Kassandra shivered at his touch, playfully pushing his hand away. "Stefan . . ."
"I know, I know," he said reluctantly. Suddenly he forced her back down upon the mattress and rolled on top of her, supporting his weight on his elbows. He grinned rakishly, entwining his fingers in her fire-gold hair. "But when we are married, my lady, you will not so easily escape my bed."
"I shall hold you to your threat, my lord," Kassandra answered with a lusty gleam in her eye that both astounded and delighted him. Chuckling, Stefan bent his head and kissed her soundly, then rolled away from her to the edge of the bed and swung his long legs to the floor. He stood up, offering her his hand.
"Let us not delay our wedding any further, my lady," he said. "There is the small matter of your father's consent I must address as soon as we get back."
Kassandra blushed hotly, taking his hand. He drew her from the bed and into his arms, embracing her fiercely. "Do you think I have a chance?" he queried lightly, though his expression was serious.
Kassandra pulled away, her gaze meeting his. "My father wishes only for my happiness," she murmured. "He will see that I have found it with you, Stefan."
As if to seal her words, she stood on tiptoe and touched her lips to his in the sweetest kiss he had ever known. It was timeless, lingering, until at last she drew away, smiling up at him. "Then I have nothing to fear," he whispered almost to himself.
Kassandra shook her head with certainty. "Nothing, my lord."
Stefan released her, his broad smile returning to his face as he swept up his breeches from the floor. He put them on, eyeing her roguishly. She was watching him, her gaze one of bold admiration. "Perhaps you might dress, Kassandra, unless you would prefer to ride as you are," he teased. He appraised her heatedly. "Although I, for one, would not mind in the least."
Kassandra blushed anew and scurried over to the chair where she had hung her clothes, her fingers trembling as she snatched up her chemise. She drew it on, aware that he was watching her, and reveling in that knowledge. She dressed hurriedly, though, and was almost ready when he spoke again.
"I'll saddle the horses while you finish," he said, walking up behind her. He nuzzled her neck, his breath a stirring warmth against her nape, and draped his blue cloak about her shoulders. "Wrap yourself in this, my love. I'll not have you catching a chill on the ride home." Then he was gone from her, striding across the planked floor, the door opening and closing behind him.
Minutes later, Kassandra fumbled with the last buttons on her riding coat, her back to the door as she bent and drew on her boots. She heard it creak open, and she straightened, clutching the cloak about her body. "That was quick, Stef—"
A thick cloth pressed roughly against her nose and mouth cut off her words. Her eyes widened in fright, her fingers clawing at the gloved hand that held it, a cloyingly sweet odor swamping her senses. Her vision dimmed and she felt as if she was choking. Then there was only blackness as she slumped unconscious to the floor.
That was the easy part, Frederick thought grimly, pocketing the cloth. He wasted no time as he knelt and lifted her in his arms, hoisting her over his shoulder. He knew he had only minutes before Stefan would return with the horses.
He strode quickly to the door, peering out toward the stable, located some distance away, but thankfully there was no sign of him. With his heart thundering in his chest, Frederick took off at a run to the back of the lodge, where he plunged along the trail leading to the river. He had left his horse tethered there, just in case the opportunity he had been awaiting all afternoon should present itself.
Frederick's mind raced, his chest heaving from exertion as he half ran, half walked along the path. It had been too perfect, he marveled, especially after he had missed two excellent chances earlier that day. When Kassandra had gone for her morning ride, he had not counted on her masterful ability with horses, and he had been hard-pressed to overtake her, let alone keep up with her.
When she had arrived at the lodge, he should have grabbed her before she found Stefan. But their rendezvous at the river had given him the idea for her accidental demise, if he could only abduct her. He had kept himself hidden just outside the lodge for the past few hours, waiting, listening, hoping desperately for the slightest chance he might catch Kassandra alone, even for a few moments. His silent prayer had been answered when Stefan left the lodge for the stable. He had seized the opportunity, and he had proved the victor!
