The Pagan's Prize (18 page)

"Yes, shortly after my birth," Zora said
softly, feeling Rurik's eyes upon her. "Lady Canace would no longer stand
us under her roof. My father visited us in the country when he could, and six
years later, when my mother died, he brought me back to Tmutorokan and accepted
me publicly as his daughter despite his wife's protests." She raised her
chin proudly. "So you see, I may be a bastard, but in my father's realm I
am a princess."

"Indeed," was Yaroslav's terse reply. "Go
on with your story, Rurik."

Already angered by her uncle's condescending tone, Zora
felt her ire mounting as Rurik detailed their short stay in Chernigov and what
had happened between them. Just in time Yaroslav threw her a sharp warning
glance as if sensing her pique, and she bit back the invectives that had leapt
to her tongue. Yet when Rurik finally concluded with their rainswept flight
from her father's city, she felt that she would surely burst if she didn't give
vent to her feelings.

"Whether I submitted to him willingly or not, this
man must pay for what he did to me!" She glared at Rurik, so furious that
she stamped her foot. "He has ruined me! Lord Ivan may not even want to
marry me now when I return to Chernigov—"

"Who said a word about your return?"

Zora gaped at Yaroslav, wondering if she had been wrong
about her value to him. Holy Mother of Christ, why had she let her pride get
the better of her? She shouldn't have made so much about her father naming her
a princess.

"I—I thought you might send me back . . . surely a
bastard can be of little use—"

"Bastard or not," Yaroslav cut her off,
clearly irritated that she had abandoned her agreement to hold her tongue, "your
father offering a reward of one thousand gold grivna proves your worth to him,
and can only mean that he must love you dearly. As Velika's only child, I am
not surprised . . ."

The grand prince began to pace before them, his face
somber as if deep in thought. Fearing that he might be planning to use her as a
political pawn after all, Zora shot a nervous glance at Rurik only to find him
staring straight ahead, his handsome features grim.

Dear God, he would not look so serious if some cold,
calculating pronouncement wasn't soon to fall upon her head! She began to
tremble for the terrible suspense, and when Yaroslav abruptly came to a halt in
front of Rurik, she felt her knees growing weak as jelly.

"I give her to you, Rurik of Novgorod."

Zora exhaled sharply, staring at Yaroslav in confusion.
Rurik seemed just as confounded.

"If it is your wish that I guard her until you
decide what you will do—"

"No, I give her to you as your bride."

Rurik hoped he had heard incorrectly.

Zora felt as if the earth had suddenly been swept from
beneath her feet. She was speechless. Surely her uncle must have lost his
reason!

"Princess Zora may be my brother's daughter, but
she's of no use to me," Yaroslav continued, ignoring her as he addressed
Rurik. "Mstislav would never give up his reckless plan of conquest no
matter how much he loves her, and I doubt he could offer more than one thousand
grivna to ransom her. His coffers must surely be strained to the limit as he
prepares for war."

"But, my lord, couldn't you find use for such a
sum?" Rurik asked, his voice coming out hoarse.

"Gold is always needed, but I've no time to deal
with the details that such a transaction would require. Besides, when the
victory falls to me, everything that belongs to my brother will become mine to
do with as I like. I give the princess to you for your many years of loyal
service." Yaroslav clasped Rurik's arm. "Few have been as faithful as
you, Rurik Sigurdson, and you are yet unmarried. Look at her as a well-earned
prize captured in time of war but with the blood of my father, Vladimir the
Great, in her veins. Someday, that same royal blood will flow through your
sons."

Rurik took a deep breath to steady his racing pulse,
noting out of the corner of his eye the ashen pallor of Zora's face. He had
never seen her so pale, and strangely it cut him deep that she would find the
grand prince's proposal so abhorrent. Angrily he shrugged off the odd feeling,
and thinking she must be too stunned to make any protest, he decided to spare
her any more suffering. He chose his next words carefully so as not to insult
his liege lord.

"My prince, you honor me with such an offer, but I
must refuse. You know that I have sworn never to marry."

