Stolen Splendor (28 page)

"Aye, milady." Hans bobbed his head as
Kassandra nudged the mare with her boot, and they set out at a trot across the
stable yard. "Enjoy yer ride," he called, waving his cap.

Kassandra steered the mare out onto the road leading
from the estate, but it was nothing more than
a rutted
mire. She decided to ride out across the unplowed fields instead, where the
short grasses had hopefully absorbed the worst of the recent rainfall. She bit
her lower lip against the pain jolting through her bruised right leg as the
mare jumped across a shallow ravine. She eased the mare into a walk while she
massaged her thigh.

She flinched as she touched a sore spot. Obviously she
was not quite as recovered as she had thought. The purplish green bruises had
finally faded to a faint brown, but the dull pain still lingered. And if she
hurt even this much, she could well imagine how Isabel must feel.

The countess had borne the brunt of the accident. She
had been sitting on the far side of the carriage when it lost a wheel and
toppled down the embankment, and she was thrown against the right door.
Kassandra had escaped worse injury by being shoved roughly into the padded wall
next to her seat, bumping her head and bruising the right side of her body. The
physician had marveled that they had escaped with their lives, surmising that
Isabel would have suffered far more but for the protection of the stiff
whalebone hoopskirt, which had cushioned her fall. One good thing he could say
for the preposterous contraptions!

It was all Stefan's fault, Kassandra thought irritably.
If he hadn't insisted on forcing her into this marriage, they would never have
gone to the city that day to look for fabric . . . for a wedding gown.

She frowned. It had been hard enough to block Stefan
from her mind without Isabel talking of wedding preparations all the time,
which she had done constantly since his departure for the winter camp. Now
Kassandra had this nagging pain to remind her of him.

And the stack of unopened letters lying in the bottom
of her drawer, Kassandra amended darkly. Letters she had not allowed herself to
read for fear of being swayed by his lies. She had done her best to harden her
heart against him, and had succeeded for the most part. Until night fell, when
she would lie awake in her bed, the heavy silence emanating from his adjoining
chamber almost more than she could bear. It was then she could not deny to
herself how much she truly missed him, with a poignant ache deep within her
that she could not quell.

It had become almost a nightly ritual. She would leave
her bed and walk to her armoire, open the drawer, and pull out the pile of
letters, held together by a delicate red ribbon. She would stand there in the
darkness and stare at them for the longest time, wondering what he could
possibly have to say to her that would warrant so much correspondence.

Then, with a ragged sigh, she would set them resolutely
back in the drawer, seeking once again the solace of her bed. Sleep would elude
her until the early hours of the morning, tormenting thoughts of Stefan, and
their last night together, burning like a firebrand into her mind. Sheer
exhaustion was her only release, pulling her at last into dreamless slumber.

Suddenly the mare stopped in her tracks, her sharp,
nervous whinny breaking into Kassandra's disturbing reverie.

"What is it, girl?" she murmured, gazing
along the thick line of trees bordering the open field. She saw nothing, only
the branches swaying in the wind, which had picked up slightly. She turned in
the saddle and looked over her shoulder, but again there was nothing, the empty
field stretching out behind them, a carpet of velvet green against the clouded
sky, the road they had left a tiny black ribbon wending back to the estate.

Kassandra faced forward again and patted the mare's
silken neck. "There now, you see, it's nothing," she said
reassuringly. But she started when a covey of blackbirds, flapping and cawing,
were flushed from a nearby tree. They hovered above them ominously, circling,
then flew off across the sky.

Perhaps it was a deer, she thought, willing her body to
relax. Or a fox, stalking along the ground for its next meal, or some other
harmless forest creature. She clucked her tongue, and they set out once more
across the field.

Kassandra nudged the mare's flank, urging her into a
gallop. The pain of her bruises was forgotten as they flew across the fields,
her waist-length hair streaming out behind her, her cheeks flushed with
exhilaration. An occasional shaft of sunlight broke through the heavy gray
clouds, lending a hazy golden sheen to the scenery. The sheer beauty of it
enlivened her spirits, and she laughed. And when they had come to the end of
the fields she plunged the mare into the forest, a netherworld of shadow and
light. The hushed stillness was broken only by the crackling of underbrush beneath
the mare's flashing hooves, and her own panting breaths.

They rode on and on, sometimes slowing to a trot as
they wound through dense trees, other times at a breakneck canter through wide
clearings that opened to the sky. She had no time to think, only to react. Her
hands held the reins with assurance as she ducked low-lying branches or hugged
the mare's powerful neck as they soared over fallen logs stretched across their
path.

She did not hear the thundering of hooves close behind
her, nor the cocking of a pistol. She only heard the loud report, echoing from
the trees and shattering her single-minded concentration, a strange whizzing by
her ear, and the terrified snorting of her mare. Then she was flung from the
saddle as the animal reared up on its back legs and frantically pawed the air.

