Stolen Splendor (38 page)

It was no matter to her that there was no body.
Kassandra could rot at the bottom of the river for all she cared. But it seemed
Stefan needed some sort of final proof before he could be free of her. Well, it
was only a matter of time before her bloated corpse would float to the surface,
squelching the last remnant of his misplaced hope.

"You will have to face the truth eventually,
Stefan. Kassandra is dead," she stated matter-of-factly. "Perhaps
your heart will start to mend when they finally lay her in the ground. I assume
they will continue the search while you are at camp?"

"Enough!" Stefan demanded. He strode to the
door and wrenched it open. "I think
it's
best you
leave, Sophia. Now."

She sighed heavily. Obviously this would take more time
than she had ever imagined. But he was worth it. She would just have to be
patient. It was enough, for now, that she had finally gotten rid of that
English tart.

She waltzed slowly to the door, stopping in front of
him. "You may not believe it now, Stefan, but one day you will be over
this . . . dreadful incident. I want you to know that I'll be here, on that
day, waiting for you." She leaned forward and suddenly brushed her lips
against his cheek, then swept from the library. She grimaced as the door
slammed behind her, but she shrugged it off.

Remember, my girl, she consoled herself, the worst is
over. It will only take a bit more time to become Countess von Furstenberg. She
smiled tightly at Isabel, who was standing near the staircase, a distinguished
gentleman at her side. He was dressed from head to toe in black mourning. She
started. Lord Harrington . . .

"My dear ambassador," she murmured, holding
out her hand to him as she hurried across the floor. "I was just offering
my condolences to Stefan at his loss. I should offer them to you as well. What
a terrible misfortune."

Isabel barely managed the amenities, her blue eyes
flashing fire. "Archduchess Sophia von Starenberg . . . my betrothed, Lord
Harrington."

"You have my deepest sympathies, Lord
Harrington," Sophia rushed on as Miles bent his head and brushed his lips
atop her hand. "Your only daughter. How tragic. And in the prime of her
youth and beauty."

Miles straightened, swallowing against the choking lump
in his throat. He was not adept at judging human character, but he could swear
he saw triumph in those striking topaz eyes. Yet before he could reply she had
turned to Isabel.

"My dear Countess, I hope you and Lord Harrington
are able to find some happiness in the midst of such sorrow." She did not
wait for an answer, but whirled and flounced toward the opened door.

Wasn't that the final coup, she gloated, stepping up
into her carriage with the assistance of her liveried footman. She settled on
the plush seat, an amused smile lighting her face.

A kiss on the hand from the father of the girl she had
consigned to death. How rare!

Chapter 36

Kneeling in front of her small window, Kassandra sighed
heavily, watching through the thin slats as another magnificent sunset torched
the western sky. The sun was a glowing orange ball, then a crescent, sinking
beyond the distant plains, finally fading into the shimmering horizon, awash in
startling hues of crimson, violet, and gold fire. She had never seen such
beauty, nor felt such piercing desolation. She had counted ten sunsets so far,
marking the passing of ten interminable days, each one taking her farther and
farther from the man she loved.

Where was Stefan? What was he thinking at that moment?
Of her, perhaps, as she thought only of him? The same questions had tormented
her every hour, every minute, since she had awoken in this dingy cabin. She had
no relief from her questions, nor did she want any. Strangely, they gave her
hope amidst the despair that settled over her, a despair she continued to fight
against, even as one day melted into the next, the numbing sameness of her
routine broken only by her wretched meals and her afternoon walks upon the
deck.

Kassandra leaned away from the window, settling on her
haunches. She smiled, recalling the feeling of the wind in her hair that
afternoon, her face lifted to the warm sun. She had closed her eyes, for a
moment nursing the illusion that she was free, free of Frederick, free of the
boat and its leering crew, free of what lay ahead for her, free of everything.
But her reverie had been shattered at the sound of Frederick's hated voice,
telling her it was time to return to her cabin.

