Immanuel's Veins (7 page)

“Idleness will not serve us!” I thundered.

I think Alek knew something was going on then, because after a long hard study, he softened and gave me an inquisitive, somewhat knowing look. But it could have been my imagination, because half my mind had taken leave and was hovering around the castle, hoping for a glance, just one peek, at Lucine.

It was horrible, I tell you. With each passing hour, my condition seemed to grow worse. Dinners were the worst, naturally. I kept them short and I managed to be absolutely normal in all regards. I looked into her eyes when I spoke to her and I was nothing but a perfectly courteous guest.

But secretly every word and glance stirred me. I clung to her every laugh and movement of her chin, every bite and drink, all the while wondering how it could be possible.

Slowly the notion of confessing my love became a mandate I could not refuse. Duty was thinner than love, surely.

Now in the garden I felt like that bowl of jelly. I had to tell her. I had to confess my love before it drove me mad, unable to perform any duty whatsoever!

“Yes, we can walk,” I said. But I forgot what to do next.

She finally reached out her hand and I quickly crooked my elbow for her to take. I led her down the path toward . . . Honestly, I had no idea where we were going. I was only the puppy on her leash at this point, though I would have rather been damned and dispatched to the flames than let her know even an inkling of my thoughts.

“It's a beautiful garden, don't you think?” she asked. “The red roses are God blushing, Mother says.” She motioned to a bed of roses to our right. The garden was terraced with roses and tulips higher, leading around to tall hedges that formed a small maze before spilling out the back to a forest. We were headed the other way, toward the house itself.

“Why would God blush?” I asked, not caring the least why. My mind was on her hand squeezing my elbow.

I could not have felt so reduced by a woman I hardly knew. I wasn't a pubescent upstart, after all. I was Toma Nicolescu, the lion, the one who directed the lives and deaths of thousands.

“God blushes when we thank him, she says. And in Moldavia we are always thanking him because we are surrounded by his very best.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh.” She cast me a sideways glance as we ascended the stone steps toward the fountain. “I hope what I said back there was acceptable.”

“Yes.”

“I didn't mean it, of course.”

“You didn't?” But I knew that she'd said the bit about showing me her affection to rescue me from my pending demise. So what was I asking?

“Should I have meant it?”

“I . . . Well, no. Which part?”

“The part about you having interest in me.”

“Heavens, no! What would give you that idea?”

“That's odd. I could have sworn you—”

“No,” I insisted. “No, I have no interest in you, madam.”

We rounded the fountain and walked toward the main door, which led into what had been the ballroom a few nights earlier, now filled with soft chairs and ornately carved tables and gold candlesticks—a richly furnished living room.

I was mortified, though I should have been ecstatic that she'd given me the opportunity to forever separate myself from her affection.

I dared to look at her face, and unless my imagination was taking over again, she was blushing. “It wouldn't be proper,” I said.

“No. But apparently it's acceptable for your man.” She was looking past me to a spot in the garden where Alek was whispering something in Natasha's ear. The sister threw her head back and laughed.

“Yes, of course,” I said. “That's Alek.”

“And Natasha.”

“Yes, and Natasha,” I said. Her tone struck a new chord in me. One of sorrow. A siren calling out to my own loneliness.

When one lonely person finds another, there is a knowing between them, and in that moment I knew Lucine yearned for love, a deeper kind than what her sister sought. I knew that her heart cried out for the warm embrace of another soul.

I knew that she was asking me to be that soul.

And the instant I knew it, I knew I would confess all. That very night, when under a white moon I would kiss her hand and win her heart.

“But I could as well,” I said. Or perhaps I blurted it, I forget now.

“Could what?”

“Well . . . it's not forbidden.”

“What isn't?”

“It's . . . You must realize that Alek and I have been fighting side by side for years. I trust him, and he me.” I was babbling like a fool. “It was a wonderful ball,” I said.

