19
“The hell of it is,” Vasili was telling Lazar as they rode ahead of the party, “I had no desire to bed her. I merely wanted to prove to myself, and to my little barbarian, that I could.”
Lazar nodded, not the least bit surprised. But then, Lazar understood Vasili better than most people did because he knew all of his quirks and foibles, all of his faults and virtues.
Vasili had met Claudia Shevchenko not long after they’d come down from crossing the Carpathians, when he was still boiling with resentment that he was even making this trip.
He hadn’t stayed with the lady a week because he couldn’t resist her.
He’d stayed to prove the betrothal wasn’t going to change his self-indulgent lifestyle.
Like most men, Vasili enjoyed two kinds of women, the ones he was actually attracted to and those who were merely available for the taking.
He had the latter in abundance because of his looks.
These were mostly women who offered themselves without being asked.
And Vasili accommodated most of them because he was, after all, used to overindulgence.
Countess Shevchenko fell into the latter group. She was pretty enough, but she was definitely on the skinny side, and Vasili preferred a more voluptuous, full-figured form—like Alexandra’s.
Lazar said now, “Well, one thing did come out of that nonsense. You found out that the baroness knows how to use a horsewhip.”
Lazar got a glare for that reminder. He would have been disappointed by any other reaction. Five days had passed since the incident that he wasn’t likely to ever forget had occurred, and he’d been mentioning it at least once a day just to rile Vasili.
One of Alexandra’s Cossacks had suffered a broken finger from the fight, which was how it was now being referred to by all of them.
Jesus, it had been hilarious, not the broken finger, but the fight itself, and Lazar had sat back and enjoyed the entire spectacle.
And it had only gotten better once Alexandra had discovered the Cossack’s injury.
She had gone after Vasili’s man with a horsewhip, and Vasili had been the only one daring enough—or annoyed enough—to get near her while she was wielding that vicious thing, to yank it out of her hands. She had been giving the guard, and Vasili, killing looks ever since.
After that display, it was easy to see that Alexandra loved the Razins like family.
She treated them as if they were her brothers, defended them like brothers, insulted them like brothers.
How Vasili could ever have gotten the notion that they had been her lovers was beyond Lazar, but his friend had not been acting like himself since he had met his “little barbarian.”
Lazar wondered if Vasili knew how possessive he was beginning to sound whenever he mentioned Alexandra. For that matter, he wondered if Vasili was even aware of how often he glanced back throughout the day just to look at her.
He had stopped riding off by himself as often, too, and stopped completely when they reached the mountains.
But then, the Carpathians weren’t known to be friendly territory to travelers, weather-wise or otherwise, and especially if those travelers appeared to be carrying anything of value.
They had managed to cross these mountains once without incident.
Twice was more than they could hope for, particularly with the addition of two bulging wagons and a herd of prize thoroughbreds.
They were taking precautions, posting extra guards at night. But short of hiring more men from one of the mountain villages, which Vasili refused to do, given the odds were about half that they’d be hiring the thieves themselves, there was nothing else they could do.
Some things had changed, yes, but even with the additional danger in crossing the mountains, Vasili hadn’t let up on his personal campaign.
If anything, he seemed to be increasing his efforts to insult and ridicule Alexandra and to provoke her temper at every opportunity.
The fact that they would reach Cardinia in another week or so, depending on the weather, was likely the reason.
But who would have thought it would go on this long?
Lazar was actually finding the whole thing highly amusing, though he was quite possibly the only one who did.
He’d been bored for a while when Vasili and Alexandra had been trying to avoid each other.
But now they were having blowups at least once a day.
And still neither one said the magic words that would end the betrothal.
Instead they were both giving new meaning to the word “stubborn.”
The weather was frigid, despite the sun’s periodic appearances, but they hadn’t yet encountered a snowstorm, which Vasili was hoping would send Alexandra running for home.
And this was another example of Vasili’s desperation.
While Cardinia had its share of severe winters just like every other country in this area of the continent, Vasili rarely ventured far from a warm fire during this time of year.
If anyone was going to suffer during the extreme cold of a snowstorm, it would be he, rather than Alexandra.
Of course, to give Vasili his due, he and Lazar had both assumed that his betrothed would be a lady of normal sensibilities.
There had been no way for them to know that she was a creature of nature, more comfortable outdoors than in, and apparently that was true at any time of the year.
She wouldn’t complain of a snowstorm any more than she had of being continuously in the saddle for the past three and a half weeks.
It was still early in the afternoon the day they finally reached the mountain pass and began their descent.
