Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Growing exasperated, Zora wished that she could simply scoot away from him but already her hip was hard against the carved end of the high seat that they shared. “Because…because it’s unseemly!”

  “Now there I must disagree with you,” he said in a teasing tone that proved he was enjoying their bantering. “No one in this hall would think it inappropriate for a newly married husband and wife to sit so close together. It’s expected—”

  “Even if they know the bride is unwilling?” she broke in, pleased when she saw him frown. Yet it quickly disappeared as if Rurik wasn’t going to allow himself to become riled by anything that she said, and he placed his hand all too possessively upon her thigh. As she sharply inhaled, his gaze grew taunting.

  “Perhaps you are not so unwilling, Zora, if it only takes the pressure of my leg against yours to upset you…or should I say, excite you? Don’t forget that I know how it feels to have you melt in my arms and with little provocation on my part. A true wanton at heart like you is one easily aroused.”

  It was all Zora could do not to slap him for his arrogance, but she kept her hands clasped tightly in her lap, certain that such a response might unleash what the burning look in his eyes seemed to threaten. She shifted her gaze from his face as disdainfully as possible to glance in Semirah’s direction.

  When in heaven’s name was that woman going to give her the signal? Semirah must know some way for her to escape, for surely that was what she had implied when asking if Zora wanted to go home. Please may it be tonight! Rurik had made no mention yet of his plans for after the feast, but she feared now that she might be the one next summoned to his bed if only for him to prove his point. Bastard!

  “A toast for Lord Rurik and his lady!” someone shouted, which caused her to jump.

  “May Frey the Fruitful bless them with many children!”

  “Aye, happiness and long life together!”

  As the hall resounded with similar toasts, slaves rushing between tables with buckets of wine and ale to refill silver-rimmed drinking horns and wooden cups just as quickly drained, Zora refused to meet Rurik’s gaze even though she knew he was still watching her. Nor did she drink, for she would not celebrate a marriage that to her was a sham. She sat there silently, her eyes never straying too far from Semirah, and she had to be nudged when Rurik rose to his feet.

  “What…?” She stared up at him, confused. His face was somber, an imported goblet of sapphire-blue glass in his hand. In his eyes shone a challenge.

  “Stand up.”

  She did so shakily, wondering what this meant.

  “It is customary that we toast each other,” he said in a low voice, clearly a cue for her to pick up her own goblet. Despite her trembling hands, somehow she managed it.

  First acknowledging his retainers, Rurik raised his goblet to them and then faced her. “I drink to Zora, princess of the Tmutorokan Rus, that she may come to accept her life among us and find contentment.”

  He took a long draft of wine, his eyes never leaving hers, and Zora felt her cheeks flush hotly. How dare he presume to think that she would ever accept this life?

  “It is your turn, wife,” he said in a voice grown ominously quiet when she simply stood there, glaring at him.

  “Very well.” An insult burning upon her lips, Zora looked out across the crowded hall and for an instant her gaze locked with Semirah’s. The concubine almost imperceptibly shook her head in warning, and Zora realized like a much needed slap in the face that to humiliate Rurik now might jeopardize her chance to escape. Reluctantly swallowing her retort, she met his eyes and raised her goblet.

  “I drink to my husband, Lord Rurik of Novgorod.”

  She knew at once that she had acted wisely when he seemed to relax. As more good wishes rang out, she took a sip of wine, grateful when several senior warriors seated farther down their table drew Rurik’s attention away from her with a hearty toast. At that moment, too, Semirah rose and hurried from the hall, leaving Zora almost breathless with anxiety and wondering how she was ever going to be able to follow her. Surely it was too early to make her excuses and retire for the evening. What could she do?

  A male slave coming up beside her to refill her goblet gave her a sudden idea. She turned sharply into the startled man, cracking her thick glass vessel against the brimming wooden ladle in his hand. As vermilion wine splashed over them both, most of it soaking the front of her tunic, Zora gasped aloud and purposely fell back against Rurik, who wheeled around just in time to catch her from falling.

