Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt Read online

  things.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Sera stared at her in surprise.

  “Oh, Sera. At least you could be as honest with me as you

  are with everyone else,” Katherine said softly, fiddling with her

  skirt. Even though only one lamp lit her room, Sera could see

  the self-conscious flush rise to her cheeks. “I am clumsy and

  tongue-tied at a ball, small and plain, and generally as timid as

  a whipped puppy.”

  “But you are beautiful, Katherine.”

  Katherine looked at her very carefully, her eyes full of

  skepticism, then looked away.

  “When you smile, when you forget yourself in another

  person, your eyes shine and your whole face lights up. And I

  am not the only person who believes this to be true.”

  Katherine’s gaze swept to her face.

  “When we arrived in Montanyard, Andre Lironsky rode

  beside me, watching you the whole time. He looked at you as

  though you were the most important thing in the whole world.

  He was like a man caught forever in a snare of dreams.”

  “Andre. You’re telling me that Andre cares for me?”

  Katherine’s face, suffused with joy, held a blazing beauty that

  brought the sting of tears to Sera’s eyes.

  “No. I’m saying he had the look of a man in love,” said

  Sera softly.

  Katherine hid her face in her hands for a long moment.

  When she raised her eyes to Sera again, they were luminous in

  the lamplight.

  “I’m so very glad of it, and so sorry, as well. I have loved

  him all my life. He has a carefree, great heart, and he always

  makes me feel worthy and good. But to have him suffer even a

  little as I do. This I cannot bear.”

  “Why should either of you be unhappy a moment longer?

  He is a nobleman and a councilor to your brother. Katherine, I

  was taught about many of the Outlander customs. Surely, there

  have been love matches between royalty and the aristocracy

  before in your country.”

  Katherine nodded. “At times, yes. Our father and mother

  had such a marriage. I am certain that is why Papa was so cold

  and silent for all those years after her death. But when Laurentia

  is in need of alliances, marriages are the manner in which we

  form them. Now is such a time.”

  “Because of this Napoleon Bonaparte? All of Europe is

  battling this man.”

  “And he is winning,” said Katherine.

  “He is not always the victor. The island nation still fights

  him. I have learned about Trafalgar, and the war in Spain, too.”

  “Britain is far away. Nicholas sends representatives to

  persuade the prince regent to come to our aid if Napoleon attacks

  us. But the British are not very interested in a small country so

  close to the Russian border. Napoleon has hundreds of thousands

  of men, Sera. How are we to stand against him?

  “We must align ourselves with our neighbors and pray that

  Great Britain will aid us eventually. That is why I’ll never be

  able to wed Andre, no matter how much I love him.

  “Still,” Katherine smiled and squeezed Sera’s hand. “It’s a

  blessing to know that he cares for me. And a joy to have a friend

  who will tell me so.”

  After Katherine left her, Sera went to Wind Rider’s stall.

  She curried him to a bright sheen and filled his bin with grain,

  deep in her own thoughts.

  When Grandfather had shown her the palace at Montanyard

  through the scrying glass, Sera had not guessed that the proud,

  bejeweled ladies and gentlemen dancing at the winter balls might

  be hiding an inner grief. That is just what Katherine would be

  doing when she married a man she could never love, and loved

  a man she could never marry.

  This world was too confusing and sorrow-laden. There were

  so many terrible tragedies in nature—death, famine, and flood.

  Why did people insist upon making the rest of life so difficult?

  “Sera!” Young Ned, the groom, broke into her reverie.

  “Master Raymond says come to him, please, and help him

  poultice a horse’s hoof. He says you are the best at healing he’s

  ever seen.”

  Sera paled. If Master Raymond had noticed, soon others

  would, too, and they would begin to suspect. But what else could

  she do when she saw a horse in pain and had the means to take

  it away? Silently, she followed Ned.

  In the brightly lit aisle way, the stable master, a wiry man

  of middle age, stood next to the afflicted horse, one arm draped

  casually over the big bay’s back. Sera recognized Frederick,

  one of the ostlers who traveled between Montanyard and the

  border towns to the east, leaning against an oak wall and chewing

  upon a long stem of grass.

  “There you are, my girl. I’ve got him soaked and the poultice

  made up. If Frederick and I hold his leg up, you’ll have an easy

  time of it pasting that slop into the hoof.”

  One of the grooms held up a lantern as Sera bent over the

  horse’s leg, feeling all around the hoof, homing in on the pain.

  There, to the right of the frog, she sensed the thick buildup of

  blood beneath horn, the throbbing of pressure unable to release

  itself. Placing her palm over the spot, she shut her eyes and

  willed the tingling warmth to flow from deep inside her, into

  and through the hoof. The blood beneath the hoof grew liquid

  and flowed back into the capillaries. The horse relaxed, his

  muzzle resting against her shoulder.

  Frederick grunted as the big warm blood leaned heavy on

  his arm. “He got the bruise right over the mountain, near Selonia.

