Chapter Four

Cleo sat against the wall of the museum and smiled. She was exhausted and, yet, totally energized. This had been a day like no other. Serge had been excellent company, filling her with more information than a tour guide ever could. Her feet were tired, so she was catching her breath for a bit. Tomorrow, she would wear her running shoes. They were much more comfortable.

A smile filled her features as her gaze traveled around the museum. It grew bigger as she watched Serge walking toward her. He really was a wonderful man. She’d spent more time here and at St. Basil’s than she’d originally intended to. No, not St. Basil’s, Pokrovsky Sobor, I need to use the right name.

“You are ready?” Serge questioned.

“Yes. Although, I could spend a week looking around with no trouble whatsoever.”

She stood beside the man who had accompanied her all day. Rolling her shoulders, she sighed before looking around the main room, taking in everything one last time. Suddenly, something caught her eye. It was a small opening leading to what looked like another room. In the shadow of one wall, she would have sworn someone was beckoning to her.

Grabbing her necklace, Cleo sighed as the familiar, comforting strength it gave her flowed through her body. She couldn’t not go. Looking back to Serge, she said, “I just want to check something out. I’ll be right back.”

He smiled. “No problem. I’ll be right here. Take your time.” Serge lowered himself into the spot she’d just vacated. “I just need to rest these old bones.” There must have been something on her face, for he quickly added, “Don’t feel bad. I’m just getting old. Go on with you; I’ll be waiting here.”

After staring at him a bit longer to make sure, Cleo didn’t even hesitate, just leaned down and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be back in a jiff.” Spinning, she headed for the small archway.

Her breath caught in her throat as she entered the semi-circular room. It was not very big, but there were wall-to-wall tapestries. All of them gorgeous and breathtaking. I can’t imagine what kind of time it takes to make something like this. She noticed there were two other people in there, and in her opinion, they didn’t seem all that impressed with what they were witnessing.

Pushing them to the back of her mind, she allowed herself to enjoy the incredible pieces before her. She looked down at a marker by the first tapestry and read: KIEVAN RUS’. Raising her gaze to the woven fabric, she took in a battle scene. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the rest of the room. They were linked to form a mural. Amazing.

Standing there, she slowly followed the scene. She could almost hear the faint pounding of hoof beats, smell the blood, and hear the cries of pain and death. Cleo wanted to touch the tapestry to see if she could feel the heartbeats of the men and animals in the images. About three quarters of the way around the mural, her gaze froze on the image of a solitary man.

He stood with his right foot up on a small rise. He wore no helmet on his head; instead, the metal sat cradled in the crook of his left arm, and if he had a coif, he didn’t wear it. There existed some writing over the nose guard that she couldn’t quite make out. The breastplate he wore was massive; even in the tapestry, she could tell he was a large man. It was silver and unadorned. Chainmail covered powerful-looking arms. He wore studded black guards for extra protection. She didn’t see a shield on or near him.

The man had light blond hair combined with a dark, serious expression as he stared down at something only he could see. Strangely, it was as if he was staring directly at her. Shoved into the ground by his right foot was a huge sword. His hand curved around the hilt and the cross-guard. In the end of the large pommel, she noticed six blue stones surrounding a large black one with red in it. The entire hilt was silver and engraved with some design, as well.

The blade—much larger than the others in the tapestries—made her shudder. A quarter of the length was jagged on both sides, then in the middle of the blade, it looked as though it were engraved.

A chill flowed over her, and she jerked her gaze up to his face. Still, his eyes seemed focused on her. She skimmed her gaze over his bearded face. There was something in his stance that told her he was someone who had made a huge impression on whomever he was fighting for. There were no identifying marks on him to place him with a noble or under another knight. But, of all the men she saw, he was the most notable and imposing.

It was easy to tell he wouldn’t back down from a fight and would be the first to engage, but in this image, there was no blood on him or the sword. He seemed untouched by the chaos behind him. Again, that urge to touch the tapestry washed over her, and Cleo had to physically clench her fist to keep from stepping past the ropes and doing just that.

“Are you okay, Cleo Laurens?”

Cleo jumped at the sound of Serge’s voice. Spinning, she nodded as their eyes met. “I’m fine, sorry. I just got caught up in this. It’s absolutely amazing.”

Serge held her gaze for a moment before looking past her to the display on the wall. “Da,” he responded. “Very impressive, isn’t he?”

He? Cleo turned back to the tapestry, and immediately, her eyes returned to the blond giant standing alone. “It all is, but yes, I suppose he’s all right, as well.”

A noncommittal grunt came from Serge, and she knew he didn’t believe her, for a second. His words confirmed it. “And, so why would you stand and stare at him for more than five minutes, staring at something you suppose is all right?”

Refusing to look at Serge, Cleo fought against blushing. She lost. The heat swarmed up into her cheeks.

A hearty chuckle from Serge reached her. “It’s okay, Miss Cleo. I suspect you are supposed to see something in this tapestry. Something no one else is.”

“I just… He’s so different than anyone else anywhere up there.”

“He is searching for something.”

Cleo agreed. It sure looked liked it to her. Still that feeling of being observered remained with her. Glancing at her watch, she knew it was it time to go. She’d been in that room for almost thirty minutes, and it barely seemed like seconds had gone by.

“We should go,” she said, reluctant to leave the room. “I’ve kept you here way longer than I should have.”

“Don’t worry about me. Pozhalujsta, please. I’m fine.”

How could she not worry about him? Reaching for his arm, she slid hers through it. “Can I buy you dinner? As a thank you for spending the day with me, sharing in my experiences, and taking such good care of me?”

Serge patted her hand and smiled at her. “I would be honored to join you for a meal, but I cannot let you buy.”

“We can discuss that, later.” Together, they left the small room. In the entryway, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she almost tripped. Unable to help herself, Cleo took one final, fleeting look at the tall, solitary man. Although, there was no breeze in the room, it seemed as if his section of the tapestry rippled. As before, it felt like his gaze centered upon her. Resisting the urge to touch her necklace, she licked her lips and continued. Something flowed over her skin as if to ask—no, demand—she stay.