Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set (89 page)

“You roll in snow?”

“From October to May, if we’re lucky.” His broad smile warmed Zora more than she could have imagined possible. “Where do you think we Varangians gain our strength?” Then he sobered a little, beckoning to her. “Come here, Princess.”

Inching over to him, Zora wondered what he might be plotting to do to her next in this damnable steam bath of his and she stopped just shy of his reach. “You’re not going to dunk me again, are you?” she asked suspiciously, although the water didn’t feel half so cold to her now that she had been in it for a while.

“Hardly, wife,” came his low reply, but he didn’t wait for her to come to him, he came to her. In a single splash, he captured her in his arms, and finding her mouth, his lips were as hot as firebrands upon hers.

Zora was certain she had never felt a kiss more passionate or more incredibly powerful, and within seconds, she no longer felt the cold at all for the seductive weight of his hands upon her body and the wet possession of his tongue as he led hers in a heady dance. Then she felt him cup her bottom and lift her and she was sinking onto fire and steel, the water churning around them.

He took her fast and hard and she let him, her thrusts as relentless and demanding as his own, but never once did their mouths lift from each other’s as if neither could bear to breathe alone. And when their climax burst upon them, they shared it wildly, ecstatically, clutching each other as if all joy and life depended upon it for in that moment, it did.

Zora’s hair was still damp when she and Rurik took their places at the high seat. She couldn’t believe that they were at supper just a little past the appointed hour.

Rurik’s hunger for her had not abated after they left the tub, and only the fierce growling of his stomach had been a pointed reminder to him that he should seek some food. Yet he had laughingly hidden his need for nourishment under the guise of building his strength for later that evening, a thought that had filled Zora with dizzying expectation before they had even set foot from his longhouse.

“Good evening, my lady! My lord!” came Arne’s boisterous greeting from Rurik’s left, the warrior waving a foaming cup of mead. “We were about to give up on you, but it seems the old saying rings true, man cannot live by pleasure alone!”

Was it so obvious what she and Rurik had been doing?
Zora wondered, a blush creeping over her face. She touched her hair, wishing it wasn’t so thick so she could have dried it faster.

“Don’t let him fluster you, Princess,” Rurik said in a low aside as if he had known her thoughts. “You’ll find that Arne says exactly what leaps onto his tongue. As we’ve known each other for years, it allows him liberties he deems as his right, I suppose, for putting up with me for so long.”

She smiled, appreciating that Rurik had thought to reassure her, then seeing the warmth kindling in his night-blue eyes, she looked away, overwhelmed.

For weeks she hadn’t allowed herself to recognize any good qualities in Rurik, and now she seemed to be noticing them all at once. His gentleness, his attentiveness, his humor.

She loved the wonderful richness of his laughter and how exuberant and unrestrained he had been in the bathhouse, giving her a glimpse of the playful boy inside the man. She loved the way he looked at her and the way he touched her. She loved the way he kissed her. Oh, she loved--

Take care
, Zora warned herself just in time, her thoughts skirting dangerously close to a precipice she was trying so hard to avoid. She would never have imagined that Rurik letting down his guard around her could make her feel as if she didn’t know which direction to turn, but it had! It was all she could do now to remember her plan, and with a start, she realized that she had scarcely thought of it for hours.

“Is anything wrong, Zora? You look troubled.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” she said, touched by the concern in Rurik’s eyes that he made no effort to hide. Suddenly it was twice as hard to think clearly, but she forced herself by finding a matter to which she could turn her hand. “I…I was only wondering why the food has not yet been served. You must be so hungry and—”

“Perhaps the preparation has taken longer than the cooks anticipated.” He laughed, holding up his brimming goblet. “At least we have fine Burgundian wine to soothe our stomachs. Don’t fear, Princess. I will not starve.”

“But it’s wrong, just the same,” she insisted, “and I plan to speak with them in the morning. I had the chance to oversee several feasts for my father, and this is not proper. I was taught a great lord and his guests should never be kept waiting.”

“Ah, is that what I am to you now?” Rurik’s voice was full of teasing that did not reach his eyes. “A great lord? I thought I was just the husband with whom you’ve been cursed.” As if he didn’t want her to answer, he swiftly changed the subject. “What else did they teach you in Tmutorokan? It has occurred to me that I know very little about you other than some family history and that you don’t like steam baths.”

