The Pagan's Prize (23 page)

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—"

"It is not for you that I do this!" the
concubine cut her off in a bitter rush. "Until you are gone, Lord Rurik
will have eyes for no other woman, desire for no other woman—" She stopped
abruptly as if she had said too much and shoved Zora from their dark corner. "Go
now before your guards grow anxious!"

Zora wondered about the concubine's explanation as she
hurried to the entrance, for it had made little sense. Since Rurik had admitted
that the lovely Khazarian had spent last night in his bed, how could Semirah
say that he had no desire for her?

Zora pretended to straighten her tunic as she stepped
outside to find a half-dozen men and a few women waiting to use the privy. It
was clear her escorts had refused to let anyone else in. As she smiled an
apology, she was immediately flanked by her guards and from the way in which
they hustled her toward the hall, one of them even going so far as to grip her
elbow, she could tell that the two warriors had grown impatient to get her back
to Rurik.

Yet it seemed that they need not have rushed. Rurik's
attention was focused upon the laughing, mahogany-haired woman ensconced upon
his lap who had one arm settled atop his shoulder, her fingers caressing the
back of his neck. Other than to cast a brief glance in their direction as Zora
and her escorts approached the high seat, he paid them no heed.

Watching Rurik bring his goblet to the woman's lips,
his answering laughter husky and deep, Zora felt a strange tightness in her
breast. She almost screamed in outrage, but she caught herself. She was the
princess! She would not be treated lightly.

Aware that every eye was upon her even though the noisy
carousing in the hall had not abated, she stopped in front of the head table
and stubbornly waited for Rurik to acknowledge her. She'd be damned if she was
going to announce her presence. He knew that she was standing there.

It wasn't Rurik who spoke first but Arne, whose light
blue eyes surprisingly held the barest glimmer of sympathy.

"If you'd like, my lady, you may have my seat—"

"Thank you, Arne, but I've had enough revelry for
one night. With my husband's permission, I would like to retire."

"Granted." Rurik's gruff answer came so
swiftly that she started, meeting his eyes. For a man who had just appeared to
be having such a pleasant time, why then did his voice have that strange edge
to it and his expression seem almost . . . haunted? "Sleep well, wife."