Sipping the brandy from his flask, Stefan was cataloguing his various aches and pains, including his bullet wound that was slowly healing, when the sound of an approaching horse had him turning his head in surprise.
“That was swift,” he said as Boris halted beside him.
The servant shrugged, his face as haggard as Stefan felt. The past three days with little sleep and hard riding were beginning to take their toll on the both of them.
“There was no need to linger.”
“Why?”
“I had barely stepped into the taproom when I overheard several locals complaining about a band of ruffians who had been poaching on their lands over the past few days.”
Stefan tempered the biting relief that raced through him. The ruffians sounded promising, but the Russian countryside was plagued with brigands. There was no certainty these were the men he sought.
“Do they know where the poachers were staying?”
“One farmer mentioned an abandoned cottage north of the village.”
“Have they searched the place?”
“No.” Boris snorted at Stefan’s startled glance. “The land belongs to the local Count. Why would they risk their necks battling a potential gang of cutthroats for an arrogant landowner who hasn’t the least concern for them?”
Stefan swallowed his words of protest. It was impossible for him to imagine his own tenants allowing a band of poachers to roam about his land. Of course, he had always considered his tenants members of his family, not meaningless property to be used for his own profit.
“And the Count?”
“Partaking of the delights in the Summer Palace.”
“How far are we from St. Petersburg?”
Boris studied the village, his brow furrowed as he calculated the distance.
“A day’s hard ride.”
Stefan shook his head. “Why would they linger in such an isolated place when they could easily become lost among the crowds of the city?”
“They hold one of the most well-known ladies in all of St. Petersburg. She would be recognized by even the most humble servant.”
“Of course.” Stefan sighed. He must be more tired than he realized. A female with Leonida’s notorious parents, not to mention her stunning beauty, would be easily recognized in St. Petersburg. He impatiently urged his horse to a trot. “Come. I want to see these poachers for myself.”
They had traveled a mile or so along the path when Boris slowed his horse and frowned at the thickening woods.
“Perhaps we should avoid the road,” he suggested, his voice pitched low. “If these are the men we are seeking they will be on guard.”
Stefan briefly considered. There would be a danger in moving through the dense trees. They could stumble across an enemy before they ever realized they were near. And there was the frustrating knowledge that it would take considerably longer to locate the cottage.
Then again, the bastards were certain to keep a watch on the road. The only chance to approach without warning would be to use the trees as cover.
“I suppose you have a point,” he muttered, urging his horse off the path.
Boris grinned as he followed. “For a duke you can be right sensible on occasion.”
“What would I do without you, Boris?” Stefan demanded wryly.
“Perhaps you could whisper in your brother’s ear just how valuable a servant I have proven to be.”
They eased cautiously through the undergrowth, Stefan’s attention on full alert. There were more things to be feared than ruffians.
Tigers, and even bears, were known to attack unwary travelers.