“I ask no more from them than I demand from myself,” Rurik cut Arne off irritably. His lungs hurting with his every breath from the fury of his exertions, he wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes. “If they cannot fight past exhaustion, they are as good as dead men and of no use to Grand Prince Yaroslav in the battle to come.”
“Yet this afternoon you were not thinking of that battle,” Arne countered bluntly, “but of the woman you have finally taken to your bed. Training your men and yourself into exhaustion is not the answer if you’re seeking to rid her from your heart and mind.”
“No?” Rurik shot back, vexed that Arne always managed to read him so well. “What then, my friend, is the answer?”
To his surprise, the grizzled warrior who usually had copious advice on every subject, merely shrugged.
“No, Arne, I cannot believe you have nothing to say,” Rurik goaded him. “You started this and you will finish it. Speak your piece and have done.”
Sighing, Arne met Rurik’s eyes squarely. “Perhaps it is an impossible thing and there is no answer, my lord. Perhaps you must simply accept that the gods have thrust a woman in your path who you cannot ignore. I’ve never seen you so consumed by a wench since Astrid and even though you believed at the time that she was the love of your life, her betrayal thus made all the harder for you to bear, she cannot have meant more to you than your new bride does now.”
“And how do you know this?” Rurik demanded unkindly. “You who are such an expert in matters of the heart? You’ve never married, never loved—”
“Aye, never married you can well say,” Arne interrupted vehemently. “But as for never loved, the mother who bore you won my heart the day she came to wed your father as a blushing girl of fifteen! Eva never knew and with my loyalty sworn to your father, I would have died before I dishonored myself. But it was me holding her hand when she finally let go of life, broken and alone and with that Welsh whore Gwyneth on the high seat beside your father! If he hadn’t sent me to Rus with you, I tell you now, Rurik Sigurdson, though you may be tempted to strike me down for saying so, I would have killed him!”
Breathing hard, Arne glanced to the sword Rurik still held and then back to his face. “By the blood of Odin, are you going to do it or not? You’ve finally found your chance to silence my meddling tongue forever.”
“How could I strike you, friend, when that is why I left Norway as well?” Rurik said quietly, thinking of how terribly Arne must have suffered to see his mother so abandoned, as had he. His throat tight with remembered pain, he sheathed the weapon and then reached out and clasped the warrior’s arm, never having felt a closer bond between them. “Forgive me. I had no right to say what I did.”
“Aye, you have the right when I presume to know what you’re feeling.” Arne laughed gruffly as if embarrassed by their display of emotion, yet he quickly sobered. “I only said as much about Astrid because she didn’t have to face the barriers you’ve built inside yourself…long held barriers your Rus princess has managed to shatter in a few short weeks time. That alone should tell you something, my lord. And though I’m no good judge of women’s hearts, I’d say your comely bride is struggling with herself much the same as you.”
Rurik’s heart seemed to skip a beat, Arne’s unexpected observation triggering the memory of his exchange last night with Zora that he had tried his damnedest all afternoon to dispel. Add to that her unsettling query about love and her soft-spoken words of acquiescence just before he came to the field, and suddenly it was very hard to think rationally. Yet he made himself, all the same.
“How can you say this? Zora may have given in to desire but she despises me.”
“Perhaps she did at first,” Arne countered, “but I would have had to be a blind man to miss the hurt in her eyes the other night when she spied your dark-haired wench Radinka sitting on your lap. I was tempted to tell you then, my lord, that you were acting the fool…” The warrior shook his head. “I’d never have believed after all the trouble she caused us that I would feel sorry for her, but I did.”
“Trouble she is still causing,” said Rurik with no small amount of sarcasm. “What say you of her escape attempt yesterday? That wasn’t the act of a woman who might be falling in love with the husband she was forced to marry.”
There, he had finally said it aloud, Rurik thought as Arne heaved another sigh. Falling in love. But he wouldn’t go so far as to believe that it might be true. He couldn’t. Not yet.
“Maybe it was,” Arne said heavily as if striking too close again to a painful subject. “After you made it so clear that she meant nothing to you, flaunting your other wenches in front of her, can you blame her for wanting to leave? From what I have seen, wives do not suffer well the concubines of their husbands.”
Arne was making so much sense that Rurik was stunned he hadn’t thought of this before, or perhaps he had simply refused to see it. Yet if what Zora had told him yesterday was true, she had learned about him sending his women from his bed before she had tried to escape
“Remember, too, my lord, her allegiance to her father. The struggle she wages within herself cannot be an easy one.”
Believing now that Arne could read his mind, Rurik was about to say as much when the warrior added, “There’s the princess now, over by the main storehouse.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Rurik was surprised to see Zora engaged in conversation with Yakov, the Slav steward in charge of overseeing the details of his estate. Waiting for her off to one side were Nellwyn and the half-dozen guards he had assigned to escort Zora wherever she went. Suddenly suspicious, he could not help wondering what she might be up to, his anger pricked just in considering the endless possibilities.
“So we’re back to where we started from, aye, my lord?” Startled, Rurik turned to find Arne frowning at him. “What?”
