The Pagan's Prize (14 page)

Grateful when Rurik didn't finish, Zora could hardly
believe everything that he had just told her. She hadn't considered how Halfdan
had met his end, yet now that she knew, the facts were astonishing. Rurik had
risked his life for her when he hadn't even known who she was. Or that he could
profit from rescuing her. Why, he could have been killed! Aiding an unknown
slave woman!

Yet she remained wary. Perhaps he had sensed even then
that she was more than a common slave. Perhaps something cued him, her manner
of speech, her promise of a reward, anything! To think that he might have felt
compassion for her was more than she could stomach.

"If you don't mind, Lord Rurik, I would rather not
discuss what happened to me at that trading camp anymore," she said. "Now
I'd like to finish my meal before the bread becomes stale and the cheese
moldier."

Noting the stubborn set of her chin, Rurik knew the
matter was already closed.

"Very well, then. I'll leave you." He rose,
setting the cup of mead near her bare feet in case she decided to drink after
all. He couldn't quite tell her mood, but it was clear she still did not trust
him. He felt he should offer a stern warning.

"If you haven't already realized it, screaming is
useless. Unlike yesterday when it might have saved you but thankfully didn't.
And if you're considering any more escape attempts, Princess, I caution you
against late night swimming. You were lucky that night you plunged into the
river, but the Dnieper's currents are far more treacherous than the Desna's.
And deadly to all but the best of swimmers."

"You're clearly lying again," she retorted. "I
would never have jumped from any ship. I can't swim."

Rurik studied her, amazed. She must have been fearful
indeed to dive over the side with no skills to help keep her afloat.

"You did jump overboard, Zora, whether you believe
it or not. We were on our way to Chernigov, and this time I was the one who
saved you . . . from drowning." Rurik smiled, but he felt no amusement. "You
see? There is much you don't remember."

She didn't reply, nor had he expected her to. Her
tightlipped, rebellious expression was answer enough. Thor, but she was
obstinate! She had obviously decided to reject much of what he said.

"I almost forgot," he continued. "I
bought you some things in Liubech before we sailed." He indicated with a
quick nod a brass-bound sea chest. "You'll find some clean garments more
to your size, trousers, a tunic, and another sash. I want you to dress like a
male slave until we reach Novgorod. The last thing we need is for your beauty
to attract any undue attention."

In response, she glared at him surlily.

Rurik sighed with exasperation and turned to go, then
added as an afterthought, "I also purchased a brush for your hair and some
soap in case you'd like to bathe. As you cannot swim, my men will have leave to
draw water for you when you have need of it. But ask them for nothing else."

Astonished that he would have given any consideration
to her personal needs, Zora watched as Rurik walked back to his men.

Soap? A brush? She toyed with her disheveled braid,
then raised her hand to her cheek, wondering if her skin was smudged and dirty.
Had he thought her in need of a bath? She supposed she did look a sight after
not washing her hair for days, and she had hardly been able to bathe herself
properly without soap—

Stop!
she
scolded herself, angry that she would care even for an instant about her
appearance. The last thing she wanted was for that pagan to find her
attractive, and if she was freshly bathed, combed, and wearing more fitted
clothes . . . for all his pretty words, he might very well forget himself.

Setting her wooden plate with a clatter upon the deck,
Zora knew exactly what to do. She went directly to the chest and, throwing open
the lid, gathered up all the items Rurik had mentioned.

She knew that he was watching her. She could feel it,
like a strange heat upon her skin. And she knew he'd be furious, but she didn't
care. Stifling a tiny glimmer of fear and any regrets about how lovely it would
have felt to wash with real soap again, she went to the side and tossed
everything overboard.

"Woman! By all the gods . . . !"

Ignoring his roar of outrage, Zora retook her seat upon
the cask and calmly resumed her meal. So what if she looked like a rumpled, smudge-nosed
witch and stank to high heaven? If it would keep Rurik away from her, she could
bear it gladly!

