You Belong to Me (12 page)

The Razin brothers had started after her. And apparently Vasili’s guards had ridden after them to prevent their interference, because the lot of them were halfway between the road and the tree, literally rolling on the ground as they pounded one another.

Vasili swore beneath his breath before he cast Alexandra a black look. “Now look what you’ve done,” he growled accusingly.

“
Me?
Did you think my Cossacks would just sit there and do nothing when they saw you hit me?”

“I didn’t hit you.”

“Then what would you call it?” she demanded even as she mounted.

“A tap on the cheek to get your attention,” he said, also mounting. “If I
had
hit you, you would have been knocked flat on your back—which isn’t a bad idea, actually.”

That was the last straw. “Consider yourself lucky that Bojik didn’t follow me, or your men would be spending the rest of the morning burying you instead of attending to their black eyes. And get control of your damn horse!” She was shouting at him now, since they were both riding back to break up the fight, and she had easily taken the lead. “If he nips at mine again, I’m going to let Sultan’s Pride have at him—and I hope you’re on him at the time!”

“Alex?”

“
What?
”

“
I’ll
consider any violence from you or at your instigation a slap.”

She shut up.

“
T
he hell of it is,” Vasili was telling Lazar as they rode ahead of the party, “I had no desire to bed her. I merely wanted to prove to myself,
and
to my little barbarian, that I could.”

Lazar nodded, not the least bit surprised. But then, Lazar understood Vasili better than most people did because he knew all of his quirks and foibles, all of his faults and virtues.

Vasili had met Claudia Shevchenko not long after they’d come down from crossing the Carpathians, when he was still boiling with resentment that he was even making this trip. He hadn’t stayed with the lady a week because he couldn’t resist her. He’d stayed to prove the betrothal wasn’t going to change his self-indulgent lifestyle.

Like most men, Vasili enjoyed two kinds of women, the ones he was actually attracted to and those who were merely available for the taking. He had the latter in abundance because of his looks. These were mostly women who offered themselves without being asked.
And Vasili accommodated most of them because he was, after all, used to overindulgence.

Countess Shevchenko fell into the latter group. She was pretty enough, but she was definitely on the skinny side, and Vasili preferred a more voluptuous, full-figured form—like Alexandra’s.

Lazar said now, “Well, one thing did come out of that nonsense. You found out that the baroness knows how to use a horsewhip.”

Lazar got a glare for that reminder. He would have been disappointed by any other reaction. Five days had passed since the incident that he wasn’t likely to ever forget had occurred, and he’d been mentioning it at least once a day just to rile Vasili.

One of Alexandra’s Cossacks had suffered a broken finger from
the fight
, which was how it was now being referred to by all of them. Jesus, it had been hilarious, not the broken finger, but the fight itself, and Lazar had sat back and enjoyed the entire spectacle. And it had only gotten better once Alexandra had discovered the Cossack’s injury.

She had gone after Vasili’s man with a horsewhip, and Vasili had been the only one daring enough—or annoyed enough—to get near her while she was wielding that vicious thing, to yank it out of her hands. She had been giving the guard,
and
Vasili, killing looks ever since.

After that display, it was easy to see that Alexandra loved the Razins like family. She
treated them as if they were her brothers, defended them like brothers, insulted them like brothers. How Vasili could ever have gotten the notion that they had been her lovers was beyond Lazar, but his friend had not been acting like himself since he had met his “little barbarian.”

Lazar wondered if Vasili knew how possessive he was beginning to sound whenever he mentioned Alexandra. For that matter, he wondered if Vasili was even aware of how often he glanced back throughout the day just to look at her.

He had stopped riding off by himself as often, too, and stopped completely when they reached the mountains. But then, the Carpathians weren’t known to be friendly territory to travelers, weather-wise or otherwise, and especially if those travelers appeared to be carrying anything of value. They had managed to cross these mountains once without incident. Twice was more than they could hope for, particularly with the addition of two bulging wagons and a herd of prize thoroughbreds.

