Whitefire

by Fern Michaels

  The catlike eyes narrowed and flamed at his words. “Only time will tell if I keep my word,” she said insolently, leaning back against the wall, her long legs thrust in front of her. Completely aware of the picture she made, she thrust out her chest, and watched one of the buttons slip and then open on her coarse shirt. She made no move to close it, and laughed again when she saw Banyen’s eyes become clouded. “Thoughts such as you’re having now will one day be your undoing.” Katerina straightened and slowly buttoned her shirt, her eyes glittering. “No more Mongol.” She let her eyes travel across the room to where Kostya was standing. “Suddenly I find that I prefer Western eyes and hair the color of summer sun.” She laughed again as Banyen murdered her with his dark gaze.

  Chapter 15

  Days later, shortly before dawn, while the great fortress slept, a thrashing, tormented Katerina was wakened by the howl of the wind and the icy snow that pelted the windows. She wiped her perspiring brow and then shivered as she curled herself into a tight ball for greater comfort. She knew she would never be able to get back to sleep with the raging blizzard that beat at the fortress. She shivered again. The Mongol had invaded her once more, chasing her like a wild animal. She had been so sure, so confident, that after their hours of lovemaking he would cease to stalk her. She shouldn’t have allowed it to happen. Katerina tried to tell herself it was because Kostya had kissed her, setting her body in motion and then leaving her. She chided herself for being so vulnerable; for responding willingly as soon as she felt a man’s body. How had she let him touch her, caress her naked flesh, and then answered his urgings in a way that she had never thought possible? She had desperately wanted the person who had raped her, and had reveled in his flesh. God, she cried silently as she buried her head in the downiness of the quilt. She wouldn’t let it happen again. She couldn’t let it happen with Banyen, and she couldn’t permit it with Kostya, either. All she had to do was avoid looking into those sapphire eyes and she would be safe. Concentration on the matters at hand would solve the problem. Thinking only of the horses and training the men was to be her life for the next few months. When it was over she could ponder about herself and what she was going to do. For now, she would have to be strong and not give in to these strange, wonderful feelings that were happening to her.

  Katerina withdrew her finely boned hands from the comforting warmth and rubbed her temples. Her face felt hot, flushed, and she knew that the room was chilly, for she could see the misty vapor from her mouth. If her grandfather was awake, she could talk with him the way she had as a child when she was troubled.

  Katerina jumped from the bed and quickly dressed. She splashed cold water, which had a film of ice over it, on her face and drew her breath in with the shock of the freezing wetness on her steaming face. Quickly she brushed out her coppery hair and pinned it haphazardly atop her head. Reaching for the ermine cape, she flung it over her shoulders and tied it in place. Katerina rubbed a cheek against the rich fur, and for a moment her cinnamon eyes glazed over, reminding her of another gentle touch. Clenching her teeth, she ran from the room, along the long, icy corridor, and down the steep, curving stairwell. She continued to run till she came to the vast kitchen.

  Only a pale lamp burned, and she could see without straining her eyes that her grandfather slept peacefully on his cot near the blazing hearth. His affectionate cat purred contentedly as Katerina prepared herself a cup of dark tea. There would be no talking after all, she mused as she sipped at the fragrant brew.

  Katerina stroked the saffron ball of fur and listened to her purr her happiness at having attention paid to her. Her eyes raked the high ceiling of the kitchen, with its fragrant herbs and spices hanging in ropes from the rafters. Huge copper pots and skillets hung next to the dancing flames and gave off a subdued sparkle as the flickering light cast its eerie shadows. Large balls of cheese were strung from heavy, knotted ropes next to cooking utensils and gave off a tantalizing smell. How carefree she had been in this big old kitchen when she was a child. Her eyes went to the tall, thin windows that stretched from the low beams to the base of the wall. Her favorite window seat was still there. She remembered the day her father had built it and said that it was just for her and had a chest to keep treasures in when she wanted to play near the great fire. Her eyes took on a faraway look as she continued to look around the enormous room. Long, heavy wooden shelves dotted the sides and were stacked with dishes and everyday tools. Here and there a green plant rested, thanks to Hanna’s tender nurturing. It had always been a happy, comfortable place to be. Now, she thought sadly as she glanced about, it held approaching death, secrets, and hostility. Now it was just a place to get warm and a place to eat. It would never be anything more. When had she outgrown this favorite hideaway? She had to stop thinking about things like this. She had to do something active.