  I swear, that road gets worse and worse. The only part that’s

  decent is the stretch right out of the city, beyond the palace

  woods. Some`un might have a word with the king and the

  council about the waste of good horse flesh unless that road

  gets repaired.”

  As she poulticed the horse, Sera hid her smile and let the

  ostler’s words roll over her. Frederick was a complainer, but

  she liked him. As the grooms often said, he could talk to a post

  for hours. When he had finished with the latest list of grievances,

  he would doubtless begin to tell them all the news from the

  border.

  “The nobs, now—they’ll be worrit about the same thing

  when they bring those fancy carriage horses back over the

  mountain for the Season.”

  “When do they return?” Sera asked.

  “Soon enough,” said Frederick with a snort. “No doubt one

  of `em’ll be sportin’ a pretty fancy ruby. Eh, girl! Watch that

  poultice lands on the hoof, and not on me back. Now what you

  jerkin’ so hard for?”

  “I’m sorry,” Sera said, beginning the bandaging. “I’ll wash

  the shirt, Frederick. I wouldn’t want to make more work for

  you.”

  “Hmph. That’s all right, Sera.” Frederick stood and

  stretched his back for a moment, leaving Master Raymond to

  hold the horse’s hoof.

  “As I was sayin’,” he went on after he bent again to the

  horse, a
nd Sera finished the wrapping. “The whole town’s talkin’

  about this ruby. Never seen one so big, they say. A footman for

  Count Vasily comes to the inn where I’m stayin’ fer a package,

  and he says he’s seen it. Some merchant, a fancy, dark fella

  with a thick mustache, brought it to the estate. He was so

  important that he traveled in a fine coach with ten outriders—

  all armed to the teeth.”

  All the grooms had gathered around Frederick and were

  listening intently to the story. Sera straightened. She put her

  hand over her heart to stop its racing.

  “So the merchant brings in this big silver case with him,

  and he opens it. Inside there’s a black velvet cloth and a pouch

  that he opens. He spreads the cloth and shakes out the pouch,

  and…”

  As Frederick drew out the story, Sera fought a terrible urge

  to push him on.

  “…huge, beautiful gems fall out of the pouch and lie there,

  twinkling up at Count Vasily.” said Frederick. “And all of `em

  perfect.”

  “Own up, Frederick,” said the stable master. “No merchant

  has jewels that size. It’s all a big tale, and the footman ought to

  know better.”

  “That en’t the worst of it,” said Frederick. “He’s got this

  special pouch, the merchant has. An’ when he opens this ’un,

  he draws out a ruby, big as a robin’s egg, an’ every way he

  moves it, it catches the light an’ throws off fire sparkles like

  nobody’s ever seen before.”

  “Horse manure!” Master Raymond shook his head. “Never

  happened, Frederick.”

  “They all believe it in Selonia.” Frederick grew very red in

  the face. “The merchant’s stayin’ at a fancy inn there, with his

  hired guard.”

  “Tell us another, Frederick,” a groom said while the others

  nodded. “True or false, they be good stories, eh?”

  As Frederick, mollified, began another tale, Sera slipped

  from the gathering and made her way to her chamber. As soon

  as the door shut behind her, she slumped against it and took a

  deep, calming breath.

  The merchant with the jewels fit the description of the thief.

  He was in Selonia with the Heart of Fire. And the Selonia road

  was just beyond the palace woods. At first light tomorrow, she

  must be gone from this place.

  Restlessly, she paced the tiny room, trying to ignore the

  dull ache that seeped through her. She wanted to go home, she

  reminded herself. She needed to stop the portals between the

  two worlds from slamming shut. And she needed to feel the

  warmth of the Hill sun on her again, along with her people’s

  loving acceptance. But she felt something tugging at her,

  wanting her here in this place.

  She ran down the stairs and into the night. Flinging herself

  against a fence in a practice ring, she stared at the stars, shining

  so brightly, showing her the way home.

  She could make it back. She could be home in only a few—

  An arm snaked out about her waist, lifting her from the

  ground and pulling her back against a solid, very large male

  body.

  “Dreamin’ of the king, now, are you?” Dawson’s hateful

  voice, hot in her ear, the stench of liquor heavy on his breath.

  “Was you out whorin’ with him in the park today? I’ve never

  had a piece the king’s had before. Should prove interestin’, no?”

  “Let me go!” She struggled, shoving with her elbows, her

  fists, but he had her from behind, and he used his weight and

  his strength to tow her backwards into the brush just beyond

  the stable. His gloved hand clamped over her mouth, cutting

  off the very air until she thought she’d faint.

  He pulled her into a copse of trees and flung her to the

  ground. She flipped, sucked in her breath, and raised her voice

  in a piercing scream. With a savage oath, he was on her, covering

  her body. He stifled her scream with his mouth, his tongue

  shoving between her lips. His beefy grip on her throat bruised

  and choked her. Her lungs strained, burning for air. She bit down,

  hard, and he hauled back, slapping her face with such brute

  force that her head spun. She tasted blood. But her legs were

  free for a moment. She concentrated with all the force of her

  mind, found his groin and shoved her knee upward with all her

  strength. He screamed in agony. Dawson still had his hand on

  her throat, and it closed tighter, cutting the air completely from

  her lungs. Black dots swam in front of her eyes.