They were taking precautions, posting extra guards at night. But short of hiring more men from one of the mountain villages, which Vasili refused to do, given the odds were about half that they’d be hiring the thieves themselves, there was nothing else they could do.

Some things had changed, yes, but even with the additional danger in crossing the
mountains, Vasili hadn’t let up on his personal campaign. If anything, he seemed to be increasing his efforts to insult and ridicule Alexandra and to provoke her temper at every opportunity. The fact that they would reach Cardinia in another week or so, depending on the weather, was likely the reason. But who would have thought it would go on this long?

Lazar was actually finding the whole thing highly amusing, though he was quite possibly the only one who did. He’d been bored for a while when Vasili and Alexandra had been trying to avoid each other. But now they were having blowups at least once a day. And still neither one said the magic words that would end the betrothal. Instead they were both giving new meaning to the word “stubborn.”

The weather was frigid, despite the sun’s periodic appearances, but they hadn’t yet encountered a snowstorm, which Vasili was hoping would send Alexandra running for home. And this was another example of Vasili’s desperation. While Cardinia had its share of severe winters just like every other country in this area of the continent, Vasili rarely ventured far from a warm fire during this time of year. If anyone was going to suffer during the extreme cold of a snowstorm, it would be he, rather than Alexandra.

Of course, to give Vasili his due, he and Lazar had both assumed that his betrothed would be a lady of
normal
sensibilities. There had been no way for them to know that she was a creature of nature, more comfortable
outdoors than in, and apparently that was true at any time of the year. She wouldn’t complain of a snowstorm any more than she had of being continuously in the saddle for the past three and a half weeks.

It was still early in the afternoon the day they finally reached the mountain pass and began their descent. The sun had been shining for most of the morning during the last of their climb. And with the worst of the danger at least half over now, they all began to relax somewhat, despite the gloomy clouds that blew in and hovered over the western face of the mountain.

But the snow arrived less than an hour later and ended their run of good luck. Within thirty minutes, it was snowing so hard they could no longer see the trail in front of them and were forced to make camp.

While the tents were being erected, Alexandra worked frantically to create a windbreak and shelter for the horses, which were her main concern. She made use of the wagons, all of their contents, and at least half of the extra blankets she had brought along for precisely such an emergency. And she cursed Vasili beneath her breath all the while, blaming him and his wasted week with Countess Shevchenko for stranding them on top of a mountain, far from any decent shelter.

She was given pause, however, and reason to think she must be going snow-blind, when she saw Vasili helping her rather than seeing
to his own tent and comfort. She continued to curse him, but she didn’t get as much pleasure out of it as she usually did, and stopped altogether when she felt something suspiciously like guilt.

So he could perform one unselfish act. That didn’t make much of a dent in all of his bad qualities—except he was helping her to protect
her
horses, her babies. She’d have to at least thank him—when she had the time.

The storm continued to unleash its fury all afternoon, and Alexandra continued to worry about her horses. They were as used to the cold as she was, but they usually had a warm stable to return to after being out in it. This situation was different, and her need to reassure them as much as herself was why she couldn’t remain in her tent for longer than an hour without checking on them.

She’d already done so twice. The third time she found someone else there ahead of her and heard him say, “Oh, Jesus,” before she realized it was Vasili huddled in a long fur cloak. She thought he was grumbling over the weather until she reached his side and saw that the shelter she’d fought to erect was half empty.

“What have you done?” she asked in a horrified whisper, blaming him automatically.

“I wish I could take credit, but I can’t.” The derision in his voice was also automatic, but at her stricken look, Vasili wished he could take it back. “Damn, I knew this was going to happen. You can’t expect to bring such valu
able horses into these bandit-infested hills and not lose a few of them.”

“A few? All my whites are gone!” she cried, and then: “Oh, God, this is my fault. I called in the guards. I didn’t think there would be any trouble in the middle of a storm.”

“When all this snow offers the perfect cover and these mountain people are used to it?”

