Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set (73 page)

Again he looked past her, and she surmised that he had been granted some sort of permission for he obliged her, even going so far as to place the bucket just inside the tent. Then he was gone before she could thank him, almost tripping on a pile of rope in his haste to attend to some rigging. Zora could well imagine the black scowl Rurik had hurled at Kjell.

“The filthy idol-worshiper,” she muttered as she swept into the tent. She hoped it was loud enough for Rurik to hear.

It was, but he made no reply, his jaw clenched tightly.

Arne, meanwhile, shifted on the bench, his prolonged belch breaking the tense silence. “It seems she thinks you’re a pagan, my lord. Are you going to set her to rights?”

Rurik shook his head grimly, wondering what little game Zora was playing now. After looking like a bedraggled ragamuffin for days, why the sudden concern for her appearance? He imagined it was for spite. “She’ll get no more explanations from me, my friend. I tried once already.”

“Aye, you’re right about that,” Arne said dryly. “Whatever you said to her, she didn’t like it, no, not a bit. I can still see her dumping all those things into the river—”

“Enough, Arne.” Rurik’s frown deepened. “I was a fool to think she’d appreciate a kindness.”

The burly warrior heaved a sigh, then after taking a deep swig of ale, he said, “That wench is a hard one to understand and I pity the man who ever accepts the thankless task! One moment she avoids the whole lot of us, then the next she’s talking as sweetly as can be to Kjell, and smiling at him, too.”

“You don’t have to tell me what she’s been doing,” Rurik muttered, angered as much by her overtly flirtatious behavior as at himself for the unreasoning jealousy that was churning inside him again.

Why in Odin’s name couldn’t he control his emotions? What did he care if Zora found another man to her liking? He had seen the stolen smiles and furtive looks passing all day between her and Kjell. Well, what of it? She meant nothing to him, other than as a valuable pawn, and Kjell was only reacting naturally to a beautiful woman’s attention. What man wouldn’t?

The cunning vixen! It couldn’t be purely attraction that was making Zora act this way. She hadn’t paid Kjell any special notice until this morning. She was scheming, that much was plain. But if she was thinking she could pit him and Kjell against each other, or somehow influence the young man to do something rash, she was mistaken.

Kjell might be an unseasoned fighter, but he was no fool. He had sworn allegiance to Rurik for the journey, an inviolable oath that was sacred among Varangians. To break it would bring grave dishonor upon himself and his father’s house. He might as well plunge his own sword into his breast, for to his own kind, he would be a man as if dead.

“Kjell!” His shout startled the warrior.

“My lord?”

Rurik lowered his voice, for he didn’t want Zora to hear him. “I’ve noticed lately that you’ve been paying far too much attention to our prisoner. What say you to this charge?”

Kjell swallowed hard, but he looked Rurik squarely in the eyes, which secretly amazed him. It seemed their reticent poet was finally becoming a man.

“Only that you are too harsh with her, my lord.”

“Too harsh?” Rurik quelled his sudden irritation at this unexpected criticism as best he could. “I say you are proving too gullible. Do you truly believe she favors you? She is using you to irritate me, Kjell, to spite me.”

“How could she possibly irritate you, my lord?” There was an undeniable spark of challenge in Kjell’s eyes. “Unless there is a chance you might care if she smiles at me or not. If so, perhaps you would rather she share her smiles only with you.”

Rurik lunged to his feet so abruptly that the young man, despite his height and warrior’s build, stepped back in surprise.

“What are you saying?” he demanded, his voice low and threatening. “Speak up now for after this, you will hold your reckless tongue until we reach Novgorod.”

“I’m saying that it’s clear you have an eye for the princess yourself,” Kjell said, moving so close that they were standing within inches of each other. “Why else would you glare at me every time you catch me looking at her? Perhaps since you already took her to your bed, you feel you’ve made some claim—”

“By Thor, what madness is this?” Arne interrupted with a bellow, hauling his bulk from the bench to push his way between them while Leif looked on, his mouth agape. “You’re growling at each other like two mongrels that’ve stumbled upon a bitch in heat…arguing about the wench as if it made a damned bit of difference!”

“It does when one of my own men denounces me with such a charge.” Rurik was so enraged that he could feel the blood pounding in the vein at his temple.

