Love Storm (29 page)

"No?" Alex exclaimed in mock indignation. "You dare to say no? I'll tickle you into submission," which course of action he immediately pursued.

"Stop, stop," Zena squeaked and giggled. "Stop. I'll pay. I'll pay."

I knew you'd eventually see the error of your ways," Alex grinned engagingly. "For your forfeit, my prisoner," he mocked regally, "you must name your baby after me."

"Sasha," Zena wailed. "Not Alexander Alexandraevich. It's too long."

"No, not Alexander, Apollo—for my great beauty." He gave her an innocent smile.

"Such modesty," Zena chided.

"Don't blame me," Alex abjured laughingly, "blame my mother. She always told me I was beautiful."

"And you believed her," Zena jibed.

"Well, a few other ladies have, on occasion, agreed with my mother's assessment," he drawled, a warm golden glow flashing in his mocking eyes. "The selfsame aristocratic ladies, alas." His eyelids drooped in feigned apology.

Blue eyes deepened into turbulent violet sparks of vexation. Only lightning-fast reflexes saved Alex as he snapped back out of range of one very dangerous knee.

Leaning back on his haunches at the end of the bed, he laughed joyfully. "It's a frightful
cliché,
but has anyone ever told you you're beautiful when you're angry? Seriously, dear, I surrender," he offered gallantly. "Forgive the teasing. Name the child anything you wish, of course. You are, sweet pet, the joy of my life."

Zena capitulated to the blissful delight of such a charming avowal. She gave a quiet sigh as she looked at him. He was so sweet, so beautiful, so intensely alive. "I love you, Sasha," she whispered, holding out her arms.

He had never been subjected to such an overwhelming look of adoring love, and it made him uncomfortable. "And I am going to keep you always," Alex replied lightly and evasively as he swept her into his arms.

One morning several days later Alex, Zena, and Bobby were enjoying breakfast on the terrace. The view of the mountains was spectacular from their vantage point, and another beautiful day seemed promised as their second week at the villa drew to a close.

Zena was applying plum jam to Bobby's toast when her eyes caught a flash of motion over the blade of the poised knife.

The dark speck that had arrested her eye at the extreme end of the vista of garden before them was soon followed by another flicker of movement.

Zena nervously clutched at Alex's arm as he lounged in the chair beside her, reading the paper.

He looked up mildly.

"Sasha! Look!" she whispered, frightened.

The two initial dark flashes had now increased to several more while the first two objects had come sufficiently within the range of vision to be plainly identified as two mountain men on horseback.

They cantered slowly up the straight, smoothly raked gravel path that lay in a direct line with the terrace.

The cavalcade behind the two leaders swelled into a swarm of horsemen as interminable numbers of warriors sailed over the high wrought-iron fence surrounding the park and then followed the passage of their leaders.

Alex rose quickly, indignant at the trespassers, walked to the edge of the marble parquet, and waited impatiently.

Upon reaching the marble pavement of the terrace, the two horses came to a halt. With a brief nod—the mountain men doffed their hats and bowed to no one—one dark, swarthy warrior said, "Prince Alexander Kuzan." It was a statement rather than a question. They knew exactly where they were.

"Yes?" Alexander glowered.

"Iskender-Khan requests the honor of your presence at his home. We are to invite his granddaughter and grandson as well.

"Invite?" Alex inquired sarcastically, his temper rising by the second.

"The escort is merely to assure your safety in the mountains, Prince Alexander," the leader smoothly dissembled, his face impassive before the glaring, golden fury in Alex's eyes.

Alex quickly raked his glance over the assemblage of warriors in his park and, calculating swiftly, remarked curtly, "Over one hundred men for escort?"

Iskender-Khan had but recently learned of his granddaughter's tribulations with the Mingrelian slave traders. Ma'amed had been found and succored by some shepherds who saved his life. When his message was relayed to Iskender-Khan, a party was sent south to find her, and the trail eventually led to Kislovodsk.

"Our chief is most anxious to make your acquaintance and also to meet his granddaughter and grandson. The bodyguard is to see to your safe arrival."

"If I refuse?" The question was sharp.

"We are to renew the invitation," the warrior said firmly.

Zena had come to listen to the exchange while Bobby stood awed by the magnificent troop of mountain knights armed with kinjals and long-barreled, silver mounted pistols thrust into silver belts, their rifles slung on their backs.

"Sasha, he's my grandfather. It can't hurt to accept his hospitality."

"I don't like the coercion," Alex muttered.

"Maybe an escort troop like this is normal," Zena temporized.

"Like hell," Alex snarled. "Not that there's a great deal of choice, it appears." The old man had seen to it that his "invitation" would be accepted. Alex was reckless, but not a fool. He'd go. "I'll be bringing some of my men along," Alex informed the leader.

"Of course, Prince Alexander, bring as many of your household as you wish. We have a litter for Iskender-Khan's granddaughter."

"I'd rather ride," Zena protested mildly.

"Iskender-Khan prefers you travel in the litter,
mademoiselle"
the leader stated resolutely. They too had seen the tracks etched in the blue-gray clay of the distant mountain valley.

"Very well." She turned to Alex and shrugged her shoulders.

Two hours later the cavalcade proceeded slowly through Kislovodsk, and soon the gradual ascent into the mountains began. Even accounting for shortcuts unknown to Europeans, the passage through the mountains to Iskender-Khan's aul required seven days.