"Why?" Yaroslav dismissed Rurik's words with
a brusque wave of his hand. "Because some fickle wench married your older
brother instead of you? We have all suffered a woman's deceit at some time or
another, Rurik. You are no different from other men. I say it is time you think
of heirs for the wealthy estate you have built in Rus!"

"I already have children—"

"You cannot bequeath your entire estate to the
bastards you have sired. You may have recognized your illegitimate spawn as
your own, but the law limits their inheritance. Will you see much of what you
have gained passed back to the state?"

When Rurik did not readily answer, Yaroslav heaved a
sigh of frustration. "You were always a stubborn one, Rurik. Very well, if
you won't take the wench for your bride, perhaps Lord Boris might want her.
Since his second wife died of sickness a few months ago, he's been looking for
another. I'll send him a message this very hour—"

"Stop! I'll endure this no longer!" Zora
blurted out, finding her voice at last. Her numb astonishment had become
blinding outrage. She was so furious that her uncle had so carelessly offered
her to Rurik that she was shaking from head to toe. And her pride had suffered
no small offense that the brutish pagan had flatly spurned her! "How dare
the two of you speak of me in so callous a manner, as if I weren't even here .
. . as if I have no say in whom I shall marry? I would rather die than wed some
idol-worshiper, and that goes for your Lord Boris as well!"

His ruddy face growing mottled with anger, Yaroslav's
voice was deadly quiet. "Lord Rurik is no pagan. Like my father who ruled
before me, I demand that every man sworn to serve under my banner is baptized
into the Christian faith."

Spurred on by her boiling indignation, Zora challenged
him. "If that is true, why does Lord Rurik call so often upon his pagan
gods? I've heard him do so countless times, especially when he's angry, and his
own sword bears the heathen name of Branch-of-Odin—"

"Old beliefs die hard," Rurik interjected,
his resentment at her false charge more than overshadowed by the jealousy
ripping him apart. The thought of Boris, a vile, disgusting pig of a man, even
casting a sideways glance at Zora was enough to sour his stomach. "If I
called upon the gods when angered, it was only because you tried me so sorely,
Princess."

"So you thought I should bear my captivity meekly,
is that it?" Zora scoffed. "You are more than a fool, Lord Rurik, if
you believed I would not try and thwart you—"

"Cease!" roared Yaroslav. "I will take
no more time with this! You" —he jabbed a stubby finger at Zora— "will
marry whom I choose and believe me, young woman, you have no leave to say
otherwise. And if you don't submit to my choice for your husband, you may
easily find yourself given as a whore to my entire junior
druzhina
for the insolence you have shown me today. Perhaps that
might sway you!"

Zora could only stare at him, wholly astounded by his
threat. She couldn't believe that her uncle would really do such a thing to
her, but she'd be insane to tempt him. She had heard enough times from her
father that Yaroslav was a hard, ruthless man. Now she was convinced of it.

"Good. It seems you have wisely decided to curb
your sharp tongue. Since Rurik doesn't want you, and God knows I can see why, I'm
certain Lord Boris will be more than happy to accept you as his new bride—"

"I will marry her."

Rurik's firm pronouncement rang in the hall, the words
out before he had made a conscious decision to say them. But now that they were
uttered, he meant them.

Yaroslav snorted in disbelief. "Are you sure,
Rurik? From the ill temper she has displayed, perhaps she is no prize but a
bane to any man who accepts her."

"A bane only until she is tamed, my lord. It is a
challenge that I see now I can no longer refuse."

She would learn her place within his life soon enough,
Rurik vowed grimly as Zora's cheeks flushed pink with indignation, her
beautiful eyes filled with dismay. She would serve his needs and bear his
children, but she would mean no more to him than any of his concubines, wife or
not. That would be the first thing he would make sure that she understood. In
time, he was certain that his overwhelming desire for her would diminish and
so, too, would her hold upon him. No doubt it had been his lust consuming him
all along.

"Do I hear any objections?" Yaroslav demanded
from Zora like a taunt.

