The Pagan's Prize (20 page)

"I feel fine!" Zora blurted. Hoping to delay
what she imagined every bridegroom deemed as his marital right, she added, "A
feast sounds wonderful, and I'm so hungry—"

"You will have to wait," Rurik said tightly,
steering her past their silent witnesses. She knew that no one would interfere
on her behalf. Her humiliation complete, she could only try to keep up with Rurik's
long strides as he hurried her from the cathedral.

She was not surprised to find Arne and Leif waiting
outside in the gathering dusk with three horses. Her dread increasing tenfold,
she gasped as Rurik seized her around the waist to lift her onto the back of a
huge dappled stallion, but he was stayed when his name was roared out from
across the courtyard.

"Thordar the Strong, my lord," came Arne's
low announcement after twisting in his saddle to glance behind him. "Some
of his men heard of our arrival and came by the ship asking for Kjell. I told
them only that he had been killed in battle. They must have carried the news to
his father straightaway."

Rurik's expression was grim. He released Zora, and his
eyes held a clear warning. "Say nothing while I speak with him, do you
understand?
Nothing!
"

She nodded, growing fearful as the stern-faced warrior
approached them. Thick-necked and massive, his scalp shaved but for the graying
topknot on the left side of his head and wearing a long bushy mustache, Thordar
was one of the most forbidding Varangians she had ever seen. She half hid
behind Rurik, wondering what terrible things the man might threaten to do to
her once he learned of her role in Kjell's death.

"I went to the palace but they said you were here,"
Thordar said to Rurik as he halted in front of them. So close now that Zora
could see the warrior had the same hazel eyes as his son, she was not surprised
to find them fierce where Kjell's had been gentle. "Why did you not send
me word at once of my youngest son's death, Rurik Sigurdson? I learned of it
only an hour past from my men."

"I wanted to speak with you in person, friend,"
Rurik said. "Not send you such news through a messenger. But first I was
bound to speak to Grand Prince Yaroslav about my mission, and then there was
the matter of my wedding."

"Your wedding?"

"Yes, to the woman Kjell was defending when he
bravely met his end." Hauling Zora out from behind him, Rurik squeezed her
arm to remind her to stay silent. "My wife, Princess Zora of Tmutorokan,
daughter of our enemy Mstislav yet niece to our lord."

It was all Zora could do to face Thordar as he
appraised her, then his gaze swerved back to Rurik.

"You say my son fought bravely?"

"And honorably. Our ship was attacked by wandering
thieves at our second portage, and when the princess fled in fear, Kjell went
after her. He single-handedly fought off her attackers until just before I
reached them, when he took a fatal blow that killed him."

"Then Kjell died with a sword in his hand."

Stunned by the false story Rurik had spun, Zora glanced
up at him when he nodded gravely. Yet she said nothing, her heart thundering.
She almost jumped through her skin when the stallion snorted restlessly behind
her, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the courtyard.

Roused from some solitary reflection, Thordar heaved a
long, ragged sigh. He reached out his hand and Rurik clasped his wrist, the two
huge men facing each other squarely for another interminable moment. Then the
warrior turned and strode toward the cathedral without uttering another word.

"Does my uncle know what happened to Kjell?"
she asked in a nervous whisper.

"We discussed the matter privately and deemed
which course it was wisest to take."

"But you lied to Kjell's father!" she said
incredulously, yet keeping her voice low. "Why?"

"Because you are my wife now."

Her cheeks flushing warmly under his intent gaze, Zora
could not deny the strange niggling of pleasure his words had aroused deep
inside her. But before she could say anything more, Rurik lifted her sideways
into the saddle and then mounted behind her, one arm holding her securely
around the waist as he gripped the reins with his free hand.

"To tell Thordar the truth might have incurred a
vow of blood vengeance against my household," Rurik continued, drawing her
so close against him that she could feel the heat of his body through his
clothes. "The last thing the grand prince needs in this time of war is
discord between his senior warriors. Thordar will grieve for his son, but I
told him what he wanted, and needed, to hear."

