"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.
"My lady, what are you doing?" came Kjell's astonished voice.
Her heart racing, Zora ignored him. She jumped to the ground and ran for the trees. It seemed that within seconds she had reached their safety, but she plunged on, prickly brambles scratching at her, the thick forest before her nearly as dark as twilight.
The brittle sound of branches snapping caused Zora to gasp in fright. Someone was crashing through the woods behind her. Oh, God, Rurik? She began to run faster, her panting breaths tearing at her throat and her legs pumping furiously as she dashed through the trees.
"Princess Zora, stop! It's not safe out here!"
Relief flooded her that it was only Kjell, but she knew that Rurik might be close behind him and she ran all the harder.
"My father has great influence at Yaroslav's court, my lady! You don't have to run away. Come back and I promise that he will help—"
Kjell's words ended so abruptly that she imagined from his sharp inhalation of breath and the dull thud that followed that he must have tripped and fallen. She even dared to believe when she heard no more heavy footfalls behind her that no one else was even near to catching her. As she came to a small clearing, she paused for the barest instant to catch her breath and she shot a glance over her shoulder.
What she saw made her heart lurch. Kjell was lying facedown upon the ground some thirty feet away, a bearded, disheveled man leaning over him. She almost retched when the stranger yanked a bloodied axe from the middle of Kjell's back, then he straightened and grinned at her.
"'Tis a good thing you ran into the forest when you did, Princess," he called out in a strange, guttural voice. "If you'd stayed with the ship a second longer, you would have been attacked along with the rest."
Rurik and his warriors . . . under attack? Was that why he hadn't come running after her with Kjell? It was then that Zora heard the distant sounds of shouting and the ominous ring of metal against metal echoing through the trees. Her gaze, widening in horror, moved from the stranger's face to the dripping weapon in his hand.
Holy Mother of Christ, what sort of men attacked passing ships without first determining if they were friend or foe? Could it be that they held no allegiance but to themselves . . . cared about nothing but their own gain as any ruthless marauders might . . . ?
Zora thought no more, realizing with chilling clarity that she, too, was in grave danger. She spun, only to come face-to-face with four more bedraggled men who had sneaked up behind her. Before she could flee, the closest one grabbed her cruelly by the shoulder and twisted her around in such a way that her back came up hard against his stomach, a knife suddenly at her throat.
"My lady, is it? Princess?" he said in her ear, his breath smelling of rotten eggs. "You'll have to tell us more about yourself, wench. If it's true what the Varangian called out to you before Yurik caught him with his blade, we'll have nabbed a lot more for this day's work than any gold we find on the ship."
"Aye, but what I want to know right now," piped up one of the others, "is why she stinks of fish?"
"It's my provisions! I—I stuffed them down my tunic." Her legs weak with fear, Zora tensed when the man holding her began to grope at her chest. "I was running away!" she added hoarsely. "I—I'm a princess, just as you say . . . Zora of Tmutorokan. The Varangians were taking me against my will to Grand Prince Yaroslav's court in Novgorod. My father is Mstislav, his brother—"
"Silence, woman! Your bawling is making my head ache!" As her captor held the cold edge of the knife more firmly to her throat, he grabbed the collar of her tunic and ripped downward, her pouch tumbling to the ground. "Aye, that's what reeks," he announced. His large, dirty hand slid over the sash binding her breasts. "I'd wager the wench is as sweet-tasting as she looks."
"No!" Zora cried as the sash was torn from her body, baring her breasts to their hungry eyes. She crossed her arms protectively in front of her. "Please, I told you I was a princess. My father has offered a thousand gold grivna for my safe return!"
"There'll be plenty of time to talk of rewards later," growled her captor. His palm was as rough as pine bark as he stroked her, his foul breath hot upon her neck. "After the rest of the band has had a chance to try you. Don't you agree, Yurik?"
"Aye, indeed." The man who had murdered Kjell gazed over her greedily. He wiped his bloodstained axe across his tunic, an evil grin stretching his face. "Why don't we have some fun now, before the others see what we've found? They're busy stripping the ship and those dead Varangians anyway. Aye, let's have her get down on her knees . . ."
Horrified tears sprang to Zora's eyes. She was pushed down to kneel upon the hard ground, the blade still pressed to her throat. She gazed up in shock when the man called Yurik stepped in front of her. He dropped his broadaxe to the grass and began to work at his trousers.
"That's right, swine! Pull out your puny flesh for all of us to see," came a grim voice from the trees. "Then kiss it farewell."
Cursing, Yurik wheeled around at the same moment a spear sailed through the air with deadly force, striking the man holding Zora right through the neck. He teetered lifelessly, blood spurting in a scarlet arc from the wound while his knife fell to the ground. Zora sank back on her heels, so stunned that she couldn't move even when the dead man toppled like a felled tree behind her.
Her eyes were fixed upon Rurik as he stepped into the sunny clearing, his powerful body drenched with sweat and spattered with the lifeblood of his enemies, his stained sword, Branch-of-Odin, in his right hand. His face was hard, harder than she had ever seen it, and when his bone-chilling battle cry shattered the silence and he rushed at his dumbstruck opponents, she knew that she had never witnessed a more terrifying sight. He was no longer a man but a warrior, brutal, invincible. It made her tremble just to look upon him.
Yurik was the second to die, his axe no sooner in his hand than Rurik's sword severed his fighting arm from his body. His piercing screams reverberated around the clearing, and sent two of his comrades to flight. The one who remained stood rooted in terror. He fought for no more than a moment before he, too, met his end, his entrails gushing forth pink and glistening from a hacking blow to his stomach.
