“I aimed well over their heads,” he said. “Courage quickly crumbles when you’re inexperienced in battle and a bullet suddenly comes whizzing your way.”
“Faster!” warned Grentham from the rear. “Mobs spark a madness that overcomes self-preservation.”
Arianna darted a glance over her shoulder and saw a much larger group coming in pursuit. By the flash of the gold and scarlet sash flapping around his middle, Arianna guessed that it was the bishop himself leading the charge.
They skidded around the corner of the wall just as a hail of gunfire rattled through the deepening gloom.
She saw that Fitzroy was starting to lag. He had a pair of bulging burlap sacks—one looped over each shoulder—that appeared to be weighing him down.
“Ye gods, drop those things!” she ordered.
He stumbled, but resolutely ignored her.
“Idiot,” she muttered, racing over to grab one of them.
Holy hell.It felt as if it were filled with lead.
But she had no breath to spare for questions. The sleigh, with the team of horses snorting and stomping nervously at the sounds of the mayhem, was just ahead, with José braced on the driver’s box, ready to crack the whip.
Another spattering of shots crackled through the air.Thank God the monks aren’t trained marksmen, thought Arianna as she and the others scrambled into the sleigh’s cabin. But at close range . . .
“Spring the horses,” shouted Saybrook, and then slammed the door shut. The iron runners lurched, slipping and sliding for a fraught moment until the team hit its stride and steadied the sleigh. They passed through the courtyard gate and veered onto the main road leading back to St. Petersburg.
Everyone appeared too preoccupied to speak. Wool rustled, boots scraped on the floorboards as the eight of them took their time settling themselves. Grentham and Sophia were crammed together on the facing seat next to the lovebirds, Prescott and Tatiana. Arianna looked away, unwilling to intrude on the intimate looks passing between the two pairs.
Her gaze moved to her brother, who flashed an enigmatic smile before drawing Mrs. Schuyler close and whispering something in her ear.
Had the American adventuress ensnared another gullible pigeon?
Arianna bit back a self-deprecating laugh, acknowledging that she must stop thinking of her brother as a babe in the woods. If he found Mrs. Schuyler alluring—and Arianna admitted there was much to admire about the lady despite her self-admitted swindles—then who was she to interfere?
The way flattened, and through the glass-paned windows, Arianna caught the soft gleam of moonlight dancing over the freshly fallen snow, its pearly glow giving the fir trees dotting the wintry meadowland with a sugary sparkle. It all looked so ethereally peaceful—perhaps a metaphor for the fact that the threat was over. Now that she had retrieved the Rurik Medallion . . .
“Bloody hell,” exclaimed Saybrook, just as she opened her mouth to tell everyone the momentous news. The sleigh swungthrough a sharp bend, and through the opposite window, the ribbon of road behind them came into view.
“The madman is coming in pursuit.”
Wolff, who was crouched among their outstretched legs in the space between the facing seats, pressed close to the paned glass for a look. A break in the trees allowed a view of the hill they had crested before descending into the stretch of pastureland. “I count four—no, five—open sleighs, all bristling with armed monks.”
“But we’ve got a head start, so surely they can’t catch us.” Mrs. Schuyler hesitated. “Can they?”
“Our team is fatigued from the journey out from the city,” said Prescott. His expression was hard to read in the weak light of the single lamp illuminating the cabin. “And though an Imperial sleigh provides a number of luxuries . . .” He pointed to the plush upholstery and ornate woodwork. “It makes the damnable thing a great deal heavier than the sleighs of our pursuers.”
“What can we do?” asked Sophia.
“Pray?” suggested Grentham.
“Sarcasm isn’t helpful,” snapped Arianna.
“Have you another suggestion?” he shot back. “I don’t like our chances of stopping and trying to fight them off. Putting aside the fact that we’re only eight—nine with your footman—against a mob of fanatics, I doubt we have more than a few rounds of bullets and powder for our weapons.”
“We must find a way to get back to the Winter Palace. Once we’re there, the game is over. The bishop isknocked from the chessboard,” announced Arianna.
“Orlov’s death won’t stop him. There are other princely families to whom he can throw his support—” began Prescott.
“Not when we’ve got the medallion.”
“But we don’t,” said Saybrook. “Unless there’s something you haven’t told us.
