She nodded. "The government wanted a favor. His company had sold them arms to fight their revolution. Now they were looking across the border at Sedikhan and wanted him to sell them enough arms to launch an invasion force. He wasn't about to do it, but he stalled them until he could get me out of the country." She fell silent, and the only sound in the shadow-shrouded forest was the rushing of the brook and the soft whirring of the cicadas. "Is it enough?"
He frowned in puzzlement. "Is what enough?"
For the first time since she had begun to speak, her gaze left the patch of sky above the pines to meet his own. "I've never told anyone about Said Ababa. It was the only way I could think of to show you I do trust you. Do you need me to tell you any more?"
He felt as if he were slowly disintegrating inside. She had relived that hell to give him a gift? He couldn't look at her. "I don't need to know any more," he said gruffly. "Lord, yes, it's enough." He released her hand and bent down to lift her feet out of the water. "Your feet must be ice blocks by now."
"They don't hurt anymore." She watched as Sandor took his handkerchief from his back pocket and began to dry her feet. It was an intimate gesture that filled her with poignant tenderness. "I won't have any trouble making it to the airfield now."
"No?" His tone was abstracted. He cradled one foot in his hands. "Poor mermaid."
"Mermaid?"
"There's a fairy tale about a sorceress who cast a spell to permit a mermaid to assume a human form and come live among mortals. Unfortunately, it was very painful for the mermaid to stay ashore. When she walked, it was as if she were stepping on knives."
"Well, I'm no mermaid, and I can walk very well. It's almost dark. Don't you think we should be on our way?"
"Yes." He was still looking down at her foot. He caressed her ankle. "Put on your shoes and socks." He began to pull on his own boots.
"I thought you wanted to bathe your feet," she said as she began to put on her socks.
"It doesn't matter." He stood up and began to fasten his backpack. "I can wait. It's not that far."
"Four miles through the hills? Far enough." She finished tying the laces of her shoes. "A few minutes more won't make any difference. Why don't you—"
"Come on." He pulled her to her feet, reached down and picked up her knapsack, and handed it to her. "We're not going to be walking another four miles tonight." He didn't look at her as he began to lead her through the underbrush. "We're going to Limtana."
Six
"It looks like Sleeping Beauty's castle," Alessandra whispered. She stood abreast of Sandor on the summit of a hill and looked down into the valley below. The gray stone castle, with its crenellated towers, appeared both grand and desolate. The grounds surrounding it had been let go, vines and shrubs forming a labyrinth. "It's as if the castle has been sleeping for a hundred years."
"Only a little over two." Sandor's lips twisted. "Naldona's caretaking evidently didn't include the grounds." He turned away. "Come on."
"No!" Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "You said yourself the castle was bait for a trap. It looks deserted, but that doesn't necessarily mean it is. Naldona could have men stationed on lookout to report back to him if they see someone."
"I'm sure he does, but they won't see anyone." He glanced back over his shoulder. "You're a very argumentative woman. Do we have to go over it all again? I'm not about to make you walk another four miles, after the pace I set today. We'll start out at dawn, once you've had a chance to rest."
"But it's stupid. Can't you see that? If you insist we stop for the night, let's camp here in the hills. It's not safe for you down there in that castle."
"For me?" His face softened. "Do you know that's the first time you've said anything to indicate you might be the tiniest bit upset if Naldona managed to cut my throat, as he's been promising?"
"Of course I'd be upset." She scowled at him. "Though you'd deserve it for being so foolish."
He chuckled. "No one could accuse you of being overly sentimental. Men in my particular state are often foolish. All the poets say so." His smile faded. "I want you to see my home, Alessandra. It's important to me. I can't promise it will be absolutely safe, but I wouldn't run the risk if I didn't have an edge."
He was asking her to trust him again. He didn't say the words, but the implication was there. And she knew she was going to do it, she thought with resignation. "Oh, all right." She gestured for him to lead the way. "But your edge had better be damned sharp, Sandor."
