quicker she gave birth, the quicker she could leave this place.

  She had eased back on poor Sasha. Letting him come up with her escape plan too soon would give him too much time to think about it seriously. Too much thought could change his mind because, deep down, his love and loyalty to Prince Cherkessky were still there.

  She smiled to herself, watching the children playing in the sea.

  “Freedom!” she whispered to herself. She was Miranda Dunham of Wyndsong Island, and she was born to freedom. She would not stop fighting for freedom until death stilled her heartbeat.

  Chapter 13

  THE TATARS STRUCK AT DAWN. SWEEPING ACROSS THE BESSARABIAN border to the west, they surprised the helpless inhabitants of Prince Alexei Cherkessky’s slave-breeding farm. The Tatar raiders encountered no resistance, for no one here was foolish enough to resist the Devil’s Horsemen, as they had always been called. Hearing the commotion, Miranda rose as quickly as her condition allowed. Sasha was rushing into her room.

  “Tatars!” he gasped. “I don’t understand! The prince is half-Tatar. They have never bothered us before.”

  Miranda didn’t bother to mention that the other half of the prince was Russian, and that the Russians had been the ones to murder all of old Prince Batu’s direct male descendants. “What will they do?” she asked.

  “The slave markets in ’Stanbul,” was the chilling reply, sobbed by terrified Sasha.

  Damnation! Just when it had all be
en going so well. “Sasha, you must help me!” she said.

  “How, Mirushka? How?” he gasped.

  “Since I don’t live in the quarters they will not know my situation. Say that I am the married sister of the English Ambassador in St. Petersburg, offered the prince’s hospitality because I could not face another winter in St. Petersburg in my delicate condition. Tell them they can get a fine ransom for me from the British.”

  “But who will pay it?”

  “The English Ambassador in ’Stanbul will pay. I have told you that my husband is very wealthy, but what I did not tell you is that he is also very good friends with Lord Palmerston, the Minister of War. Please, Sasha! Your loyalty to Alexei Vladimirnovich at this moment would be misplaced! Did he not betray you and exile you with no thought of your love?”

  The pain leaped into his dark eyes, and he looked at her closely.

  “Please!” she begged him. “Please!” She could hear the Tatars moving toward the villa. It was the longest moment of her life.

  “I will do it, Mirushka!” he said. “I owe you at least a chance. But remember, it may not help.”

  “I understand,” she said. “Hurry, we must tell old Marya!”

  Together they hurried to the salon. Marya was already there, surrounded by Vanya and the housemaids. Quickly Sasha explained the plan to save Miranda. “She is a great lady in her own land, and the prince was wrong to steal her from her family. We must try to make it right for her now,” he finished, and the frightened group all nodded eagerly, happy that one of them might be spared, glad it was to be Miranda, who had always been kind to them.

  The main door to the house was suddenly kicked in, an unnecessary gesture since it had not been locked. The room filled with Tatar warriors. The terrified servant girls shrieked in fright, for the Tatars were a fearsome sight. Their skin had a yellow tone, which contrasted dramatically with their short black hair and slanted dark eyes. Dressed in dark baggy pants that ended at the knee where their boots began, they wore colorful shirts belted in the middle with metal links, and pillbox-shaped dark felt hats with long side flaps.

  The raiders were extremely well organized, quickly separating the young servant girls and Vanya, stripping the girls naked and hustling them from the room. Old Marya refused to budge from Miranda’s side, which seemed to amuse them. They ignored Sasha for the moment, scornfully eyeing his red silk dressing gown. But they were extremely solicitous of Miranda, insisting she sit down, patting her belly with broad grins and murmurs of approval.

  They all snapped to attention as a slim, fierce-looking man entered the room. Walking up to Sasha, the man spoke in guttural but understandable French. “I am Prince Arik, last surviving grandson of Prince Batu. Who are you, and who is the woman?”

  Sasha drew himself up proudly. He knew his fate even if Miranda didn’t. “I am Pieter Vladimirnovich Cherkessky, called Sasha, son of the late Prince Vladimir Cherkessky.”

  “You are the current prince?”

  “No, my mother was only a serf. I was raised, however, with my half-brother, Prince Alexei.”

  “Is the woman his wife? His mistress?”

  “No, Prince Arik. This woman is Lady Miranda Dunham, sister to the English Ambassador in St. Petersburg.”

  “What is she doing here?” demanded the Tatar chief.

  “Her husband, who now fights a war for his king across the great western ocean, left her with her brother. Her doctor in St. Petersburg believed she could not take the severe winter there, and so Prince Cherkessky, my master, offered her the hospitality of this estate. He is a great good friend of the ambassador.”

  Prince Arik whirled on Miranda. “When is your child due, madam?”

  “A week or two,” Miranda lied.

  “When did you come here?”

  “November. A month after my husband left for the Americas, and I was lucky to get here with all the snow in the north. It was terrible!”

  “Why were you in St. Petersburg in the first place?”