Zora bent over and retched then, nearly choking on bile. Yet her violent heaving was not enough to drown out the horrible screams of one of her captors who had tripped in his haste to escape only to find Rurik bearing down upon him.
"Stand up and die like a man!" Rurik's harsh command was an ominous death knell for his by now incoherently babbling opponent.
An eerie silence fell over the clearing, and Zora didn't need to look to know that the man had been slain. Sickened, numb, and shaking uncontrollably, she clutched her torn tunic to her breasts and waited for Rurik's terrible wrath to next fall upon her.
It never came. She glanced up to discover that he was leaving the clearing, and without affording her even a backward glance.
"What—what if there are more of them?" she cried in disbelief, looking around her fearfully and growing queasy again at the bloody carnage surrounding her.
Rurik stopped, his chest heaving painfully from exertion, and met her eyes, his blinding battle rage having subsided enough for him to answer through clenched teeth. "The last man fled. He will not return."
Indeed, if he believed she was still in danger he would never leave her side, but he suspected that the last robber was a coward and would run until exhaustion felled him. Fighting his overwhelming urge to go to Zora and gather her in his arms, Rurik stood his ground and forced his voice to remain hard.
"But I warn you, Princess, you will find other wandering marauders along your way if you persist in your preposterous plan to escape, and then I won't be there to help you." Staring at her tear-stained face, he threw out his next words like a challenge. "Decide now what you will do. Either come with me to Novgorod or take your chances on foot."
"You . . . you are offering me a choice?"
No, Rurik thought, seeing the amazement in her eyes, but let her think so. If she came with him willingly, fearing for her welfare if she did not, then the remainder of their journey might be peaceful.
He couldn't afford to keep chasing her down; he had only two men left now, and Leif had suffered a wound across the shoulder. If she decided against him, he would keep her tied up until he dumped her in front of Grand Prince Yaroslav. Either way, he would win.
"You heard me, Zora. Decide!"
Sensing her uncertainty, Rurik wondered if he might very well have a trussed up, indignant, and acid-tongued princess on his hands for the remainder of the journey. But then he saw her delicate shoulders droop in resignation.
As she rose shakily, he stifled again his desire to crush her in his embrace, and disgusted by his waning self-control, he set out through the woods.
"Aren't you even going to hear my answer?"
"I have other things to do," he said grimly, thinking ahead to Kjell's burial. Finding that the fallen warrior's body was gone, he surmised that Arne must have already carried him to the ship. Anger and regret surged within him again. Kjell had been struck from behind, dying without a sword in his hand; it was the worst fear of every Varangian, Christian or not.
Thor's blood, he should never have agreed to allow the untested boy on this mission! He had known from the start that Kjell lacked the true instincts of a fighter. His weapon was still in his scabbard when Rurik had found him. His sensitive poet's nature had killed him.
The besotted fool might still be alive if Zora hadn't so wantonly misled him, Rurik thought, his resentment flaring. But now was not the time to rail at her for that, not when she was hurrying to catch up with him, branches snapping beneath her feet. When they passed the place where the young warrior had fallen, Rurik saw the black earth stained dark with blood. He heard Zora gasp softly.
"Where is Kjell?"
Her eyes were shining with fresh tears as Rurik turned to look at her.
"So you know that he was killed?"
She nodded, her delicate hand pressed to her lips. "Arne has taken him back to the ship."
She said nothing for a long moment. Then she whispered brokenly, "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Lord Rurik."
Startled by her apology and touched by its heartfelt sincerity, Rurik nonetheless swallowed the catch in his throat.
"Sorry? Don't tell me that you're admitting you caused this misfortune."
She tilted her chin in defiance. "I'm sorry for what happened to Kjell . . . not for trying to escape."
By Odin, she could rile him like no other! Rurik thought. "The two events were intertwined, Princess. If Kjell hadn't run after you, he would have had the ship to protect his back during the at
tack. I suggest you save your apologies for his father, Thordar the Strong, another member of the grand prince's senior druzhina."
This news came like a double blow. Zora wished desperately that she could turn back time and she hadn't tried to escape, for perhaps this man could somehow have helped her as Kjell had claimed right before he was struck down. If only he had told her sooner! But now there seemed to be nothing she could do but face the wrath of Kjell's father as she must soon face her uncle.
Using her palm to smudge away the last remnants of her tears, Zora glared resentfully at Rurik. "Never fear, great lord, you'll hear no more apologies from me," she said as she brushed past him. "And you can be sure I'll hold on to my thanks for saving me from those men as well! I doubt you'd think it sincere anyway, so why waste my breath?"
Rurik's gaze followed Zora's shapely form as she wended her way through the trees. She seemed not to care if he was coming after her or not. Silently he cursed the strange hold she seemed to have upon him, a hold that was gaining strength despite his every effort to shatter its grip. Yet thankfully it seemed tempered in light of his renewed irritation.
Lengthening his strides to catch up with her, he hoped that she did spite him all the way to Novgorod. As long as he was angry with her, these unwanted feelings could be kept at bay. And if her antics weren't enough, he had only to think of Kjell and her womanly deceit.
Chapter 12
Half out of breath, Zora attempted in vain to yank her arm away from Rurik. She was humiliated that he was practically dragging her across the paved courtyard leading to Grand Prince Yaroslav's palace. As they left the imposing timbered gatehouse behind them, she could feel the Varangian warriors who stood sentinel around the fortified compound eyeing her curiously.
"You could have at least allowed me to change into proper clothes first, brush out this braid, wash my face, something!" she gasped out, struggling to keep up with him.
The Pagan's Prize Page 12
