She looked up as Mikhailo indicated a halt and opened the doors to the underground stable. She found herself staring into indigo eyes that spoke of many things, one of which was her death. She smiled to let him know she correctly interpreted his thoughts, and spoke softly so her words would not echo in the stillness around her. “I’ll always be behind you, Prince Banyen. It promises to be a long, cold winter, so it would be wise if you diverted your thoughts to some other form of torture.”
Banyen’s tone was just as soft when he replied. “You can only be behind me if I go to the front, and I have no intention of doing that. It would be wise if you remembered that.” The indigo eyes lightened as he gave her a low, defiant bow to allow her to precede him. A slight nick with the tip of her saber into his broad back and he entered ahead of her, an arrogant smile on his lips. He told himself it amused him to allow her her little flights of fancy. If she thought she could win out against him, let her. When he ceased to be amused, he would change things. He was a patient man—at times.
The stable was warm and moist with the horses’ deep, even breathing. The sweet, pungent smell of horseflesh was like a balm to Katerina as she walked among the animals, patting them gently on the muzzle or stroking their flanks. The horses whickered softly as she cooed tender words to them. Their ears recognized the soft words of the Kat. Immediately they calmed as the men walked among them.
“I’m going to allow you to choose the horses yourself. I do, however, want to remind you that the animal you choose will be with you for the balance of your stay here in the mountains. Your life could well depend on the animal you choose, so be selective. Choose it as though you were choosing a woman.”
Her eyes were banked fires as she watched first Banyen and then Kostya walk among the animals. Both men seemed to know what they were looking for. Their selection was slow, methodical, and thorough. In the end Banyen chose a gelding and named him Vengeance. Kat smiled into his eyes and waited for Kostya to choose his horse. He picked a mare and said he would call her “Horse” until he could think of an apt name. For some reason, Banyen’s eyes were furious, his mouth a grim, tight white line in his handsome face. Kostya grinned as he continued his selection for the men who were training in his group.
Why do the men rub each other the wrong way? the Kat wondered as she walked among the horses. Was it because of her? Or was there some other reason, a reason that had to do with the Mongol camp, when Kostya was a prisoner and Banyen his guard? They were like cat and mouse. She was unsure which was which. Sooner or later she would find out, she told herself. She leaned against a bale of hay, her long, slender legs planted firmly on the floor. They were both handsome men; both had lean, hard, muscular bodies. Both had keen intelligence, and while Banyen was the more verbal of the two, the Kat felt instinctively that Kostya’s actions would speak louder.
The stable was too warm for her liking, and she wished they would hurry up with their selection. She wiped impatiently at a loose lock of coppery hair with a slender hand, her eyes on the two men. She looked around and was surprised to notice that she was the only one with beads of perspiration on her brow. Her amber eyes grew stormy as she continued her scrutiny of Kostya and the prince. They were both having an effect on her, and one she couldn’t deny even to herself. Kostya with hair the color of wheat, and Banyen with hair the color of a raven’s wings. Day and night. Did she want either of them?
The remainder of the time until dinner would be spent with each man acquainting himself with his horse. They mounted and dismounted, getting the feel of the steed that was assigned to them. The Kat watched carefully through the long hours for any sign of dissension between animal and man. As Mikhailo entered the stable to let them know the hour for supper was at hand, she relaxed. The first day seemed to be going well.
Mikhailo motioned her to come near him and informed her in a low whisper that her grandfather requested the company of the prince at his supper table. The Kat was shocked at the request.
“And he said that he was appalled at your lack of manners!”
“Royalty does not eat with the common soldier?” Katerina asked snidely.
“The words are those of your grandfather, not mine. He’s insistent, Katerina, that your Mongol prince dine with us each day, and not in our work clothes. He had Hanna get out the best dishes, silver, and the linen napkins and cloth. He told Hanna to serve in the kitchen because he is not well enough to entertain in the dining hall. Perhaps it means he’s feeling better. What do you think?”
Katerina’s amber eyes smoldered hotly. “What it means is I’ll be forced to eat next to him every day if Grandfather doesn’t change his mind. The prince should remain with his men. I’ll try to convince Grandfather he is making a mistake.”
