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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Whitefire
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The amber eyes lightened till they were the color of a ripe apricot. She was alive and that was all that mattered. It would be her secret, hers and the Mongol's. Somewhere, somehow, she would meet him again and she would have the advantage. He would pay dearly. At least she knew what he looked like. He couldn't say the same. At the campfire, she had been far enough away from the flames, and the hood had cast her face into shadow. No one would know. It would be her secret, and she would die by her own hand before she let another Cossack know she had ever come out second best.
A violent fit of retching overtook her. When Katerina was finished, she grasped Bluefire's mane and climbed onto his back. Trembling, she urged the horse forward, her neck buried in his soft hair. Bluefire picked his way gently over the snow as the girl sobbed heartbrokenly. Then she slept.
It was the mute boy, Stepan, who first saw her and hurried to the road to lead the gelding to the summer stables. Shyly, his eyes full of love and trust, he helped Katerina dismount and led her shaking body to a stall at the end of the stable. He pointed to the alabaster mare, who was contentedly nibbling at some hay. His round head bobbed up and down happily as he kept pointing and grinning at the horse.
“She's safe, is that what you're trying to tell me?”
Stepan nodded, a smile on his face. The boy opened the stall and pointed to the horse's broad belly and then to her hooves. He rubbed the horse's snout fondly, and the mare rewarded him with a soft whinny of delight.
Katerina would chastise him later, for all the good it would do. For now, all she wanted was a hot bath and some clean clothing. God, would she ever feel warm again? Would she ever be the same again?
“Stepan, would you please build a fire in my father's house and boil some water for me?” The youth grinned and waved his hands in the air. “You already did that when you saw me riding across the steppe. Thank you. Stepan,” she said wearily.
Tenderly, she patted the boy on his arm, her eyes full of tears. “Stay with Wildflower and give her some hay and a few oats and then bed her down for the night. Do the same for Bluefire.” The boy smiled and entered the stall, careful to latch it behind him.
Other women had been raped and had survived, and so would she. She would find her own way to live with it, and she would manage as the others had. She was alive, and that was all that mattered. Someday she would find a man who would love her despite her secret. She would watch his eyes when she told him. Eyes could tell a person more than words. She would not explain, and she would not apologize. Somewhere there was a lover who would understand. Until the time when they met, no one would know of the hateful truth.
Katerina would have a week of living by herself, until the others came down from the Carpathians. In seven days one could school oneself to many things. Aside from the one change, she was well, and Wildflower was safe. That was all that mattered.
Chapter 2
T
he first scent of spring wafted in the air as the tenacious grip of winter held fast the last remnants of snow to the onion-domed towers of the Kremlin. As the snow began to ebb, the glory and magnificence of St. Basil's Cathedral, just outside the Kremlin, slowly emerged to the wonderment of all. The nine soaring, bulbous domes, each different in color and design, struck a note of exquisite beauty for all of Russia to behold. Czar Ivan Vasilovich was justly proud of his creation.
The Terem Palace, official residence of Czar Ivan IV, which stood within the walls of the Kremlin, stood with equal majesty. The Czar, like others before him, surrounded himself with the indigenous art of the Russian people. Everywhere the eye could see, the ornate frescoes, paintings, and motifs were embellished with gold overlay or blazoned with precious stones.
Princess Halya Zhuk's bearing was regal as she crossed the main floors of the palace, confident that her flaxen hair was arranged with care and precision to show off her delicate features to every advantage. As she began her ascent up the stone stairway to the Czar's living quarters, she smoothed the sea-green gown, which reflected the emerald depths of her eyes. In these quiet moments when she was alone, she never ceased drinking in the splendor of the decorative walls and ceilings. A sensitivity that lay deep within her, a sensitivity that she kept completely hidden, stirred in her breast as she weakened and completely enjoyed her surroundings.
Steps that once were filled with joy now became steps of anguish. Each encounter with Ivan was totally unpredictable. One minute he would be loving and forgiving, and a moment later, as though possessed, he would perform cruel and sadistic acts, terrorizing everyone in sight. She wondered fearfully what he would have in store for her today.
Halya stood a moment before the carved door to Ivan's receiving chamber, forcing herself to reach for the golden knob. She withdrew her hand and paused a second longer, finally deciding to knock.
A voice boomed imperiously, “Whoever it is may enter my chambers.”
Composing herself, Halya answered, “It is Halya, Ivan. I came as quickly as I could when I received your summons.”
“I need the gentleness of your touch and the softness of your lips to quell my surging blood. As usual, my day has been nothing but problems, problems, and more problems. If I don't do everything myself, nothing gets done,” he said petulantly. “I summoned you for another reason, Halya, not to listen to me complain. Come into my chamber, where we can speak privately.”