He was leading her toward a clump of rocks a few yards away. "It's one you've experienced before, though I don't believe you recall it with any degree of pleasure." He bent down, his fingers exploring the weed-covered ground. "Ah, here it is." He pulled upward. Earth and weeds rose to reveal a neat hole approximately three feet square.
"A trapdoor." Alessandra slowly shook her head in resignation. "Don't tell me. A secret passageway. Right?"
"Right."
"I wonder why you Tamrovians even bother to build streets. You seem to be so fond of crawling around underground."
"Don't be sarcastic, love. Every respectable castle has to have a secret passage. It's part of our local color." He gestured. "After you. Hold fast to the railing in case the stairs are slippery. You see how civilized we are here in Limtana? No crude ladder, like the sewer in Belajo. Real stairs."
"I'm impressed," she said as she took a tentative step into the darkness. "However, I'll be more impressed if you tell me your 'color' is completely rodent-free."
"Well ..." His lips lightly feathered her ear as he followed her down the steps. "As much as I'd like to reassure you, the last time I was down here was when I was ten years old. I can't vouch for the rats." He closed the trapdoor and flicked on the flashlight. His blue eyes were dancing in the soft glow illuminating the darkness. "But I can promise you Limtana is guaranteed to be alligator-free."
His expression reminded her of the mischievous ten-year-old he must have been when he used this passage as a playground. The cynical lines and weariness she had thought permanently carved in his face were entirely gone. "You're happy," she said softly. "Why are you so happy?"
"I'm home." He gently nudged her forward. "I had a wonderful time in these passages when I was a boy. They were a family secret, so I couldn't bring any of the servants' children down here to play with me. It didn't really matter, though. Down here I could pretend I was anything I wanted to be. I had a huge Irish setter named Boris, and he would skid along this passage like a . . ."
The words and remembrances flowed over her on the mile-long walk down the stairs and through the long tunnel. Confidences, experiences, childhood practical jokes. He seemed to want to share them all with her. She found herself listening with amusement and an odd, maternal tenderness. And then they were climbing a long flight of steps again and she glanced over her shoulder. "Where does the passage exit?"
"In the nursery. I found it quite convenient."
"I imagine you did." She smiled gently. "You must have had a very happy childhood."
He nodded. "I was lucky. I had two parents who loved each other and loved me, a home that was all a home should be, the whole countryside to run wild in. I was damned lucky to—" he broke off, his expression clouding. "Lord, I'm sorry. I didn't think. You must think I'm an insensitive bastard."
"Because I didn't have all those things?" She shook her head. "Perhaps I did. I don't know what my life was like before the revolution in Said Ababa. Perhaps life was very good for me too. I hope it was."
"But you don't remember." His expression was somber. "Haven't there been times when you wanted those memories back?"
"No." Her voice was low, but firm. "What I'd gain wouldn't be worth what I might lose. I've had enough nightmares in my life without risking more. I am what I am. A background and a family tree couldn't change me now."
And sometimes there were reasons for the mind to erect barriers, he thought. She was probably right not to try to resurrect
the past. There was too much danger of those memories being tragic. "A family tree can be something of a bore anyway." He carefully kept his tone light as he drew even with her at the top of the stairs. "I'm weighed down by the branches of my noble ancestors. I'll be glad to share them with you." He met her gaze with sudden gravity. "I'll be glad to share everything with you. My childhood, my memories, the love I knew and still know. There's nothing frightening in my past." His voice was velvet-soft. "Let me share those good times with you, Alessandra."
Her throat was so tight, she found it difficult to swallow. She blinked back tears. Tanzar. The one who is all. Gentleness, strength, laughter, sensitivity.
"That's . . . very kind of you." The words were awkward and pitifully inadequate but all she was capable of at the moment. "I don't know what to say." She smiled shakily. "I don't think there are any books written about how to accept a gift of that magnitude."
"You just accept it." He kissed her cheek with infinite tenderness. "As I give it. With all my love."
