The Pagan's Prize (Captive Brides Collection)

by Miriam Minger

  Sighing, Zora broke from her reverie. Rurik was studying her, his pretty daughter’s flushed cheek pressed to his. Her own face growing warm under his appraisal, she could see that his expression had changed, becoming guarded where a moment ago it had been boyishly open. He had feelings, but they clearly did not extend to her. Squaring her shoulders, she watched as he kissed his child and then set her down, the little girl skipping over to a comely, russet-haired woman.

  Another concubine, Zora thought, assailed by that same perplexing pang of resentment. It was then that she noticed for the first time Semirah standing close to Rurik, her chin tilted haughtily, as well as several other richly dressed women with babes in arms or fair-haired tots at their skirts. Strange that she hadn’t noticed them earlier.

  Was it his plan now to publicly humiliate her by having all of his women and their children around him? Zora wondered as she walked toward him, her head held high. He seemed to be going to great lengths to prove she meant nothing to him. She had never been more convinced of anything in her life.

  “You sent for me, my lord?” As he regarded her, she could not help becoming a bit flustered. His eyes were so blue, his intent gaze holding hers captive.

  “It is far too beautiful an afternoon for anyone to stay indoors,” said Rurik, finding himself more entranced than he wanted to be by the way the sunlight glinted off her hair and how her eyes seemed to catch the light. “I thought you might enjoy the fresh air.”

  “In different company, perhaps I might. But as I don’t care to watch any display of arms, especially enemy forces, I would like to return—”

  “You will stay here,” Rurik broke in. “You will also accompany me later to the hall for a feast prepared in honor of our marriage.”

  “Oh, will I sit, then, at a table with your concubines or will I have the honor of a place at your side?” she asked innocently. Glancing around her, she added, “I see that you like keeping your women in packs… Not quite the way we do things.”

  “You will find yourself sitting in my lap for the entire meal if you don’t curb your tongue.” Rurik smiled just to taunt her. “And don’t think I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

  Giving her no chance to reply, he turned to Arne who stood nearby, and taking his helmet from the burly warrior, he donned it as he joined his men in the field. He could feel Zora glaring at him, her indignant gaze boring into his back, but he had other things to occupy him.

  Tomorrow he would again oversee his druzhina’s training, yet this afternoon he wanted to experience firsthand how some of his newest recruits’ skills had improved during his absence. Due to his information about the traitorous Severians joining Mstislav’s forces, Grand Prince Yaroslav had decided not to march against his brother until additional Varangian mercenaries arrived from his northern allies. That might take another month, which gave Rurik time to hone his men’s skills.

  “Wield your weapons as if your life depended upon it, men!” came the bellowed command of Nils Ulfsson, his senior warrior, as Rurik slid his sword from its sheath. “Soon it will!”

  Zora covered her ears as bloodcurdling war cries split the air, but the din didn’t seem to bother the rest of the onlookers. The shrieks and howls of the crowd’s approval combined with the wild melee. Barbarians! They loved the sights and sounds of battle…not just the men, but the women and children, too!

  As broadaxes and spears thudded against crude wooden targets shaped like warriors, Zora’s gaze moved instinctively to Rurik. He forged across the field, taking on one opponent after another, but this time thankfully it was only in practice.

  With a shudder she recalled the blood-soaked bodies strewn across that grassy field at the portage. And she felt fear for her father. If Yaroslav’s forces were made up of such powerful men as Rurik, what would be her father’s fate? Rurik looked invincible in his silver mail-shirt, which shone brightly in the sun, and a helmet she could only describe as a fearsome mask, the metal nose and cheek guards shielding his face. The ease with which he swung his sword amazed her; she recalled all too well how heavy it had been when she had lifted it against him.

  The cheers became even louder when a spear-throwing contest began, and Rurik’s exhilarated laughter carried to her as it came down to a match between him and three other warriors who at first appeared equally accomplished. How he was enjoying himself! She couldn’t have been more astonished when he grabbed a long spear in each hand and cast them together. And both struck the target, dead center.

  Victorious, Rurik gestured to a spear-carrying warrior standing at some distance from him. “Throw it at me,” he commanded.

  A charged hush fell over the field.

  What madness had possessed him to do such a thing? Zora wondered. Surely the man would not obey. Yet suddenly the weapon came hurtling through space, aimed at his heart.

  “Oh, God…” She gasped as Rurik dodged to one side and catching the spear in midair with a backhanded movement, he swung his arm around in a backward circle and brought the spear up again as if with a single motion. Then he flung it at the warrior who barely had time to duck before it sailed over his head.

  Everyone burst again into deafening cheers, the warriors who stood on the sidelines banging their swords upon their wooden shields. “Aye, Lord Rurik’s done that since he was a boy!” Arne boasted proudly.

  To her amazement, Zora felt herself smiling, but she grew sober when Rurik glanced toward her. Why, he was showing off! she realized, looking over her shoulder at his concubines who were broadly smiling. Then she noticed Semirah was standing right behind her, frowning. The Khazar woman leaned forward and whispered, “We must talk!”

  Confused, Zora pretended not to hear her. “You want to return to your home, yes?” Her voice was all but indiscernible for the shouting around them.

  Zora glanced sharply behind her, but fearing that someone might think her conversing with Semirah suspicious, she turned face front and said in a low aside, “Of course I—”

  “Then watch for my signal at the feast. When I stand, you follow a few moments later. Look for me outside the hall.”

  “But what will I say to Rurik—”

  “Think of something, Princess.”

  An instant later, Semirah slipped away. Hardly able to believe their brief exchange, Zora’s tense excitement became nervousness as Rurik strode from the field toward her. Holy Mother of God, had he seen them…?

  To her relief, he was smiling at her as he pulled off his helmet and her stomach did a strange flip-flop. Even with sweat trickling down his tanned face, his blond hair damp and flattened against his head, he looked handsome enough to catch any woman’s eye. Semirah ran up to him and laughingly caught his arm. The concubine said something to him that Zora couldn’t hear, but it must have pleased Rurik for he laughed, too.

  Yes, she wanted to leave this place, Zora thought unhappily, swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat. It bothered her more than she cared to admit to see another woman clinging so possessively to Rurik, the same one he had taken to his bed only last night, although why she might feel this way…

  Oh, it was too absurd even to consider!

  ***

  The torchlit hall was enormous and richly appointed, the array of spiced food more varied and plentiful than Zora would have imagined, but she was too distracted to notice much else about either. Rurik’s hard, muscled thigh pressed against hers under the table was making it difficult to think, and Semirah’s every movement at an opposite table, whether to sample a morsel from her plate or to drink from her pewter cup, was only heightening Zora’s nervousness. She hoped the woman would not leave too early, arousing suspicion.

  “You’re not hungry?”

  She glanced at Rurik, surprised to see a hint of concern in his eyes.

  “No, not really—”

  “You’ve never lacked for an appetite before, Princess.” He regarded her untouched plate, then his blue eyes met hers. Did she see distrust there?

  “You seem agitated
tonight…ever since we left the training field. Something is troubling you. What?” He gave a dry laugh. “Other than what you’ve already expressed to me, of course.”

  “Nothing would be troubling me if you would kindly shift your leg away from mine.” She hoped that a fit of temper would divert his sharp questioning. He had read her mood too well for comfort. “I’m practically in your lap for how close we are sitting and since I’ve held my tongue to prevent just such a thing, I’d appreciate it if you would move over!”

  “So my nearness is distressing you?” he asked with a roguish smile, stubbornly refusing to budge. “Why?”

  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 pulled 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—”