Kassandra shifted her legs and settled into the corner,
drawing her knees up under her chin and arranging her plain cotton gown about
her slippered feet. She rested her forehead on her arms, Frederick's words
coming back to haunt her like unbidden ghosts.

They were never far from her mind. She had gone over
and over them, analyzing, debating, wondering, hoping to gain some spark of
insight into her predicament. Frederick had said little else to her since that
first day, only inquiring after her health, so she had no new information to go
on. It seemed he purposefully avoided her, except for escorting her to and from
the deck, which was fine with her. She wanted as little to do with him as
possible.

She knew now they were traveling south along the
Danube, passing through Hungary. Simple geography had told her that. As to
their destination, she still had no clue. She had also decided the strange
series of accidents that had plagued her in Vienna must somehow have been
related. She could not forget the image of the dwarf's face, staring out at her
from the carriage, and the blurred visage looking down at her after she fell
from her mare. Were they one and same? Yet when she tried to imagine who might
be at the center of this plot, she always drew a blank, the same questions
tormenting her. Who could hate her so that they would wish her dead? Who?

She had wracked her mind anxiously, sorting through
every memory for any slight she might have committed, any inadvertent insult.
But there were none. Her lips drew into a faint smile. The only person she had
insulted time and again was Stefan. And to reward her, he had given her his
love!

"Stefan . . ." she murmured, closing her eyes
tightly, conjuring a vision of him in her mind. She shivered, remembering his
touch, his kiss, the stirring sensation of his piercing eyes upon her, his
rugged features, his body so gloriously male . . . Sweet Lord, she could not
bear the thought that she might never see him again.

"If only I could escape," she murmured,
lifting her head. But her door was constantly locked, the window totally
impenetrable. Frederick had taken the precaution of boarding it up still
further on the outside, in case she might manage to break through the slats.
And whenever she was escorted from the cabin to the deck, she not only had him
by her side, but two sailors as well, one posted in front of her and one
following behind. She had no more chance of escape than a nightingale in a
cage.

Kassandra grimaced. Her only other recourse, her plan
to make her captivity as difficult as possible for him, had gone awry on the
second day. She had refused her meals, railing and cursing at whoever entered
her room to deliver them, on one occasion even dumping the disgusting contents
of her bowl on the sailor's head.

Her belligerent behavior had brought Frederick's wrath
down upon her more quickly than she had imagined. He had threatened to suspend
her meals entirely for several days, which hardly caused her to blink, but then
warned her he would tie her hands and feet to her bed for the duration of the
journey, to lie in her own filth if need be, if she did not curb her actions at
once. His threat had been so coldly uttered, she did not doubt for a moment he
would act on his word. She had immediately relented rather than face such
degrading humiliation.

A key suddenly grated in the lock, startling her. She
slid to the edge of the mattress and leaned against the window, as far away
from the door as she could possibly be within the confines of her cabin. She
held her breath as the scrawny sailor she had nicknamed Jack stepped through
the door, bearing her supper tray. He nodded to her, throwing her his usual
crooked grin that reminded her more of a grimace,
then
turned his back to her while he set the tray on top of the armoire.

Kassandra's gaze darted to the open doorway, the key
still in the lock and no other guards in sight. Seizing the unexpected
opportunity, she sprang from the bed and rushed to the door, slamming it shut
behind
her
and turning the key. She barely heard the
sailor's startled cries of alarm as she raced down the empty hallway, blood
pounding in her ears, and up the wooden stairs leading to the deck.

Darkness had fallen. The deck was lit by oil lanterns
set here and there. Several sailors were standing nearby, engrossed in low
conversation, their backs to her, and she held her breath as she crept
stealthily to the side of the boat. She knew it would be only a matter of
moments before Jack's disappearance would arouse suspicion, if his howls for
help hadn't already.

She ducked her head, dodging rigging, and jumped over
coiled ropes and piles of netting as she made her way quickly to the stern. All
the while her lips moved in fervent prayer, hoping against hope she had not
been seen. She was almost to the stern when she heard her name called
out,
Frederick's commanding voice carrying over the water.

