Unable to stop the child's tears, Alexi handed the baby back to his mother.
"There you go," he told the infant, then turned. "Ivan!" he said harshly.
"I'm here," Ivan said, his shoulders tense, his voice racked with pain.
Ivan was there, talking to Najjar, making plans.
Ivan and Alexi set up a communications tent and began preparations to defend the villagers if the need arose again.
They spoke with everyone.
None of the villagers had seen anything but the death that surrounded them. All they had heard was the battle cry, "Revenge! Death to the tyrant!" When the attackers finally left, the people had worked feverishly to stop the fires and rescue their friends and relatives still trapped inside the burning homes.
The attack had been planned and executed with great expertise. The army of men melted into the desert sands afterward and left few survivors in any shape to follow.
Alexi vowed retribution.
Ivan swore to the gods--the Christian one and Allah--that the demise of their enemies would be slow and torturous.
They had struck in the middle of night. It had been swift and merciless.
Revenge.
Alexi mulled the puzzling words over for hours.
Death to the tyrant.
Ivan was no tyrant, but his family was known for their despotic behavior. Then there was Feodora to consider. Her father had attacked once before. Now he had even more reason for retribution.
What if they never discovered the truth?
~ * ~
Angela Chamberlain sipped the hot black coffee and munched on the scones she'd pilfered from the kitchen when the cook wasn't looking. In a storage room, she had dressed in her buckskins and moccasins. Then she'd stridden from the grounds with her back straight and her chin pointed forward, never looking back.
The clear blue pond she'd passed while she rode on the wagon the evening before sparkled now with the dancing sun rays reflected upon it. The water beckoned for her to swim. Later, she thought, perhaps when the day warmed. A slight breeze blew in from the north, and a few high clouds lazed the day away. Toward the horizon was a bank of darker clouds.
The intolerable situation she found herself in left her vulnerable and angry, furiously so. Feodora was a dreadful woman, and Angela knew the lady had the potential to make her life miserable. Until Alexi returned, she'd have to be careful.
The intractable woman would become Alexi's wife.
Betrothed, indeed. Feodora would make Alexi's life miserable.
An answer to her problems would occur to Angela if she waited long enough. Yet she had an eerie feeling she'd hesitated too long in making a decision, and any delay might prove to be her downfall. If Feodora had appeared in her life at any other place or time, Angela would have left without a glance over her shoulder. If she chose to stay, she would have had the means to fight Feodora.
She had given Alexi a promise.
She'd promised him she'd be here when he returned. Angela had been brought up to honor a promise, to treat them as sacred.
She sat beside the pond. Her mind adrift, she idly plucked a piece of grass, twirling it between her fingers as she concentrated, and thought hard on her alternatives.
She could stay here, but Feodora had single-handedly decided Angela would become a scullery maid. Not just a simple servant, but one of the lowest-ranking people on the estate.
Hard work didn't bother her. It was something she was used to. All her life she'd had chores to do, hard chores. But this was different. Feodora had maliciousness foremost in her thoughts. The estate had more than enough servants; she'd seen that when she'd walked through the house, into the kitchen then across the grounds.
Angela knew she could leave Alexi, make her own way, knew she would most likely succeed. The language, thanks to Misha's diligence and Alexi's tutoring, she now spoke tolerably well. She had her knife, her compass and enough knowledge in her head to survive in any wilderness for months, perhaps years, if she had to.
She didn't doubt her ability to follow a trail or to find a hidden path in the rugged Rocky Mountains, but then again, this was another country. The American embassy could be hundreds of miles away. At the moment she didn't know the direction of the closest city. In her bag she had two changes of clothing but no money.
She could survive without money.
The idea of asking Feodora--no, Miss Feodora--for a map of Russia made her giggle hysterically until she almost sobbed. Frustrated with the horrid situation she found herself into, she lay back on the soft green grass and watched the wind whisper through the oak leaves and the sunlight play on the water. Hindsight was seldom helpful. Angela she should have insisted Alexi take her with him, should have followed when Misha let down his guard. When Alexi had presented his argument, she'd backed down much too easily.
While she lay on the grass, the sun slowly moved across the sky. Hours seemed to pass, the afternoon drifting by, and still she'd reached no conclusions. She'd promised Alexi she'd be here waiting for him when he returned.
A promise had to be kept at all costs, she reminded herself.
Alexi had believed in her, trusted her. She could not disappoint him.
