Settling it over his head, Rurik was pleased to see that the woman was completely covered beneath the blanket's voluminous folds. Next came a dripping wet fur mantle over his shoulders that when pulled around to the front further hid the woman from view. Nestled as she was so snugly against him, he only hoped that she could breathe.
"Keep very still," he ordered, bracing his upper arms around her. "Whatever you do, don't raise your head. I promise you, wench, if you thwart me now, you will pay!" With that, he kicked his mount and they set off, his men silent and riding close behind him.
They soon reached a gate leading west out of the city, and Rurik was relieved to see that the driving rain had chased many of the guards indoors, only a half dozen remaining. Still, if something went wrong now, they would have to fight their way out of Chernigov.
"Remember, wench," he warned in a low, harsh voice. "Keep still and silent or you will not see Lord Ivan again."
"Hold!" came a command from the leader of the guards.
Rurik reined in his horse some ten feet from the gate, his men following his example. Slipping the four-day pass from beneath the edge of the saddle, he held it out to the drenched man who squinted to better see him in the stinging rain.
"We've finished our trading," he informed the leader as the pass was snatched from his hand. Suddenly a huge thunderclap rent the air, and Rurik winced inwardly when the woman jerked against him. Quickly twisting in the saddle to camouflage her movement, he gestured with a nod to his three stone-faced men. "You see, we have nothing left and in only one morning at the market. Our furs have been sold."
"Where are you bound?" the leader demanded, eyeing them suspiciously yet stamping his muddy feet as if eager to escape the storm.
"South to Kiev, to fetch more furs. The trading here is the best I've ever seen."
"Move on with you, then, you're blocking the way!" announced the leader, obviously noticing no more than Rurik had wanted him to see . . . four empty-handed, rain-soaked merchants leaving the city. As the man hurried for shelter, he waved for his guards to open the timbered gate.
Sending a fervent prayer of thanks to the new God, whom he called upon in times of greatest need, Rurik urged his mount onward, and riding two abreast, he and his men passed safely from Chernigov.
Outside the gate that slammed shut behind them with a heavy thunk, they set off at a hard gallop to the southwest. The journey ahead was dangerous. Doubtless Mstislav's troops surrounded the outskirts of the city, but if the rain held, they might keep to their tents and not stop them to ask questions.
It was only a thirty-mile ride to Liubech, their true destination: a northern trading town along the Dnieper River that, as far as Rurik knew, still lay in Grand Prince Yaroslav's hands. As soon as they were well out of sight of the city walls they would veer north. Once in Liubech, they would buy a swift riverboat and sail for Novgorod.
He did regret leaving Chernigov before he had gleaned much military information. Yet he believed Yaroslav would be well satisfied with what they had discovered, and now he and his men possessed an even more valuable prize. The grand prince's own niece, Prince Mstislav's daughter . . . Zora.
The usurper had offered one thousand gold grivna for her return, Rurik marveled. An unheard-of sum! She was obviously beloved. Mstislav might be willing to concede much to his elder brother now that Yaroslav held such a beautiful pawn.
The grand prince didn't have her yet, Rurik reminded himself. His captive had grown very still in his arms although her limbs still gripped him. He hoped that she had enough air to breathe beneath the blanket.
"Are you all right, wench?"
Dazedly feeling Rurik shake her, Zora would have screamed if not for the sodden gag in her mouth. Holy Mother of Christ, he had to be a fool not to know that she was close to suffocating beneath these heavy coverings!
Her face burning and her lungs on fire, she felt him shake her again, this time not so gently. His voice held unmistakable concern as she heard the blanket ripping.
"Look at me, wench! Lift your head!"
Realizing that he must have torn a wider hole for her, Zora obliged him and gasped with relief as he yanked the disgusting gag from her mouth. She paid no heed to the cold rain pelting her upturned face or Rurik's anxious expression as she drew in huge lungfuls of fresh air.
"You . . . you lout!" she rasped, glaring up at him. "Are you trying to kill me?" Surprised by his look of amused relief, she wondered if it was possible that he might actually have been worried about her. But she shrugged off the thought, swearing to herself again that when she was safe in Ivan's arms, somehow this accursed Varangian would pay for his foul treatment of her.
