My Angel

by Christine Young

  "I didn't seduce her, if that's what you're asking." Guilt swept through him. Until now he had not believed seduction had played a part in this.

  Perhaps in her innocence she had not known how to stop him. He'd been very persuasive.

  "She's a grown woman with a mind of her own. I'll give you that much," Sam said reflectively. He flicked his cigarette into the flames of the fire. "She's stubborn and hardheaded. She ran from me--right into your arms. I will claim my share of responsibility here."

  "I. wanted her the first time I touched her."

  Sam choked on the coffee he'd just swallowed. "Touched her, did you? In what way?"

  Alexi rose. He tossed the remains of his coffee into the fire. "How I touched Angela is between Angela and myself."

  Sam stood. They were eye-to-eye, the fire separating them. "The way I see the situation, now that I'm here everything between the two of you is my business. If you've had her in your bed or even in your arms, I mean to see the two of you married."

  Alexi's voice was filled with grave concern. He ignored the threat. "We have to find her first." Alexi walked to the edge of the light. He stared into the darkness. This was not the American West, but the untamed land was just as dangerous. The men who roamed these hills were a ruthless bunch. They lived by their wits alone. They robbed travelers of their money and provisions. Many of them were wanted for their political actions against the czar.

  There was great unrest in his country.

  After living in the United States, he believed as the rebels did, but he prayed no one knew of his attachment to Angela. Her life could be forfeit if they did, if she fell into the wrong man's hands.

  He suddenly understood the truth of his feelings. "I will marry her."

  Sam studied him for the longest time, his nod of approval encouraging.' 'I believe you are man enough for my daughter.''

  Alexi laughed softly at the compliment Sam gave, and felt a rush of energy sweep through him. "Thank you," he said, returning to the fire. "This light is a beacon to any who wish to see it."

  Sam nodded. "You've set a trap and we are the bait. You are foolish and brave. Perhaps you know more about those who have stolen her than I do."

  "This is not America, so I should. But I don't. If they knew who followed, they would be here, demanding ransom. We've heard nothing except the howl of the wolves." He hunkered down, playing with the embers of the fire. "I am worried. Very worried."

  ~ * ~

  Angela stared straight ahead, and all she saw were stiff, rugged mountains and an iron gray sky. The grueling pace the men who captured her set challenged her endurance. Twice she nodded off on the back of her mount, slumping into the arms of her captor behind her, who bore a striking resemblance to Alexi.

  The man was not as dark or as brooding, but he had the same deep brown eyes--eyes that seemed to find a way to penetrate her soul. Twenty-four hours later they rode into a small village nestled in a valley. Small children played in the dusty spaces between the huts, dogs barking and nipping at their heels.

  No more than two words had been said between her and her captors--or benefactors, she wasn't sure which they were.

  "You will rest," the man who rode in front of her said, startling her. His voice was ragged and sounded frustrated. "You will rest and we will wait here for your man to find you and pay for your ransom."

  She started to nod. Yes, Alexi would find her. But then she changed her mind. "No," she said with more energy than she knew she possessed.

  "No?" the man queried. "Then I was right. You were running. What is it that frightens you so badly that you become brave enough to venture through these parts alone?"

  She clamped down on her impulsive tongue. He would laugh if she told him how a woman with skinny arms frightened her. "I will take your advice," she said.

  "Ah, a rarity," he said, laughing. "A smart woman." His hands rested on her waist. He lifted her easily from the horse. An old woman came from the hut they'd stopped in front of.

  She was wrinkled with age, her hair silver-gray, pulled back into a tight knot at the base of her neck. She wore a brown dress that had obviously seen several seasons of wear. When she smiled at the big man, her face lit up and for a passing second she looked years younger. The welcome seemed genuine.

  Angela wanted to hold her hand out in greeting, but her knees gave way. The big man who'd brought her here scooped her into his arms.

  "I can walk," Angela protested.

  "Should I let you down so you can melt into a puddle at my feet? You do not need to prove how stubborn you are." He paused a few seconds to look at the woman, perhaps to gain permission to enter the hut. She nodded and he went inside, turning sideways and bending at the waist as he went through the door.

  The one room was small and scrubbed clean. She could smell soap and disinfectant. A peat fire burned in the fireplace, sending a warm glow throughout the otherwise dark room. A bed, a rocking chair and a table with two chairs were all the furniture the old woman had.

  The man chose the bed to set her upon.