She rolled onto her stomach, her feet swinging in the air above and behind her, her forearms supporting her weight as she watched an ant work diligently. The tiny insect was trying to tug a part of her scone up the hill; to the wee creature it must have seemed a mountain. The ant did struggle but kept going. It could have stayed there and eaten the whole thing, saving itself hours of work.
She felt like the ant. Surely she had the weight of a mountain upon her back.
The sun felt warm against her face, the wind soft. A few months ago she had embraced adventure wholeheartedly, never examining her motives or her purpose. Now, faced with a woman who thought herself above the common people, she yearned for the peace of a Rocky Mountain stream.
She ached to see her home--the mountains and the wide-open prairies. Deep inside, though, she knew her home lay with Alexi. She couldn't abandon him no matter the obstacles placed in front of her. Surely, Alexi's grandmother would have helped her. But she was gone, too.
Misha, poor Misha--his family was threatened. She could hardly blame him for abandoning her.
"Grab her!"
Angela jerked to her feet, her knees bent, her arms relaxed, yet ready to fight. She'd know that voice anywhere. "Feodora?" Angela paused, relaxing too soon.
"Yuri." Feodora's voice was harsh and grating.
The man stepped forward. They circled one another, each wary of the other.
"Miss Feodora, to the likes of you," she said, stripping Angela with her eyes. "You dress like a man," she said, spittle forming around her mouth.
Who was this woman really? She didn't seem the type who would appeal to the gunslinger Devil Blackmoor--or the aristocratic Alexi Popov.
"I do as I please." Angela couldn't keep the sarcasm from creeping into her voice. She decided not to fight, and stuffed her hands into her pockets, surveying the woman with purpose, sizing her up as an opponent. Without Yuri, Feodora was hot air, nothing more.
Feodora flushed with rage, her prim features puckering until she looked pinched and old. She turned to Yuri.' 'Bind her and take her back to the estate." She inhaled raggedly, practically gagging in her attempt to draw air, she was so furious. "Toss her in the woodshed." Feodora's hands shook, and her too-thin lips quivered. "A few days without food should be enough to convince this peasant that the serfs do not lie around all day. There is work to be done."
Angela stepped back, once more taking on the stance of a predator ready to fight. "I'm not a serf or a peasant. I'm a free woman. All of these people are free. You cannot confine me or order me to work. You're living in the past. If I'm not wanted here, I will leave." Angela picked up her valise, walking away, her back stiff and her mind made up.
"Yuri!"
Angela made the mistake of turning back.
Feodo
ra looked her over one more time. "You will learn to speak to your betters with proper respect."
Angela's gaze went to Yuri. "The only person here who is equal to me is this man you call Yuri. Should I apologize to him?"
"Shut her up!"
Before Angela could reach for a weapon, she found herself pushed forward at knifepoint, her hands tied in front of her. She heard Yuri's whisper, "Sorry, but I've no choice. It was either you or my wife."
Angela looked at Feodora askance, bewildered beyond anything she'd known before.
Feodora followed Angela, prodding her along with the blunt end of a walking stick. Angela knew that bruises would soon form on her back. Angela stumbled awkwardly down the narrow, winding trail that led to Alexi's home, trying to avoid the blows. Adventure? It seemed she'd gotten what she'd prayed for. And so very much more.
She tamped down her fear and studied the situation from every angle. It was not so terrible. Not for one moment did she doubt her ability to escape the cords that were haphazardly wound around her wrist, or the woodshed she was headed toward.
If she escaped the woodshed, she'd have no recourse but to leave the estate. She couldn't very well walk up to the main house and present herself for inspection. Feodora would be outraged and unforgiving. Without Misha she had only herself to depend on.
They reached the shed, a formidable structure, and well made. Angela cringed, thinking of the spiders and the bugs hiding in tiny corners, things crawling around the stacks of wood. She thought of the darkness and the sweltering heat when the sun hit it, too. The building was made for punishment, for torture.
"There's your home for the next two days," Feodora informed her, a smug expression on her face, one Angela wanted to wipe off with her fists.
Angela shot her nemesis a withering glare--one that, if Feodora had had any common sense, would have warned her of Angela's determination to have revenge.
"You will come to regret this," Angela said softly, but her tone held a warning. "Your time will come, Feodora, and it matters not who wins this battle. I will win the war. Alexi will-return one day, and he will be furious with you. Forgiveness does not come easily to the devil, and that is how Alexi will appear to you."
