Forever in Your Embrace (7 page)

The delay was hardly objectionable to Synnovea. Eventually it would allow her as much leisured time in the facility as she desired, a privilege reserved expressly for the last in line. As she waited for the soldiers’ return, she collected toiletries and nightclothes in a small satchel. Painstakingly she brushed out the debris that had become entangled in her long hair and left the black, silky length unbound as she stripped away her torn clothes. After treating the scratches on her arms, she gathered a voluminous robe around her slender body in preparation of her descent.

The officer who had rushed to her defense came to mind, and she began to pace restlessly about, stricken by her conscience. His face was nothing more than a dark void in her memory, yet she recalled her own blended feelings of awe when, at every turn of the hand, he had seemed to hover behind them like a relentless bird of prey watching for an opportunity to bring down his quarry. She hoped fervently that he was alive and that news of his safety would soon reach her. Only then could she forgive herself.

The soldiers began to drift back to their rooms in varying numbers. Much subdued by their baths, they meandered slowly past her door with only an occasional murmur exchanged between them. Their muted, cheerless voices now clearly bespoke of their weariness.

Synnovea was anxious for them to retire, yet in her growing impatience, it seemed that three times as many came back than those who had left. Her frustration deepened when Ivan sharply commanded a way to be made for him as he passed the soldiers in his descent of the stairs. Answering their exaggerated revulsion to his foul-smelling clothing, he snidely announced that he intended to wash away any residue of filth that remained from their putrid offerings.

Synnovea was inclined to think that this new delay was caused by nothing more than Ivan’s unwillingness to associate with men of low rank, especially common soldiers. Obviously he considered them far removed from his self-exalted personage, for in her presence he had openly disdained them as crude, ignorant men. Had he been able to dictate the priority of events, he might have insisted on being allowed to finish his bath before they were permitted on the premises. Of course, if he had tried such a thing, the soldiers would have laughed him to scorn.

The inn grew still and hushed after Ivan’s return to the small, private cubicle that he had elected to take, allowing Synnovea to finally consider it safe to go down. Outside the inn, a cool breeze rustled through the tall firs that formed a protective fortress beyond the bathhouse, bringing to her nostrils the fresh, pungent fragrance of their swaying boughs. The burbling of a swiftly flowing stream melded with other soothing night sounds, while high above the treetops, the brilliant moon shone down from its lofty realm, holding back the darkness with a wondrous glow that clearly defined the path to the low-roofed structure.

The door creaked in the hushed stillness as Synnovea pushed it slowly open and stepped within. At the far end of the room, a fire flickered in a large hearth, illumining the shadowed interior with a shifting amber glow. A dim lantern offered a wan light from the rafter where it hung suspended by a pulley rope. Its glow lent eerie life to the swirling mists rolling upward from the stygian surface of the pool. The vapors twined aimlessly through the massive beams buttressing the ceiling as if probing for a way of escape and, in their failure, merged into a thickening, swelling haze that shrouded the interior.

Water, shunted through tin flumes from the stream outside, flowed into a huge cauldron, which hunkered like some enormous beast on squat legs over a hearth of its own. A steady fire licked upward around its swollen belly, lending a blush to the curling vapors and the tenebrous gloom. Steaming water trickled cheerily over its funnelled lip into the main bathing pool, on the opposite side of which the overflow dribbled into a shaft that returned the water to the rivulet.

Synnovea paused at the portal and carefully scanned the interior lest she find herself in error about being alone. The shifting flames cast dancing shadows into the mists. Beyond that, nothing stirred. The only sounds came from the crackling fire and the trickling water. In the spacious hearth, smaller kettles of water hung over a fire, and upon a nearby table, pitchers and basins of water were readily available for an initial scrubbing with soap. Wooden tubs had also been provided for a more leisurely soak in a warm bath.

On a bench near the pool, a man’s robe had been left, and Synnovea made a mental note to inform Captain Nekrasov on the morningtide that the garment was there, on the chance that he or one of his men had left it behind. Since Ivan’s garments had been stolen by the thieves, it seemed highly unlikely that it belonged to him.