  The horses! Of course—she would go to the stallions’ quarters and see how they fared. There was no one up to see her at this hour, and anyway, an observer would have no idea where she was going. Gaily Katerina set her heavy mug on the worn table and left the coziness of the kitchen. She needed to see all that was left of the Cosar bloodline. Perhaps when she looked at Whitefire and Snowfire she would regain her perspective. Dejectedly she shook her coppery head. What good were the stallions if the mares were gone?

  Stealthily Katerina crept through endless corridors and passages till she came to the underground stable. Cautiously she looked over her shoulder and listened carefully for some sound, anything that would alert her to another’s presence. Hearing and seeing nothing to alarm her, she inched her way over to the thick, heavy cupboards that housed the blankets and utensils for the animals. She stood on her toes and reached into the farthest corner of the top shelf. Her long, slender fingers fumbled for the catch that would release the monstrous shelf. Standing back, she waited for it to move on its well-oiled hinges. Quickly she stepped through the secret entrance and pressed another catch for the opening to close. Her lamp from the kitchen held high, she made her way down another long, narrow passageway, barely wide enough for a person to lead a horse. Gradually the tunnel sloped, and the Kat knew she was within sight of Whitefire’s special stable.

  The purebreds sensed her presence, and a low whicker reached her ears. She knew the noise wouldn’t carry beyond where she stood; the walls and ceilings were thick and soundproof.

  Her hands trembled as she slid the heavy wooden bolt on the stockade grill that separated the lengthy tunnel from the stallions’ quarters. She would find peace and quiet for her troubled feelings here in this remote cavern. Just the feel of the horse beneath her hands was all she needed to make her aware of who and what she was. Quietly she prayed that the same feeling would come over her again today.

  “Mikhailo,” she called softly, “it is I, Katerina. I’ve come to see the stallions. This is the first chance I’ve had to come down here since I got back from the Urals. Tell me, how are the animals?”

  Mikhailo’s gentle hands stroked Snowfire’s sleek hide. “All is well, Katerina,” he said quietly as he peered at her in the dim light. “These magnificent animals, what good are they without the mares? I think they sense something is wrong. Snowfire has been especially skittish the past several days,” he remarked, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “How is Whitefire?” Katerina asked anxiously.

  “Calm, and that’s what worries me. The other stallions always sense his moods and act accordingly. He’s quiet, almost placid, and Snowfire is the skittish one.”

  “Did you change their feed? Are the fires kept regulated? Perhaps it’s the hay, or the fact that Wildfire and Darkfire haven’t come back yet with Stepan.”

  “None of those things, Katerina. Even down here in the bowels of the fortress they know there is a fierce storm blowing outside. Maybe that’s what is bothering them,” he said, in a tone that conveyed his doubt.

  Katerina sensed the agitation the old man was trying to keep hidden from her, and a small flurry of panic settled
itself in the pit of her stomach. “They aren’t ill, there isn’t any sign of something being wrong, is there?”

  The Cossack stroked his chin, his eyes thoughtful. “No, nothing visible. I’ve stayed with them as much as I could and had Stepan or Hanna sleep with them when I had my other duties to tend to. But it’s hard, Katerina. I tend your grandfather, the men, and the horses. The others help a great deal, but it’s much work. Stay with the horses, I must tend the fires,” he said, giving Snowfire a gentle pat on his head.

  Katerina watched him walk away with a frown on her face. She sensed that something was wrong with the stallions. Dear God, don’t let anything happen to them, she prayed silently. Gently she walked between the animals, crooning soothing words to their ears. Whitefire whickered softly and tossed his great head as he reared back on his hind legs. He came down gracefully and nudged her shoulder playfully with his head, his silky mane swishing across her face. Katerina laughed. “You want to play, is that it? Don’t they have time to play with you? They’re busy, you know, keeping this place just right for you. All of you,” she said sternly, “are upsetting him. You have to treat Mikhailo the way you treat me.” Katerina smiled as she fondly petted Whitefire, to Snowfire’s chagrin. The stallion tried to nudge Whitefire away from the slim girl so he too could rub his face against her shoulder. “You’re jealous,” she giggled.

