Dare to Love

by Jennifer Wilde

  “Where is she?” he demanded.

  “She’s gone,” one of his men replied. He pointed to Klaus. “That one says she left an hour ago.”

  Schroder glanced at Klaus. “Kill him,” he said. “Run him through. Then perhaps one of the others will tell us the truth.”

  “No!” I cried.

  They all turned to look up at me. The soldiers were startled. Klaus made a face. Schroder curled his lips in a sadistic smile, eyes glittering with anticipation. His men were silent, afraid to speak. Schroder took a deep breath, and a long moment passed.

  “Amuse yourselves, men,” he said. “Carry on with your fun. I’ll see to Miss Lopez. We’ll leave in half an hour or so.”

  The men cheered and gleefully continued their destruction of the palace, some of them rushing into the other rooms seeking more furniture to smash, and others to rip down drapery cords to tie up the servants. I felt a terrible chill as Schroder laughed gruffly and started up the stairs toward me, moving slowly, smiling that terrible smile. I seemed to be frozen in place, unable to move.

  “I’m placing you under arrest,” he said, still climbing the stairs. “My orders are to escort you to the border.”

  He moved up another step, and another. I could see the murderous hatred and the naked lust in his eyes, and I knew what he planned to do. I would “resist arrest” and he would be called upon to take strong measures and there would be an “unfortunate accident” and even if the officials disbelieved his report it would be too late. Schroder planned to murder me, but he intended to rape me first.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this,” he told me.

  “I’ll go peacefully,” I said.

  “No. You’re going to try to escape.”

  “Keep away.”

  He paused on the steps and laughed. It was a horrible sound, chilling. I moved back, trembling inside. Smiling evilly, he continued up the steps. I backed away from him, my heart pounding. I was against the wall now, unable to move another step. He stopped, toying with me, savoring the cat and mouse game to the fullest. There was a table beside me, a heavy silver candlestick within reach and I seized it. Schroder leaped forward and took hold of my wrist and twisted it savagely sending the candletsick clattering to the floor. He chuckled, twisting my wrist again, and whirled me around, forcing my arm up between my shoulder blades.

  “I’m going to enjoy this,” he crooned.

  He wrenched my arm up higher. The pain was excruciating, sharp, hot stabbing needles. He laughed. His free arm went around my throat, his forearm pressing viciously against it. Darkness and bright orange and blue lights whirled in front of me as my breath was cut off and his arm tightened as if to crush the life out of me. My head spun faster and faster—blinding pain was the only reality, coupled with his sadistic laugh. I prayed for oblivion, for quick release into unconsciousness.

  Schroder loosened his grip on my throat, relaxed it just enough so that I could breathe. The orange and blue lights vanished and my vision was blurred as he forced me along the hall toward the door of my bedroom. Taking his arm from my throat, he shoved the door open, then pressed his palm in the small of my back and with a mighty shove propelled me into the room. I stumbled forward, falling to the floor in a heap of pink satin, hair spilling over my eyes. Jolting pain shot through my body. Schroder stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Striding over to where I lay, he stood over me with legs spread wide, hands resting on his hips.

  My arm felt limp; hot needles still stabbed at my throat, hurting even more as I gasped for breath. My heart was pounding … pounding somewhere else. Was I hallucinating? The noise grew louder until the whole house seemed to reverberate with it. There were hoarse shouts and tromping footsteps and terrible explosions like the one that had sounded just before the footman flew into the air and fell. Gunfire. Shouting. More shouting. Someone was shouting my name. Pounding, louder, louder, shaking the walls.…

  Still dazed, I looked up and saw the glossy boots, the clinging white breeches, the green tunic. I saw the roll of flesh beneath his jaw, saw his lips, his large nose, his eyes, half shrouded now with heavy lids, saw his brow and the fuzz of hair covering his skull, all from a crazy angle, looming there above me. He seemed to rock back and forth, seemed about to topple, but I knew it was my own blurred vision that caused the illusion. The room began to spin slowly, the air filled with a bright, burning haze that shimmered. I tried to sit up, but I hadn’t the strength.