The fortress aul of Iskender-Khan overlooked a large valley through which a mountain torrent ran. The floor of the vale was planted in fields of maize and prosperous orchards of apricot and pear, while the shallow basin was bounded by a range of low hills covered with a profusion of lush, verdant grass, on which herds of horses, cattle, and sheep were grazing.

At the far end of the wide gorge atop a severe climb lay the aul, a formidable fortress village dominated by a great square tower.

Beyond the village the snowy peak of the Shalbuz Dagh could be seen towering up grandly to the south. The horizon wherever one turned was bounded by an unbroken chain of pale, whitish mountains that looked very imposing, presenting a barrier to the world outside.

After slowly ascending the sheer path, the cavalcade rode through the village streets bustling with people who quietly viewed the visitors. Arriving at last before a large villa, the chief Iskender-Khan made his appearance. There was no doubt as to his identity. He was a tall, elegantly dressed, imposing man flanked by two lieutenants equally richly attired in gold, lace-trimmed tcherknesses and beautiful embroidered boots. Although past his middle years, as evidenced by his neatly trimmed gray beard, he was a well-built, vigorous-looking man.

As head of his clan he made the party welcome with

proud courtesy. He warmly embraced Zena and Bobby, bidding everyone enter his humble dwelling for refreshments. Personally escorting Zena and Bobby to their rooms, he spent some time in conversation with them, while Alex was shown to his own room and given time to bathe and rest from the journey.

The villa was magnificent, the rooms carpeted with exquisite, colorful rugs and lined with dazzling cascades of brilliantly patterned silk.

After a sumptuous supper washed down with excellent Kakheti wine, Iskender-Khan showed Zena and Alex some of his curiosities. He was a connoisseur and collector of antiquities unearthed in the numerous kurgans or tumuli on the great plain north of the Terek. The objects were chiefly of bronze or green glazed earthenware. Zena listened courteously as her grandfather expounded articulately on his favorite topic, the recital punctuated every now and then by a lazy "Very interesting, sir," from Alex. The collection was extremely valuable, and one could see it was a consuming pleasure for Iskender-Khan.

He was a warm and congenial host conversing easily with Bobby as well as Zena and Alex. As the evening became late, he apologized for the long journey to his village and wished Zena and Bobby a pleasant rest as his two grandchildren were escorted to their bedrooms.

"If you can spare a moment, Prince Alexander, before you retire," he inquired gently as Bobby and Zena disappeared down a long passageway.

"Certainly," Alex replied crisply. Only the obligations of good breeding had rendered him agreeable during supper and the evening following. The long forced journey to this remote village was still grating on his nerves despite the pleasant civilities of their host.

Alex was unfamiliar with the quality of submission and totally inured to the need to answer to anyone but himself. His temper, held in check for seven days through the mountains and then throughout the civilized formalities of social intercourse this evening, was now rather close to tinder point.

As Iskender-Khan carefully closed the door into the room and turned to face his guest, Alex's impetuous, hot-blooded temperament overwhelmed the constraints with which he had disciplined it for so many days.

"What the
hell
is going on?" Alex demanded with typical Kuzan disregard for anyone else's authority.

The imperious, hawk-faced old man faced him, staring haughtily at him, ignoring his challenge. He coldly assessed the angry, dark-haired young man. He looked his visitor through and through with his black piercing eyes. So this was the young pup who had seduced his granddaughter. He certainly didn't have the pale look of a Giaour. There must be mountain blood somewhere in his veins.

The gray-bearded chieftain appeared undaunted by the remark. No affability or deference to a Russian aristocrat here, Alex thought, undeniably an autocratic overlord of thousands of tribesmen. But at the moment prudent considerations of civility were low in Alex's priorities. He was incensed at having been coerced into this village and kept here against his will.

"I am not exactly cheered being forced one hundred fifty miles into this camp. What the hell is going on!" he repeated wrathfully.

"Forgive the impetuous invitation, please," the chieftain spoke softly in a chill murmur. "A whim of mine, alas, to meet the companion of my granddaughter." The words were politely courteous, but his keen, dark eyes were cold as ice.

"Perhaps I wasn't in the mood to meet anyone, damn you. What's the idea of dragging us here without so much as a by-your-leave!"

"We are anxious to talk to you." The old chieftain used the regal pronoun comfortably. The heavy-lidded eyes unemotionally swept Alex from head to foot. "I think it would all go more smoothly if you were less insolent. You will force me into a position where we will have to relinquish our doubtful grip on civility and rather insist."

Alex studied him carefully. "Insist? You intend to insist?"

"We do indeed," came the gelid reply. "But, of course, since you're a guest in my home, we would rather not."

Alex was an experienced, skilled gambler. He knew when a bluff was a bluff and . . . when it wasn't. "What do you want to talk about?" he said.

"It has come to our attention that you and my granddaughter have had, ah
...
a significant relationship. It has also come to our notice that she is with child and, alas, despite the fact that you are a Giaour, she has an abiding affection for you. I tried to talk her out of this foolish infatuation, but I fear she is too far from our tribal ways and as independent and headstrong as her mother. May her soul be blessed." His mind went back to the beauty who had been his favorite daughter. A fleeting moment of sorrow distracted him briefly. Then in a tone heavy with regret he continued.

"Since she won't give you up, the only solution is marriage. I promised her the pick of my warriors, but she would have none of them."

"Marriage?" Alex stiffened, the ominous word hanging in the air as threatening as vultures circling overhead.