Katerina settled herself on a bench outside the door and listened as her father disclosed how he came to be called the Kat.
Quarts of vodka let words tumble freely from the Kat’s mouth. “I’ll tell you about my beautiful horses,” he said, slurring his words. “Do you know how long it takes and how difficult it is to breed pure whites? Do you know how many generations it has taken to breed this horse with that horse and end with stallions like Whitefire and his son, Snowfire?”
Yuri drew in his breath and leaned his elbows on the simple plank table, his eyes keen, his ears alert. “Tell me,” he said quietly.
The Kat laughed. “First more vodka. I’ll drink and then you drink.” He reached for the jug in the center of the table. Both men drank heartily, but it was Yuri who replaced the earthen bottle in the same spot it had been taken from. His hand was steady, although his head reeled. “Go on about the horses,” he urged.
“It began long ago with the Przhevalski horse and . . . and another horse. Would you like to know what we did?” he baited the young Russian.
“Of course, but only if you want to tell me,” Yuri replied nonchalantly.
“Do you wonder how I got to be named the Kat?” Yuri nodded. “My father, his father, and his father before him had a knack for handling stallions. One day my great-great-grandfather was sent to the barn to watch the horses. He was but a lad, and his father told him he couldn’t leave until he understood the animals. My great-great-grandfather sat on a stool and watched the horses eat and he watched them sleep. He talked to them as his father talked to them. The story goes that he stayed in the barn for two days and two nights and still he didn’t understand what his father expected of him.
“With nothing to occupy his time, save watching and talking to the horses, he noticed a cat wander through the stalls, gently rubbing against the horses’ legs and purring softly and contentedly. The stallions quieted immediately, as did the rest of the horses. They lowered their heads to the ground while the cat purred and nuzzled their noses. My great-great-grandfather learned from the cat how to touch and how to speak to them.”
“An amazing story,” Yuri said quietly.
“And now you wish to know the secret, eh, my young friend,” the Kat said drunkenly. He slapped the Russian on the arm and started to speak. “The secret is . . . is . . .” He stopped. “I’ll tell it to you this way,” the shrewd Cossack went on. “There is an old Arab proverb that says: the fleetest of horses is the chestnut, the most enduring the bay, the most spirited the black, the most blessed the one with the white forehead. That is the secret, my young friend.”
“Is it!” breathed a puzzled Yuri, who dared not ask one question.
“You fool, did you think for one moment that I was so drunk I would tell you our secret? Better men than you, my friend, have tried and died for their efforts. Fool!” He pushed the liquor toward the Russian. “Have a drink.”
Yuri rose from the table and walked to the door. As his hand touched the latch, the Cossack thundered, “I said have another drink!”
Yuri turned, his eyes full of hate. “I don’t drink with liars,” he said softly as he left the room, the latch clicking softly behind him.
The Kat picked up the jug and sent it crashing against the wall. “Fool! Better men than you have tried and died for their efforts, just as you will!” he shouted over and over, until his eyes grew heavy. Finally he lowered his head onto his folded arms and slept.
* * *
Katerina sensed Yuri approaching. Drawing in her breath, she turned to meet him and rushed into his arms, welcoming him with her whole being. “I’ve been waiting,” she said simply.
“I know,” he said huskily. “I’m here now.” He pulled her into his arms in a hard embrace before she could utter another word. His lips crushed hers, driving the breath from her body as she pressed willingly against him. Yuri’s arms tightened around her. His long muscular legs, next to hers, drove her back till she rested against the gnarled old tree where she had been sitting. His hands caressed her back, her breasts, the flatness of her stomach. He lifted his mouth from hers and looked deeply into her eyes in the bright moonlight. “You’re so beautiful,” he said hungrily as his mouth opened her lips, demanding more and still more from her straining body. She felt his hands inside the looseness of her sarafan, her breasts becoming alive under his touch. His strong hands caressed the warm, bare flesh till she moaned in delight.
