My Angel (45 page)

She didn't doubt her ability to follow a trail or to find a hidden path in the rugged
Rocky Mountains
, but then again, this was another country. The American embassy could be hundreds of miles away. At the moment she didn't know the direction of the closest city. In her bag she had two changes of clothing but no money.

She could survive without money.

The idea of asking Feodora--no, Miss Feodora--for a map
of
Russia
made her giggle hysterically until she almost sobbed. Frustrated with the horrid situation she found herself into, she lay back on the soft green grass and watched the wind whisper through the oak leaves and the sunlight play on the water. Hindsight was seldom helpful. Angela she should have insisted Alexi take her with him, should have followed when Misha let down his guard. When Alexi had presented his argument, she'd backed down much too easily.

While she lay on the grass, the sun slowly moved across the sky. Hours seemed to pass, the afternoon drifting by, and still she'd reached no conclusions. She'd promised Alexi she'd be here waiting for him when he returned.

A promise had to be kept at all costs, she reminded herself.

Alexi had believed in her, trusted her. She could not disappoint him.

She rolled onto her stomach, her feet swinging in the air above and behind her, her forearms supporting her weight as she watched an ant work diligently. The tiny insect was trying to tug a part of her scone up the hill; to the wee creature it must have seemed a mountain. The ant did struggle but kept going. It could have stayed there and eaten the whole thing, saving itself hours of work.

She felt like the ant. Surely she had the weight of a mountain upon her back.

The sun felt warm against her face, the wind soft. A few months ago she had embraced adventure wholeheartedly, never examining her motives or her purpose. Now, faced with a woman who thought herself above the common people, she yearned for the peace of a
Rocky
Mountain
stream.

She ached to see her home--the mountains and the wide-open prairies. Deep inside, though, she knew her home lay with Alexi. She couldn't abandon him no matter the obstacles placed in front of her. Surely, Alexi's grandmother would have helped her. But she was gone, too.

Misha, poor Misha--his family was threatened. She could hardly blame him for abandoning her.

"Grab her!"

Angela jerked to her feet, her knees bent, her arms relaxed,
yet ready to fight. She'd know that voice anywhere. "Feodora?" Angela paused, relaxing too soon.

"Yuri." Feodora's voice was harsh and grating.

The man stepped forward. They circled one another, each wary of the other.

"Miss Feodora, to the likes of you," she said, stripping Angela with her eyes. "You dress like a man," she said, spittle forming around her mouth.

Who was this woman really? She didn't seem the type who would appeal to the gunslinger Devil Blackmoor--or the aristocratic Alexi Popov.

"I do as I please." Angela couldn't keep the sarcasm from creeping into her voice. She decided not to fight, and stuffed her hands into her pockets, surveying the woman with purpose, sizing her up as an opponent. Without Yuri, Feodora was hot air, nothing more.

Feodora flushed with rage, her prim features puckering until she looked pinched and old. She turned to Yuri.' 'Bind her and take her back to the estate." She inhaled raggedly, practically gagging in her attempt to draw air, she was so furious. "Toss her in the woodshed." Feodora's hands shook, and her too-thin lips quivered. "A few days without food should be enough to convince this peasant that the serfs do not lie around all day. There is work to be done."

Angela stepped back, once more taking on the stance of a predator ready to fight. "I'm not a serf or a peasant. I'm a free woman. All of these people are free. You cannot confine me or order me to work. You're living in the past. If I'm not wanted here, I will leave." Angela picked up her valise, walking away, her back stiff and her mind made up.

"Yuri!"

Angela made the mistake of turning back.

Feodora looked her over one more time. "You will learn to speak to your betters with proper respect."

Angela's gaze went to Yuri. "The only person here who is equal to me is this man you call Yuri. Should I apologize to him?"

"Shut her up!"

Before Angela could reach for a weapon, she found herself pushed forward at knifepoint, her hands tied in front of her. She heard Yuri's whisper, "Sorry, but I've no choice. It was either you or my wife."

Angela looked at Feodora askance, bewildered beyond anything she'd known before.

Feodora followed Angela, prodding her along with the blunt end of a walking stick. Angela knew that bruises would soon form on her back. Angela stumbled awkwardly down the narrow, winding trail that led to Alexi's home, trying to avoid the blows.
Adventure?
It seemed she'd gotten what she'd prayed for.
And so very much more.

She tamped down her fear and studied the situation from every angle. It was not so terrible. Not for one moment did she doubt her ability to escape the cords that were haphazardly wound around her wrist, or the woodshed she was headed toward.

If she escaped the woodshed, she'd have no recourse but to leave the estate. She couldn't very well walk up to the main house and present herself for inspection. Feodora would be outraged and unforgiving. Without Misha she had only herself to depend on.

They reached the shed, a formidable structure, and well made. Angela cringed, thinking of the spiders and the bugs hiding in tiny corners, things crawling around the stacks of wood. She thought of the darkness and the sweltering heat when the sun hit it, too. The building was made for punishment, for torture.

"There's your home for the next two days," Feodora informed her, a smug expression on her face, one Angela wanted to wipe off with her fists.

Angela shot her nemesis a withering glare--one that, if Feodora had had any common sense, would have warned her of Angela's determination to have revenge.

"You will come to regret this," Angela said softly, but her tone held a warning. "Your time will come, Feodora, and it matters not who wins this battle. I will win the war. Alexi will-return one day, and he will be furious with you. Forgiveness
does not come easily to the devil, and that is how Alexi will appear to you."

Feodora lost all color.

The man Feodora called Yuri gave her a hesitant nudge, and Angela stumbled inside. The door closed shut, and total darkness assailed her.

She turned around, searching for some manner of light. Her eyes began to slowly adjust, and she could make out slight forms, the barest hint of other structures inside. Her fingers closed around a long cord of leather. A whip. Tremors shot through her.

Unable to stop herself, she reached out for the leather strap, remembering her dream of agonizing fire across her back. Touching the leather should have ended her unfounded fears, but when her fingers wound around the whip, she felt the pain of countless souls. The room swayed beneath her feet.

"No!" she cried out, yet only a whisper escaped her.

A promise given must be kept.

The vow haunted her. She'd given Alexi her word. She'd made a promise she intended to keep.

Renewed determination swept through her. She clenched her teeth, fighting the pain and the nausea that threatened. With great concentration, she was able to move, to bring her knees to her chest and reach the knife she'd strapped to her thigh, her fingers closing over the handle. It slipped easily from its sheath.

A fierce joy filled her, a wild Sioux war cry trembling on her lips. The sharp knife cut through the leather. She rubbed her wrists and flexed her fingers, willing the blood to return to her fingers.

Through the long, endless night, Angela found herself repeating her father's words about sacred promises and her honor. While her body grew numb with cold, she fought off the need to escape.

To keep warm she paced the tiny shed.

Morning came. Bright light filtered through a few uneven cracks in the shed. The storm that had threatened the night before had never materialized. With the new day came the hope that Feodora would show mercy and let her out, or even bring food and water for nourishment.

Once more Angela paced the small confines of the shed.

Back and forth.

Her body cried out in pain and agonizing humiliation as she fought its needs.

Afternoon crept into evening.

Hunger gnawed at her.

She stretched her muscles then paced the width of the room again and again. Restless energy ripped through her at an alarming speed.

"Angela." Yuri stood near one boarded window. "Angela, over here," he whispered. "Are you all right? Can I get you anything?''

Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak, her tongue swollen and parched. The word
yes
came out in a hoarse sob. "Water..."

He handed her a cup.