“You’ve distrust written all over your face. Already you’re thinking she must be scheming against you. Well, maybe she is and maybe she isn’t, but you’ll never have any hope of swaying her loyalty—or her heart—if you storm over there and demand an explanation. Use a lighter hand and a little patience with your new wife. You just might turn the wind to your favor…and that’s what you truly want, isn’t it?”
With that, Arne stomped off, leaving Rurik standing alone on the training field.
But not for long. With her small entourage in tow, Zora made her way toward him. The smile on her face, albeit a nervous one, set his heart racing.
“You win, old bear,” Rurik said to himself, aware that the burly warrior had stopped and turned around as if curious to see whether or not Rurik would follow his advice.
Loki take him, he could very well be opening himself up for some treachery, but he was willing to temper his behavior on the chance that what Arne had said was true. Could he dare to hope that Zora hadn’t simply been taunting him with talk of love? By Odin, what he would give…
“My lord!” came Yakov’s high nasal voice as the steward brushed past Zora at the last moment, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to reach Rurik first. Clearly agitated, the spare, middle-aged man shook a piece of paper at him. “My lord, you must see this! It’s a list of things she wants me to buy at the market—”
“If you’re referring to my wife, Yakov, then address her properly,” said Rurik, sternly rebuking the steward who appeared just as startled as Zora that he had done so.
Taking the paper, Rurik perused the list and saw that it was made up of common household items such as woolen cloth, needles, thread, and so on. Certainly nothing threatening. He lifted his gaze to find Zora watching him, her expression grown anxious, but he turned his attention back to the steward.
“I see nothing here that should cause such alarm.”
“Then…then I am to do what she says…forgive me, what your wife has requested of me?” asked Yakov, his pallid face flushed with indignation. “I thought I should seek your counsel first…it’s so irregular…I mean, I’ve always been the one to see
to what is needed without any interference from—”
“Do you want these things, Zora?” Rurik interrupted him, finally understanding just what the steward perceived his problem to be, a case of someone encroaching upon his duties.
“Yes I do, but not for myself,” she answered, her beautiful eyes very wide as if she couldn’t believe that he would ask her opinion. “Those items are for the people who lost their homes in the fire. I—I’ve been around to all of them to apologize and to ask if there was anything I could do to help. The women told me that there wasn’t enough extra cloth to be found to make a change of clothes for their families, so I thought perhaps we could buy enough to see them through until more can be woven.”
“And you are protesting this?” demanded Rurik, glaring at the steward who gaped back at him round-eyed as if he didn’t know quite what to say.
“Not…not that the cloth isn’t needed, my lord, but that this woman—”
“For the last time, this woman is my wife, Yakov, whose wishes will be obeyed. If she requests something from the market in Novgorod, you need not come to me first. I trust that she is well trained in the workings of a household, however large, and I expect you to respect her judgment in such matters. Are we understood?”
“Yes, yes of course, my lord,” the steward said in a nervous rush, his hands shaking as he took back the list.
Rurik turned to Zora, finding that it had given him a great deal of pleasure to speak out on her behalf. “Does this satisfy you, wife?”
Chapter 21
Zora couldn’t have been more astounded. After how coldly Rurik had treated her earlier this afternoon, she would never have expected him to be so solicitous. Suspicious, yes. Brusque, yes, but to champion her as the mistress of his household?
“Y-yes, thank you. I am well satisfied.” Staring into his eyes, she knew that she was genuinely smiling at him as perhaps she had never done before, but she couldn’t help it. That Rurik had publicly stated his faith in her, at least as far as domestic matters were concerned, gave her a powerful surge of pleasure that had nothing to do with her plan. Perhaps that was the most startling thing of all.
“Is there any other way I can assist you, then, my lady?” Yakov’s eager-to-please tone now lacked the resentment it had held earlier.
It was hard for Zora to tear her gaze from Rurik’s, for he seemed just as content to be staring at her as she was at him. Yet the steward’s question was a sobering reminder that she must think again of her plan, especially now that she feared her growing feelings for Rurik were battling against her. This latest reaction to him proved it! The sooner she took up her duties within the compound, making it appear to all that she was accepting her marriage, the better.
“Yes, Yakov, there is something.” Zora hoped Rurik would miss the tinge of desperation in her voice. “I’d like to visit the weaving house if I may, to see if anything else should be ordered from the market, then the cooking house and the storehouses where the foodstuffs are kept, the brewery, the dairy—”
“It pleases me that you’ve taken an interest in the welfare of my retainers and the needs of my household but it grows late, wife,” Rurik interjected, trying to contain the mistrust that had leapt into his mind at this new request. His better judgment was telling him that she had to be nursing some plot, but he was determined to honor Arne’s advice. Anything if Zora would smile at him again as she had been a moment ago. “Tomorrow Yakov can show you all of those places, but for now we must ready ourselves for supper. Everyone will be gathered in the hall by dusk.”
“But I am ready,” she insisted. As if to illustrate her point, she glanced down at the rose-colored tunic that she wore, the shimmering fabric cut to accentuate the lush curves of her body, and then met his eyes. “Does this gown not please you?”