Kassandra's heart skipped, but she paid him no heed,
hoisting
herself
up on the railing and swinging her
legs over the side. She hesitated for an instant, staring down into the black
river. She knew it would be a long swim, but she had to chance it. The
alternative was too frightening to contemplate.

"Before you jump, Kassandra, you might consider
what you'll find upon reaching the shore. We are passing the homeland of the
Tartars, have been all day."

Kassandra froze at Frederick's words. Tartars! She had
heard stories of these wild tribesmen from Stefan. They fought alongside the
Turks and were known for their ferocity and cruel bloodlust, rumored even to
feast on raw horsemeat. She gripped the railing, indecision wracking her.

Frederick inched closer. "If you manage to reach
the shore, Kassandra, without drowning from the undertow for which this river
is legendary, let me tell you what will happen to you," he murmured
quietly, not taking his eyes from her. "You may manage to evade them for a
day, maybe longer, but eventually they will find you. They ride like centaurs,
hardly a match for a young woman struggling through unknown terrain on
foot."

His voice grew to just above a whisper. "And when
they find you, Kassandra, despite your rare beauty, every man of that
particular band will rape you, to sample the wares for which he will bid. If
you survive such handling by ten or fifteen strong men, they will cast lots to
possess you. You will become a slave, Kassandra, to be brutalized at whim,
worked
or ridden to death before you see the year's
end." He stopped just a few feet from her, sensing her fright and
uncertainty, a palpable presence between them. "Jump . . . if you
dare."

Kassandra's blood froze in her veins at his taunt, and
she quickly made up her mind. Bastard. She would take the risk! Nothing could
be worse than the fate he most likely planned for her! She closed her eyes and
pushed off from the railing, screaming painfully as Frederick caught her by the
hair and one shoulder, hoisting her back up and over the side of the boat.

She struggled and kicked, tears blurring her eyes as
she flailed at him, striking him furiously with her fists, but to no avail. He
lifted her easily and threw her over his shoulder, ignoring her cries and
curses as he carried her back along the deck and down the wooden ladder to the
cabins below. He grunted in pain, one of her fists finding its mark along his
ribs, but kept going, striding into her cabin and tossing her onto her bed.
Then he kicked the door shut and whirled to face her, his fair features twisted
in rage.

Fear swelled within her and she edged away from him
until she could go no farther, her back up against the wall. He merely grabbed
the hem of her skirt and dragged her toward him, catching her about her narrow
waist. He brought her up against him so hard that the breath was wrenched from
her body, and she gaped at him in stunned surprise.

"You have tried me sorely this night, Kassandra,
he said, his ice-blue eyes searing into her widened gaze.
"
I
tell you, I will not have it." Suddenly his mouth crushed down on hers,
his tongue forcing entry between her bruised lips. She tried to pull away, but
he held her fast, his hands cruelly gripping her face.

Kassandra began choking, cries of protest caught in her
throat. She writhed against him, his tongue filling her mouth, her body awash
in fear and loathing. With all of her strength she brought up her hands and
violently pulled his blond hair,
then
she raked her
nails down his face.

Frederick sucked in his breath at the stinging
sensation, tearing his lips away. He swiped his hand across his cheek, his eyes
widening at the vivid blood staining his fingers. "Bitch!" he yelled,
striking her across the jaw. She fell onto the bed with a moan, her head
reeling from the shock of his blow. But she forced back the blackness that was
threatening to overwhelm her and leaned up on her elbows, her breasts heaving
against her bodice, her violet eyes ablaze.

"If you come near me again, Count Frederick, I
swear I will kill myself," she whispered vehemently. "Then you will
have nothing to show for your pains."

Frederick pretended he had not heard her threat. "For
this, you will remain in this cabin until we reach Belgrade," he spat
angrily. He turned abruptly, wiping his hand on his breeches, leaving bloody
fingerprints, and stormed from the cabin. He ground the key into the lock with
a vengeance.