'Til the End of Time (11 page)

But Sandor hadn’t been afraid. He had the same warrior instincts she possessed, and still he had confessed his ability to be hurt by her. He had trusted her as she hadn’t been able to trust him. “It happened in Said Ababa,” she said abruptly.

“What?” His gaze lifted swiftly to her face.

“The scars.” Her gaze was fixed on the darkening patch of sky she could see through the top of the pines. “It happened sixteen years ago in Said Ababa.”

He became very still. “Sixteen years ago you would have been only twelve or thirteen years old. The wounds must have been very deep to create scar tissue like that.” He tried to keep his tone expressionless, desperately afraid she would close up again.

“They were deep. They became infected. I was lucky I didn’t get gangrene. Antibiotics were practically nonexistent at the camp.” She moistened her lower lip with her tongue. “I probably would have died if it hadn’t been for Dimitri.”

“Camp?”

“I was in a displaced-persons’ camp for two years in Said Ababa.” The words were halting, and corroded with the years of repression. “After the overthrow of the government, the revolutionaries took power. They were even more oppressive than the tyrants they’d replaced.”

“So I’ve heard.” Horror stories had emerged by the hundreds after the revolution, Sandor remembered. And Alessandra had been in the center of that relentless reign of terror. “You’re an
American. How did you come to be in a displaced-persons’ camp?”

“I didn’t say I was an American. I said I hold an American passport. I didn’t have any passport or any identification at all after the revolution. I could have been any nationality. James said there was a good possibility I was an American, because one of the government officials who ran the camp said he thought he remembered seeing me wandering in the streets of the company town near the American oil refinery.” She shrugged. “There was some doubt. The town was several hundred miles from where they picked me up. I was barefoot and out of my head with fever, lying by the side of the road. James says walking that distance through the mountains and desert could have been the cause of my lacerated feet.”

“James ‘says,’ ” he repeated slowly. “Don’t you know?”

“No. I don’t remember anything before I woke up in the camp. That was why it was difficult to pinpoint my nationality. I spoke English, French, and German fluently. The oil refinery and the town itself were destroyed by the bombing.” Her voice lowered. “They tell me the town burned for four days and you could see the flames clawing at the sky from a distance of over a hundred miles.”

Clawing at the sky. The phrase evoked a vivid picture of desperation and terror. Had someone really used those words or had a wisp of memory managed to filter through the barriers a young woman had erected to protect herself from an experience too terrible to remember?

“There was a protest from the American government at the time,” Sandor said. “But they had
airlifted most of the personnel who were American citizens out of the area before the situation came to a boil. Weren’t there any inquiries about you?”

She shook her head. “There were no records and no inquiries. It’s not unusual, when you think about it. There are thousands of people in the world who have cut themselves off from their roots. Maybe my parents were a part of that group.”

“I didn’t realize there was a displaced-persons’ camp in Said Ababa,” Sandor prompted gently. He wanted to fire questions and rip aside the barriers. Patience. It was a miracle she had told him as much as she had. It was obviously very difficult for her.

“There wasn’t a camp for over a year after the revolution. The government was getting flak from several humanitarian groups, and the camp was established to quiet the criticism.” Her lips twisted. “Dimitri said the concentration camp he was sent to in Poland as a boy was more humane.”

It was the second time she had mentioned the name. “Dimitri?”

“Dimitri Sokol, my friend. When I woke up, his was the first face I saw. He took care of me until I was able to walk again. He gave me half his rations because I wasn’t able to keep the other prisoners from stealing the food the guards issued me. He protected me as much as he could.” She slowly shook her head. “Which wasn’t very much. Dimitri didn’t understand the world he’d been born into. He was the gentlest human being I’ve ever known. He was a scholar, and had been a professor at a university in Warsaw. You would have thought the study of history would have
taught him that you have to fight to survive. Saints are usually the first to be martyred.”

“And was your Dimitri a saint?”

“No, only a man. A kind and generous …” Her voice broke. “I don’t want to talk about Dimitri.”

“Then don’t talk about him.” His hand reached out to cover her own on the grass. “Don’t talk about anything, if you don’t want to.”

