The Pagan's Prize (39 page)

But she would not let him hurt her, no, she wouldn't
let him! She returned his kiss with a fury that equaled his, determined that he
would remember not the lies she had just hurled at him but the blinding truth
of her passion.

I love you,
Rurik!
she cried in her heart as she threw her arms around his neck to hold
him tightly, to hold him like she would never let him go.

As if she had surprised him, his embrace eased and
became not cruel but wildly possessive, and with a ragged groan he deepened his
kiss to ravage her mouth while his hands grew frantic in their caress. She
clung to him even as she felt him wrench her tunic over her hips and tear away
her undergarment, then lift her and wrap her legs around his waist.

His breathing was hot and desperate against her lips as
he yanked at his trousers and she pressed eagerly against him, knowing his
intent and wanting it as much as he. She felt his hardness poised for an
instant against her moist flesh, then she was riding upon it, his hands
gripping her bottom as he thrust inside her like a man possessed, fast, hard,
relentlessly, until she was shaking with her need.

She locked her ankles behind him, not caring that the
iron mesh of his mail-shirt was biting into her thighs or the insides of her
arms as she clutched wildly at his back. All conscious thought was centered
upon that wet, throbbing place where they were joined, upon the incredible
heat, the friction, the rapture rising up to consume her . . .

"Rurik!" she cried at the dizzying height of
her ecstasy, but she heard not a sound, his kiss silencing her as he thrust
deeply once, twice . . . then the third time with such ferocity that his whole
body shuddered.

"Zora . . ." came his hoarse whisper, his
mouth tearing from hers so he could stare into her eyes as his seed burst hot
and pulsing from his flesh. And at that heart-stopping moment she knew . . .
though she might never hear it from his lips. She could see it shining like
truth in his eyes. The pain, the torment . . . the yearning.

He loved her. Holy Mother Mary, if life ended for her
now she would need nothing more.

It was that thought she drew on for courage when he
suddenly closed his eyes as if to shut her out, his expression growing as hard
and angry as before. Then she was standing upon the ground, her crumpled tunic
falling around her ankles as Rurik fastened his trousers and strode from the
tent.

He was gone without a final word, yet she heard him
giving terse orders outside to the men who must have returned. Certain that her
guards were soon to rejoin her, Zora walked shakily to the lamp and doused it,
then moved through the dark to her pallet where she lay down and drew the blanket
over her.

She wanted no one to see her tears.

Chapter 29

Zora awoke to the distant sound of drums and she was
seized with such panic, she vaulted from the pallet and ran stumbling in the
predawn light for the entrance.

"Hold there! Where do you think you're bound?"
demanded the guard who jumped up and caught her around the waist while the
other man lunged to his feet to block her way.

"The drums . . ." she said distractedly,
thinking of Rurik, wanting to go to him. "It's started, hasn't it?"

"Not until they fall still, my lady."

"Aye, and when they do, we should be fighting that
usurper alongside our lord instead of left behind in this camp with the slaves
and a disobedient wife," the taller Varangian muttered before he was
silenced with a sharp gesture from his grim-faced companion.

"Go and sit down, Lady Zora," continued the
red-bearded guard who held her, his voice firm. "There is nothing to do
but wait." Sighing when Zora refused to budge, he picked her up and
carried her back to the pallet and set her down upon it. "Try to sleep if
you can. Word will be brought to us—"

"Sleep?" Zora tossed aside the blanket he had
dropped in her lap. "How can I when my husband . . . ?" Realizing
from the man's frown that she was getting nowhere, Zora willed herself to be
calm. "Where are they?"

"Two miles south. Prince Mstislav's army advanced
during the night to a village called Listven and Grand Prince Yaroslav's forces
have gone to meet them."

No wonder they could hear the drums, Zora thought,
rubbing her temples that had begun to pound as insistently. Rurik wasn't so far
away, but with these warriors guarding her, she might as well be in Novgorod.

