The Pagan's Prize (31 page)

"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!

"You need not request my permission to see to the
things that rest in your domain," said Rurik, noting the pink color
appearing upon Zora's cheeks. He hoped her blush meant his answer had pleased
her. "All I ask, Princess, is that you do not rail overmuch at the cooks.
They're a temperamental lot and may choose to retaliate by overseasoning the
food."

"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
rose 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.

Faith and trust were precious things not so easily won.
She had already done everything she knew these past weeks to prove to Rurik
that she could be trusted, that he had no reason to doubt her, but obviously it
wasn't enough. She supposed she couldn't blame him after her attempts to thwart
him in the past, and he probably still held Kjell's death against her. But if
he cared, wouldn't he have forgiven her?

Sighing as she moved to the window, Zora leaned upon
the sill and turned her face upward to the warm, soothing sunlight.

Funny. If she chose to crawl out of this window right
now, she wouldn't be greeted by a guard as she would have when she first came to
the compound. Since the night she had gone to chastise Rurik's cooks, he had
allowed her to walk about freely with no escort at all.

She would never forget her elation when she realized
that he had not sent guards after her, another good sign that he was willing to
trust her. She could come and go as she pleased, and tomorrow she would be
journeying to Novgorod with Yakov and a handful of warriors sent along not to
watch her but to carry her purchases.

Nor had Rurik ever questioned her again about her interest
in his household. It was as if he had simply accepted it, taking almost as much
delight in how smoothly everything was running, especially the evening meals,
as she derived in pleasing him.

And she wanted to please him! It was amazing how
quickly her plan had fallen by the wayside—practically as soon as she had
conceived it!—but all she had to do was look in Rurik's eyes to know that she
could no more betray him than leave him. Not now. Not when she knew that she
loved him as she had never thought possible.

"Yet you betray your father," Zora whispered,
unable to make that sharp pang of guilt fade. What would Mstislav say if he
knew she had fallen in love with one of his enemies and wished to remain here
in Novgorod? One of his hated brother's most famed warriors, the very man she
had been forced to wed?

No, don't think of it! she told herself firmly, rubbing
her aching temples. Nor did she want to think about the battle that was looming
ever closer, although that specter was much more difficult to chase from her
mind.

The air seemed forever to be ringing with the ominous
sounds of Rurik and his men hard at their training, from dawn to dusk, every
day no matter the weather. He had already told her that they would be sailing
for Chernigov as soon as Varangian reinforcements arrived from the north,
surprising her that he would trust her with such information. And three nights
out of the last seven he had spent at the
kreml
in Novgorod, summoned by her uncle to councils of war.