  Katerina continued to comfort the noble horses, touching this one and that one, talking softly as she laughed openly at their display of affection. “I’m the guilty one; I’ve neglected you and I’m sorry,” she said, clasping Whitefire, her favorite, around his thick neck. “I, too, have my problems, that’s why I’m here. I knew if I came to see all of you I would get my wits back. Listen to me,” she cried in a tormented voice. “I swore if he came near me I would kill him. Then my body betrayed me, and I allowed the Mongol to make love to me.” Tears welled in the amber eyes, and a sob caught in her throat as she clung to the stallion. “I don’t know what to do. He has a hold over me that I cannot explain. When I’m near him I feel calm, and at the same time so full of . . . of. . . It’s like when I come to you and talk to you and you become calm. That’s what Banyen does to me. Yet he raped me brutally, and left me to die in the snow, and still I can feel something for him that I can’t explain. I want him to stroke my head, as I stroke yours. I want to hear the soft words of love and yearning. I want . . . I want him near me, and yet . . . yet it can’t be.”

  Whitefire picked up his foreleg and gently tapped on the floor as he tried to free his head from her tight grasp. He advanced a step and pushed her backward until she toppled onto a pile of yellowed hay. He continued to nudge her till she saw that he wanted her to lie down. Katerina laughed, the tears glistening in her eyes. “Sleep won’t make it go away. I know, you want me to stay here, but I can’t. I have things to do, and I must get the mares back. I know you understand what I’m saying. I’m doing it for you and the others. I’ll retrieve them, you have my promise. I’ll come back tomorrow and every day after that.

  “Mikhailo, are you here? There’s nothing wrong,” she called. “They missed me, that’s all. I’ve been so busy with the men and worrying about Grandfather, I neglected the most important thing of all. I’ll come back each morning around this time. You’re not to worry, Mikhailo, everything is fine. Look, see for yourself,” she said, getting up and pointing to the animals.

  Mikhailo’s old eyes danced with glee when he saw that she was right. The stallions were quiet, all signs of skittishness gone. The touch of the Kat, he marveled. Who would have believed it, and yet he had seen the same thing hundreds of times. Yet each time he saw it he marveled at the way the girl had with the stallions.

  Katerina brushed the hay from her clothing and, with a last caress to each of the stallions, left the hidden stable and made her way back to the underground cavern that housed the other horses. She stood a moment and listened for some sound on the other side of the wall. Satisfied, she pressed the catch and waited for the heavy shelf to swing back. She walked through the opening into the darkness of the stable and again closed the hidden door.

  She remained still, checking the area as her eyesight adjusted to the darkness. This was her life. How could she, even for a second, have forgotten? She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, let Banyen into her life again; and as for Kostya, he had no place there either. Only the horses mattered! Always the stallions, never Mongol princes or blond, blue-eyed Russians.

  Day by day the tension and hostility increased in the training arena. The recruits worked tirelessly, mastering all that Katerina set before them. The Mongols, under Banyen’s command, came into their own. It seemed to Katerina that overnight they lost their youthful looks and childish, willful ways. They were now strong, muscular young men with keen eyes and coordinated movements. Their chests broadened, and the sinewy muscles in the calves of their legs gripped the horses’ middles as if soldier and animal were one. Another few weeks and they will be an even match for Kostya and his men, Katerina thought. She watched Igor take to the middle of the arena. Without a second of wasted time, he charged at Rokal and unseated him with no wasted motion. Katerina watched as Banyen nodded approvingly. Grudgingly Katerina complimented Igor with a slight inclination of her head.