Synnovea dropped the satchel onto a nearby stool, too tired and bruised to think of anything beyond a bath and a refreshing dip in the pool. She prepared the former herself until a wooden tub brimmed with steaming liquid. From a small vial she had brought, she sprinkled droplets of scented oils over the surface and laid out a bar of fragrant soap and a large towel. She ran slender fingers through her hair to remove any lingering snarls, coiled the length into a heavy rope, and wound it on top of her head, where she secured the bulk with ornate combs. The topknot loosened a bit, allowing softly curling tendrils to plummet downward onto her brow and neck, but for the most part, the dark mass was held ensnared.

Freeing the ties at her waist, she sent the robe slithering downward with a shrug of her shoulders until she caught it with a swirling motion of her arm and flung it aside. As the garment settled in a billowing cloud on a nearby bench, she paused in sudden incertitude and tilted her head aslant, wondering at the soft, breathless sighing sound the silk had made, much like the slow expelling of a deep breath.

Nothing more was heard beyond the melding murmurs of a crackling fire and trickling water, allowing Synnovea to banish her doubts. Her nerves had been tested far beyond acceptable limits for her to give credence this evening to her own lurid imagination.

Lifting a foot upon the rim of the wooden tub, Synnovea inspected the dark bruises above her knee where Ladislaus had cruelly clasped her thigh. Another bluish mark at her waist caught her eye, and she cupped a breast within her palm, pressing the fullness upward to examine the dark bruise more carefully. During their frantic flight through the woods, she had suffered much pain and trauma, for the rogue’s arm had clutched her so tightly she had feared her ribs would crack.

She dearly hoped the officer had delivered a suitable recompense for the brigand’s crimes, especially after Ladislaus had boasted that none of the tsar’s soldiers could best him. She was exceedingly glad he had been proven wrong. Indeed, it suited her mood to envision that crude highwayman trussed up like a goose, but an intruding worry soon furrowed her brow, motivating her to repeat a silent petition for the safety of the officer.

A long, pleasurable sigh wafted from Synnovea’s lips as she lowered herself into the scented bath. A delightful interlude passed in which she allowed the steaming water to relax and soothe her aching muscles. After a time she began to wash and lathered soap over her shoulders and bosom before progressing to her limbs. Lifting first one and then the other, she worked the suds up along their sleek lengths until she was nigh covered with a whitish foam. Dallying at the task allowed her tensions to fade to near oblivion.

Once her hair was washed, Synnovea leaned her head over the edge of the tub and arched her back as she rinsed away the soap with fresh water from a bucket. When she relaxed again in the tub, she leisurely dribbled the contents of a dripping sponge over her shoulders. The dispersing runnels cascaded in eager channels through the white frosting until the rounded orbs glistened wetly in the rosy firelight.

Synnovea indulged herself in the luxury of the bath until she realized the hour was growing late. But she refused to leave until she had sampled the relaxing pleasure to be found in the pool. Bracing her hands on the rim of the tub, she pushed herself to her feet with an energetic heave, momentarily setting her breasts a-bounce. An odd sound, much like a watery gulp, came from the direction of the pool, and in deepening trepidation Synnovea carefully probed the swirling vapors hovering above the water. A movement near the steps caught her eye, and she jerked her head around with a startled gasp, only to laugh in relief as she espied a frog that squatted there.

“You intrude, my little friend,” she laughingly scolded and tossed the contents of a bucket his way, sending him leaping away.

Reassured that her privacy was secure, she finished rinsing herself, pouring warm water over her body and sending the lather flowing back into the tub. By now, the heat of the room was enough to have drawn a fine mist of sweat from her pores, and she left the tub, eargerly anticipating the cooler water of the pool.

Descending the stone steps at its edge, Synnovea nearly crooned with pleasure, feeling immediately refreshed by the cool liquid into which she sank. She deemed the innkeeper especially clever to incorporate a pool of such depth inside a bathhouse, when it was most often the practice of bathers, after steaming up in heavy humidity, to scamper outside and cool themselves in a nearby stream or banks of snow, whatever the weather and location permitted. In the coldest months some would even dare the chill for such an experience. Her English mother, however, had instilled within her father the need for a private bath in their home, and throughout the years Synnovea had clung to the modesty of that custom. Whenever the occasion had warranted her making use of a public facility, Ali had always made the necessary arrangements and paid out coins to secure her solitude, while Jozef and Stenka had stood guard outside. Under the circumstances, Synnovea had been reluctant to disturb her servants, nor had she felt a need to do so, for Captain Nekrasov kept himself and his men well in line.

