For weeks she hadn’t allowed herself to recognize any good qualities in Rurik, and now she seemed to be noticing them all at once. His gentleness, his attentiveness, his humor.
She loved the wonderful richness of his laughter and how exuberant and unrestrained he had been in the bathhouse, giving her a glimpse of the playful boy inside the man. She loved the way he looked at her and the way he touched her. She loved the way he kissed her. Oh, she loved--
Take care, Zora warned herself just in time, her thoughts skirting dangerously close to a precipice she was trying so hard to avoid. She would never have imagined that Rurik letting down his guard around her could make her feel as if she didn’t know which direction to turn, but it had! It was all she could do now to remember her plan, and with a start, she realized that she had scarcely thought of it for hours.
“Is anything wrong, Zora? You look troubled.”
“No, no, I’m fine,” she said, touched by the concern in Rurik’s eyes that he made no effort to hide. Suddenly it was twice as hard to think clearly, but she forced herself by finding a matter to which she could turn her hand. “I…I was only wondering why the food has not yet been served. You must be so hungry and—”
“Perhaps the preparation has taken longer than the cooks anticipated.” He laughed, holding up his brimming goblet. “At least we have fine Burgundian wine to soothe our stomachs. Don’t fear, Princess. I will not starve.”
“But it’s wrong, just the same,” she insisted, “and I plan to speak with them in the morning. I had the chance to oversee several feasts for my father, and this is not proper. I was taught a great lord and his guests should never be kept waiting.”
“Ah, is that what I am to you now?” Rurik’s voice was full of teasing that did not reach his eyes. “A great lord? I thought I was just the husband with whom you’ve been cursed.” As if he didn’t want her to answer, he swiftly changed the subject. “What else did they teach you in Tmutorokan? It has occurred to me that I know very little about you other than some family history and that you don’t like steam baths.”
Zora was relieved to see him smiling again. She remembered all too well the angry words she had thrown at him the morning after their wedding, words that she now found herself wishing she had never said.
“I suppose I learned things that any girl brought up in a palace would,” she replied, warmed that he would want to know about her life. “How to embroider… Lady Canace never seemed to think we made enough vestments for the Church. How to take care of a household for the day when I would marry” —suddenly thinking of Ivan, Zora was surprised at how easily she could dismiss him from her mind— “and how to make perfume.”
“Perfume?”
“Yes, Lady Canace had a passion for concocting fragrance. She learned it at the emperor’s palace in Constantinople before her marriage, and when Hermione and I were old enough, she taught us her skills, except Hermione had no desire to learn. She would rather soak in a tubful of rose petals than boil them, so she always insisted that I make her share.”
“And did you?” Rurik asked gently.
Zora sighed. “If I wanted to live peacefully. But I enjoyed the work, so I didn’t mind.”
“It must have been hard for you, living in that terem. From Grand Prince Yaroslav’s description, Lady Canace and her daughter weren’t the most gracious of creatures.”
“No, they weren’t,” Zora agreed, recalling the slights and insults she had suffered at their hands and the worst indignity of all that Hermione had wrought upon her. Yet this time the memory of the trading camp was noticeably tempered, for it was that incident after all that had brought her to Rurik—
Stunned by her reasoning, Zora dropped her gaze to stare blindly at her hands. Yet she had no sooner done so than Rurik lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes.
“But you survived…beautifully, which proves your perseverance and courage.” He chuckled, caressing the line of her jaw. “Your stubbornness must have helped, too, Princess. I’ve known few more headstrong than you.”
Zora had to remind herself to breathe. Rurik’s gaze was so intent that she feared he could see right into her heart. “My—my mother was stubborn,” she said, her words tumbling forth in a nervous rush as she sought to divert the topic from herself. “And proud. My father must have asked her a thousand times to come back with him to the palace, but she always refused. She had been banished once while he was gone from the city and she vowed never to endure the indignity again. We were happy in the country…until she became ill.”
“What happened?”
“A fever. The climate could be very damp and she liked the out-of-doors so much. She had grown up in a small village before my father found her…” Realizing that she was running on and on, Zora sighed softly. “Forgive me. I must be boring you.”
“You could never bore me,” came Rurik’s startling answer, his eyes burning into hers.
Zora found she could not swallow, let alone tear away her gaze even if she had wanted to. Her cheeks glowing, she heard herself stammer, “B-but what of you, Rurik? I know as little about you—”
“What would you like to know?” he asked, although his expression had tightened, his eyes becoming guarded.
Wondering at this change, Zora hoped her question would not upset him further. “Why do you still invoke your pagan gods? I find it a curious thing, considering you are Christian…”
Rurik seemed to visibly relax as if this was a topic he did not mind discussing, a small smile coming to his lips.
“To me, the gods are like familiar old friends who linger at the table long after the feast is done, telling long-winded yet fantastic tales that so astound and amaze that all who listen are reluctant to leave the hall even for the warmth of their beds.”
“Like Odin?” Zora asked, entranced.
