The Pagan's Prize (12 page)

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 name?" 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!