Chapter 10

An uneasy stalemate reigned aboard the riverboat for
the next few days, Zora attempting to avoid Rurik, which proved difficult in
such limited space. Yet somehow she managed. She kept to her tent much of the
time, and when she could no longer stand the boredom and needed fresh air, she
ventured outside and moved to whatever part of the small vessel where Rurik was
not.

Thankfully, he seemed just as disinclined to encounter
her. Zora wasn't surprised.

He had been beyond anger. Even furious hadn't done his
foul mood justice. Although he had said nothing more to her after his initial
outburst, she had seen his temper raging in the way he glared at her when she
went to get a second helping of food. His eyes were filled with a cold fury.

Abandoning any thought of continuing her meal, she had
fled to the solitude of her tent, where she had remained for most of the day.
Her frustration had grown hourly.

How she longed to be free of this accursed vessel and
her captors! To be so confined, without any real privacy or the amenities to
which she was accustomed—a decent chamber pot, for God's sake—was simply too
much!

With her humiliation fueling her, she had created a new
plan. She would covertly observe the Varangians and hopefully discover each man's
weakness. Such knowledge could then be used against them when an opportunity
for escape arose.

Yet much to her disappointment, she had found over the
following two days that the ruddy-faced helmsman called Leif had no discernible
weaknesses. He possessed both brawn and brains, his skill at steering the boat
evidencing sharp instincts. He also obeyed unquestionably everything Rurik
said, so there was no help there. As for Arne, he was another of whom to be
wary. For all of his grumbling and coarse bravado, she sensed that he had a
keen mind, his suspicion easily aroused.

Arne's close relationship with Rurik bordered upon that
between father and son. If the story about him saving Rurik's life in the
trading camp was true, Zora imagined that Arne had made it his task to watch
out for Rurik, his loyalty fierce and as unquestioning as Leif's.

Kjell was the only one who didn't seem to fit into the
group. Physically a warrior and appearing more than strong enough to do battle,
it nonetheless seemed that his heart was not in his duties. Kjell rarely joined
in the laughter after one of Arne's vulgar boasts about his exploits with
lusty, big-breasted women, or how much ale the crusty Varangian could consume
at one sitting. Sometimes Kjell seemed so detached, Zora wondered how he had
been included on what she assumed had been a very important mission.

Kjell seemed most enlivened late in the evening when he
recited poetry for his compatriots' entertainment. He told strange mythic tales
of long ago battles and heroic deeds that Rurik and the others obviously
enjoyed. Kjell's impassioned voice would carry to her inside the tent where she
lay abed, and to her amazement, Rurik occasionally joined him, reciting verses
commemorating a danger or triumph in battle.

Once, Rurik's eight-line stanza had been a lamentation
for a slain friend, Sveinald, who had lost his life because of his love for a woman.
The haunting words had moved her more than she wished to admit and shown her a
heretofore unknown side of him . . . a sensitive, personal side upon which she
had no desire to dwell.

But even though Kjell lacked enthusiasm, she had not
discovered his weaknesses, at least until the following evening when she spied
him staring at her quite openly. His platter of salted fish and black bread sat
in his lap, untouched. Rurik's response was swift and harsh.

"Look to your food, man, and quit gaping at the
wench like a besotted pup!"

After that, Zora noticed a dark scowl thrown in Kjell's
direction whenever Rurik caught him watching her, and she realized that he must
resent the young warrior's obvious infatuation. Was it simply because Kjell
seemed more inclined to staring at her then going about his duties? Such disregard
for orders would certainly anger any commander. Or did Rurik's reaction have
something to do with his promise to protect her? Did he think Kjell might
overstep his bounds?

Well, whatever the insufferable lout's reasons, Zora
had found her chance. She even went as far as to hope that any discord she
fomented between the two men might somehow aid her escape. She couldn't wait to
put her latest scheme to the test!

The next morning dawned beautiful and sunny, which
lightened her mood all the more. Taking care to avoid Rurik, whom she spared no
more than a casual glance when she left the tent, she gave Kjell a
surreptitious smile. To her delight, he beamed back at her. He must be
attracted to her, she realized. She tried to quell a flash of guilt over using
the young man. After all,
she
was a
prisoner. Exchanging such smiles the rest of the day convinced her to step up
her plan. It would mean forgoing her vow not to wash, but the more appealing
the young Varangian found her, the better.