"Your friend said he wanted to be fighting with my
husband," she said, trying a desperate tack. "Go if you wish! Both of
you! I can wait here alone—"

"Our orders are to stay here with you, Lady Zora,
no matter what was said."

As the guard went back to his companion, the two men
now watching her warily, Zora knew from their somber faces that she would not
sway them. All around her becoming a nightmare, she covered her ears with her
hands . . . hating the drums' ominous sound but dreading even more the moment
when they would stop.

***

Standing at the head of his men, Rurik grimly scanned
the valley before him.

He had not seen so many thousands of warriors facing
each other since the grand prince had defeated his murderous brother Sviatopolk
on the plain of the Alta River five years ago. That day the ground had flowed
red with blood and today would be no different. Once again, the kingdom of all
Rus was at stake.

With the fierce cadence of the drums thundering in his
ears, Rurik looked to his right along a hundred-deep line of men that stretched
to the distant hills. Then he glanced to his left, the sun's dawning rays
streaking the cloudless blue sky with gold fire. Fleetingly, it reminded him of
the tawny glory of Zora's hair until the drums abruptly stopped and he thought
of her no more.

As a thunderous battle cry tore from ten thousand
throats, Rurik yanked out his sword and held it up to the sun. "Branch-of-Odin,
honor me! Defend me!"

Whipping his shield from his shoulder, he began to run
with his men toward the enemy . . . the ground made black with their numbers,
the air thick with their arrows and spears.

***

Zora had never known time could pass so horribly slow,
each hour dragging into the next and still they had heard no news.

She imagined that she was making the guards dizzy with
her incessant pacing, but she couldn't help herself. It was better than sitting
and staring at them or the tent walls. Now it was nearing sunset, the sunlight
already thinning. She was certain if they didn't hear something soon she would
explode.

"Do you think they will go on fighting into the
night?" she asked her guards for the tenth time that hour, but before
either man could answer, shouts were heard outside the tent accompanied by the
pounding of hooves and then horses snorting and whinnying. Zora rushed
frantically toward the entrance only to be warned away with a sharp glance.

"Wait here, my lady," came a terse command as
both warriors ducked outside, leaving her alone.

"No, I won't stay in here any longer!"
Dashing after them, Zora ran straight into a burly warrior who was just about
to enter the tent. She would have fallen backward if he hadn't caught her and
it was then she recognized him, although the grimness of his expression and
those of the guards behind him made her heart lurch painfully.

"Arne!" Her gaze swept him, his clothing
stained with sweat and blood, a deep gash on his upper right arm that appeared
to have only recently stopped bleeding. "Where's Rurik? Tell me!"

"He is missing, my lady."

"Missing?" Horrified, Zora gaped at him. "How
. . . ?"

"This day's battle has been won by your father but
by the narrowest of victories. Great losses have been suffered on both sides. I
have never seen such terrible slaughter. The dead and the wounded are still
being counted."

The dead and the wounded. Holy Mother of God, please
not Rurik! Feeling as if she might be sick, Zora forced herself to think
rationally.

"Then we must go and look for him, Arne!" She
glanced past him to the four men on horseback who appeared to be waiting for
them and then back to his dirt-smudged face. "You have horses—"

"Aye, but not to take you to search the
battlefield. Grand Prince Yaroslav sent us to fetch you, for he wants you at
his side when he meets with your father in Chernigov. He has decided to seek a
compromise rather than suffer more bloodshed. If we go on fighting, many more
will die for there is still much strength left in both armies."

"But what of my husband?" she cried, helpless
tears welling in her eyes. "My husband, Arne! He might be hurt . . . he
might need me!"

Although his gaze held pity, the grizzled warrior's
voice was resolute.

"Many are looking for him, my lady, and there is
always the chance he could have been taken prisoner. Knowing Lord Rurik as I
do, he probably ignored the order for retreat and fought on until the last
moment, only to become overpowered and captured by your father's advancing
forces. We must hope that is what happened, but for now you must come with me.
The grand prince is waiting. He believes your presence may help ease the way
for talk of peace."

