Chapter 12
Kassandra blanched, the laughter dying on her lips, the abrupt strangled sound an eerie echo in the forest.
No, it can’t be! she thought, her gloved fingers digging into the frozen earth as she knelt motionless, stricken with terror. Stefan was in Vienna, with Prince Eugene. He must be, he must be… Surely it was the wind, the rustle of dead leaves, a cruel trick of her imagination.
“It seems you have strayed from your usual riding path today, Kassandra,” Stefan said lightly, stepping into the clearing.
His casual tone belied the triumph surging within him; now she would confirm the truth and he would be free of this obsession to know.
He studied her lithe form, her back still to him, straight and stiff, as he began to walk toward her.
He had been just outside the city wall when he realized he had forgotten a most important document that he was to present to his general.
It was a map of the fortress city of Belgrade, Serbia, the site of the following year’s campaign against the Turks, which had been secreted to him the night before by a well-paid Janissary spy.
He had wheeled Brand around and ridden like the wind back to the estate, secured the map, then had set out again, only to find Kassandra ahead of him as she veered her mare from the road into the thick woods.
He had thought it strange, knowing how much she enjoyed riding across the open fields, and giving her a good lead, he had followed her to this clearing.
She had been so engrossed in her mysterious task that she had not heard him approach, and he had stealthily watched her, a strong suspicion growing that she was on the verge of giving herself away.
She reminded him of a cornered doe, Stefan mused, seeing her tense at the sound of his approaching footsteps in the snow. Her head was tilted to one side as if she was aware of his every movement, her body taut and poised to flee.
“It’s of small consequence, really, taking another path,” he continued steadily.
“The woods are beautiful at this time of year, especially with a dusting of snow. Still, I didn’t expect to find you digging a hole in the ground.
A strange pastime, you must admit, Kassandra, even for such a mysterious young woman as yourself. ”
Kassandra winced as stark realization, and a chilling despair, settled over her like a smothering cloud. It hadn’t been the wind, or her imagination, she thought dully. Stefan must have been watching her for some time…must have seen everything…
Her limbs felt wooden, sapped of their lifeblood, as she rose to her feet and turned to face him, her gaze caught and held by his own. The familiar taunting challenge was there, but now something else struck her with numbing force. He looked so…resolute.
Stefan drew in his breath, stunned by Kassandra’s poignant beauty. He had never seen her look so vulnerable, or so haunted. He longed to reach out and wipe away the smudge of dirt on her cheek, yet he held back.
No, he would not be swayed, he thought grimly. The moment he had long awaited had come at last. He would play out the game to the end, and prove the victor, triumphant over this obsession that had so haunted his days and nights.
“Step aside, Kassandra,” he breathed softly, so close to her now, he could see she was trembling uncontrollably, could smell the intoxicating scent of her floral perfume.
Kassandra opened her mouth to speak, then shook her head, her eyes never leaving his face.
Stefan had expected as much. “You must,” he insisted, his voice low.
He gently gripped her arm and drew her a few feet away from the carefully packed dirt where she had been standing.
She offered no resistance, which puzzled him, but instead stood rigidly as he began to kick at the dirt with the heel of his leather boot.
The packed soil soon gave way, revealing what appeared to be one end of a tightly wound roll of clothing, secured with twine.
Stefan squatted on his haunches and impatiently brushed away the remaining dirt, studying for a moment the contents of the shallow hole.
His eyes widened in recognition and he glanced up at Kassandra, but she was no longer watching him, her gaze focused on some distant point in the woods, her features set and implacable as if finely chiseled in stone.
He pulled out the bundle and set it beside him.
In one swift movement he drew a long hunting knife from a leather sheath at his belt and severed the knotted twine, replacing the knife as he rose to his feet.
He shook out the clothing in a spray of moist dirt—a torn and wrinkled print gown, a pair of plain gray stockings that floated lightly to the ground, a petticoat, and a small velvet drawstring bag that fell near the toe of his boot with a chinking thud…
“So at last I have found you, my temptress,” Stefan murmured, bending to pick up the small bag.
