Sweet Love, Survive by Johnson Susan

Author:Johnson, Susan [Johnson, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2010-06-04T07:00:00+00:00

12

Apollo’s bath and toilette were completed in record time. With his hair still damp and curling on his neck, he greeted Iskender-Khan.

With his long absent great-grandson—his favorite—home again, standing deferentially before him, Iskender-Khan knew Allah had indeed been beneficent. Tall, vital, matured into a man, Apollo was both his hope for the future and a poignant reminder of his own youth. Apollo remained standing out of respect for elders, the cornerstone of tradition and of the unwritten Adat. Old age, a woman, honor, and a guest in your home were all sacred. Apollo was now lavishly dressed in expensive silk and finest leather, as befitted his station. Iskender’s knowledgeable eyes scanned the smooth, tanned skin, the gilded hair, the long hands, jeweled again after months of nothing but sweat-stained leather gloves.

Apollo smiled diffidently at the scrutiny, an amused gleam in his eye. “Finally back, and all the parts are intact. Remarkable after four years of slaughter.”

“Not remarkable, necessarily,” Iskender replied, pride in his low voice. “Karaim said you are a heroic warrior—a real djighit.”

Apollo smiled serenely. “Lady Luck,” he said modestly, “rode with me.”

“And a little skill, no doubt.” The gaunt, chiseled face creased into a smile. “We’ve missed you, As-saqr As-saghir. Come, sit down.”

They were both seated cross-legged on silk cushions, and after all the homecoming amenities were concluded and a glass of pungent Khahetian brandy was before each of them, Iskender-Khan came right to the point, his tone mild and of a grave delicacy. “I understand the countess is with child.”

Apollo knew Karaim and Sahin would have reported to their chief. A trace of color rose under his bronzed skin. “My child, Pushka,” Apollo said evenly.

His great-grandfather eyed him attentively. “Karaim says she was found in Stavropol … a kept woman. A Red pig of a general’s kept woman. The child may not be yours.” Iskender spoke in a soft and savorless voice which Apollo found peculiarly uncomfortable. “You must consider that.”

“The thought isn’t new to me,” Apollo replied, his voice empty of expression. “Nevertheless, it’s mine,” he said intently, not mentioning any of his own skepticism.

With the wisdom of his years, Iskender-Khan had his doubts concerning the truth of that declaration, but since Apollo was his favorite, he was inclined to indulge his fancy if need be. Time enough to decide what steps to take after one saw what the child looked like. “What about the husband? Could the babe be his?”

The answer came a trifle too fast. “No.”

“I see,” Iskender said composedly. “Well … in any case, what of Peotr? He’s alive, I understand. Will he be seeking the return of his wife and … your child?”

“Not likely,” Apollo replied curtly.

Iskender’s gray eyebrows levered upward.

“As you may know”—Apollo’s voice was quick and caustic—“he has a mistress and two children in Baku—as well as a decided predilection for females of every persuasion if the mood strikes him.”

“Not too unusual conduct for the Russian aristocracy,” his great-grandfather said dryly.

Apollo gave a curious grimace. “No, I suppose not. His marriage to Kitty wasn’t so unusual, either, in society’s eyes.

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