He might as well have said he’d never heard of anything so stupid. She got the message. She even agreed. She hadn’t been thinking about bandits, only about the storm, and she’d wanted to spare her men, as well as his, from standing guard during the worst of it, at least until evening, when it might have blown over.

But that was no excuse, so she didn’t bother explaining. And she’d already dismissed Vasili from her mind as she bent under the rope that had restrained the animals and moved to the back of the temporary corral where the rope had been cut.

None of the remaining horses had bothered to wander off, preferring to stay close to what little shelter had been provided. And with as many that were still there, including the roan stallion, it appeared that only her rare whites had been the target.

The trail was wide, but barely discernible, and filling up with new snow even as she stared at it. It would be gone in a matter of minutes. There was no time to summon her people or his. Even a shout wouldn’t be heard over the keening of the wind. She had to fol
low the trail to find out where the horses had been taken, then come back…

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She had started to mount one of the horses—all those that had been wearing saddles still had them on for added warmth—when Vasili yanked her back to the ground to answer his idiotic question. “There’s no time for this, Petroff.”

“I’ll get your horses back.”

“How?”

“I’ll buy them back. My cousin and I have had run-ins with these hill bandits before, or at least with similar ones. They’re always willing to turn a profit.”

“Don’t be absurd,” she replied. “And leave me beholden to you? I’ll get them back, and it won’t cost anything but a few lives—theirs.”

“The odds are, you’re talking about a whole village of thieves, Alex, not just a few.”

“I’m talking about getting my horses back,
my
horses,
my
responsibility. And the trail they’ve left is disappearing even as we speak. If you want to help, get the others and follow, but I’m leaving now.”

She had to shove him slightly to get him to let go of her. And it was infuriating to know that the shove wouldn’t have worked if he hadn’t lost his balance in the snow they’d just trampled. His high-handedness was intolerable, and she wished she had time to tell him so, but she didn’t.

Vasili didn’t fall, but by the time he steadied himself, Alexandra was already at
the end of the corral, disappearing into the swirling white beyond the camp. He shouted for the others, but only in the time it took him to mount his stallion and ride after her.

Whether anyone heard him was doubtful, but he didn’t particularly care at the moment. When he caught up with that fool woman, he was going to wring her neck, and he didn’t need any help for that.

V
asili couldn’t quite manage to catch up to Alexandra. He wasn’t following the trail as she was; he was keeping her in his sights instead. But more than once the snow became so thick, she was lost from his view and he panicked and shouted at her, even though he knew damn well she couldn’t hear him.

Although the mountain road was no more visible than anything else, Vasili was sure they were on it and that the thieves had circled around the camp to get back to it. After all, it would be the safest route for them to take, especially if they thought no one was following them, and with nightfall coming on fast.

When it did start to get dark, he panicked again because he had nothing to light a torch with, even if he could find something dry to use, and no time to do either. He tried to coax a little more speed from the roan, but the descent was too steep in places, making it too treacherous because of the snow. The stallion balked, having already gone to his knees
once, where he actually slid several feet. He refused to go any faster.

When night finally did fall, Vasili found that he had panicked for no reason. The only advantage that the snow provided him was that the pristine white landscape kept complete darkness at bay, allowing him to still see ahead—when the swirling gusts weren’t blinding him.

Hours passed; he didn’t know how many. But he knew he was going to die. He was slowly freezing to death, his extremities already numb. He remained in the saddle only by sheer determination, keeping one thing in mind: he was going to murder that fool woman…no, he would make love to her first and then murder her.

And then the wind suddenly stopped, and within moments, the snow also stopped falling. The temperature might have become less severe, too, but Vasili was in no condition to tell. What was obvious was that the growth of oak and fir trees on either side of him had become thicker. Somehow he had nearly reached the foothills on the lower slopes. People lived in the foothills, entire villages, with fires and warm, cozy huts, hot food and drink. If he could just continue for a mile or so more, he might not die after all.

Before he had even finished the thought, he saw Alexandra veer abruptly south off the road, and he groaned. Moments earlier, he might not have noticed, might have gone
right past where the trail left the road and lost her entirely.