Feodora lost all color.
The man Feodora called Yuri gave her a hesitant nudge, and Angela stumbled inside. The door closed shut, and total darkness assailed her.
She turned around, searching for some manner of light. Her eyes began to slowly adjust, and she could make out slight forms, the barest hint of other structures inside. Her fingers closed around a long cord of leather. A whip. Tremors shot through her.
Unable to stop herself, she reached out for the leather strap, remembering her dream of agonizing fire across her back. Touching the leather should have ended her unfounded fears, but when her fingers wound around the whip, she felt the pain of countless souls. The room swayed beneath her feet.
"No!" she cried out, yet only a whisper escaped her.
A promise given must be kept.
The vow haunted her. She'd given Alexi her word. She'd made a promise she intended to keep.
Renewed determination swept through her. She clenched her teeth, fighting the pain and the nausea that threatened. With great concentration, she was able to move, to bring her knees to her chest and reach the knife she'd strapped to her thigh, her fingers closing over the handle. It slipped easily from its sheath.
A fierce joy filled her, a wild Sioux war cry trembling on her lips. The sharp knife cut through the leather. She rubbed her wrists and flexed her fingers, willing the blood to return to her fingers.
Through the long, endless night, Angela found herself repeating her father's words about sacred promises and her honor. While her body grew numb with cold, she fought off the need to escape.
To keep warm she paced the tiny shed.
Morning came. Bright light filtered through a few uneven cracks in the shed. The storm that had threatened the night before had never materialized. With the new day came the hope that Feodora would show mercy and let her out, or even bring food and water for nourishment.
Once more Angela paced the small confines of the shed.
Back and forth.
Her body cried out in pain and agonizing humiliation as she fought its needs.
Afternoon crept into evening.
Hunger gnawed at her.
She stretched her muscles then paced the width of the room again and again. Restless energy ripped through her at an alarming speed.
"Angela." Yuri stood near one boarded window. "Angela, over here," he whispered. "Are you all right? Can I get you anything?''
Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak, her tongue swollen and parched. The word yes came out in a hoarse sob. "Water..."
He handed her a cup.
"I feared for your safety," he told her. "One more day is all you need endure. I cannot help you. I wish I could. When Alexi returns, he will set this to rights."
If I live that long. "I will tell him how you've helped," she said.
"No, he will be angry that I did not go against Miss Feodora. I'm afraid for my wife and my children. She threatened to beat them--and put them here. My wife is with child, and my daughter is only two."
Beat them? Women and children?
His voice on the other side of the wall comforted her. Yet he was gone too soon. His words echoed in her mind. She had fallen into a nightmare of an adventure, entered a country that verged on barbarism. An eerie blackness crept into her heart, and she was afraid. Once more she thought of flight, but reminded herself of her vows.
A promise must be kept.
"But at what price, Papa?"
A promise must be kept, little one. It is sacred. She heard her father's voice clearly, as if he stood beside her. But Angela, if that promise means your life, you must make a choice. A good person would forgive under those circumstances.
Alexi will forgive.
Through a chink in one of the solid planks, she saw muted light from the moon. After Yuri left, she made up her mind. She could endure one more day of confinement, one more day without food or water. She would use that time to seek her identity. It would be her vision quest. She would pray to the ancient gods for guidance and strength. She would become one with the earth and look for a sign for her future.
For the first time since the encounter with Feodora, she felt at peace with herself. Once more she could hear her father's voice in her mind. Once again she heard the earth speaking to her.
She sat cross-legged on the dirt floor and closed her eyes. She chanted and prayed, drifting into a strange world where there was no more darkness, where light and beauty filled every space.
She saw a white eagle and knew it was Trey, her half brother, soaring above her, encouraging her. Then she saw a wildcat, knew him to be Dakota. Her friends were with her in this ordeal; whatever she chose to do they would guide her, and they would help her survive.
She had only to listen to the sounds of the earth, the sky and the water.
As time passed and her visions intertwined, one into another, she saw a doe walk from the woods, grazing. The beautiful animal lifted her head and listened. All was quiet until there was a great heaving and crashing through the woods. At the edge of the forest stood a wolf, a magnificent black wolf. He was breathing hard, yet he lifted his head, and his strength overshadowed everything else. Unafraid, the doe watched, in awe of the power and the magnificence of the mighty predator.
My Angel Page 26
