Seized by Love

by Susan Johnson

  When Yukko appeared with the brandy, he attempted to raise a question about Alisa, but Nikki was only able to conceive her disappearance in terms of deceit. He condemned her duplicity, censuring, damning her provocative sensuousness, castigating himself for the thousandth time for his childish credulity. Cunt did that to him. He forgot all else.

  “Nikki, what of Katelina? Alisa would never leave—” Yukko braved his master’s wrath.

  “Silence!” Nikki bellowed, and put the bottle to his lips, draining a third of its contents in one huge swallow. He looked up with a deadly glare and said, “Are you championing that bitch?” He lapsed into Finnish. “I don’t want to hear that trollop’s name again! Do you hear? Do you hear?” Nikki snarled. “Now go. Leave me in peace. Bah! Women. Who needs them!”

  Yukko lifted his eyebrows in resigned disbelief at the last statement. If there was ever a man who couldn’t do without women, it was his master.

  “Very well, Nikki,” he sighed as he watched his master grasp the bottle again and pour down another long draft. Leaving the study, Yukko resolved to look for Alisa himself. She wouldn’t run off now, when she was carrying Nikki’s child. Everyone below stairs knew that. But when Nikki’s temper was up, he didn’t listen to reason.

  It took Yukko no more than twenty minutes to find why Alisa had disappeared. Racing back to the house, he found Nikki slumped in his chair, his face an unreadable mask. Having finished the first bottle of brandy, Nikki was approaching the mood when all the world was of no consequence.

  Yukko jerked the second bottle of brandy from Nikki’s sullen grasp and said, “Alisa’s been abducted. Three men on horseback took her from the east shore of the lake about three quarters of a mile down the beach.”

  Approximately three seconds elapsed before the news penetrated Nikki’s senses. Then he shot to his feet, clapped a strong hand on Yukko’s shoulder, and tersely questioned, “Abducted? You’re sure?” he asked sharply. “She didn’t run away? You’re sure?” His eyes were eager.

  “I’m sure, Nikki,” Yukko answered positively.

  “Thank you.” Nikki’s eyes lit with a hungry hope.

  Yukko turned away in embarrassment from his proud young master. The Finnish brotherhood of trackers and woodsmen were by nature and training taciturn, proud, laconic of speech, and disinclined to show emotion. Nikki for a brief moment had exposed his vulnerability and Yukko, with a delicate courtesy, chose to avoid the sight.

  When Yukko looked next, Nikki was out the door, dashing down the outside steps, already halfway down the path to the lakeshore. Yukko and Arni hurried to catch up with him. The three men ran down the soft sand, darkening now in the swiftly growing twilight, following Alisa’s small footprints.

  An awful obscenity exploded from Nikki when they reached the additional tracks around the large lakeside boulder where Alisa’s footprints abruptly terminated.

  “Are you positive there’s three, Yukko?” Nikki asked curtly.

  “Yes, three,” Yukko replied decisively as he knelt to scrutinize the prints more carefully. “Two big men, one average size.”

  Rising, Yukko followed the trail into the woods to the place the horses had been tethered.

  “They’re carrying Mrs. Forseus,” Yukko said, glancing compassionately at Nikki striding beside him. Yukko had been with Nikki ever since he was a small boy given as a serf-companion to the young master. He knew all his moods, his pleasures, his idiosyncrasies, so he’d watched with almost unbelieving amazement as Nikki had altered his life for this young woman. Extending a sympathetic hand, he touched Nikki’s shoulder.

  “We’ll catch up with them, Nikki,” he solemnly promised. “They can’t have more than a four-hour start on us and won’t be able to travel as rapidly with Mrs. Forseus. She can’t sustain a headlong pace.”

  Nikki cast a swift glance around the small clearing that had sheltered the horses, shutting his eyes briefly in despair. There was no doubt who’d abducted Alisa, and the knowledge of Forseus’s cruel sadism shook his composure. Resolutely dismissing the awful visions, he started back to the house, running full out, his long legs outdistancing both Arni and Yukko. Dashing into the stables, he ordered the grooms to saddle six horses, then he swiftly returned to the house and explained to a fearful Maria what had transpired. He warned her not to alarm Katelina.

  “We should be back in two days. Tell Katelina anything, anything at all to pacify her until we return.”

