The Pagan's Prize (15 page)

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 who'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.

"And that,
I
swear, Lord Rurik of Novgorod!" Zora vowed fiercely, even as her skin
still burned from his touch. She rubbed her arms where he had grabbed her, but
the unsettling feeling would not disappear.

***

"I take it the wench will no longer trouble us?"

Standing in the prow, Rurik did not turn his head at
Arne's approach. He continued to stare into the deepening dusk. "Not if
she's wise."

Arne left him then, clearly sensing Rurik's mood. His
heart was still pounding so hard that it threatened to drown out the sounds of
the night coming alive around him, every thunderous beat driving home a
realization that made him all the more impatient to be rid of his rebellious
captive.

Kjell had been right about Zora, and if there hadn't
been truth in his bold accusation, Rurik doubted that he would have become so
angry. Yet it was much more serious than that.

He didn't just have an eye for her . . . he was
becoming consumed by her. Clenching his fists, he wondered how long it would
take him before he would stop shaking.

Chapter 11

Shortly past noon the following day they reached
Smolensk, a fair-sized trading town, but Rurik gave no orders to stop. They
continued on for another few hours, abandoning the Dnieper to veer north along
a smaller water route, and only then did he command his men to lower the sail.