  “By the gods, man, how could you be so clumsy?” he railed at the slave, whose face had gone chalk-white.

  “It—it was an accident,” Zora stammered, her heart racing from how tightly Rurik’s fingers grasped her waist. “Please don’t blame him. I didn’t see him standing next to me and I turned…” She looked down at her tunic in mock dismay. “The stains won’t set if the gown is soaked quickly, but I can do nothing here—”

  “Then go change into another.” Struck again by her agitation, Rurik added quietly, “But know this, Princess. If you and your escort fail to return soon, I will come personally to see what is delaying you.”

  She didn’t answer but simply nodded, then she hastened from the hall with the two guards he had gestured forward to accompany her.

  Rurik sat heavily and took another draft of wine. “Vixen,” he muttered, thinking how empty the high seat felt with her gone. Too empty. Having her so close to him had heightened his frustrated desire, but by Thor, he would not give in to it yet!

  He fixed his gaze upon Radinka, the shapely, dark-haired beauty who would share his bed tonight. She smiled at him, a blatantly seductive invitation that only weeks ago would have set his blood afire, but he felt nothing, not even a stir—

  “Shall I call for more wine, my lord?”

  Rurik glanced with a start at Arne, who was seated just to his left. The look in the graying warrior’s eyes told him that Arne sensed his growing torment as few others could. Yet so far he had held his tongue, and for that Rurik was grateful. He did not need to hear that his life was being turned upside down by a woman. He already knew it.

  “A barrelful, old friend.”

  Chapter 16

  To Zora’s dismay, Semirah was not waiting outside the hall. Trying not to panic, she walked between her two escorts to the longhouse. Had she simply missed Semirah or had the sight of her guards frightened the concubine away?

  She began to fear the latter while dressing hastily after sending Nellwyn with the soiled gown from her bedchamber, the slave woman clucking her tongue that the fine fabric might be beyond repair. Zora’s frustration intensified when a quick look outside confirmed that a guard now stood sentinel to prevent Semirah from appearing at her window, and for that, she could only blame herself. If she hadn’t told Rurik about Semirah’s unexpected visit, such an avenue might still be open to her.

  Zora’s step was heavy as she set out again for the hall; her ploy had been for naught. Then she spied Semirah standing outside a low outbuilding that she had been told housed the privies. Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of it earlier? What a perfect way to elude her guards! Feeling a strong resurgence of hope, Zora cleared her throat delicately.

  “Could you give me another moment?” Zora gestured to the structure into which Semirah had just disappeared and without waiting for a reply, she hurried to the small building and ducked inside the foul-smelling, dimly lit interior. As she had expected, her escorts didn’t follow her but took up positions just outside the door.

  “This way!” came an urgent whisper off to her right. Zora moved quickly past several wooden partitions—the spaces between them thankfully empty—to the last one where Semirah was waiting for her.

  “I’m sorry…I didn’t see you when I left the hall and then I had to change my gown,” Zora began.

  The concubine hissed impatiently, “Sshh, there is no time for much talk! You must listen well to Semirah.” Taking Zora’s arm, the concubine pul
led her deeper into the shadows. “I know a way out, a secret tunnel, but you cannot go until the time is right—”

  “When?” Zora broke in excitedly.

  “Two days, maybe three. First I must make preparations. There are free workers who come and go who can be bribed to help you. You will need a horse outside the tunnel, a guide to show you through the forest, and gold to hire a boat in Novgorod.”

  “I have my ring.” Zora nervously twisted the wedding band that Rurik had placed upon her finger only yesterday. “And a jeweled circlet.”

  “Good, but you must have coin as well. I can get you at least ten gold grivna. When all is ready, then I will come for you in the night. Now we must return to the feast, but you go first—”

  “How can you come for me?” Zora interrupted, her excitement tempered by her restrictions. “My longhouse is surrounded by guards…the windows, too!”

  “There are ways,” Semirah said cryptically, her expression unreadable in the dark. “Do not fear, beautiful princess. Soon you will be free.”

