Veils of Silk(52)

"Is this why your mother decided to leave St. Petersburg?"

Laura nodded. "She wanted to get us away since St. Petersburg had too many memories. She was right, too. Going to another country gave us other things to think about." For the first time she noticed that Ian was holding her fist. "Lord, Ian, I'm sorry," she said ruefully. "I hit you?"

"Nothing to signify." He let go of her hand. "Shall we resume our journey? From now until we're on a British ship heading home, I'll make sure I'm no more than six feet away from you at any time so you won't ever have to defend yourself."

Her eyes flashed. "No! The lesson isn't over yet." She picked up her discarded rifle and began to reload.

Not quite believing what he saw, Ian said, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Face set, she replied, "I'm going to hit that damned target if I have to keep trying all night." She raised the rifle and fired. She didn't hit the paper, but this time she kept her eyes open and pulled the trigger more smoothly.

Again Laura reloaded and aimed. Eyes straight ahead, she said softly, "If I didn't love him so much, I wouldn't have hated him so much for what he did." The gun blazed. This time bark chipped from the tree trunk six inches from the target.

Ian stood by, silent except for an occasional terse suggestion. Laura wielded the rifle with a fierce concentration that told him as much about the woman he had married as she had revealed by her anguished tears.

The session seemed to last an eternity. Finally one of her shots struck the target dead center. The paper spun into the air, then drifted to the ground, a hole clearly visible in the middle.

Drained but satisfied, Laura slung the rifle over her shoulder and turned to Ian. Hands on hips, she said, "Tomorrow the revolver."

He gave her a slow smile. "Has anyone ever mentioned what a formidable woman you are?"

"I am a Russian," she said with self-mocking humor, as if that fact were sufficient explanation.

Perhaps it was.

* * *

When they reached the dak bungalow that night, Laura went to bed as soon as they had eaten. She was exhausted, though not so far gone that she couldn't appreciate the fact that Ian upheld his end of the bargain by eating far more than usual at dinner.

At first she slept deeply, but later the old nightmare returned. The beginning was exactly the same. She was Lara, six years old and frightened by her parents' incomprehensible wildness.

As hysteria mounted, the dream abruptly shifted three years later in time. Once again she stood in front of the study, terrified to enter but knowing that she had no choice. Her small hand reached up to the cold brass knob and turned. The heavy door swung open with a screech, revealing her father's shattered body sprawled across his blood-drenched desk.

Then the dream took a new course. For the first time, terror burned away in a rush of fury that scoured her like flame. The familiar scene shimmered and changed.

To her amazement, her father sat up, miraculously whole, and looked at her. Then he stood, walked over, and knelt beside her, taking her hands in his. "I'm sorry, Larishka," he whispered, his handsome face haunted. "Forgive me."

Laura began to cry, real tears that ran down her face and woke her up, confused and disoriented. Then Ian's arms came around her, as solid and reliable as the earth itself. She clung to him, weeping against his chest.

When her tears had abated, Ian said quietly, "The old Russian nightmare that you mentioned once?"

"Yes, but this time it was different." Skipping over the early part of the dream, she described the scene in her father's study, and how it had changed from all of the other times she had experienced it.

When she finished speaking, Ian said thoughtfully, "For fifteen years you were caught in that moment of horror. Perhaps your anger has set you free so now you can remember the best of your father as well as the worst." His hands stroked her back, smoothing away the tension. "I wouldn't be surprised if you never have that dream again."

"If so, I won't miss it!" she said fervently. Then, rueful, she added, "I seem to have spent most of the last two days crying on your shoulder. If I'm not careful, you may dissolve."

"It's hard to dissolve a scarecrow," he said, amusement in his voice. "Besides, there's a certain rough equality here. Think of how tedious it would be if one of us was sane and healthy while the other one wasn't. As it is, we're perfectly suited."

Though the words were delivered lightly, Laura realized they were quite true. Like called to like. The fact that she and Ian were both troubled might be why they were so understanding of each other.

With an uneven chuckle, she settled into his arms. "I know that there's always supposed to be a silver lining, but you must have looked hard for that one."