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Strong arms gathered me up, held me tightly, and I struggled to banish the blackness. I moaned. A tender hand stroked my brow, brushed damp tendrils of hair from my temples. I opened my eyes and peered into a shimmering haze and through the haze I saw the terrible, ferocious face of the man who had saved my life. His teeth were bared, lips flattened back over them. His eyes were murderous.

The long oriental mustache and the twisted,

broken nose made him look all the more savage.

I moaned again. He touched my cheek with incredible tenderness, caressing the skin lightly.

"Is all right now," he crooned.

"I - "

"Is all right. You not fret."

The voice was wonderfully soft and soothing and I closed my eyes for a moment and rested my head against that hard, bony shoulder and felt myself sinking into a sweet oblivion, and when I opened my eyes again my heart was not pounding and my lungs were no longer afire and I was breathing evenly. Every bone and muscle in my body seemed to be hurting, but I paid no attention to that. The joyous relief inside was like a magical potion that made mere pain irrelevant. Vanya still held me, his face as fierce as ever. Natasha stood a few yards away, whinnying plaintively. Vanya's stallion stood immobile, reins dangling in the snow. Pulaski's body sprawled nearby like a gigantic, limp doll, a dreadful, bloody gash above his right temple.

"Is-is he dead?" I whispered.

"He not dead. He does not get off so easily."

"You-how did you-"

"Natasha, she comes tearing into the camp. She rears and whinnies and whirls around in a frenzied circle. I step out of my tent. She rushes toward me and whirls around some more and cries out. My horse, it is saddled in seconds and I am on it and Natasha is charging out of the camp, leading the way."

"Thank God. Oh-thank God. He was-he was going to-"

"Is your fault," Vanya said, and his voice was no longer soothing. It was harsh, severe. "This is very foolish thing you do, Marietta. This is insane, makes much trouble."

"I - I just wanted to-"

"Vanya protects you. You are
my
dear friend. If you were my woman, I would beat you most thoroughly and you would be put on bread and water for a week and you would trudge on foot behind my horse as punishment for this bad thing you have done."

"You're certainly sympathetic," I said.

"Orlov, maybe he beats you. I hope so."

I struggled in his arms. He held me fast.

"Maybe I do not give you wolfs hide after all."

"You may take your wolfs hide and-and-"

"Shove it up my backside?"

"Precisely!"

"Ah, you feel much better now. Is good. Vanya smiles. I worry maybe you badly hurt."

He climbed to his feet and pulled me
up
and, defiant, I pulled free of his arms and my knees doubled up and I threw my arms around his neck to keep from falling. He folded his arms around me again, holding me loosely, tenderly, and I felt enormous gratitude and affection for this savage cossack who had become my friend. I felt wonderfully safe and secure in his arms, as I might feel in the arms of a swaggering older brother.

Vanya looked over my shoulder as five more horsemen came galloping noisily into the woods, and I turned to see Vladimir, ,Ivan and three other guards dismounting, Vanya tightened his arms around me. Vladimir looked at us and looked at Josef Pulaski sprawled on the snow and scowled, eyes fierce as he took in the situation and surmised what had happened.

"I know this woman causes trouble!" he thundered. "I know it from the first!"

"You, Vladimir, shut up!" Vanya ordered.

"The minute I see her I know she is trouble for us am"

"You, Vladimir! You say one more word I knock all your teeth down your throat and watch you choke as you try to swallow them."

Vladimir longed to continue ranting, but he knew full well Vanya did not make idle threats. He fell into a murderous silence, glaring around as though looking for a head to bash. Pulaski moaned painfully and opened his eyes, blinking, trying to focus. Vladimir stomped over and seized his hair and jerked him to his feet. The peasant gave an agonized yell as Vladimir grabbed his wrist, twisted it brutually and shoved the arm high between his shoulder blades.

"I march him back to the village!" Vladimir roared.

"You, Ivan, bring my horse!"

One hand holding Pulaski's hair, jerking his head back, the other holding the twisted wrist high behind his back, he gave the peasant a shove and forced him to walk ahead, Josef Pulaski yelled again as Vladimir gave his wrist another twist, shoving it higher. They moved through the icy trees, Pulaski stumbling, screaming in agony as Vladimir continued to twist and shove.

