Seized by Love

by Susan Johnson

  “Where’s the damn doctor?” Nikki roared as he dug his fingers into Sergei and shook him. “The doctor is here, Lord Prince, but says he can do nothing. The baby is too large. It will not come.”

  Nikki released his hold on Sergei, tossed his gloves and stick aside, and raced up the steps, bursting furiously into Alisa’s bedroom. The drapes were drawn, the room was stifling, gaslights burned low in all the fixtures. Rushing to the bedside, Nikki looked fearfully at Alisa’s still form. Her skin was translucently pale, her fists clung weakly to sheets tied to the bedposts above her head, small beads of sweat lined her upper lip, and damp hair curled around her pallid face.

  “Where’s the damned doctor?” Nikki spat out to Maria, hovering near. Alisa’s eyelids didn’t even flutter at the sound of his voice. Holy Mother, was she dead already? He quickly bent to feel her pulse. It was extremely weak but not irregular.

  “Where’s the doctor?” he repeated in a louder whisper as he shrugged out of his fur coat, suffocating in this hot, close room. He twirled around and searched the darkened room.

  “Here, Lord Prince.” A little man moved forward. Nikki eyed him belligerently.

  “What in hell’s going on?” he growled in a repressed roar.

  The poor doctor wrung his hands in panic. Prince Kuzan’s temper was notorious. This Prince could send him to Siberia within the hour if he so chose. Dare he tell him the truth? Dare he tell him the child was too large and wouldn’t be born? He could cut the woman open and probably save the child, but not all women survived that surgery, and she was very weak already. Without the surgery, both mother and child would die.

  “Well, Doctor?” Nikki asked impatiently as he glared down at the hesitant, uncertain figure.

  The little man decided on the truth. If worse came to worst, he could appeal to Prince Mikhail, who had a reputation for justice.

  “Have you no tongue?” Nikki demanded furiously.

  The doctor gravely told him the truth; at best, he might be able to save the child. He could do no more.

  Nikki, in a blinding rage, picked up the little man bodily and flung him out the door, then he roared for Ivan and all the servants. Within seconds a crowd was assembled around him.

  “I want every midwife in the city here within ten minutes!” he bellowed. “Ivan, check with that incompetent who calls himself a doctor and get names and addresses. Send out the troikas to pick them up. Immediately!” he stormed, and swung back into the bedroom.

  The stable boys set a new record that morning harnessing up the troikas, and as the last buckle was wrenched into place, the drivers lashed the horses and sped off, the sleighs flying over the crisp white snow.

  Within ten minutes the first midwife appeared, and within twenty minutes a score of women were standing in the hallway outside Alisa’s room.

  Nikki, who had been watching Alisa in an agony of despair and fear, returned to the hallway and scrutinized the assembled women. Several he dismissed on the spot as being too dirty and pushed the others into the room to Alisa.

  After examining her, most of the women shook their heads and refused to touch her. They believed she was going to die anyway, and if they assisted, they would be blamed when she died. None of them cared to incur the wrath of Prince Kuzan.

  One woman said very simply, “There’s not much hope, Lord Prince, she’s very weak, the baby is much too large, but I’ll try.”

  His world reeled madly. No hope? Alisa would die? All his wealth and power were helpless. Despair opened like a black chasm. He resolutely shook it off. Nikki released his breath which he’d been unconsciously holding, dismissed the other women with a wave of his hand, and in a voice deep with emotion said, “If you cannot save them both, sacrifice the child; take it out any way you have to; I don’t care, but I will not lose my wife. Do you hear?” he whispered fiercely. “I will not lose my wife!”

  The woman shuddered at the piercing eyes staring at her and couldn’t answer such a statement. Was he mad?

  Alisa lay in a deep, unconscious state from which she would frequently drift up and hear the muted words and quiet sobs of the servants, the whispers and the questioning voices. Time became disjointed, erratic; fragmented vignettes fluctuated madly, images of her and Nikki at Mon Plaisir, mindless longing for peaceful oblivion from the pain, visions of the pine forests and clover fields of her childhood. Take me away, take me back. There must be something more than this wrenching, brutal, unnatural pain—this unbearable agony of labor.