With the wind quiet now, he tried shouting again, but she was already gone from sight. When he reached the same point, he could see her again, but she was as far ahead of him as she had been all along. And she was no longer descending. The trail was actually rising gradually as it followed a narrow path along the slope.

Again he shouted her name. She heard him this time. Her head turned. She looked right at him. But she didn’t stop. She dug her heels into her horse instead.

That did it! He really
was
going to murder her as soon as he got his hands on her—if they both didn’t freeze first. Fortunately, her borrowed horse wasn’t any more eager for a gallop than his stallion was, so she didn’t gain on him. But she continued to maintain the same distance that kept him from reaching her.

He wondered if a shot from the pistol he’d stuck in his belt earlier would stop her or spur her on. If he’d brought more than one, he’d be tempted to find out. Then again, she might have one of her own and fire back at him, thinking he was trying to kill her. She had good reason to think so. Besides, he didn’t trust her not to shoot at him in retaliation. Her horses were involved, after all, and there was no doubt whatsoever that they meant more to her than he did. Damned horses. He wouldn’t be out here freezing if—

Torches suddenly flickered far ahead. Either they’d found the thieves or a village, or both. But Alexandra didn’t slow down to let him catch up to her. She kept charging straight for the lights, and after another few moments, he could see why. Her horses. She’d seen her horses, and she was probably too furious even to think of the danger that lay ahead, and she was certainly too furious to be sensible.

And, because he couldn’t stop it or her, he had to watch her ride right into the midst of a half-dozen men and start wielding the horsewhip that she had taken to carrying on her hip ever since
the fight
. She scattered the men. Horses were rearing. One man was thrown from his mount and slid and tumbled down the slope a good twenty feet. Another raised a pistol and had it whipped from his hand. The rest were dismounting. The path was too narrow a space for so many horses to converge, and the men obviously intended to bring Alexandra down before she did any serious damage.

Vasili drew his pistol and fired, but it was good for only one shot, and once it was discharged, he threw it away to draw his sword. He was still too late to keep Alexandra from being yanked off her mount, and with the torches having been dropped to the ground and the snow swiftly extinguishing them, he couldn’t see what had happened to her.

Another shot was fired, this one at Vasili. But he was still so numb with cold that he doubted he’d feel it if he were hit. He trusted
he wasn’t, and when he finally reached the group on the ground, he started swinging his sword to prove it.

The bandits scattered again, a bit more leery of his sword than they’d been of the whip, though they didn’t go far. They brandished an assortment of weapons that he took note of—a dagger, two swords, a club, but no other pistols that he could see. And he could also see Alexandra now.

She was on the ground, fighting with one of the men, who was trying to hold her down and get a rope around her. That he had his hands on her at all made Vasili a little crazy, and without considering that he’d be giving up his advantage on horseback, he dove at the man, slamming against him, rolling on the ground until he managed enough purchase to smash his sword hilt against the fellow’s head.

He got back to his feet swiftly, slipping only a little in the snow, and faced three more men. The fourth had taken over with Alexandra before she’d had a chance to get up; he had her face down in the snow with a knee in her back, tying her hands. He’d be joining the fray in moments.

Vasili had his shocking burst of rage under control now. He wouldn’t even have minded the odds he was facing; he considered them paltry against his own sword skill. But slippery ground had a way of evening odds, and he couldn’t help but remember the one time he’d trained with Stefan in snow, and how
they’d spent more time on their backsides than on their feet, a learning experience which he couldn’t use to his advantage when facing more than one opponent.

He was still ready and eager for the first assault, and it came swiftly. Vasili held his ground, deciding that the least movement would be the best defense under these circumstances, and it worked for a while. He disarmed one man, wounded another, and had found an opening on the third when he was forced to stop, to go perfectly still. The blade digging into his back—sword or dagger, he couldn’t tell—had pierced through his cloak, jacket, and shirt, telling him without a doubt that he wasn’t too numb to feel a wound after all.