The Pagan's Prize (8 page)

Rurik was gratified when she twisted her hair into a
thick braid as deftly as if she had done so a thousand times. "Like this?"

He was stunned by her soft query, the first question
she had posed to him for three days. Despite himself, he reached out and
touched the heavy braid, admiring its silkiness and wondering if she sought to
please her master as readily as she had just done for him. He imagined, as a
concubine, that she must know many ways to please a man . . .

His imagination firing at the thought, a sudden idea
came to him. His blood raced red-hot through his veins.

By Odin, why had he not considered it before? For a
woman accustomed to giving pleasure to one man, whose name, then, would she
most likely cry out at the height of passion? Surely that of her lover, the
hated enemy with whom Rurik hoped to strike his furtive bargain.

A jarring thud suddenly threw the two of them together.
As Rurik grabbed the startled woman to prevent her from falling, he realized
the boat was sliding against the wharf. Yet this time he didn't push her away.
He crushed her against his chest, his lust rearing inside him like a wild thing
set free. Why not both satisfy his need and aid his plan? He saw no harm in it,
and the quicker he got rid of this far too captivating wench, the better!

Lifting her chin, Rurik brought his mouth down fiercely
upon hers, tasting her lips for the first time and finding them as warm and
soft and as sweet as he had imagined. He was not surprised when she didn't
struggle or twist to escape, instead leaning seductively into their kiss as
might any concubine.

When she parted her lips, the moist tip of her tongue
touching his, Rurik groaned from the desire shaking him. By Thor, she was eager
and willing! Deepening his kiss, his hands slid down her back to squeeze her
bottom, and he lifted her against that rock-hard part of himself that ached for
the hot softness of her body—

"Harrumph . . . forgive me, Lord Rurik."

Arne's startled yet urgent voice broke through Rurik's
impassioned haze. "What is it?"

"Armed guards, my lord, making their way toward
the boat. I suspect with the intention of boarding."

Rurik eased his hold upon the woman. There would be
time . . . later.

"Find the wench a hat, Arne, quickly!" he
ordered. "Her hair must be completely covered." While the Varangian
warrior dropped the tent flap to do his bidding, Rurik lifted the woman in his
arms and placed her on the furs. He took a moment to stuff her thick braid down
the back of her tunic, and noting her flushed cheeks and the anxious frown
between her brows, he sought to reassure her. "You must remain here,
little one, until I come for you. Do you understand?"

To his surprise, she protested. "No, I want to
stay with you!"

Rurik had no time to contend with this sudden and
wholly unexpected spark of spirit, although it boded well for her recovery.

"You cannot, wench, it isn't safe. You must remain
inside the tent. Do not disobey me."

He had spoken with such sternness that this time she
nodded, her eyes very wide. As Arne reappeared with a woolen cap, Rurik rose
and brushed past him.

"Put it on her, then meet me outside," he
said grimly. "But stay close to the entrance, Arne. It seems our meek
little lamb has a mind of her own after all, and might think to join us."

"She'll not get past me, my lord. Have no fear of
that."

After casting a last glance at the woman, Rurik stepped
from the tent to greet the enemy warriors he surmised were there to check all
vessels docking at the wharf. It made sense in this time of war, and Chernigov
was the usurper Prince Mstislav's most recently conquered city.

***

"For this hole we must pay thirty silver grivna a
night?" Arne held up a smoking lamp to better view the dingy interior of
the shack they had rented close to the main marketplace. Tattered furs hung
from two narrow windows, the only furnishings a dilapidated table shoved
against a planked wall and two benches. Cursing under his breath, the husky
warrior kicked at the filthy reeds littering the floor. "Smells of piss
and stale ale to me."

"We're lucky to have it." Frowning, Rurik
ignored Arne's continued muttering. "The city is overrun with merchants
and Mstislav's retainers. If we hadn't chanced down this street as those other
traders were leaving, someone else would have slept here tonight."

