Whitefire (20 page)
Authors: Fern Michaels
Katerina looked over the men she had come to know a little better than the others. Her first choices were Kostya and Rokal, then two others. She debated before she made her fifth, and final, choice, finally deciding on a tall, dark-skinned Russian.
Katerina's eyes danced when she saw Banyen's choice was a youth named Gogol and his second choice the boy Igor.
“Saber tips in place,” she called loudly. “I have no wish to see the lot of you bleed to death, not today. Tomorrow you will remove them and slice at each other to your hearts' content. If your skill as a dancer improves, you'll be able to make your feet do what your mind tells you. Tomorrow,” she shouted to Banyen, “your man who has been sent to his quarters will cross sabers without the tips. Is that clear? If he bleeds to death for some clumsy movement, it is on your head, not mine.”
Lithely Katerina danced out to the middle of the arena and motioned for Mikhailo to join her. “A brief demonstration,” she said, removing the saber tips. Deftly she backed off and flexed her legs, her slim body a study of perfection in the brightly lit center of the room. She brought up the saber and touched the tip of his weapon and shouted, “Begin!” Metal clanked against metal as she danced and reached, always finding her mark. Her movements were well practiced as she fluidly moved out of Mikhailo's reach. Twice the point found its target, Mikhailo's heart. The Cossack laughed as he moved clumsily, trying to get out of her way. She would advance, bring up her weapon, and slice up and down, her wrists barely moving.
Banyen watched, mesmerized as she leaped and thrust. He told himself her slim body had something to do with it. No woman could handle a weapon as she did. He understood her theory of dancing and crossed sabers. Grudgingly he admitted she was right. A body in good condition could handle anythingâhe was the living proof. Now all he had to do was convince these babes, as she called them, that he approved of what she was doing, without losing their respect. Damn, why couldn't the Khan have assigned him men instead of these raw recruits?
Her exhibition at an end, the Kat told the men to pair off according to their leader's instructions. She sat down near the blazing fire next to Mikhailo and watched as the men struck out with their heavy weapons. “What do you think, Mikhailo, is there any hope?” she asked softly, her eyes on Banyen as he lunged out at one of his men. His movements were sure and flexible, his weapon finding its mark each time. Not so the boy he was fighting with, who thought the weapon was something to hold across his chest for protection.
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“In time they'll be all right, Katerina. Miracles do not happen overnight, nor in a week. The prisoners seem agreeable. I've heard no grumbling from any of them. They take orders well, but I expect trouble in the next few days.”
“It is sure to come. For now, the lot of them are biding their time, waiting to see what's going to happen. Wait till they get one meal a day and then have to give up their sleeping hours to practice mastering their imperfections.”
“The one called Kostya, I see the way he looks at you. He also seems to be the spokesman for the others. I've noticed the way they listen to him and look to him for some sign that they should do what he wants. I saw him give a slight nod of his head when you told them all to dance. He approved, and that's why there was no grumbling among the others. I noticed this, and so did the Mongol prince. His eyes hold cold murder, but for whom I don't know.”
“For me, Mikhailo. If there is murder to be done, it will be me that commits the act. And it will be his body that falls to the ground, not mine!”
At the end of the second hour Katerina called a halt to the saber drill, and Mikhailo gathered the weapons and stockpiled them in the dim recesses of the cavernous room.
While Mikhailo tended to his duties, the Kat informed the men that their leaders were to follow Mikhailo to the underground stables, where they would select the horses and bring them back to the arena. “The rest of you may now take a rest period.”
Deliberately, the Kat waited till the men filed behind Mikhailo, and found herself walking next to Kostya. She sensed the stiffening of his shoulders as she brushed against him going out the wide stone archway. She quirked an eyebrow and looked up at him. His bright blue gaze pierced her, but his stride never faltered as he continued to hold her eyes with his own. She searched for an expression, some sort of indication of what he was feeling, but his features remained blank, unlike Banyen, whose face and eyes were an open book. She felt puzzled but said nothing. She liked the feeling being near him gave her. There was hidden strength in his strong, sinewy arms, and his broad chest looked just right for a woman to be cradled against. She blinked. Now why had she thought of something like that? She wanted to say something just to hear his voice, but she remained quiet, some instinct warning her that this was not the time to speak with the Russian. She made a mental note to find a spare minute as soon as the men were on a strict schedule. Yes, she would make the time and use it to her best advantage.
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 manâat 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 matchmakingâshe 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 herself 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?”
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