At least so far, Frederick amended darkly. He was no fool. Time was of the essence in this deadly game. He knew that as soon as Stefan discovered she was missing, he would search everywhere, probably even to the river. Which was exactly what Frederick wanted . . .
He shifted Kassandra's weight on his shoulder, grateful that she was so light. He could hear the roar of the rushing water just beyond the wooded hill, and he increased his pace, almost sliding down the trail. Nervous relief filled him as he reached the river, and he made his way quickly to the grassy knoll where Stefan and Kassandra had shared their fleeting moment of happiness, a touching scene that had been most entertaining.
Frederick dropped to his knees and laid Kassandra upon the ground. He studied her for a moment, her beautiful features, her lush breasts outlined beneath the riding coat.
Yes, it would truly be a pity to squander such loveliness, he thought, cold cunning reflected in his gaze. It seemed fate had intervened in his original intent to cast her into the river, where, unconscious, she would quickly drown. While hiding outside the lodge, he had thought of a much better plan to rid Archduchess Sophia of Lady Kassandra Wyndham . . . forever. He could not suppress a laugh. He would not only save his own neck, but reap a profit in gold as well!
From what he knew of her now, she was not only well versed in lovemaking, but charming and witty as well. He remembered their pleasant conversation at Prince Eugene's gala a few months ago, her graceful skill at dancing and flirting, and her winsome smiles. He had almost given away his true nature that night, thinking perhaps she might be enamored of him . . .
A sharp twinge of remorse stabbed at Frederick, but he quickly stifled it. He had no time for regret, nor pity, not when his own life was at stake. At least he was allowing her to live.
Though she might wish she had died, he mused darkly, once she learned she was bound for a harem as a morsel to tempt a jaded Turkish palate. He had in mind exactly which harem, and which man would become her master. As far as Sophia was concerned, Kassandra would be as good as dead. No woman who entered a harem was ever seen or heard from again.
Get on with it, man, Frederick chided himself, ripping the blue woolen cloak from her shoulders. You've still got to make it look like her disappearance was a tragic accident.
He stood up and strode to the water's edge, his keen eyes judging the distance and angle of approach to several trees farther down the shoreline, now knocked over and half-submerged because of the fierce storm of the past week. He cast the cloak into the river, watching as it drifted on the swiftly flowing current. He felt a rush of triumph when it snagged on a branch. Perfect! Then he dug his bootheels into the muddy bank, so it appeared as if someone had slipped into the water at that point.
Frederick grimly turned his back on the river and hurried to Kassandra, hoisting her once again over his shoulder. He walked upstream a short way to where he had tethered his horse, laid her crosswise over the saddle, mounted, and set off at a fast canter through the woods. He veered north, intending to avoid the von Furstenberg estate altogether. He would cut back toward Vienna when he was well past it.
Raw excitement gripped him and he spurred the spirited stallion on with a sharp nudge of his boot. Tomorrow he would at last be able to leave the city and head south along the Danube to Belgrade, Serbia. It was only Sophia's unexpected task that had prevented him from leaving several days sooner. He had finally discovered the date the Imperial army would depart for the summer campaign. Halil Pasha would be most pleased by this information . . . as well as by the seductive g
ift he would present to him.
Now there was nothing left to do but hire a boat and send a message to Archduchess Sophia von Starenberg that Lady Kassandra Wyndham was dead.
***
Stefan led the two horses toward the lodge, amazed at his light step. How different from when he had arrived there earlier in the day.
"Kassandra!" he called, surprised that she wasn't waiting for him at the door. He had been in the stable for a quarter hour, plenty of time for her to finish dressing. He shrugged, raising his voice again. "Kassandra!"
When he received no answer, he tethered Brand and the Arabian mare to a tree stump and strode into the sun-washed interior. It was empty.
Stefan turned on his heel and walked back outside, surveying the clearing surrounding the lodge. Perhaps she was teasing him, hiding behind a tree, as a game . . .
He laughed shortly, his voice tinged with feigned exasperation. "Kassandra, come out. We don't have time for games this afternoon. I want to reach the mansion before dark."
There was no reply, not even a giggle. All was hushed, still, except for the wind rustling through the trees and the haunting call of a mourning dove.