  “You have a balcony, I see,” he remarked. “That’s convenient. It’s perfect.”

  “What—”

  “You’ll try to escape. You’ll fall off the balcony. You’ll break your neck.”

  He chuckled and reached down to take hold of my hair. Grabbing a handful he pulled me to my feet, tugging brutally. I cried out. I couldn’t help it. I felt sure my hair would come out by its roots. Schroder continued to chuckle, releasing my hair, curling an arm around my waist, holding me against him in a loose grip.

  “I’ll break your neck first, before I hurl you over,” he said casually, “just to make certain. I wouldn’t want there to be any slipups.”

  His voice seemed to come from a long way off. He tightened his arm around my waist, crushing me against him. His body was solid muscle. He smelled of sweat and leather and lust. As I tilted my head back, looking up into those glittering gray-blue eyes, he ran the tip of his tongue across his lower lip and lowered his heavy eyelids as he bent over to kiss me. A surge of anger stronger than the pain, stronger than my fear, shot through me. Drawing back, I kicked him and clawed his face. He let out a shout and almost lost his grip on my waist, when I kicked again, aiming for his groin with all the force I could muster.

  Schroder doubled over and fell back. His eyes were glazed. His mouth was wide open. He made horrible gutteral noises. Seizing a vase, I cracked it over his head. He stumbled and almost fell. He reeled and tottered for a moment, and then he gave a mighty bellow and clenched his fists. I saw his arm swing back.… There was an explosion of pain and a burst of bright lights. I fell backwards, landing on the bed with such impact that the springs squealed. My jaw was on fire. My head was whirling. Black wings rushed toward me.

  As I managed to struggle into a sitting position, Schroder started toward the bed. Outside the pounding was louder than ever, thundering, deafening. The door flew open, crashing back against the wall. Two men rushed into the room, one of them in a long black cloak. Schroder turned and bellowed again. He leaped toward the men. The man in the cloak raised a pistol and fired. There was an explosion, an orange streak, a puff of smoke. Schroder’s forehead sprouted a wet red blossom and he crashed to the floor like a felled oak. Getting to my feet, I staggered and almost collapsed again, but Brence gathered me into his arms and held me close.

  “You—” I whispered.

  “I knew what was going to happen. I found out early this morning. I rode all day.”

  “But—”

  “I couldn’t just ride off and leave you here, knowing what was going to happen. It seems I got here just in time.”

  “The soldiers—downstairs—”

  “Your student friends are taking care of them. They were pouring into the house just as I arrived, at least thirty of them.”

  “They—”

  “There’ll be time for talk later!” he said sternly. “Now I’ve got to try and get you out of this bloody country in one piece.”

  Half carrying me, he guided me toward the door. I tottered, still dazed, my jaw still burning. We moved down the hall and to the top of the stairs, and Brence saw that I wouldn’t be able to make it down on my own. Glaring at me with dark, angry eyes, he swung me up into his arms and carried me down through the bedlam of thrashing, slamming bodies. The students had almost overpowered the soldiers, but the struggle was. still fierce. There was blood everywhere, and three students lay in a heap, covered with scarlet banners that streamed and stained the floor.

  As Brence set me down, one of the soldiers broke fre
e and raced toward us with his bayonet raised. Eric tripped him. The soldier fell. Four students jumped on top of him. Wilhelm flung another soldier against the wall, wrestled his rifle away from him and smashed his head with the butt. Hans was merrily kicking a soldier who was already writhing on the floor. As Brence led me toward the doorway, my three gallants formed a guard around us, all three flushed and elated, having the time of their lives.

  A plain closed carriage was waiting, a driver I had never seen perched on the seat in front, reins in hand. Klaus had already stowed my bags inside and stood holding the door open. Brence thrust me inside and climbed in after me. Leaning out the window, I looked at the trio who had led the charge on Chez Elena, brash musketeers without plumes or sabres who grinned broadly, eager to get back to the fray.

  “Will—will you be all right?” I asked shakily.

