Love and Splendor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 5

by Patricia Hagan

  “I told you there’d only be a skeleton staff, and that’s to our advantage. We won’t have people breathing down our necks watching.”

  The palace regent responded after a time to their pounding on the doors. He was dressed regally in a red cape bordered with imperial eagles and wore black patent shoes, black silk stockings, and white lace garters at his knees. Like the guard at the gate, he was suspicious, but after reading the imperial message, he bowed graciously and offered his services in any way required.

  Drake curtly dismissed him. “Just keep the rest of the servants away. We want this section of the palace to ourselves.”

  “Oh, there are no other servants on duty at this hour,” the regent was quick to inform him. “Will you and the lady be staying the night, sir?”

  Drake thought a moment. He’d like nothing better than to whisk Dani upstairs to one of the royal suites and make love to her all night long in a celebration of what was sure to be the end of his quest…but such pleasure would have to wait. He wanted to get that damned egg back to the Czar as quickly as possible, and then there’d be time for such joys.

  “No,” he said finally, “we’ll be leaving shortly.”

  Dani’s gaze swept the glittering magnificence of the grand hall. It was large enough for a ballroom, with marble floors polished to shine brilliantly even in the faint light of lanterns. She knew it would be a staggering vision beneath the brilliance of the twelve huge crystal-and-gold chandeliers that hung in a straight line across the thirty-foot-high ceiling.

  On each side of the foyer were tall mirrors, interspersed with priceless paintings and portraits along the grand walkway.

  A fountain stood in the middle, adorned with cherubs holding pitchers, which, no doubt, would freely flow with champagne during gala socials.

  But now the fountain was empty and still…as was the entire palace. All was silent, as though they had just entered a massive tomb.

  Dani followed Drake through the foyer to the wide stairway at the rear. The steps, she noted, were small and narrow, covered in lush red velvet. The balusters, ornately carved, were indeed constructed so close together that it would be difficult to notice if one was missing.

  Closer scrutiny proved Drake right—the wood appeared identical to that of the painting’s frame.

  Drake moved to the newel post on the left, gave it a mighty tug, and it twisted off. “Two chances,” he whispered. “If it isn’t here, we’ve got the one on the other side.”

  He reached inside, and Dani cried aloud with delight, for she could tell by the sudden glow in his eyes, the way his whole face suddenly ignited in triumph—he’d found it.

  He withdrew his arm, opened his hand to display a small leather pouch. Tremulously, he whispered, “This is it! I know it!’’

  They leaped into each other’s arms, laughing, almost crying with their joy, clinging together with unsurpassed happiness.

  “It’s over, Dani. It’s finally over. Now my father can rest in peace, and I can hold my head up, and get on with my life, our lives, and—”

  With a sudden gasp and groan, he slumped in her arms.

  Dani did not have time to scream or make a sound as she struggled to hold on to him, to keep him from slipping from her arms and onto the floor.

  But then a giant hand came across her neck from behind, and Drake’s unconscious body slid downward, and the pouch he’d held in his hand silently rolled across the gleaming floor, back toward the stairway.

  Her shriek of horror was muffled by another hand, and she saw the reason for Drake’s collapse. A large scruffy man stood grinning at her as she struggled against whoever was holding her from behind and twisting her arms tightly, painfully, in restraint.

  He had mean eyes—narrow, squinted black eyes set beneath thick, bushy brows that matched the beard covering the lower part of his face. He was fierce-looking, a deep purple scar running from one temple down to the corner of his mouth.

  The man seemed swathed in clothing—a blanket, a cape, rags, whatever means available to secure warmth against the frigid weather. A worn hat of some kind of skin was pulled tightly down on his head, and long strands of greasy black hair hung recklessly around his ears and neck.

  Dani was trying to comprehend the meaning of what was happening. These men had to be revolutionaries. Somehow, they’d heard the painting had been found, knew Drake had deciphered the clue, and knew where the Fabergé egg was hidden. Now they’d come to claim it.

