“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 co
mpletely, 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.
“You will stay on board.” Rurik’s gruff command was the first words he had spoken to her since the previous evening. “And if I don’t?” Zora glared at him as he turned his attention back to his men, dismissing her. “Maybe I, too, would enjoy a chance to walk on dry land again.”
“Don’t try me, Princess,” Rurik muttered as he moved away.
This new threat echoing dangerously the one he had hurled at her yesterday, Zora knew that she would be a fool to press him further. The last thing she wanted was to encourage another incident like the one in the tent. The very last thing.
After the boat was rowed to the shoreline, she watched disgruntled from her perch on the prow as Rurik and his men jumped overboard. Yet her annoyance became amazement as the thirty-foot vessel was hoisted bodily onto log rollers with much grunting and cursing—Kjell and Arne heaving near the front while Rurik and Leif pushed from the stern— and propelled along the short portage trail until they came to another narrow river.
Marveling grudgingly that the combined strength of her four captors accomplished such a massive task, Zora wondered if they might make camp for the night before moving on. Her mouth watered at the thought of freshly cooked meat. And such a stay might afford her an opportunity to elude them.
But when the boat was shoved without delay back into the water, she was keenly disappointed. From Rurik’s determined expression as he hauled himself over the railing it was clear he aimed to press onward to Novgorod. No doubt he wished to deliver her as quickly as possible to her uncle.
Her time to escape was ebbing away.
Kjell seemed distant, rarely affording her even a sideways glance. He must have taken Arne’s grim warning to heart, and perhaps feared that Rurik might very well raise his sword against him if he took her part again.
In fact, no one seemed to pay her much heed, especially Rurik, although despite his obvious efforts to avoid her, she was convinced from the tense set of his shoulders that he was acutely aware of her presence. He avoided her gaze, too. But whenever their eyes did chance to meet, she never failed to shiver at the forbidding coldness in those vivid blue depths.
He hated her, she was sure of it, which was no less than she felt about him. And when she overheard him talking to Arne that evening about a second portage within another three days journey, she knew it might be her last chance to win her freedom before they reached Novgorod.
She began to make preparations, what few she could. First tearing a strip from her blanket and fashioning a pouch for provisions. Then she started to take all her meals in the tent, eating only a meager third of her dried, salted fish and by now stale bread and stashing the rest.
She would need food once she escaped, enough to last her until she reached the nearest town where she planned to seek refuge at the parish church. Surely the presiding priest would help her return to her father. Tmutorokan was the leading see of the Orthodox faith in Rus, the site of some of the earliest conversions from paganism to Christianity, and Mstislav’s lavish support of the Church was well known among the clergy. She could always argue that for the priest to refuse her aid could bring censure upon him from the patriarch of Constantinople, a threat only a fool would take lightly. So she watched and planned.
When they finally reached the portage by midafternoon three days later, her pouch was full. Again, Rurik wasted no time in ordering his men over the side. Zora was ready, too. When he commanded tersely that she remain aboard, she retreated to the stern and sat obediently upon a rowing bench, in false meekness. Inside she was a raw bundle of nerves, her heart hammering.
Be still and be wary! she chided herself, clasping her hands tightly to contain her nervousness. Watch for the right moment and then seize it!
She averted her gaze as Rurik stripped down to his trousers, focusing instead on the chirping birds fluttering in and out of the dense trees flanking the portage. But Rurik’s bare chest was so bronzed and massive that she couldn’t help peeking at him out of the corner of her eye.
It was a good thing she was soon to escape, considering how attractive she found him. Then, she remembered all too well the pressure of those powerful arms wrapped around her, the sleekness of his skin over hard muscle. She frowned, growing angry with herself.
“Excuse me if I’ve offended your sense of modesty, Princess, but the afternoon sun is warm,” he said sarcastically. Zora swallowed the tart response that flew to her lips. In a concerted effort to appear as amenable as possible, she offered him a smile.
“It is your ship, Lord Rurik. I would suppose that you can do whatever you like upon it.”
Studying her for what seemed an interminable instant, his eyes alight with suspicion, he finally muttered, “So I can.” Then he swung his legs over the railing and joined his men in the shallow water.
Zora exhaled in relief. She was finally alone! She waited until Rurik and his men were absorbed in pushing the vessel from the river and lifting it onto the log rollers before she hurried into the tent and grabbed the pouch, stuffing it down the front of her tunic. The dried fish was pungent and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. She hoped that she reached the church quickly. Surely the priest would feed her well.
Hastening back outside, she was about to retake her seat when the boat suddenly tilted dangerously to one side. She barely caught the railing in time to prevent herself from falling. Rurik’s sharp commands filled the air, and as Leif rushed around to help right the vessel, leaving only Kjell on the starboard side near the bow, Zora knew instinctively she had found her chance. The boat was barely level before she had clambered over the side, her feet landing upon a huge log.
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