A mourning dove. A shiver ran down his spine, but he quelled it angrily. He had never been one for superstitious nonsense, and he wasn't going to begin now!
It was simple, he reasoned. He had taken longer than she had thought he would, so she had decided to entertain herself with a stroll. The woods were magical at this time of the year, with the sun filtering through the new leaves, dappling the ground in light and shadow, and the scurrying of forest creatures and their young. The forest had intrigued him as a boy, and drew him even now, stirring his senses. Kassandra and he were alike in that regard.
Perhaps she had strolled back toward the river, he considered. It was worth a look.
He mounted Brand and urged him into a trot, skirting the lodge and setting out along the trail. Every few moments he called out her name, but only his voice came back to him, echoing in the silent woods. He searched for the blue cloak he'd lent her; its color would surely stand out amidst the forest hues. But there was no sign of her anywhere.
Stefan's spirits lifted as he neared the river. Something inexplicable told him she was there, waiting for him, perhaps to share a last kiss in memory of the day. She was a romantic at heart—another trait he loved about her.
He pulled up on the reins at the foot of the hill and dismounted, walking the rest of the way to the river. But when he reached his favorite spot, he was disappointed once again. She was nowhere to be seen.
"Kassandra!" he shouted above the rushing torrent, looking first upstream, then the other way. "Kassan—"
His voice froze in his throat, fear cutting through him. Was that his cloak, caught within the branches . . . ? He moved closer to the shoreline to get a better view, his feet slipping in the mud at the water's edge, and he had to catch himself from sliding in. He looked down, his heart lurching sickeningly in his chest. Someone had fallen here, not long ago . . .
Kassandra!
Stefan began to run along the rolling bank, faster and faster, desperation spurring him on. He did not stop until he reached the fallen tree, half of its splintered length stretching out across the water, its branches reaching for the sky like bony fingers. Floating on the surface of the white-flecked currents was his blue cloak, snagged by one of the outermost branches.
Kassandra . . .
"No . . ." he whispered vehemently, as if he could will away the thought burning into his mind. "No!" He wrenched off his boots and dove into the water, frantically searching the muddy river bottom and along the length of the submerged tree . . . nothing. He came up for great, gasping breaths only to dive beneath the sunlit surface again and again, swimming with powerful strokes to the place where he had slipped, diving, searching, diving . . . nothing . . . nothing!
The horrible minutes dragged on, the agonized cries that tore at his throat melding with the ragged breaths for air that rasped in his lungs. At last, spent and exhausted, he dragged himself from the water and fell to his hands and knees, his chest heaving, water running from his clothes and pooling on the ground.
"Brand!" he shouted hoarsely, fighting to catch his breath. "Brand!"
A shrill whinny carried to him on the breeze, then the thunder of hooves sounded upon the grassy bank as the black steed galloped toward him.
"Steady, boy, steady," Stefan gasped, staggering to his feet and leaning on Brand's glistening flank. His hands, scratched and bleeding, seized the reins, and with a groan he hoisted himself into the saddle. He nudged the stallion into a fast trot, veering along the rolling bank.
He would search the entire length of this river, he swore vehemently, and on to where it joined the Danube, if need be. He would find her . . . he would find her! Alive or—
No, he would not think of it! Desperate tears stung his eyes. He tried to choke them back . . . He had never cried before in his life. But they welled up once again, streaking the hardened planes of his face, dimming his vision as his tortured gaze followed the line of the shore . . . the life that had held so much promise suddenly become a living hell.
Chapter 34
Kassandra tossed her head from side to side, lost in the depths of an all-consuming nightmare. There were no shapes, only faceless, creeping shadows. They advanced, looming over her, then receded, disappearing into a smothering gray mass, a dense cloud, settling over her, covering her. She couldn't breathe . . . she couldn't breathe!
Kassandra gasped, her body jerking spasmodically. She dragged open the oppressive weight of her eyelids, only to close them once again. Her lungs drew in great gasps of air, tinged with the fetid odor of rotting fish, damp wood, and mildew. The smell unsettled her empty stomach and she gagged, rolling heavily onto her side, afraid she might choke.
