Whitefire (23 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Whitefire
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Kostya's touch was barely noticeable as he pulled her to him again in a hard embrace. Katerina, in control of the situation, demurred and moved farther away from his touch and his sinewy arms.
“You're right, this isn't the time and the place,” Kostya whispered. “There'll be other times, other places. The winter will be long and cold, and one we'll endure together. It's been a long time since anyone stirred my blood as you just did,” he said huskily. With a last lingering look deep into her eyes, he backed off, but not before he tenderly ran his finger down the length of her satiny cheek. The feel of his lean finger on her flesh was more shocking than the touch of his lips upon hers. She felt desire wash over her as he left the large, dim confines of the stable. Did she want him or did she need him? She admitted to herself that there was a difference. Sooner or later she would explore this feeling that was engulfing her.
Banyen stepped out of the shadows and watched through hooded eyes as Katerina stared after Kostya's retreating back. His tall frame was concealed by the heavy stone columns in the stable and by the stalls covered with brilliant blankets. What was the girl thinking; what was she feeling? Did she compare Kostya to him? Would she remember the kiss they shared in the sleigh? He didn't know why, but it was suddenly important to him to find out. He wanted to know—no, he
needed
to know which of them she preferred.
The angry, crimson welt on his cheek began to throb as he watched Katerina lay her cheek against a horse's head. Even from where he stood in the shadowy light, he could see the dreamy look on her face. Damnation, what and who was she thinking about? His loins took on an ache that threatened to erupt into full-blown pain. His strong hands gripped into fists at his sides, and he clenched his teeth in frustration. He had raped a woman once. Would this one submit to a small taste of lovemaking, or would she have to be raped like the girl in the snow?
Hunter and stalker that he was, he moved lightly to the heavy wooden doors and closed them quietly. He slid the bolt with barely a sound. Slowly, insidiously, he crept up on Katerina and stood behind her. His hands reached for her thick, coppery hair, but before he could touch the gleaming strands, she turned, her eyes wide and staring. What was it that he read in their flaming pools? He said nothing as he twined his hands in her rich wealth of hair. Gently, he drew her to him, then forced his parted lips upon hers in a savage, demanding kiss that she returned in kind. Unseen stars exploded overhead, falling, falling, until they settled like a cloak over Banyen. “Tell me,” he said huskily, “that I don't stir your blood. Tell me and I'll leave you here and never seek you out again.”
He kissed her eyes, her mouth, her cheeks, the hollow of her throat, and she felt a raging fire engulf her as she burrowed her head against his chest. It made no difference that he was the Mongol from the steppe. She wanted him. She needed him. She moaned softly as his mouth crashed down on hers in a savage, blazing kiss of passion. The banked fires began to smolder and burst into flame as she felt his searching hands explore her body through the thick clothing. His touch was scorching, searing, as her own hands ceased to tremble, and she caressed his high cheeks and ran her hands through his lustrous raven hair. Moan after moan escaped her as she strained against him, her mouth mingling with his, her tongue searching, darting to conquer his.
Within moments their clothing lay in a heap on the rough granite floor. Banyen spread his burnoose on the sweet-scented straw and gently lowered Katerina onto the lushness of the warm sable.
A thin streak of moonlight filtered through the high, narrow window that was not covered by the drifting snow. Banyen drew in his breath in a ragged gasp as Katerina's body was bathed in silvery radiance. His face was inscrutable in the faint rays, but his gaze was almost tangible; she felt it reach her, touch her, and was aware of the all-consuming fire that raged through her.
Katerina's response was unwavering as she stared deep into his oblique eyes. She was hypnotized by them as she felt his mouth crush hers. Her body took on a will of its own as Banyen caressed and explored every inch of her bare limbs. She moved to the rhythm he initiated and felt him respond to her in a way she had never dreamed possible. Searing flames licked at her body as she sought to quench the blazing inferno that engulfed her. He kissed her small ears, her eyes, her moistened mouth as he murmured tender words of love, as his hands traveled down the length of her, arousing, teasing her till her breath came in short gasps and her body turned beneath his touch.
