“You’ve nothing to fear, little one,” he said as he led her into the shadowed, windowless chamber. “It’s only a mouse—”
A loud stamping sound came from the other room, followed by a satisfied grunt. “A dead one,” Arne announced.
Shaking his head, Rurik set the sputtering lamp on the floor and tossed the large bundle of furs he’d been carrying onto the bed. The straw-filled mattress appeared somewhat fresh, but he would cover it with soft skins anyway. This room wasn’t the fine bower his wide-eyed beauty was surely accustomed to, but it was the best available. At least it would offer them more privacy than the tent aboard ship.
“My stomach’s yowling like the wolves of Hel,” said Arne, appearing on the threshold. “If you’d like, my lord, I’ll set up a fine feast in the other room.” His gaze raked over the woman. “She looks like she could use a hot meal. She’s a bit too skinny for my taste.”
“Better skinny than too fat like you.” The woman’s retort had been uttered so softly that Rurik almost believed he had imagined it. Then he noticed the slight jutting of her chin. Amused by this little show of temper, he glanced back at Arne, who thankfully had missed the insult.
“The wench and I will be eating alone tonight,” he said, not offering any further explanation.
Arne stared at him in some confusion. “You will?”
Rurik nodded meaningfully. Settling his arm around the woman’s shoulders, he felt the tension in her body subside as he drew her close.
Arne appeared even more confused. “But, Lord Rurik…you said you weren’t keeping the wench for yourself—”
“I’m not. I have a plan, Arne. Trust me.”
The warrior gaped at them for an instant, then understanding lit his eyes and his swarthy, bearded face broke into a lusty grin. “Aye, I’m sure you do, Lord Rurik. When it comes to pleasing the wenches…” Chuckling, he turned to leave.
“A jug of wine would be nice, my friend, and half of that fine crusty loaf of bread if you can spare it. And some of that spit-roasted mutton,” Rurik called after him.
“There’s more than enough.” Arne gave Rurik a broad wink over his shoulder. “It’ll take me a moment to fetch your meal, then I’ll trouble you no more save for my snoring.”
Rurik smiled wryly, but he sobered when he studied the woman nestled against him. If she had been affronted a moment ago, he saw no sign of it now. She seemed perfectly content in his embrace, her eyes large and luminous in the lamp’s golden light.
Feeling his heart beginning to pound, he hoped Arne hurried with their meal. He was inclined to slam the door shut so they would not be disturbed. He could not remember ever having such a pleasurable task before him, his goal being to drive this woman to such wild distraction that she screamed out her master’s name.
He couldn’t wait to claim her, to quench within her temptress’s body his mounting lust ignited too many long hours ago. Surely when he was spent and satiated, he would be freed from this ungodly fascination. Other enchanting women had ceased to intrigue him when he had tasted their feminine secrets. She would be no different.
Rurik was relieved when Arne’s hulking form appeared once more in the doorway, and he left the woman to drag a low, lopsided table over to the bed, indicating with a nod that their meal should be set upon it. As the warrior obliged him, Rurik cut the rope binding the furs and spread some of them over the mattress. The rest he tossed to Arne.
“Sleep well, my friend, but take care that your sword is drawn and ready at your side,” Rurik cautioned. “As you said, we’ve enemies all around us.”
“Aye, the usurping dogs,” Arne muttered in agreement as he shut the door behind him.
Following his own advice, the first thing Rurik did when he and the woman were finally alone was unbuckle his sword belt and lay it upon the floor within easy reach of the bed. Then he bade the woman to sit upon the lumpy mattress and he took the place beside her.
“Are you hungry, little one?” Rurik noted how prominent her cheekbones were in a face grown thinner during the past few days.
She smiled her assent, a small curve of her lips that tugged strangely at his heart. He tore off a chunk of bread for her, deciding as she eagerly took a bite that the recovery of her appetite was a good sign. Combined with her recent displays of temperament, he hoped that before the evening was done he would see many more such signs, and thus have a terse message addressed to her wealthy master not long after the first light of dawn.
“Wine?”
As she swallowed another mouthful of bread, she nodded, and he quickly pulled out the stopper and offered her the jug so that she might drink. To his surprise, she took a long draft as if very thirsty, yet it pleased him for her to do so. If she possessed any fears at all about his sensual advances, he hoped they would be dulled by the wine’s soothing effect.
“Try some of the mutton,” he urged, waiting until she had eaten a good portion despite the fact that the fragrant seared meat had his stomach growling.
It seemed in moments that the wooden platter was empty between them, the bread devoured, and the wine jug empty. He could not help noticing how delicately she had consumed her meal, confirming to him that her manners were indeed refined. Frowning as if trying to remember something, she seemed to look about her for a water bowl to cleanse her soiled fingers, then she sighed in frustration, her hands falling to her lap.
“Would you like to bathe?” Rurik asked, remembering the large bucket of fresh water that the owner of the shack had left them in the other room. At her low-spoken “Yes,” he was on his feet and striding from the bedchamber, startling Arne who almost dropped a hunk of mutton as he lurched from the table.
