Fate & Fortune

by Michaels, Fern

  She thanked God for the clothing she wore, and especially for the thick boots. Katerina admitted to herself that she was tiring and in need of more food; her sack was almost empty. The boiled potatoes were gone, and all that was left was a small bit of cheese and a chunk of black bread that was so hard she feared she would crack her teeth on it. The food would be gone by nightfall, and then she would have nothing, with four days of travel still to go. She cursed long and loudly to the animal beneath her. “I can live on my hate for as long as it takes me to reach the Khan,” she muttered as she rode through the first pass. Moments later, she was confronted with the first steep ridge. She dismounted and walked the horse alongside her. Finding release from her tension by talking to the animal, she continued with her bitter tirade. “When I find him, and I will, I’ll carve his heart from his body and hang it on a spear to dry. But first,” she said viciously, “I’ll cut his tongue from his throat and cut off his feet. Then I’ll cut out his heart.” Bile rose in her throat as she remembered the feel of the knife in her hands when she plunged it into the center of Yuri’s heart. “There will be no pain in my heart when I retaliate for what was done to Yuri and my people. I’ll feel only sweet blessed revenge!”

  As she and the horse carefully edged their way up the side of the slope, her thoughts continued. Who was it who attacked Yuri? If only I could rid myself of this anger. Was it Father’s men or renegade Cossacks? Poor Yuri, why did they have to be so cruel? When I first saw him he seemed so confident, so strong, but seeing him with Father made me realize there was a weakness about him. Was it because he was so young? Was it because he was unsure of himself in dealing with us Cossacks? Even when he made love to me, our union was strong and good together, but I felt something was missing. That elusive feeling must be what I’m yearning for. What is it? I said I would find it in the eyes of the man I want forever. It wasn’t in Yuri’s eyes. Perhaps that is what they call love? Is that what is missing when animal lust is not enough? The combination of lust and love together must drive one to the gates of heaven. Someday I’ll have this feeling; I’ll not settle for anything less.

  Her thoughts were so intense, she failed to see a low branch hidden by the stygian darkness. She walked straight into it and fell, her feet going out from under her. Her head reeled as she tried to get up. Was it the fall, or was she weak from too little food? Whatever, she had to stop.

  She tied the reins of the horse to a tree and lay down on the hard, rock-strewn ground. The pain of the stones beneath her was all she needed to remind her of where she was and where she was going.

  Eventually she slept, the rocks digging into her soft flesh. When she awoke, she could barely move, the aching was so intense. She tried flexing her arms and massaging her thighs, trying to work out the shooting sensations that were so severe she had to gasp for breath. Through clenched teeth she muttered over and over, “I need this pain. If I’m to survive, then I must have this pain to make me remember.”

  Twice more she slipped and fell as she made her way down the mountain grade. The jagged edges of the rock and the scrubby outgrowth of brush tore at her thin shirt, leaving it hanging in tatters on her back.

  For the next three days and nights she walked her horse up and down the steep ridges. Whenever a pass opened up, she rode the animal like the wind to make up for the time-consuming climbs. They stopped only to get water from the many streams that trickled through the range from the many rivers up north. Straight ahead should be the Ural River, she reasoned as she rode through the opening of the last pass. “The Ural River means the end of the mountains; it’s all flat riding from here,” she told the horse as they rested. “We’ll pick a shallow spot in the river and be across in no time. After we skirt the town of Troitsk we should be on my uncle’s doorstep.” Reaching down, she patted the horse on the neck. “My faithful friend, you have brought me a long way; you have done your job well, and I’m grateful to you. When we get to my uncle’s camp I’ll make sure you are treated to plenty of feed and water.”

  She pushed on, and soon the Ural River was in sight. She did as she’d promised the horse and found a suitable place to ford. Weary, almost leaning completely forward on the horse, she spurred him onward. As they passed the town of Troitsk she found herself too weak to go on. She stopped the horse and sat leaning forward on the animal’s mane. She looked and she listened.