Suddenly they were on the ground, the grass soft and cool. Fumbling, with shaking hands, she removed her clothing while Yuri did the same. When their nude bodies met, low moans escaped them both as his lips crushed hers, his body pressed hers, demanding more.
Crying softly with desire, she lay beside him as Yuri explored her body, which was pliant to his every demand. Her senses soared and whirled about her as she opened her mouth to his gently exploring tongue, her taut breasts boring into his hard, muscular chest. She moved invitingly beneath him, striving to make them one, always one.
Unable to bear the exquisite torture, she parted her thighs, and he entered her, gently at first and then with deep plunges, her pain a momentary thing as she was caught up in the passion of the pressure within her. Wave after wave of passion engulfed her as Yuri’s violent pain was released to meet hers in the cascade of their emotions.
They lay quietly, each content to feel the other’s nearness, neither speaking. From time to time Katerina reached out to touch his arm to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
As she nestled herself in the comforting hold of his arm, she said quietly, “I’ll miss you when you return to Moscow.”
“I’ll return for you at summer’s end. Promise that you will wait for me.”
He wanted her, but was it for now or would it be for always? “I’ll wait for you,” she said huskily.
Yuri raised himself on one elbow. “I’ve bedded many women, but none like you. I think I loved you the moment I saw you standing in the house, waiting for me. I’ll love you forever, for all eternity.”
“Where will we go, what will we do?” Katerina asked quietly.
“Don’t concern yourself, I’ll take care of you. I have many plans to make. When I return, all will be in readiness. Would you like to live in Kiev with a houseful of servants, and have fine clothes and fine food?”
“Oh, yes,” she murmured happily. There was no need for her to tell him that in the mountains during the winter months they lived a life of royalty, in the tradition of the Vaschenkos. No need to reveal that her father was not what he seemed. Later she would tell him. Later she would let him know everything. For now, this was her time—hers and Yuri’s.
They slept, their naked flesh entwined on the grassy copse, far from the house.
* * *
Yuri’s selection of the horses was slow and thorough. Katerina sat, unobserved, willing the tedious process to be over. Unable to keep her shining eyes off the muscular Russian, she followed his every move. All she could think of was the velvety night and how it felt to have Yuri’s arms embrace her.
She watched as the tall Russian shook his head over something, his jaw tight and angry. Even from where she sat, she could hear his harsh complaint to her father.
“The agreement was two hundred horses from the stallion Whitefire and the mare Wildflower, not one hundred and fifty, not one hundred, but two hundred. Two hundred pure whites. The other eight hundred were to salve your ego. Do you take me for a fool?” he demanded angrily. “The purpose of this agreement was for the whites.” Angrily he waved a long arm at the black and russet horses that roamed the pens. “What good are they in the snow? The Czar wants only the whites. You agreed, you gave your word. If you wish to renege on the agreement, then I must cancel the bargain we made. Two hundred pure whites or nothing,” he said adamantly.
The Kat grinned at the determined look on the Russian’s face. “It never hurts to barter. You shall have your two hundred whites—one hundred and twenty-five mares and seventy-five castrated stallions.
” When the Russian flinched, the Kat roared with laughter. “Does the word bother you, my friend, or is it the act itself? Never mind, it isn’t important what you feel. When we return from the Carpathians in April, the horses will be taken to Moscow.
“Oles,” he called loudly, “take the Russian to the pasture so he can inspect the mares.” His eyes told the Cossack to watch and let nothing go unnoticed.
Yuri correctly interpreted the look and smiled to himself.
He could feel Katerina’s eyes on him while he made his selection, nodding as each horse was examined. He could do worse. With a little finery she would be acceptable at court, he mused as he finished his chore.
Katerina, who had been standing next to her father during the counting, looked at him with wide eyes. He knew! Why didn’t he say something? What would he do? She watched the Cossack hetman turn and stride away, a look of fury on his bearded face.
How to get through the rest of the day? A walk, a ride on her horse, Bluefire? A nap under the gnarled old tree where she had made love with Yuri?
