The Pagan's Prize (17 page)

"But I warn you, Princess, you will find other
wandering marauders along your way if you persist in your preposterous plan to
escape, and then I won't be there to help you." Staring at her
tear-stained face, he threw out his next words like a challenge. "Decide
now what you will do. Either come with me to Novgorod or take your chances on
foot."

"You . . . you are offering me a choice?"

No,
Rurik
thought, seeing the amazement in her eyes,
but
let her think so.
If she came with him willingly, fearing for her welfare
if she did not, then the remainder of their journey might be peaceful.

He couldn't afford to keep chasing her down; he had
only two men left now, and Leif had suffered a wound across the shoulder. If
she decided against him, he would keep her tied up until he dumped her in front
of Grand Prince Yaroslav. Either way, he would win.

"You heard me, Zora. Decide!"

Sensing her uncertainty, Rurik wondered if he might
very well have a trussed up, indignant, and acid-tongued princess on his hands
for the remainder of the journey. But then he saw her delicate shoulders droop
in resignation.

As she rose shakily, he stifled again his desire to
crush her in his embrace, and disgusted by his waning self-control, he set out
through the woods.

"Aren't you even going to hear my answer?"

"I have other things to do," he said grimly,
thinking ahead to Kjell's burial. Finding that the fallen warrior's body was
gone, he surmised that Arne must have already carried him to the ship. Anger
and regret surged within him again. Kjell had been struck from behind, dying
without a sword in his hand; it was the worst fear of every Varangian,
Christian or not.

Thor's blood, he should never have agreed to allow the
untested boy on this mission! He had known from the start that Kjell lacked the
true instincts of a fighter. His weapon was still in his scabbard when Rurik
had found him. His sensitive poet's nature had killed him.

The besotted fool might still be alive if Zora hadn't
so wantonly misled him, Rurik thought, his resentment flaring. But now was not
the time to rail at her for that, not when she was hurrying to catch up with
him, branches snapping beneath her feet. When they passed the place where the
young warrior had fallen, Rurik saw the black earth stained dark with blood. He
heard Zora gasp softly.

"Where is Kjell?"

Her eyes were shining with fresh tears as Rurik turned
to look at her.

"So you know that he was killed?"

She nodded, her delicate hand pressed to her lips. "Arne
has taken him back to the ship."

She said nothing for a long moment. Then she whispered
brokenly, "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Lord Rurik."

Startled by her apology and touched by its heartfelt
sincerity, Rurik nonetheless swallowed the catch in his throat.

"Sorry? Don't tell me that you're admitting you
caused this misfortune."

She tilted her chin in defiance. "I'm sorry for
what happened to Kjell . . . not for trying to escape."

By Odin, she
could rile him like no other!
Rurik thought. "The two events were
intertwined, Princess. If Kjell hadn't run after you, he would have had the
ship to protect his back during the attack. I suggest you save your apologies
for his father, Thordar the Strong, another member of the grand prince's senior
druzhina
."

This news came like a double blow. Zora wished
desperately that she could turn back time and she hadn't tried to escape, for
perhaps this man could somehow have helped her as Kjell had claimed right
before he was struck down. If only he had told her sooner! But now there seemed
to be nothing she could do but face the wrath of Kjell's father as she must
soon face her uncle.

Using her palm to smudge away the last remnants of her
tears, Zora glared resentfully at Rurik. "Never fear, great lord, you'll
hear no more apologies from me," she said as she brushed past him. "And
you can be sure I'll hold on to my thanks for saving me from those men as well!
I doubt you'd think it sincere anyway, so why waste my breath?"

Rurik's gaze followed Zora's shapely form as she wended
her way through the trees. She seemed not to care if he was coming after her or
not. Silently he cursed the strange hold she seemed to have upon him, a hold
that was gaining strength despite his every effort to shatter its grip. Yet
thankfully it seemed tempered in light of his renewed irritation.

Lengthening his strides to catch up with her, he hoped
that she did spite him all the way to Novgorod. As long as he was angry with
her, these unwanted feelings could be kept at bay. And if her antics weren't
enough, he had only to think of Kjell and her womanly deceit.

