The Beloved Scoundrel (30 page)

“Alex will love it.” she said eagerly, without thinking. “Can we—”

But Alex was not here. Alex might never—

“Yes, he will,” Jordan said firmly. “We’ll probably never get him off it.”

Hope. She must not despair; they still had hope and determination. Looking away from the children on the slide, she quickly changed the subject. “Gregor says the reason you hate Napoleon is because you love Kazan. Is that true?”

“Gregor has a habit of simplifying things.”

“Is it true?”

He shrugged. “I suppose it’s true.”

“Why? It’s not your country.”

“Because I wasn’t born here? Cambaron was given to me. I chose Kazan.”

“It’s so … different.”

“More than you know.” He smiled crookedly. “The first months I was here, I hated it. The people of Kazan didn’t realize what an honor it was to have me in their midst. They cared not a whit for my title or my money. I was not a savant, nor had I proved myself in battle. Therefore I was nothing. It was a very chastening experience for the spoiled hellion I was at the time.”

“Why did you stay?”

“There were reasons.” He grimaced. “One of which was anger. I would
not
be considered of unimportance.
So when Tartar raiders descended on Kazan, I went with Gregor and his men to the steppes.”

“War?”

He nodded. “Kazan is nearly always at war with someone. Our land is rich only in minerals, but we have a valuable sea link to the Mediterranean.”

“
Our
land?”

“It became mine on the steppes. I bought it with blood.”

She shivered at the simple words that revealed so much. Those wars had changed him, hardened him, burned away the softness, and left him one with these strange, brutish people.

He was looking at the fluted towers of the distant palace, and she again became aware of some indefinable emotion seething just below the surface.

“Are you apprehensive about meeting with the ravin?”

“Not apprehensive.” His tore his gaze away. “Let us say, a trifle disturbed.” He spurred forward. “Come. At the speed Gregor is traveling, he’ll be sitting in the audience chamber before we even reach the palace gates.”

G
regor was not sitting in the audience chamber; he was pacing impatiently as Marianna and Jordan walked into the room. “I’ve sent a message that we are here. It should not be long.”

“Not unless it’s deemed wiser to keep us waiting,” Jordan said. “One never knows.”

“You are being unfair,” Gregor told him. “She will come.”

Marianna felt a ripple of shock. She?

“Jordan seldom feels it necessary to be fair to me. You should know that by now, Gregor.”

Marianna turned toward the doorway and the woman who had spoken.

Another shock, this one of stunning proportions. She
knew
this woman. She had spent hours studying that strong, beautiful face. It was older now, with tiny crow’s-feet at the corners of the slanted green eyes, but it was still beautiful and even stronger.

“I’m always fair to you. I’m merely cautious. You know how I hate to be disappointed.” Jordan came forward and lifted the woman’s hand to his lips. “You look lovely as always and perhaps even a little younger.”

Jordan’s mother. Marianna continued to stare in astonishment. Jordan’s mother had died when he was only a baby, and yet, looking at the two standing side by side, Marianna had no doubt they were mother and son.

“Of course I look younger,” the woman said. “I’ve decided I shall never grow old. Next year I intend to order all the clocks in Kazan stopped.”

“And all the calendars burned,” Gregor added. He lumbered toward her. “I shall see to it personally.”

A brilliant smile lit her face as she turned to him. “Gregor. Have you been well?”

He nodded. “Well enough.”

“With the tiny exception of a knife wound in his chest,” Jordan remarked.

The smile faded from her face. “Who?”

“Nebrov’s man, Costain.”

Her expression hardened. “Did you kill him, Jordan?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not? Do it yourself, or I will see that it’s done.”

“I believe the matter concerns me, Ana,” Gregor said mildly.

“Be quiet, Gregor. I’m not too pleased with you either. You must be getting feebleminded to let yourself be wounded by that vermin.”

She was the one who was being unfair, Marianna thought with irritation. “He was
not
feebleminded. There were seven men,” Marianna interjected. “And he walked six miles in the snow after they wounded him.”

The woman turned her head. “Ah, you have a champion. You must be Marianna Sanders.” Her keen glance raked Marianna from head to toe. “Gregor wrote me a good deal about you. I would like to see the window you did of me.” She grimaced. “Though that’s the only part of Cambaron I shall ever want to see again.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“I would have been dead, if I’d stayed there.” She turned and stared challengingly at Jordan. “It was strangling me.”