As Rurik kicked his horse into a gallop, Zora felt
herself a fool for even thinking he might have lied simply to protect her. His
coldly delivered explanation had doused quickly enough any notion that he might
be concerned about her welfare now that she was his wife . . . not that she
cared if he was or not. No doubt it had been his six precious concubines who
had so concerned him, not her!

With his hand splayed beneath her breasts, her
apprehension began to mount again like a fever. The hard set of Rurik's jaw was
enough to tell her that if he wanted her tonight, there might be nothing she
could do to sway him.

Chapter 14

Deep twilight had settled around them, and still Rurik
urged the lathered stallion on at a breakneck pace, guiding the animal with an
expert hand along a road cut between the thickest woods Zora had ever seen. The
cool evening air was pungent with the spicy scent of fir and pine. Tall white
birch gleamed eerily in the pale wash of light from a half moon just appearing
over the highest branches.

The heat of Rurik's body warmed her as his steely arms
hugged her against him, yet she wished that Ingigerd had given her a cloak.
Then she might not have been so tormented by the passionate memories their
closeness evoked . . . memories that filled her not only with anxiety but a
strange yearning she couldn't seem to suppress.

As for Rurik, he seemed exhilarated by the night air.
Zora imagined that must be because they were drawing nearer to his home, and
when he kicked the powerful animal lunging beneath them into an even faster
canter, she was forced to cling to Rurik that much more tightly. Her arms flew
around his neck and her cheek pressed to his chest as the woods became a
frightening blur.

She squeezed her eyes shut, fearing for their lives and
certain that at any moment disaster would befall them. All she could hear was
the relentless pounding of hooves and Rurik's strong, steady heartbeat against
her ear. She couldn't have been more astonished when she heard Arne bellow a
command to fling open the gates in the name of Rurik Sigurdson. Wide-eyed now,
she watched breathlessly as they burst into a torchlit world of sound and
commotion.

"Hail, Lord Rurik!" came exuberant cries of
welcome as they rode past massive timbered gates into a fortified compound that
stretched into the night farther than Zora could see.

To her surprise, Rurik's estate resembled a settlement
not unlike a town. Men, women, and children poured from row after row of
longhouses built in the Norse fashion.

Wondering at the great wealth he must possess to
support such numbers of retainers, Zora could not help asking Rurik as he
slowed the stallion to a trot, "How—how many people are there?"

"In my personal
druzhina
, three hundred seasoned warriors, many with families.
Counting slaves and their children, my concubines who have borne me five sons
and three daughters and now a new wife who I hope proves as fruitful . . ."
He shrugged, his tone brusque. "The number is always growing."

Beset by fresh dread at the import of his statement and
wishing that she hadn't asked, Zora said no more as he rode on through the
swell of warriors pressing eagerly around them. At first it appeared Rurik was
heading toward a huge longhouse near the center of the compound, the building
flanked by what appeared to be an assembly hall. But he swerved their mount to
the left and rode to another, and decidedly smaller, dwelling with a half dozen
guards posted at the door.

"This will be your home." Rurik jumped to the
ground and hauled Zora from the saddle.

Noting her heightened color and the apprehension in her
eyes, he could imagine what she must be thinking. The same image had been
burning in his mind since they had left Novgorod, but his was fueled by desire,
not fear. It had been torture to hold her so close for so long, the warmed rose
scent of her skin intoxicating him. He wanted nothing more than to take her to
his own longhouse and disappear with her for days until his lust was satisfied,
but he was determined to give her a very important first lesson.

"These men have been assigned to protect you,"
he said, practically pushing her toward the wooden structure. "Inside you'll
find female slaves waiting to see to your every need. Do you weave?"

She looked up at him in confusion. "What?"

"Do you weave?"

"No—"

"Then your women can teach you. It will keep you
busy and out of trouble."

Shoving open the door, Rurik didn't follow Zora over
the threshold and he could tell she was surprised when she spun to face him. "Good
night, princess."