"How much farther are we going to ride?" she added hoarsely when Rurik gave her no reply. "I'll be nothing but bruises—"
"Relax," came his mild answer, although his expression had tightened.
"Relax?" she echoed incredulously. "With this constant jarring and jostling?"
Infuriated when he ignored her, Zora thought back to what she had heard before she had grown so dizzy from struggling to breathe . . . something about them traveling to Kiev, and Rurik fetching more furs, then another male voice yelling for them to move on. Strange talk. Yet she supposed it made sense that they might have passed through one of the city's gates. Perhaps that had been part of Rurik's arrangements with Ivan . . . they would journey for a short way beyond the city to gain a head start and then release her.
Her impatience mounting, Zora blinked against the moisture clinging to her lashes.
"Surely we're almost there," she said with exasperation, but she fell silent when a deep frown marred Rurik's all too handsome features. Odd. He should be elated that he had won his ransom, shouldn't he?
"Soon, wench. I told you to relax. Sleep if you can."
Sleep? Was he mad? The last thing she wanted to do was rest at a time like this, when she was so close to freedom. Yet the moments dragged on and Rurik's furious pace never slackened.
Her limbs growing numb, Zora finally released her hold upon him. The warmth of his massive body pressed so intimately to hers combined with the stifling weight of the blanket was making her sweat in a most unladylike fashion. She could feel moisture trickling between her breasts and down her back, and it wasn't rainwater! The downpour had slowed to a drizzle. Yet despite her attempt to shift away from him, he held her tightly against his chest with one powerful arm wrapped around her waist.
"Damn you, you're hurting me!" she cried, twisting futilely. "Why are you squeezing me so? I'm not fool enough to jump off a galloping horse!" When he didn't answer or ease his hold, she peered around her and saw that they were riding through dense woods, the sky still so gray and cloudy that it appeared almost dusk.
"Maybe you think we haven't gone far enough, but I certainly do," she persisted, struggling anew. "What of your arrangements with Lord Ivan? He won't know where to find me in this forest—'
"No arrangements were made," Rurik interrupted, his voice grim.
Zora felt a telling chill. "No arrangements?"
"Your Ivan is probably still searching the ships along the Desna River. When he and his men reach ours, they will find it deserted. And when he discovers his so-called elite guards allowed four unknown men to leave the city, he'll connect the two incidents and hang the witless fools right then. I would do so if they were warriors under my banner."
"You . . . you lied to me!" Zora cried, sickened that she could have allowed herself to be tricked by this black-hearted devil. She should have screamed, struggled, fought him, anything to draw attention to herself! Instead she had clung to him as he had commanded, afraid that if she made a move she would never see Ivan again. "I'll see you skewered alive for this treachery! You damned heathen, you lied!"
"As you did to me . . . Zora, princess of the Tmutorokan Rus."
She froze, gaping at him. Fear and incredulity quickly quenched her indignation. May God protect her, he knew!
"Why do you call me by that n
ame?" Zora said in a desperate attempt to confuse him. But she knew it was hopeless. He was too perceptive, seemingly able to read her moves before she even made them. "I'm Ilka—"
"Your name is Zora and you are the youngest daughter of Prince Mstislav, the usurper." Rurik's expression was hard as he glanced at her for an instant and then lifted his gaze to the path ahead of them. He kept his voice just loud enough so that she could hear him above the horses' galloping hooves.
"You were abducted from a royal caravan by a slave trader who was tricked into believing you were a concubine, although for what purpose I have yet to discover. News of your disappearance reached Chernigov only this morning and presently hundreds of your father's troops, perhaps thousands, are searching for you under the direction of your betrothed, Lord Ivan. Your father has even announced a reward of one thousand gold grivna for your safe return." He clasped her tighter, his grip punishing. "But they won't find you, Princess. By sunset, we'll be on a ship bearing north."
"North?" she parroted, her mind unwilling to grasp how close she had come to her father, Ivan, and safety only to have their rescue and all hope snatched from her. "What of Kiev?"