Love. She stiffened with shock. This wasn't the casual endearment he had used before. Her gaze flew to meet his with a sudden sense of panic. "Sandor, I don't know—"
"Shh." His fingers covered her lips. "Not now. I know it's too soon. Just think about it. Okay?"
How could she help thinking about it? She nodded jerkily. "Okay."
"Good." He reached around her to the knob on the blank wall facing them. It took a little tugging, but the panel finally slid far enough for them to sidle through the opening. "Well, at least we know Naldona hasn't discovered the passage. For a moment I thought we'd have to chop our way through the wall." It took him as long to tug the panel back in place as it had to open it.
"Can I help?"
"No, I think I've got it." He slid the panel the last few inches and turned to face her with a slightly droll smile. "Maybe I should have used the passage more frequently after I reached adolescence. I don't remember it being this difficult to budge when I was a child." The ray of the flashlight danced around the dusty room. "And I remember this nursery as being larger."
"Have you ever considered that you might have been smaller?" Alessandra asked solemnly, her lips twitching.
"Possibly." The beam suddenly pinpointed something across the room. "But some things stay the same. Come on, I want to introduce you to Leo."
"Leo?"
"My rocking horse." He was striding quickly across the room. "It belonged to my great-great-grandfather and was passed down from father to son. It was always my favorite toy."
The large wooden rocking horse was a dappled gray with a black mane, sporting an embossed red saddle and gay golden tassels hanging from the bridle. His dark painted eyes appeared to glow, and there was an eager smile painted on his lips. He's wonderful," Alessandra said softly. "He looks as if he's ready to waltz off to another adventure just over the horizon. Why is he called Leo? Isn't that name usually reserved for lions?"
Sandor nodded. His hand ran caressingly over the black mane. "My father said he has the heart of a lion. He gave Leo to me when I was four years old. He told me his history and the history of all the Karpathans who had ridden him over the years." He pointed to a deep scratch beside the right stirrup. "My grandfather did that. One morning he crept into his father's room and stole the spurs off his boots. He didn't see why he couldn't have spurs to ride his horse too." Sandor tugged at one tassel. "In some ways he was more real to me than the live pony my father gave me a year later."
"From father to son. What a lovely tradition." She moved a step closer and touched the saddle with a tentative finger. It was foolish, but she felt almost as if the wooden horse were alive. He had witnessed so much love, heard so much laughter, experienced so many imaginary adventures with his small friends. Now he was in this abandoned nursery, resting but not forgotten. Waiting for the next child to come. "Someday you'll give him to your son." There was a silence. When she looked up, it was to see that Sandor was no longer smiling. "Is something wrong?"
"No." He gave the tassel another tug. "Nothing's wrong. Let me show you the rest of my home. How are your feet?"
"A little sore. Nothing serious."
"I won't keep you on them very long." His gaze traveled around the room, and his expression revealed his feelings of melancholy mixed with affection. "There are a few things I want you to see"—he paused—"and that I want to see again with you. Then I'll let you bathe and go to bed."
"I want to see everything," she said quickly. "You promised to share with me, and I'm holding you to it." If she'd been ready to drop from exhaustion, her response would have been the same. She had an instinctive feeling Sandor needed to share his past even more than she needed to accept the gift. "I don't suppose we dare turn on any lights."
"No, I imagine the main generator is turned off, but there are plenty of candles lying about. My mother loved candlelight. If we're careful to draw the drapes before we light the candles, there shouldn't be any danger." He opened the door and bowed with half-mocking grandeur. "Step into my world, milady."
And for the next hour she felt as if, in some mysterious fashion, she had done just that. The conversation was light and the laughter frequent as they wandered down the polished halls and through the rooms that all appeared to have a story or hold a special memory for Sandor. She found her gaze clinging to his face in a sort of wonder. Lord, he'd loved this place. Affection was lighting his face with an incandescent glow far brighter than the flickering candlelight.
"My mother liked this vase. My father gave—" He broke off. "Why are you looking at me like that?" He grinned sheepishly. "I guess I've been pretty talkative, haven't I?"
