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"Not tonight. Tonight we will burn Mirovich and let her watch. Perhaps she will change her mind. If not, she will provide the entertainment tomorrow evening."

Pulaski nodded and, taking hold of my wrist, dragged me roughly from the tent and across the clearing. The nightmare maelstrom of noise was worse than ever. Several vicious fights had broken out, onlookers shouting and hooting as eyes were gouged and noses bloodied. The whores cavorted lewdly, displaying their wares with raucous glee, and vodka flowed like water. Everyone in the camp was roaring drunk, it seemed, staggering, lurching in front of blazing campfires. Nikki and three or four others followed after us, cheering as Pulaski dragged me past the towering stake and over to the empty wooden cage beyond.

The cage was crudely constructed of thick wooden sticks lashed together with strips of rawhide, forming widely spaced bars on all four sides and on top. The sticks forming'

the floor were lashed closely together; like a raft. Pulaski unfastened the door and shoved me inside. I stumbled, falling painfully to my knees. Pulaski fastened the door, knotting the rawhide tightly, and then he stood back, gloating as I kneeled on the rough floor.

"She burns?" one of the peasants asked.

"Tomorrow night," Pulaski retorted.

"Such a waste!" Nikki declared. "Me, I could think of better things to do with her."

"So could I!" another cried.

"The bitch burns!" Pulaski growled.

They moved away and I climbed to my feet and caught hold of the bars and stared out at the brawling chaos of drunken humanity. Bathed by the flickering dark orange light of the campfires that sent demonic shadows leaping over the ground, it was like hell itself and Satan sat enthroned inside his silken tent, plotting yet more horror and bloodshed in order to achieve his goaL I was trapped in the middle of hell and there was no hope of escape and I realized it was all going to end here, for never, never would I agree to go along with Pugachev's proposal, not even to save my own life. I could only pray it would end quickly and that my courage would not entirely desert me before the final horror.

The man in the next cage still hung listlessly on to the bars. He hadn't once looked in my direction, just gazed va.

cantly out at the huge stake in the middle of the camp, as though he knew what it was for, as though he were waiting.

Beyond it, I saw Tamara speaking to her two cronies.

They nodded, looking at me, then laughed gleefully as Tamara picked up a long stick and started purposefully toward my cage. The stick had a very sharp point. As she neared the stake, Nikki stumbled drunkenly toward her and grabbed her in a passionate embrace. She struggled viciously,

pulling away, and Nikki grinned wickedly as he knocked the stick out of her hand and seized her again, kissing her with exuberant gusto. Tamara kicked and clawed and Nikki finally let her go and gave her a disgusted look and then cracked her across the jaw, slung her across his shoulder and carried her away as his friends cheered.

"Nikki knows how to treat them!" one cried. "Tamara's going to get it tonight! Several times if I know my man!"

Apparently the jaunty peasant in black sheepskin coat and cap hadn't nearly the stamina his friend believed him to have, for I saw him crossing the camp not too long afterward with a bulky bundle in his arms. Nikki disappeared into the darkness beyond the campfires, and shortly thereafter Pugachev came out of his tent and spoke to the guards. They summoned Pulaski and several others, and there was a brief conference in front of the tent. The noisy mob abandoned their other pursuits to watch with drunken expectancy as Pulaski and the others marched toward the cages, one of them carrying a great coil of very thick rope. I watched in horror as they came nearer, nearer.

The man in the cage next to mine finally came to life. He screamed in terror. He screamed as they gathered around his cage and lifted it up and carried it across the clearing and set it under the stake, as they tied one end of the rope to the top ofthe cage and hurled the other up over the projecting arm high above. They caught the free end of the rope and pulled and the cage rose slowly into the air, higher, higher, the man inside it still screaming and thrashing about, causing it to sway precariously. When
f

the cage was some twenty feet in the air they tied the rope securely and began to pile wood directly beneath the cage.

Dear God. No. No. I clung to the bars so tightly my knuckles were bone white. The mob was cheering now as more and more wood was heaped onto the pile, but the shrieks of the man inside the cage rose sharply over the tumult.

Pugachev was still standing in front of his tent, splendid in the gold caftan, the gems on the crown of his mink-brimmed hat glittering in the light. He gave a signal.

