"Do you?" His words were a soft murmur in her ear as his finger searched and then found. She gave a low cry and arched upward, her thighs instinctively parting.
"Does their shape please you?"
She half sobbed as his fingers moved rhythmically, forcefully, within her.
"Does it?"
She couldn't remember what he had asked. She was melting, burning and ...
"Does it?" he repeated.
"Yes." It didn't matter what the question, the answer would be affirmative.
"And the texture? They're very hard, aren't they?"
She moistened her lips with her tongue, her head thrown back against the furs. "Yes ... hard."
"Too hard?"
"No."
His fingers resumed their magical play, while the other hand made adjustments in his clothing. "I'm glad," he said softly as he moved over her. His fingers were gone and his bold manhood was pressing against her. "And you have no objection to the length?" He plunged forward.
She gave a low cry. Fullness. Impossible, glorious fullness.
He was gazing down at her. "Objections?" he prompted.
What was he talking about? How could she object when he was a part of her. "Move."
"Too cold?"
She gazed at him in confusion. Cold? She was burning up. "What?"
"The icicles." His eyes were sparkling with mischief. "That is what we were talking about, isn't it?"
"Icicles?" She stared in at him in disbelief.
"Ah, love, what am I going to do with you?" He reached up and deliberately tugged at his left ear.
"Jokes? Now?" she whispered.
His smile faded and his gaze narrowed on her face, and now only hunger and raw arousal remained. "You're right," he said thickly. "This is no time for jokes."
He exploded, lifting her to each forceful thrust, his chest moving in and out with the harshness of his breathing. "I may hurt you.... Stop me if—"
The troika glided over the snow, the cold stinging her cheeks and Nicholas burning within her. Icicles splintered in sensual brilliant above her, around her, inside her.
She tried to stifle a cry, her fingers digging into the sable covering Nicholas's shoulders. He moved faster, harder. His breath clung to the air in frosty puffs. His nostrils flared as he sought to take in more air, as his body sought to take in more of her. Fullness. Power. Flame.
"Fly," he urged hoarsely. He thrust deeper. "Fly, love. Now."
She flew, soared, burst toward the sun in a wild conflagration of brilliance. Nicholas was with her, she realized vaguely. Soaring high, higher, piercing mists and clouds, valleys, and mountains until there was nothing left but sunlit radiance.
And Nicholas.
"That was a most inappropriate time to joke," she said reprovingly. "You distracted me."
"Sorry." Nicholas's tongue stroked delicately at her nipple as his cheek nestled more comfortably on her breast. "But I saw no reason not to inject a note of humor. I was very happy." He planted a kiss beneath the curve of her breast. "You make me happy."
"Do I?" A burst of joy shot through her. She had the power to make Nicholas happy. The knowledge filled her with a sense of wonder. "Truly?"
"Truly," he said solemnly. He rubbed his cheek back and forth against her like a playful puppy. "Does that surprise you?"
"Yes." She was silent a moment. "I've never worried about trying to make anyone happy before. It's a responsibility. What if I do something wrong?"
He laughed.
"No." Her gaze flew to his. "It's not funny. I'm not like other women. I don't know how to be gentle or kind. What if I hurt you?"
"Then I'll be hurt."
"You won't become angry and leave me?"
"No."
There was silence in the troika, broken only by the clop of the horses' hooves and the tinkle of the silver bells on the harness.
"I'll try to be gentle," Silver said haltingly. "But if I'm not, you'll know it's not because I don't care for you. It won't be because of that, Nicholas."
There was another silence. Nicholas didn't lift his head from her breast, but his voice was curiously husky when he spoke again. "Yes, I do know that, firebird." His lips brushed against her with gossamer tenderness. "And I find the knowledge unmans me." He cleared his throat and raised his head to look at her with glittering eyes. "And the last thing I want is to be unmanned with an unclothed women in my arms."
"I'm sure you'll recover shortly." She frowned. "And I don't like being called just any unclothed woman. I'm an unclothed Silver Delaney."
"Savron," he corrected her. "When will you become accustomed to the idea that you're my wife?"
"It feels ... strange."
"You'll get used to it. I'll try to make the state as painless as possible." He lowered his cheek once more to rest it on her breast. "As a matter of fact, I wanted to talk to you about that." His tone was casual, almost careless. "I made inquiries while I was in town today regarding a school for you."
"A school?"
"You told me once you wanted to study to become a doctor," he reminded her. "According to Dzosky, there are no suitable schools that will accept women here in Russia, but there's a fine university in Switzerland from which two Russian women have graduated. I told Dzosky to make the arrangements and hire a language tutor to begin—"
"Switzerland. That's very far away."
"You won't be alone. Etaine and Mikhail will be with you."
She pushed him away and sat up. The furs fell to her waist but she didn't feel the icy bite of the cold. She felt only panic rising within her. "But not you? You're sending me away?"
"For God's sake, do you want to freeze?" He fastened the feather cloak around her and pulled up the robes. "I'm not sending you away. I'm trying to give you what you want."
She shook her head. "You don't want me. You're sending me away."