Chapter 12

Half out of breath, Zora attempted in vain to yank her
arm away from Rurik. She was humiliated that he was practically dragging her
across the paved courtyard leading to Grand Prince Yaroslav's palace. As they
left the imposing timbered gatehouse behind them, she could feel the Varangian
warriors who stood sentinel around the fortified compound eyeing her curiously.

"You could have at least allowed me to change into
proper clothes first, brush out this braid, wash my face, something!" she
gasped out, struggling to keep up with him.

"There wasn't time." Rurik gripped her elbow
more tightly. "By now your uncle has received news of my return from the
guards who met the ship. He is expecting us . . . that is, expecting me. You,
Princess, will be a surprise."

A surprise for
you, too, Lord High-and-Mighty
, Zora fumed, wondering what Rurik would
think when he discovered he had escorted a mere bastard daughter almost the
length of Rus.

"Can't we slow down just a bit?" She shot him
an angry sidelong glance. "You'd think we were running a race—"

"I caution you to curb your temper," Rurik
said, maintaining his pace. By Thor, he would carry her kicking and screaming
into Yaroslav's hall if need be, he was so anxious to be rid of her! "You're
a prisoner, remember? Despite your blood relation to the grand prince, he will
not appreciate your insolence. He can be very quick to anger."

"I could care a whit about what my uncle thinks,"
came her blatantly defiant reply. "Or you, for that matter! You can save
your advice."

Frowning, Rurik was tempted to throw her over his
shoulder and give her bottom a good whack, if only to teach her a lesson, but
he decided not to let her goad him, which she seemed bent upon doing. Her
truculent behavior was certainly a change from the uneasy calm of the last few
days, but he couldn't say that he had missed it.

"Suit yourself, Princess, but don't say that you
weren't forewarned."

"That's it? No threat?" Gaining courage from
his surprisingly cool response, Zora wished she had more time to tell him
exactly what she thought of him and the past two weeks of enduring his company,
but they had reached the entrance to the massive stone palace. The
fierce-looking guards bowed their heads respectfully and stepped aside so that
she and Rurik might pass through the heavy double doors.

Her ruthless captor scarcely deserved such homage, Zora
fumed. But she was soon distracted by her surroundings. She could tell at once
that her father's palace, although sumptuous, was not nearly so large as this
one.

Many polished weapons hung from the high, three-story
walls, their brilliant pattern broken at intervals by colorful tapestries
depicting hunting expeditions and victorious battle scenes. Tall, thick candles
lit the cavernous space for there were no windows, while at the far end of the
hall, logs the height of small trees burned brightly in an immense fireplace.
Although it had been sunny and warm outdoors, spring fading into more
summerlike weather, the air inside was chill.

Besides the guards standing at silent attention
throughout the room, there was a group of men engaged in discourse near the
roaring fire. Zora recognized her uncle at once among the somber quartet whom
she imagined must be some of his advisers.

Dark of hair and barrel-chested, with large eyes and a
ruddy complexion, Yaroslav resembled her father in all ways save for his
height. The grand prince was a short man, standing perhaps a few inches higher
than herself. Unkindly, Zora reasoned that he had surrounded himself with such
a lofty palace to compensate for his lack of stature.

"So you have safely returned, Rurik Sigurdson!"
the grand prince said in a great booming voice, startling Zora when he broke
away from the group and strode energetically toward them.

She stood uncomfortably to one side while the two men
embraced heartily, confirming that Rurik held a very high place in the ruler's
esteem. Then to her surprise they moved away, leaving her standing there alone
as if she were invisible. She had never felt so insulted.

"I trust that we've much to discuss,"
Yaroslav began, his tone sobering as he gestured to the tall chairs placed in a
semicircle before the fireplace. "Come, let us sit and—'

"Forgive my interruption, lord prince," Rurik
broke in, feeling Zora's indignant gaze boring into his back. Despite the grave
seriousness of this meeting, her reaction made him want to smile. Yaroslav's
disinterest in her had obviously set her down a notch or two. "There is
another matter that first demands our attention."

