Golden Paradise

the Cossacks who performed acrobatic feats of great wonder after dessert. Alexander lingered until the orchestra began playing and he danced twice with the bride. In leaving he embraced Stefan, a public demonstration of his friendship.

The newlyweds were gracious for an hour more, mingling with their guests, accepting congratulations and facetious comment with equal good cheer. Stefan had never seemed so relaxed and approachable. The new Princess Bariatinsky, everyone agreed, was a good influence on him.

But Stefan's accommodating nature had its limits, although his guests were invited to stay and enjoy his wedding ball and hospitality as long as they wished. His cellars were at their disposal, he informed them, his chef committed to their gustatory pleasure, the musicians willing to play for a week. He smiled from the bandstand and waved au revoir. He and his bride, he finished, her hand firmly in his, were off on their honeymoon. And so saying, he scooped Lisaveta up into his arms to cheering applause and carried her down the short carpeted range of stairs to the ballroom floor, across its length, down the corridor to the main staircase and thence down again and out the opened doors to his waiting carriage.

Acknowledged the good wishes of those of his staff in attendance at the main doors and at his carriage with a ready smile and cordial thank-yous, he deposited Lisaveta onto the carriage seat in a tumble of white lace and, climbing in behind her, signaled for departure.

'How is the time?' Lisaveta asked, since a suppressed agitation was evident beneath Stefan's composed exterior.

'The wedding set me back five hours, but we're still fine.' He hadn't told her of the telegrams-three now since late afternoon-confirming Hussein Pasha's march toward Kars…or of his decision after the second one to leave as soon as possible after the wedding and not wait until the next day.

'I'm sorry,' Lise teased, 'for ruining your schedule.' But under the playfulness of her teasing she was aglow with the wonder of her love. How impossible she would have thought the circumstances of her wedding short months ago, how inconceivable to be married to Russia's greatest hero, how strange she'd never dreamed of this eventuality when she'd fallen under Stefan's spell that first night in Aleksandropol. She'd thought herself a civilized female then, capable of participating in an amorous interlude, capable of saying adieu when it was over, never knowing intellect was insufficient against overwhelming feelings-against love. Hafiz had known it. Poets and past dwellers on this earth for a millenium had discovered that truth. And now she knew it, too.

His smile flashed white in the lamplit interior of the coach. 'I wanted you to ruin my schedule, dushka. It was a perfect wedding.' She was worth every minute of delay, he thought, taking his wife in his arms, feeling her close, the scent of her hair reminding him of their warm summer nights before Tiflis, when the fragrance of rose was on the air like perfumed seduction. His decision to come north and bring her back was worth every long frustrating hour of his journey. His grip tightening in a spontaneous gesture of assurance, he smiled down at her upturned face. 'You belong to me,' he said softly, the fullness of his need and love echoing in his voice.

'And you to me,' she answered, her voice as quiet. 'Do you mind?' she asked then, because Stefan was a man apart, a leader and overlord of vast tribal subjects and troops, and she'd felt his minute reaction to her words.

'I'd never thought of it that way,' he honestly replied, possession always having been endowed by strength. This was new, this shared right, and he asked, 'Is it in the order of things?'

'It's only fair.'

His answer was in the simple kiss he gave her, his lips touching hers lightly, a butterfly kiss of affirmation and love. 'Whatever makes you happy,' he said, this man who'd stood alone since adolescence, this man who'd felt he never needed anything or anyone. 'I'm pleased,' he murmured, his mind and heart so filled with love he felt invincible, 'to belong to you.'

She kissed him then because no matter what his answer she loved him, but his reply had been tempered by her wishes, by his love for her, and she felt overwhelming happiness. 'Do we deserve all this good fortune?' she teasingly whispered, her golden eyes like sunshine in the dark.

'I don't know about you, but I certainly do,' he emphatically replied, his temperament familiar with life's largess. 'I'd been looking for you for years.'

'In other women's arms?' Her sarcasm was lighthearted.

'How else do you look?' he casually replied, his tone matching hers.

'Some people might consider 'looking' in another context.'

'Really?' His grin was infectious.

'Your looking days are over, you understand.'

'Really?' he said again in that same unconvinced tone.

'Really,' she said in an inflection bespeaking her own emphatic views on territorial rights.

'Everyone has a mistress tucked away in a little house somewhere.'

'Almost everyone.'

'Think what it will do for my reputation,' he said, stroking her hand lightly, 'if I change the pattern.'

'Think what it will do for the state of your health if you don't.' She looked up at him from under her lacy lashes, her glance moderate but firm.

'Are you threatening me with bodily harm?' Teasing insouciance infused his words.

'Absolutely.'

'How nice,' he said with a smile.

'Don't use that charming smile on me, Stefan, I'm dead serious.'

'In that case, dushka, I must mend my disreputable ways and start a new trend. We shall make love matches fashionable.'

'You don't mind?' Her voice was tentative at the enormity of the change she was demanding, at the realistic application of her emotional requirements.

He thought for a moment of all the years he'd considered a love match the worst possible circumstance, a danger in fact to one's peace of mind. And now, by the grace of God, he was lucky enough to realize how wrong he'd been.

'No,' he said very quietly, 'I don't mind.'

Nikki and Alisa were waiting in Stefan's railcar, having been invited to say their goodbyes in private, and they both rose from the comfortable parlor chairs to greet the newlyweds when they entered the door.

Hugs and kisses were exchanged and pleased wishes accepted for a happy future; the wedding was briefly recapped, they commented on the Tsar's lengthy visit, discussed various guests in passing, and then Alisa went off to the bedroom to help Lisaveta change into a traveling gown.

Nikki and Stefan sat over brandy, their conversation turning to the newest problem in the war. Nikki, a colonel assigned to the Staff College, served as liaison between the Tsar's advisers and the General Staff. 'How serious is Hussein Pasha's attempt?' he inquired.

'It's a deadly gamble,' Stefan replied. He shrugged then, because both were familiar with the terrain Hussein Pasha was traveling through. 'They could die or possibly succeed. But if they make it, will they be in any condition to fight? Even the mountain ponies need some water.'

'It's a hell of a risk.'

'But you can't help admiring him for trying. He's probably gambling his own colonelcy on it.'

Nikki smiled. 'There's always armchair caution at the top.'

'Unfortunately it doesn't win a lot of wars.'

'How costly do you anticipate the attack on Kars to be when it comes?'

Stefan had been asked that question too many times to count, the fortified city having withstood two major assaults already. But the words this time seemed to strike more personally, and he experienced a brief sense of vulnerability. 'It depends,' he replied, repressing his sudden precarious sensation of mortality, 'on how much ammunition they've stockpiled inside the fortress.' His shoulder lifted in the briefest shrug. 'We simply don't know.'

'You won't be leading the attack now that-' Nikki paused to select a diplomatic turn of phrase '-you're no longer a bachelor,' he finished, deciding against reference to the coming child.

'Of course I will,' Stefan replied. 'My men expect it.' He'd no more think of directing the attack from the safety of the Staff Headquarters behind the lines than he'd consider retreating from battle. His personal leadership was in