Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set (75 page)

“There’ll be plenty of time to talk of rewards later,” growled her captor. His palm was as rough as pine bark as he stroked her, his foul breath hot upon her neck. “After the rest of the band has had a chance to try you. Don’t you agree, Yurik?”

“Aye, indeed.” The man who had murdered Kjell gazed over her greedily. He wiped his bloodstained axe across his tunic, an evil grin stretching his face. “Why don’t we have some fun now, before the others see what we’ve found? They’re busy stripping the ship and those dead Varangians anyway. Aye, let’s have her get down on her knees…”

Horrified tears sprang to Zora’s eyes. She was pushed down to kneel upon the hard ground, the blade still pressed to her throat. She gazed up in shock when the man called Yurik stepped in front of her. He dropped his broadaxe to the grass and began to work at his trousers.

“That’s right, swine! Pull out your puny flesh for all of us to see,” came a grim voice from the trees. “Then kiss it farewell.”

Cursing, Yurik wheeled around at the same moment a spear sailed through the air with deadly force, striking the man holding Zora right through the neck. He teetered lifelessly, blood spurting in a scarlet arc from the wound while his knife fell to the ground. Zora sank back on her heels, so stunned that she couldn’t move even when the dead man toppled like a felled tree behind her.

Her eyes were fixed upon Rurik as he stepped into the sunny clearing, his powerful body drenched with sweat and spattered with the lifeblood of his enemies, his stained sword, Branch-of-Odin, in his right hand. His face was hard, harder than she had ever seen it, and when his bone-chilling battle cry shattered the silence and he rushed at his dumbstruck opponents, she knew that she had never witnessed a more terrifying sight. He was no longer a man but a warrior, brutal, invincible. It made her tremble just to look upon him.

Yurik was the second to die, his axe no sooner in his hand than Rurik’s sword severed his fighting arm from his body. His piercing screams reverberated around the clearing, and sent two of his comrades to flight. The one who remained stood rooted in terror. He fought for no more than a moment before he, too, met his end, his entrails gushing forth pink and glistening from a hacking blow to his stomach.

Zora bent over and retched then, nearly choking on bile. Yet her violent heaving was not enough to drown out the horrible screams of one of her captors who had tripped in his haste to escape only to find Rurik bearing down upon him.

“Stand up and die like a man!” Rurik’s harsh command was an ominous death knell for his by now incoherently babbling opponent.

An eerie silence fell over the clearing, and Zora didn’t need to look to know that the man had been slain. Sickened, numb, and shaking uncontrollably, she clutched her torn tunic to her breasts and waited for Rurik’s terrible wrath to next fall upon her.

It never came. She glanced up to discover that he was leaving the clearing, and without affording her even a backward glance.

“What—what if there are more of them?” she cried in disbelief, looking around her fearfully and growing queasy again at the bloody carnage surrounding her.

Rurik stopped, his chest heaving painfully from exertion, and met her eyes, his blinding battle rage having subsided enough for him to answer through clenched teeth. “The last man fled. He will not return.”

Indeed, if he believed she was still in danger he would never leave her side, but he suspected that the last robber was a coward and would run until exhaustion felled him. Fighting his overwhelming urge to go to Zora and gather her in his arms, Rurik stood his ground and forced his voice to remain hard.

“But I warn you, Princess, you will find other wandering marauders along your way if you persist in your preposterous plan to escape, and then I won’t be there to help you.” Staring at her tear-stained face, he threw out his next words like a challenge. “Decide now what you will do. Either come with me to Novgorod or take your chances on foot.”

“You…you are offering me a choice?”

No
, Rurik thought, seeing the amazement in her eyes,
but let her think so
. If she came with him willingly, fearing for her welfare if she did not, then the remainder of their journey might be peaceful.

He couldn’t afford to keep chasing her down; he had only two men left now, and Leif had suffered a wound across the shoulder. If she decided against him, he would keep her tied up until he dumped her in front of Grand Prince Yaroslav. Either way, he would win.