  He strode into his study, lifted down an ivory-stocked Winchester model 1866, lever-action carbine, the best in the world, purchased in Paris, as well as a serviceable Belgian Colt Navy Model Revolver, crammed his hunting jacket pockets full of shells, and shouted for the cook as he ran back outside to the stables.

  The horses were almost ready; the cook breathlessly appeared and Nikki ordered food to be packed for three days’ travel.

  “You’ve five minutes to prepare it before we leave,” he snapped. The cook scurried back to the house, crying for the kitchen maids.

  “Empty the stables,” Nikki commanded sharply. “I want every horse with us. Two grooms will be needed to return the fatigued animals. Vite! Vite!” He snapped his fingers.

  Arni and Yukko were checking their harness, the mounts dancing and sidling in the nervous activity of the stable yard. Horse after horse was led out and strung together with long braided leads.

  Nikki slammed the rifle and revolver into his saddle holsters, took one look around to determine everyone’s readiness, and flung himself up into the saddle. Koli pawed in sensitive anticipation, eager to be off. The cook and her helpers came flying out from the kitchen, carrying rucksacks that were hastily fastened to the saddles.

  Within seconds the party thundered out of the stable yard, Nikki setting a dangerous pace in the twilight shadows.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE CHASE

  The horror of some injury befalling Alisa kept running through Nikki’s distraught mind as he leaned into the wind. If Forseus had harmed Alisa or his child in any way, he would see him burn in hell before another day passed, Nikki vowed as fear for Alisa’s safety rode with him. He knew Forseus’s mind wasn’t normal. He derived pleasure from subjecting Alisa to indecent aberrations, from hurting her. God, what if he killed her, what if she were dead already? His pulse rate soared while his heart plummeted. A suffocating despair gripped him. Nikki dug in his spurs, furiously pushing the horses, forcing them unmercifully until they were unable to go on, their mouths foaming, their coats glistening with sweat. Without pausing for more than three minutes, the beaten horses were unsaddled and left with a groom, the tack transferred to fresh animals, and Nikki, remounted, was three hundred yards ahead, whipping his new mount to pick up the pace.

  The damn fool will kill all his horses, Yukko muttered as he threw himself onto his vigorous new mount and put spur to horseflesh. Thousands of roubles of prime bloodstock were being driven into the ground.

  The largest horses were needed to support Nikki’s weight and they, in their brute strength, had a stamina and endurance beyond an average horse’s powers. Nikki was well ahead, picking up and following a glaringly obvious trail. Forseus was traveling in headlong flight; no care was taken to cover his escape. He was either confident no one could overtake them or too frightened to take the time to be cautious. It didn’t matter. Either way, he’d die, and soon, Nikki promised himself.

  They watched for signs of change or separation.

  One horse had faltered—a light track—the horse carrying Alisa. She must have been remounted, for a different animal was now supporting her slight weight. They were gaining on the fugitives. At the wicked, reckless speed Nikki was urging, it was just a matter of time. Nikki’s party were all mounted on Stryelet horses now, which had been left for last, having the stamina to cover long distances without flagging. They counted on the fact that Forseus would have to stop for food and rest, however briefly, and Nikki would gain valuable time, for no one in pursuit remotely considered rest. Nikki
wouldn’t stop until Alisa was safely with him once more, or—God, no, he didn’t dare think.

  He dug the bloody rowels into the horse’s ribs.

  By four o’clock in the morning, waves of exhaustion were sweeping over Nikki. He hung on to wakefulness with stubborn determination. He mustn’t close his eyes. Darkness pulsed around him, the rhythm of the horse was soothing. Had he dozed momentarily? With effort he levered his eyelids open. It wouldn’t be long now. He had to remain awake. They flew southward in the velvety night, the blackness of the forest pines flashing by.

  As the sky lightened, Nikki knew that Forseus couldn’t be far ahead. The fugitives didn’t have the advantage of fresh horses, and their mounts had to be exhausted, maintaining no more than a slow trot.

  Nikki and his trackers came up on the encampment in the gray mists of early dawn. Frantically his eyes searched the glen for Alisa, for some sign of her. Finally his glance caught a glimpse of her dress lying beneath a rock outcropping, and his heart almost stopped beating. Was he too late? Had Forseus beaten her beyond endurance? Horrible visions of her lying in a pool of blood, losing her baby from the terror and brutality of her abduction, flashed through his mind as he leapt from his horse and bent to retrieve her torn gown. He barely heard the voices of Arni and Yukko threatening Forseus and his men into submission as he prowled from place to place, looking for Alisa.

