Forever in Your Embrace by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss Page B

had seemed to hover behind them like a relentless bird of prey watching for an opportunity to bring down his quarry. She hoped fervently that he was alive and that news of his safety would soon reach her. Only then could she forgive herself.
    The soldiers began to drift back to their rooms in varying numbers. Much subdued by their baths, they meandered slowly past her door with only an occasional murmur exchanged between them. Their muted, cheerless voices now clearly bespoke of their weariness.
    Synnovea was anxious for them to retire, yet in her growing impatience, it seemed that three times as many came back than those who had left. Her frustration deepened when Ivan sharply commanded a way to be made for him as he passed the soldiers in his descent of the stairs. Answering their exaggerated revulsion to his foul-smelling clothing, he snidely announced that he intended to wash away any residue of filth that remained from their putrid offerings.
    Synnovea was inclined to think that this new delay was caused by nothing more than Ivan’s unwillingness to associate with men of low rank, especially common soldiers. Obviously he considered them far removed from his self-exalted personage, for in her presence he had openly disdained them as crude, ignorant men. Had he been able to dictate the priority of events, he might have insisted on being allowed to finish his bath before they were permitted on the premises. Of course, if he had tried such a thing, the soldiers would have laughed him to scorn.
    The inn grew still and hushed after Ivan’s return to the small, private cubicle that he had elected to take, allowing Synnovea to finally consider it safe to go down. Outside the inn, a cool breeze rustled through the tall firs that formed a protective fortress beyond the bathhouse, bringing to her nostrils the fresh, pungent fragrance of their swaying boughs. The burbling of a swiftly flowing stream melded with other soothing night sounds, while high above the treetops, the brilliant moon shone down from its lofty realm, holding back the darkness with a wondrous glow that clearly defined the path to the low-roofed structure.
    The door creaked in the hushed stillness as Synnovea pushed it slowly open and stepped within. At the far end of the room, a fire flickered in a large hearth, illumining the shadowed interior with a shifting amber glow. A dim lantern offered a wan light from the rafter where it hung suspended by a pulley rope. Its glow lent eerie life to the swirling mists rolling upward from the stygian surface of the pool. The vapors twined aimlessly through the massive beams buttressing the ceiling as if probing for a way of escape and, in their failure, merged into a thickening, swelling haze that shrouded the interior.
    Water, shunted through tin flumes from the stream outside, flowed into a huge cauldron, which hunkered like some enormous beast on squat legs over a hearth of its own. A steady fire licked upward around its swollen belly, lending a blush to the curling vapors and the tenebrous gloom. Steaming water trickled cheerily over its funnelled lip into the main bathing pool, on the opposite side of which the overflow dribbled into a shaft that returned the water to the rivulet.
    Synnovea paused at the portal and carefully scanned the interior lest she find herself in error about being alone. The shifting flames cast dancing shadows into the mists. Beyond that, nothing stirred. The only sounds came from the crackling fire and the trickling water. In the spacious hearth, smaller kettles of water hung over a fire, and upon a nearby table, pitchers and basins of water were readily available for an initial scrubbing with soap. Wooden tubs had also been provided for a more leisurely soak in a warm bath.
    On a bench near the pool, a man’s robe had been left, and Synnovea made a mental note to inform Captain Nekrasov on the morningtide that the garment was there, on the chance that he or one of his men had left it