Stolen Splendor

by Miriam Minger

  Perhaps his fears had been justified all along, Stefan thought dully, rubbing his forehead. Perhaps what had stopped him was the very reason she refused to answer his letters, even that first one, in which he had poured out his soul . . .

  Stefan's jaw tightened in determination. No, he would not believe it until he spoke with her face-to-face! Whatever her reasons for not answering his letters, he was not prepared to give up so easily. Especially now, when after being away from her for two interminable months, he had reached a decision that might finally sway her heart in his favor.

  "Commander, Prince Eugene and his retinue have been sighted just beyond the camp. He will be here shortly," the aide blurted as he burst in the door, his loud voice jarring rudely into Stefan's thoughts.

  "Don't you know enough to knock, man?" Stefan demanded, then softened his tone at the young officer's crestfallen look. He rose from his chair. "Is all in readiness?"

  The aide brightened visibly, snapping to attention. "Yes, Commander. The trumpets are sounding and the pennants are raised. All other commanders have been alerted, and their soldiers are joining ranks at this very moment."

  "Very good," Stefan said, striding from the room and through the narrow foyer, then down the front steps of his quarters, with the aide not far behind him. He stepped into the bright afternoon sunlight, his keen eyes surveying the scene before him.

  Uniformed men were rushing into formation from all directions of the camp, streaming from tents, long-timbered barracks, even from the muddy parade fields where they had been practicing drills. It took only a few moments for everyone to scramble into line, each man in his place, row upon dark blue row, regiments of cavalry atop their mounts and infantry alike at stiff attention.

  Brightly colored pennants flapped in the cool March breeze. Horses neighed and snorted impatiently. An expectant hush hung in the air, for Prince Eugene was coming to take command of his Imperial army, in preparation for the summer's campaign against the Turks.

  Stefan mounted Brand and took the reins from his nervous aide, who was doing his best to hide his fear of the mighty war-horse. A fine candidate for the infantry, he thought dryly, as he was soon flanked by generals from the various contingents of the army. They set out along the puddled road between the long, broad lines in formation to meet their commander in chief, just now passing through the guarded entrance to the camp.

  "Sound the cannonade!" Stefan roared above the stillness, his voice echoed by thundering blasts from eighty cannon. The heavy artillery pieces were quickly reloaded, then fired three more times, the steady beating of drums filling in the intervals between each grand salute.

  Prince Eugene drew closer, riding well in front of his plumed retinue on a prancing white stallion. Resplendent in a navy uniform edged with gold braid, he radiated supreme confidence despite his slight figure. His dark eyes swept from side to side, proudly but solemnly surveying his forces. He reined in his mount as Stefan rode up alongside him, acknowledging his approach with a bow of his head.

  "You have done exceedingly well, Count Stefan," he said seriously, meeting his gaze. "The men look fit and ready to fight."

  "My thanks, General," Stefan replied. "But it is the men who are to be commended. They have been training long and hard since the worst of the winter subsided. They know well the strength of their enemy."

  Prince Eugene nodded gravely, always one to identify with the common soldier. He had worked his way u through the ranks and considered him- self one of them. He was even known to sleep upon the ground wrapped in a soldier's cloak, and not for lack of better lodging.

  "And so they shall be commended," he agreed, raising his voice to be heard. "See that each man is given double his monthly pay, on behalf of our gracious emperor! And spare no meat this night, nor brandy. We shall feast in honor of our enemy, who await their defeat!"

  A great roar went up from the men nearby, and for those who hadn't yet heard, shouts echoing his words passed along the formation like wildfire. Soon the entire camp resounded with cheers and hurrahs, drawing the faintest of smiles to Prince Eugene's thin lips. He turned once again to Stefan.

  "You know as well as I that there is much to be done, more training, more preparation, before we set out for Belgrade in May. Ride with me now to the council hall, then summon every commanding officer. The men may feast, but we have much to discuss tonight."

  Stefan nodded, reining Brand in alongside Prince Eugene's white stallion. Soon they were joined by other commanders, forming a long procession as they rode toward the council hall in the center of the camp.