Halya's mind reeled with thoughts of what was to come. Months before, it had been a pleasure to be bedded by Ivan, for his body was hard and muscular, and his lovemaking was the same way, hard and demanding. In recent months, however, Ivan had neglected himself, so thoroughly he was now flabby. When he stood before her unclothed, the bulges and flabbiness were offensively apparent. She felt repulsed when her eyes noted the limp flesh that extended to his manhood. Her heart pounded with fright as she wondered what obscene acts he would ask her to perform to arouse him sexually.
“Halya, many times you have expressed the desire to become my fifth wife, or is it my sixth? If that is still your wish, then you must continue to please me. As you know, my true and first love is being Czar of Russia; second is my devotion to the church. Third is deciding how I shall put to death a traitor. My last love, Halya, is a wild, uninhibited woman in my bed. That is the reason I have decided that one day soon you will be my wife. You are an excellent whore, and the thought of marrying you delights me. I'll notify you when I decide to make it official,” he said, leering at her, his eyes glazed with lust.
Anger rose in Halya at his words, but she said nothing. In her heart she knew her true test was about to begin. Could she play at passion and desire and arouse his sagging member? Her mind raced: she would pretend, she would entice, she would seduce a young soldier; and then, as suddenly as she had thought it, she negated the idea. No, her imaginary lover must be a king, an emperor, or someone else of great stature. She would perform for a Khan and be a captured woman who was brought before him to delight and heighten his desire. Failing, she would die. Ivan's voice broke through her thoughts, making her aware of what she had to do.
“It's time to begin, Halya. I'll set the stage for you, and you will do exactly as I say. When you are performing well, and my blood begins to pound, you will not hear my voice. When that happens you will know I am pleased and your lustful acts are engulfing me. I am now ready,” he said, lying back against a mound of pillows.
Halya fought a welling retch as she watched him lick at the saliva that drooled from the corners of his mouth.
“You will of course undress; however, as you dance around the room I want you to drop your clothing, piece by piece, on top of me, as I lie here in bed. For every garment you drop you will remove an article of clothing from me. Before you start to perform I think we should have an audience. I will summon two passionate men from my private guard and watch them squirm in ecstasy as they watch you. A magnificent idea, why didn't I think of it sooner?” Ivan cried happily as he rang for his boyar.
“Fetch me two virile men from the Oprichnina. Bring me the two who boast and fornicate the most. You will have no trouble finding them, word travels fast among men of their conquests,” he ordered the boyar, who stood at attention, a stunned look on his face.
The boyar scurried from the room to do Ivan's bidding. He could barely contain himself at the thought that soon he would have another lunatic escapade of the Czar's to recount to the other boyars.
“Halya, my love, have you given any thought to your dance of seduction?” Not waiting for a reply, he continued, “My blood boils at the thought of how the young bucks will react to my mistress swaying naked before them. You
will
be naked, won't you, Halya?” he asked hesitantly.
Halya nodded. Oh God, oh God, Ivan was insane and she was crazy to do as he asked. Everything would have been different with Kostya.
“Your men, as you requested,” the boyar said quietly as he thrust open the door, admitting two handsome soldiers from the Oprichnina.
The Czar lolled on the bed, spittle dribbling from his mouth as he addressed the two men. “Princess Halya is going to dance, and I wished a small audience to join me so her talents can be fully appreciated. You are to stand near the door in a stance so: your feet slightly apart, body erect, and hands clasped behind your backs. You are not to utter a sound.”
The soldiers nodded, puzzled looks on their faces.
“Begin, Halya,” Ivan said, reclining again against the overstuffed cushions.
Her body trembling, Halya moved to the center of the floor, trying to sort out her thoughts. She felt humiliated and embarrassed at the way the men stared at her. Still, she supposed it was better than being put to death by Ivan for refusing to do his bidding. She risked a second glance in their direction and found herself wondering how they would look without their handsome uniforms. Their imagined nudity made her remember Ivan as he was when she first saw him. Now, beside the flabbiness, his aquiline nose seemed more obnoxious. His black hair, which had once blended into a comely mustache and beard, had turned into wisps of straggly, unkempt hair. The clear bright eyes were glazed, and his sensual mouth was slack and unappealing. But she was also reminded of another person, whom she had loved with all her heart and soul . . . Quickly she forced the memory from her mind to concentrate on her job—surely he was dead.
Halya turned to Ivan and pouted coyly. “My Czar, would it be possible to summon a balalaika player to sit outside the door and play for me?”
“Very well, but no more delays, Halya,” he grumbled, the spittle from his mouth dribbling down his chin and onto his neck.