  “You bastard!” Nicholas Rostov’s voice growled,

  somewhere close.

  Suddenly, Dawson’s hand wrenched free of her throat and

  she gasped, wheezing. Nicholas Rostov stood above her, his

  fists curled about Dawson’s collar as he flung the man about to

  face him.

  “Stinking, perverted bastard.”

  Sera shivered at the deadly calm in Nicholas Rostov’s voice.

  The full moon came out from behind a cloud. In its light, she

  saw how Dawson’s eyes went wide with fear. His head moved

  from side to side like a cornered boar looking for freedom. Then

  he must have realized that the clearing was empty of witnesses,

  for he slowly raised his fists, circling Nicholas Rostov.

  Nicholas Rostov turned to follow Dawson’s movements,

  but he looked lazy, almost bored—and beneath that mien,

  implacable. She had forgotten how large he was. His shadow

  loomed over Dawson. The king stood stripped of all gentleness,

  all civilization. Only the elemental remained, and that was brutal.

  Animal. Deadly.

  Nicholas Rostov lunged forward so quickly, Sera wasn’t

  certain she had seen the movement. He grabbed Dawson by the

  throat—the throat! The man stumbled, gasping for air.

  “You think to brutalize her? And that none will say you

  nay?” Nicholas Rostov’s voice was whisper soft. A chill ran up

  Sera’s neck. The king looked ready to kill.

  Dawson whimpered. “It wasn’t what it seemed. She wanted

  me bad. She’s been trying to get me alone for days. Y’er a man.

  You know how it is with these women. Ride like men, act like

  ’em. She likes it rough. Women like her—they’re askin’ for it.”

  Nicholas Rostov smiled, a wolf’s baring of teeth. He

  lowered his hand from Dawson’s throat. “You’ve given me all I

  needed to know,” he said softly. “Defend yourself.”

  Dawson put up his hands and swung. Nicholas Rostov

  deflected his fist as though it were as light as a butterfly. His

  right fist crashed into Dawson’s jaw. Sera cringed at the

  crunching sound. Dawson spat blood and broken teeth and

  slowly straightened. He raised his fist again and swung.

  The king moved left, lightning swift. The blow Dawson

  aimed at his jaw hit nothing but air. Dawson toppled forward,

  righting himself just in time to catch a slamming blow to his

  stomach. He doubled, racing sideways like a crab, but Nicholas

  Rostov appeared in front of him, lifting him with one arm. As

  Dawson struggled to get away from tha
t grip of iron, the king

  dropped him back to his feet and hammered him on the face

  and on the belly, again and again. His breath came hard, but

  even. He could go on all day that way, Sera realized. Until the

  man was a bloody piece of meat lying dead on the forest floor.

  “Stop! Oh, dear gods, stop.” She couldn’t keep the sob

  from her voice.

  Other voices murmured in the dark night. Sera turned her

  head and realized they were not alone. Master Raymond,

  Frederick, and all the grooms stood in a semicircle around them.

  Some held lanterns, bringing more light to the clearing. They

  stared with startled, horrified faces at Dawson, now lying in a

  battered heap at Nicholas Rostov’s feet.

  “This is how you protect a lady?” The king’s voice cut

  through each man. Sera could see that they all shook at his

  words.

  Sergeant Bellows stepped forward out of the shadows.

  Someone must have run for him soon after the king appeared.

  “Escort this offal to the prison for a month of confinement,”

  Nicholas Rostov told him. “Afterward, we’ll decide what to do

  about him.”

  “Very good, Sire,” said Sergeant Bellows, and Dawson was

  led away, still whimpering.

  The grooms, speechless, bowed low and disappeared into

  the darkness beyond the lantern light. Nicholas Rostov stood,

  fists clenched, jaw rigid. Sera rubbed her arms, trying to relieve

  their shaking.

  “Why didn’t you stop?” she said in a voice that croaked

  and saw the shudder that ripped through Nicholas’s tall frame

  at the sound.

  She took a breath and tried to clear her throat, but the

  hoarseness stayed with her. “To do violence like this will only

  spawn more violence,” she said to him. “Let him go after a few

  days. Perhaps he will learn from it. And he did me no real harm.”

  Nicholas turned to her, his eyes radiating his outrage. Very

  lightly, he stroked her throat, and she flinched even at his careful

  touch. He took her face in his hands, lifting it so he could see

  her. He looked closely at her lip and pulled his handkerchief

  from his sleeve, gently dabbing at it. Then he held it before her

  face. The darkness of blood stained the white linen.

  “You call this no real harm?” he asked her. “What would

  you have me do? Stand by and watch him rape you, asking,