21
“A wise choice, Count Petroff. Now tell me, will my good friend Stefan be joining us as well?”
Vasili knew that deep voice. Pavel, the man was called, and he was anything but Stefan’s friend.
He was as tall as Vasili but more muscular, with raw-boned features and a swarthy complexion, and a perpetually belligerent attitude.
And when Vasili glanced back to confirm the speaker’s identity, he saw that Pavel wasn’t alone, that nearly a dozen men were ranged behind him, some sporting firearms that were trained directly at Vasili.
“A pleasure to see you again, Pavel,” he said so dryly that only an idiot would believe him, “and no, Stefan didn’t join me on this trip.”
“I’m disappointed,” Pavel replied, and he did, in fact, sound it. “When I recognized you just now, I had such hope for another challenge—but perhaps you will stand for your cousin, eh?”
Vasili wasn’t surprised. Pavel’s attitude hadn’t changed.
“Perhaps,” was all he would commit to. “But first I’d like to take advantage of your famous hospitality. I trust your village isn’t far?”
“Not far at all, or we wouldn’t have heard those shots and come to investigate.”
And Vasili could blame Alexandra for that. If she had stopped, they would have seen where her horses were being taken, he would have recognized the village, and they could have returned with the others in their party, in a position of power rather than as prisoners.
At least Latzko, the leader of these hill bandits, was an easy man to deal with. Greed was his guiding principle, and everything had a price.
“Would you mind getting that knife out of my back, Pavel? Latzko won’t appreciate damaged goods.”
“Latzko is not your worry. He’s gone to Austria to the bitch’s wedding. I am your worry, aristo. I rule in Latzko’s absence.”
Just what Vasili needed to hear. He had a madman to deal with instead of the reasonable Latzko.
The “bitch” he assumed was Latzko’s daughter, Arina.
Pavel had loved her and lost her to Stefan a number of years ago, which was one reason Pavel hated Stefan so much.
The other reason was because Stefan had fought him and beat him, twice.
And that was why Pavel hated all aristocrats.
“Congratulations on the promotion, Pavel, but can we continue this discussion in your village, preferably before a warm fire? I happen to be freezing.”
Pavel laughed. At least half of his men joined in. But the knife was finally removed from Vasili’s back. A few orders were given and Vasili’s sword was taken. Then Pavel noticed Alexandra.
“Another woman?” Pavel came around and approached Alexandra until he was standing in front of her. But after one quick look, he glanced back at Vasili for a little gloating. “This day’s work has turned out much better than I expected. Will she be worth as much as the other one?”
He was referring to Tanya, who had been captured last year and whose retrieval had cost Stefan five hundred rubles.
Vasili was already going to have to pay a fortune to get Alexandra’s horses back.
Their value was obvious. Hers wasn’t, and he needed to establish her worthlessness then and there, not only to keep her cost down, but because Pavel was a vengeful bastard.
But he wouldn’t have done it the way he did if she hadn’t been glaring at him at that exact moment.
He was already angry with her, and that only inflamed him.
With just enough annoyance in his voice to sound sincere, he said, “Keep her. You’d be doing me a favor.”
Even with several feet separating them, Vasili heard Alexandra draw in a sharp breath.
Pavel couldn’t help but hear the indignant sound himself.
It was obvious he’d had no real interest in her.
Bundled up in her Cossack garb, she hardly presented an alluring package.
But the sound drew his attention back to her, and he lifted her chin for a better look at her.
Nothing should have happened. Her hands were tied behind her back. She was surrounded by bandits.
But she kicked him, hard.
Pavel howled. Some of his men laughed, adding insult to injury. When he got done hopping around on one leg while he massaged his aching shin—it was incredible how he did it without slipping—he looked positively murderous, and Alexandra was going to catch the brunt of his fury.
Vasili had begun stepping closer, but not soon enough. He wasn’t close enough to stop Pavel’s raised fist from connecting with Alexandra’s face. He had to tackle him to manage it, which was what he did.
When they stopped sliding in the snow, Pavel was looking up at him incredulously.
Vasili felt exactly the same. The cold had obviously numbed his mind as well as his extremities.
There was no other excuse for doing something so stupid.
The only reason he hadn’t been shot already was because Pavel’s men couldn’t believe he was that stupid either, and were immobilized by surprise.
That gave him time to help Pavel to his feet, dust him off a bit, and say, “Sorry, but no one hits her except me. An idiosyncrasy of mine.”
He should have switched to Cardinian, which Pavel understood well enough, because Alexandra chose that moment to prove she hadn’t lost her voice. “You’re going to regret that, Petroff.”
He didn’t glance her way when he replied, “You’ve been silent until now, wench. Keep it that way.”
Pavel was glaring between the two of them, but suddenly his humor took an upward swing and he was almost smiling when he told Vasili, “That—whatever you called it—is going to cost you, Cardinian.”
Vasili sighed. “I figured as much.”