His lips clung to hers as he pressed her down onto the softness of the rich fur. He buried his hands in the sparkling coppery hair, twining the thickness, holding her head still as he kissed her savagely. Katerina strained against him, her nude, rounded breasts flattening against his hard, muscular chest as she responded to his passion with an urgency that demanded release. He caressed her again and again, cherishing her, desiring her, imprisoning her body with his hard, muscular strength.
He felt the softness of her flesh grow warm and taut beneath him; his hungry mouth worshipped her, tracing moist patterns on her creamy skin. His dark head moved lower, grazing the firmness of her belly and down to the silky smoothness between her thighs. He parted her legs with his knees and felt her respond to him, arching her back to receive him. Her parted lips were a flame that met his raging, tumultuous mouth. She welcomed him, accepted him, his hardness, his leanness, his very maleness, as he drove into her. The unquenchable heat that was soaring through her beat in her veins, threatening to crescendo into a raging inferno of flames.
He lay upon her, commanding her response, and she offered it, writhing beneath him, exulting in her own femininity as she caressed his broad back and crushed her lips to his. The sound of her own heart thundered in her ears, or was it Banyen's that beat and roared about them?
Her breathing ragged and gasping, she opened herself like the petals of a flower. The searing, scorching aching erupted within her, consuming her in an explosion that matched his.
 
Banyen opened one sloping azure eye and gazed longingly down at Katerina. Her long-lashed lids remained closed, her breathing slow and regular. Sensing his inspection of her, she opened her eyes and stared deeply into his dark, oblique eyes. Words at the moment weren't necessary. Banyen slept then, his dark head cradled against her breast. Katerina lay quiet, body and mind at peace for the moment. How vulnerable he looks in sleep, she thought. Defenseless, almost like a child. What was it her uncle said? Yes, that he was a compassionate man and perhaps one day he would allow her to see that side of him. She raised her eyes and looked at the bright shaft of moonlight. Were the stars out? Was there a brief respite from the heavy, suffocating snows? She stirred slightly on the sable burnoose, the sweet scent of the straw teasing her nostrils. The slight stirring of her body made Banyen tighten his hold on her, and he sighed contentedly in his sleep.
How had she allowed herself to forget what he had done to her? Was it because she wanted to see if he . . . It didn't matter now. She had lain in his arms; she had matched his ardor and his flaming passions and had been satisfied. The brief interlude with Yuri had been nothing compared to this wild, savage lovemaking. Katerina did not believe she could ever look at Banyen again after this. Her hand reached up to stroke the still-discolored welt on his cheek. Even after all these months it had not completely healed. She dug her teeth into her lips till she felt the salty taste of her own blood. Yet she didn't have the will or the power to take her hand away. Instead, she smoothed the ebony hair from his high forehead. She loved the shape of his eyes, and slowly bent over and lightly brushed her lips against the lids, feeling him stir against her with her touch. Gently she let her long, tapered finger trace the shape of his eye. Again her lips delicately caressed his lids, and she suddenly found herself pinned in a hard embrace.
Katerina pushed Banyen away from her, completely unashamed by her nudity. “No! This is not to happen again. We're both to look upon this as a moment in time between two people caught up in something they had no control over, Banyen. There'll be no more times. A meeting of the flesh, isn't that what men call it? Nothing more and nothing less.”
Banyen nodded. He would agree to anything right now. Fully satiated, he boldly watched her as she dressed in front of him, not caring to avert his attention.
Once fully clothed, she stared down at him. “Remember, a meeting of the flesh, nothing more.” Her eyes lightened till they were the color of taffy. To Banyen, they were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.
The moment Katerina walked through the door, he felt more alone than he had ever been in his entire life. He knew that if the stable were suddenly invaded by every recruit and every man under his command, he would still be isolated among the babble of voices. There was only one body that could communicate with his, and she was gone. What did a promise mean? Promises were made and broken. He owed her nothing. Well, Banyen conceded, maybe his body; she had seemed to like it well enough. He laughed, a deep, full, rich sound in the quietness. The laughter, however, was hollow to his own ears, and he sobered.