  "Turn over," he told her sternly, all gentleness disappearing from his voice. "I want to look at your back."

  She sat wide-eyed, not venturing to move, a heated protest forming on her lips. All she could manage was to shake her head in denial.

  The old woman made a tsking noise. "Go on with you, you big oaf. Have you no manners? Shoo," she said, brushing the large man aside.

  Angela held her breath, not daring to imagine what the man would do if the old woman angered him.

  He laughed, chucking the old lady under the chin good-naturedly. "Anything you say, Mama. Just take good care of her."

  The woman went on. "I will take a look, and if I've need of your advice, I will ask." She stepped between the man and Angela before turning to say, "Get a cup of coffee."

  The man's expression turned grave. "I think she might be pregnant," he said. "Best you check that out, too."

  Angela had already turned over, her swift inhalation of breath muffled in the pillow. The woman lifted her shirt, a slight gasp escaping her at the sight of her back.

  "God have mercy." The man was suddenly beside the bed, his voice devoid of emotion. "Who could have done this to her?"

  "Do you really think anyone will pay for her safe return? It seems to me they were more than eager to get rid of her. A few more strokes and she might have died."

  Angela could hear the man pacing behind her. "We will keep her here. If no one looks for her or claims her, I will marry her."

  "No," Angela said, her voice raspy against the pillow her head rested upon. "No, I'm going home."

  "Hush, we can talk later. You are in no condition to go anywhere--least of all back to a place where they would beat you so. The aristos should take better care of their people."

  Angela could not reply. A cool cloth was pressed against her back. The fire there seemed to stop for a minute. The woman gave her something to drink; then she continued to clean the dirt from her back, the pain dulling to an indelicate throb.

  As if lost in a fog, Angela heard the man and the woman speak. She heard words such as rebel and angel--war and punishment--words that would have astounded her if she could have focused more clearly. Their conversation seemed to go on forever then she slept a deep, all-consuming sleep in which there were no dreams or pain, no confusing words.

  She woke refreshed to the busy clatter of cooking, only a dull throb across her back. The woman hummed to herself as she worked. The man was not in the room.

  Angela began to sit up, stopping when she realized she was naked beneath the covers. She lay back down, her face turned to the woman, who had noticed the movement.

  "How are you feeling?"

  The woman moved slowly today, not at all as she had before. With stooped shoulders, she carried a bowl of steaming, liquid to Angela. "Now sit up and eat."

  Angela practically choked, a blush heating her cheeks. "I've nothing on."

  The woman looked tak
en aback, as if she'd forgotten or wasn't sure what to do about the girl's condition. "You need to eat," she insisted. "It is just the two of us."

  "Where are my clothes?" Angela didn't care how many people were in the room. The man who'd brought her here could come back at any time. She wanted the protection her clothes would give her.

  As if reading her mind, the woman said "He's gone. He'll not return soon."

  Angela breathed a long sigh of relief, and energy seemed to surge through her. "How long have I been here?" she asked.

  The woman sat on the bed, the bowl of steaming liquid in one hand, a spoon in the other. "Eat."

  A spoonful of broth at her mouth, Angela obeyed, feeling the warmth seep through her, slowly at first. "How long?" Angela asked again.

  The woman shook her head, setting the food aside. "Long enough for someone to have come looking for you," she said.

  "Alexi," Angela said without thinking.

  She heard the old women's quick intake of air. "You know him?'' Angela queried.

  "His father I knew very well, for he is also Stephan's father. Stephan and Alexi are half brothers. Alexi, I knew, only when he was younger." Her voice was harsh and cold.' 'His mother's first husband was a murderer, as was his older half brother. I did not know until it was too late. Until my welcome at his home wore thin and I was forced to leave."

  As Devil Blackmoor, Alexi had killed when necessary, but this woman knew nothing of that man. She couldn't. Alexi's father lived in another country. His mother's former husband and his older half brother were both dead.

  "Perhaps this Alexi is not as evil." The old woman said. "I would not second-guess any of the Popov men. They all come from bad stock. But Alexi's father is not a Popov. So perhaps he does not possess the evil that was inbred in the Popov men."

  "He does not," Angela said her hand on the old women's arm. "If he comes to look for me promise me you'll..."

  Angela did not know what she wanted.

  "Yes?" The woman's voice was harsh. "Why do you hesitate?"