  The man before her grinned with chipped teeth and spoke in broken French but clearly enough that she could understand what he was saying. “You should not be afraid, mademoiselle. We mean you no harm.”

  Dani hoped her fury was mirrored in her eyes as she glared at him.

  He went on to explain who he was—Vordan, patriot commander of the People’s Will Party—and his comrade, who held her, was Miliukov. For a decade, their mission had been to find the coveted Fabergé egg. “As a tribute to our leader, Zigmont Koryatovich, so that he will not have died in vain. We knew that sooner or later you and Drakar would come.”

  Suddenly Dani closed her eyes, willed herself to be calm, for surely the horror of what was happening had caused her mind to play tricks.

  She thought she had seen, from the corner of her eye, someone hiding, peering out from beneath the stairs.

  She thought, dear God, that that “someone” was Cyril.

  Opening her eyes, without looking toward the stairs, she mustered every ounce of strength she had against her captor to twist in another direction, thereby unconsciously directing the man called Vordan to turn also…away from the stairs.

  And, just before she gave her mighty lunge, causing whoever held her to also turn his back to the stairway, she had seen something…and had flashed her eyes shut once more, lest they give away the startling realization that Cyril Arpel was, indeed, crawling out from beneath the stairs and heading for the pouch that had rolled from Drake’s hand when he fell. She knew he had to have followed them to Tsarskoye Selo, no doubt aware of another, quicker way to sneak inside the palace, so he could be secretly waiting when she and Drake came in through normal means.

  “So you will now tell us where it is hidden,” her captor demanded.

  The hand mashing across her face parted fingers just enough that she could speak, ready to bear down once more should she try to scream. She opened her eyes and challenged him venomously. “Do you really think I’d tell you bastards anything?”

  He sneered, regarded her with contempt, reached to caress her breast intimately. “If you value your worthless aristocratic life, you’ll tell me, and if you are very nice, perhaps I will show you what a real Russian man is like.” He nodded toward Drake’s still form. “You think it is good with a plutocrat?”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she lashed out tartly. “Your kind intimidates, by fear and violence, and I’m not about to let you bully me.” Dani dared a fleeting cut of her eyes and saw that the pouch was gone…and so was Cyril.

  Vordan was tiring of bantering with a mere woman. He began to glance about the foyer, then spotted the newel post on the floor. He turned to Dani with wide eyes, suddenly cognizant of what he’d failed to notice in his haste to sneak up on them and render Drakar unconscious.

  The egg had already been found!

  He grabbed Dani by her throat and began to choke her, sending her head bobbing to and fro as the other man tried to retain his hold. “Where is it? Do you hide it on you, little bitch? Tell me, or I will rip your clothes from you and throw you into the snow naked to freeze.”

  Dani struggled to speak, for her throat was being squeezed painfully shut. “I…don’t have it…”

  Miliukov angrily twisted her away from Vordan’s assault, thundered, “You’re going to kill her, and then we will have nothing. Look around for it. Search Drakar. I will search her.”

  Vordan stepped away, nostrils flaring with rage, eyes glittering ominously. He began to wildly look about, roughly searched Drake. “It is
n’t here,” he cried.

  “Then I will search this one…”

  “No! Someone else was here. He grabbed the pouch we found in the newel post while you were busy with me, and now—”

  Miliukov applied the pressure necessary to silence her again. “She may be telling the truth. There might have been someone else who sneaked away while we were busy with her. We cannot take a chance she is not bluffing. It is too dangerous.”

  Vordan nodded grimly. “Let’s go. We have her, and we will hold her for ransom…or trade her for the egg.” Taking a rag from inside his cape, he roughly shoved it in Dani’s mouth the instant Miliukov removed his hand. Another was quickly wrapped around her wrists to securely bind them together.

  As she was abruptly hoisted over the shoulder of her abductor, Dani had one last glimpse of Drake lying so deadly still on the floor, blood seeping from the wound on the back of his head.