She shook her head. "I've enjoyed it. I've enjoyed you, Sandor."
He looked surprised, and then a flush darkened his cheeks. Good heavens, he was embarrassed. Even his shrug was a little awkward. "That was my intention. But, as your American colloquialism goes, 'You ain't seen nothing yet.' "
"I haven't?" Her eyes twinkled. "I've seen the scullery, the dungeon, the study, the grand ballroom, the front parlor, the garden room, the—"
"You haven't seen the master bedroom yet."
Her breath stopped in her throat, and she had to part her lips to get more air into her lungs. "No, I haven't."
"I saved it for the last." His eyes gravely met her own. "Because we won't be leaving there again tonight, will we?"
"No." The dimness of the hall was lit only by the candelabrum Sandor was carrying. The pool of light it cast around them reminded her of an intimate spotlight. Intimate. Her heart was suddenly pounding wildly, and her breasts were lifting and falling with every breath she drew. "I guess we won't."
She could see the tenseness leave him, the rigidity flowing out. Had he thought she was going to refuse him? It seemed incredible. They had been building toward this final intimacy since the moment they met. The knowledge was filling her with an exuberance she had never known before. He was looking at her with the same eagerness as he had Leo a short time before. She smothered a sudden gurgle of laughter.
"Why are you laughing?" His expression revealed that he was experiencing the same giddy exhilaration she was. "Should my manly pride be hurt? I don't believe I've ever encountered that reaction when I asked a woman to go to bed with me."
"I was just thinking how happy I was that you like me as much as you do Leo," she said teas-ingly. "And I was wondering if someday I might dare to aspire even higher."
His fingers lightly touched the tip of her nose. "You've already passed Leo at the post. I never invited him into the master bedroom."
"Thank heavens for that."
"Brat." This time the tap on her nose was admonishing. "For that matter, I've never invited anyone into the master bedroom. After my father died and my mother returned to Argentina, I didn't bother to move from my old room. The master suite didn't seem to belong to me." His smile faded. "But tonight I want very much to sleep in the bed where my father and his f
ather slept. And I want you to sleep there with me. Is that all right with you?"
It was too difficult to speak; every nerve and muscle in her body was shaking like a willow frond in a windstorm. She nodded, then tore her gaze away from Sandor and veiled her eyes with her lashes. Shy. Good Lord, she felt shy.
His hand on her elbow came as a little shock. The touch wasn't lightly teasing, as before. It was a caress as possessive as a kiss. "I promised you a bath." He was gently propelling her toward the carved double doors at the end of the hall. "I'm afraid it will have to be a cold one—the hot-water heater would have to be lit, and that would take longer. ..."
"I don't mind." Why was he talking about hot-water heaters? she wondered wildly. "It's not as if it were winter."
"No." He opened the door to let her .precede him. "Personally, I've had enough cold water to last me for quite a while." A tiny twinkle appeared in his eyes. "The water yesterday in the pond may have cooled my libido, but I'm glad I won't have to indulge in any further spartan aquatics for that particular reason." He glanced around the bedroom. "I'm afraid this room is as dusty as the rest of the castle. I'll change the sheets on the bed and see if I can tidy up a little after I take my shower." He nodded to the door across the room. "There's the dressing room and master bathroom. I'll go to one of the guest rooms and shower." He held out the silver candelabrum. "You'd better take this. I won't have any problem finding my way around in the dark."
No, he wouldn't have any trouble, she thought tenderly. Every inch of this place was graven in his heart and memory. She took the candelabrum. "Thank you. I'll try not to be long."
"I'll wait. I'm not going anywhere." His eyes were warm and glowingly intent. "You'd have to point a nuclear missile at me to drive me away."
"I don't have any missiles tucked away anywhere, so I guess it's safe." She turned away, avoiding his eyes. She didn't feel safe. She was tottering on the edge of something new and unknown, and she had never felt more frightened in her life. "I'll be right back."
Til the End of Time Page 9