Lucine removed her arms from the crook of my elbow and clasped her hands behind her back. “You enjoyed that, did you? Killing the man?”

“Not at all, that's not what I meant. The whole time was really very nice. Thank you for showing me everything.”

“My, I must have had too much to drink. I don't remember showing you anything.”

I had to laugh, if only to keep from blushing. So I did, uproariously, holding my breast. Too much I think. I noticed her peculiar stare and coy smile.

We had come to the door leading into the main living room, and I dived for the handle, eager to run back to my room or to the rampart Alek and I had finished building. I pulled the door open.

“Madam.”

She stepped through, then turned and stared at me with some fascination. “My, my, Toma. You're full of surprises, aren't you? So strong and willing to shoot a man in the head at the first sign of trouble, and yet so . . .” She stopped.

“He was a threat, madam. If I had not killed him, Alek might be dead.”

“I understand.”

“And please know I don't like the way this Vlad van Valerik acted. He was eyeing you like a vulture eyes a dead horse.”

“A dead one?”

“I must insist that he not be allowed back on the property for any reason. I strictly forbid it.”

“Of course. I'll tell Mother.”

“Tell me what?” Kesia hurried up, waving at her face with a bamboo fan, fresh from the kitchen I guessed.

“Hello, Mother. I'm to tell you that we are banning vultures because we look like dead horses.”

“Really?” She ran her finger down my arm and let her eyes wander over me. “And yet this fine stallion looks very much alive to me.”

“Please, Mother.”

Kesia sighed. “Fine, no vultures. In the meantime, find Natasha and inform her to cancel any plans for tomorrow night. We have guests coming.”

“Guests?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I saw two black-clad riders leaving through the main gate before Kesia spoke.

“Vlad van Valerik and two of his clan have asked to bring us dinner. The least they can do, they said. I think it will be wonderful.”

I should have put my foot down then, but I was too off center, still too distracted by my own emotions to push my weight around.

Lucine glanced at me. “Toma has forbidden that.”

“Nonsense,” Kesia said. “I insist. And if they cannot come here, then we will go there. It would be nice to see the Castle Castile again. Would you prefer that, dear guardian?”

I was about to protest in the strongest terms when she suddenly gasped and pulled a sealed envelope from her pocket.

“Oh, a runner brought this for you a short time ago.” She handed me the message waxed shut with Her Majesty's seal. “From the empress, it appears,” Kesia said. “Most urgent advice on how to stop all the evildoers, no doubt. Come, Lucine, let's leave him to more important matters.”

Lucine followed Kesia into the house, leaving me alone with the dispatch. I ripped it open and stepped away from the door. The handwriting inside was from Her Majesty's scribe—I recognized it immediately.

To Toma Nicolescu, servant of Her Majesty,

I write to you in the most urgent matter concerning the Cantemir family, whom I have put under your care. Since your departure it has been determined that Moldavia's allegiance to Russia might best be secured through the union of the Cantemirs with Russian royalty. Interest has been shown.

So then I charge you to protect the life and heart of Lucine Cantemir at all costs. No one less than Russian royalty is to be granted any courtship with her for any reason. Our enemies may have reason to seek her hand. I will soon follow this dispatch with further details for Mikhail Ivanov and Kesia Cantemir, after I secure the necessary commitments.

In the meantime, know that any breach of this understanding would cause a great offense and fracture delicate ties. The result could be devastating in this war of ours.

Catherine
Empress of Russia

FIVE

L
ucine hurried through the estate, dressed only in the blue dressing gown she'd thrown on in her rush, hiking the hem so that it didn't drag along the flagstone. It was early, still not yet time for breakfast, and only the kitchen was stirring. Mother was probably awake, being tended to by her chambermaid, and surely Toma was up—she prayed he hadn't left the west tower for a ride or gone out checking on the guards.

Natasha was in trouble! Lucine had to get help, and his was the only name that came to mind for this kind of business.