  Yet even amidst the clamor and excitement, Stefan's thoughts flew unbidden to Kassandra, never far from his mind, and always within his heart. As he rode beside his general, he resolved then and there that he would request a few weeks leave as soon as their initial meetings were completed. He had to talk to her at once, before her father returned from Hanover, and tell her of his love and his decision.

  For it was his plan to release her from her promise to marry him. He would rather risk losing her, and perhaps gain her love, than force her to go through with their marriage, and earn only her hate.

  Chapter 26

  "A ride, Kassandra? But it looks as if it might storm this morning," Isabel murmured doubtfully, her hand falling from the lace curtain at one of the tall windows flanking the front entranceway. "And I can't imagine you would even consider climbing atop a horse. I'm so stiff and sore, I can barely walk without cringing." Truly, Isabel thought, it was taking her much longer to mend from that carriage accident last week than she had imagined.

  Kassandra pulled on her riding gloves, then glanced up at Isabel. "I'm feeling much better today, Isabel, really," she insisted. "And it's the first morning it hasn't been raining for weeks now. I'll only be gone for a short while." She smiled away the footman and opened the door for herself. "Now go and sit down. The physician said you must rest as much as possible."

  Isabel sighed. "Very well, but if it begins to storm, you will come back at once?"

  Kassandra nodded, a reassuring smile upon her lips. "Rest, Isabel," she admonished gently. "Father will be most displeased to find you still limping about—"

  "All right, I'm convinced," Isabel interjected with a laugh. As she watched Kassandra walk down the front steps, a sudden thought struck her. "I know it's only the first day of April, so it might still be too early, but if you see any wildflowers, you must bring me some," she called out.

  Kassandra waved and set out along the muddy path leading to the stable, swinging her arms. It felt so good to be outdoors! She took in great breaths of the moist air, tinged with the fresh scent of green grass and damp, musty earth. The water-soaked ground squished under her boots, and birds trilled gaily in the budding trees, sounds that delighted her. They meant the coming of spring, her favorite time of year.

  Yet this year was different, she reminded herself. Spring also meant her father's imminent arrival, hastening the wretched marriage that loomed before her like an inescapable trap.

  No! She would not think about it, at least not this morning. She walked determinedly toward the stable, smiling once again as Hans, the stableboy who saw to her mare, rushed out to greet her. He was nearly a full head taller, and she marveled anew at how much he had grown over the long winter.

  "Good morning to ye, milady," he exclaimed, doffing his cap. He ran his hand self-consciously through his unruly light brown hair, a warm blush burning his freckled cheeks. "Shall I saddle yer fine mare?"

  "Yes, Hans, if it will be no trouble for you," she murmured, noting with faint amusement how he stared at her with guileless admiration.

  "No trouble at all, milady," he replied eagerly, dashing into the stable. "I'll bring her out to ye."

  Kassandra leaned against a splintered fence post, humming a tune while she absently smoothed the light woolen skirt of her riding habit. It seemed only a few moments passed before Hans was leading the spirited mare into the stable yard.

  "She's a b
eauty, that she is," Hans said soothingly, running his hand along the mare's glistening white flank. The animal nickered, tossing its head and flipping its long, silky tail. One front hoof dug impatiently into the damp earth. "But a spitfire, to be sure. She bit poor Penn in the seat of his breeches t'other day, whilst he was shoveling feed into her trough."

  Kassandra gasped. "Is he all right?" she asked, barely suppressing a giggle behind her gloved hand as she envisioned the awkward scene.

  "Oh, aye, milady, he's fine," Hans said, "except for sittin' down." He laughed and held the mare steady while Kassandra hoisted herself into the sidesaddle. He then handed her the reins. "Best to hold her in for a ways, milady, before ye give her full rein," he cautioned. "She may be a bit skittish this morning. Remember, she's not been rid since last month, only set free to run in the paddock every day."