Kassandra hit the ground with a sickening thud, the
breath knocked from her lungs. She stared up into the darkening sky, her vision
blurred, a grotesque face floating above her for a fleeting moment. Then all
was black, and she sank into unconsciousness.

"Your aim is failing, Adolph—"

"Shut up!" he snapped, glancing up at the
stout, bearded man standing at his side. "I paid you to ride the horse,
not to offer me worthless criticisms." His black eyes narrowed shrewdly on
Kassandra's prostrate form. Perfect, he thought coldly. It appeared the fall
had done its damage. Her forehead was bleeding where she had bumped it on that
log, her skin was ashen . . .

"Let's get out of here," he ordered tersely.
"We'll let the wolves finish her off. Once they get a whiff of that fresh
blood . . ." He shrugged, grinning broadly. "It will look like the
accident it was meant to be." He brushed by his companion and strode with
his stilted walk toward the dappled horse tethered nearby.

"Ah, so you never meant to shoot her, then."

Adolph wheeled about, his eyes glittering dangerously.
"You ask too many questions, my friend."

The bearded man shifted uncomfortably, his swarthy face
flushing bright red. Without a word he moved to the horse and mounted, then
reached down to Adolph and lifted him easily to the saddle.

"Ride," Adolph grated, settling himself. He
leaned against his companion's chest as they set off through the woods, the
wind howling around them.

***

Kassandra blinked against the cold rain pelting her
face and licked some of the moisture from her lips, then swallowed weakly, a
poor attempt at cooling her parched throat. The awful pounding in her head was
excruciating. It radiated from just above her left temple, and she tentatively touched
the spot. As she drew her hand away, her gaze widened in horror at the blood
staining her gloved fingers.

"Sweet Lord!" she whispered faintly,
struggling to sit up. Dizziness assailed her and she sank back down upon the
ground. She lay there for a moment, shielding her face from the rain, but after
a few deep breaths she tried again, ever so slowly. This time she was
successful. The throbbing pain in her head increased tenfold and she thought
she might scream,
then
it suddenly subsided to a dull
ache.

Kassandra looked about her dazedly, at a total loss as
to her surroundings. Then she remembered. Her gaze skipped about, searching for
any sign of her mare, and she twisted to look behind her, but she was alone.

A booming clap of thunder caused her to cry out, and
she stared up into the sky, boiling with darkened clouds and crisscrossed by
streaks of jagged lightning. The rain was falling heavier now, stinging sheets
that felt like biting pinpricks through her drenched clothing. She rose shakily
to her feet, almost losing her balance, but managed to stagger over to a
gnarled tree trunk. She clung to it, rivulets of water streaming down her face
and blinding her, her hair plastered to her head and down her back. She fought
to collect her bearings, her consuming thought to strike out at once for the
estate.

But which way should she go?
she
wondered with a burst of panic. There were no landmarks, and there was little
daylight left. Shadowed trees loomed around her, each looking much the same as
the next, and if there had been any tracks, they had been washed away by the
rain and oozing mud.

You'll get nowhere just standing here, Kassandra, she
chided herself. Summoning her courage, she pushed away from the tree and set off
in one direction, holding up her soggy skirt as she sloshed through puddles of
standing water, then stopped, her instincts telling her she was going the wrong
way. She turned and tried another direction, walking for well over a half hour
before she sensed it, too, was leading her farther away from her destination.

It was growing dark, almost nightfall, and with a
sinking feeling Kassandra realized she must have been unconscious for several
hours. She leaned against a tree, her labored breaths tearing at her throat, a
sense of hopelessness unlike anything she had ever felt before welling up
inside her. She was lost in the woods.

The storm was increasing in fury with every passing
moment; the wind buffeted her with lashing rain. She knew her strength was failing,
her body chilled to the marrow. She had to find the way back, or she would
surely die from exposure.

Or the wolves would find her . . . That horrible
thought gave her the impetus she needed. Summoning the last ounce of her will,
she stumbled onward, almost bumping headlong into a sturdy logged wall.

Relief engulfed her; scalding tears streaked her face.
She followed the rough-hewn contours of the wall, placing one hand over the
next, until she found the door. She pushed on it with the last of her strength,
nearly falling as it gave way easily. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the large,
dim room. Wood was stacked near a stone fireplace, and a wide bed covered with
piles of furs stood in one corner. She could hardly believe her good fortune.

She was too exhausted to build a fire. She shut the
door firmly behind her, the interior of the rustic building as silent as a tomb
compared to the shrieking storm. She peeled the sodden clothing from her body
as quickly as she could, leaving only her chemise. Then she pulled off her
ankle-high boots and stumbled to the bed. With a moan she climbed under the
warm furs, her teeth still chattering as she fell asleep.

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. What was
even more unusual was the intense level of activity—stableboys intent upon
brushing down drenched horses whose heaving flanks were streaked with mud and
foam, menservants shrugging out of sodden wraps, their brows raised and
anxious, while others were leading fresh horses from their stalls and quickly
saddling them, 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."