"Another matter? What could be more important . .
. T' As Rurik gestured for Zora to come forward, Yaroslav focused upon her as
if seeing her for the first time. Then he glanced questioningly at Rurik. "This
grubby youth has some bearing upon our discussion? A messenger, perhaps?"

Seeing Zora stiffen, Rurik had to stifle again his urge
to smile. "Not a youth, my lord" —he reached out and flipped Zora's
thick braid over her shoulder— "but a wench and my prisoner for almost
three weeks now. Your niece, Princess Zora of Tmutorokan."

Zora jerked away from him. She was not going to stand
there while Rurik toyed with her person and talked over her head! Throwing
aside all caution, she rounded upon her uncle.

"Yes, I'm Princess Zora and I demand that you
release me at once and return me to my father, Prince Mstislav!" she
cried, her outraged voice echoing in the hall. "Such a gesture can only
begin
to compensate for the crimes that
this brutal man has committed against me. Before abducting me from Chernigov,
he vilely assaulted me and stole my honor, then threatened me at cost of life
and limb if I dared to try and escape. He almost suffocated me on one occasion,
nearly ravaged me again on another, and has forced me all along to wear this .
. . this man's garb! I demand justice! I demand—"

"Silence!"

Her heart pounding, Zora clamped her mouth shut in
surprise. She stared at her uncle, who appeared unaffected by her outburst
despite his just having to shout to quiet her. Yet his eyes now held a cold
glint of hardness.

"You will hold your tongue until I ask you to
speak," Yaroslav warned in a low tone. "Do you understand?" Reluctantly,
she nodded.

"Excellent." He turned to Rurik, whose
expression had grown dark and angry. "I can well imagine why you thought
it important to bring this woman to Novgorod, but first, before you respond to
her many charges, I want to know how you came upon my brother's bastard
daughter."

Now Rurik looked stunned. Zora felt smug satisfaction
at his reaction and smiled tightly when he glanced at her, granting him a
slight, mocking bow of her head.

"A bastard?"

Yaroslav uttered a short, humorless laugh. "Born
of Velika, Mstislav's favorite concubine, some seventeen years ago. Am I not
correct, young woman?"

Zora was not surprised he knew about her. She had
expected as much. "Yes, my mother was Velika."

"Beautiful woman," the grand prince said
almost to himself. "I met her once when Mstislav brought her with him to
Kiev, our father having summoned us for a meeting of his council. We were
rivals even then, long years before we would become the bitterest of enemies."
His tone grown cold, he glanced at Zora. "I can see now that you favor
your mother . . . perhaps even surpass her in beauty if you get rid of the
dirt. Did you not allow her to bathe, Rurik?"

"She refused, my prince."

"Hmmm . . . stubborn and defiant, with a willful
tongue to match," Yaroslav said, studying her so intently that Zora began
to feel uncomfortable. "Not the wisest of traits for any captive." He
turned abruptly to Rurik. "You captured her in Chernigov?"

"Not exactly, my lord, but it is a long story—"

"And one I am most eager to hear. Continue."

Wondering what Yaroslav had meant by his cryptic
statement, Zora listened impatiently as Rurik recounted how he had found her in
the trading camp, and to her surprise, she learned that the slave merchant Gleb
had not been killed, as she had believed. Another lie Rurik had fed her! Then
he repeated what little she had told him about Hermione, and at that point the
grand prince gave another laugh as dry as the first.

"If this is true, it sounds as if young Hermione
has taken on the traits of her Greek mother. I met Canace only once, a year
later in Kiev at her wedding to my brother. As lovely to look upon as a
vermilion rose, but possessing the prickliest of thorns. Too bad the woman
Mstislav married was not the one he loved."

"My lord?" asked Rurik while Zora stood
motionless, hearing a family history she knew only too well.

"He wanted to marry Velika, but our father
Vladimir would not hear of it. Only a highborn bride who was cousin to Emperor
Basil of Byzantium would do. How it must have vexed Canace to come into a
household where a Slavic concubine held the stature of wife." Yaroslav's
gaze shifted to Zora. "Yet in time, your mother was banished from the
palace, was she not?"