Stolen Splendor (45 page)

The two men threw aside their pistols, heaving together
with Stefan to shove the black eunuch from Kassandra's prostrate form. Yet even
as they rolled him to one side, the corpse clung tightly to the twisted cord
around her neck, his huge, clawlike hands frozen in death.

Stefan sank to his knees beside her, gritting his teeth
as he forced open the eunuch's lifeless hands, loosening the cord from her
throat. Dear God, if he was too late! He gathered her in his arms, stroking her
fiery hair. She was so deathly pale, scarcely breathing . . . Surely she would
not be taken from him after what they had both suffered!

Stefan held her against his heart, kissing her as if he
could breathe life back into her body. "Kassandra . . ." he whispered
against her lips, his voice jagged, breaking. "Kassandra, my love . . . my
love."

Kassandra heard a familiar voice, deep, rough-edged, calling
her name, echoing to her from some distant place, calling her back from her
nether sleep.

It sounded so much like Stefan . . . What a cruel trick
for someone to play on her. But it grew louder, more insistent, demanding she
answer . . . demanding she return. And she wanted to answer. Oh, how she wanted
to answer!

Stefan sharply drew in his breath as Kassandra's
eyelids quivered and fluttered open, her amethyst eyes staring up at him. But
there was no expression reflected there, no recognition, only a glassy
emptiness. He bent and kissed her again, desperately, yet so tenderly, drawing
her back to him, pulling away at last to search her eyes, his heart thundering
in his chest.

Kassandra blinked, her body convulsing in a single
spasm as sensation flooded her limbs, sweet breath filling her lungs, chasing
away the darkness, the swirling mists. She looked up, her gaze full of wonder.

It was Stefan's face, haunted, drawn, beloved . . . so
beloved, hovering
above her own
! She could feel the
strength of his arms about her, strong, safe, holding her fiercely, as if he
would never let her go . . .

Her hand trembled as she raised it to his cheek,
touching him gently, as if to assure herself he wasn't a dream.

She smiled.

Epilogue

Vienna, Austria

Brilliant sunlight splashed across the great bed, a
glorious October morning beckoning to the couple nestled beneath the rumpled
sheets
and shimmering brocade bedspread. Yet they seemed in
no hurry to rouse themselves, as if they had all the time in the world.

"Good morning, Countess," Stefan murmured in
Kassandra's ear, nudging her awake with gentle kisses along her silken
shoulder.

Kassandra stretched luxuriously, her skin tingling from
his touch. She leaned back against him, her fingers playfully entwining in his thick
black hair.

"Good morning, husband," she breathed,
testing the word upon her tongue. Husband. She loved the sound of it, as she
loved him, more than she could ever express. Love seemed to fill the room, like
the golden sunlight, vibrant, alive,
so
full of
promise. This was their first morning as husband and wife . . . her first
morning as Countess von Furstenberg. She laughed softly. She loved the sound of
that, too!

As Stefan drew her closer, his arm wrapping about her
slim waist, Kassandra fell contentedly silent, remembering the beauty of their
wedding the night before in the domed grandeur of the Karls-Kirche.

There had been candles, thousands of flickering candles
to light their way to the high altar, and resplendent music, the Court
Orchestra, choirs, and chiming bells merging in joyous song and celebration.
But most memorable of all, the recitation of their vows before God and man . .
. and their kiss, sealing their eternal pledge.

Then as husband and wife, she and Stefan had shared in
the wonder of watching her father take Isabel for his wedded wife during the
same ceremony, attended by the emperor and empress, Prince Eugene, and the
entire Viennese court.

Save for two, Kassandra amended with little enmity.
Archduchess Sophia von Starenberg had not attended, nor had Count Frederick
Althann . . .

Her expression grew pensive. So much had happened since
Stefan had rescued her from Halil Pasha's harem. The Imperialists had won a
decisive victory that day, the fortress surrendering soon after. Many men had
lost their lives on both sides, the grand vizier counted among the slain. And
Count Frederick had lost his life, executed as a traitor, yet swiftly by the
sword, as Stefan had promised. Prince Eugene and his army had returned to
Vienna a month later in triumph.

Archduchess Sophia von Starenberg had been tried before
a high court and sentenced to live out the rest of her days in penitential
solitude, imprisoned within a strict Benedictine convent in the foothills of
the Alps. And Adolph, her accomplice, was now a jester at the prince-bishop's
palace in Salzburg. The high court took pity on him and merely banished him
from Vienna, as he was forced to perform Sophia's evil deeds in fear for his
life. His confession was instrumental in implicating the archduchess not only
for her vile plot against Kassandra, but for the death of her husband.

Happier events had occurred as well. Her father had
recently been appointed court minister to King George; he and Isabel would be
returning to England within the month. Isabel could hardly wait to begin her
new role as a court minister's wife, and eagerly anticipated the whirl of
social duties that would accompany it. They would be sorely missed, but visits
to Wyndham Court would soothe the parting for all of them.

Stefan had retired from military service to devote
himself to his burgeoning estate . . . and most important, he had added when he
told her the news, his gray eyes tinged with laughter, his new wife.

Kassandra blushed at that happy memory, sighing
faintly. Yes, so much had brought them to this day. So much good, so much bad,
a bittersweet collage of piercing joy, unfathomable sorrow, heartbreak, tears,
laughter, and hope.

"What are you thinking, my love?" Stefan
asked, sensing her thoughts. He nuzzled her nape, inhaling the jasmine
fragrance of her fire-gold hair. "If not of me, I shall be very
jealous."

His teasing drew a smile to her lips once again and she
rolled onto her back, looking up at him.

"I was thinking how fortunate we are,
Stefan," she murmured. "How fortunate that we found each other as we
did." She flushed warmly, remembering that afternoon of stolen splendor,
so long ago. Their chance encounter, ordained by fate, had set into motion the
events that had forged this fierce love between them, a great love,
a
love that would endure whatever life brought to them.

Stefan traced his finger along her cheek, pausing at
the lush curve of her mouth. His heart ached with love for this beautiful woman
. . . his wife, a love that was woven into the very fabric of his soul.

"Yes, I'm a very lucky man," he breathed
huskily, drawing her into his arms. He bent over and kissed her smiling lips,
hungrily, passionately, greeting this special day with a splendor all its own.

About the Author

Miriam Minger
is the award-winning, critically acclaimed author of ten historical romances
.
 
She also writes
inspirational romantic thrillers as M.C. Walker, and is the co-author of the
popular Little Mike and Maddie series of children’s picture books about a
lovable pair of dogs and their motorcycle adventures.
 

Historical Romances by Miriam Minger:

Twin Passions

Stolen
Splendor

A Hint of
Rapture

Captive Rose

Defiant
Impostor

The Pagan’s
Prize

Wild Angel

Secrets of
Midnight

My Runaway
Heart (sequel to Secrets of Midnight)

Wild Roses
(sequel to Wild Angel)

Inspirational Romantic Thrillers by M.C. Walker:

Blood Son

Children’s Picture Books by Miriam Aronson:

Little Mike
and Maddie’s First Motorcycle Ride

Little Mike
and Maddie’s Black Hills Adventure

Little Mike
and Maddie’s Christmas Book

For information about the above titles, visit
www.walkerpublishing.net
or write to
[email protected]
.