Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set (98 page)

“So you dismiss me, Princess?”

Hearing the restrained anger in his voice, Zora glanced nervously over her shoulder to see that Rurik had risen to his feet, his eyes black as coals in the hazy light.

“I—I didn’t mean it as it sounded…” she began lamely, then her own indignation was pricked as much at herself as at him. Why shouldn’t she ask him to leave since he thought the worst of everything she had to say? She had had enough of his callous treatment!

“Yes, I did mean it,” she continued, lifting her chin as she turned to face him. “You brought my meal and I have thanked you for it, but I’m sure you have other things to do.”

“Nothing that cannot wait, wife.” Rurik glared at her as he came closer. “Or have you forgotten that you still bear that title? Perhaps you’re already thinking ahead to your father’s victory, for surely that is the outcome you hope for in your heart—”

“That’s right!” Zora shouted, losing all control in light of his preposterous statement. “That’s exactly what I want! Why hide it any longer? You’ve read me so well, Rurik Sigurdson, I see no reason to keep my true feelings from you. Yes, I hope my father wins and I hope you soon find yourself without a wife!”

He grabbed her so suddenly that she gasped, his fingers tunneling in her hair to yank her head back.

“So this is how I will remember you as I go into battle,” he breathed, his gaze ablaze with fury. “Treason like venom upon your lips.”

Tears springing to her eyes, Zora could barely answer for the emotion threatening to choke her. “You have made it so, Rurik. You can only blame your—”

She didn’t finish, Rurik’s mouth coming down so brutally upon hers that it hurt…and she knew he wanted to hurt her. His embrace was so crushing that she could hardly breathe and her neck felt ready to snap, her scalp stinging.

But she would not let him hurt her, no, she wouldn’t let him! She returned his kiss with a fury that equaled his, determined that he would remember not the lies she had just hurled at him but the blinding truth of her passion.

I love you, Rurik!
she cried in her heart as she threw her arms around his neck to hold him tightly, to hold him like she would never let him go.

As if she had surprised him, his embrace eased and became not cruel but wildly possessive, and with a ragged groan he deepened his kiss to ravage her mouth while his hands grew frantic in their caress. She clung to him even as she felt him wrench her tunic over her hips and tear away her undergarment, then lift her and wrap her legs around his waist.

His breathing was hot and desperate against her lips as he yanked at his trousers and she pressed eagerly against him, knowing his intent and wanting it as much as he. She felt his hardness poised for an instant against her moist flesh, then she was riding upon it, his hands gripping her bottom as he thrust inside her like a man possessed, fast, hard, relentlessly, until she was shaking with her need.

She locked her ankles behind him, not caring that the iron mesh of his mail-shirt was biting into her thighs or the insides of her arms as she clutched wildly at his back. All conscious thought was centered upon that wet, throbbing place where they were joined, upon the incredible heat, the friction, the rapture rising up to consume her…

“Rurik!” she cried at the dizzying height of her ecstasy, but she heard not a sound, his kiss silencing her as he thrust deeply once, twice…then the third time with such ferocity that his whole body shuddered.

“Zora…” came his hoarse whisper, his mouth tearing from hers so he could stare into her eyes as his seed burst hot and pulsing from his flesh. And at that heart-stopping moment she knew…though she might never hear it from his lips. She could see it shining like truth in his eyes. The pain, the torment…the yearning.

He loved her. Holy Mother Mary, if life ended for her now she would need nothing more.

It was that thought she drew on for courage when he suddenly closed his eyes as if to shut her out, his expression growing as hard and angry as before. Then she was standing upon the ground, her crumpled tunic falling around her ankles as Rurik fastened his trousers and strode from the tent.

He was gone without a final word, yet she heard him giving terse orders outside to the men who must have returned. Certain that her guards were soon to rejoin her, Zora walked shakily to the lamp and doused it, then moved through the dark to her pallet where she lay down and drew the blanket over her.

She wanted no one to see her tears.

Zora awoke to the distant sound of drums and she was seized with such panic, she vaulted from the pallet and ran stumbling in the predawn light for the entrance.

“Hold there! Where do you think you’re bound?” demanded the guard who jumped up and caught her around the waist while the other man lunged to his feet to block her way.

“The drums…” she said distractedly, thinking of Rurik, wanting to go to him. “It’s started, hasn’t it?”

“Not until they fall still, my lady.”

“Aye, and when they do, we should be fighting that usurper alongside our lord instead of left behind in this camp with the slaves and a disobedient wife,” the taller Varangian muttered before he was silenced with a sharp gesture from his grim-faced companion.

“Go and sit down, Lady Zora,” continued the red-bearded guard who held her, his voice firm. “There is nothing to do but wait.” Sighing when Zora refused to budge, he picked her up and carried her back to the pallet and set her down upon it. “Try to sleep if you can. Word will be brought to us—”

“Sleep?” Zora tossed aside the blanket he had dropped in her lap. “How can I when my husband…?” Realizing from the man’s frown that she was getting nowhere, Zora willed herself to be calm. “Where are they?”