Dinner service the night before had been an interesting enough affair, as many of Mother's were, with Natasha ogling Alek, and Kesia doing nothing to temper her. They had all laughed too much between bold statements.

They'd retired to the card room and played quadrille while Toma sat in a chair playing his role as guardian wolf. Evidently he'd given Alek the night off, because the man showed no concern in the world about what assassin might climb through the window to kill them all. Indeed, he had eyes only for Natasha, who was clearly over her loss of the dead Russian.

Toma had excused himself soon after, and with him gone, Lucine's motivation for staying up late was also gone, so she retired early as well.

Toma. She couldn't keep her mind off him, because she couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps Natasha had been right. Perhaps this stallion did have eyes for her and was only keeping them averted to be proper.

If so, she might be flattered, but it wouldn't mean she would fall for him, certainly not the way Natasha fell for her men.

Lucine, whose bedroom was just down the hall from Natasha's, had been awakened by something in the dead of night and had sat up in bed. But all was still, so she had assured herself the noise was only in her dream, and she'd dropped back to her pillow and fallen asleep.

But she'd been wrong.

“Toma!”

She ran down the hall that led to the second guest room, hesitated only a moment with her hand on the door handle, then pushed it wide without knocking.

He was on the balcony, facing the meadow beyond. Hands on hips, dark hair loose and tangled around his neck.

Black pants only. No shirt. No shoes or socks.

Toma was tall, even without boots, but she wouldn't have guessed the strength of the man before her. The muscles on his back wrapped around either side, divided by the channel that was his spine. His shoulders were bunched like a horse's in full gallop; his long arms, though loose now, could surely wrestle that same horse to the ground. She'd seen naked men, but none with such definition.

Nor any with such a pronounced scar as his across their lower backs.

Lucine saw it all in the space of her gasp as Toma twisted back. Their eyes locked. Then he spun around, facing her with concern.

“What is it?”

His chest was as well defined as his back, and his belly rippled like a pond disturbed by a stone.

“What is it?” he asked again, crossing to her.

“It's Natasha.” Lucine was breathing hard from her run.

“What about her?”

“I don't know! There's blood and—”

He was moving already, grabbing his pistol, snatching up her hand, pulling her toward the hall.

“Where? Show me!”

“Her bedroom. She's still there.”

Toma released her hand, shouting as he rounded his doorway. “Alek, now!” He spun back to her. “Sorry. Can you grab my shirt there?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” She grabbed the white tunic that hung on the bedpost and hurried into the hall with him.

“Now tell me what you saw.”

She heard the door to Alek's room open behind them.

“I told you, I don't know.”

“You've forgotten? Don't tell me what it
was
, tell me what you
saw
. Is she alive? Is she alone?”

They ran, rounded two corners, then continued down a third hall.

“Lucine!” he snapped. “Is she alive?”

“Yes. I think so. And as far as I could see she was alone.”

They were several paces from the white door that led to Natasha's room before Toma pulled up.

“So, no danger that you saw?”

“I don't know.”

He took her shoulders in both hands and shook her once. “I need more than that!”

“I don't know, you oaf!”

His eyes widened, then dropped to his hands gripping Lucine's slim shoulders. He withdrew them.

“Forgive me! I . . . I lost myself.”

“No. You are not an oaf. I'm just too frantic to think clearly now.”

Alek caught them, pulling on his own shirt. “What is it?”

“We're about to find out.” Toma plucked his tunic from Lucine's hands and shrugged into it as he strode toward Natasha's door.

He cocked his pistol, pushed the door open, and when nothing happened, he walked in with Lucine on his heels.

The lace drapes floated on a breeze that gusted gently through open balcony doors. A decanter of red wine had been knocked on its side and stained the silk-covered table beside Natasha's bed. Her white comforter sat in a heap on the floor.

Natasha lay in the same position Lucine had found her, sprawled out on her mattress with both arms above her head, hair fanned out on the pillow between them. A soft smile curved her mouth. Her chest rose and fell slowly. Sweet sleep.