He lay back on the sweet straw and remembered the feel of her lips on his eyelids. Now why had she done that? And why had she let her fingers caress the damnable scar on his cheek? Evidently she had thought him asleep when she touched him so gently. No one had ever stirred him in quite that way. He was confused by the meaning of it. He told himself he had bedded enough women to know the answer, but he didn't. No woman had ever moved his heart in that way before. The action was tender, the way a mother would caress her infant. He sneered as he got to his feet and dressed. He was no child, and the Kat was hardly maternal. The fleeting instant puzzled him; it was something else for him to think about.
When Banyen left the warm, fresh-smelling stable, the first person he saw was Kostya, returning with a pile of blankets. He gave the Russian an ear-to-ear grin and saluted him with a mocking finger to his forehead. He had won! The blue eyes were unreadable as the prisoner stared after the strutting Mongol.
Chapter 14
“T
he witches are out, the witches are out,” Ivan chanted gleefully as he ran up and down the marble hall outside his quarters. “A banquet, we must have a banquet to celebrate!” he shouted as he began to shred a drapery with the tip of his staff. “Ready a banquet, now!”
“My Czar, are you aware of the time? It's past midnight, and the ovens are banked for the night. There isn't any food prepared,” a guard bleated fearfully.
“Roast swan, roast peacock and sturgeon. Prepare enough for three hundred of my favorite guests!” Ivan continued to shout, ignoring the fearful guard. “We'll have the bears and entertainment fit for a Czar. See to it, my good man, within the hour. Ring the bells, wake everyone and tell them I wish their presence in the banquet hall. Tell the nobles and boyars to dress in their finest, and have the women arrive nude.”
“My Czar, at this hour . . .”
Ivan wrenched his staff from the tattered drapery and with one swing of his arm thrust it into the guard's throat. “The hour doesn't matter,” he said. “A celebration is what I want, and I have decided to prepare it myself. Now that you're dead, you won't be able to attend. A pity, you would have enjoyed the bears,” he said, leaning over the body and dipping his bare toe in the man's blood. Languidly he traced a picture of a bear, and stood back to observe his handiwork. “Marvelous!” he shouted shrilly. “It looks just like my pet bear!”
Banging his staff against the stone walls, he made his way to the kitchen, walking drunkenly on his heels so the remaining blood would not drip on the floor. From time to time he stopped and squinted at the red substance congealing on his toes, and laughed delightedly.
Inside the cavernous kitchen, he poked and prodded everything in sight with the tip of his staff. “Roast swan!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “I want roast swan for my celebration!” He yelled again. When the game did not materialize, he lashed out at the fire in the oven, by pitching his staff into its depths. Angrily he sat down in the middle of the floor and crossed his bony legs, chanting of witches and traitors.
A startled cook and two servants, who jutted their heads fearfully into the archway, were stunned at the sight. Ivan rolled over, banging his head on the hard stone. “I want swan and pheasant and sturgeon for my celebration.”
“My Czar, when is the celebration to take place?” the cook asked uneasily.
“You ask when! How dare you ask me when! Now! The celebration is now! Wake everyone and tell them to assemble in the hall. Be sure to tell the boyars and their women they must arrive in a cart. It will be pulled onto the main floor by my bears. See to it!” he shouted as he staggered to his feet.
The two servants ran from the room, their faces masks of fear, to do his bidding.
“My Czar, your head is bleeding,” the cook said hesitantly.
“Bleeding, bleeding, you say? I have no blood, how can I bleed? What manner of fool are you?” he demanded, his eyes wild and staring.
“A mistake, my Czar, it must be the firelight,” the cook said as she hurried into the storeroom.
When the cook returned, Ivan was again sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. He craned his neck to watch the cook as she began to pluck the feathers. “No, no, don't you know anything?” he grumbled as he again got to his feet. He reached an emaciated hand toward the cook and clutched at the bird. Without a moment's hesitation, he flung it into the oven. “That's how you roast a swan, my good woman, don't you know anything? Can't you see the feathers will burn right off? Then the meat will get done. Why must I do everything?” he pouted childishly. “Fetch me the pheasant and I'll show you how to roast it also.”
The stench from the smoldering feathers sent the cook gasping from the room, her hand to her mouth. She returned in a moment, handing the freshly killed pheasant to the Czar, and stood back respectfully to await his further orders.