"Another lie," he said easily. "We're bound for Novgorod."
Zora tensed. So her captor was a damned spy. Why else would he forgo such an exorbitant reward, instead planning to travel almost five hundred miles? No unscrupulous fortune hunter with a whit of sense would pass up such a sum! This Varangian was fueled only by allegiance, and she could well imagine to whom it belonged. Grand Prince Yaroslav, her father's hated brother. Novgorod was his city, and the seat of his power.
With this startling realization came some comfort, and Zora willed herself to relax.
Her captor could no longer hurt her! If anything, he would be obliged to protect her until they reached Novgorod and she came face-to-face with the liege lord who had sent him upon his secretive mission.
"You're a spy, aren't you?" she accused, not surprised when Rurik briefly met her eyes. "For Yaroslav, my uncle."
He did not answer, but she knew from the way he clenched his jaw that she had guessed the truth.
"And I?" she demanded. "What have I become, Lord Rurik?"
"A pawn."
His blunt reply was horribly final, and Zora was seized by sudden desperation. "Please . . ." she begged, though it galled her that she even found it within herself to do so. "Please let me go. What use can I be to Grand Prince Yaroslav? He must know that I am a—"
"Enough!" Rurik cut in harshly. "It is not my authority to release you. The grand prince alone can decide your fate. I only escort you to him."
Zora held her reckless tongue then. She must keep calm; use her head. It was a good thing that he had interrupted her before she had given away her baseborn status. A very good thing.
If she had revealed to him that she was a bastard daughter, Rurik might think her less valuable and decide that he could still take liberties with her. It was possible. He had assaulted her when he thought her a mere concubine, hadn't he? Usually, bastards counted as no more than slaves in Rus, and even though her father had offered an incredible reward for her, Rurik might hold the more common view.
Suddenly an idea came to her, filling her with nervous excitement and almost bringing a smile to her lips.
Why not make this journey as difficult for him as possible? Since he must protect her until they reached Novgorod, he would be loathe to touch her or punish her no matter what she did to frustrate him. And frustrate him she would! This pagan would wish a thousand times that he had left her in Chernigov!
Now Zora did smile. If she escaped somewhere along the route to Novgorod, so much the better. How humiliating it would be for him to return to her uncle's kreml with the news that he had captured her, but she had eluded him! If Rurik was a lord indeed, as his title suggested, her escape would discredit him. A proud Varangian warrior bested by a mere woman! He would be dishonored forever.
Zora glanced furtively at Rurik to find that he was paying her no heed, his expression grim and his gaze narrowed as if searching the forest for signs of danger.
Why not begin? It would make a fine test and maybe, if she was lucky, she would bring some of her father's troops down upon them. They might still be close enough to Chernigov that someone might hear her.
Inhaling deeply, Zora let out such a piercing scream that a flock of blackbirds perched high in the branches above them took to the sky, screeching and cawing in protest. Rurik was so startled that she managed to scream once more, this time right in his ear, before he could clap his hand over her mouth.
"By Odin, woman, what are you trying to do?" he shouted, his face flushed dark with anger. Yanking the gag back into her mouth, he called to his warriors. "The wench might have given away our position. Ride hard, men, as if the black hounds of Hel were upon us! They might be now!"
Zora gasped as Rurik jerked her hard against his chest and kicked his mount into a faster canter, his tone menacing as he added, "And if they find us, wench, I swear—"
"I hope they do find us!" she retorted in spite of her gag, and to enrage him further, she started to laugh.
"Minx! Do you think this a game? Thor's blood, royal princess or no, you'll soon discover that you've more than met your match!"
"So will you, you cloddish pagan," Zora replied under her breath, grinning just for his benefit. "So will you."
Chapter 9
Her knees clasped to her breasts, Zora glowered at the tent wall.
Were those swine going to bring her something to eat or not? Her stomach was so wretchedly empty that she felt almost sick from hunger. She hadn't tasted food since the few bites she had managed in Chernigov, yet her Norse captors had the gall to be enjoying a meal without her! Outside they were loudly commenting on how delicious everything was while Arne recounted some ribald tale. She was certain his mouth was full as he spoke. The coarse, unmannered slob!