  With unbearable anguish and a heart on the verge of breaking, she wondered whether she would ever see him again…the man she now knew she loved without question.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Dani was carried out through a narrow door that led into a passageway designed for servants’ use. Entering the shadowy kitchen, she could sense by the stale odors that the facilities had not been used for a long while—probably since the first hint of winter.

  Vordan opened a large wooden door, and they entered a storage room. At the end of the rows of barrels and bags of dried beans, flour, salt, sugar, and spices, there was yet another door, this one a mere hatchway, used for delivery wagons and carts. Squeaking hinges swung it up and out, giving exit.

  Vordan whispered to Miliukov to wait until he checked for any Cossack patrols, then disappeared only momentarily before returning. “The fools. As long as their precious tyrant isn’t in residence, they give us little thought.”

  Dani was jostled roughly as they ran through the snow, the sound of their footsteps an eery crunch within the white abyss of silence.

  They reached a thick clump of snow-covered shrubs, and Vordan quickly pulled out a crude wooden sled. Dani was unceremoniously shoved onto it, felt her breath being crushed from her as Vordan lowered himself to lie on her back, holding her securely in place as he gripped the sides and ordered his partner to hurry.

  Miliukov positioned himself directly behind the sled and began to push with all his might to move them across the frozen terrain.

  Vordan pressed his lips against her ear and said, “We may not have the Fabergé egg now, but soon we will, because that is the price your plutocratic friends must pay if they want you back…alive!”

  He threw back his head and laughed maniacally as Dani shuddered in terror to realize she was truly in the hands of madmen. They were, after all, members of the most radical wing of the revolutionaries, the terrorist faction known as People’s Will. They had split from the main party, Land and Freedom, and advocated assassination of prominent officials.

  For the first time in her life, Dani knew complete and total fear.

  She shrank down into the sled and began to pray…for Drake, that he was not seriously injured and would ultimately come for her, and that Cyril had not, as she was starting to bitterly suspect, taken the egg and run for his own glory, without another thought of her well-being or Drake’s. She prayed to be wrong about him…prayed that he was on his way with the palace guards to save her…yet knew with a rumble of nausea that she prayed in vain.

  They reached a section of the woods near the end of the Imperial park. Branches, hanging low with the weight of the snow, loomed in their path.

  Vordan began to warn Miliukov to be careful, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, a heavy branch, laden with snow, was suddenly released like a catapult, striking Miliukov squarely in his face. With a cry, he fell backward, and Dani whipped her head around to see a hulking shadow leap down from the tree above.

  With one deft blow from his attacker, Miliukov was knocked unconscious, his face sinking into the deep snow.

  Vordan, momentarily stunned, finally rallied to emit a bellow of rage as he bolted from the sled—only to have a fist slam into his face, and another viciously pound the top of his head and drive him to his knees. He pitched forward, no longer a threat.

  Dani strained to see the face of her liberator as he came to her and snatched away the gag from her mouth.

  She screamed softly in horror to realize he was just as scruffy and ominous as Vordan and Miliukov.

  Another of the revolutionaries. Were they fighting over her?

  “Do not fear me,” the man said in crisp, clear French. “I am your ally. Others of my party are now at the palace ministering to Drakar. He is not hurt badly,” he hastened to inform her, sensing her terror. “I made sure of that before I took a shortcut to lie in wait for you.”

  He turned the sled around and began to push it back in the direction they’d just traveled, the fresh trail smooth and easy to maneuver.

  Dani burned with curiosity. “Who are you? How did you know what was going on?” She could not see him, for she faced the way they were going, and he pushed from behind.

  Pride ringing in his voice, he huskily declared, “The People’s Will faction are not the only rifles who have eyes in high places. We have known for some time that Drakar was back in Russia, so we were sure all we had to do was wait, and sooner or later he would make his move, and when he did, the terrorist faction would be right behind him. They watched him; we watched them.”