A torch was lighted and applied to the pile of wood. Flames began to crackle, slowly at first, tiny yellow-blue tongues that licked at the logs, growing stronger, larger, turning bright orange, devouring the logs, leaping high into the air, higher still, blazing brightly, almost touching the bottom of the cage, and I sobbed and desperately wanted to look away but I seemed to be paralyzed and couldn't turn my head, couldn't even shut my eyes to shut out the horror.

He was being roasted alive. He flailed and thrashed and finally grabbed the top of the cage and hoisted himself up and clung there with his hands and knees as the flames licked the bottom of the cage and the wood caught and began to burn. Thin orange flames slithered up the sides of the cage like lascivious orange tongues and the bottom burned briskly, charred pieces dropping down. The man screamed and clung to the top of the cage as a huge flame shot up and touched him and his clothes caught and then his hair. He shrieked one last time and released his hold and went plummeting down into the blazing inferno, sparks shooting in every direction as he landed on the crackling fire. The mob yelled in a frenzy of delight as his body flopped in the fire, grew still, began to char.

Pugachev nodded and looked very pleased with himself and stepped back inside his gorgeous silken tent. The crowd began to disperse now that the entertainment was over, and my hands seemed to be frozen to the bars of the cage. I pried them loose and closed my eyes at last and sank to the floor of the cage, overcome with shock and horror.

Huge black wings seemed to flutter around the edges of my mind, obliterating all thought, all feeling. I must have swooned, must have been unconscious for quite some time, for when, moaning, I opened my eyes, the campfires were smoldering heaps, some black, some glowing pale pink, and the camp was quiet, flooded now with silvery moonlight. A peasant with a rifle marched back and forth in front of my cage, shivering with cold, for it was freezing now and snow had begun to fall from the ashy gray-black sky.

I climbed slowly to my feet and folded my arms around my waist, shivering myself despite the heavy cloak, the layers of clothing. Perhaps ... perhaps I would freeze to death. Perhaps I would simply grow numb from the cold, then fall asleep, then freeze. What a blessing that would be. What a blessing. I didn't have the courage to face the stake. I knew that. I would scream. Please God, I prayed, let me freeze to death out here in the open. Perhaps if I took off the cloak it would happen sooner. I wanted to take it off, my hands even reached up to unfasten it, but I couldn't do it. I moved around in the narrow confines of the cage as snowflakes swirled, coming down faster now, and my peasant guard cursed the cold under his breath and continued to pace, never once so much as glancing at me.

I stopped, peering across the clearing. The ground was coated with silver, spread with shadows, and the huts and tents were inky black shapes looming all around. There was movement in the shadows beyond the stake. Someone was stealthily approaching, cautiously darting from shadow to shadow. I could make out a tall figure with ...

yes, with a bulky sheepskin coat and a wide-brimmed sheepskin cap. The peasant Nikki scooted across a patch of moonlight, ducked into the shadows again. I watched, fascinated,

knowing full well what he had in mind. A nice rousing rape, and then he would put me back inside the cage and no one would be the wiser. What did he intend to do about the guard? Bribe him? Overpower him? He came closer, closer, and then he slipped on the icy ground, his boots crunching loudly as he clumsily regained his balance.

The guard whirled around, rifle raised. Nikki grinned and hailed him and moved over to join him, very chummy.

The guard muttered something I failed to catch, and Nikki slapped him on the back and pointed to me. The guard turned, peering through the bars. Nikki whipped out a knife, whipped his hand around, clamping it over the guard's mouth. The blade flashed in the moonlight as the peasant in sheepskin drove it savagely into the guard's back. The guard shuddered convulsively and made a horrible gurgling sound muffled by the hand, and then he went limp, dropping to the ground as Nikki released his grip.

Calm as could be, he bent down, wiped the blade on the man's coat and then straightened up, looking at me with a self-congratulatory grin.