  “We were visiting my brother before Jared was due to depart,” Miranda answered, and then she drew herself up as haughtily as her pregnancy would allow. “How dare you question me, Prince Arik! I was under the impression that Prince Alexei was the late Prince Batu’s only grandson. Sasha, are you sure this man is not a fraud?”

  Prince Arik laughed. “Yes,” he said, “this lady is most definitely English. They are always so arrogant. In answer to your question, my fine lady, Prince Batu had five sons who lived here on this estate. His only daughter wed a Russian. He had thirty grandchildren. Three were his daughter’s half-breeds. There were twenty-two other grandsons and five granddaughters—all pure Tatar.

  “He was dying, and the Russian soldiers came and massacred the entire family. No one was spared. I saw my mother and my aunts raped over and over again. In the end I think the soldiers coupled with dead bodies, for they all died under the assault. I was just ten, and knocked out by a blow on my head. I was covered over by the bodies of my brothers and cousins. They thought me dead too, but I was determined to survive.

  “After the slaughter they all repaired to my grandfather’s wine cellar to get drunk. When I was sure it was safe I escaped to my mother’s family in Bessarabia. I have waited a long time for the chance to revenge myself on the Russians. Today, I shall!” He stopped and looked closely at Miranda. “The question is, my fine lady, what to do with you?”

  “I assume you will go to ’Stanbul to sell Alexei Vladimirnovich’s slaves, Prince Arik.” When he nodded, she continued, “Then take me with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I will bring you a fat ransom. The English in ’Stanbul will pay very well for my safe return.”

  “You cannot travel in your condition, my fine lady.”

  “Of course I can,” she quickly answered. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving the pregnant slaves behind?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Do you think that breeders in a place like this are any less pampered than I am, Prince Arik? I most certainly can travel!”

  He pretended to consider the matter, although he had every intention of taking her. “Very well,” he finally agreed. “I will take you to ’Stanbul.”

  Prince Arik’s second-in-command asked in the raiders’ dialect, “Will you ransom her?”

  “Of course not,” chuckled the prince, “but let her believe that, so there will be no trouble on the journey. She will bring a hell of a lot more on the block than the English can pay, Buri, my friend. Look at that hair! Those eyes! With a child to prove her fertility she will make us a fortune. Take her outside while we dispatch these two.” He turned to Miranda. “Go with Buri, my fine lady. He will take care of you.”

  “Prince Arik!” Sasha’s voice was sharp with urgency. “It has been my duty to care for this lady while she was under Prince Cherkessky’s protection. May I bid her farewell?” The prince nodded, and Sasha moved close to Miranda. To her amazement, he spoke in swift, clear English. “Don’t trust the Tatars! They mean to sell you in ’Stanbul. The English Embassy is at the end of a small street called Many Flowers near the Sultan Ahmet Mosque, which is by the old Hippodrome. God go with you, Miranda Tomasova. I ask your forgiveness for the suffering I have caused you.” He raised her hand and kissed it. “For your own safety, show no closeness to me.”

  “I forgive you, Pieter Vladimirnovich,” she said. “What will happen to you?”

  “Go now,” he said, switching to French.

  She gazed at him closely, and suddenly she knew. “Oh God!” she whispered, horror dawning.

  “Get her out of here!” Sasha appealed to Prince Arik, and the Tatar captain Buri took Miranda firmly by the arm and led her from the room.

  “Please,” she cried, “I want to get my boots,” and she pointed to her bare feet.

  He understood and followed her back to her room, but he refused to give her any privacy, standing in the open door watching her. She took two caftans from the wardrobe, and put th
em both on over her thin gauze sleeping gown. She had managed to wheedle a decent pair of boots out of Sasha several months before, explaining that the dainty house slippers they had given her were too flimsy for her long walks. Since the prince had said she might have anything within reason, Sasha had had the farm’s elderly cobbler fashion her a pair of red leather boots. They came to her knees, and were lined in soft lambswool. She pulled them on and took up her dark brown light-wool cloak. Taking a small carved bone hairbrush from the dressing table, she stuffed it into the inside pocket of the cape. “I am ready,” she said. Buri quickly took her from the house.

  The spectacle that assailed her outside made her blood run cold. The half-grown fields had been fired and the vineyards trampled beyond redemption. Where orchards had once stood were piles of newly felled trees. Every building except the villa was in flames. She could see bands of riders driving off the livestock and squawking poultry hanging from saddles. But most terrifying of all were the sobbing women and children, every one of them naked, huddling in frightened groups. She scanned them, but she could not see Lucas. She saw none of the men.

  “Where are the men?” she asked. Buri looked blankly at her and she realized she had spoken French. She tried the local dialect that Lucas had taught her. “Where are the men?”

  “Dead,” he answered.

  “Dead? Why?”

  “What would we do with them? We couldn’t sell them anywhere, for Prince Cherkessky’s studs are too well known. Even in ’Stanbul they are known. Prince Arik wants this land totally destroyed. It is cursed, and only when what once was is no more can the souls of the Batu family rest, fully avenged.” He asked slyly, “Why should you care about the men?”

  “Because they were beautiful animals,” she answered quickly, lest she betray herself. “I dislike waste, especially of good bloodstock.”