“Wrap this bird in a wet cloth and let it steam in the oven.”
“Be . . . before or . . . or after removing the feathers?” the cook asked, her face blank and unreadable.
Ivan sighed wearily. “Good woman, how did you become chef in this palace? With the feathers, of course. I happen to like wet, juicy feathers. Everyone does. Order my throne to be taken to the banquet hall, and see to it that the Princess Halya is present. The pheasant is for her, a special tribute before she leaves the palace. This celebration is in honor of her departure.” Suddenly he brought his hand up to his mouth and laughed wickedly. “No, no that isn't why I'm having the celebration, it's for the arrival of the witches.”
He shrugged. “It makes no matter. Halya is a witch, too. Tend to the matter,” he said regally as he hopped from the room on one foot, his skinny arms stretched straight out in front of him.
Tearfully the cook ran from the room to do as instructed, the pheasant clutched to her bosom.
Petrified with fear, Halya entered the banquet hall and took her place next to Ivan. She remained quiet, her body trembling at the insane expression on his face.
“Halya, my love, how nice of you to attend your going-away celebration. This party is especially for you. I want you always to remember how generous I have been to you. Tonight you will see my trained bears lead a cart of naked women around this room. The boyars and nobles will be dressed in their finest in your honor. I do hope you appreciate all the trouble I've gone through on your behalf. Why,” he said, wide-eyed, “I even roasted the meat myself. Kiss my ear, darling Halya, to show your thanks.”
Halya swallowed hard and bent over, her lips brushing against his ear. “This is a great . . . great honor, Ivan. May I ask where you are sending me?” she said fearfully.
“Never ask me anything, for if you do I shall tell you a lie. I feel like sending you away, so that is what I'm doing, but I want you to have this party before you leave. Later, if I have a mind to, I'll tell you why. Sit quietly now, for the bears will arrive shortly, and noise disturbs them.”
Halya clenched her teeth so hard she thought her jaw would crack. God in heaven, what was he going to do?
Ivan stood up as a steady stream of boyars and nobles entered the room dressed in their regal attire. At a wave of his bejeweled finger in the air, the nobles and boyars sat, their eyes anxious and fearful. When all was quiet Ivan rose to his feet and shrugged his skeletal shoulders.
“We are now going to have a parade, which I will lead. Princess Halya will judge who is the finest. Following me will be the bears with the cart of women. After the cart, you'll all fall into place and we'll circle the hall. I will sing.” He clapped his hands loudly as he jumped from the dais and landed with a thump on the marble floor.
“Bring on the bears,” he cackled gleefully.
Halya sat rigidly in her chair as the bears, led by a trainer, entered the room. Merciful God, she prayed, whatever he plans to do, let him do it quickly before I collapse. Ashamed and humiliated for the naked women, she lowered her eyes and stared at the floor.
“Enough!” Ivan shouted. “The parade is now over.” Waving his arms wildly, and hopping about on one foot, then the other, he made his way to the cart. He eyed one woman lustfully and, reaching out, pinched a rosy-tipped breast till the woman screamed in pain. His eyes widened, and before she knew what was happening, he lifted her bodily from the cart and flung her in the face of the closest bear.
Halya retched as the bear clawed at the woman's flesh, chewing into her shoulder, mutilating the pinkish-white skin.
When the woman's screams had faded, Ivan pursed his mouth and looked around at the seated nobles and boyars. “You may each pick a woman and fornicate here, where I can watch you. This must be a memorable evening for the princess. I want her to leave with happy memories. When I am seated, you will commence with your lustful ways.”
Silence rang in Halya's ears, as no man made a move to leave the table. The women cowered, their arms crossed over their naked breasts. She knew that the moment Ivan sat down the men would do as he said, and the women would gladly surrender themselves, fearful lest their end be the same as the dead woman's. Her stomach heaved as first one man and then another got to his feet, eyes downcast.
Ivan squirmed in his chair, his eyes dancing in glee as he watched. Harsh guttural sounds escaped his drooling mouth as he stood up for a better look at something that pleased him. He clapped his hands and shouted his approval of the orgy going on beneath the dais.