  Why, she moaned, had she ever lain with Nikki in that spring meadow and wanted him to make love to her? She had forgotten how painful, how devastatingly wicked, how agonizing the contractions of labor were. The pain crept over her slowly and then sank in like fangs of a crazed animal, ripping and tearing her apart until she screamed in frenzy. She would cling to the sheets, pulling until her arms ached with the effort, twisting, turning, trying to elude the monstrous, ruthless, unceasing beast.

  Now nothing hurt anymore. She floated powerless in a sequence of dreams and blackness and whispered sobs. She’s dying. The baby won’t come. Dear God, was she dying? Was it she they were whispering about? She wanted to see Nikki and Katelina. I have to explain to Katelina. She’s so young. She won’t understand. She wanted to see Nikki. Nikki! she screamed, Nikki! In her floating world and to those around the bed a pitiful faint whisper spoke—Nikki.

  “I’m here, my love,” he answered brokenly, and she opened her eyes slowly, and in a golden haze of light his swarthy face, those tawny eyes, looked lovingly into hers. Her hand fluttered up to touch him, but she hadn’t the strength to lift it.

  “I love you,” he whispered. She smiled faintly at those words she’d not heard for many months. She tried to say I love you too, but the sound wouldn’t come.

  What were they doing to her body? Don’t touch me, she wanted to say, leave me alone. The blackness enveloped her golden haze and she thought how remarkable that a dead woman can still hurt so.

  The midwife was instructing Nikki quietly. “Press down on her stomach, she has no more strength for contractions. I’ll work my fingers in and try to force the baby’s cranial plates together. If we can just inch the head through, we can pull the baby free.”

  She ruthlessly cut the opening wider. Her sensitive fingers edged into Alisa, probing and pressing, feeling for the bony plates that would compress and ease the size of the skull. For three minutes she worked, sweat dripping from her brow. Nikki did what he was told, exerting pressure on Alisa’s swollen abdomen when commanded, repeating to himself in a hopeless inaudible monotone, Help her. Help her, God. Sweet Jesus and all the Saints, help her.

  At last the fullness of the baby’s head slid through, and a great sigh was heard around the room. Nikki’s bitter despair lifted, and he dared to hope. Very slowly the midwife guided out first one small shoulder, then the second, the long torso emerged, and finally the chubby legs. The baby was a boy; fat, healthy, and now vigorously bawling in a nurse’s arms.

  Nikki scarcely glanced at the child whose birth might have come at too high a price. Alisa’s hands had released their limp grip on the sheets. He looked up at the midwife.

  “Will she live now?” he asked with a look of anguish, desperately afraid of the answer.

  “She’s young, Lord Prince, and if no hemorrhaging begins, she has a chance.”

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For your work today, you shall live in comfort the rest of your life. And if my wife lives, all the generations of your family will never want. I can’t lose her.” Nikki moaned and his great dark head bowed over the bed as he wept unashamedly.

  He kept a vigil through the night, not daring to sleep for fear the faint breathing would stop; offering a thousand penances to God if he would let her live; invoking every charm and superstition and childhood prayer to succor the frail, battered body of his wife.

  In the awful hell of guilt and shame tearing at his brain, one thought reeled over and over, I love her and she cannot die.
And now he knew he had loved her from the first, even while he suppressed and denied the human passion within himself. He’d never intended to love her, had sworn never to love any woman again, didn’t intend for her to fall in love with him. It began as sport, a game to idle the time away, and now he couldn’t help himself. Was it too late now, too late to try to make her happy, to give her the love she deserved?

  He dropped his head into his hands and whispered, “Please God, let her live.…”

  Hours later, in the lightening dawn, Alisa’s eyelids fluttered open and Nikki jumped from his chair. Her eyes moved to the figure bending over her and she saw Nikki through a golden haze.

  “Is the baby born?” she whispered weakly.

  “Yes, love, a boy.” He reached for her limp hand.

  Her eyes sparkled in triumph. “You have your heir.” She smiled faintly.