“No, it doesn’t, I tell you!” Arne insisted. “Must I remind you that this woman is a royal captive, not some war booty to be fought over? Grand Prince Yaroslav will most likely lock her in some chamber until he wins whatever ransom he asks and then he’ll send her back to her father. So what if she smiles at you”—he frowned at Kjell, then fixed a cautioning gaze upon Rurik— “or at you, my lord? Within another week’s time, she’ll no longer be any of our concern!”

When neither replied and still stood rigidly opposite him, Arne snorted in disgust and hurled a muttered curse at the tent.

“Do not forget that the beauteous Princess Zora is sworn to another man, Lord Ivan of Tmutorokan, her dreams each night no doubt full of him. If she smiles, surely it is only to deceive. Do not allow yourselves to be fooled.” Arne turned to Kjell, his voice filled with somber warning. “Go back to your work, youngest son of Thordar. You’ve tread in dangerous waters this night. If you value your oath and your life, think well before you seek again to challenge your lord.”

As Kjell stalked away without a word, Arne met Rurik’s furious gaze.

“Grant him this one error of judgment, my lord, if only for your friend his father’s sake. You know that Kjell’s sword would be no match for yours, like a cub attacking a rabid bear. If blame should fall upon anyone’s head for this night’s devilry, condemn the wench. Her false smiles have bewitched him. But I vow, if Kjell defies you again, I will not come between you.”

Rurik made to answer, but his words jammed in his throat as Zora suddenly emerged from the tent wrapped in nothing more than a blanket, her long wet hair swept back from her forehead and her dripping clothes slung over one arm. Arching a fine tawny brow at him, her expression smug, he knew then that she must have heard enough to believe that her devious scheme had triumphed.

“I thought I would hang my clothes on the railing,” Zora said, actually astonished and a little nervous that things had so quickly reached this stage. She had hardly done more than smile at Kjell, but already he and Rurik were at each other’s throat. “They should be dry by morn—”

“Get back in the tent.”

Zora shivered, and it wasn’t because the early evening air was chill. Rurik’s tone was ice-cold and furious.

“But, Lord Rurik, it will only take me a moment—”

“Damn your clothes, woman! You can wear them wet for all I care. Turn around and get back in the tent or I’ll…”

She retreated into the tent before he finished, her hands shaking as she dropped her sodden clothes at the foot of the fur pallet. Then she took refuge near the back tent wall, almost tripping over the water bucket in her haste to get as far away from the entrance as possible. Her heart pounding in her ears like a battle drum, she jumped when the oil lamp near her feet sputtered and hissed.

Holy Mother Mary, perhaps she had played her part too well…

Zora gasped as Rurik suddenly ducked inside the tent and straightened to his full height, his blond head touching the canvas ceiling. He had never entered her sanctuary before, and she was amazed at how small the space suddenly appeared. He was so massive, so broad, that his body blocked out all view of the entrance, making her feel as if there were no escape. From the dangerous look in his eyes, the strong lines of his face set as in stone in the flickering light, she imagined he would prevent her from leaving at all cost.

“What is your scheme, Zora?” The terse question was spoken in such a low voice, it was almost a whisper.

She clutched the blanket more tightly to her breasts. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then let me help you,” he said, advancing toward her.

As the distance between them narrowed, Zora’s heart beat all the harder and she tried to take a step backward, but she was pinned in place. Already she was standing flush against the tent. She could only stare at him, his angry eyes searing into hers.

“Your little displays of defiance are annoying, though understandable, but this time you’ve gone too far. You are deliberately trying to turn my men against me, and I tell you now, Princess, that I will not tolerate it.”

“If…if you mean Kjell, I only asked him to fill the water bucket and then carry it for me,” she said desperately. Rurik was standing so close to her now that she had to tilt her head to look up at him, his scent of wind and sun and sweat disconcerting her all the more. “You said yourself that I could do that!”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Suddenly Rurik reached out and caught her by the upper arms, his touch like a grasp of iron. “But what of all those smiles, Zora, and those teasing glances of yours? Do you think I hadn’t noticed? It seems you are quite adept at playing the wanton, but I should have known that from the kisses we shared.”