Jordan ignored the provocation. “Marianna, I’m honored to present Her Majesty, Ana Dvorak, Ravin of Kazan.” He smiled. “And you’ll be delighted to know you don’t have to curtsy. It’s not the custom in Kazan. A mere inclination of the head to show respect is all that’s required.”

“Providing that one feels such respect,” Ana Dvorak said with irony. “I suppose that Gregor’s wound is connected to the message I received from Janus three days ago?”

“You’ve had word?”

She nodded. “Come with me and we’ll talk.” She turned to Gregor. “Find her suitable quarters. Sandor is somewhere about. I will see you at supper.” She impulsively reached out and touched his arm. “I’m not entirely unpleased to see you,
mado.
”

“You are very pleased to see me,” Gregor corrected.

She chuckled. “Perhaps.”

Marianna turned to Gregor as soon as they departed. “Why does everyone at Cambaron think she’s dead?”

“Because she wished them to think it. We planned it very carefully so that everyone would believe she drowned in a boating accident. That way there would not have to be a body.”

“We?”

“She needed me. I helped her.”

The sentences were spoken with utter simplicity as if his helping Ana Dvorak could be the only course of action whenever her need for him arose.

Gregor led her from the chamber. “Ah, Sandor.” He hailed a bearded young man hurrying down the corridor. “The ravin wishes quarters for the
belka.
Near the garden, I think.”

“Certainly.” Sandor inclined his head respectfully to Gregor. “If you will follow me?”

“What is a
belka
?”

“It is an outsider, anyone who does not belong to us.”

The term was certainly fitting. She had never felt more the outsider than in this strange land. She returned to the subject Sandor had interrupted. “Why did she wish them to think her dead?” she asked
Gregor as they followed the young man down a labyrinth of corridors.

“She told you. She could not bear it.” He shook his head. “She should never have gone to Cambaron, but she was young and willful and would not listen. Her blood was hot, and when she met Jordan’s father, she thought only of—” He stopped and nodded his head at Sandor a few yards ahead. “I should not say more now. The ravin should be spoken of with respect before her subjects.”

The ravin, Jordan’s mother, the woman who had come back to life. Marianna’s mind was whirling as she murmured, “Jordan said his mother departed this life when he was two.”

He chuckled. “Did he indeed? Jordan never likes to lie.”

“She left him. She left her child.” She shook her head. “How could she do that? If she wasn’t happy, why didn’t she take him when she left Cambaron?”

His smile faded. “He was the future Duke of Cambaron. She would never have been permitted to take him with her. She was not even allowed to take him for a walk without a maid in attendance. She would not have been permitted to leave herself, so the deceit was necessary. She knew Jordan would be well cared for and never want for anything.”

Except a mother.

Everyone walks away eventually.

When Jordan had said those cynical words, she had never dreamed he had also included his mother.

“Do not condemn her.” Gregor’s gaze was on her face. “It was not a good thing she did, and it brought her much pain. But, for Ana, it was the only thing to do.”

She remembered the impression of challenge and tension she had received when Jordan and his mother had confronted each other. “I don’t think Jordan understands that either.”

“The emotions between them are not easy to define. They are much alike.”

“When did he learn she was alive?”

“When he was a lad of nineteen. We had been watching and receiving reports on him through the years, and Ana decided we could wait no longer.” He grimaced. “He was rapidly acquiring all the vices of his father and putting them to use with all the vigor of his mother. She sent me to England to school him.”

“Will this be suitable?” Sandor threw open a door and stepped aside. “If not, there is another down the corridor that overlooks the fountain.”

She barely glanced at the luxurious chamber, receiving only a vague impression of pale gold draperies, light, and space. “No, this will be fine.”

Gregor smiled. “Very good, Sandor. Thank you.”

Sandor inclined his head and quickly strode away.

“I will see that your bags are brought to you.” Gregor added gently, “I know that all of this is a little bewildering for you, but this is a fine place. You will like it here. I look forward to showing you my homeland.”

“We won’t be here long. We’ll have to leave for Montavia almost immediately.”