  Her eyes burned with lack of sleep and fatigue. Katerina dismounted and waited for the traveler who was approaching so he could make known his name. Barely able to stand erect, she found her vision blurring as the horseman reined in his mount and sat looking down at her in disbelief. She grasped the saddle to steady herself and tried to speak. She wet her parched lips and opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Her head reeled, and she blinked, trying to bring the solitary figure into focus “I need . . .” and then she remembered nothing more.

  The man dismounted, his eyes never leaving the woman on the ground. It could be a trick. What was a woman doing here in this godforsaken place? Who was she and what did she want? Why was she traveling alone? He stood a moment, his hands on slim, muscular hips, his indigo eyes speculative as he continued to gaze at the fallen girl. Impatiently he brushed at a sheaf of rich ebony hair that fell over his forehead as he dropped to his knees for a closer inspection. He frowned at the parched lips and at the dirty sunburned face. Strong, square teeth played with a full lower lip as he narrowed his eyes at the array of yellowish-purple bruises that peppered her arms and back. His mouth was a grim, tight white line as he felt his hands go to the thick, luxurious copper hair. How soft it felt. His sun-bronzed hand traced a gentle line around her soft mouth, and she stirred slightly, moaning softly.

  A small dark bird fluttered among the branches of the solitary tree as Banyen Amur sat back on his haunches to wait for her to awaken. He was patient; waiting was nothing new to him. He decided that there was nothing wrong with her, save overexertion. She would awaken soon.

  When Katerina woke, she was fully aware of where she was and of the man sitting watching her. She watched him for a second through her heavily fringed lashes and felt her heart begin to pound in her chest. She watched him a moment longer as his finger trailed over a jagged scar on his cheek. The pounding in her chest lessened as she remembered how he had come by the scar. The thick lashes parted slightly as she took in his appearance. His loose blouson shirt was deep indigo, almost the color of his eyes, and he wore it tucked into form-fitting black breeches. Soft leather boots rode high on his legs, making the muscles bulge with the softness of the richly polished leather. From her position on the ground she could see the questions in his eyes, the puzzled look on his hard, high-cast face. She lowered her gaze to his long, slender, sun-darkened hands, hands that would be capable of gentling a horse or stroking a woman’s flesh. Don’t think about that, she cautioned herself. Her eyes still narrowed, she watched him flex his shoulders, the muscles rippling and dancing across his chest. Yuri had been a boy compared to this man.

  Katerina struggled to her knees and found herself within inches of him. She looked deeply, piercingly, and saw nothing but blankness. A small sigh escaped her as she was again struck by his sun-bronzed skin and the darkness of his hair. Swallowing hard, she fought to speak, hoping he would not recognize her voice. Why didn’t he offer her a drink; was he going to make her ask for water? He was waiting; it was evident in the patient look on his chiseled features. He would want to know who she was and where she was going. This was Mongol territory. “I’m on my way to Sibir to see my uncle, the Khan. I have . . . traveled for . . . for many days. I must see . . . I must see him,” she said in a halting voice.

  “Why?” The one-word question was harsh and cold.

  Katerina didn’t like the sudden spark she saw flash in the agate eyes. “That’s my . . . my affair.”

  “And now I’m making it my affair,” the man said coolly, almost mockingly.

  Katerina’s body trembled as she tried to speak. “I must see
. . . I must see him . . . I need his help. Please, you must take me to . . . take me to him.” She would have fallen with the exertion of speaking except that he gathered her close and held her upright.

  “Weak-kneed females, they’re all alike,” he muttered to himself as he slung her over her horse’s back. He gazed at what instinct told him was a supple, pliant body beneath the thick clothing. One of these days he was going to find a woman to his liking, and then he would do the honorable thing and marry her. “I detest swooning, vapid women,” he said to his horse as he gathered the reins in his lean, capable hands. So she would be jostled on the ride back to camp; it wouldn’t harm her. It would be interesting to see if she really was the Khan’s niece. Knowing the old fox as well as he did, he could almost see him bristle with rage when he, Banyen, dumped her in his presence.