Bright gold coins tumbled out the open end to the ground, in stark contrast to the black dirt mixed with snow.
Yet it was not the money he was interested in, but his initials, finely embroidered in silver threads, upon the inside upper rim of the bag.
His callused finger traced the smooth needlework—expertly sewn by Isabel, who had given the bag to him as a gift. The final proof he needed.
Stefan straightened just in time to see that Kassandra had turned toward him, the flash of her hand hurtling at his face.
Before he could dodge the blow, she hit him with all the strength she could muster, a sharp, resounding smack.
He nearly lost his balance, his cheek stinging painfully, but managed to keep his footing as she spun to flee.
Stefan lunged at her, grabbing her roughly, and twirled her to face him once again, his strong hands gripping her upper arms. He swallowed hard as he was struck by the full force of her gaze, like a tempest unleashed, her amethyst eyes, darkened to a stormy violet hue, glinting at him with sparks of fury.
“Bastard!” Kassandra shouted, nearly choking on the swell of emotions within her breast.
Scalding tears blinded her, but she fought them back, determined not to give in to such a useless, feminine display.
Sensing his momentary discomfiture, she wrenched free of his grasp, lashing out at him again with her arm.
He deftly stepped aside and caught her wrist, twisting her arm behind her back and pulling her hard against his broad chest. He held her there, though she struggled and kicked, her attempts to escape him futile next to his powerful strength.
“You are the one,” he breathed huskily into her fiery hair, now free of its pins and tumbling down her back and about her flushed face in riotous waves.
Much the same as in the tavern, he recalled, drawing slightly away from her to study the exquisite lines of her high cheekbones, his finger tracing the curve of her jaw to her chin.
When she tried to turn her face away from him, he entwined his hand in her lustrous hair and pulled her head back, bringing his mouth down upon her own.
Kassandra gasped, the memory of his kiss in the tavern, rough and demanding, and the shocking reality of his kiss at that moment, possessive yet almost tender, merging in her mind.
This wasn’t happening! she thought vainly, then thought no more as he deepened his kiss, forcing her lips apart, drawing panting breaths from her body.
Time stood still, then faded altogether.
Kassandra did not know at what point she stopped fighting him, only to close her eyes and lean against his hard length, responding to his kiss with a burning ardor that matched his own.
She felt dizzy, as if she were falling, a liquid warmth stirring deep within her and flooding her body with flaming desire.
Stefan tore his lips from hers and trailed a path of shivering kisses down her white throat, his mouth lingering at the pulse beating rapidly at the curved base of her neck.
He inhaled the scent of her skin, her hair, a sense of conquest surging within him.
He released her arm and brought both of his hands to her face, his thumbs caressing the satin smoothness of her cheeks as he reveled in her beauty.
Kassandra bent her head to the side at his touch, hypnotically immersed in the embrace of this man.
Yet when she opened her eyes and met his searing gaze, she saw not only desire but sheer triumph.
It chilled her to the bone, dousing her own desire as surely as if she had been drenched in an icy bath, and she remembered with a jolt why she so hated him.
Bile rose in her throat with the realization that this was merely a game with him, at her expense.
It was clear he considered himself the victor, and her the spoils.
But damn him, he had not won yet! In one swift movement she groped wildly for the sheath at his belt, then drew out the knife and pushed the flat end of the blade against his ribs.
“Let me go,” she whispered vehemently, her eyes burning brightly. “Now!”
Stefan tensed and drew back suddenly, his arms dropping to his sides, his battle-honed instincts recognizing that Kassandra’s tone bespoke no idle threat.
He shook his head in amazement, but kept his attention on the knife as she stepped away from him, glancing occasionally over her shoulder to get her bearings in relation to the mare that was grazing contentedly on the dry grasses that edged the clearing.
Kassandra briefly turned her back to him when she reached the mare and grabbed the reins dangling to the ground, then whirled once again to find Stefan had not moved a muscle.
She eyed him warily, the knife held expertly in one hand while she flipped the reins over the mare’s head, stepped into the stirrup, and eased onto the saddle.