“Kisses?” she rasped as he pulled her closer, so roughly that she lost her hold upon the blanket. To her horror, the covering slid from her body to the floor, leaving her standing naked within his arms. “Let me go!” she demanded, panicking. “I remember no kisses!”

“I do,” Rurik said huskily. Splaying one large hand over the small of her back, his fingers caressing her bottom, he drew her so close that her breasts swelled against his chest. “Warm, eager kisses that fooled me into thinking you were well accustomed to a man’s touch. I remember how you parted your soft lips for me, Zora, and how your tongue swirled around mine—”

“I would never have done that! I’m no wanton!” she cried, trying to twist free and realizing all too quickly that it was hopeless. Her skin puckered into goose bumps as his hand slid slowly up her back, a strange unsettling warmth radiating from some deep, mysterious place inside her to the ends of her toes and the tips of her fingers. Her hardened nipples were rigid pinpoints of sensation, his rough woolen tunic chafing her. Every time she moved against him, she felt a catch in her throat. To her dismay, she realized she was trembling.

“See how your body betrays you, Princess?” he taunted. “You don’t have to be a wanton to possess the passion of one. But why try to convince you of this with words when actions speak so much more clearly?”

Zora gasped aloud as his mouth came down hard upon hers. She was so shocked that she tensed from head to toe.

Her worst fears were coming true! Rurik’s promises of protection were meaningless! But this thought quickly left her. The warm, demanding pressure of his lips overwhelmed her, like molten heat filling her completely, and when his tongue swept into her mouth, sweet with the taste of honey mead, she felt that she was melting against him.

Sweet Jesus, she remembered this! Suddenly she recalled hungry kisses devouring her…the hard, powerful weight of flesh, bone, and muscle covering her body…wild, urgent embraces, panting breaths and sighing moans…then the sweetest, most agonized ecstasy she had ever known…

Her arms snaked around his neck when his kiss grew dizzyingly possessive, her tongue as with a will of its own mating with his, playing and teasing. She felt his hand cradle her breast, his callused palm rubbing slowly against her nipple, and a strange giddiness swelled deep in her belly. She pressed closer, her senses craving more of him…She felt drunk from the intoxicating taste of him, light-headed from his touch, the world spinning around her—

“You see, Zora?” came Rurik’s ragged whisper against her wet parted lips, his words shattering her passionate vision. “You’re a true wanton at heart. I wasn’t lying when I said you came to me willingly that night, and by Odin, if I had not vowed to protect you, I would take you again now and you would submit to me just as eagerly.”

He released her so abruptly that Zora had no time to regain her balance and she fell backward, slumping to her knees. She was so stunned that for a moment she could not find the words to speak, nor did she think to hide her nakedness.

“Allow me to recall the words for you…how does
heathen
sound?” he mocked her, his breathing hard. “Filthy pagan? Idol-worshiper? Barbarian?”

Suddenly Rurik went down on one knee in front of her, gripping her chin so tightly that she winced. “You’ll have far worse things to say about me, Princess, if you ever cause turmoil between myself and my men again. That I swear! And don’t think your uncle would fault me. My mission is of utmost importance to him, and he would not be pleased to know how you had attempted to thwart it.”

Rurik was gone from the tent before she found her voice, his dark threat ringing in her ears. If she had ever come close to hating a man, it was now…not only for what he had just promised, but for the bewildering spell that still lingered within her.

Her lips felt bruised from his kiss, yet still she yearned for the hard pressure of his mouth against hers. She had barely caught her breath, yet she longed to feel again his powerful arms around her, crushing her to his chest, and the wondrous heat of his body scorching her bare flesh through his clothes. Was it possible she might have submitted to him if he hadn’t stopped when he did? Considering how strange she felt right now, she feared, incredibly, that it was so. Yet how could that be? Her father’s enemy,
her
enemy?

Inhaling deeply to clear her head, Zora wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Although she wanted to believe otherwise, she knew now in her heart that he had never abused her. Her hazy, provocative memories evidenced no struggle, only passionate surrender. Yet she would never admit it. Never! She would fight these impossible feelings as surely as she would continue to fight him. Let him wield his threats! Give her time, she would best him. One day he would wish that he had never seen her face.