Whitefire

by Fern Michaels

  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. No one would ever know. 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. Some inner voice whispered in her ear: but the Mongol would. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.

  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 allow 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.”

  Katerina turned and walked proudly away and proclaimed, “I am a Cossack through and through and would never, never, even under the penalty of death, reveal any of our secrets. I have never lied to you, my father. What I say is the truth. If you wish to carry out this sentence because I lay with the Russian, then do so, but it is the only thing I’m guilty of. The mating secret of Whitefire is safe; I didn’t divulge it. Be fair and just in your sentencing, Father. Sentence me for what I did, not what you think I did!” she cried brokenly.

  Katlof’s expression was cold and indifferent. “No more words! Go in silence!” he shouted harshly.

  Dejected and alone, Katerina walked from the hall and headed to the barn and the mares. At least she still had the animals; they still loved her.

  Spring gave way to summer, and the days passed quickly for the villagers, who were busy with the horses and farms. The grasslands sang with activity. Horses could be seen everywhere on the plains, under watchful eyes. The steppe, now dressed in a myriad of full color, was dazzling to the eye. The tall, swaying stalks of wheat, barley, and oats created the illusion of shimmering gold, while the broad stripes of green-leafed and multicolored vegetables painted a dazzling mosaic. This was what Katerina loved about the steppe. It was a place to be proud of, a place in which to feel deeply about the land and her people. When she was not in the barn tending the horses, she rode or walked through this wonderland of color. With no one to talk with, the time to summer’s end was agonizing. Occasionally, when no one was looking, Stepan would slip a note to Katerina, telling her he adored her and was her friend forever. It helped ease the days and her tormented mind. During the day, without someone to talk to, to distract her thoughts, her mind was constantly invaded by Yuri and his promise to come for her. In the darkest hours of the night the slant-eyed Mongol continued to pursue her.

  Chapter 5

  Katerina looked around the enclosure that held the alabaster mares and smiled slightly. This was the time of day she liked best: the hour before twilight, which cloaked the bustling Don Cossack village of Volin with its velvety mantle of darkness.

  The sweet, pungent smell of horseflesh permeated the air as Katerina leaned into the pen. The fillies and colts trotted to the rail fence, vying for the slim girl’s attention. A long-legged colt nuzzled her delicate outstretched hand, looking for an apple. Katerina laughed softly as the young animal’s mother gently nosed him away from the fence. Secure in the knowledge that her offspring was taken care of, the mare swished her tail and tried to pry open Katerina’s hand. “Very well, you may have the apple, but only because you’re so exquisitely beautiful,” she crooned, opening her fingers. The mare took the fruit and held it gently in her mouth as she trotted away in search of the colt.

  Katerina settled herself on a trough and tried to shake the uneasiness that had settled between her shoulders. Whatever it was that was disturbing her was having its effect on the mares, for they, too, were skittish, and clustered together in small groups. Perhaps a wild animal has worked its way into the pen, she thought nervously. Any other day, any other time, she would have been able to shake off this peculiar feeling, which was becoming more pronounced. The horses gathered closer still, whinnying softly and pawing nervously at the ground, their thick, lush tails swinging furiously.

  Did they sense that tomorrow at the first rays of the sun they would start the journey to their winter quarters? That had to be the reason. What other could there be, she rationalized uneasily.

  The catlike hazel eyes narrowed as Katerina strained to look deeper into the enclosure to see if anything, save the mares, moved. “Anything on four legs, that is,” she said quietly to herself. Her voice was a thick, rich purr. The horses became quiet and began to separate. She leaned back again, her eyes scanning the quiet village. This past month her father had avoided her as if she carried some dread disease. There were no more quiet evening talks, no more camaraderie between her father and herself. He was distant and cold. Somehow, before morning she had to make things right between them, before they began the journey to the House of the Kat. Things had to be settled between them before they were quartered together for the winter in the Carpathians.

  She shook her head, and the copper-colored curls, free of their pins, tumbled to her shoulders. She brushed them away impatiently to clear her vision. Her body stiffened at an unfamiliar sound, like that of a knife being scraped against new leather. It made her think of her father’s raspy voice when he had sentenced her.

  One of the mares kicked up her hind legs and began to circle the pen, snorting and flicking her plumed tail. Papa should be here, he had a sixth sense where the horses were concerned. If something was wrong, he should be told. She knew he was in the barns with the other men, readying the wagons for tomorrow’s journey. She postponed the moment when she would have to go to him and tell him something was wrong. How could she bear to see the hurt and the hostility in his eyes? How could she accep
t the fact that, in his heart, he thought she had betrayed him? She couldn’t. She had tried, but her tongue became thick and refused to do her bidding. When she tried to explain, tried to convince him that he was wrong, she was not talking to her father but to the Kat, the head of the Don Cossack village. She wasn’t answering to her father but to the chief of the Cossacks.

  Katerina blinked, driving the hateful memory from her mind as one of the creamy mares again pranced nervously around the pen, snorting and scraping the dirt in a near frenzy. He should have killed me, she thought bitterly. Anything was better than being ostracized by her own people. With each passing day she felt as if she were dying slowly, inch by inch. Yuri, Yuri, she cried silently. Where are you; why haven’t you come for me as you promised? You said you would return at the end of the summer and take me back to Moscow with you. You said you loved me. Is my father right, did you make love to me so I would tell you the secret of Whitefire? Was it true?

  “No!” she screamed as she ran from the mares’ pen down through the dusty road and out to the fields. She ran till there was no breath left in her body. Twice she fell, and twice she staggered to her feet and kept running. She flew from the eyes, from the horses, from the Kat and from her father. She had to keep running and never stop. When Yuri came, and he would come, they would be gone. Back to the Carpathians, where he would never be able to find her.

  She fell to the ground and sobbed, great racking tears that shook her slender body. Finally, drying her face, she sat up and looked around. How long had she stayed here? How far had she come? What did it matter? What did anything matter now? There wasn’t one person who cared what she did or where she went. Not anymore. She was alone. If she allowed her father to have his way, she would always be alone. Branded a traitor by every Cossack on the steppe, she could never again take her rightful place in the Don village.