“Save your breath. He wants to hear strange voices. He wants to hear new things, see new people. How can you deprive him of this small pleasure?”
“Very well, you’ve made your point, Mikhailo. But don’t expect me to help with the conversation. And,” she said emphatically, “I have no time to dress for dinner. A quick wash is the best I can manage. If you can convince the prince, more power to you, Mikhailo. With Grandfather’s failing eyesight, I doubt he’ll notice. And if he does, tell him I’m exercising my womanly prerogative.”
Mikhailo shrugged. “It’s time for the men to eat. How long do you wish them to remain at the table?”
“An hour, or a few minutes longer if you think it is advisable. What did Hanna prepare for the men?”
“A thick potato soup with chunks of lamb slowly simmered for many hours, black bread with yellow butter, and rice custard with raisins for a sweet. There should be no complaints.” He grinned. “And she followed your orders so that the men could eat as much as they want.” Katerina nodded as she left him to go to her room and freshen up before her dinner with the prince and her grandfather.
She felt her eyes smart as she picked up her small hand mirror, a gift from her father on her fifteenth birthday. Her cheeks were flushed, and the amber eyes were bright and shiny. Carefully she brushed her coppery hair till it shone in the dim lamplight. She whisked the stray strands away from her brow and hoped they would stay in place. She bit into her full, ripe lips so they would appear rose-colored. Satisfied with her appearance, she blew out the candles and left her high-ceilinged room to make her way to the kitchen.
Large oval windows were cut in the solid stone wall that led to the bottom of the circular stairway. Katerina stopped once to look out. All she could see was thick, swirling snow. A drift that looked as sharp as a razor’s edge reached as high as the third window. She wondered which of the men would be the first to try to escape through the deep, suffocating accumulation. She sighed. They would have to learn by their own mistakes. Katerina knew they didn’t believe her when she told them what it was like outside. Her father had said if you tell a man the truth, sooner or later he will learn to know that what you say is correct. It takes time, he had explained, for one person to trust another. Once trust is established, then everything settles into place. He was right; only time would tell. And for now, all she had to do was get through a dinner sitting at the same table with Banyen.
When Katerina entered the large, warm kitchen, Banyen stood up and greeted her with a show of respect. Her grandfather remained seated at the huge table. Hanna stood nearby, waiting for Katerina to be seated. Her rosy cheeks and wide smile made Katerina grin. Already Hanna was matchmaking—she could tell by the bright, twinkling eyes. Hanna approved of the prince, and it was obvious in the way she served him the biggest bowl of soup and the largest slice of her hot bread. The bright yellow turnip was mashed to perfection, with a round mound of butter nestled into a hollow. She ladled out the turnip on Banyen’s plate and gave him a toothy smile. Katerina grimaced and looked down at her own meager allotment. She watched disgustedly as Banyen fell to his food as though he had never eaten before. He smiled at Hanna and praised her cooking, saying it was the best he had ever tasted. Hanna, beside h
erself with happiness, added another thick slice of lamb to his plate and then retired to the stove.
“I’m honored to have you visit my house,” Katmon said in a frail voice. “Allow me to apologize for entertaining you in the kitchen, but these old bones of mine demand heat, and the dining hall is full of drafts. Tell me of the Khan and of Sibir. Did my granddaughter tell you that her mother was a Siberian Mongol and that she and the Khan were brother and sister?”
“The Khan told me all of the facts,” Banyen said quietly. “There is no need for you to apologize to me. I also prefer the warmth and closeness of a kitchen. Many times when I was a child I ate in the kitchen with my parents and the cook, in our fortress where two rivers came together. I’m not sure I remember it clearly, for I only knew my parents a short time. They were slain by Ivan and his Russians.” He felt his blood begin to boil, so he looked around the room and commented on its size and its cleanliness. He smiled. “Your kitchen is one of the best I’ve sat in.”
Katmon pushed his half-eaten food away and leaned back in his comfortable chair, the lap robe pulled tightly around him. His pet cat jumped onto his lap and snuggled deeply into the robe. “Do you think you can survive the winter here?” he asked in a reedy voice.