  “Alisa,” he called, beset with alarm, “Alisa …” panic tightened his stomach; there was no sign of her anywhere. He heard a rustling in the underbrush and turned, thinking to tell Yukko to help him in his terrible search. And then he saw her.

  She was bound and gagged, her eyes wide with terror, her chemise her only covering.

  “Alisa,” he cried, relief flooding his brain. Racing to her, he quickly untied her and pulled her, sobbing, into his arms.

  “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.

  She nodded speechlessly against his chest.

  “Did he … the babe … are you …” He couldn’t say the words, but he had to know.

  “There wasn’t time,” she gasped. “Thank God, there wasn’t time.”

  “Your dress is torn as if … I found part of it.”

  “He ordered me to undress in front of him. When I refused, he tore my clothes from me and then he tied and gagged me.” The words rushed from her as if to exorcise the horrible memory. “He sat drinking, watching me, as if planning his next assault. Then I think the journey and drink together proved too much for him and he fell asleep.” She closed her eyes against the horror of her memories.

  Nikki kissed her. “It’s over,” he murmured. “I’m here. You’re safe.…” And swiftly shrugging out of his leather jacket, he covered her trembling shoulders. “Wait here,” he whispered, “I’ll be with you soon.” He didn’t want her to witness his vengeance on Forseus. She’d have nightmares enough.

  Following the voices of his faithful servants, he came to a camp clearing where three men stood under the guns of Arni and Yukko. Nikki immediately recognized the evil countenance of Forseus.

  He could think of nothing now but killing the man who had stolen his mistress. In a low, savage voice Nikki said, “Prepare to meet your maker, Forseus.”

  Forseus stared at Nikki with a bestial ferocity, his eyes flecked with insanity, and when he spoke his words were uttered with the finality of the deranged. “The Jezebel deserves to die for her sins,” he intoned, the fire of a zealot burning in his eyes.

  Snatching his pukku from its sheath, Nikki leapt at Forseus, driving him helplessly down on his back, forcing his advantage of size and strength ruthlessly. Wild with loathing, Nikki’s eyes raged with venom. The point of his hunting knife flashed in the air.

  Instantly springing into action, Yukko stayed Nikki’s knife hand, talking rapidly while he held back the shuddering strength. But his master was too strong. Nikki shook him off and lunged for Forseus, who had risen to his feet. As he was about to strike a murderous blow, Alisa ran forward, Nikki’s jacket clutched tightly to her, her eyes alarmed.

  “No! stop!” she cried, “please, I don’t want that man’s blood on my conscience. Please, Nikki!”

  It was the only voice that could have stayed Nikki’s hand, and even then he hesitated before pulling back from Forseus’s chest. He gazed up at Alisa, indecision in his glance, and then he rose abruptly, releasing the man he’d held helpless beneath him. Pointing his knife at the man’s loins, he said, “I’ll not kill you, but if I should see your face again, you’ll not survive.”

  With the fanaticism of insanity, sustained by an aberration he called religion, Forseus screamed, “God will punish you for your sins!”

  “Will he indeed?” said Nikki icily. He picked up Alisa and mounted his horse. Then, wheeling his mount, he rode out of the clearing, followed by Arni and Yukko.

  They traveled home slowly, Nikki holding Alisa closely to him, both filled with an enormous sense of gratitude and relief, their essential spirits at peace. The miles passed in a silence of contented exhaustion. Much later, Nikki looked down on the red-gold curls, the delicate face dozing lightly on his chest, and said softly, “I love you,” very simply and without emphasis, the raw terror of almost having lost Alisa still brutally fresh in his mind.

  Through the mists of a light half-sleep Alisa responded faintly to that staggering statement with a small, satisfied smile.

  Nikki placed a gentle kiss on her tousled curls.

  They were going home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE HALCYON DAYS

  The first evening back at Mon Plaisir, Nikki and Alisa retired contentedly to their bedchamber after putting the lovable Katelina to bed. Nikki had ordered a sumptuous dinner to be served to them to celebrate Alisa’s homecoming. Numerous sterling candlesticks illumined the small table à deux, lending a lyrical poetic brilliance to the scene.