  “Don’t worry about us!” Wilhelm exclaimed. “We plan to leave Barivna ourselves as soon as we finish up here.”

  “We’re going to Paris!” Hans cried. “We’re going to rent a garret and Eric is going to become a great painter and I’m going to write great epic poems and Wilhelm is going to beg on the streets or pick pockets for a living or—”

  Wilhelm scowled and gave his friend an amiable shove. I signalled them to come closer to the window and then kissed each of them on the cheek. The driver clicked the reins. The students cheered as the carriage began to move down the drive. I looked at Brence and started to say something but couldn’t speak.… Layers of darkness descended, dark gray, gray-black, pitch black … and a strong arm curled around me as I drifted into unconsciousness.

  The carriage was jouncing and people were shouting. I opened my eyes and saw that we were in the middle of town and soldiers were rushing the carriage, but we were still moving. A soldier leaped and caught hold of the window frame and held on. Brence raised his pistol and fired; the soldier fell away and I sank into oblivion again. I woke again later on and realized we were moving up a mountain road and there was only the sound of hoofbeats and whirling wheels and creaking springs. Through the window I saw Barivna in the distance, in the moonlight, several fires burning bright orange, flames licking the sky.

  “We—we made it—” I murmured.

  “Not yet. There’s still danger of pursuit. We have a long way to go before I’ll feel safe.”

  “You came back for me.”

  “Yes, Mary Ellen, I came back.”

  “You love me,” I said groggily.

  “Yes, I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Brence.”

  I smiled and rested against the soft cushions. Glorious waves of happiness swept over me making the pain recede. I loved him and he loved me and the nightmare was over and we were going to be together and happy at last. He loved me. He really loved me. I had been dreadful to him. I had doubted him. I had sent him away, but he had come back, because he loved me, because he couldn’t live without me just as I couldn’t live without him. He had saved my life and for the rest of my life I would be his and he would be mine and nothing would come between us. The carriage rocked and bumped but I was drifting on a lovely smooth cloud, smiling through my exhaustion and sinking into a deep and beautiful slumber.

  XXXIII

  Silvery-white sunlight, spilled over gorgeous countryside. There were trees and rolling green hills with cattle grazing peacefully, the sky a pale, pure blue-white. We had crossed over the mountains. I could see them in the distance, a purple-blue haze. Sitting up, I pulled off the cloak Brence had put around me sometime during the night. The carriage was moving at a smooth, steady pace, no longer rushing furiously. I sighed and shaded my eyes against the sunlight, feeling stiff and sore. My jaw ached terribly but it no longer burned.

  Brence sat across from me, looking remote, his dark eyes expressionless. There were four bags on the seat beside him, only two of them mine.

  “Are you all right?” he asked coldly.

  “I—I think so, a little stiff. I must look dreadful.”

  He made no reply. He gazed out the window, his profile stony.

  “What time is it?”

  “Well after twelve, I should think. There’s an inn a few miles up the road. We’ll stop there.”

  “Last night was—”

  “It’s over now, Mary Ellen. We’re safe. You can forget about it.”

  “I remember—we passed through town. There were soldiers. One of them—”

  “It was touch-and-go for a while, but we made it. Fortunately they were too busy fighting to pay too much attention to a plain carriage. There was no pursuit.”

  “It was a nightmare.”

  “Forget about it,” he said tersely.

  Why was he so cold, so remote, so untouchable? Last night he had said he loved me. I hadn’t dreamed that. Yes, I love you, he had said just before I went to sleep, yet now he acted as though I were his sworn enemy. We were together again at last and the nightmare was over and he had never been so icy and detached.

  “I see your bags,” I said. “You—you’ve given up your post?”

  “I’m no longer with the diplomatic corps,” he said frigidly. “I was sacked. Two days ago the Ambassador called me in to give me the news. He had been waiting for official word to come down. I failed in my mission, you see, when I returned to Sturnburg leaving you in Barivna.”