  He went on to say that he had heard how Vordan had decreed a decade ago that he would never stop searching for the Fabergé egg, would not rest until it was in the possession of the People’s Will, as his comrades thought Zigmont Koryatovich had wanted. “What Vordan refused to believe, however,” he told her in a voice filled with remorse, “is that in the end, it was not the intention of Zigmont that the terrorist faction have possession of the egg, because although there might have been others around him he could’ve confided in, he chose to go to his grave without divulging the secret to any of them.

  “I was to have met Annine Mikhailov in Paris, where she was to give me the painting so I could learn the secret and ultimately find the egg, but I was unfortunately detained in prison for a few months, and when I got out and made my way to Paris, she was dead and there was no trace of the painting…until you found it in Monaco, as I’ve heard.”

  Dani turned to stare at him incredulously in the white night, drank in the sight of him, determined to remember every detail of his face—warm brown eyes; clear skin; a neatly trimmed mustache; white, even teeth. He was truly handsome, despite his scruffy clothes and demeanor.

  “You’re one of them, a revolutionary,” she pointed out tersely. “You also want the egg, so why are you helping me? Are you planning to hold both me and Drakar as hostages until Cyril Arpel turns it over to you as ransom for us? He won’t. He—”

  Something landed in her lap.

  It was the pouch Drake had found inside the newel post…and the precious Fabergé egg!

  “This should rest your fears. I saw a hysterical little man sneaking out of the palace, and I followed him. All I had to do was snarl at him”—he paused to laugh, remembering—“and he practically threw that at me, fell to his knees begging me to let him go. The last I saw of him, he was running through the park crying like a baby.”

  She could see the outline of the rear of the Alexandrovsky Palace ahead. Gingerly closing her hands around the pouch, she maneuvered to stare at him once more. “Why?” she asked in wonder. “Why are you doing this?”

  Abruptly, he stopped pushing the sled, came around to draw her to her feet. “I will take you no farther. By now, my men have probably taken care of Drakar, and he’s waiting for you…and the egg. Go now. We’ll be nearby to ensure your safe return to Saint Petersburg, though I doubt it will be necessary.”

  Dani stubbornly shook her head. “No. I’m not leaving here until you tell me who you are and why you are doing this.” She dared to reach
up and caress his cheek with her fingertips in a gesture of gratitude. “You may well have saved my life. I have to know whom to thank.”

  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, then, finally, he nodded. “Very well. Then, you can make sure the Czar and all of Russia know it is a tribute to Zigmont that the egg is returned to prove the innocence of Drakar’s father, and also a tribute to his mother, whom I loved like a sister…and respected as a comrade. She would never have wanted her son to suffer because of anything she did.

  “Neither of them were truly bad,” he rushed to emphasize, a slight tremor to his voice hinting of the vast emotion he was experiencing to discuss something so painful. “Remember this—Zigmont Koryatovich was first a member of the Land and Freedom Party, a revolutionary, yes, but a murderer, no, and it was only through the influence of maniacs like Vordan that he became caught up in a web of violence.

  “But in the end,” he rushed on, eyes shining and moist, “he’d changed his philosophies. I know this to be true.”

  He stepped away from her, suddenly gruff as he commanded, “Now go. Drakar awaits. It is over. Everyone can rest in peace.”

  He turned and started walking away, but she ran after him, begging, “Please. I must know your name.”

  He sighed, shoulders slumped, did not turn to face her. “My name is Serge…Serge Koryatovich. Zigmont was my brother.”

  She watched him disappear, a white shadow in the night, and then he was gone, and she blinked against the tears that trickled forth to freeze upon her cheeks as she made her way back to the palace.

  Drakar was waiting, and when he saw her, he ran to her and lifted her in his arms and swung her around and around before crushing her against him. “I dared to believe they told me the truth,” he told her. “I waited here, as they said I should, and dear God, it’s true. You’re here.”

  She pulled from his arms to hand him the pouch, and when he gasped, started to ask questions, she pressed her fingertips against his lips and said, “No. Not now. We have many, many tomorrows to talk about yesterday. For now, all I want to talk about is how much I love you…”