  At too high a price, Nikki agonized, but smiled in return and simply said softly, “Thank you, love, for a fine son. Is there anything at all you want? Anything in the whole world?”

  Alisa smiled again and whispered faintly, “Will you stay home some nights now?”

  “Every night,” he promised, and thought, just live so I can stay home with you every night. Just live!

  “It was worth it, then …” Her words trailed off as she gave a contented smile and sank back into a deep, untroubled sleep.

  Nikki stayed by her bedside night and day for three days. Her pulse was weak but never failed. He talked briefly to Katelina each morning and then immediately returned to his vigil. He was unkempt and haggard, gaunt, exhausted, but now, on the third day, hopeful. Alisa hadn’t hemorrhaged and he’d been able to feed her some light broth the previous day. He could almost dare be optimistic.

  Nikki had sent for his parents immediately after the birth of his son, and his mother had competently taken charge in the nursery. At first seeing his father, Nikki had begun to apologize, but Prince Mikhail brushed aside his attempts indulgently. “Apologies aren’t necessary, my son. I, too, was young and fiercely independent once. I only hope you can find as much happiness with Alisa as I’ve found with your mother. All the hashish in the world can’t replace the comfort of a woman who loves you,” said the old Prince with a wink. “I think you will not be frequenting the Kirgiz night cafés so often, now, eh, my boy?”

  “No, Father, most assuredly not.” Nikki laughed softly.

  • • •

  Several days later Alisa, feeling quite strong again, was sitting up in the gilded bed, holding her large, healthy son and cooing into the pale blue eyes already full of golden highlights. Nikki came into the room and marveled at the beauty of the scene—Alisa, her rosy complexion restored, playing with his fine, robust son. His child; immortality in his image; his mark left on the world.

  Motioning for the maid to take the baby away, Nikki walked over to Alisa and seated himself on the bed. “Don’t you want to hold your son?” Alisa asked.

  “My dear, I’ve done all the holding of babies I intend to this day. Katelina insisted we take Sasha on our silver platter rides down the stairs, so early this morning we spent most of an hour exhibiting this delightful occupation to the youngest member of our family. I held Sasha in one arm, Katelina sat between my legs and we sailed down the marble stairs amid squeals of excitement from that hellion of a daughter we have.”

  “Good Lord!” Alisa’s eyes opened in alarm. “Sasha’s too young!”

  “Indeed, Madame, I must agree,” Nikki rejoined, eyes twinkling, “for after the third ride, he promptly fell asleep in my arms and missed the next four trips.” His eyes softened. “You look very lovely this morning.”

  “Thank you, and thank you for staying at my bedside for so many days. Rakeli informed me that you were very solicitous,” Alisa said teasingly, feeling giddy, tremulously joyful.

  “Well, I hope, Madame, I know my duty,” Nikki replied in mock dismay. And then he said seriously, “I’d like to talk to you.”

  Alisa’s heart sank. Now that she was out of danger, perhaps he would no longer feel any concern for her. She lay back against her pillows, prepared for the worst. “Yes, Nikki,” she said fearfully.

  “As soon as you are recovered sufficiently, I’ll have you taken out into the country. I have a great desire for my children to be reared away from the dirt and bustle of the city.”

  So that’s how he’s going to manage, Alisa thought bitterly. She remembered his promise to stay home every night with her. He wouldn’t have to break his promise this way. She’d be out of the way and he could come and go as he pleased.

  “I shan’t do it! I won’t stay in the country!” Alisa replied defiantly. Already her mind was racing to find alternatives. Prince Mikhail and Kaisa-leena would understand. Perhaps divorce, freedom for both of them, was the only answer. But now she felt too tired to care. Her defiance slowly died.

  “Perhaps you could be persuaded to stay if I were to accompany you. You see, quite unaccountably, I have developed an overwhelming penchant for country air.”

  Alisa’s tired glance lifted swiftly, glimpsing Nikki’s merry eyes and smile, and suddenly she felt blissfully happy.

