Chapter 27
Stefan arrived at the estate just as the thunderstorm exploded in all its fury.
It had been a long ride from the winter camp, much of it accompanied by wind and rain, and he was soaked to the skin despite his heavy cloak.
As he drew closer to the stable, he could think of nothing better than the warmth of a fire and good brandy to drive the chill from his body… and Kassandra’s welcome company.
A wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. God only knew how she would greet him, he thought, wiping his hand over his wet face, but anything had to be better than the raging wrath of this storm.
He reined Brand in at the stable doors and dismounted, his boots sinking into the thick mud. Perhaps he should have written to Isabel and let her know he was coming, he considered, pushing open the wide door. Well, it was too late now. Besides, he had wanted it to be a surprise.
He chuckled under his breath, envisioning the scene. Kassandra’s reaction would be immediate and unrehearsed, a true gauge of her current frame of mind toward him, and from that he would decide how best to proceed with his plan.
He led Brand into the stable. The well-lighted interior was unusual for this time of the evening and it threw him off guard.
Even more unusual was the intense level of activity—stableboys brushing down drenched horses whose heaving flanks were streaked with mud, menservants shrugging out of sodden wraps, their brows raised and anxious, while others led fresh horses from their stalls and saddled them while shouting orders to the bustling stableboys. No one took any notice of him at all.
“What’s going on here?” he roared, startling everyone into gaping silence. Nervous whinnies and rustlings from the horses sounded loudly in the ensuing lull.
“My lord!” Karl Loos blurted in the next instant, rushing forward. The overseer’s face was drawn and worried. “It is Lady Kassandra, my lord. She’s missing. We’ve been out searching for her these past hours.”
“What do you mean, missing?” Stefan demanded, his heart lurching.
“Her ladyship went for a ride this morning, milord,” Hans broke in breathlessly, scuttling up beside the overseer.
“Well before the storm broke. I saddled her horse myself, the Arabian.” He nodded to the white mare standing in her stall with a blanket thrown over her back.
“A few hours later, the horse trotted back into the stable yard, saddle and all, but no milady. I went out to the road, thinkin’ she might have decided to walk the last bit, as she does sometimes, but she wasn’t there, not anywhere to be seen.
I thought it strange, and went to find Karl as fast as I could run. ”
“Where have you searched?” Stefan asked, his gaze flicking back to the overseer.
“The fields, the woods for several miles surrounding the house, even your hunting lodge, my lord,” Karl answered, “but there’s no sign of her. We had a track to follow for a while, then the rains began…” He shook his head, at a loss.
Stefan took immediate command, his mind working fast. “Hans, see to Brand, have another horse saddled for me at once, and bring it to the house.”
“Aye, milord!” the boy answered, dashing off.
“Karl, make sure every able man is sent out, drivers, footmen, all of them, but in pairs. Have them cover the same ground again, then fan out and go even farther. She’s out there somewhere, maybe injured.
” He paused, his voice almost breaking. God help him, he could not think of it.
Swallowing hard, he rushed on. “I’ll join you in a few moments, after I see Isabel. ”
His blazing eyes swept the stable, falling on every man present.
“Get on with it, all of you!” he ordered.
“We must find her.” At his words the furious activity began anew, with heightened urgency.
Stefan strode from the stable and broke into a hard run down the path leading to the mansion.
He burst through the front door before the startled footman could rise to his feet.
“Where is Countess Isabel?” he cried out, streams of water running off his cloak and forming puddles on the floor.
“In her ch-chamber, my lord,” the man stammered, taken by surprise. “She has taken to her bed—”
“Count von Furstenberg!” Gisela exclaimed, cutting off the footman’s words as she rounded the corner from the dining room. She set the silver tray she held upon a nearby table and rushed to meet him. “I cannot believe it’s you!” She wrung her hands nervously. “Have you heard about Lady Kassandra?”
“Yes,” Stefan answered, shrugging out of his sodden cloak. His low aside to the footman sent him scurrying up the stairs and down the corridor to his lord’s chamber for a dry cloak. Stefan turned back to Gisela. “Has Isabel taken ill?”
“No, my lord. But the strain, coupled with the recent accident…” She shook her head miserably. “I have never seen her so distraught.”
“Go to her at once, and tell her I’ve gone in search of Kassandra. Hopefully the news will comfort her.” His gaze moved from her face to the footman rushing down the stairs with a cloak draped over his arm, then back to Gisela. “Tell Isabel not to worry. I will find her.”
Gisela could only nod, her throat constricted painfully at Stefan’s determined expression. She knew him too well. He was putting up a brave front, but his eyes told her a different story. They were wracked by torment…and fear.
Stefan quickly donned the proffered cloak, then he was out the front door, down the steps, and mounting the powerful roan stallion just brought to him from the stable.