  “Brence—”

  “My diplomatic career is over. Early yesterday morning, as I was packing, one of the junior aides happened to come in. He mentioned that the military takeover had begun. Another aide had left to warn Karl and try to help him escape. I threw the rest of my things in the bags and hired this carriage. When I explained to the driver what would be required of him, he insisted on a huge fee in advance.”

  “You—”

  “I knew what Schroder would do, that he would go looking for you himself. I got there in time, thank God. I had planned to blast my way in with my pistol, but the students arrived at the same time and I went in with them.”

  “You—you were willing to take the risk.”

  “It was something I had to do.”

  “You do love me.”

  “I told you so that night in the gardens. I said a lot of things that night. All of them were true.”

  “I thought—”

  “I don’t care to discuss it, Mary Ellen.”

  He turned once more to stare out the window. He was angry, rightfully so, and he was still tense after last night’s ordeal. But I felt sure that everything would be all right. Brence loved me. He had been willing to risk his life to rescue me. I had caused him to lose his post, but I would make it up to him somehow. I would give up my career. I would remain at his side, helping him, encouraging him. He would forgive me in time, and we would make a new start, together.

  We rode on in silence, and after a while the carriage stopped in front of a small, pale yellow inn with brown shutters at the windows. Tall shade trees grew on either side, their leafy boughs touching the roof. Geese honked noisily in front of the stables, and a plump black and white cow was grazing near the vegetable garden. Brence opened the carriage door and, climbing out, helped me to alight. Though he was gripping my hand firmly, I stumbled. He frowned and, when I had steadied myself, let go of my hand. He took my bags out of the carriage and silently led me inside the inn.

  The proprietor was fat and jolly and wore a black leather apron to cover his considerable girth. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, and he held a sharp knife. He had obviously been chopping onions—he reeked of them. Brence told him we would need a room, and the proprietor nodded vigorously. When Brence asked him if he could provide lunch, he nodded again, his blue eyes twinkling, his double chin bobbing. Chattering on in German, he darted behind the counter to take down a key. I heard the carriage moving around to the stables as we started upstairs, following the proprietor who continued to talk enthusiastically, though neither of us answered him.

  Leading us down a narrow hall, he opened a door and showed us the
room. Brence nodded tersely and set the bags down. The proprietor handed him the key, beamed happily and hurried back down the hall. We heard his footsteps clomping noisily down the stairs. Brence glanced around at the small, cozy room. A brightly colored patchwork quilt was spread over the golden oak four-poster. A wide mirror hung over the dressing table, and fresh white curtains billowed at the opened window that looked over the cobbled yard in front of the stables. I heard the geese honking, heard our driver talking with one of the stable boys as they fed the horses.

  “This seems to be satisfactory,” Brence said. “I’m going back downstairs. Lunch should be ready soon.”

  “Something with onions, no doubt.”

  Brench looked at me for a moment, hesitating. I had the impression there was something important he wanted to add, something he couldn’t quite bring himself to say. He frowned, his eyes dark and moody, a spray of jet locks tumbling over his brow. I waited for him to speak, meeting his gaze with level eyes. His frown deepened and then, abruptly, he turned and left the room. I shrugged. There would be plenty of time to patch things up later on.

  Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I was aghast. The skirt of my gown was torn and crumpled, the sleeves limp, and the bodice had slipped perilously low. My hair was in shambles, my face wan, a bruise on my jaw. I opened my bag, took out a brush and some theatrical make-up and set them on the dressing table beside the pitcher of water. I scrubbed my face, removed the diamond studded bar from the back of my hair and, sitting down, began to restore my appearance. Twenty minutes later my hair was gleaming, and I had managed to cover the bruise with make-up. I added a touch of pink lip rouge for good measure.

  Adjusting the bodice of my gown, I puffed up the sleeves and was able to smooth out most of the creases in the skirt. As I did so, I thought about Karl and prayed that he had made it to safety. He had gotten a good head start, and there had been no immediate pursuit of his carriage. Hans, Eric and Wilhelm were undoubtedly already on their way out of the country, and Klaus would probably leave, too, taking Minne to the small farming community where his parents still dwelled. My German sojourn was almost over, but for Brence and me there was a new beginning.