Whitefire by Fern Michaels Page B

for next year’s supply of foals. As was Katlof’s system, so long as his herd was plentiful and healthy, he divided the mares into thirds, each group going to stud once every three years.
    As she watched the men release a mare to run with Whitefire, feelings of desire began to stir in her. It was spring, and the animals, birds, and horses were busy reproducing. She smiled as Whitefire chased a mare behind a small clump of trees. Soon thereafter, the stallion reappeared, reared up on his hind legs, and whinnied triumphantly. It was done: another mare carried the seed of the prized horse.
    Strange feelings and emotions began to course through her as she watched the mares, her mind remembering the animal that had raped her. But deep within her she felt a need for tenderness, for love. She wondered if she could love. Was love the same as lust? What the Mongol did to her, was that the way love happened? Underneath it all, was it just a matter of copulation? She couldn’t and wouldn’t believe that was all there was to it.
    That night two lovers stole into the barn under cover of darkness, unaware of her gaze. How sweetly they embraced each other and how passionately they vowed their endearments in husky murmurings. As quickly as they had appeared, they were gone, leaving a wide-eyed Katerina staring after them.
    Her heart fluttered in her chest at the thought of the young couple. She wanted desperately to be held, to be kissed tenderly and gently. No man will want me now, not after the Mongol ravaged me, she cried silently. She felt confused and afraid. If only it hadn’t happened that way, if only . . .
    Forcing her mind to think of other things, she walked back to the hut to tell her father the colts were well and running in the fields, healthy young Cosars.
    Excitement began to build in the village as each passing day brought the buyers one day closer. This year the thought of the buyers coming for the Cosars held no appeal for Katerina. Something was missing in her life, and she couldn’t come to terms with the alien feeling. Throwing herself into her work, she toiled during the day and then rode Bluefire across the plains for hours to clear her head, and still the aching feeling stayed with her.
    Someday, somewhere, she would find what she was looking for, and when she did, she would know it, she was sure of it. As always when the thought entered her mind, the Mongol was right behind, mocking her with his dark eyes. Then she would wonder . . . would she know, would she really know?

Chapter 4
    W ord spread quickly through the village—Czar Ivan’s emissary would be arriving any day now. To Katlof, he was just another buyer, but his people were always impressed when the Czar’s man came to Volin. They knew if it was not for the Cosars, a nobleman would never set foot in this part of the steppe.
    Katerina was glad that she had managed to keep outward appearances normal during the past weeks, but inside she was depressed, lonely, and hurt. She hoped her father wasn’t aware of her inner turmoil, and since he hadn’t asked if anything was wrong, she knew she was playing her part well.
    Maybe the arrival of the Czar’s emissary would distract her from her thoughts for a few days. She wondered what the man would look like. Would he be any different from the grouchy, businesslike nobles that came before him, who selected the horses, settled on a price, and were gone?
    When breakfast was over and the hut was in order, she dressed and headed for the barn. Tending the brood mares, Katerina heard a commotion outside the barn. “Yaschu, what’s going on?”
    â€œOne of the riders just rode into the village with news of the emissary from Moscow.”
    â€œWhat news?”
    â€œThe rider said the Czar’s buyer is on his way and should arrive within the hour.”
    Katerina felt a stir of anticipation, but paid it no mind and went back inside, content to care for the