"Silver ..." Nicholas was gazing at her with aching sympathy. "I'm not a Delaney. I'll never willingly send you away. How often do I have to tell you that? I'm only trying to give you what you want."
"Words." Her voice was brittle. "You will not, but you are. If you don't want to part with me, why won't you come with me?" She edged away from him. "Not that it matters. I couldn't go anyway. I must stay here and find the murderer of my child. You need not think—"
"Hush." He pulled her back within the curve of his arm. "And stop bristling like a porcupine. You could leave if you'd trust me to find the murderer for you. Can't you do that, Silver?"
She didn't look at him.
"No, I see that you can't." His lips twisted in a rueful smile. "I didn't really think you would, but I wanted to try. I don't suppose you'd consider changing your mind."
She shook her head emphatically.
"Then we'll just have to postpone your schooling until I'm able to go with you."
"You're not going to send me away?"
He should send her away, blast it. He wanted desperately to send her and Etaine out of the country
until he could deal with Monteith. The report he had read this morning had filled him with dread. Yet how could he send Silver away when she would regard it as another rejection? He cradled her head against his shoulder and sighed in resignation. "No, love, I'm not going to send you away. I'll go into town tomorrow and tell Dzosky to cancel the arrangements."
11
Silver came suddenly awake, her gaze searching the darkness. "Nicholas?"
Then she relaxed as she saw his nude silhouette outlined against the window across the room. How stupid to be thrown into a panic just because she had awakened and he wasn't beside her. Three nights before she wouldn't have dreamed she would have become so accustomed to having Nicholas in her bed that it felt wrong to sleep alone. The panic that had jarred her awake abruptly flooded back to her; as she noticed the tenseness of the muscles cording Nicholas's shoulders and back. "Are you ill?"
"Go back to sleep." He didn't turn around. "There's nothing wrong."
"Don'
t be foolish. If there's nothing wrong, then why aren't you sleeping?"
He chuckled and turned to her. She couldn't see his features but a little of the tension had eased from his face. "I'll endeavor to refrain from lack of logic in the future." He was coming toward her. "I only had a bad dream and felt the need of a little space to breathe." He slipped beneath the covers and gathered her close. "You can understand such need. You don't like closed doors yourself."
"You had a bad dream last night too. I woke in the middle of night and you were ..." She paused, remembering the fear she had experienced when she had awakened and found Nicholas, muscles locked, his mouth open as he struggled for breath. "You weren't good. You reminded me of Etaine when she's having one of her attacks."
"I don't remember dreaming last night." He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Was that when you woke me so pleasurably?"
"I was frightened. I wanted to be close to you."
"You couldn't have gotten any closer. If that's the result of those hellish dreams, then I must find a way to have more of them."
"Don't joke. I don't like waking up and seeing you like that." She raised herself on one elbow to look down at him. "You told me once you had dreams about something that happened a long time ago. About darkness and not being able to breathe ..."
"Did I? How depressing of me."
"Is that what these dreams are all about?"
"I don't remem—" He stopped. "Yes."
"Always?"
"Yes." He shifted and drew her closer still. "But they come much less often than they used to. Now go to sleep. I told you there was nothing to worry about."
But she was worried, and it was clear Nicholas had no intention of discussing the matter further. She would try another trail to the same destination.
"Nicholas—" She paused. "How did you get those scars on your back?"
"That's a depressing story too. And one that happened too long ago to matter to us now."
Yet Silver felt strongly those "depressing stories" caused his horrible nightmares. He needed to talk. Why wouldn't he share the painful memories with her? She wasn't a bloodless ninny to be protected and cosseted from the storms of life. She was the one who wanted to protect Nicholas.
Until she could discover the cause of Nicholas's disturbance she knew another way to protect him. She had discovered it last night and there was no reason the remedy should not work again tonight. She would make sure he was too weary for any dreams whatsoever.
"Well, if you don't want to talk, then I suppose we must find something else to do to amuse ourselves." Her hands began to move gently, teasingly on his body. "Mustn't we, Nicholas?"
"Etaine said you wished to see me." Mikhail's expression was wary as he crossed the breakfast room to stand before her. "I told Nicholas I couldn't tell him what he wanted to know. Why—"
She held up her hand to silence him. "That's not why I wanted to see you. Have you had breakfast?"
"Many hours ago."
"Well, sit down and keep me company while I have mine. Nicholas has gone into town to see his attorney and I may not have another opportunity to question you without him being present."
The faintest smile touched Mikhail's lips. "I have noticed that he wishes to be always at your side these days. It pleases me."
"It pleases me too." She hurriedly began eating her eggs as she felt warmth seep into her cheeks. "I think he may truly care for me."
"Think?" Mikhail asked gently.
"He says he has love for me." She kept her eyes on her plate. "And I—" She stopped. "I feel the same."
"That is good."
"Yes." She forced herself to look up knowing that she was blushing like one of those idiotic simpletons at Mrs. Alford's Select Academy. "But it's not good that Nicholas treats me as if I had no brain and must be protected from unpleasantness. I wish to share everything but he won't let me." She drew a deep breath. "He has terrible dreams."
"Yes, I know."
