Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set (78 page)

To her relief, the bishop climbing the steps to the altar in a swirl of white cloth and embroidered vestments offered her a distraction, albeit an unhappy one. Once she had looked forward to the beautiful wedding ceremony as might any young woman soon to be married. Now it had become her humiliation, her husband not Lord Ivan of Tmutorokan, her father’s choice, but a man whom she swore to escape as soon as the opportune moment arose.

“Come, Zora, we must move forward.”

Rurik had all he could do to force his gaze from her. Gone was the grimy-faced urchin in soiled tunic and trousers, his mutinous captive transformed into an ethereal earthbound angel.

She smelled intoxicatingly sweet, like summer roses, and even his wildest imaginings couldn’t have prepared him for the sight of her in a well-cut tunic that clung to her lushly curved form, her breasts high and proud beneath a bodice shot through with gold thread. Upon her lowered head glittered a jeweled gold circlet. A gossamer blue veil provided the barest wisp of covering for the cascade of tawny hair framing her face and tumbling down her back.

Repressing his urge to touch a glossy tendril, Rurik began to move forward toward the steps only to feel her resist him, her slippered feet remaining in the same place as if rooted to the floor. Wondering with sudden irritation if she might be considering a final scene of defiance, he closed his hand around her small one and pulled her with him.

“The bishop is waiting, Princess, and your uncle grows impatient. Come.”

This time she came willingly but Rurik could see from her trembling chin that the decision had cost her. It was almost unfathomable that such a proud, stubborn young woman might be on the verge of tears, but he feared it was so.

As they reached the foot of the steps, two witnesses coming forward to hold the jeweled marriage crowns above their heads, Rurik loosened his hold and stroked her delicate fingers with his thumb, hoping his gesture might calm her. Instead, she seemed to tremble all the more. Two fat tears slid slowly down her cheeks as the bishop began reciting the service in somber, stentorian tones.

Moved more deeply than he thought possible, Rurik’s regret was acute that he was the cause of such unhappiness. Wondering with uncharacteristic emotion if his touch might ever bring a smile to her lips, he whispered, “Is it truly that bad, little one?”

Clearly startled, she met his gaze, her outrage shining through her tears. “So you mock me…even now when you have won,” she said in a small, hoarse voice. “What kind of heartless barbarian are you?”

Cut to the quick by her words, Rurik riveted his attention upon the bishop, not looking at Zora again until after their vows were said—his spoken with restrained anger and hers barely discernible—and the gold rings upon their fingers. Pronounced man and wife, Rurik could not sign the marriage contract held by the bishop’s young assistant fast enough. His jaw clenched all the tighter when after inscribing her name, Zora quickly scrawled three words…“Against my will.”

“Wrong, Princess,” he muttered, taking the pen from the wide-eyed assistant and crossing a bold line through what she had just written. “You had a choice.”

Ignoring her glare, Rurik took her arm as they turned to face their witnesses. Grand Prince Yaroslav’s pleased smile was a sharp contrast to Rurik’s ire. He couldn’t wait to get his rebellious bride home and teach her his first lesson!

“A feast has been prepared in honor of your marriage, Rurik. Allow my wife and I to escort you to the hall.”

“Our thanks, my lord prince”—he turned to Ingigerd, her expression appraising as she regarded first him and then Zora— “Lady Ingigerd, but my new bride is exhausted from our lengthy journey and the hour is growing late. It will be dark when we reach my estate—”

“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, my 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.

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.