The boat dipping and swaying beneath her like a flimsy piece of flotsam wasn't helping her hollow stomach either. She had never imagined a river could be so rough, but then again, she'd only traveled smaller routes in the past. They were now on the great Dnieper, one of Rus Land's main trade routes. When she had caught a glimpse of the vast river before she had been whisked aboard late yesterday afternoon, appearing as wide as any three she had ever seen, it was still swollen from the spring thaw, the currents fast and dangerous.
Hearty male laughter erupted outside again. Zora frowned. The Varangians certainly seemed relaxed now that they were a night's journey from Liubech.
Before today the mood had been much darker. The tension resulting from her screaming fit in the forest had been palpable enough to cut and had lasted until well after they set sail. Although it had become clear from eavesdropping on Rurik's low-spoken conversation with his men that the small trading town posed no threat, he hadn't said more than a sentence to her.
He had thrust her inside this stuffy, hastily constructed tent and roughly removed her gag with a terse threat that she had better remain quiet or else. She had been tempted to fling at him, "Or else what?" but had reluctantly held her tongue. His scowl had been fearsome. Obviously his anger toward her had not abated.
Eventually she had fallen asleep, so exhausted from their long ride that she couldn't keep her eyes open. At one point in the night she had half awoken to the unsettling sensation of someone watching her, but when she had rolled over to look, she was alone. She hadn't opened her eyes again until a short while ago.
"Shall I take the wench some food, my lord?" came an unknown male voice. At last someone had thought of her needs! "She's probably awake by now and I imagine she's hungry," the voice continued.
"You heard my orders, Kjell. If she wants something to eat, she can come out here and fetch it. I don't want to see any of you waiting upon her. She may be Grand Prince Yaroslav's niece, but I'll not have you taking your minds off your duties to coddle some spoiled, overindulged princess."
Spoiled! Zora tho
ught, outraged. Hardly! Hermione had always seen that she remembered her place in the terem whenever their warrior father wasn't around, which was much of the time. And if she had known she was free to leave the tent without fear of rebuke, she would have done so earlier!
Rising to her feet, Zora quickly smoothed her hair—the shortened length of her braid blatant testimony to Rurik's cruelty—and adjusted her rumpled clothes. Then she swept from the tent to stand blinking at the bright morning sunshine.
"Ali, Princess Zora. So you've decided to join us."
She shielded her eyes to look in the direction of that familiar mocking voice. Its rich, husky quality had strangely stirred her, she realized to her annoyance. Immediately she skipped her gaze from Rurik, whose wry half smile only fanned her resentment, to Arne, who eyed her suspiciously, then she regarded the two Varangians whom she'd barely gotten a close look at yesterday before that smelly blanket had been tossed over her head.
One of the men, his hand upon the helm, was nearly as tall and immense about the shoulders as Rurik, with curly, flame-red hair and beard, while the other was clearly the youngest of the group and very blond, his youthful face sparsely bearded and quite handsome in a boyish sort of way. He gazed upon her almost with awestruck shyness. This surprised her. She had always heard that Varangians were brutal, bloodthirsty warriors, yet this one, although he had the build of a fighter, possessed the expressive eyes of a poet.
"Are you going to stand there gawking or come and eat?"
With a start, Zora met Rurik's gaze and her heart suddenly seemed to beat faster. His eyes were so devastatingly blue, the sunlight glinting off his silver-blond hair as from a mirror, and there was certainly no boyish youthfulness about him. He was all man, dangerous-looking, powerful, from his arresting features to the hard, muscled lines of his body. To think that she had lain in his arms, that he had touched her so intimately—
What in heaven's name are you doing? Zora berated herself, stunned and infuriated by her thoughts. The rogue was her captor! He'd kidnapped her, gagged her, and practically starved her. Doing her best to ignore his disconcerting appraisal, ignoring all of them for that matter, she lifted her chin and went to the bench where the food was laid out.
The Pagan's Prize Page 9