"He told me once that they were brought on by memories of something that happened in the past." She frowned. "But he won't tell me what happened. He says he doesn't want to talk about depressing things."
"Perhaps that is best."
"No, it's not best," she said fiercely. "I want to help him but he won't let me. I can't do anything until I know what's troubling him. You know, don't you?"
He nodded. "Yes, but it would do no good to tell you. You cannot change what is past."
"Let me be the judge of that. Tell me."
He hesitated, gazing at her uncertainly.
"You've kept secrets enough from me. Tell me this at least."
He shrugged and sat down in the chair across the table from her. "What do you want to know?"
"The dreams, the scars on Nicholas's back, everything."
"They are all bound together." Mikhail looked down at the polished rosewood table. "We are friends, Nicholas and I. We have been friends since we were children. Though he was the grandson of a great leader and I was the child of a common whore it made no difference. Not to Nicholas. And not to me. It is important that you know that."
"Nicholas values you a great deal," Silver said gently.
"He was the only one in the village who did when I was a child. I was big and clumsy and as ugly then as I am now."
"I don't find you ugly."
"Neither did Nicholas." Mikhail's finger began tracing the mother-of-pearl lily inlay in the gleaming wood of the table. "And then when I was seventeen I found a woman of the village who also seemed to think me pleasant. Her name was Marika and I married her. On our wedding night I discovered she was not a virgin and a few days later she told me she was three months with child. She had needed a father for the child and a husband to hide her shame and she had chosen me." His lips twisted. "I was a fine choice: lovesick with a young boy's first passion and stupid enough to think a woman could care for me."
"She was the stupid one," Silver said fiercely. "You'd make a fine husband. You should have thrown her out of your house."
"I did not know what to do. I was ... angry. I shouted at her. She only laughed at me. Then I told her I would denounce her before the whole village. She stopped laughing. I rode out of the village and stayed away for many hours. I tried to think what to do. I am not clever like Nicholas, and the pain ... I finally returned to the village and learned that Marika had decided to find another way to hide her shame."
"The potion," Silver whispered.
He nodded jerkily. "There were bruises on her face and her lip was cut. She told me she had gone to her lover and he had grown angry with her demands for his help. He had struck her again and again. Then she had gone to the old woman...." He was silent a moment, gazing blindly down at the table. "She died. I was angry and in pain, but I did not want her dead. I loved her still." He shook his head as if to clear it. "The old woman who gave her the potion was afraid she'd be blamed and denied she had given Marika anything. Many people had heard me shouting at her. They saw the bruises and thought I had beaten her and caused her death. I was brought before Igor Dabol and found guilty of murder. Nicholas was the only one who believed me and he argued and then pleaded with his grandfather for my life. Igor Dabol would not listen, and I was sentenced to death. They began to dig the hole."
"The hole?"
"It is Cossack tradition. A very deep hole is dug in the ground and then they break the legs of the man who is accused of murder. He is thrown into the hole and the coffin of the victim is lowered on top of him. After that they close the grave."
Smothering darkness, Nicholas had said. Buried alive. Silver shivered in horror at the thought. Her own people had fearsome traditions, but none she could think of at the moment to equal this one.
"They broke my legs and threw me into the hole. I lay there in the dirt and knew I was going to die." Mikhail's hand closed slowly into a fist on the table. "Then Nicholas jumped into the pit beside me. Igor ordered him out but he refused to obey him. He said if murder was being done to me it
must also be done to him. I think Nicholas believed that Igor might spare us both rather than kill his grandson. But Igor has a terrible temper and he grew very angry with Nicholas. He ordered the coffin lowered and the grave closed."
Silver inhaled sharply. "He buried you both alive?"
Mikhail nodded. "I don't know how long we were down there. It seemed like a long, long time. We couldn't breathe. . . . Then we heard them shoveling away the dirt and they pulled us both out of the pit." His lips twisted in a crooked smile. "Igor had decided to be merciful. He gave Nicholas forty lashes with a knout, took away our boots, and set us free on the steppes with a storm approaching. He knew we had little chance to survive."
"But you did survive."
"We found our way to the Sea of Azov and sheltered there. After we had both healed, Nicholas and I set out for St. Petersburg. We were exiled forever from the Kuban and there was nowhere else we really wanted to go when our home was taken from us."
"Igor Dabol must be a hard man to banish his own grandson. I find it strange that he would cast off his legitimate heir."
"Do you? I thought it stranger that Igor showed us mercy at the pit," Mikhail said quietly. "It was only later that I realized why."
Silver gazed at him inquiringly.
"I did not tell Nicholas, but I believe Igor Dabol was Marika's lover. He knew I had no guilt and to kill me and Nicholas would have been a mortal sin."
"Yet he nearly did it anyway." Igor Dabol was evidently as ruthless as his daughter, Natalya, Silver thought with a passionate rush of sympathy for Nicholas. It was a wonder Nicholas had been able to maintain the honor and integrity that he still possessed when he'd been brought up by two warring savages who wanted him only to serve their own ends. "I'd like to throw his grandfather into a hole and cover him with a ton of dirt!"
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