  "I'll heed your advice, Hans," Kassandra said, drawing up the reins. Her tone grew serious. "How's Zoltan faring?"

  "He's better, milady, though his leg will take a good while to mend, or so the physician says. It was a bad fall."

  "Yes, it was," Kassandra agreed, shuddering at the memory of that day. "Well, give him my fond greetings," she murmured. "And tell him if there is anything he needs, he must send word to the countess or myself at once."

  "Aye, milady." Hans bobbed his head as Kassandra nudged the mare with her boot, and they set out at a trot across the stable yard. "Enjoy yer ride," he called, waving his cap.

  Kassandra steered the mare out onto the road leading from the estate, but it was nothing more than a rutted mire. She decided to ride out across the unplowed fields instead, where the short grasses had hopefully absorbed the worst of the recent rainfall. She bit her lower lip against the pain jolting through her bruised right leg as the mare jumped across a shallow ravine. She eased the mare into a walk while she massaged her thigh.

  She flinched as she touched a sore spot. Obviously she was not quite as recovered as she had thought. The purplish green bruises had finally faded to a faint brown, but the dull pain still lingered. And if she hurt even this much, she could well imagine how Isabel must feel.

  The countess had borne the brunt of the accident. She had been sitting on the far side of the carriage when it lost a wheel and toppled down the embankment, and she was thrown against the right door. Kassandra had escaped worse injury by being shoved roughly into the padded wall next to her seat, bumping her head and bruising the right side of her body. The physician had marveled that they had escaped with their lives, surmising that Isabel would have suffered far more but for the protection of the stiff whalebone hoopskirt, which had cushioned her fall. One good thing he could say for the preposterous contraptions!

  It was all Stefan's fault, Kassandra thought irritably. If he hadn't insisted on forcing her into this marriage, they would never have gone to the city that day to look for fabric . . . for a wedding gown.

  She frowned. It had been hard enough to block Stefan from her mind without Isabel talking of wedding preparations all the time, which she had done constantly since his departure for the winter camp. Now Kassandra had this nagging pain to remind her of him.

  And the stack of unopened letters lying in the bottom of her drawer, Kassandra amended darkly. Letters she had not allowed herself to read for fear of being swayed by his lies. She had done her best to harden her heart against him, and had succeeded for the most part. Until night fell, when she would lie awake in her bed, the heavy silence emanating from his adjoining chamber almost more than she could bear. It was then she could not deny to herself how much she truly missed him, with a poignant ache deep within her that she could not quell.

  It had become almost a nightly ritual. She would leave her bed and walk to her armoire, open the drawer, and pull out the pile of letters, held together by a delicate red ribbon. She would stand there in the darkness and stare at them for the longest time, wondering what he could possibly have to say to her that would warrant so much correspondence.

  Then, with a ragged sigh, she would set them resolutely back in the drawer, seeking once again the solace of her bed. Sleep would elude her until the early hours of the morning, tormenting thoughts of Stefan, and their last night together, burning like a firebrand into her mind. Sheer exhaustion was her only release, pulling her at last into dreamless slumber.

  Suddenly the mare stopped in her tracks, her sharp, nervous whinny breaking into Kassandra's disturbing reverie.

  "What is it, girl?" she murmured, gazing along the thick line of trees bordering the open field. She saw nothing, only the branches swaying in the wind, which had picked up slightly. She turned in the saddle and looked over her shoulder, but again there was nothing, the empty field stretching out behind them, a carpet of velvet green against the clouded sky, the road they had left a tiny black ribbon wending back to the estate.

  Kassandra faced forward again and patted the mare's silken neck. "There now, you see, it's nothing," she said reassuringly. But she started when a covey of blackbirds, flapping and cawing, were flushed from a nearby tree. They hovered above them ominously, circling, then flew off across the sky.

  Perhaps it was a deer, she thought, willing her body to relax. Or a fox, stalking along the ground for its next meal, or some other harmless forest creature. She clucked her tongue, and they set out once more across the field.