Zora was relieved to see him smiling again. She remembered all too well the angry words she had thrown at him the morning after their wedding, words that she now found herself wishing she had never said.

“I suppose I learned things that any girl brought up in a palace would,” she replied, warmed that he would want to know about her life. “How to embroider… Lady Canace never seemed to think we made enough vestments for the Church. How to take care of a household for the day when I would marry” —suddenly thinking of Ivan, Zora was surprised at how easily she could dismiss him from her mind— “and how to make perfume.”

“Perfume?”

“Yes, Lady Canace had a passion for concocting fragrance. She learned it at the emperor’s palace in Constantinople before her marriage, and when Hermione and I were old enough, she taught us her skills, except Hermione had no desire to learn. She would rather soak in a tubful of rose petals than boil them, so she always insisted that I make her share.”

“And did you?” Rurik asked gently.

Zora sighed. “If I wanted to live peacefully. But I enjoyed the work, so I didn’t mind.”

“It must have been hard for you, living in that
terem
. From Grand Prince Yaroslav’s description, Lady Canace and her daughter weren’t the most gracious of creatures.”

“No, they weren’t,” Zora agreed, recalling the slights and insults she had suffered at their hands and the worst indignity of all that Hermione had wrought upon her. Yet this time the memory of the trading camp was noticeably tempered, for it was that incident after all that had brought her to Rurik—

Stunned by her reasoning, Zora dropped her gaze to stare blindly at her hands. Yet she had no sooner done so than Rurik lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes.

“But you survived…beautifully, which proves your perseverance and courage.” He chuckled, caressing the line of her jaw. “Your stubbornness must have helped, too, Princess. I’ve known few more headstrong than you.”

Zora had to remind herself to breathe. Rurik’s gaze was so intent that she feared he could see right into her heart. “My—my mother was stubborn,” she said, her words tumbling forth in a nervous rush as she sought to divert the topic from herself. “And proud. My father must have asked her a thousand times to come back with him to the palace, but she always refused. She had been banished once while he was gone from the city and she vowed never to endure the indignity again. We were happy in the country…until she became ill.”

“What happened?”

“A fever. The climate could be very damp and she liked the out-of-doors so much. She had grown up in a small village before my father found her…” Realizing that she was running on and on, Zora sighed softly. “Forgive me. I must be boring you.”

“You could never bore me,” came Rurik’s startling answer, his eyes burning into hers.

Zora found she could not swallow, let alone tear away her gaze even if she had wanted to. Her cheeks glowing, she heard herself stammer, “B-but what of you, Rurik? I know as little about you—”

“What would you like to know?” he asked, although his expression had tightened, his eyes becoming guarded.

Wondering at this change, Zora hoped her question would not upset him further. “Why do you still invoke your pagan gods? I find it a curious thing, considering you are Christian…”

Rurik seemed to visibly relax as if this was a topic he did not mind discussing, a small smile coming to his lips.

“To me, the gods are like familiar old friends who linger at the table long after the feast is done, telling long-winded yet fantastic tales that so astound and amaze that all who listen are reluctant to leave the hall even for the warmth of their beds.”

“Like Odin?” Zora asked, entranced.

Rurik nodded. “The High One. All-knowing, all-powerful, the lord of battles and god of wisdom. To gaze deep into the well of knowledge, he paid for the privilege with one of his eyes. But he is a fickle god, giving victory to his favorites until he casts them aside for new champions. The fallen become his warriors in death’s kingdom, Valhalla.”

“Yet I have heard you call out to Thor more often,” said Zora when Rurik paused for a draft of wine.

“Fighting men look to the giant god of thunder for strength, for every warrior strives to be like Thor, bold and invincible in battle. Yet as protector of the world, governing the sun and wind and rains, Thor is called upon to give bounty, not only in the fields, but for new brides to be made fruitful.”

Zora started as Rurik reached out to caress her cheek.

“Which brings us to Frey, who understands well the needs and desires of men…and his sister, Freyja, the voluptuous goddess of plenty who embodies the sensual mysteries of women.” Rurik slowly traced his finger over Zora’s lips. “She has blessed few with such beauty and passion as you possess—”

“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.