"Aye, and if the prince's watchdogs had only kept
us a while longer with their questions, we'd have missed the honor!" Arne
snorted in disgust. "Are you sure you won't return to the ship, my lord? I'd
trade a pallet on deck for this stinking hovel any day, and the thought of
Kjell and Leif aboard alone, surrounded on every side by our enemies—"

"Enough, Arne." Rurik's voice was low and
firm. "You know the plan. Leif and Kjell will stay with the ship while we
gather what information we can at the market and deal with our valuable charge."
He glanced at the silent woman holding his arm, then met the warrior's
disgruntled gaze. "Don't forget that our surly welcome committee granted
us a mere four-day trading pass, then we must leave the city. We don't have
time to waste."

Turning away, Rurik held his lamp higher and pushed
open a door leading to a tiny separate bedchamber. A mouse squeaked and
skittered over his foot into the main room, causing the woman to start.

"You've nothing to fear, little one," he said
as he led her into the shadowed, windowless chamber. "It's only a mouse—"

A loud stamping sound came from the other room, followed
by a satisfied grunt. "A dead one," Arne announced.

Shaking his head, Rurik set the sputtering lamp on the
floor and tossed the large bundle of furs he'd been carrying onto the bed. The
straw-filled mattress appeared somewhat fresh, but he would cover it with soft
skins anyway. This room wasn't the fine bower his wide-eyed beauty was surely
accustomed to, but it was the best available. At least it would offer them more
privacy than the tent aboard ship.

"My stomach's yowling like the wolves of Hel,"
said Arne, appearing on the threshold. "If you'd like, my lord, I'll set
up a fine feast in the other room." His gaze raked over the woman. "She
looks like she could use a hot meal. She's a bit too skinny for my taste."

"Better skinny than too fat like you." The
woman's retort had been uttered so softly that Rurik almost believed he had
imagined it. Then he noticed the slight jutting of her chin. Amused by this
little show of temper, he glanced back at Arne, who thankfully had missed the
insult.

"The wench and I will be eating alone tonight,"
he said, not offering any further explanation.

Arne stared at him in some confusion. "You will?"

Rurik nodded meaningfully. Settling his arm around the
woman's shoulders, he felt the tension in her body subside as he drew her
close.

Arne appeared even more confused. "But, Lord Rurik
. . . you said you weren't keeping the wench for yourself—"

"I'm not. I have a plan, Arne. Trust me."

The warrior gaped at them for an instant, then
understanding lit his eyes and his swarthy, bearded face broke into a lusty
grin. "Aye, I'm sure you do, Lord Rurik. When it comes to pleasing the
wenches . . ." Chuckling, he turned to leave.

"A jug of wine would be nice, my friend, and half
of that fine crusty loaf of bread if you can spare it. And some of that
spit-roasted mutton," Rurik called after him.

"There's more than enough." Arne gave Rurik a
broad wink over his shoulder. "It'll take me a moment to fetch your meal,
then I'll trouble you no more save for my snoring."

Rurik smiled wryly, but he sobered when he studied the
woman nestled against him. If she had been affronted a moment ago, he saw no
sign of it now. She seemed perfectly content in his embrace, her eyes large and
luminous in the lamp's golden light.

Feeling his heart beginning to pound, he hoped Arne
hurried with their meal. He was inclined to slam the door shut so they would
not be disturbed. He could not remember ever having such a pleasurable task
before him, his goal being to drive this woman to such wild distraction that she
screamed out her master's name.

He couldn't wait to claim her, to quench within her
temptress's body his mounting lust ignited too many long hours ago. Surely when
he was spent and satiated, he would be freed from this ungodly fascination.
Other enchanting women had ceased to intrigue him when he had tasted their
feminine secrets. She would be no different.

Rurik was relieved when Arne's hulking form appeared
once more in the doorway, and he left the woman to drag a low, lopsided table
over to the bed, indicating with a nod that their meal should be set upon it.
As the warrior obliged him, Rurik cut the rope binding the furs and spread some
of them over the mattress. The rest he tossed to Arne.

"Sleep well, my friend, but take care that your
sword is drawn and ready at your side," Rurik cautioned. "As you
said, we've enemies all around us."

"Aye, the usurping dogs," Arne muttered in
agreement as he shut the door behind him.