The keening wind tore at him with incredible force, and thunder split the sky as he rode along the drive, meeting up with Karl and seven other riders at the crest of the hill. Each held a covered oil lantern.
“The storm is growing worse,” he shouted, rain lashing at his face. “Search for as long as you can, but do not endanger your own lives.”
Karl’s reply was lost on the wind, but Stefan did not wait for him to repeat it.
With sure hands he tugged upon the reins and dug his booted heels into the stallion’s sides.
The animal surged forward, leaving the others well behind as it galloped along the road and jumped over the flooded ravine into the fields.
The lightning that surged across the boiling sky was Stefan’s guide, illuminating the great expanse of field and forest. He rode like a man possessed.
Cold terror gripped him for the first time in his life, driving him on.
He knew the estate and Kassandra’s favorite trails like the back of his hand.
He was determined to search along each one, no matter how long it took him.
Stefan’s lips moved in a fervent prayer, then straightened into a grim line. He knew if he lost Kassandra, he would never forgive himself for how wretchedly he had treated her.
Yet as the agonizing minutes dragged into an hour of fruitless search, it seemed as if his impassioned plea would go unanswered.
The storm was like a wild thing determined to thwart him. Small branches hurtled through the air, striking his chest. Rain whipped his face. As they rode into the thick of the forest, trees were felled from the terrible force of the wind, one nearly crashing down upon them.
Stefan had no doubt he was by himself now, convinced the others had been driven back by the ferocity of the storm—but perhaps it was right that he suffer alone. He rode on relentlessly, until at last it was raining so hard, he could see barely a few feet in front of him.
With a sinking heart, he had to face reality. He would have to seek the cover of his hunting lodge until the worst of the storm had passed, then strike out again. It would be a waste of precious time, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Veering the stallion sharply around, he rode directly west until he at last came to the lodge.
He dismounted and led the exhausted animal into the shelter of the small stable some distance from the log building.
After rubbing down his horse and filling the trough with hay, he set out again in the stinging rain.
His footsteps were heavy as he slogged to the front door.
He pushed it open and stepped inside, closing it regretfully behind him.
Stefan leaned on the door for a long time, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Fatigue assaulted him, mixed with incredible despair, but he would not allow himself to give in to it.
He walked resolutely over to the stone fireplace, where he removed his cloak, shook it out, and hung it over the back of a chair.
Wiping his hands over his face, he sat down on his haunches and began stacking wood on the iron grates.
Before long he had a fire blazing in the fireplace, its warmth slowly creeping into the far corners of the large room, though it could do little to dispel the chill that penetrated his heart.
Stefan stared blindly into the orange flames, the pain welling inside him so bitter, it felt as if a knife was twisting cruelly.
He listened to the howl of the wind just outside the door, the deafening thunder, the rain pelting against the windows, and vehemently cursed the storm that was holding him hostage within the shelter of his lodge. How could he fight against such an enemy?
Kassandra was out there, maybe hurt…maybe worse. And here he was, virtually helpless, at the mercy of a storm that seemed to be roaring with laughter at his plight.
A low sigh suddenly drifted across the room, raising the short hairs on the back of Stefan’s neck.
Instantly alert, he whirled and crouched low on the floor, drawing the long knife he always carried from the belt at his waist. His gaze darted about the shadowed room, falling upon the wide bed in the far corner.
The furs he had stacked there several months ago were piled oddly on the mattress, as if someone was huddled beneath them…
So a poacher had also sought refuge from the storm, he thought darkly, creeping on his hands and knees toward the bed.
This was not the first time he had found one of the thieving bastards in his lodge. Holding his breath, he drew back the furs, one by one, with the tip of his knife, until he was down to the last. He raised the flashing blade, poised and ready in case he was attacked, and flung the fur aside.
Stefan’s eyes widened in disbelief, his knife dropping to the mattress at the sight of Kassandra huddled there.
She was shivering uncontrollably in her sleep, her lips tinged with blue. His mind raced. Karl had said they searched the lodge. She must have stumbled upon it after they had already gone.
“Kassandra,” he murmured, flooded with relief. Yet it quickly turned to alarm when he ran his finger tenderly down her cheekbone. Her skin was clammy and feverish.
Stefan rose to his feet and with a mighty heave pulled the bed near the center of the room, where the warmth from the fire could reach it.
Kassandra moaned at the sudden jarring, but did not stir.
He stripped the damp chemise from her body, wincing at the dark bruises on her pale skin, and tossed it on the floor.
Covering her gently with the furs, he quickly shed his own clothes and climbed into the bed beside her.
He knew the warmth of his body was the surest way to drive the deadly chill from her own.
Cradling her in his arms, Stefan gazed down at the woman he loved more than his own life.
He touched his lips to the bruised welt at her temple and lightly kissed her mouth, willing his strength into her. Then he lay his head down upon the bed, offering a silent prayer of thanks that his plea had been answered.