“You heard me, Zora. Decide!”

Sensing her uncertainty, Rurik wondered if he might very well have a trussed up, indignant, and acid-tongued princess on his hands for the remainder of the journey. But then he saw her delicate shoulders droop in resignation.

As she rose shakily, he stifled again his desire to crush her in his embrace, and disgusted by his waning self-control, he set out through the woods.

“Aren’t you even going to hear my answer?”

“I have other things to do,” he said grimly, thinking ahead to Kjell’s burial. Finding that the fallen warrior’s body was gone, he surmised that Arne must have already carried him to the ship. Anger and regret surged within him again. Kjell had been struck from behind, dying without a sword in his hand; it was the worst fear of every Varangian, Christian or not.

Thor’s blood, he should never have agreed to allow the untested boy on this mission! He had known from the start that Kjell lacked the true instincts of a fighter. His weapon was still in his scabbard when Rurik had found him. His sensitive poet’s nature had killed him.

The besotted fool might still be alive if Zora hadn’t so wantonly misled him, Rurik thought, his resentment flaring. But now was not the time to rail at her for that, not when she was hurrying to catch up with him, branches snapping beneath her feet. When they passed the place where the young warrior had fallen, Rurik saw the black earth stained dark with blood. He heard Zora gasp softly.

“Where is Kjell?”

Her eyes were shining with fresh tears as Rurik turned to look at her.

“So you know that he was killed?”

She nodded, her delicate hand pressed to her lips. “Arne has taken him back to the ship.”

She said nothing for a long moment. Then she whispered brokenly, “I’m…I’m sorry, Lord Rurik.”

Startled by her apology and touched by its heartfelt sincerity, Rurik nonetheless swallowed the catch in his throat.

“Sorry? Don’t tell me that you’re admitting you caused this misfortune.”

She tilted her chin in defiance. “I’m sorry for what happened to Kjell…not for trying to escape.”

By Odin, she could rile him like no other!
Rurik thought. “The two events were intertwined, Princess. If Kjell hadn’t run after you, he would have had the ship to protect his back during the attack. I suggest you save your apologies for his father, Thordar the Strong, another member of the grand prince’s senior
druzhina
.”

This news came like a double blow. Zora wished desperately that she could turn back time and she hadn’t tried to escape, for perhaps this man could somehow have helped her as Kjell had claimed right before he was struck down. If only he had told her sooner! But now there seemed to be nothing she could do but face the wrath of Kjell’s father as she must soon face her uncle.

Using her palm to smudge away the last remnants of her tears, Zora glared resentfully at Rurik. “Never fear, great lord, you’ll hear no more apologies from me,” she said as she brushed past him. “And you can be sure I’ll hold on to my thanks for saving me from those men as well! I doubt you’d think it sincere anyway, so why waste my breath?”

Rurik’s gaze followed Zora’s shapely form as she wended her way through the trees. She seemed not to care if he was coming after her or not. Silently he cursed the strange hold she seemed to have upon him, a hold that was gaining strength despite his every effort to shatter its grip. Yet thankfully it seemed tempered in light of his renewed irritation.

Lengthening his strides to catch up with her, he hoped that she did spite him all the way to Novgorod. As long as he was angry with her, these unwanted feelings could be kept at bay. And if her antics weren’t enough, he had only to think of Kjell and her womanly deceit.

Half out of breath, Zora attempted in vain to yank her arm away from Rurik. She was humiliated that he was practically dragging her across the paved courtyard leading to Grand Prince Yaroslav’s palace. As they left the imposing timbered gatehouse behind them, she could feel the Varangian warriors who stood sentinel around the fortified compound eyeing her curiously.

“You could have at least allowed me to change into proper clothes first, brush out this braid, wash my face, something!” she gasped out, struggling to keep up with him.