“Yes, I can survive in this house, as can my men. In the spring we’ll all be here.”
Was she mistaken, or did he stress the word “we”? Was he implying that if anyone tried to leave it would be the prisoners and not those directly under his command? Probably, for everything he said or did seemed to have a double meaning.
Her grandfather’s next statement stunned Katerina.
“My granddaughter fancies herself the next savior of the Ukraine in that she can train these men and regain the Cosars. Do you think she can do it?”
Katerina seethed and fumed as she waited for his reply. When she heard his terse, cold “No” she wasn’t surprised.
The old man chuckled, enjoying the prince more each time he spoke.
“Savior! Hardly,” she protested to her grandfather. She fixed a steely eye on Banyen and said, “According to the Radziwill Chronicler, in 6453, by the old Russian calendar, there was a great Russian heroine named Olga. When her husband was killed, she used her wits ingeniously and avenged his death. She tricked his killers into a bathhouse, locked them in, and burnt it to the ground. There are some women,” Katerina said coldly, “who will do whatever is necessary to survive and to avenge a wrongdoing. Do you remember the story, Grandfather?” she demanded, her eyes on the Mongol.
Her grandfather answered with a light nasal snore. Banyen’s eyes mocked her as he continued to stare at her.
“Since you seem so well versed in the Radziwill Chronicler, perhaps you are familiar with this verse,” Banyen said sotto voce. “In the winter, the Cumans came to Kiev and captured many villages beyond Kiev, returning with much booty to their land. Glebe, Prince of Kiev, was ill, so he sent his brothers Mikhailo and Vsevolod to pursue the Cumans. Mikhailo, obedient, went after them and overtook them. God helped Mikhailo and Vsevolod against the pagans. Some were killed and others taken prisoner. They took their own prisoners, who were four hundred in number, from the Cumans. They sent the prisoners back to their own lands, and they returned to Kiev praising God and the Holy Mother of God and the Holy Cross. Old Russian calendar 6679,” he said arrogantly.
“Bah, all that means is that you can read or someone told you the story and you remembered it,” the Kat snarled. “Dinner is finished. We have a long night ahead of us; let’s get on with it,” she said, getting up from the table. “You first, Mongol, remember what I said—I’ll always be behind you.” She followed him down the cold, dank tunnel that led to the underground arena.
The flickering candles lent themselves to eerie shadows that played on her nerves as she kept her distance, the cloak wrapped snugly around her. “To the left,” she said, as Banyen came to a stop. Almost colliding with him, Katerina backed off, but not quickly enough. Suddenly she found herself imprisoned in hard, muscular arms. Her face was cupped in strong yet gentle hands as his head came down to meet hers. She struggled feebly as she tried to free herself from his grasp. The feel of his moist lips on hers sent her mind reeling, and she became limp in his arms, responding to him as she had on the day of their arrival.
His lips were hungry, demanding that he be satisfied by her. Slowly she strained toward him, willing him to demand more of her so that she could feed his insatiable appetite. Her lips parted, and she tasted his sweetness as she felt his hands explore her body beneath the ermine cape. Her hands found their way to his thick, cropped hair, and she ran her fingers through it, moaning at the desire that washed over her as she crushed her lips into his. Everything was forgotten, all the promises, all the dire threats she had made in silence against him. All she wanted now was to be near him, to have him be part of her. He whispered soft endearments that were barely audible as he blazed a searing trail from her mouth to her neck to her breasts. His hands were tender yet searching. Low animal sounds erupted from his throat. Nothing matters, she told herself as she sought the devouring lips and the delicious feel of his body next to hers. Wave after wave of desire rose in her as she felt him stiffen against her.
“Later,” he whispered. “Later I’ll come to your room,” he breathed raggedly. “Later we’ll be as one,” he said, tearing his mouth from hers.
She stared at him with glazed, passion-filled eyes. In that moment she would have promised him the moon if he had asked for it. Shaking, she straightened herself and drew the ermine around her slim body. He wanted her, needed her. God help her, she also craved his total embrace—but she knew that when he came to her room she wouldn’t open the door. Not to this Mongol! Never this Mongol!