  "I love him." Angela knew the truth more clearly than ever before. She did love him. But he didn't love her in return. She wanted nothing less than what her parents had.

  A true and deep love. A forever love. One that would last a lifetime and through eternity.

  The knock on the door startled both of them.

  "Stephan!"

  Angela pulled the sheet tight around her as the big man entered, her pulse racing. The man slanted her a cursory look, then went to the kettle of soup simmering over the fire. His back to her, he stayed at the kettle long enough for her to slip more securely beneath the covers.

  "They followed the trail I set for them. But it won't take long for either of them to see the trickery." He turned after he spoke. "How is the patient?"

  Stephan was suddenly by the bed, his hand on her forehead. "She is not as hot. Perhaps she will live then?" He laughed while the back of his hand touched her cheek gently.

  "How long did I sleep?" Angela asked once more.

  "What? The old woman wouldn't tell you? You've been asleep for a solid day. Long enough for me to discover you were indeed missed."

  "Alexi?" she asked.

  "Yes," he said, their eyes meeting, and she saw the anger and latent hatred there. "And an older man."

  Puzzled, Angela caught herself sitting up. "Do you know him?"

  "No, but I think you do. If what I overheard was right, he is your father," Stephan told her, his face set.

  "Impossible." She sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts, her pulse pounding. She would have to go back to Alexi; a confrontation was inevitable. Her father would know everything, would know she had slept with Alexi.

  Panic swept through her.

  Stephan trailed his finger across her naked shoulder. She bit back hysteria, caused not by his touch but by the knowledge that her father was here, looking for her.

  "I will protect you, little one. You will be safe with me." Stephan read her fear.

  She'd heard those words before. And here she was, unprotected and definitely not safe.

  "No!" She scooted back out of his reach. He dropped his hand, his smile gone.

  "I will fight him for you, for your honor."

  "No."

  He rose from the bed and walked to the door. "Too bad. They will be here in a few hours. You might want to dress. The position you now occupy in my home will not appear quite so damning if you're up and about. And dressed..."

  "Your home? I thought ..." She could tell she'd angered him.

  "You thought wrong,."

  "Where are my clothes?" Her voice trembled. The woman had disappeared, and she was left alone with Stephan.

  "My mother is retrieving them for you. I had them washed. The bloodstains are gone."

  "Thank you," Angela said, but she could not keep her lip from quivering or her insides from turning over.

  "No thanks are needed. If you change your mind about your feelings for me, let me know."

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Get out!" Feodora screamed at Ivan.

  "Never." His voice sounded suave, sophisticated, not at all like the stable master he was supposed to be, and his aristocratic polish was unnerving.

  In a blinding rage, Feodora threw the largest vase of flowers she could set her hands upon directly at Ivan's head. Moving with the grace of a Siberian tiger, he ducked, walking steadily toward her, the flying object crashing against the wall behind him. Water from the upset pot drenched his shirt, running in tiny rivulets down his face.

  "Get out," she screeched again, and sidestepped his advance. His muscles flexed with every movement, his advance toward her never wavering. He appeared, every inch of him, a powerful male animal on the prowl.

  She was his prey.

  "Hmmm." Ivan paused in the attack, running his hand through his already disheveled locks. "Furious Feodora--it does have a nice ring to it. I do enjoy a fast, furious tussle with a lady who has a wounded heart. The passion and the heat can melt the very core of a man. Of course, you are no lady, and that fact will make this even more enjoyable. Although, Feodora, I'm not quite sure you have a heart to wound. In any case, it is not for me to mend the wound or feed the blazing passion inside you. The task is for Najjar; he waits for his submissive bride and the child in her womb."

  "He can wait until hell freezes over," she said in a patronizing tone, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

  "My lady, what language. I'm sure Najjar will be willing to cure your impetuous behavior."

  She edged around the bed, her gaze riveted on Ivan, anticipating his every move. "You can't force me," she whispered, breathless, her chest heaving, pulling in great lungfuls of air in anticipation.

  At any time Ivan was impossible to read: the broad smile, the imperious set of his lips, the knowing sparkle in his eyes when he happened to glance her way, as if he would like to kiss her senseless.

  No wonder she could never get the upper hand with him. Feodora supposed she ought to take him more seriously, but she'd never in her life done that--taken a man seriously. Perhaps that had been her mistake, her downfall. Despite Ivan's irresistible and rakish nature, she had just learned the hard way that he was a very dangerous man.