When the inky black night had closed around her and the birds slept, she settled herself under the leafy tree to wait for Yuri. She felt confused. She wanted him, felt a need for him, and would willingly go with him, yet he wasn’t the man she wanted to spend her life with. His eyes didn’t return unspoken words. Perhaps there was no such man. Now that her father knew, she felt fear for what he would do to the Russian and terror of what he would do to her. Once he knew she was no longer a virgin, he would lose face with his fellow Cossacks. It would make no difference that he was the hetman. A Cossack girl married a Cossack man, not a Russian or a Mongol. Now, why had she thought of the Mongol? Why did he creep into her mind? She had to stop thinking about that day on the steppe. That time was over. What did Yuri mean when he said he would return for her? Did he mean to marry her or did he mean they would live together without a wedding ceremony? Men didn’t marry women who weren’t virgins.
Yuri came to her quietly, his footsteps hushed, his breathing soft. His arms reached for her and held her close. He crushed his face into her wealth of coppery hair and groaned softly. “I’ve been waiting all day for this moment,” he said tenderly. “My body might have been choosing horses, but my mind and my thoughts were on you,” he said huskily.
They settled themselves beneath the old tree, Katerina’s head on his chest, her breathing tortured as she sought for and found his lips. Hungrily, he crushed her lips to his with a low growl of passion. The kiss was deep, savage in its intensity. They paused only long enough to shed their clothing, their bodies meeting just as passionately, entwining as his hungry mouth once more sought hers. Unable to contain herself, Katerina enticed him by straining against him till he entered her almost brutally. A sheen of perspiration flashed on his muscular torso as he sought for and conquered her, again and again.
Spent, they lay in each other’s arms, talking softly. From time to time Yuri kissed her gently as his hand caressed her firm breasts. “When we’re together, I shall keep you a prisoner in your chambers.” He smiled down at her. Katerina snuggled closer to him, saying nothing. “Spend every waking hour thinking of me,” he teased. “When will you speak to your father?” he asked quietly, a sense of urgency in his voice.
“After you leave. I can tell you now that he’ll be furious. A Cossack girl belongs with a man of her own kind.”
“Girls have a way of twisting their fathers around to their way of thinking. I’ve seen my sister do it many times,” he said with amusement.
Katerina didn’t want to discuss her father’s reaction. “What do you think of the steppe, and how did you like doing business with the Kat?”
“He is a shrewd businessman. For a while he thought he could outwit me with the whites. I would have canceled the bargain which was made. The Czar agreed to the additional eight hundred horses for the sake of two hundred whites. What good is a black or russet in winter combat? I asked your father for four hundred whites in the autumn of next year, but he wouldn’t agree. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I return to Moscow and report that he wouldn’t agree to next year’s shipment. The Czar will be outraged. One stallion out of Whitefire is all I would need to breed my own horses. Think about it, Katerina. We could go to Kiev and breed the horses as your father does here on the steppe. One stallion, that’s all we would need.”
“No, darling, that is not all you would need. There’s more to it than you think,” she said, nibbling on his ear. “The breeding of the pure whites is a science . . . a . . . Never mind, it is not for me to say.”
“Perhaps, if we were to marry, your father would give us a stallion as a wedding gift,” Yuri teased lightly as he ran his hand over her thigh. “I haven’t seen the stallions, where are they kept?” he said, crushing his lips to hers. “Tell me, darling, so that when I go back to the Czar I can tell him I’ve seen the magnificent beasts.” Her senses were reeling, her body was full of desire, but still something managed to worm its way into her subconscious. “Whitefire and Wildflower are here under guard,” she whispered.
Yuri clasped her head in his two hands and drew her to him. “Where is Whitefire?” he questioned.
“Only my father . . .” She felt herself being lifted from the ground as a deep roar of outrage thundered in the quiet night. She saw a heavy pouch sail through the air and land at Yuri’s side.