"No!" Backing away, Zora shook her head. "My
uncle and my father be damned! If I go anywhere, it will be to search for my
husband—"

"Forgive me, my lady," said Arne as he lunged
for her and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him. The Varangian who had so
resented being left out of the battle caught her other arm, the two men half
dragging her to the horses as she twisted and struggled between them.

"No . . . please! Let me go!" she demanded
desperately, but it did nothing but make her voice hoarse. She was lifted into
a saddle, one of the men who had accompanied Arne now her steely armed captor.

Arne mounted, then they were galloping past silent,
blood-splattered troops just beginning to return to the camp, many shouldering
makeshift litters that held wounded men whose agonized moans cut like knives
into Zora. Seeing Rurik in each warrior's pain-wracked face, she finally had to
shut her eyes against them.

***

Zora could imagine what a bitter moment it was for
Grand Prince Yaroslav as he and his phalanx of warriors were ushered into the
great hall of a palace that had once belonged to his viceroy, only to find his
brother waiting for them upon a gilt throne. As for herself, any joy she might
have felt in seeing her father again was tempered by the horror of the
battlefield they had skirted on their way to Chernigov, grisly images she could
not shake even as they approached the raised dais.

She now understood why it might be difficult to find
someone in such carnage. In places where the fighting had been fiercest, the
living had waged battle on top of the fallen until bodies were heaped upon
bodies six or seven deep. Yet if she began to believe for an instant that Rurik
might be lying at the bottom of one of those lifeless piles, she would go mad—

"Zora!"

She started as her father left his throne and rushed
toward her, his thick arms outstretched. Then she was smothered within his
bearish embrace until she feared she might faint.
 
Finally he pulled away to look into her eyes,
and in his ruddy face she could see his overwhelming relief.

"So you were in Novgorod all along."

She nodded, knowing he would want a full explanation
but feeling too numb to speak. Thankfully, his mind seemed to be upon the
pressing matters at hand, and leading her to the dais, he gestured for a chair
to be placed near to the throne. She was no sooner seated than he turned his
attention back to his somber visitors, his expression becoming as grim as
Yaroslav's.

"You were wise to return my daughter to me, elder
brother. Any agreement we might reach tonight would have been threatened if
harm had come to her."

"I say the same about those men you hold captive
in your prison," countered Yaroslav. "If God has been merciful, one
of them is the husband of your daughter, Lord Rurik of Novgorod."

An astonished rumble went up from the retainers
flanking Mstislav's throne, but he waved his hand for silence and fixed his
gaze upon Zora.

"Is this true?"

"Yes, Father," she said shakily, seeing the
many questions in his eyes. "My husband has not yet been found and it is
our hope that no injury has befallen—"

"Our hope, daughter?" His expression
tightened. "By such words, I might think you now side with my enemies."

Zora had to swallow against the hard lump in her
throat; her father had never before spoken to her so harshly. Yet he must have
read in her eyes what he feared. His enraged roar shattered the weighty
stillness in the hall.

"If this Lord Rurik is in my prison, bring him to
me!"

"There are others whose condition I would know,"
Yaroslav demanded as Mstislav's guards hastened across the hall to do his
bidding. "At least fifteen of my senior warriors have not yet been
accounted for, all of them Varangians who would have fought on no matter that a
retreat was sounded."

"Very well! Bring however many of these men you
can find!" Mstislav shouted after his guards as he glared at his brother.
Then he lowered his voice and leaned forward upon his throne. "Your
concern for your
druzhina
is
touching, Yaroslav, yet I will not wait for these men to begin our discussion.
You stated in your message that you wished to seek a compromise and I agreed to
hear you, my promise given for your safety while in my city. Now what have you
to offer me?"

As all eyes turned to the grand prince, Zora's were
fixed upon the doors through which the guards had disappeared. How she wished
she could have gone with them to search for Rurik! But she gasped along with
everyone else when Yaroslav finally spoke in his great booming voice.