* * *
Banyen positioned his men with their assigned horses and lances and put them through their paces. While they were slow and inexperienced, he was satisfied with each man’s performance. Not so with the Kat as she singled out man after man with the tip of her lance. Once Banyen ground his teeth together when she drew blood from a sharp-tongued soldier. Her rejoinders were just as caustic as his epithets.
Kostya wasn’t having any trouble with his small column of men. They did his bidding, their movements were sure and precise. Banyen’s eyes narrowed as he watched Katerina look at Kostya with approval. She smiled and said something that sounded like congratulations. Kostya nodded, his bright eyes appraising and full of...
Banyen shook his head to clear his thoughts. He berated one of his men for a senseless mistake.
The prince’s gaze traveled back to Katerina as she slouched against the wall next to Mikhailo. What was there about the Cossack girl that could stir him as she did? Why did his senses get the better of him when he was near her? Why did he want her? A woman was a woman. He liked the sweet, heady fragrance that she exuded, and he liked the feel of her slim body, covered though it was by her heavy clothing. And her incredible eyes—he had never seen any like hers. One moment they were like ripe, golden apricots, and the next they were raging volcanoes. He had to have her, and he meant to have her, and the sooner the better. But even though he had told her he would come to her room this night, he knew he wouldn’t. He would make her wait, wait till she craved his body, till the desire rose in her eyes for all to see.
A wild thought stormed its way into his mind, and he stiffened. What if the bastard Kostya got to her first? Even from this distance he could see that there was only one emotion exuding from the Russian. He bristled with anger at the Russian’s fitness. Stronger, better men had broken in the Mongol stockade. What had kept him alive and in condition? He had seen men beg and cry to be freed from their shackles, but not Kostya.
It was true, Katerina had a keen eye for a man’s worth, but he knew in his gut she had made a mistake with Kostya. A sly look settled over Banyen’s face. Let her learn from her errors; he owed her nothing except the promise he had made to her, that he would have her one way or another.
Kostya co
uld feel the Mongol’s eyes on him and knew the prince was filled with rage at his ability to carry out his orders so well. He smiled to himself. There was a lot to be said for hearty peasant stock. It was to be a contest between himself and the Mongol, but not for the obvious reasons. Who would get the Kat, the Mongol or himself? He was no fool, even if the Mongol thought otherwise. Hadn’t he seen the approval reflected in the girl’s face? Hadn’t he felt her tremble at his nearness when they came through the archway? Time was his answer. Let the Mongol plow ahead like a bull and antagonize her every chance he got. It would be he, Kostya, who would win out. All he had to do was wait and bide his time. All things came to those who were patient. The Mongol was not a patient man; this he knew from his months in the stockade. He was tense, taut, as if ready to spring at a moment’s notice. True, a formidable enemy and one who would give a good accounting of himself, but with a few weeks of the Kat’s rigorous training Kostya would also be someone to seriously contend with. It would be interesting to see which of them won.
Katerina continued with her nonchalant pose against the wall as she whispered to Mikhailo, “A wise choice, don’t you agree? Look at their eyes—they’re like two fighting cocks. One won’t let the other get ahead of him. Which do you put your kopecks on, Mikhailo?”
“The Mongol,” Mikhailo said curtly.
“The Mongol!” Katerina exclaimed in surprise. “Why?”
“Several reasons,” Mikhailo said harshly. “He’s a man, the Russian is but a boy compared to him. True, they both have strength to their bodies, and both have a certain arrogance about them, but it’s the years of experience the prince has behind him in the ways of the world that will drive him to be the victor. The question is, what will he win, Katerina? Observe his eyes and you’ll see that I’m right. I see things in him I saw in your father and in your grandfather. Heed my words, Katerina, for I speak the truth.”
Katerina was stunned at his words. “How can you say a thing like that? He’s nothing like my father. And my father is dead because he made a mistake and thought he was infallible. No man is above that,” she said gruffly.
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