He had pushed the brim of his cap up over his forehead and rubbed the dirt off his face and I saw it fully for the first time in the bright moonlight: the strong, cleft chin, the merry mouth, the twisted nose, the vivid blue eyes full of concentration as he sawed at the rawhide fastening the door of the cage. I was hallucinating. I must be. That face, that beloved face had haunted me for all these months, and now I was transposing it over the face of a crude peasant lout come to rape me. I shook my head, blinking. He thrust the knife back into the waistband of his breeches and yanked open the door.

"I say, lass," he observed chattily, "you do get yourself'

into some of the damndest messes."

Chapter Twenty...Five

STUNNED, I STARED AT HIM, UNABLE TO MOVE,

and
Jeremy frowned and took hold of my arm and pulled me roughly from the cage, almost tripping over the body of the guard he had just stabbed. He warned me to be very, very quiet, then led me quickly into the shadows and past huts and tents from whence came loud, drunken snores. I was dreaming all this, I knew. It must be a dream, yet I felt the cold, icy air on my face and felt the slap of the money bag on my thigh and felt his fingers holding my arm in a steely grip as we fled through the shadows, passing more tents and huts and the blackened ruins of campfires. The snow fell in soft, feathery swirls, pelting us gently. Our footsteps seemed terribly loud in the silence.

He pulled me against the wall of a hut and pulled me against him and cupped his hand lightly over my mouth as someone groaned and coughed and stepped out of a tent nearby. He curled an arm around my waist, holding me close, and I rested my head on that shoulder covered in soft sheepskin and felt his warmth and felt his strength, felt, too, the tension in his body as one of the peasants stepped into the moonlight and staggered over to a pile of charred wood and proceeded to relieve himself. Finished, he turned and stared into the shadows where we stood and my heart began to pound. Jeremy tightened his hand over my mouth. .

"Take it easy," he whispered into my ear. "He can't see us."

The peasant yawned, shook his head, and staggered back into the tent. Jeremy held me for a moment longer, his lips still brushing the lobe of my ear, and I reveled in his nearness, in that strong, muscular arm pinioning me to him, in the musky, masculine smell of his body. Still not convinced this wasn't all an amazing dream, I sighed as he removed his hand from my mouth and felt loss when the arm uncurled from around my waist. One of the mangy dogs

barked across the camp as we moved on, dashing from shadow to shadow and avoiding the treacherous moonlight whenever possible.

He led me past the last line of huts and over to an opening in the log barricade, and then we were outside the camp and could hear the horses moving restlessly in the cold. We paused for a moment and I caught my breath and looked at him, the handsome, rakish face all silver and shadow in the moonlight. His full mouth curled into a grin, and I knew then it was all real, knew I wasn't imagining it in some kind of delirium.

"It-it's really you," I said.

"It's really me."

"I can't-I can't believe it. How-"

"It's a long story, lass, and we're a little pressed for time."

"You came-all this way."

"I did indeed."

"Just-just to find me."

"When love commands, the heart obeys. I had no choice, lass. I'd have traveled twice as far if necessary."

"I thought-"

"I've a pretty good idea what you thought."

"The blonde-"

"Later," he said.

"You've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do," I said sharply.

"Ah, that dulcet tone. How I've missed it. I haven't had a really satisfying row since we were together in England: I must say, Marietta, your gratitude is overwhelming.

Here I risk life and limb in order to rescue you from a terrible fate, and-"

"You haven't changed a bit!"

"Nor, thank God, have you."

"Oh, Jeremy-"

He pulled me into his arms and held me close, held me tight, rocking me gently as the snow swirled around us and the wind blew and the horses stamped, and I sobbed and his arms tightened even more and he ordered me to hold on. We weren't out of danger yet, and if there was one thing he didn't particularly need at the moment it was a woman falling apart. I clung to him and fought back the multitude of emotions and, finally, raised my head and looked into his loving eyes, and a wonderful feeling filled my being. It was like awakening from a terrible dream to find myself in a snug, familiar room.

"I'm not going to fall apart," I promised.

"Of course not. You're the bravest lass I know."

"Stop calling me lass! You know I've always hated it."

He smiled in the moonlight. "I beg your pardon, milady."

"Go to hell, you bastard. You could have let me
know
it was you. You just let me go right on thinking you were-"

"Afraid you'd give the show away," he told me. "Quite a performance I gave back there, wasn't it? Simply a matter of getting into the spirit of things."