Following his own advice, the first thing Rurik did
when he and the woman were finally alone was unbuckle his sword belt and lay it
upon the floor within easy reach of the bed. Then he bade the woman to sit upon
the lumpy mattress and he took the place beside her.

"Are you hungry, little one?" Rurik noted how
prominent her cheekbones were in a face grown thinner during the past few days.

She smiled her assent, a small curve of her lips that
tugged strangely at his heart. He tore off a chunk of bread for her, deciding
as she eagerly took a bite that the recovery of her appetite was a good sign.
Combined with her recent displays of temperament, he hoped that before the
evening was done he would see many more such signs, and thus have a terse
message addressed to her wealthy master not long after the first light of dawn.

"Wine?"

As she swallowed another mouthful of bread, she nodded,
and he quickly pulled out the stopper and offered her the jug so that she might
drink. To his surprise, she took a long draft as if very thirsty, yet it
pleased him for her to do so. If she possessed any fears at all about his
sensual advances, he hoped they would be dulled by the wine's soothing effect.

"Try some of the mutton," he urged, waiting
until she had eaten a good portion despite the fact that the fragrant seared
meat had his stomach growling.

It seemed in moments that the wooden platter was empty
between them, the bread devoured, and the wine jug empty. He could not help
noticing how delicately she had consumed her meal, confirming to him that her
manners were indeed refined. Frowning as if trying to remember something, she
seemed to look about her for a water bowl to cleanse her soiled fingers, then
she sighed in frustration, her hands falling to her lap.

"Would you like to bathe?" Rurik asked,
remembering the large bucket of fresh water that the owner of the shack had
left them in the other room. At her low-spoken "Yes," he was on his
feet and striding from the bedchamber, startling Arne who almost dropped a hunk
of mutton as he lurched from the table.

"My lord?"

"Go back to your meal." Rurik picked up the
bucket, wishing that he had hot, steaming bathing water to offer the woman. It
was easy to imagine how fetching she might look sitting in a tub with her wet
hair streaming around her, her beautiful breasts sleek and glistening with
moisture.

When he returned to their room, the woman had stripped
to the waist, her tunic and the cloth sash lying upon the floor, and she was
working at the rope belt at her waist. She must have sensed him standing there,
for she looked up and met his eyes, her expression troubled.

"I can't untie the knot."

Closing the door, Rurik moved quickly to her side,
marveling that she was so unconcerned by her nakedness. As he deftly undid the
belt, she regarded him with such frankness that it took his breath away. Her
manner was so comfortable, so trusting, she must look upon him in the same
light as her master.

Suddenly he found himself deeply envious of this boyar
to possess such a woman. She seemed so eager to please him, almost as if
awaiting his next move . . .

"Let me help you," he said huskily, slipping
her trousers down over her curved hips and deliciously rounded bottom. When she
was standing naked before him, her body silhouetted in gold from the lamp
behind her, Rurik doubted he had ever known such desire. She was fashioned so finely.
Perfection.

His instincts screamed for him to take her, now, but
another part of him wanted to savor the treasure that had been placed in his
path. Wadding the sash, he dipped it into the bucket until the cloth was
soaked. Then he began to bathe her, first her face, taking care to rub gently
over the bruise upon her cheek that was just beginning to fade.

Her entrancing blue eyes never wavered from his gaze,
and she stood still for his ministrations as if it were a common thing for a man
to perform such a task upon her. Again he found himself filled with envy, but
he did not stifle it, the emotion part of the spell under which she held him
captive.

Next he slid the wet cloth down her lovely throat,
across her fine-boned shoulders, and along slender arms he couldn't wait to
feel wrapped tightly around his back. Dipping the sash into the bucket, he
brought it to her breasts and squeezed, the coolness of the water that slicked
her golden skin causing her to gasp and her apricot-brown nipples to pucker.

Rurik thought for sure that he had endured enough, but
he continued to bathe her, down her taut belly, over her hips and between her
legs, when suddenly she lost his gaze. Closing her eyes and whimpering deep in
her throat, she arched against his hand, her soft woman's curls tickling his
skin.