"G-good night?"

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His throat
had tightened just in looking at the ripe fullness of her rose-red lips and her
breasts, rising and falling with nervousness, which he ached to caress. Before
he could change his mind, he left her and went back to his horse, doing his
utmost to keep his resolve firmly in front of him.

Since there were six women he planned to summon to his
longhouse before her, Zora would not share his bed for almost a week. It would
be a worse torture to wait that long to claim her, yet there was no better way
to show her that she held no distinctive place in his life. Just because she
was his wife didn't mean he would put her before the others.

Zora could hardly believe her eyes as Rurik rode away
in a swirl of dust without sparing her another glance, his clenched fist raised
high in greeting as he gave acknowledgment to the resounding cheers of his men.

Good night?
Did that mean, then, that he was not going to force his demands upon her, at
least not this evening? Believing it must be so, she was struck by a swamping
wave of relief that, unsettlingly enough, held disappointment.

Holy Mother of Christ, what insanity was coming over
her? Angered that she would even think she might have wanted Rurik to stay, she
grabbed the door and hurled it shut.

"Filthy barbarian!" As shocked gasps sounded
behind her, Zora whirled to find two slave women regarding her with widened
eyes while another seemed more amused than stunned.

"What are you staring at?" she demanded,
although she quickly became distracted by the savory smell of stew bubbling in
the iron caldron hanging above the central hearth. It was obvious from the meal
cooking that when Rurik had sent for his fine clothes and fancy gold ornaments,
he had sent word of her imminent arrival as well. Looking around the large
room, she could tell that this longhouse had been prepared for her from the
fragrant green rushes strewn upon the floor to the table laid with a white,
embroidered cloth.

Her prison,
Zora amended, remembering the guards outside her door. Rurik had said they were
there for her protection, but she knew better. No doubt he imagined that she
might still try to escape, and he was right. But until that blessed day, there
was no sense in venting her anger upon the slaves assigned to her service. They
had had no hand in her misfortune. Regretting her unkindness, she walked
farther into the room.

"Forgive me for snapping at you. It's been such a
long and trying day—"

"Aye, I do the same to my Vasili if I've had a bad
time of weaving, but he always forgives me," interrupted the slave who had
appeared the least startled by her behavior. The comely, thick-waisted woman
with wavy brown hair, green eyes, and an engaging smile chuckled as she patted her
stomach, which was clearly rounded beneath her woolen dress. "Sometimes
too well, the randy devil."

"You're with child?" Realizing she was
staring stupidly, Zora lifted her gaze to find only warm humor in the young
woman's eyes.

"Four months gone. But don't worry that I won't be
able to keep up with my work. My first babe came right on shearing day after I'd
helped to herd the sheep." She gave a hearty laugh, but catching her
companions' frowns, she suddenly sobered. "Aye, well, enough of me. If you're
tired, Princess Zora, I'll be happy to show you to your bedchamber."

"You know my name, then."

"Indeed we do. Word came this afternoon that Lord
Rurik was bringing home a royal bride." The slave woman gestured to her
companions, who stepped forward a little. "We're honored to serve you, my
lady. I'm Nellwyn, and this is Greta and Katerin."

Touched by Nellwyn's earthy friendliness, Zora took an
immediate liking to her. The two older women, although reserved, also smiled a
welcome. But Zora had already decided that she would soon send them away. One
slave was enough to help her with her modest needs, and the less pairs of eyes
she had watching her every moment, the better.

Zora winced in embarrassment when her stomach grumbled
loudly. "I'd like to see my room, Nellwyn, but first if I could have a
bite to eat . . ."

"Aye, you'd better from the sound of it, my lady,"
came her good-natured response. Suddenly the room was abustle as Zora was led
to the table and a steaming bowl of stew placed before her.

Tasting the spiced venison and cabbage, she deemed it
far better than an elaborate wedding feast especially since she could enjoy it
alone, Rurik not there to plague her. Perhaps he would allow her to eat all of
her meals by herself, which would suit her just fine.