With the first sounds of the melodious notes Halya began to dance, her movements slow and sensual as she responded to the music. Her slim body lent itself to wantonness as she brought into play the proud high-tipped breasts and rounded haunches. As she swirled and swayed to the rhythm, her tiny feet barely touching the floor, her hands caressed her body, lingering in a display of blatant sexuality.
Perspiration beaded the faces of the soldiers as their eyes filled with unabashed desire. Sensing their craving, Halya threw herself into a frenzy of immoral gestures and moves that she knew would delight Ivan.
Her fingers tore at the buttons of her gown as abandon rose like a tidal wave throughout her body. Dropping her dress at her feet, she cupped her breasts, still hidden beneath her camisole. Slowly, inch by inch, she removed Ivan's gold caftan, delighting in his moans of mounting passion as her hands touched his naked flesh. His eyes were wild; his tongue dangled from his gaping mouth.
She whirled away from the Czar, working with slow deliberation at the ribbons of her camisole. She knew both Ivan and the soldiers were waiting for her to divest herself of the garment, waiting in pain for the first glimpse of her bare skin. She glided out of reach, her tight haunches moving to the rhythm of the balalaika as her body began to undulate provocatively. Sensuously she moved her fingers to the tiny ribbons, undoing each one with a wicked smile on her face.
The Czar rolled over on the bed, his eyes glazed as he stared first at Halya and then at the two soldiers. He cackled gleefully at the sight of the well-fitted black trousers bulging with the swollen manhood trapped within. As he watched, the swelling pushed forward, fighting to escape to freedom. He jumped up and down on the bed, pointing a sticklike finger at the two men, his laughter insane and shrill.
Halya continued dancing, her fingers untying the last bow. As she leaned toward Ivan, her breasts spilled from the dainty embroidered camisole. A knowing smile played about her mouth as she heard low groans coming from the direction of the doorway. She, too, now noticed the growing, aroused manhood bursting at the confines of their trousers.
She ripped away the undergarment with a flourish, freeing her taut, full breasts for all to see. Cupping them, their rosy crests pointed and erect, she swayed ever closer until she was directly in front of the soldiers. Her movements taunting, she flaunted her body without restraint. Moan after moan followed her as she danced back to Ivan. Slowly she extended a long, shapely leg from between the open front of her lace petticoat. Languidly she thrust it out and withdrew the stocking from thigh to toe. Twirling it in the air, Halya swept past the soldiers, her naked breasts heaving as she allowed the stocking to brush across their agonized faces. At Ivan's bedside, she dropped the silk and reached down to remove his slippers.
The soldiers continued to watch, their faces full of incredulous shock. Before them lay the Czar, completely stripped of clothes. The princess was still dressed in her petticoat and one sheer stocking. How much more were they to endure?
Moving over to a chair closer to where the soldiers stood, Halya lifted her leg, reached to the top of the limb, and, again slowly, removed the remaining stocking. She caressed her body, her fingers sliding over her breasts and arms, down to her flat stomach, and finally once again cupping her breasts.
Her eyes were fixed on the soldiers as she worked at her petticoat, dropping it from her satiny waist. Halya turned at the sound of a deep groan, knowing she had driven the men beyond human control.
Ivan, in a state of tightly checked arousal and anticipation of what was to come, made no comment when the soldiers ran from the room, their trousers wet and stained.
Halya danced as if passion had become the driver and ruler of her undulating body. Gliding gracefully to the bedside once more, her pear-shaped orbs hard and firm, she motioned for Ivan to touch her. Salivating, he clutched at her breasts, her thighs and legs, as low animal-like noises escaped his mouth.
Perspiration dripping from his face, Ivan felt blood soar through his veins as the pain in his loins became unbearable. He reached for Halya, clutching at her golden hair, moaning wildly as he brought his mouth crashing down upon hers.
“Ivan, take me! Please! Take me!”
Ivan mounted her, hoping against hope that all his soaring blood would erect his manhood. When it failed to do so, he rolled from her body, tears streaming down his sunken cheeks.
Exhausted, Halya lay next to Ivan, who, unfulfilled, nibbled at her still-erect nipples. Halya lay quietly, indifferent to his touch, wishing she were with the one man who could have fulfilled her.
Determined to overcome his impotence, Ivan continued to nibble at Halya's swollen breasts. His hands traveled down her body, searching out the coveted moist, warm place between her slim thighs.
Halya's body became alive, responding once again to his tender caresses.
“Try, Ivan,” Halya pleaded as she parted her legs, welcoming him to her. Silently she reprimanded herself for the charade she was acting. Halya tried desperately to convince herself she might one day love Ivan and forget Kostya.
In desperation, Ivan strained every part of his being to produce the taut muscles necessary to satisfy her. At Halya's scream of despair, Ivan fell back in resignation, ignoring the princess, totally absorbed in his own despair.

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