With supper finished, she fetched the bucket that Rurik
had given her to use for bathing—one that had remained empty since she'd thrown
the soap overboard four days ago!—and humming to herself, she made straight for
Kjell, who stood in the bow with his back to her. He seemed so rapt in watching
the glorious sunset that she doubted he had even heard her approach.

"Excuse me."

Kjell spun in surprise, almost dropping his mug of ale.
Some of the dark, pungent-smelling liquid splashed upon her trousers and his
expression became stricken, his youthful face burning.

"Forgive me, my lady!"

"It's nothing," she said lightly, acutely
aware that Leif, Arne, and Rurik had grown silent in the stern, no doubt
listening to their exchange. She could almost feel Rurik's gaze boring into her
back, and it made her smile at Kjell all the wider. "Lord Rurik said that
I might ask you for assistance if I needed some water drawn from the river.
Could you help me?"

"Of—of course." For a moment Kjell didn't
seem to know what to do with his ale, but finally he set the mug upon a nearby
chest and took the bucket from her. "How much would you like?"

"Oh, you can fill it to the top. I want to have
enough to wash my clothes when I'm finished bathing." As she looked up at
him through her thick lashes, Zora ran the back of her hand across her cheek,
all the while thinking how strange it felt to be flirting with a man, well,
toying with him really. It felt awkward. She had never done it before. She
sighed plaintively. "I must look disgraceful—"

"Oh, no, my lady, you look beautiful to me! Like a
golden goddess!" Kjell blurted, then he glanced nervously above her head
to the stern. What he saw must have made him more anxious, for his
eager-to-please smile vanished. He quickly dunked the bucket into the river and
then set it with a dull thud at her feet.

Zora gazed at him with feigned confusion. "Surely
you don't expect me to carry that bucket, Kjell. It looks far too heavy."
From his astonished expression, she knew that she had startled him by using his
given name. Yet he was pleased, too, despite his concerted attempt not to show
it. His hazel eyes gave him away. "I'm sure Lord Rurik wouldn't mind if
you helped me." She smiled at him prettily. "Just to the tent."

Again he looked past her, and she surmised that he had
been granted some sort of permission for he obliged her, even going so far as
to place the bucket just inside the tent. Then he was gone before she could
thank him, almost tripping on a pile of rope in his haste to attend to some
rigging. Zora could well imagine the black scowl Rurik had hurled at Kjell.

"The filthy idol-worshiper," she muttered as
she swept into the tent. She hoped it was loud enough for Rurik to hear.

It was, but he made no reply, his jaw clenched tightly.

Arne, meanwhile, shifted on the bench, his prolonged
belch breaking the tense silence. "It seems she thinks you're a pagan, my
lord. Are you going to set her to rights?"

Rurik shook his head grimly, wondering what little game
Zora was playing now. After looking like a bedraggled ragamuffin for days, why
the sudden concern for her appearance? He imagined it was for spite. "She'll
get no more explanations from me, my friend. I tried once already."

"Aye, you're right about that," Arne said
dryly. "Whatever you said to her, she didn't like it, no, not a bit. I can
still see her dumping all those things into the river—"

"Enough, Arne." Rurik's frown deepened. "I
was a fool to think she'd appreciate a kindness."

The burly warrior heaved a sigh, then after taking a
deep swig of ale, he said, "That wench is a hard one to understand and I
pity the man who ever accepts the thankless task! One moment she avoids the
whole lot of us, then the next she's talking as sweetly as can be to Kjell, and
smiling at him, too."

"You don't have to tell me what she's been doing,"
Rurik muttered, angered as much by her overtly flirtatious behavior as at
himself for the unreasoning jealousy that was churning inside him again.

Why in Odin's name couldn't he control his emotions?
What did he care if Zora found another man to her liking? He had seen the
stolen smiles and furtive looks passing all day between her and Kjell. Well,
what of it? She meant nothing to him, other than as a valuable pawn, and Kjell
was only reacting naturally to a beautiful woman's attention. What man wouldn't?