  “But what of you?” Zora couldn’t resist asking. “What if Rurik discovers that you helped me?”

  “He will not. He will think you very clever to have found a way out of the compound, nothing more.”

  Hoping that that would be true, Zora added, “Yet even so, you risk much—”

  “It is not for you that I do this!” the concubine cut her off in a bitter rush. “Until you are gone, Lord Rurik will have eyes for no other woman, desire for no other woman—” She stopped abruptly as if she had said too much and shoved Zora from their dark corner. “Go now before your guards grow anxious!”

  Zora wondered about the concubine’s explanation as she hurried to the entrance, for it had made little sense. Since Rurik had admitted that the lovely Khazarian had spent last night in his bed, how could Semirah say that he had no desire for her?

  Zora pretended to straighten her tunic as she stepped outside to find a half-dozen men and a few women waiting to use the privy. It was clear her escorts had refused to let anyone else in. As she smiled an apology, she was immediately flanked by her guards and from the way in which they hustled her toward the hall, one of them even going so far as to grip her elbow, she could tell that the two warriors had grown impatient to get her back to Rurik.

  Yet it seemed that they need not have rushed. Rurik’s attention was focused upon the laughing, mahogany-haired woman ensconced upon his lap who had one arm settled atop his shoulder, her fingers caressing the back of his neck. Other than to cast a brief glance in their direction as Zora and her escorts approached the high seat, he paid them no heed.

  Watching Rurik bring his goblet to the woman’s lips, his answering laughter husky and deep, Zora felt a strange tightness in her breast. She almost screamed in outrage, but she caught herself. She was the princess! She would not be treated lightly.

  Aware that every eye was upon her even though the noisy carousing in the hall had not abated, she stopped in front of the head table and stubbornly waited for Rurik to acknowledge her. She’d be damned if she was going to announce her presence. He knew that she was standing there.

  It wasn’t Rurik who spoke first but Arne, whose light blue eyes surprisingly held the barest glimmer of sympathy.

  “If you’d like, my lady, you may have my seat—”

  “Thank you, Arne, but I’ve had enough revelry for one night. With my husband’s permission, I would like to retire.”

  “Granted.” Rurik’s gruff answer came so swiftly that she started, meeting his eyes. For a man who had just appeared to be having such a pleasant time, why then did his voice have that strange edge to it and his expression seem almost…haunted? “Sleep well, wife.”

  She knew then that she would not be the one sharing his bed that night, and she turned away without saying a word. Now that her chance for escape was so close at hand, she would have to be careful not to rile him. Even though she longed to fling curses at him and sarcastically bid him to sleep well, too, if and when he slept at all.

  At the huge carved doors she met Semirah returning, and the concubine haughtily refused to look at her. How Zora wanted to tell her that she was wrong about Rurik not having eyes for other women! Against her better judgment, she decided to glance over her shoulder. Why, just look at him sitting there like some god with women at his beck and

  “What? Where did she…?” To Zora’s astonishment, Rurik was alone in the high seat and watching her from across the smoky room as a slave poured him another goblet of wine. Feeling a shiver of apprehension mixed with some emotion she could not name, she could not leave fast enough with her guards, praying that Semirah would come for her tonight. Holy Mother Mary, she could hope!

  But Semirah didn’t come either that night or the next, and thankfully, neither did Rurik.

  Nor did Zora see him during the day whenever she ventured outside to enjoy the sunny June weather and take a break from Nellwyn’s good-humored attempts to teach her how to use a loom, an activity Zora had originally planned to avoid. Yet she found that the lessons helped take her mind from her troubles. She imagined that Rurik must be on the training field with his men for the air was always ringing with the ominous sound of swordplay punctuated by loud thwacks as weapons struck violently against wooden shields.

  Preferring to avoid him, Zora never walked to that side of the compound. The following afternoon, when she did spy him riding toward the main gate with twenty odd warriors, she moved swiftly behind a wagon so he wouldn’t see her despite her guards standing in full view.