The sun had been shining for most of the morning during the last of their climb.
And with the worst of the danger at least half over now, they all began to relax somewhat, despite the gloomy clouds that blew in and hovered over the western face of the mountain.
But the snow arrived less than an hour later and ended their run of good luck. Within thirty minutes, it was snowing so hard they could no longer see the trail in front of them and were forced to make camp.
While the tents were being erected, Alexandra worked frantically to create a windbreak and shelter for the horses, which were her main concern.
She made use of the wagons, all of their contents, and at least half of the extra blankets she had brought along for precisely such an emergency.
And she cursed Vasili beneath her breath all the while, blaming him and his wasted week with Countess Shevchenko for stranding them on top of a mountain, far from any decent shelter.
She was given pause, however, and reason to think she must be going snow-blind, when she saw Vasili helping her rather than seeing to his own tent and comfort.
She continued to curse him, but she didn’t get as much pleasure out of it as she usually did, and stopped altogether when she felt something suspiciously like guilt.
So he could perform one unselfish act. That didn’t make much of a dent in all of his bad qualities—except he was helping her to protect her horses, her babies. She’d have to at least thank him—when she had the time.
The storm continued to unleash its fury all afternoon, and Alexandra continued to worry about her horses.
They were as used to the cold as she was, but they usually had a warm stable to return to after being out in it.
This situation was different, and her need to reassure them as much as herself was why she couldn’t remain in her tent for longer than an hour without checking on them.
She’d already done so twice. The third time she found someone else there ahead of her and heard him say, “Oh, Jesus,” before she realized it was Vasili huddled in a long fur cloak.
She thought he was grumbling over the weather until she reached his side and saw that the shelter she’d fought to erect was half empty.
“What have you done?” she asked in a horrified whisper, blaming him automatically.
“I wish I could take credit, but I can’t.
” The derision in his voice was also automatic, but at her stricken look, Vasili wished he could take it back.
“Damn, I knew this was going to happen. You can’t expect to bring such valuable horses into these bandit-infested hills and not lose a few of them. ”
“A few? All my whites are gone!” she cried, and then: “Oh, God, this is my fault. I called in the guards. I didn’t think there would be any trouble in the middle of a storm.”
“When all this snow offers the perfect cover and these mountain people are used to it?”
He might as well have said he’d never heard of anything so stupid.
She got the message. She even agreed. She hadn’t been thinking about bandits, only about the storm, and she’d wanted to spare her men, as well as his, from standing guard during the worst of it, at least until evening, when it might have blown over.
But that was no excuse, so she didn’t bother explaining. And she’d already dismissed Vasili from her mind as she bent under the rope that had restrained the animals and moved to the back of the temporary corral where the rope had been cut.
None of the remaining horses had bothered to wander off, preferring to stay close to what little shelter had been provided. And with as many that were still there, including the roan stallion, it appeared that only her rare whites had been the target.
The trail was wide, but barely discernible, and filling up with new snow even as she stared at it.
It would be gone in a matter of minutes.
There was no time to summon her people or his.
Even a shout wouldn’t be heard over the keening of the wind.
She had to follow the trail to find out where the horses had been taken, then come back…
“Where do you think you’re going?”
She had started to mount one of the horses—all those that had been wearing saddles still had them on for added warmth—when Vasili yanked her back to the ground to answer his idiotic question. “There’s no time for this, Petroff.”
“I’ll get your horses back.”
“How?”
“I’ll buy them back. My cousin and I have had run-ins with these hill bandits before, or at least with similar ones. They’re always willing to turn a profit.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she replied. “And leave me beholden to you? I’ll get them back, and it won’t cost anything but a few lives—theirs.”
“The odds are, you’re talking about a whole village of thieves, Alex, not just a few.”
“I’m talking about getting my horses back, my horses, my responsibility. And the trail they’ve left is disappearing even as we speak. If you want to help, get the others and follow, but I’m leaving now.”
She had to shove him slightly to get him to let go of her. And it was infuriating to know that the shove wouldn’t have worked if he hadn’t lost his balance in the snow they’d just trampled. His high-handedness was intolerable, and she wished she had time to tell him so, but she didn’t.
Vasili didn’t fall, but by the time he steadied himself, Alexandra was already at the end of the corral, disappearing into the swirling white beyond the camp. He shouted for the others, but only in the time it took him to mount his stallion and ride after her.
Whether anyone heard him was doubtful, but he didn’t particularly care at the moment. When he caught up with that fool woman, he was going to wring her neck, and he didn’t need any help for that.