Forever in Your Embrace by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

raiders returned to reclaim their booty, Synnovea faced Captain Nekrasov with a query. “Shouldn’t we leave here before we’re attacked again?”
    Nikolai Nekrasov was in full agreement and urged his men to double their efforts. “We must make haste to take the countess to a place of safety. Finish loading whatever is left and let us be off before we find ourselves once again beset by the brigands.”
    Synnovea realized she hadn’t seen the cleric since her return and glanced around in some bewilderment. “But where is Ivan Voronsky?”
    Captain Nekrasov raised his able arm to point toward a shadowed area beyond a clump of tall trees in the distance. Frowning in bemusement, Synnovea stared in the direction he indicated until a vague, pale blur became distinguishable as the leaf-shrouded form of a small, naked man. “They stole away his clothes, Countess, and every spare piece of clothing we had with us as well. We’ve nothing to share with him.”
    Synnovea debated the alternatives. Ivan had been so critical of her European gowns, she didn’t think he’d accept such frivolous finery even out of necessity. Ruefully she advised, “ ’Twould seem there’s no choice but to search for clothing among the fallen.”
    “I’ve already assigned that task to one of my men, my lady,” Nikolai informed her. “Though the selection may not meet with the cleric’s approval, there should be enough to clothe him.”
    Synnovea silently demurred at the idea of undressing the dead and quickly excused herself. “I’ll wait in the coach with Ali.”
    Though night quickly overtook them, Synnovea and her small party of attendants were soon on the road again. The pace was more cautious now as the moon cast ominous shadows far ahead of them. Each bend in the road was carefully approached. Still, the air was cooler and far better tolerated than the oppressive heat of the day.
    Once again, Synnovea had to endure the presence of Ivan Voronsky, but this time he wasn’t at all inclined to argue after being so thoroughly humiliated. When he talked at all, he mumbled angry insinuations against Captain Nekrasov and his men, convinced that they had been motivated by spite to find the most obnoxious, most malodorous garments available. The outlandishly large breeches and leather doublet reeked of old sweat and garlic, a combination which made it imperative for the diligent application of a scented handkerchief.
    Synnovea refrained from placating Ivan’s complaints, preferring instead to keep the filtering cloth in place so she wouldn’t have to tolerate the stench. She was also appreciative of the darkness that hid whatever gory stains bedecked the garb, for she preferred complete ignorance of the type of death wound the previous owner had suffered.
    They were well on their way again before the realization dawned on Synnovea that she had made no effort to send out her escort in search of the officer who had ridden after her. The possibility that he was lying wounded or dead in the forest made her own lack of concern seem shamefully devoid of compassion, especially since he had risked his life to save her. In seeking her own security, she had dismissed any consideration for the safety and comfort of the officer. Utterly scandalized by her disregard for such a valiant soldier, she knew she’d find little relief from the fretting anxiety that now gnawed at her.

2
    T he golden moon nestled like a newborn babe within the cradling arms of towering pines, firs, and larches. Gradually the orb weaned itself from its earthly breast and began to climb upward in a wide arc across the night sky. Humbling a myriad of stars with its brilliance, the lustrous sphere condescendingly cast its light upon the earth, setting aglow the rustling leaves of the oaks and birches that lined the road through the village, creating scintillating flashes of light as soft breezes bestirred their branches.
    Grayed wooden cottages, adorned with painted carvings and