“My lord?”
“Go back to your meal.” Rurik picked up the bucket, wishing that he had hot, steaming bathing water to offer the woman. It was easy to imagine how fetching she might look sitting in a tub with her wet hair streaming around her, her beautiful breasts sleek and glistening with moisture.
When he returned to their room, the woman had stripped to the waist, her tunic and the cloth sash lying upon the floor, and she was working at the rope belt at her waist. She must have sensed him standing there, for she looked up and met his eyes, her expression troubled.
“I can’t untie the knot.”
Closing the door, Rurik moved quickly to her side, marveling that she was so unconcerned by her nakedness. As he deftly undid the belt, she regarded him with such frankness that it took his breath away. Her manner was so comfortable, so trusting, she must look upon him in the same light as her master.
Suddenly he found himself deeply envious of this boyar to possess such a woman. She seemed so eager to please him, almost as if awaiting his next move…
“Let me help you,” he said huskily, slipping her trousers down over her curved hips and deliciously rounded bottom. When she was standing naked before him, her body silhouetted in gold from the lamp behind her, Rurik doubted he had ever known such desire. She was fashioned so finely. Perfection.
His instincts screamed for him to take her, now, but another part of him wanted to savor the treasure that had been placed in his path. Wadding the sash, he dipped it into the bucket until the cloth was soaked. Then he began to bathe her, first her face, taking care to rub gently over the bruise upon her cheek that was just beginning to fade.
Her entrancing blue eyes never wavered from his gaze, and she stood still for his ministrations as if it were a common thing for a man to perform such a task upon her. Again he found himself filled with envy, but he did not stifle it, the emotion part of the spell under which she held him captive.
Next he slid the wet cloth down her lovely throat, across her fine-boned shoulders, and along slender arms he couldn’t wait to feel wrapped tightly around his back. Dipping the sash into the bucket, he brought it to her breasts and squeezed, the coolness of the water that slicked her golden skin causing her to gasp and her apricot-brown nipples to pucker.
Rurik thought for sure
that he had endured enough, but he continued to bathe her, down her taut belly, over her hips and between her legs, when suddenly she lost his gaze. Closing her eyes and whimpering deep in her throat, she arched against his hand, her soft woman’s curls tickling his skin.
It was too much. Sweeping her into his arms, Rurik laid her upon the bed and leaving her for only a moment, undressed more swiftly than he had ever thought possible. As he blanketed her with his body, he no longer cared about savoring her or taking his time. He wanted her so badly that he was shaking. Believing she wanted him just as much, he parted her legs with his knee and thrust inside her with such vehemence that she cried out…not a man’s name, not in ecstasy, but in raw pain.
“By Odin…?” Rurik had had virgins before, and in that unsettling instant, he knew the woman moaning beneath him had never known another man. Yet he could no sooner stop his wild assault than the furious hammering of his heart.
“Sshh, little one…sshh,” he soothed, knowing from experience that soon her pain would pass and rippling pleasure take its place.
Kissing her hungrily, passionately, the wine-scented taste of her mouth driving him into a frenzy, he nonetheless drew back a little and slipped his hand between their bodies. His fingers found the slick, wet heat he was seeking and he slid them into her, teasing the tender bud hidden there that seemed to swell beneath his touch.
He was rewarded at once by her sharp inhalation of surprise, then broken whimpers as she began to toss beneath him, her hips thrusting upward as urgently as he delved within her, neither his fingers or his deepening kisses giving her any peace. He almost laughed in triumph against her lips when her arms curled around his neck to grip him tightly, her panting as hot and breathless as his own.
Then he thought no more, the searing sensation in his loins building to such intensity that he grimaced as if in mortal pain.
From some far-off place he heard her cries of rapture, her incredibly tight, blistering sheath gripping him like a throbbing vise…squeezing him, teasing him, until he reached that point where his body stiffened and his breath jammed hard in his chest. As a pure hot explosion of sensation overwhelmed him, more blindingly powerful than anything he remembered, he called out to the woman beneath him, no matter that he didn’t know her name…
Rurik could not say how much time had passed before he raised his head, but he guessed a good while for the woman’s eyes were closed, her breathing deep and regular as if she were asleep. Either that or she had fainted from the force of her passion. He had seen such a thing before. Fearing his weight was too much for her, he rolled over and carried her with him until she was lying on top of him, their bodies still joined.
Loki take him, the wench had been a virgin, he thought incredulously, cursing the devious god of mischief who had wreaked this havoc. A damned virgin! The last thing he had expected was innocence.
Rurik sighed heavily as the woman’s gentle breathing stirred the blond curls upon his chest. He hadn’t expected the powerful feelings that were crashing in upon him either. Instead of being satiated, he was more intrigued than ever.