  Attributing her thundering pulse to nerves, she did not resume her stroll until she was sure that Rurik and his men had left the compound, a settling cloud of dust the only evidence of their passing.

  “Do you know where my husband is bound?” she asked one of her guards, a lean, lanky warrior who seemed surprised that she had addressed him.

  “Novgorod, my lady, to meet with the grand prince.”

  “But it’s so late in the day. Surely he will not return before dark.”

  The warrior shrugged, his eyes suddenly wary. “I cannot say, my lady.”

  Deciding it was best not to press him further, Zora wondered if Semirah knew that Rurik might be gone for hours. She wished that she could somehow contact her, but that, too, would be unwise. Instead she returned to her longhouse, resigning herself to another long sleepless night of agonizing over whether the concubine would ever come for her.

  “Nellwyn?” she called out when she found the main room empty, the standing loom where the slave woman had been working to unravel the mess Zora had made of her last lesson abandoned. She had gotten so used to having Nellwyn around, enjoying her company and her quips about her husband Vasili, a caretaker in Rurik’s stables, that it felt strange not to see her busy at some task. “Nellwyn?”

  “Aye, in here, my lady.”

  Following the familiar voice into her bedchamber, Zora was surprised to find the slave woman laying out a shimmering white garment on the mattress that was far too sheer for a tunic.

  “One of the seamstresses just brought this for you. Isn’t it lovely? I’ve never seen a sleeping gown so fine.” As Nellwyn straightened, she lifted a delicate sleeve and rubbed it between her fingers. “Hmmm, so silky soft. And just look at how the fabric catches the light! I know Lord Rurik will be pleased when he sees you wearing it tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Zora croaked, her voice gone hoarse.

  Nellwyn turned, her eyes lit with sudden understanding. “Your husband’s summons came while you were out, my lady. You’ll be sharing supper with him when he returns from Novgorod. I’m to see that you are bathed and dressed, then your guards will escort you to Lord Rurik’s longhouse where you will await him.”

  “No…” Zora murmured, barely able to comprehend what Nellwyn had just told her. “He has other women to please him…beautiful, willing women—”

  “From what I have heard, my lady,” Nellwyn interrupted, lowering her voice as if to share
a secret, “though it’s only the talk of slaves, Lord Rurik has found no pleasure in his concubines and is sending them untouched and unhappy from his bed. Even that haughty desert witch, Semirah, has failed to please him. If you ask me, I believe he thinks only of you.”

  “No, he thinks only of himself!” Zora countered, even as Semirah’s bitter words of two nights ago came flying back at her to echo what Nellwyn had just said. Dear God, could it be true? Was it possible that Rurik hadn’t made love to any of his women because of her? Didn’t desire his other women because of her?

  Swept by sudden elation, Zora was just as quickly shocked at herself. She could care less about why Rurik might be spurning his concubines! This news changed nothing, but it might explain why Semirah was willing to risk everything to be rid of her. No wonder the concubine resented her.

  Yet if all this was so, why had Rurik gone out of his way to flaunt his women in front of her since she had arrived? He had made it very clear that she meant nothing to him

  A sharp knock sounding upon the outer door caused Zora to start.

  “Easy now, my lady. It’s only the hot water for your bath,” said Nellwyn, taking a moment to pat Zora’s arm reassuringly before hurrying past her. “I’ll have them set the tub near the hearth where it will be nice and warm.”

  Struck anew by what such preparations portended, Zora could only nod numbly. Walking over to the bed, she sank down upon it, her fingers brushing against the sleeping gown.

  As if the gossamer fabric had burned her, she snatched her hand away, remembering all too well how miserable she had felt when another garment prepared especially for her had been settled over her head. Her wedding gown, compliments of Lady Ingigerd, who had tried to convince her that Rurik had accepted her for his bride for no other reason than that he wanted her…

  “Princess Zora, come quickly!”

  “Semirah?” Zora vaulted from the bed and after shutting the door against the commotion of slaves preparing her bath in the next room, she rushed to the window and yanked aside the fur covering to find the concubine gripping the sill. “What are you doing? Where’s the guard?”