“More than I can say,” said Rurik, noting her deep blush, which thrilled him as much as the thought that she might have dressed with his pleasure in mind. “But I have no wish to go to supper with the stink of battle upon me.” He held out his hand. “Come. I’d like you to accompany me to the bathhouse.”
“I can’t go there!” she said, shocked.
Rurik frowned. “Why not?”
She stared at him in confusion. “You…you would want other men to see me…?”
Suddenly realizing why she was so flustered, Rurik almost laughed aloud.
“Not the main bathhouse, Zora. True enough, it’s probably filled with my warriors. No, I have my own.” He took her small hand firmly in his, and drew her toward him. He lowered his voice so only she could hear. “Do not think that I would ever allow another man to glimpse your beauty. It is for me alone. Now come.”
Zora could tell from Rurik’s husky command that he would not be swayed, and disconcerted all the more by the heat in his eyes, she felt her urgency about her plan melt away. As they left Nellwyn, Yakov, and her guards staring after them, Zora had to walk quickly to keep up with Rurik’s powerful strides, but they hadn’t gone far before he chuckled and purposely slowed his pace.
“Forgive me, little one. I forget that your legs are shorter than mine.”
Little one, Zora thought, undeniably warmed by the way in which he had said it, like an endearment.
Suddenly she recalled another time when he had held her hand, at their wedding only a few days ago. He had stroked her fingers and asked her if it was truly that bad…she supposed that he had meant their marriage. She had called him a heartless barbarian, believing he was mocking her, but maybe he hadn’t been after all. Maybe he had been touched by her tears. Maybe even then he had cared…
Sighing to herself, Zora could hardly believe how much had happened since she had come to Novgorod. Nor could she believe how Rurik’s mood had changed from when first she had seen him that afternoon, going as if from night to day.
It seemed that already he was relaxing around her and she had barely set her plan into motion. Was it possible that her simple apology to his people had moved him? Or was it because she had greeted him earlier, not with defiance and sharp words as he might have expected, but in a softer manner? Maybe he had decided he no longer wanted to fight his emotions—
“You know, Princess, you surprise me.”
Her heart pitching crazily, Zora glanced up at him. “I do?”
Rurik nodded. “I would never have expected you to call upon the families who lost their homes and tell them you were sorry, and then ask if you could help.”
“I would have done more if I could,” she said honestly, for in truth her actions this afternoon—other than choosing her gown with an eye toward pleasing him—had been only partially spurred by her plan, but mostly because she felt badly about her role in the fire. “I never intended for such a terrible thing to happen.” When he didn’t readily reply, she added, “I’m not a callous ogre, Rurik. I have feelings, too.”
“I never said you didn’t.”
Distracted all over again by how intently he seemed to be studying her, Zora looked away.
“I must admit your sudden interest in my household has also come as a surprise.”
She kept her gaze trained straight ahead, her heart suddenly pounding. Holy Mother Mary, did he suspect…?
“I don’t see why,” she answered as steadily as she could. “Surely it is a normal thing for a wife to wish to please her husband—”
Rurik stopped and faced her so abruptly that Zora gasped. “Is that what you’re trying to do?” His demand was strained as he searched her eyes. “Please me?”
Seeing the same turmoil in his gaze, Zora was shaken by the intensity of her guilt. Damn him, why could he make her feel like she was betraying him? The line she was trying so desperately to preserve between what she wanted him to believe and the emotions tugging at her heart was becoming more blurred with their every encounter, a realization both frightening and thrilling.
“Zora?”
She knew that he wanted an answer, but she didn’t know what to say, fearing that if she spoke at al
l she would reveal too much. Then just as suddenly Rurik seemed to change his mind as if he sensed he was pushing her too hard. Squeezing her hand, he set out with her toward a small wooden building that adjoined his longhouse, not speaking again until they were almost there.
“The stones should be red-hot by now,” he said, all trace of tension gone from his voice. “I sent word an hour ago that I wanted the bathhouse made ready.”
“Stones?” she asked, still unsettled.
“You’ll see.”
Zora was greeted by a hot blast of air as Rurik opened the door and pushed her gently inside the lamplit, windowless building. She heard him draw the bolt behind her, then he brushed past her to a large open hearth in the center of the room that was piled with smooth rocks.
“You’ve never been in one of these before, have you?” Watching as he dipped a ladle into a bucket of water, Zora shook her head.
“Steam baths are a common thing in the north,” he explained, smiling at her over his shoulder. “Every house has one. We Varangians swear by them.” He gave a short laugh. “Your uncle has a steam bath in his palace big enough to seat his entire senior druzhina.”
Zora started when Rurik threw water on the hissing stones, steam filling the room. He emptied the ladle again and again until it looked like a dense fog had enveloped them, and only then did he unbuckle his sword belt and begin to strip off his clothes.
“Join me,” he said in a low, teasing voice that sent chills racing through her. “I think you’ll like it.”
It seemed Zora had joined him, for already her silk tunic was damp and clinging to her skin, sweat tickling down her back. Yet she grew flustered at the thought of undressing in front of him, despite the intimacy they had shared. Turning around modestly, she gathered the garment to her hips and began to draw it up over her torso.
“Let me help you, Princess.”
“Oh!”
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