Rurik nodded. “The High One. All-knowing, all-powerful, the lord of battles and god of wisdom. To gaze deep into the well of knowledge, he paid for the privilege with one of his eyes. But he is a fickle god, giving victory to his favorites until he casts them aside for new champions. The fallen become his warriors in death’s kingdom, Valhalla.”
“Yet I have heard you call out to Thor more often,” said Zora when Rurik paused for a draft of wine.
“Fighting men look to the giant god of thunder for strength, for every warrior strives to be like Thor, bold and invincible in battle. Yet as protector of the world, governing the sun and wind and rains, Thor is called upon to give bounty, not only in the fields, but for new brides to be made fruitful.”
Zora started as Rurik reached out to caress her cheek.
“Which brings us to Frey, who understands well the needs and desires of men…and his sister, Freyja, the voluptuous goddess of plenty who embodies the sensual mysteries of women.” Rurik slowly traced his finger over Zora’s lips. “She has blessed few with such beauty and passion as you possess—”
“Would you care to wash your hands, my lady? My lord?”
As Rurik frowned at the interruption, Zora looked up in surprise at the young female slave bearing a large copper bowl. Nodding, she was so disconcerted by what Rurik had just said that her fingers were trembling as she dipped them into the water.
“Is the meal soon to be served?” she asked, her voice strangely breathless as she accepted a soft towel and dried her hands.
“I believe so, my lady,” said the slave woman, although she really didn’t look quite sure.
“This waiting cannot go on,” Zora murmured in agitation due not so much to the meal but to the way Rurik was still looking at her. Eager for a reprieve, if only long enough to gather her fraying emotions, she added, “If I may, husband, I’d like to see what is causing the delay.”
Rurik’s first impulse was to say no, her sudden disquiet reminding him of her suspicious behavior at their wedding feast, but Arne’s none-too-subtle jab to the ribs swayed him. Damn if that old Varangian hadn’t been listening to their entire conversation!
“I promise to be diplomatic,” she replied, granting him a smile as she arose that made him all the more loathe to allow her to leave his side for how much he would miss her. Yet knowing that this would be a good test of trust for them both, however uneasy it made him, Rurik nodded to an entranceway across the hall.
“The cooking house is just beyond those doors.”
As she began to wend her way gracefully through the tables, Rurik was about to gesture for her guards to follow but he changed his mind. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and twirled his goblet restlessly before taking a long draught.
“She’ll be back, my lord.”
He turned to Arne, who was raising his cup of mead to him as if in salute.
“Maybe this time, friend, but the battle is far from won.”
The warrior snorted, yet not unkindly. “I never said it would be in a day, or two, or even twenty. But at least now you have a chance, whereas before you would have chased her from your arms with your anger.”
Rurik didn’t answer but took another draft of wine, his eyes fixed upon the doors through which Zora had disappeared.
He could not deny that with her gone the very air seemed to be lacking in excitement, the torchlight grown dim, the buzzing conversation of his retainers grating upon his nerves, and the imported vintage flat and tasteless upon his tongue. He wanted her beside him, in this high seat with him where she belonged, just as surely as he knew now that he loved her.
Loki take him, he had been a fool to deny it to himself for so long, perhaps since the first moment she had looked into his eyes at the trading camp, pleading for his help. But that didn’t make him fool enough to admit how he felt about her! Not yet. Not until he was sure that she might feel the same for him.
Call him a coward, but he had been burned once from rushing headlong into the flame and scarred for life by the misery of others to whom love had not been kind. This time, he would wait and watch and though he wasn’t the most patient of men—evidenced by the reckless things he had already said to Zora—he would hope that the warmth he had seen shining in her eyes today would one day blaze into a fire.
“You see, my lord, your Rus bride did not run away. Already she comes and look, she has eyes only for you.”
It was true, Rurik thought, leaning forward as Zora walked into the hall with a pleased smile upon her face, her gaze meeting his across the vast room as if to assure him that yes, supper was on its way. An instant later, a long line of slaves bearing steaming platters of food began to troop through the doors, only to fan out among the tables of hungry, cheering diners.
“Did the cooks threaten a revolt?” Rurik asked as Zora retook her seat beside him. He knew that his smile was as broad as any green youth’s at his sweetheart, but he didn’t care.
“Not at all,” she answered lightly. Her cobalt-blue eyes sparkled with mischief, her earlier agitation all but vanished. “The food was ready. They only needed a few words of encouragement to load everything onto the platters.”
“Dare I ask?”
Smiling, she shrugged. “I told them that great lords deserved great cooks who didn’t keep them waiting…or else greater cooks could easily be found.”
“Very diplomatic.”
“I thought so.”
As she turned from him to survey the goings on in the hall, Rurik could tell from the heightened rose of her cheeks that she knew he was watching her. And he liked her to be aware of him. He wanted her to be aware of him all the time!
Suddenly an idea came to him, something he had not thought to ask her until now.
“Zora?”
She met his eyes and for a fleeting moment he forgot what he was going to say, she was so beautiful.
“Yes?”
He cleared his throat, yet even then his voice was slightly hoarse. He was not used to tripping over himself when it came to women, yet Zora wasn’t just any woman. “Did you have a favorite perfume among those you made?”