  Kassandra nudged the mare's flank, urging her into a gallop. The pain of her bruises was forgotten as they flew across the fields, her waist-length hair streaming out behind her, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. An occasional shaft of sunlight broke through the heavy gray clouds, lending a hazy golden sheen to the scenery. The sheer beauty of it enlivened her spirits, and she laughed. And when they had come to the end of the fields she plunged the mare into the forest, a netherworld of shadow and light. The hushed stillness was broken only by the crackling of underbrush beneath the mare's flashing hooves, and her own panting breaths.

  They rode on and on, sometimes slowing to a trot as they wound through dense trees, other times at a breakneck canter through wide clearings that opened to the sky. She had no time to think, only to react. Her hands held the reins with assurance as she ducked low-lying branches or hugged the mare's powerful neck as they soared over fallen logs stretched across their path.

  She did not hear the thundering of hooves close behind her, nor the cocking of a pistol. She only heard the loud report, echoing from the trees and shattering her single-minded concentration, a strange whizzing by her ear, and the terrified snorting of her mare. Then she was flung from the saddle as the animal reared up on its back legs and frantically pawed the air.

  Kassandra hit the ground with a sickening thud, the breath knocked from her lungs. She stared up into the darkening sky, her vision blurred, a grotesque face floating above her for a fleeting moment. Then all was black, and she sank into unconsciousness.

  "Your aim is failing, Adolph—"

  "Shut up!" he snapped, glancing up at the stout, bearded man standing at his side. "I paid you to ride the horse, not to offer me worthless criticisms." His black eyes narrowed shrewdly on Kassandra's prostrate form. Perfect, he thought coldly. It appeared the fall had done its damage. Her forehead was bleeding where she had bumped it on that log, her skin was ashen . . .

  "Let's get out of here," he ordered tersely. "We'll let the wolves finish her off. Once they get a whiff of that fresh blood . . ." He shrugged, grinning broadly. "It will look like the accident it was meant to be." He brushed by his companion and strode with his stilted walk toward the dappled horse tethered nearby.

  "Ah, so you never meant to shoot her, then."

  Adolph wheeled about, his eyes glittering dangerously. "You ask too many questions, my friend."

  The bearded man shifted uncomfortably, his swarthy face flushing bright red. Without a word he moved to the horse and mounted, then reached down to Adolph and lifted him easily to the saddle.

  "Ride," Adolph grated, settling himself. He leaned against his companion's che
st as they set off through the woods, the wind howling around them.

  ***

  Kassandra blinked against the cold rain pelting her face and licked some of the moisture from her lips, then swallowed weakly, a poor attempt at cooling her parched throat. The awful pounding in her head was excruciating. It radiated from just above her left temple, and she tentatively touched the spot. As she drew her hand away, her gaze widened in horror at the blood staining her gloved fingers.

  "Sweet Lord!" she whispered faintly, struggling to sit up. Dizziness assailed her and she sank back down upon the ground. She lay there for a moment, shielding her face from the rain, but after a few deep breaths she tried again, ever so slowly. This time she was successful. The throbbing pain in her head increased tenfold and she thought she might scream, then it suddenly subsided to a dull ache.

  Kassandra looked about her dazedly, at a total loss as to her surroundings. Then she remembered. Her gaze skipped about, searching for any sign of her mare, and she twisted to look behind her, but she was alone.

  A booming clap of thunder caused her to cry out, and she stared up into the sky, boiling with darkened clouds and crisscrossed by streaks of jagged lightning. The rain was falling heavier now, stinging sheets that felt like biting pinpricks through her drenched clothing. She rose shakily to her feet, almost losing her balance, but managed to stagger over to a gnarled tree trunk. She clung to it, rivulets of water streaming down her face and blinding her, her hair plastered to her head and down her back. She fought to collect her bearings, her consuming thought to strike out at once for the estate.

  But which way should she go? she wondered with a burst of panic. There were no landmarks, and there was little daylight left. Shadowed trees loomed around her, each looking much the same as the next, and if there had been any tracks, they had been washed away by the rain and oozing mud.