  Nikki clasped both her hands in his and, holding them in his sure, strong grip, said gently, as he looked into her dark violet eyes, “And in addition, I’m unfashionably besotted with the woman I married.” Alisa put up her arms in an open, childlike gesture of need. Nikki enfolded her in his arms.

  “We will be happy, you and I. I’ll see to that.”

  “Yes,” Alisa murmured softly as Nikki bent to kiss her tempting lips, “you’ve always been able to see to that.”

  As Nikki lifted his mouth from hers, Alisa softly queried, “Nikki, could I ask something of you?”

  “Of course, love,” he whispered huskily, nibbling at her ear.

  “Would you consider giving up such mistresses as Sophie, who are constantly in company with us? I never know what to say to them and feel so foolish and awkward.” It was half statement, half question.

  He paused for a moment, contemplating a lie, but he couldn’t dissemble after all, and having lived a life renowned for the uniqueness of his depravities, he didn’t want to be forced into a posture he could in no way carry off.

  “I will forswear one day at a time, I promise you that.”

  With a mischievous glance Alisa murmured, “And I, my Prince, can go my own road too, then? It’s the sophisticated fashion. We will both discreetly look away on occasion.”

  Nikki threw back his head and laughed.

  “You damned impertinent minx. You still don’t know your place. Will you never learn submission and duty? Remember, I know how to guard my own. My God, woman.” He grinned. “I suppose we shall bicker and scrap incessantly and be at each other’s throats from morning to night.”

  “I suppose so, my Prince,” Alisa replied, flashing a teasing look up through heavy lashes, “but it does keep your melancholy at bay, and I do so enjoy the making up.”

  Epilogue

  An elegant chapel was constructed at Mon Plaisir, and when Alisa questioned the enterprise, Nikki sheepishly explained that he had promised to erect the church if God spared her life during Sasha’s birth.

  “Good Lord, who will use it except the servants?” she asked, incredulous, but a tiny glow of pleasure was lit somewhere within her heart at the sentiment.

  True. It wouldn’t be used often except by the servants. But occasionally, he knew, he would enter the holy sanctuary alone, and alone give thanks that the woman he adored was still with him—in marriage and in love.

  The Prince did indeed fill his nursery, not by force, as he had once threatened, but rather with the full acquiescence of his affectionate wife, who assured him that all births were not as difficult as Sasha’s. A nursery wing was added by necessity after their third child was born, and Prince Kuzan was often known to remark that he quite heartily approved of the concept of filial piety, and was doing his damnedest to satisfy his father’s desire for
heirs.

  Nikki also admired the old Persian saying: Three things are most pleasing in the eyes of God: to conceive a child, to plant a tree, and to write a book. Someday, he said, he would consider moving on to subjects two and three.

  Nikki appeared in town infrequently, and on those sporadic occasions he was usually accompanied by his family. During these visits he proudly displayed his beautiful and growing children, and the pink marble palace resounded with their noise and activities. His clubs would see him rarely, and to other women he was to all practical purposes lost forever. They would repine and cast soft sighs after the tall, handsome Prince, but he very happily ignored them and found his satisfaction and contentment in the company of his beautiful wife and enchanting children.

  As their firstborn son Sasha grew to manhood, the boy showed a marked affinity to embrace the same dissipated life once enjoyed by his father.

  “Sometimes I think you positively encourage Sasha’s debauchery, condoning any hellish scheme he concocts, overlooking the most blatant escapades,” Alisa would occasionally remark testily to the Prince.

  “Now, dear, let the boy have his head.”

  “Yes, that was always your maxim, you lecher, and look what happens. You know,” she said darkly, “when I discovered the younger children’s governess in bed with Sasha, he was scarce fourteen.”

  “I know, dear,” Nikki soothed placatingly, “but that didn’t happen again. Sasha, no doubt, took your motherly advice to heart.”

  After that indiscretion, Nikki had taken his reckless son aside and warned him about too blatantly offending his mama. “I’ll spare you my advice which I conceive you will in no part accept at this youthful stage, and only recommend, for the sake of my domestic tranquility, my boy, that perhaps the summerhouse on the point by the lake would be more discreet.”

  And so the boy went on, but that’s another story.

  Notes