  As they rode toward the Khan’s camp he wondered why this female wanted to see the Khan. It made him remember when he had first come to the Khan for help, after the Russians had wiped out his family and everything they had. What would I have done—for that matter, where would I have gone—if I didn’t have Khan Afstar to turn to? Where would other roads have taken me? What would I be doing this very minute and where would I be if I hadn’t come to Sibir? It isn’t what I want to do with the rest of my life, and it isn’t something I enjoy doing right now, but I have no other choice. Someday I’ll conquer all that was lost to me, and I’ll command my own camp, he thought bitterly. When I have my lands back again, I’ll take a wife so I can have many sons to reign after me. It won’t be a question of love, just a matter of choosing someone pleasing to my eye and pleasant to be with, when I choose to be with her, and someone who will be a good mother to my children. No man will intimidate my sons.

  A noise behind him caused him to turn around.

  “Damn you, get me off this horse,” Katerina shouted to Banyen’s back. “Untie me this moment. Wait till the Khan sees how you bring me into his camp. Untie me, you arrogant bastard!” She shouted to be heard over the horses’ clattering hooves.

  “In good time, all in good time,” Banyen called over his shoulder, a wide grin splitting his face. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that all the good things in life come to those who are patient and quiet?”

  Katerina clamped her lips tightly. He was right. All good things, like a knife between his ribs, would be worth waiting for. She seethed as she was jostled with the even gait of the horse.

  She must be the Khan’s niece; there was a certain resemblance that was reminiscent of the old fox. That and her strong language. She seemed to have the tongue of a viper. A match for the aging Khan. He wondered if she would be so feisty when he got her into his bed. It never occurred to him to doubt the inevitable. From the moment he set eyes on her he was relishing the feel of her naked body against his. A little on the scrawny side, but the Khan could fatten her up and then he would take his pleasure. Now what in all hell could she be traveling this terrain for, and what did she want with the Khan? He knew in his gut it would turn out to be something not to his liking.

  From her undignified position on the horse, Banyen’s muscular thigh and his booted foot were all she could see as she fought to keep her head from bobbing about. Her neck was stiff, and her stomach was beginning to feel queasy. “How much farther is it?” she shouted.

  “I thought I told you to be quiet. When we arrive at the camp you’ll be the first to know,” Banyen called back.

  “You insufferable—”

  “Bastard.” Banyen laughed. “I’ve been called worse.”

  “When I get off this horse, I’ll—”

  “Fall into my arms and kiss me with passion-filled lips.” Banyen laughed again.

  Katerina smoldered with anger. Hot, searing anger. She would kill him the first chance she got. Perhaps she could ask the Khan to put the bastard out of his misery and save her the trouble. Who was he? What did he have to do with her uncle? Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be him who found her? This was the second time he had humiliated her. There won’t be a third time, she vowed silently. His day was coming, as the Cossacks said, and when it came, she would show him no mercy. She would be as mean and as bad as he was that night on the steppe. And then she would mock and ridicule him as he was doing to her now.

  The amber eyes spewed fire as she was untied from the horse. Her knees gave out, and she slumped to the ground. She never knew where she got the strength, but she reached out a slender arm and jerked with all her strength till the tall figure lost his balance and sprawled on the ground. The knife from her trousers was in her hand as she crouched low, her teeth bared in a snarl. Her burnished hair was in wild disarray, tumbling down and around her shoulders. Her arms moved effortlessly as she flicked the air with the slender blade. “I’ll grant you it’s not much in the way of a weapon, but it can kill if the aim is true,” she panted. Banyen nodded, his dark eyes hooded as he got to his feet. “You first, Mongol,” Katerina said harshly, “and don’t do anything but walk. If the blade doesn’t find its mark, it will cripple you, which is just as well. Now move.”

  Banyen’s eyes narrowed till they were mere slits, but he moved. He knew he could take her if he wanted to. She was tired, and she looked hungry; she wouldn’t be able to put up much of a battle. He told himself it amused him to do her bidding. He recalled another time when he also had felt amused, and he would carry the scar with him for the rest of his life. She might get one good swing at him and slice him where it counted most. For now he would do as she said. Let her think she had won . . . this time. There would be other times, and he would win then, as he always did.