“There wasn’t time.” Rurik gripped her elbow more tightly. “By now your uncle has received news of my return from the guards who met the ship. He is expecting us…that is, expecting me. You, Princess, will be a surprise.”

A surprise for you, too, Lord High-and-Mighty
, Zora fumed, wondering what Rurik would think when he discovered he had escorted a mere bastard daughter almost the length of Rus.

“Can’t we slow down just a bit?” She shot him an angry sidelong glance. “You’d think we were running a race—”

“I caution you to curb your temper,” Rurik said, maintaining his pace. By Thor, he would carry her kicking and screaming into Yaroslav’s hall if need be, he was so anxious to be rid of her! “You’re a prisoner, remember? Despite your blood relation to the grand prince, he will not appreciate your insolence. He can be very quick to anger.”

“I could care a whit about what my uncle thinks,” came her blatantly defiant reply. “Or you, for that matter! You can save your advice.”

Frowning, Rurik was tempted to throw her over his shoulder and give her bottom a good whack, if only to teach her a lesson, but he decided not to let her goad him, which she seemed bent upon doing. Her truculent behavior was certainly a change from the uneasy calm of the last few days, but he couldn’t say that he had missed it.

“Suit yourself, Princess, but don’t say that you weren’t forewarned.”

“That’s it? No threat?” Gaining courage from his surprisingly cool response, Zora wished she had more time to tell him exactly what she thought of him and the past two weeks of enduring his company, but they had reached the entrance to the massive stone palace. The fierce-looking guards bowed their heads respectfully and stepped aside so that she and Rurik might pass through the heavy double doors.

Her ruthless captor scarcely deserved such homage, Zora fumed. But she was soon distracted by her surroundings. She could tell at once that her father’s palace, although sumptuous, was not nearly so large as this one.

Many polished weapons hung from the high, three-story walls, their brilliant pattern broken at intervals by colorful tapestries depicting hunting expeditions and victorious battle scenes. Tall, thick candles lit the cavernous space for there were no windows, while at the far end of the hall, logs the height of small trees burned brightly in an immense fireplace. Although it had been sunny and warm outdoors, spring fading into more summerlike weather, the air inside was chill.

Besides the guards standing at silent attention throughout the room, there was a group of men engaged in discourse near the roaring fire. Zora recognized her uncle at once among the somber quartet whom she imagined must be some of his advisers.

Dark of hair and barrel-chested, with large eyes and a ruddy complexion, Yaroslav resembled her father in all ways save for his height. The grand prince was a short man, standing perhaps a few inches higher than herself. Unkindly, Zora reasoned that he had surrounded himself with such a lofty palace to compensate for his lack of stature.

“So you have safely returned, Rurik Sigurdson!” the grand prince said in a great booming voice, startling Zora when he broke away from the group and strode energetically toward them.

She stood uncomfortably to one side while the two men embraced heartily, confirming that Rurik held a very high place in the ruler’s esteem. Then to her surprise they moved away, leaving her standing there alone as if she were invisible. She had never felt so insulted.

“I trust that we’ve much to discuss,” Yaroslav began, his tone sobering as he gestured to the tall chairs placed in a semicircle before the fireplace. “Come, let us sit and—”

“Forgive my interruption, lord prince,” Rurik broke in, feeling Zora’s indignant gaze boring into his back. Despite the grave seriousness of this meeting, her reaction made him want to smile. Yaroslav’s disinterest in her had obviously set her down a notch or two. “There is another matter that first demands our attention.”

“Another matter? What could be more important…?” As Rurik gestured for Zora to come forward, Yaroslav focused upon her as if seeing her for the first time. Then he glanced questioningly at Rurik. “This grubby youth has some bearing upon our discussion? A messenger, perhaps?”

Seeing Zora stiffen, Rurik had to stifle again his urge to smile. “Not a youth, my lord” —he reached out and flipped Zora’s thick braid over her shoulder— “but a wench and my prisoner for almost three weeks now. Your niece, Princess Zora of Tmutorokan.”