  So far she had been able to successfully avoid staring into the Mongol’s oblique eyes. She made sure that she was never near him or alone with him at any time. Always Mikhailo was at her side. During the dinner hour she was forced to share with Banyen, she sat by the hearth and gulped down her food and immediately returned to the arena, leaving him to converse with her grandfather. She wondered what they spoke of at such length.

  Kostya looked for and found ways to be close by, and at these times she would force herself to be cool and aloof, to show that he was of no concern to her. Since the day in the stable, he had lost his appeal for her. She found that standing next to him was like standing next to one of the other prisoners or next to Mikhailo. One full, rich taste of the prince was all she needed, and nothing else would satisfy her.

  Mikhailo, too, nodded approvingly at the Mongol’s men. Everything seemed to be working well, just as Katerina had said. The only thing that worried him was Katmon, who had taken to his bed and was slowly dying. Katerina wore a haunted look in her eyes each time she sat near his bed. He knew without asking what was bothering her. She didn’t want her grandfather to die until she proved to him that she could regain the Cosars. The old man knew in his heart that she would be successful, but the Cossack also knew he would never convince the girl. In her own way she was blaming herself, and nothing short of regaining the animals would satisfy her.

  Then there was the prince, who also sat at the feeble man’s bedside. They had long conversations about Russia and the Czar. Katmon listened while Banyen did the talking. The relationship bothered Mikhailo, and it annoyed Katerina. More than once Mikhailo had seen Katerina stalk from the room, her eyes spewing flames, to the amusement of the prince. Why did it always have to be a contest between them? A contest where there would be no victory for the winner. His bent shoulders shook as he made his way back to his position against the damp stone wall.

  The ensuing days were nerve-wracking for Katerina. While everything regarding the prince and the recruits seemed to be going well, the dread of her aging Zedda dying alone in his room made her pace the arena, her long, supple legs tense and straight. The bright amber eyes were cloudy and sad as she let her mind drift from time to time to happier days when she was a child and her grandfather held her on his knee and told her stories of the brave and fierce Cossacks of his day. She couldn’t let him die without telling him what was bothering her! Was his mind lucid enough to understand? Could she convince him that she would get the Cosars or die trying? Should she tell him about the night on the steppe with the Mongol? What would he say? Her trim body shuddered with the thought as she lifted her eyes to meet Banyen’s stare. His gaze was deep, penetrating, willing her to . . . No, she wouldn’t look at him. She h
ad no desire to be devoured by the indigo eyes that belonged to him as he wanted her to belong to him. Not just for now, for this short time here in the mountains, where the cold seeped into one’s bones and virtually froze the blood in one’s veins. She didn’t know how, but she knew that he wanted more than she had to give. She was part of his overall plan. It had to be the horses, the stallions. Afstar must have made some sort of bargain with him. The wily, foxy Khan would leave no pebble unturned if he thought he could get the stallions. And if Banyen could manage to get them for him, so much the better. Blood meant nothing to Afstar; family meant nothing. Only owning the Cosars would satisfy him. Over her dead body, and, if necessary, over Banyen’s.

  When the evening meal was over, Katerina sat back in her grandfather’s chair near the fire and sipped at her steaming tea. She refused to meet Banyen’s eyes or to talk to him. They had eaten in a silence she had insisted on. Once she had raised her eyes and been aware of the angry red scar on his right cheek. She could almost feel the pain in his lean cheek; and for a split second she fought the urge to reach up and touch it, to make the throbbing cease. Instead, she lowered her lids and finished her dinner without comment.

  The yellow cat, at a loss without her master, jumped up on Katerina’s lap and began to purr. Absentmindedly Katerina stroked the soft fur, her thoughts on the man seated at the table. Three more long, arduous months to be gotten through. Could she do it? She had to do it; she had no other choice.

  Katerina finished her drink and set the heavy cup on the hearth. Gently she put the cat on the floor and got up. Banyen watched her through narrowed eyes as she adjusted the black-tipped cape. She was going to go to her grandfather, as she did every night after the evening meal. She would sit near his bed and whisper soft words that held no meaning. Three times Banyen had stood outside the door and tried to hear what she was saying. The words were indistinguishable, but his ear picked up the torment in her voice. What was it about the girl that . . . ?