Together they rode into Red Square to the rack where her uncle was tied. They cut the ropes and gently lifted his battered body. Banyen tied the lifeless Khan to his horse and mounted behind Afstar.
“Now for the Cosars, Katerina.”
Their progress was slow, as the streets were strewn with the bodies of men, women, and children. “It’s a sad sight to see, but innocent people are always the victims of war,” Banyen said sadly. As they proceeded around the cities, soldiers and Mongols still skirmished here and there. A Russian, hidden away, would try to make his escape and chase would be given.
“I think we’ll find the horses somewhere around the palace. We’ll ride in that direction,” Banyen said with assurance.
They rode toward the Terem Palace, inside the Kremlin. Searching on foot and on horseback, they found nothing. Kostya, with a small patrol, also reported no success in finding the Cosars.
Angry and frustrated, Katerina lashed out. “The raid on the Tereks placed the horses in Moscow. Gregory sold them to Ivan. What did he do with them? Did he sell them off before we stormed Moscow?” She turned to Banyen. “Do you think the Czar sold them to someone else?”
“No. If Ivan bought them, he wanted them for himself and his bodyguards, the Oprichniks. Ivan would never sell something that was one of a kind. Has anyone checked outside the wall behind the palace?”
Kostya’s men looked at each other and shook their heads.
“It’s possible Ivan had them taken out of the city when he heard it was being attacked. If he fled with the Kremlin’s treasury, he wouldn’t waste time on the Cosars. They must be somewhere outside the walls of the city.” Calling two of the Mongols to him, he ordered them to remove the Khan’s body from the stallion. “Secure a litter to the back of a horse with a stout rope and pull his body home,” he ordered gruffly.
Beyond the Kremlin walls, a quarter mile away, a hill rose up out of the flatness. Narrowing his oblique gaze, Banyen was aware that the attack now came from the west. The outlying section was remote, and he was sure no man was near. As they rode closer, noises could be heard coming from behind the hill. When they reached the top, there stood the mighty herd of Cosars, in the middle of snow-covered brush and dense fir trees. Katerina was beside herself with happiness. She leaped from Whitefire, and was about to run into the herd of horses when Banyen shouted for her to stop.
“Why should I?”
Without warning, a small band of the Oprichniks emerged from within the herd. They had hidden themselves among the horses, hoping to escape with a Cosar or two. As they charged toward Katerina, Banyen, Kostya, and the patrol swooped down, killing them in the first rush.
“The next time wait until your men are sure there aren’t any Russians lurking about,” Banyen said harshly.
“Yes, my master.” Katerina grinned as she ran into the herd and seemingly smothered herself in them. Now, she had everything. Now, she had avenged her village, its people, and her father. She had fulfilled the promise she made to herself and Mikhailo: the Cosars once again, and forever this time, belonged to the Don Cossacks. The secret and the horses were still theirs. At last she could rest. It was finished.
The Mongols avenged the raids on Kazan and Astrakhan, but had lost their leader. But now Prince Banyen could lead them, and he would have a Khanate to rule. She had her Cosars, and the old men would soon have a hut or two ready in Volin. By now there would be a compound fenced in for the horses which she would bring back. Lastly, the Tatars had their baskets filled with young women for their slave trade. Everyone had been successful, save Banyen. He would have to settle for victory without the blood of Ivan on his sword. But his people and the village of Kazan were avenged, so it should be enough. Katerina prayed it would be enough.
Banyen sat atop his black Arabian, his bloody sword in his hand, watching Katerina running through the horses in the white snow. He knew he loved her deeply.
“It’s time to take your Cosars where they belong.”
Katerina ran to Whitefire, who whinnied in delight at the scent of the mares. She leaped onto his back and laughed aloud. “Kostya, we ride for home. Inform your men. The Mongols will drive the herd to Volin.
“Banyen, can you make the ride, or should we prepare a litter for you?” she asked, her face full of concern.
“There’s no cause for worry, Katerina. The wound on my leg is a mere scratch. The bleeding has stopped, and my head is clear. We have much to say to each other,” he said huskily. “Many decisions have to be made. And,” he said softly, “you must be the one to make them.”
Slowly the animals followed the Mongols and the Cossacks to the road that would lead them to Volin. Katerina’s eyes were misty as she saw Kostya raise his hand, the Cossacks shouting in victory as they thundered down the snow-covered road.
They rode in silence, intent on their own thoughts, the Cossacks and Kostya long gone from their sight. The moment Whitefire’s hooves set down on the plain, he threw back his head and snorted, rearing up on his hind legs and almost unseating Katerina. She laughed as she gave him his head, and the white stallion pounded his way across the familiar ground. He galloped like the wind, the girl on his back laughing and shrieking in delight. Once she turned her head and saw Banyen hard pressed to keep pace with Whitefire. She knew he would catch her, and what better place than here, on the steppe where it all began? Only this time, atop Whitefire, she knew she could elude him if she wanted to. Now the dream was behind her and she welcomed the reality. “Easy, boy, he has to catch us.”
Imperceptibly, the stallion slowed, and Banyen gained on the racing woman. The moment he was abreast of her, he reached out and pulled her from the animal’s back onto his own racing mount. Katerina giggled in delight as her legs flailed the air, her arms clutching Banyen, whose own seat was unsteady on the racing, snorting steed. Suddenly he, too, laughed, and they both slid from the horse into the deep snow. In their tumble, Banyen’s pack slid from the horse’s rump and came to rest at their feet.
“All the comforts of the mountains,” Banyen said, reaching for the sable carpet.
“Love me,” Katerina whispered throatily.
“Forever,” Banyen said huskily, his mouth finding hers. “For now, forever more.”
“Banyen, where will we go, what will we do?”
“It has to be your decision, Katerina.”
“While I waited in Smolensk for you and the others, I made my decision. My plan is to give Kostya and Princess Halya a filly and a colt, and, of course, some of the other Cosars. I can’t take a chance of this ever happening again. I would never feel secure if I and I alone kept the secret. I’ll set aside certain conditions, but he will be in charge of his own breeding in Moldavia. I can either go back to Volin with my horses or I can go with you to the Khanate that is yours now to rule. I want you to help me make the right choice. When I am with you, my judgment is faulty. Where will you be happy?” she asked, gently tracing the outline around his oblique eyes.
Banyen laughed. “The day you make a faulty decision will be the day I’ll take to my bed, never to stand on my legs again. You could never be happy separated from the Cosars. I have no desire to rule the Khanate; there are others far better suited than I. I vote to go with you to Volin, where we will work with the Cosars together. Has it been decided that Kostya’s men will stay in Volin?”
“I offered them their freedom and they chose to stay.” Katerina smiled. “Tell me, are they Cossacks or not? I left none dead in Moscow, and only two men carry flesh wounds. They’re Cossacks, and what better place for them to live than Volin, the Don village? One day there will be none left that remembers they were not Cossacks by birth.
“Love me, Banyen.”
“Always, for all eternity,” he said huskily as he crushed her lips to his.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
FERN MICHAELS is the USA Today and New York Times
bestselling author of the Sisterhood, Men of the Sisterhood,
and Godmothers serie
s, and dozens of other novels and
novellas. There are over ninety-five million copies of her
books in print. Fern Michaels has built and funded several
large day-care centers in her hometown, and is a passionate
animal lover who has outfitted police dogs across the
country with special bulletproof vests. She shares her home
in South Carolina with her four dogs and a resident ghost
named Mary Margaret.
Visit her website at fernmichaels.com.
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