She was silent for a few minutes. Dimitri was part of it. She couldn’t leave Dimitri out of the story and still give … She forced herself to speak. “When I was well again, he didn’t have to worry about protecting me. I was the one who took care of him. I was young and strong and I knew how to survive.” Her voice was fierce. “No one dared steal his rations or mine after I showed what would happen to them if they tried. They were animals. The war had made them animals. Do you know the key to surviving in a world of animals?”

“No.” He didn’t know if she even heard him. He had an idea she wasn’t there with him anymore.

“You have to let them know you mean every word you say. If you commit yourself, it has to be with the knowledge that it will be followed up by action. I learned all the moves and developed a few of my own. Most of the time Dimitri didn’t realize what was going on. I don’t think he wanted to live in a jungle world. I even had to stop him from giving away the food I’d fought to keep. I made sure he had blankets, that he ate, that he exercised. He told me stories and taught me lessons, and even made me laugh. He kept me human. I would have turned into an animal like the rest of them if it hadn’t been for Dimitri. Do you know he even gave me my name? The camp
officials hadn’t bothered. I was just inmate 534. Dimitri said beautiful words lift the heart and I must have a beautiful name so every time I heard it I would know joy. We spent two days choosing it. It was during one of the bad times, and I think he only persisted to try to take my mind off what was going on around me.” Her voice was just above a whisper. “He gave me so much more than I gave him, and he didn’t even realize it.”

Sandor felt his throat tighten. “You probably gave him more than you knew. You loved him. He must have known that.”

“Yes, he knew I loved him. We never talked about love. It seemed foreign in that place. But he knew.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, Lord, I hope he knew. I didn’t think he needed the words, but maybe he did. Maybe he died and didn’t know how much—”

“No.” Sandor’s voice was firm and totally reassuring. “You’re right. Sometimes words aren’t necessary. Dimitri knew how you felt.” Dimitri had died. Sandor had to find a way to shift the subject away from him. He could feel the pain radiating from her. “When did you meet Bruner?”

“The day Dimitri died.”

What a stupid blunder to have made. He tried to think of a way to ease her away from the memories, but it was too late. She was back in that hideous hellhole, and her voice held all the pain of a lost soul. “There weren’t any antibiotics, did I tell you that? I did everything I could think of to keep him well, but he caught a chill and developed pneumonia. I tried to make the guards get him the medicine he needed. I
screamed
at them. He was dying, and they wouldn’t listen to me.” Her nails were biting into his hand. “All I could do
was stay with him and watch him struggle to get his breath. He lasted for five days.”

“Alessandra …”

“I think I went crazy. I wanted to kill someone. He was the only good thing in my life and they had let him die. I screamed like a lunatic. I attacked a guard. We were cursing and rolling around in the dirt of the yard, and I remember how surprised the guard looked. They had let Dimitri die and I was just supposed to accept it.” Her voice held a note of wonder. “You would have thought they’d know I couldn’t do that.”

“No.” He ached to take her in his arms and hold her. “You wouldn’t be able to do that.”

“James was touring the camp that day, and he saw me struggling with the guard. He stopped the other guards from hurting me when they managed to pull me away from him.” She opened her eyes. “He talked to me for a long time. I don’t remember what he said. He did arrange to have a proper burial for Dimitri. He told me later I’d asked him to do that. I didn’t remember. All I knew was that Dimitri was dead and I was alone again. James came back the next day and we talked. He kept coming back day after day. Then he told me he had made arrangements for me to leave the camp and come to live with him at his hotel until he could get me papers to leave Said Ababa.”

Sandor felt a quick flare of anger. “They just turned you over to him?” He tried to keep from his tone the raw, possessive rage the thought evoked. He had no right to feel this damnable jealousy. Choices. He knew how ugly some of the choices had to be. Better Bruner’s mistress than that monstrosity of a camp.

She nodded. “The government wanted a favor. His company had sold them arms to fight their revolution. Now they were looking across the border at Sedikhan and wanted him to sell them enough arms to launch an invasion force. He wasn’t about to do it, but he stalled them until he could get me out of the country.” She fell silent, and the only sound in the shadow-shrouded forest was the rushing of the brook and the soft whirring of the cicadas. “Is it enough?”