“Tell me, Halya, have you ever been so stimulated? I must plan more celebrations like this. I've outdone myself this time, don't you agree?”
“But of course, Ivan, but then, you always arrange everything so perfectly. You must be very proud of yourself,” she managed to say quietly, her stomach heaving at the words.
“That's very generous of you, Halya. And for being so gracious, I'm going to tell you where you are going when you leave here tomorrow. You are going to Volin, the village I sent Yuri to, to finish his mission. My darling Halya, did I neglect to tell you your brother is dead? No, no, I told you. Well”—he shook his head—“I can't be expected to remember everything. No weeping, Halya, you must be strong about our parting. Remember, your brother died for me.” He sighed wearily at the tears in Halya's eyes. “You must uncover the secret of the Cosars. I will give you one month to do what he couldn't do. Yuri had a mission to fulfill, and he failed. You may redeem him in my eyes. If you succeed, I'll give you a medal. I decided to give you an award instead of taking you for my wife. Thank me now, Halya,” he said childishly.
“Th . . . thank you, Ivan.”
“I want the secret of the Cosars. Remember to find out how they breed the horses, I must know! Now, do you understand your mission?”
So that's what it is all about, those damnable Cosars of the Cossacks. Yuri is dead, and this is no time for grief. I've been through that already, the first time he told me of Yuri's death. For now I'll smile—anything until tomorrow, when I leave this godforsaken place. Once gone, she told herself, I won't return. Never! No matter how many men he sends after me, I'll run till I drop in my tracks, or I'll kill myself first. I will never return!
“Well,” the Czar demanded, “do you understand?”
“But of course, Ivan, I understand perfectly. I have never failed you before, and I won't now,” she said in a choked voice.
“Who is that man with the ugly face?” he demanded.
“Kubitsky,” came a soft reply.
“Give him to the bears to play with. His ugliness upsets me,” Ivan muttered as he tossed his rings into the center of the circling bears. “Now bring on the feast!” he roared in a deep-pitched voice.
Halya watched with horrified eyes as a servant set a platter before her. “I prepared it myself, especially for you,” Ivan said happily. “Remove the cloth and eat all you want, dear Halya.”
Gingerly, her hand trembling, she inched the cloth away from the mound on the platter. She drew back in horror at the smell and sight of the baked pheasant. Unable to restrain herself, she ran from the room, sobs tearing at her throat.
Ivan stood and stretched his scrawny neck till he could see all of the assembled boyars and nobles. “The princess was overcome with happiness,” he babbled. “Women are like that at times. All four of my wives acted the same way. Now we'll share her special dinner,” he said, pointing to the wild game. “The servants will serve you as much as you want, and eat heartily,” he cackled, wagging a bony finger in the air. “I'll leave you to your merrymaking. With me gone, you may do as you please. Enjoy yourselves. I'll leave the bears for you to play with, so they won't become lonely.”
 
“God help me!” Halya screamed as she ran down one hall, and then another, till she came to her room and quickly threw the bolt. She grabbed the pillow sack, still filled with her jewels and clothing, which she had hidden away in a cupboard. This time, even if Ivan had already posted a guard at her door, she would escape. He had stopped her the last time, but this time he couldn't. She was on a mission for him, had been told to leave. Nothing could stop her.
With the help of a young guard she had befriended, she made her way to the stable. The soldier kept watch as Halya saddled a sorrel horse. Mounted, she thanked the man and disappeared into the night.
Halya felt safe now that she rode freely, her security in the sack tied to the saddlebags. She had the next thing to a king's ransom riding with her. Jewels could buy anything. Could they buy a life? She wondered.
Halya rode steadily, stopping only to eat and to feed and rest her horse. She rode for many days before she arrived at a small village. She reined in her horse and wiped the snow from her forehead with the back of her hand. She knew she looked terrible. Carefully she smoothed the golden hair back from her brow and tucked in the stray tendrils, and then smoothed the gown beneath the lush cape she wore, trying to free it of the wrinkles that clung to it. More than that she couldn't do. Perhaps the peasants would allow her a bowl of water to wash with. They might even have knowledge of Yuri.

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