  Katerina squinted in the bright sunlight and was aware of her femininity for the first time since meeting the Mongol. She looked a mess; her clothing dirty and torn, her hair hanging down like a ruffian’s. She knew her face was dirty, and for some reason that bothered her. She told herself she wanted to put her best effort forth for her uncle. It wasn’t the Mongol; it couldn’t be because of him. The other time he had ridiculed her and . . . What did he do, Katerina? she asked herself. He left me to freeze in the tent. She moved closer to the man in front of her and jabbed at his broad back with the tip of the knife. Bright-red droplets of blood seeped through the indigo shirt, turning into blackish streaks. “I told you to move; I didn’t say crawl,” she said viciously as she jabbed again and then danced away from his muscular form when he turned, his arm outstretched, to grab at her. “Oh, no,” she spat. “It’s my turn now. If I tell you to move again, I’ll throw the knife, I won’t just play with it. Now walk.”

  Banyen’s jaw tightened as he turned to do her bidding. Damnable woman, who did she think she was talking to? Maybe he should tell her who he was. He negated the idea, knowing she would snigger and certainly never would be impressed.

  Banyen stopped and pointed with his arm. “The Khan’s tent,” he said, bowing low with a flourish.

  Katerina couldn’t believe her eyes. Never before had she seen anything like this. This flat wasteland, fit only for the sheep and goats that grazed on it, was like the steppe—it went on endlessly. The yurts that stood upon flatland created an illusion of a fantasyland to Katerina. No matter in which direction she looked, there stood row upon row of ten-foot-tall tents. To Katerina they looked like a forest of trees that had been chopped off on top. The dwellings were covered with felt pieces of all descriptions and sizes, each home reflecting the tastes of its owner. The grandest of all, of course, were the three yurts that belonged to her uncle. They were covered with a high-quality felt, thicker and heavier than the rest. They also were highly decorated on the outside. She wasn’t sure whether she had been here before or not when she was a child; she couldn’t remember. She thought it strange for men to live out in the open like this. The Cossacks lived out in the open, too, but they had their sturdy huts to go into at night. The yurts looked so fragile, so vulnerable. She realized that on land as flat as this, as on the steppe, someone could easily be seen approaching the camp. A
t least, she thought, the steppe has flowers, trees, and grass on it. Other than the small tufts of grass that the livestock fed on, this camp was nothing but desert wasteland. The heat in the dead of summer must be unbearable.

  She took in all the sights as she carefully watched Banyen out of the corner of her eye. He reached forward to open the closed flap of the yurt for her, but she didn’t move.

  “You first, Mongol, and no tricks. I am who I say I am, remember that,” Katerina said, brandishing the thin blade in his general direction.

  Banyen grinned. “Do you want me to announce you or would you rather go in unannounced and have your head sliced from your shoulders? If I’m to announce you, then I should know your name. We strive for formality here in camp,” he said, bowing low again.

  “You missed your calling, whatever it was. You make an excellent buffoon,” Katerina snapped. “Tell my uncle Katerina Vaschenko is here to see him.”

  Banyen entered the tent and strode over to the Khan, who reclined against a pile of elaborately embroidered cushions. “While riding patrol I came across a female bent on traveling here to the camp to see you. She’s weak from hunger, and not too steady on her feet. But that doesn’t seem to interfere with her tongue; it’s like a viper. She already left me a memento,” he said, turning for the Khan’s inspection. “She says her name is Katerina Vaschenko.”

  The Khan rose awkwardly from his comfortable position in his nest of cushions. “Katerina!” His voice was full of shock. “And you say she is alone. Fetch her to me immediately, Banyen! Why did you make her stand outside like a beggar? Fetch her this moment,” he said imperiously. Banyen’s mouth tightened, but he lifted the flap from the tent and motioned to Katerina to enter.