Objections?
she thought bitterly, refusing to meet Rurik's gaze. She could raise the roof
of this hall with her opposition to this unthinkable match! But with the grand
prince's cruel threat ringing in her mind, she said not a word. For now, she
would simply have to endure the outrage that was being forced upon her.

"So be it, then." Yaroslav signaled for two
strapping Varangian guards to come forward and flank Zora. "Escort the
princess to the woman's
terem
and
explain to my wife Ingigerd what you have heard. Tell her to prepare my niece
for her wedding. After Lord Rurik and I have finished our business, I will send
word to you when I want her brought to the cathedral. Now go, and take special
care that she doesn't elude you."

Nudged by one of the guards into motion, Zora held her
head high as she left the hall. She could feel Rurik watching her, and she
wished fervently that he could read her thoughts. If any man's life was soon to
become a living hell, it was his. She would see to it.

Chapter 13

Zora sighed with pleasure as gently heated water was
poured over her head, rinsing the rose-scented suds from her hair.

"One more time, Marta. We want to make sure all
the soap is out before she leaves the tub."

While the slave woman went to refill the bucket, Zora
wiped the moisture from her eyes and looked up through spiky lashes at the
willowy blond who had just reentered the room. Perhaps ten years older than
herself, Lady Ingigerd regarded her with such cool inquisitiveness that Zora
decided the haughty Norse beauty was a good match for her ogre of an uncle. She
felt like she was being inspected, the woman was staring at her so.

"I'm surprised that Lord Rurik didn't think to
provide you with a brush or comb for your hair," Ingigerd commented,
arching a thin brow as she came closer. "I've always known him to be a
considerate man, especially when it comes to beautiful women."

"He did." Remembering his presents, Zora
swatted some suds across the surface of the water.

"Did what?"

"Give me a brush."

"Then you must not have used it very often. It's
going to take Marta some doing to untangle all those snarls—"

"I never used it. I threw the brush overboard,
along with the clean clothes he bought for me."

"I see."

Zora screwed her eyes shut as another bucketful of
water was poured over her head and she missed Ingigerd's speculative look. When
she opened them, Marta was standing at the ready with a thick towel, and
although Zora would have liked to linger in the bath—the warm water felt like
heaven—she rose and stepped from the tub.

Soon she was snug and dry, wrapped in a soft woolen
robe and seated before the fire. As Marta began to comb her damp hair, to Zora's
surprise, Ingigerd sat down opposite her.

"My seamstresses are altering one of my tunics
more to your size. I only wore it once. It's a rich blue brocade that will look
lovely with your eyes. And an extra pair of my slippers are being covered with
the leftover fabric."

Remembering with bitterness her last such gift, the
bolt of cream silk Hermione had given her for her wedding gown, Zora drew her
lips together tightly and stared at the dancing flames. She knew she must not
appear ungrateful, but she didn't care what she wore to this sham of a marriage
ceremony.

"While you were bathing, the guards informed me
that Lord Rurik at first refused my husband's offer of your hand in marriage,"
added Ingigerd, apparently undaunted by her silence. "Yet he reconsidered
when Yaroslav mentioned giving you to Lord Boris, did he not?"

Zora cast Ingigerd a sharp sidelong glance, wondering
what had brought on such a question. Was her aunt thinking that Rurik had
agreed to marry her for some other reason than to enhance his own prestige?
Surely not.

"If Lord Rurik changed his mind, it was because my
uncle's words finally swayed him," she replied caustically. "Taking a
princess to wife will be quite a coup for a Varangian mercenary who must have
started out with nothing but the might of his sword! He's won a royal brood mare
to help him secure his precious estate."

Zora wanted to finish by saying that she would be gone
long before she gave Rurik any heirs, but she prudently held her tongue. She
would be a fool to give Ingigerd any hint of her secret plans.

"If Lord Rurik was so concerned for his estate, he
would have married long ago," Ingigerd said almost to herself as if
pondering the matter aloud. "He has six beautiful concubines, four of whom
have borne him children. Any one of these women would have made a suitable
bride, not to mention the daughters of my husband's retainers who've tried for
years without success to gain Lord Rurik's attention." She glanced at
Zora, her gaze probing. "But instead he chose you."