"He's going to break the man's arm!'! I protested.

"Is no matter," Vanya assured me. "Can you ride Natasha?"

"In-give me a few more minutes."

"Is very short ride. Village is just beyond those trees."

"I –I was lost," I said.

"Yes, you are a great ninny. This is a good word? You do the foolish thing and you get into trouble. Is Russia we are in. Is not safe for woman to go for ride alone."

"I detest this bloody country!"

"Is not like your England," he agreed.

The other men had already mounted and were walking their horses toward the village, following Vladimir and Pulaski, who were now almost out of sight. Natasha came over to rub her head against my shoulder. I stroked her cheek, wanting to cry now, too proud to do so. I brushed snow from my cloak, took a deep breath and, moving around, attempted to put my foot into the stirrup and catch hold of the saddlehorn.I couldn't make it. Vanya shook his head, caught me around my waist and swung me up into the saddle as though I were as light as thistledown.

"We go slow," he said. "I walk ahead, lead Natasha behind me."

"rIP perfectly capable of riding her back without your assistance. I'm not a baby, Vanya!"

"This is a matter of opinion," he told me.

He whistled to his horse, which followed us, and, taking Natasha's rein, walked slowly under the ice-encrusted trees. Natasha stepped carefully, as though she knew I was bruised and sore. Sunlight shimmered, paler now. The shadows spreading .across the snow had deepened to a violet-gray, and the sky was now the color of pewter. It was colder. Clouds were gathering. Vanya's horse sauntered along behind us. Ivan and the others had already disappeared.

I held on to the saddlehorn, badly shaken but not really hurt. I dreaded seeing Orlov. He would blame me, too, and rightfully so. I had been totally foolhardy, riding out alone.

We cleared the line of trees. I could see the village up ahead: the troikas, the tents, the cluster of huts beyond. A loud rumble of voices reached our ears. The clearing in the middle of the village was filled with men, all of them shouting and waving their arms.

"What will happen now?" I asked.

"The peasant will be punished," Vanya said. "This will cause bad feeling in the village. The other peasants, they will be angry. Is nothing for you to worry about."

"I'rn responsible, Vanya. I feel terrible."

"Do not fret about it," he told me. "Vanya takes care of you."

"What will they do to him?"

"This I do not know. In the old days his eyes would be torn out of their sockets and he would be turned loose in the woods at night for the wolves to find."

"Jesus!"

"If he is lucky, Orlov will merely kill him."

There was a tight feeling in my chest as Vanya led me into the village. No one paid the least attention to us as we stopped in front of the huge gray tent. The servants went on about their tasks with lowered eyes, deliberately avoiding looking at us, and the men packing the clearing were too busy arguing to notice our arrival. Orlov was shouting at one of the peasants, a huge, burly fellow who held a pitchfork menacingly. Vladimir was nearby, his arm locked securely around the throat of Josef Pulaski.

Pulaski gagged and gurgled, tugging frantically at the arm crushing his windpipe. Every male in the village seemed to be in the clearing, most of them armed with pitchforks and hoes and hand scythes. All our cossacks and guards were there, too, pistols and sabres at the ready. Harsh, angry voices made an incredible din. A fullscale riot was clearly imminent.

Vanya helped me down from the horse, his face impassive.

He appeared not to notice the chaos. The groom who had saddled Natasha for me took the reins of both our horses with trembling hands. His cheeks were chalk white as he led the animals into the tent. Vanya watched him with speculative eyes, and I made him promise the lad would not be punished. It 'was a promise he gave most reluctantly,

and although the groom would not receive a

beating, I suspected his life would be miserable for some time to come.

"I take you to your quarters," Vanya said.

"I-Vanya, I can't let this happen. The man didn't-he didn't actually harm me. I must tell them that. I -"

"I am most patient, Marietta. I treat you like the tender child who has been naughty. Because you are Vanya's dear friend, because you do not belong to him, I do not give you the rain of blows, the black eye, and bloody nose you deserve, but if you give me trouble now I will knock you out and carry you to your hut across my shoulder."

"I must-"

His right hand balled into a tight fist. His eyes darkened.