Leisurely Synnovea stroked through the water, letting the thickening haze envelop her as she swam toward the far side. Her long hair flowed behind her on the surface, much like an opening fan of ebony hue, the ends becoming lost in the shadows behind her.

Of a sudden, Synnovea gasped and recoiled in astonishment and dread as her hand made contact with something human and very manly. A wide, furry chest, to be exact! She sank abruptly in surprise until her thigh brushed against the fellow’s loins and then, in rising panic, she struggled to propel herself away from the offending nakedness. Lurching backward with as much grace as a floundering cow, she plunged below the surface and promptly came up choking and coughing. Strong hands reached out to lift her up by the arms, but she fought them off, certain she was in impending danger of being ravished.

Having successfully escaped the helping hands, Synnovea began to sink again, this time against the man. She hardly noticed the muscular torso as her head went under the surface again, for in sudden alarm she realized she was taking in more water than even a competent fish should. This time when the man clamped an arm around her waist and drew her up, she flung both of her own about his neck and gasped for air between strangling, wrenching coughs. So great was her dismay that she gave no heed to the fact that her breasts were pressed tightly against the stalwart chest of the man or that her thighs rested intimately against his maleness. The fleshly heat he displayed failed to impact her consciousness, for she was far too anxious about drawing a normal breath.

Her anxiety ebbed to some degree when she managed to clear the water from her nose and throat. Carefully she inhaled, sucking in deep drafts to fill her lungs. Finally it dawned on her that the man was watching her with an amused yet dubious frown. Highly indignant that he should find some humor in her predicament, she leaned back to consider him with a haughty stare, disregarding the fact that she was completely naked in his encompassing arms. Water dribbled from her hair and trickled downward across her brow into the wetly spiked lashes, leaving her vision somewhat impaired. The thick vapors lent a strange bewitchment to the moment, yet she was sure the distortion she saw in the man’s face hadn’t been conjured through her own faulty perception or hindered sight. A seer would have been needed to accurately determine if the man was even human.

Lacking such perception, Synnovea briefly perused his badly lacerated visage. A large bump grossly elaborated the curve of his brow where the skin had been split open. The swelling extended downward into his eye, nearly closing it. His upper lip was also distended, and above this protrusion another ugly bruise darkened his cheek. Providing some evidence that his face wasn’t totally misshapen, his jaw appeared carefully hewn of granite, while his nose was shaped with a noble, aquiline leanness. Short, wetly spiked strands of hair shaded eyes that seemed of a steel-gray hue rimmed with a deeper blue. Even in the shadowed room, softer lights twinkled within the shining depths as a lopsided grin lifted the smaller corner of his lips.

“Forgive me, Countess, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he murmured. “Nor was it my intent to cause you embarrassment. Indeed, my lady, I never in my wildest yearnings ever imagined that my bath would be interrupted by such flawless beauty. I was no less than bedazzled by the sight and reluctant to see it come to an end.”

Synnovea scarcely noted that he had spoken to her in English, but in a heated rush, she replied in kind. “You spied upon me without making me aware of your presence,” she accused. “Simple truth, sir! Why are you here? Should I assume that your intentions are to accost me for your own evil purposes?”

“Banish the thought, my lady. I merely came here when my duties permitted it. Several of my men needed attention. By the time I had dressed their wounds, most of the soldiers had left the bathhouse, and after the departure of the cleric, I was certain I’d be alone and was much amazed when you joined me. I fear I was momentarily confounded and struck dumb by your entrance. Then it became clear to me. Though I could see you, you were unable to see me.” He lifted wide, sleekly bulging shoulders in a casual shrug. “I fear the sight of you proved too much of a temptation for an officer in need of feminine companionship.”