“There will be no horses for the Czar. I’ll leave it to you to make a suitable explanation. You have but minutes to ride from this village. One moment longer than I deem necessary and every Cossack in this village will be on your trail. Get dressed, Katerina,” Katlof said coldly, “you betrayed us—the Cossack heritage. And for what? For the lust of this Russian. Fool!” He spat angrily. “He holds your naked body to his and questions you about our secret, and for the pleasure of his body you betray us. Don’t deny it. I heard him ask you and I heard you answer him.” His eyes full of hate, he stood back and spat on her.
Yuri was on his feet instantly, his eyes full of murder as he lunged at the Cossack chief. They tussled on the ground, and within minutes the Russian was pinned beneath the hetman’s powerful hands.
“I said minutes and I meant minutes! If you wish to waste them fighting with me, that’s your business, but you’ve been warned.”
“Father, you are—” Crack! Katerina stumbled backward, her hand clasped to her cheek. Again she tried. “You’re mista—” This time she landed on the ground, sprawling awkwardly next to Yuri, who was struggling to his feet.
“She told me nothing. It’s true that I asked, but she divulged nothing,” Yuri said harshly. “She’s telling you the truth.”
“All Russians are known for their lies,” the Kat said coldly. “My daughter is my affair, not yours. Never yours,” he said vehemently.
His face full of rage, Yuri looked at the Cossack a moment and then at Katerina. “I meant what I said. I’ll be back for you at the end of summer. If you choose to go with me, I’ll keep the promise I made to you. If you choose to stay with this . . . this . . . barbarian, then I will understand.”
“Take me with you,” Katerina pleaded tearfully.
“It isn’t possible now. I said I’ll return and I will. You must trust me.”
“I’ll count the days myself,” the Kat sneered. He looked down at his tearful daughter and said coldly, “He got what he wanted and he won’t be back. We’ll count the days together.”
Yuri, now fully clothed, jumped upon his horse and rode from the camp. Some distance out, he shouted, “Remember what I said, I’ll return!”
The ride back to the village was unbearable. Katerina dared not look back to catch one last glimpse of Yuri, and she didn’t dare look at her father. They rode to Volin in deafening silence.
Before retiring, Katlof informed Katerina in as few words as possible that in the morning she would stand trial before the council. Katlof knew what the outcome would be if she was found guilty, but he had to put his feelings aside and al
low the justice of the Cossacks to prevail.
* * *
A Cossack escorted Katerina into the hall and down to the semicircular table where the men sat. She stood solemnly before her father and the council. Katlof’s eyes bored into her as he stood, magnificent in his full-dress Cossack uniform. The somber panel, six men on the left and six men on the right of the hetman, wearing ankle-length caftans, boots, and black sheepskin hats, sat and waited. Her father stared at her with loathing as he spoke. “Katerina Vaschenko, you stand accused of breaking the tribal law of chastity, and the tribal law of silence regarding the secret bloodline of the Cosars. Do you have anything to say before we pronounce your sentence?”
“Yes, Fa . . . yes, my hetman, I’m not guilty.”
Katlof lost control of himself for a moment. “Not guilty! You, who betrayed your heritage! You, who lay in the arms of a Russian emissary who asked questions that you eagerly answered! You, who in your wild lust betrayed God Himself!”
Within moments she was reduced to jelly, her amber eyes pleading for understanding.
“Papa!” she screamed. “That’s not true! I didn’t tell the secret! It’s true that I lusted after the Russian and it’s true I lay in his arms, but I didn’t tell the secret. When Yuri gets to Moscow, the only report he can give the Czar is that he made love to me. Why . . . why won’t you believe me?”
She looked at each member of the council and knew that they believed her father. She had been accused, tried, and found guilty by all. The council offered no resistance to Katlof’s feelings or his judgments.
“I have spoken with the men of the council and all are agreed: you are guilty. Step forward to hear your sentence, Katerina. It is the judgment of the council that since you broke the law of silence, you will not speak to anyone and no one will be permitted to speak to you. You may stay in Volin and in our hut, and may continue to work with the Cosars. This is your punishment, and from this moment until the Feast of Christmas, silence will be your bedfellow.”
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