“White jasmine,” she murmured softly. “But in Tmutorokan, the flowers were very rare. They had to be brought all the way from Persia.”
No more rare than you, Rurik thought. He was determined that if there was a gift he could give her, it would be one that he hoped would remind her of him whenever she wore it.
Chapter 23
“Aye, the threads are much straighter, my lady,” Nellwyn said encouragingly as she surveyed the crooked piece of blue cloth hanging from the standing loom. “As I told you when we first started your lessons, it takes a fair amount of practice to learn to wield the weaving sword properly. But I’m sure you’ll have it mastered in another week or so.”
“You’re not a very good liar, Nellwyn,” Zora replied with a small laugh. She sank onto a stool set to one side of the loom. “A whole year of practice would make little difference, let alone a few weeks. It’s plain that weaving is not one of my strengths.”
“I don’t know, mayhaps if I took this cloth down and you started all over on a new one—”
“No, no, leave it.” Sighing, Zora rubbed the nubbly fabric between her thumb and forefinger. She knew that it didn’t look like much, but this length of woolen cloth meant something to her all the same.
During the past two weeks it was to this loom that she had always come to think, every lopsided row, every thread recalling the struggle she had waged in her heart. A struggle that she had finally admitted to herself had been won before it was even begun…love having proved the victor.
“I’d like to finish this piece,” she added quietly, not surprised to find when she looked up that Nellwyn’s expression held familiar empathy.
“As you wish, my lady. Would you like me to fetch you something to eat? It’s almost midday and I’ve need of a bite or two myself.” The slave woman grinned as she spread her hands over her growing stomach. “My Vasili swears the babe will be a brawny boy for how much I’ve been eating of late.”
“Yes, that would be nice, Nellwyn, then I should meet Yakov at the main storehouse. He wants to go over our lists one last time. We’ll be leaving early for the market.” Zora smiled, grateful for the bond of friendship that had grown between them. Nellwyn had forgiven her deceit the day of the fire. “Are you sure there isn’t something I could bring you? Some ribbon? A bit of lace? You’ve been so good to me.”
“For the last time, you don’t have to buy me any presents,” Nellwyn insisted, sobering. “I’ve thanks enough in seeing that you took my words about Lord Rurik to heart. I’ve never seen him so happy in all my years here, and you’ve made him so.”
“Do you really think he’s happy?” asked Zora, niggling doubts crowding in upon her. “He hasn’t said a word to me yet about how he feels…” She shook her head. “What if it’s as he told me that first night, Nellwyn, when he said all would go back to what it had been after he has his fill of me? What if I’ve misread everything?”
“That cannot be, my lady. The new longhouses were finished days ago, but you still sleep in Lord Rurik’s bed. He hasn’t sent you away. And though I wasn’t going to say anything until I knew more, I did hear talk this morning that he visited each of his concubines yesterday, yet I see this as a good thing—”
“He went to visit them?” Zora had never known her heart could ache so painfully.
“Only to speak to them for a few moments, don’t fear. I wish to God I could tell you what was said, but he swore each of his women and their slaves to silence and no one has dared break it.”
His women, Zora thought unhappily. She hated those words! She wanted to be the woman in Rurik’s life, the only woman.
“How can this be a good thing, Nellwyn?” Zora r
ose from the stool to pace the floor in distraction. “To visit his…his women without saying a word to me, then to swear them to silence…?”
“Perhaps he has come to some decision about them that he wants you to hear from his lips alone, my lady. Something that may please you.”
Stunned, Zora stopped to stare at the slave woman. “You mean that he might be planning to give up his concubines? How can he when some of those women have borne him children? I cannot believe that he would ever separate mothers from their babes and I wouldn’t want him to!”
Now Nellwyn looked nonplussed as if she hadn’t considered that issue, while Zora began to pace again.
“No, if my husband went to see his concubines, it had nothing to do with me and why would it? If he hasn’t yet said anything to me about whether he cares—”
“Give Lord Rurik some time, my lady,” interrupted Nellwyn, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “I’m sure all your questions will find an answer and as for why he hasn’t shared his feelings with you, perhaps he is yet shielding his heart. I don’t know what he suffered in his past, but it is well known that he swore never to marry. Yet you changed that, my lady, and I have no doubt that one day you will free him of that shield.” Nellwyn fell silent for a moment, then asked gently, “Have you told him what lies hidden in your heart?”
Almost to the window, Zora came to a halt but she didn’t turn around.
“No, not yet,” she admitted, a sudden raw tightness in her throat. “I…I don’t know if he would believe me. I don’t know if he fully trusts me—”
“Aye, but that will change tomorrow. By your going into Novgorod without him, Lord Rurik has given you a chance to show that he can trust you…and for you to prove your love. Just think of the joy you’ll both share when all the barriers have fallen between you, my lady. After tomorrow, one more will be gone.”
“Yes, the joy,” Zora said softly to herself as Nellwyn left to fetch her meal. But it was hard to think of such happiness when those barriers sometimes seemed so high.
The Pagan's Prize (Captive Brides Collection) Page 23