  Arranged before them in precise rows on Lanerschy decorated china plates were unbelievable quantities of succulent, lightly scraped asparagus. Instructions as to their preparation had been stipulated: no more than seven minutes of the plunged stems in boiling water or heads will roll, Nikki had teasingly commanded of his beaming cook.

  Finger bowls were laid out, and a large sauceboat of melted butter rested between the two services. Nikki silently reached across the small table with his long arms, rolled up the sleeves of Alisa’s dressing gown, did the same to his linen shirt-sleeves, and admonished her in a thoroughly relaxed drawl as he reached for his first spear, to please forget etiquette and enjoy the pleasure of the delicious vegetable.

  Alisa hesitated momentarily as she contemplated launching into the plate full of asparagus as Nikki was doing. As she paused, one hand daintily raised above the plate, Nikki muttered, typically heedless of decorum, “Yes, I know asparagus is a great stumbling block in a refined ladies repertoire,” he said, smiling, “but, à propos shoddy table manners, I must confess, they would never cause me to reject such a charming companion.” Gazing up at the most audacious man in the Empire, Alisa ironically murmured, “How reassuring. I need not pack then, should I dribble butter down my chin.”

  “Dribble it anywhere you like, darling.” Nikki’s voice held a velvety undertone.

  “I do adore the libertine in you,” Alisa acknowledged with a lazy smile, reaching for a spear.

  “I noticed … once or twice that you did.” Nikki’s grin was wolfish.

  Alisa, already consuming her first tender spear, smiled and said full-mouthed and muffled, “Eat now, darling. You’ll need your strength.”

  This harmonious, genial companionship continued through the entire four courses of superbly prepared food, and Nikki, in a gentlemanly fashion, forwent the lonely port and cigars and directed his attention to the lady’s entertainment.

  And later that evening, as they sat by the fire, he pulled her to him, looked deep into her eyes, and said again, “I love you.”

  Alisa gazed up at him in tearful disbelief. “I thought it was a dream.
But you did say those words before, when we were coming home.”

  “I almost lost you,” he quietly said.

  “I’ve loved you from the first,” Alisa whispered.

  “It’s a word I’ve avoided—til now.”

  “But—I’m so lovable,” she teased.

  He smiled down at her, feeling strangely blessed, an uncommon sensation for a man of his repute. “Yes,” he said, and then his voice turned husky. “I’m a lucky man.”

  In the following days, these lovers, so similar in their volatile temperaments and yet so dissimilar in the outward appearances of their past lives, settled into an intimate companionship. They slept and ate and laughed and talked and agreed. They entertained Katelina and read together and walked the estate hand in hand. The rhythm of their days was serene and languorous; the rhythm of their nights passionate and intense. They lived in a cocoon of love, preoccupied with their own concerns, oblivious of the outside world.

  The summer nights were very short now, and many evenings after a sauna they’d sit on the porch of the bathhouse, perched over the shore of the lake, and watch the pale iridescent colors of the setting sun far into the evening hours. Even the land of the midnight sun seemed to be presenting an extravagant, sumptuous backdrop to these glorious, halcyon days. Often on these evenings, when it was warm and still and heavy with the scent of grasses and clover, they would sing together, all the old Finnish folksongs. Nikki’s bass and Alisa’s soft soprano in concert with Katelina’s lilting, high-pitched voice blended in pleasant harmony.

  Their relationship, at one time so turbulent and violent, was in these days without flaw. Late one evening, after putting Katelina to bed, Nikki and Alisa were sitting in the library; Nikki was drinking his way to sleep as was his custom, but slowly now and with none of the reckless intemperance of the past. The Prince was happy, not the usual frenzied exhilaration that had often passed for enjoyment or the satisfied lust that offered a certain consolation, but truly a deep, contented happiness. He watched Alisa from under lowered lashes as she sat across the Turkish carpet on a small settee, engrossed in Winckelmann’s Excavations at Pompeii. Her peaceful beauty reached out and struck him afresh. She was his, proud now to be his, and she was to have his child. A strange sense of fulfillment soothed his mind. He actually looked forward to the event. He wasn’t just happy because she was happy, but happy within himself.