The Pagan's Prize (22 page)

"Do what you wish," Zora flung at him,
thinking that he wouldn't dare to so humiliate her. She was Grand Prince
Yaroslav's niece, after all. "I don't care in the least what your people
think of me!"

"Very well."

To her horror, Zora suddenly found herself in the
position Rurik had described, pitched over his broad shoulder. Unable to speak
for a moment while she gasped for breath, she heard hearty laughter coming from
the scaffolding and her face burned with embarrassment.

"Comfortable?" Rurik asked amiably as he set
out with her along the palisade.

Zora could barely sputter a reply, she was so outraged,
one of his hands splayed upon her bottom while the other caressed her upper
thigh. "Put . . . put me down!" she demanded, striking his back with
her fists. To her frustration, he seemed unaffected by her pummeling.

"Tell me, wife," he began conversationally. "How
did you come by making such an observation about my concubines? Or did you
simply assume they were content with their lot, as you should be."

"You're mad if you think I'll ever be content with
the likes of you," Zora said through clenched teeth, giving up her futile
pounding. "Your Semirah may believe that she found paradise when she was
sold into your arms, but I never will!"

Rurik slowed his pace, some of his good humor fading. "You
spoke with Semirah? When?"

"This morning. You weren't the only one to sneak
into my room, though I doubt you came in through the window. Your guards would
have given me no protection at all if your Khazar beauty had wanted to smother
me with a pillow. She may have spent the night in your bed, as she so
gloatingly informed me, but she isn't very happy that you've taken a wife."

Feeling a knot of anger in his stomach, Rurik decided
that he would have to speak with Semirah. He would tolerate no trouble between
his women. Yet he was relieved to hear that she hadn't divulged the truth about
last night.

"So you know—"

"Yes, I know how you spent your wedding night and
I don't care!" Zora cut him off heatedly. "I told Semirah the same
thing, too. If you're thinking to taunt me with your concubines, Rurik, you
only deceive yourself. It doesn't matter to me in the least what you do with
your women!"

Rurik lifted her from his shoulder so quickly that he
heard her gasp, yet when he set her down hard in front of him, her eyes shone
with indignation, not fear.

"Whether you care or not about what I do and with
whom isn't my aim, Princess," he said tightly, his earlier humor vanished.
"You can see now that I decide who shares my bed and when. You hold no
special status here. The only difference between yourself and my concubines is
that you bear the legal title of wife. Aside from that, they are your equals."

How hollow his words sounded to him, Rurik thought as
Zora's eyes filled with angry tears. He felt like he was trying to convince
himself that they were true by saying them aloud, while in his innermost heart,
he knew that the more he told himself she meant nothing to him, the more he
realized that she did.

Lying to Thordar at the cathedral had proved to him
that he would do anything to protect her, for Zora would have been the target
of a call for blood vengeance and not his entire household as he had led her to
believe. True, Grand Prince Yaroslav deplored strife between his warriors, but
Rurik had been thinking of her alone.

Then standing in her chamber last night after he had
left a disgruntled Semirah in his bed, he had almost believed that he might
even be falling in love. But, by Odin, that was impossible! He trusted Zora the
least of any woman he had ever known. She may be his wife but her allegiance
lay with her father, his sworn enemy.

"Come." Rurik took her arm, inwardly cursing
the effect her furious, teary-eyed silence had upon him. If she had believed
him to be a ruthless brute before, he could just imagine what she must think of
him now. "I've sent seamstresses to fit you for some new clothes. They
will be waiting for you—"

"Damn my new clothes and damn you to hell!"
Zora shouted, his touch igniting like a red-hot spark to tinder the outrage
boiling inside her. "I never asked to be your wife!" She swiped at
her eyes, refusing to cry again in front of him. "I remember you telling
my uncle that you had sworn never to marry and I wish to God you had kept your
vow! I've never known a man as hard and unfeeling as you! How could I be cursed
with such a husband?"

Jerking away from him, her emotion almost choking her,
Zora gave no thought to why Rurik didn't stop her nor did she hear his ragged,
half-whispered reply as she fled toward her longhouse.

"Because I want you, Princess. The gods may spite
me for a fool, but I want you."

Chapter 15

Zora would have avoided Rurik the rest of the day, but
he didn't grant her a choice. Dressed in a new lavender silk tunic sewn by one
of five busy seamstresses, she was escorted from the longhouse by two
forbidding warriors.

She could hear the clang of weapons well before they
reached their destination, a large barren field on the opposite side of the
compound, and she surmised that the men in Rurik's
druzhina
were practicing their battle skills. It made little sense
to her that he would wish her to witness such a display. Did he think he might
convince her that his warriors could best her father's elite troops?
Impossible.

The field was lined by a two-deep throng of men wearing
padded leather jerkins and helmets, wives dressed in their finest tunics, and
excited, rosy-cheeked children. As soon as Zora approached with her escort, a
path opened up for them that led right to the front. Again ignoring the curious
stares, she spied Rurik at once, surrounded by three towheaded little boys who
were tugging at his mail-shirt.

"Play a game with us, Papa," demanded the
tallest boy who appeared about six years old. "We've been practicing!"

"Yes, yes, Papa, a game!" chimed in the two
littler ones, each holding a blunt-ended wooden sword.

Laughter rippled through the crowd as Rurik obliged his
eager sons by crouching low and parrying their awkward thrusts with his round,
gold-painted shield. His delight at their efforts was obvious; he was smiling
broadly and laughing, the rich, resonant sound echoed by the boys' happy
squeals.

Zora watched him in amazement. So he had some feelings
after all. Clearly he loved his children.

Suddenly a little girl with bright red curls came
running toward him, and asking his sons to stay their swords, Rurik rose and
swept the child high into the air, her chubby arms flying around his neck to
hug him tight. Their embrace reminded Zora of how she had used to race to greet
her father in those happy times before her mother had died.

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.