“Two miles south. Prince Mstislav’s army advanced during the night to a village called Listven and Grand Prince Yaroslav’s forces have gone to meet them.”

No wonder they could hear the drums, Zora thought, rubbing her temples that had begun to pound as insistently. Rurik wasn’t so far away, but with these warriors guarding her, she might as well be in Novgorod.

“Your friend said he wanted to be fighting with my husband,” she said, trying a desperate tack. “Go if you wish! Both of you! I can wait here alone—”

“Our orders are to stay here with you, Lady Zora, no matter what was said.”

As the guard went back to his companion, the two men now watching her warily, Zora knew from their somber faces that she would not sway them. All around her becoming a nightmare, she covered her ears with her hands…hating the drums’ ominous sound but dreading even more the moment when they would stop.

Standing at the head of his men, Rurik grimly scanned the valley before him.

He had not seen so many thousands of warriors facing each other since the grand prince had defeated his murderous brother Sviatopolk on the plain of the Alta River five years ago. That day the ground had flowed red with blood and today would be no different. Once again, the kingdom of all Rus was at stake.

With the fierce cadence of the drums thundering in his ears, Rurik looked to his right along a hundred-deep line of men that stretched to the distant hills. Then he glanced to his left, the sun’s dawning rays streaking the cloudless blue sky with gold fire. Fleetingly, it reminded him of the tawny glory of Zora’s hair until the drums abruptly stopped and he thought of her no more.

As a thunderous battle cry tore from ten thousand throats, Rurik yanked out his sword and held it up to the sun. “Branch-of-Odin, honor me! Defend me!”

Whipping his shield from his shoulder, he began to run with his men toward the enemy…the ground made black with their numbers, the air thick with their arrows and spears.

Zora had never known time could pass so horribly slow, each hour dragging into the next and still they had heard no news.

She imagined that she was making the guards dizzy with her incessant pacing, but she couldn’t help herself. It was better than sitting and staring at them or the tent walls. Now it was nearing sunset, the sunlight already thinning. She was certain if they didn’t hear something soon she would explode.

“Do you think they will go on fighting into the night?” she asked her guards for the tenth time that hour, but before either man could answer, shouts were heard outside the tent accompanied by the pounding of hooves and then horses snorting and whinnying. Zora rushed frantically toward the entrance only to be warned away with a sharp glance.

“Wait here, my lady,” came a terse command as both warriors ducked outside, leaving her alone.

“No, I won’t stay in here any longer!” Dashing after them, Zora ran straight into a burly warrior who was just about to enter the tent. She would have fallen backward if he hadn’t caught her and it was then she recognized him, although the grimness of his expression and those of the guards behind him made her heart lurch painfully.

“Arne!” Her gaze swept him, his clothing stained with sweat and blood, a deep gash on his upper right arm that appeared to have only recently stopped bleeding. “Where’s Rurik? Tell me!”

“He is missing, my lady.”

“Missing?” Horrified, Zora gaped at him. “How…?”

“This day’s battle has been won by your father but by the narrowest of victories. Great losses have been suffered on both sides. I have never seen such terrible slaughter. The dead and the wounded are still being counted.”

The dead and the wounded. Holy Mother of God, please not Rurik! Feeling as if she might be sick, Zora forced herself to think rationally.

“Then we must go and look for him, Arne!” She glanced past him to the four men on horseback who appeared to be waiting for them and then back to his dirt-smudged face. “You have horses—”

“Aye, but not to take you to search the battlefield. Grand Prince Yaroslav sent us to fetch you, for he wants you at his side when he meets with your father in Chernigov. He has decided to seek a compromise rather than suffer more bloodshed. If we go on fighting, many more will die for there is still much strength left in both armies.”

“But what of my husband?” she cried, helpless tears welling in her eyes. “My husband, Arne! He might be hurt…he might need me!”

Although his gaze held pity, the grizzled warrior’s voice was resolute.

“Many are looking for him, my lady, and there is always the chance he could have been taken prisoner. Knowing Lord Rurik as I do, he probably ignored the order for retreat and fought on until the last moment, only to become overpowered and captured by your father’s advancing forces. We must hope that is what happened, but for now you must come with me. The grand prince is waiting. He believes your presence may help ease the way for talk of peace.”

“No!” Backing away, Zora shook her head. “My uncle and my father be damned! If I go anywhere, it will be to search for my husband—”

“Forgive me, my lady,” said Arne as he lunged for her and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him. The Varangian who had so resented being left out of the battle caught her other arm, the two men half dragging her to the horses as she twisted and struggled between them.

“No…please! Let me go!” she demanded desperately, but it did nothing but make her voice hoarse. She was lifted into a saddle, one of the men who had accompanied Arne now her steely armed captor.