She was ill . . . something was wrong with her, she thought dazedly, trying to lift her head. It fell back to the thin mattress with a thud, the throbbing at her temples heightening into piercing pain. She cried out, her hands cradling her forehead, her moans echoing about the cramped cabin, dark but for the thin slivers of light squeezing through the small slatted window.
A key grated in a lock and the door creaked open, lamplight flooding in from a narrow hallway. Kassandra blinked against the brightness. Two figures were framed in the light, their whispering voices carrying to her from a few feet away.
What were they saying? she wondered crazily, not recognizing their clipped language. Who were they? Where was she? The door slammed shut on her unanswered questions, the key twisted, and footsteps scurried down a hall, fading into silence.
Kassandra rose up on her elbows and lifted her head, tucking her hands beneath her chin. She stared straight in front of her at the window, forcing herself to take slow, even breaths. Gradually the stabbing pain in her head subsided, becoming a dull ache. Her blurred vision began to focus, and the queasy feeling in her stomach settled into a gnawing emptiness. Yet she still felt as if she was rocking up and down, a dizzying motion that occasionally pitched the bed forward, bumping the headboard into the planked wall.
Strange, she mused, the muddled fog clearing from her mind, her thoughts growing sharper. She had felt this motion before, last summer, on the boat that had taken her and her father down the Danube from Ratisbon to Vienna . . .
She started, her eyes widening in horror. Sweet Lord, she was on a boat! She twisted around, her gaze flying about the shadowed cabin. It was very small and plainly furnished with a chair and an armoire upon which was stacked a pile of books. The bed she lay upon was very narrow, the mattress hard and lumpy. The ceiling was low; an unlit oil lamp swung overhead, back and forth, back and forth, further testament that she was aboard a vessel of some kind. But how?
"What is happening?" Kassandra whispered plaintively under her breath. She struggled to sit up, almost falling back upon the mattress as dizziness assailed her. She grabbed on to the headboard until the vertigo passed, her forehead
furrowed in desperate thought, remembering.
She had been waiting for Stefan in the hunting lodge . . . she bent over to pull on her boots . . . she heard the door open . . . the cloth, pressed over her mouth . . . now she was here, on a boat.
Maybe it was all a terrible dream, Kassandra thought numbly, peering out the thin slats of the window. Tears stung her eyes at the wide expanse of glistening water between her and the rolling shoreline, green and thickly wooded.
It wasn't a dream! Panic-stricken, she sprang suddenly from the bed, her legs buckling beneath her. She fell heavily to the floor, expelling her breath in a loud gasp. Stunned, she lay inert, wincing as feeling flowed back into her limbs, pricking her like sharp pins and needles. She began to crawl toward the door, where she grabbed on to the latch and pulled herself to her knees.
"Help! Please, someone help me!" she cried, tears streaming down her flushed face. She rattled the latch up and down, but to no avail. The door was locked. With great effort she rose to her feet, the room spinning. She clung to the door, pounding on it weakly. "Please, let me out! Let me out!"
Loud footsteps sounded, a key was fitted into the lock, then the door was pushed open so abruptly that Kassandra fell back against the armoire. Pain shot through her shoulder, but she ignored it, swiping the tears from her face as she rushed forward, straight into the arms of a tall man standing just inside the threshold.
"Light the lamp, man," Frederick gritted to the scrawny sailor behind him.
Kassandra tensed at the familiar voice, though she did not understand his words, spoken in a language wholly foreign to her. She stared up at him, but in the dark she couldn't see his face. It was only when someone brushed by her and lit the oil lamp that her eyes widened in startled surprise as she recognized the man who held her as Count Frederick Althann.
Wild with relief, she collapsed against his chest. Whatever had brought about this nightmare was now, thankfully, at an end. What a coincidence that Count Frederick should rescue her from this confusion. She embraced him gratefully, her mind racing with questions. Then she shrugged, stifling giddy laughter. What did her questions matter? She was safe!
Stolen Splendor Page 26