“It does not take long to love Kazan.” He turned. “Rest now. We usually eat at twilight. I will come and escort you to the dining hall. Do not worry about any other surprises, Ana will see that we dine alone tonight.”

When she was alone in the room, she moved over to the bed.

Rest? Besides her worry and tension regarding Alex, her mind was whirling with implications of the scene that had just taken place. Resentment, challenge, unquestioning affection, and loyalty had all been present in that audience chamber today, none of which should have had this impact on her. She was here to save Alex, not become involved in the tangled lives of others.

Everyone walks away eventually.

She would not feel sorry for that child who had been abandoned. Understanding did not bring justification. Jordan had no right to try to cage her to assure himself that she would not leave him. He had not even displayed regret and as much as said he would make the same attempt after he had freed Alex for her.

Everyone walks away
.…

J
ordan and his mother were standing talking by a huge recessed window when Gregor and Marianna walked into the dining hall. The last purple-gold rays of twilight surrounded them, and Marianna was again aware of how much alike they were. The same tall, strong body, the dark shining hair, the boldness, the wariness.

Jordan looked up and saw her. He politely inclined his head to the ravin before he crossed the room toward them.

“You’re comfortably settled?” he asked.

She nodded. “What message from this Janus?”

“Costain delivered a captive to his estate at Pekbar three days ago.”

“Alex?”

“It was night, and Janus wasn’t able to get a good look at him.”

“It
has
to be Alex.”

“What do we do now?”

“Now we eat a fine dinner.” He took Marianna’s arm. “And tonight we sleep well so that we’ll be rested for our journey to Montavia tomorrow.”

“We must make plans,” Marianna said impatiently.

“I have a few ideas I’ll need to mull over. We’ll discuss them in the morning. The ravin is furnishing us with a large troop of men to accompany us.”

He had addressed her not as Mother but as the ravin. He was deliberately distancing himself from her, Marianna thought as she glanced at the woman standing by the window. Ana Dvorak’s shoulders were thrown back, and she was staring indifferently at them. Yet Marianna had the impression she was not truly indifferent. Lonely? No, that was too absurd. In her white satin gown and glittering emerald coronet the woman was everything that was bold and regal.

“Seat Marianna, Jordan.” Even as he spoke, Gregor was moving across the room toward the ravin. “I will sit by Ana. We have many things to discuss.”

Marianna watched as Gregor bowed and said something to Jordan’s mother. She threw back her head and laughed, her expression coming vibrantly alive. He took her arm, escorted her to the head of the table, and seated her with elaborate courtesy. Every word, every gesture, reflected a familiarity of long standing.

“They know each other well,” Marianna murmured.

“From the cradle,” Jordan said. “They grew up together. They’re distant cousins, and Gregor’s father was the captain of the guard in the Dvorak household.”

She looked at Gregor’s scarred face. “Was Gregor in the army too?”

“For a number of years, but when Ana Dvorak became ravin she made him chief adviser.”

“I don’t understand how your mother could become the ravin. Gregor said she was only a noblewoman when she married your father.”

“In Kazan the throne doesn’t automatically pass from father to son.” Jordan seated Marianna far down the table from Gregor and his mother and then took the place across from her. Distance again, she thought absently.

Jordan continued, “Kazan is surrounded by potential enemies and can’t afford the indulgence of a weak or foolish ruler. The Council of Nobles choose one from their ranks who they judge will be the strongest ruler. When the former ravin died, there was no ruler for two years until they finally chose Ana Dvorak.”

“A woman?”

“Dorothy would be scandalized by your surprise,” he said. “I’m sure she would be delighted that Kazan offers women an opportunity to prove their worth.”

“I’m equally delighted.” She added pointedly, “It’s just not common practice for men to be fair. Even in Montavia this could not be.”

“The council decided she had proven herself. After her father died, she had ruled her own lands for ten years and made them flourish. She rode at the head of
her vassals and repelled bandits and raiders from across the border. She built bridges and aqueducts. She took care of her sick and even opened a hospital here in Rengar. Yes, she was without a flaw.” He smiled sardonically. “Of course, there was that small mistake of a marriage in England, but that was of no account. The ceremony was not performed in the traditional Kazan manner, so it clearly was not binding.”