I fell silent. He nodded curtly and, slinging a protective arm around my shoulders, led me around the edge of the clearing toward my hut. I was trembling now,barely able to walk. The men continued to shout. A cossack shoved one of the peasants to the ground and planted a boot across his throat when the man tried to get up. A pistol was fired into the air. I stumbled and closed my eyes for a moment, consumed with guilt, in anguish. Vanya tightened his grip on my shoulders, leading me on. Two heavily armed cossacks were guarding the door of my hut.

Slinging the sheepskin aside, Vanya led me in.

"Thank God you're alive!" Lucie cried, rushing toward us. "I didn't know
what
happened. When Vladimir led the peasant into the village all hell seemed to break loose."

"I'm all right," I said in a faint voice.

"I hurried out when I heard the noise. My uncle ordered me to go back to my hut. I came here instead. Marietta, I've been frantic!"

Vanya sat me down in the chair. He opened a decanter and poured brandy into a glass and ordered me to drink it.

I obeyed. The fiery liquor seemed to set my throat afire, but I scarcely noticed. Lucie seized my hand, squeezing it tightly. Numb with delayed shock, I looked at her as though I had never seen her before.

"Is she-did he-"

"I think not," Vanya replied. "She claims he did not harm her."

"What-"

"She was sprawled on the ground. He was standing over her. He may not have harmed her, but he intended to do so.

For this he must pay."

"Marietta, are you-are you really all right? Your face is pale. You look strange. Vanya, give her another glass of brandy. Oh, I should have gone with her! Vladimir and Ivan would have followed us and none of this would have happened!"

"Here, you drink the brandy. One crazy woman Vanya can deal with. Two is impossible even for him."

The roar outside began to subside somewhat, voices lowered, shouting becoming an angry grumble. Lucie stepped to the doorway and held the sheepskin back, peering out, much to Vanya's displeasure. The two cossacks guarding the door didn't look any too pleased either.

"The shaman has condescended to come out," Lucie announced.

"The peasants are making a path for him. He's going to speak to my uncle."

Leaving the chair, I joined her in the doorway. Vanya scowled but didn't try to interfere. He hovered behind us, one hand toying with the hilt of his sabre, the other holding a cocked pistol, ready to defend us to the death if necessary.

The wizened old priest in his flowing, embroidered robes and tall cone-shaped hat moved with unquestionable authority.

There was something hypnotic about him as

though he were indeed imbued with those dark powers the peasants believed him to possess. Gregory Orlov stood with legs spread wide, fists resting on his thighs, his own authority every bit as potent. The shaman nodded, acknowledging

him as an equal. He seemed completely

unperturbed by the furor that had turned his quiet village nearly into a battleground.

"What is this that upsets my people?" he inquired. Despite his age and physical frailty, his voice was a deep, powerful rumble.

"This man-he follows a female of our party into the woods. He accosts her. My men capture him."

Orlov jerked his head to one side, identifying Pulaski as the individual in question. Still locked in Vladimir's brutal hold, Pulaski wriggled, tried to speak. Vladimir yanked his arm back savagely. The tall peasant made hideous gurgling noises, clutching at the arm that punished him.

"This is true?" the shaman asked. "Let him 'Speak."

Vladimir loosened his hold. Pulaski rasped hoarsely, still unable to speak. Scowling, Vladimir relieved the pressure a bit more, clearly displeased. Pulaski coughed, his face a bright pink.

"Speak up!" the shaman ordered.

"I follow her, yes," Pulaski admitted, his voice a painful rasp but audible now. "I speak to her. I do not harm her. If she says I harm her she lies!"

The priest turned back to Orlov, ignoring the peasant.

"The woman is unharmed?"

"I have not seen her," Orlov replied. "My men say there is no apparent injury. This is unimportant. The man must die."

The peasants grumbled loudly, a few of them shouting.

The shaman raised his arm out straight, sweeping his eyes over the crowd, commanding them to be silent. They obeyed. A curious hush fell over the village, broken only by the noises of Pulaski who now struggled mightily to break the powerful hold restraining him. Face utterly impassive, Vladimir drew his arm back with brutal precision.

Pulaski grew still, barely conscious now.

"His is a serious offense," the shaman agreed.

"He must die!" Orlov insisted.