“Whoa, girl, steady,” she murmured, pulling up on the reins with her free hand. Then without a word she lifted her arm and flung the flashing blade through the air. A grim smile lit her face when the knife cut into the earth only inches from Stefan’s foot.
“As you can see, Count,” she murmured tersely, lifting her chin with defiance, although inside she was quaking, “I am quite able to protect myself. I hope you take this as a warning, for if you come near me again, I will not be as charitable.”
Kassandra nudged the mare with her heel; then, without a backward glance, they set off at a swift canter toward the estate, precariously dodging the trees lining the path they had left earlier in the snow.
Her heart was beating like thunder and she shivered, not so much from the cold as from the sheer boldness of her act.
She had never threatened any living creature before, let alone a grown man, and a seasoned soldier at that. She only hoped she had swayed him from whatever game he was playing, or before heaven, she would make good on her threat.
Stefan’s eyes flashed with open admiration as he watched Kassandra, seated proudly upon her mare, disappear into the dense trees.
Then he bent down and grasped the handle of the knife, embedded to its polished hilt, and pulled it from the ground.
He slid it into the sheath at his belt, then ran his fingers through his black hair, a wry smile curving his lips.
What a remarkable woman, Stefan mused. He had been in many fierce battles in his lifetime, but never had he been faced with such a beautiful, and possibly more deadly, opponent.
It seemed she was full of surprises, and that her prowess extended to weaponry as well.
He suddenly recalled waking up in the tavern to find his own sword lying on the bed, its razor-sharp blade pointed at his chest. Perhaps a thwarted attempt—fortunately for him!
—by Kassandra to exact her retribution, he thought with a grimace.
Stefan uttered a low whistle for Brand, and barely a moment passed before the massive stallion appeared from the woods, snorting and tossing its regal head. Stefan hoisted himself into the saddle, then wheeled the horse sharply and followed the path Kassandra had just taken.
At once he realized that instead of freeing him from his obsession for Kassandra, knowing the truth of who she was had further heightened his need for her, a need that seemed to rage within him like a burning fever.
Never before had he seen such spirit in a woman. Now that his intuition was confirmed and he knew with certainty that Lady Kassandra Wyndham was the wench from the tavern, he would stop at nothing to make her his own.
Of course, he must marry her. Kassandra would become Countess von Furstenberg.
If she had been a serving maid, tavern whore, or even married, it would have been different.
But she was unmarried, a virgin until their fateful meeting, and an English peeress in her own right.
No such woman would consent to anything less than marriage.
No man of position and integrity would offer anything else. Marriage it would be!
Stefan smiled wryly, surprised at this turn of events. He was a man who cherished his freedom, a man who had known the pleasures of many women, and been most intrigued by the chase and the capture. Yet Kassandra was unique. In her, he believed he had finally met his match.
And he had need of a wife. Isabel had driven home that point again and again.
It was time he thought of the future, of his estate…
an heir. He would offer Kassandra everything, his name, his wealth, and the chance to share his life.
Perhaps that would make up for the one thing he could not offer her, his heart.
He was a soldier, first and foremost. There was no room in his life for useless and transient emotions.
He knew well that any man ruled by his emotions rather than his intellect and gut instincts on the battlefield was not destined to live long.
No, he could never give her love, but he would offer her an all-consuming desire reserved for no other woman.
Stefan drew up on the reins, a dark thought pressing in on him.
Fool, what made him think she would accept his proposal of marriage?
She was unconventional enough to think she didn’t need his protection and stubborn enough to refuse his proposal outright.
She clearly despised him. It was more likely she would throw his offer of marriage back in his face, with relish!
His hands tightened on the reins as an image flashed through his mind—Kassandra’s eyes glinting angrily, her smiling red lips taunting him, her vehement denial—and his mouth set in a tight line.
No, he could not risk the public disgrace she would suffer if their liaison ever became known, and he could not deny his all-consuming need to possess her. He would not lose her, however ruthless he might seem, Stefan vowed.
Tonight, after he returned from his meeting in Vienna, he would make his proposal…and he knew exactly what he had to say. She was too great a prize to leave anything to chance.