He frowned in puzzlement. “Is what enough?”

For the first time since she had begun to speak, her gaze left the patch of sky above the pines to meet his own. “I’ve never told anyone about Said Ababa. It was the only way I could think of to show you I do trust you. Do you need me to tell you any more?”

He felt as if he were slowly disintegrating inside. She had relived that hell to give him a
gift
? He couldn’t look at her. “I don’t need to know any more,” he said gruffly. “Lord, yes, it’s enough.” He released her hand and bent down to lift her feet out of the water. “Your feet must be ice blocks by now.”

“They don’t hurt anymore.” She watched as Sandor took his handkerchief from his back pocket and began to dry her feet. It was an intimate gesture that filled her with poignant tenderness. “I won’t have any trouble making it to the airfield now.”

“No?” His tone was abstracted. He cradled one foot in his hands. “Poor mermaid.”

“Mermaid?”

“There’s a fairy tale about a sorceress who cast a spell to permit a mermaid to assume a human
form and come live among mortals. Unfortunately, it was very painful for the mermaid to stay ashore. When she walked, it was as if she were stepping on knives.”

“Well, I’m no mermaid, and I can walk very well. It’s almost dark. Don’t you think we should be on our way?”

“Yes.” He was still looking down at her foot. He caressed her ankle. “Put on your shoes and socks.” He began to pull on his own boots.

“I thought you wanted to bathe your feet,” she said as she began to put on her socks.

“It doesn’t matter.” He stood up and began to fasten his backpack. “I can wait. It’s not that far.”

“Four miles through the hills? Far enough.” She finished tying the laces of her shoes. “A few minutes more won’t make any difference. Why don’t you—”

“Come on.” He pulled her to her feet, reached down and picked up her knapsack, and handed it to her. “We’re not going to be walking another four miles tonight.” He didn’t look at her as he began to lead her through the underbrush. “We’re going to Limtana.”

“It looks like Sleeping Beauty’s castle,” Alessandra whispered. She stood abreast of Sandor on the summit of a hill and looked down into the valley below. The gray stone castle, with its crenellated towers, appeared both grand and desolate. The grounds surrounding it had been let go, vines and shrubs forming a labyrinth. “It’s as if the castle has been sleeping for a hundred years.”

“Only a little over two.” Sandor’s lips twisted. “Naldona’s caretaking evidently didn’t include the grounds.” He turned away. “Come on.”

“No!” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You said yourself the castle was bait for a trap. It looks deserted, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it is. Naldona could have men stationed on lookout to report back to him if they see someone.”

“I’m sure he does, but they won’t see anyone,” He glanced back over his shoulder. “You’re a very argumentative woman. Do we have to go over it
all again? I’m not about to make you walk another four miles, after the pace I set today. We’ll start out at dawn, once you’ve had a chance to rest.”

“But it’s
stupid.
Can’t you see that? If you insist we stop for the night, let’s camp here in the hills. It’s not safe for you down there in that castle.”

“For me?” His face softened. “Do you know that’s the first time you’ve said anything to indicate you might be the tiniest bit upset if Naldona managed to cut my throat, as he’s been promising?”

“Of course I’d be upset.” She scowled at him. “Though you’d deserve it for being so foolish.”

He chuckled. “No one could accuse you of being overly sentimental. Men in my particular state are often foolish. All the poets say so.” His smile faded. “I want you to see my home, Alessandra. It’s important to me. I can’t promise it will be absolutely safe, but I wouldn’t run the risk if I didn’t have an edge.”

He was asking her to trust him again. He didn’t say the words, but the implication was there. And she knew she was going to do it, she thought with resignation. “Oh, all right.” She gestured for him to lead the way. “But your edge had better be damned sharp, Sandor.”

He was leading her toward a clump of rocks a few yards away. “It’s one you’ve experienced before, though I don’t believe you recall it with any degree of pleasure.” He bent down, his fingers exploring the weed-covered ground. “Ah, here it is.” He pulled upward. Earth and weeds rose to reveal a neat hole approximately three feet square.