A concubine, yet a virgin? An innocent possessing the passionate nature of a wanton? A woman who had looked to him for protection, yet who might now be compromised in value to her master because Rurik had stolen her chastity? An insistent inner voice demanded that he save her from the wrath his defilement of her might arouse, that he keep her safe from harm and take her back with him to Novgorod. He had never felt so strongly drawn to any woman since Astrid—
No, by Odin! For that reason alone, he would leave this wench to her fate!
His actions had been impulsive since the first moment he saw her, but no more! Women were trouble of the worst kind, and he would do well to remember that.
Besieged by bitter memories, Rurik shifted the woman from his body and rose from the bed. To continue touching her, holding her, was a torment he did not need. After covering her with a soft fur, he threw several skins onto the floor and lay down.
Tomorrow morning he would rid himself of her, even if he must abandon his plan to use her for information. He wanted no woman around him that made him feel like this one. He would leave her near the gates of Prince Mstislav’s palace, where someone would surely recognize her and return her to her rightful master.
It had to be done.
Chapter 6
Awaking with a start, Zora winced at the tenderness between her legs. It wasn’t a true pain, but a dull ache, yet she had never felt such a sensation before.
She shifted slightly, amazed that her entire body was sore. She stared in confusion at the raftered ceiling, trying to gather her muddled thoughts. Where was she? Rubbing her hands over her face, she sharply inhaled as she touched her left cheekbone. Ouch, it hurt! Frowning, she ran her fingertips more gingerly over her skin, wondering what she could have done
“Holy Mother Mary,” she breathed in horror, all too suddenly remembering why her cheek hurt so painfully as if a ray of brilliant light had pierced her brain. He…he had struck her! That Varangian trader, Halfdan Snakeeye!
Dreadful memories leapt to life in her mind, lurid sights and sounds: Halfdan’s scarred face, his leering grin, his terrible laughter…and the naked slave women in the tent, all of them writhing, moaning, then the trader throwing her down upon a bench and stroking himself right in front of her!
Halfdan’s coarse words flew at her “You cannot escape me, pretty bird. I will have you, here, now, in the dirt!” Then she was running, running, and begging for aid but no one would help her. No one would listen! Fierce-looking Varangians were everywhere, and Halfdan was coming closer and closer. She remembered crying out, “You cannot do this!” then he struck her down and she was falling
“Oh, no…” Zora whispered, feeling suddenly very sick. “Oh, God, no.” Rising abruptly on her elbow, Zora flung aside the furs, her hand moving to the place where the dull throbbing was centered. She felt a wetness and gasped in disbelief at the scarlet blood staining her trembling fingers, the same telltale sign smeared upon the inside of her thighs.
He had raped her! That brutish, dung-smelling Varangian had raped her!
A half sigh, half groan suddenly drew her gaze to the floor. She stared wide-eyed, her heart pounding in rage and fear, at the naked man sleeping only four feet away with his broad, muscled back to her. In the dim lighting she could see that he was huge, his hair blond. She didn’t need to see more.
Halfdan!
Her first thought was to flee. Then the bright glint of metal near the sputtering oil lamp caught her eye and she drew fresh courage. Focusing with deadly intent upon the sword lying within arm’s reach, she decided then and there that she was going to kill him for what he had done to her.
Burning for vengeance, Zora vaulted from the bed, and grabbing the sword hilt, she yanked the heavy weapon from its sheath. She staggered beneath its weight, but clenching her teeth from the effort and fueled by blinding fury, she managed to lift the sword high enough to deal one fatal, hacking blow.
“Now you will pay!” Yet the blade had no sooner begun its downward motion when she was knocked violently to her knees, the sword wrenched from her hand.
In the next instant she was hauled by the shoulders to her feet, coming face-to-face with a man she realized at once was not Halfdan. In fact, she could not recall ever seeing him before, although she guessed from his sheer size and fair hair that he must be a Varangian. She gaped up at him in astonishment, his expression so thunderous that she was swept by cold fear.
“This is something new, little one,” he said in a low husky voice that sent strange chills through her. He gripped her upper arms tightly. “I’ve heard of those who walk in their sleep, but to engage in swordplay? A most dangerous affliction indeed. Someone could have been hurt.”
Confused that he addressed her as if he knew her, Zora stared into eyes that appeared black as night in the room’s dimness and a bearded countenance made no less handsome by his obvious anger. “Who-
who…are you?” she finally demanded, her voice hoarse.
“You don’t recognize me?”
Again, she was startled. Recognize him? How could she? She had never seen this man before.
Zora shook her head.
Now the blond giant seemed somewhat surprised. “Yet you raised my own sword against me,” he said, searching her face. “Why?”
“You raped me! You deserve to die for what you have done, you…you filthy pagan!”
Rurik stared at her incredulously, his head beginning to pound. It seemed his docile charge had at last recovered. Gone was the acquiescent child-woman who had so captivated him, and in her place, a defiant avenging angel with apparently no memory of the past few days, let alone the last few hours. Thor’s blood, if he hadn’t heard his sword sliding from the scabbard, he would have been dead!
“It was no rape,” he said tightly. He had never taken any woman to his bed against her will. That might be the sport of other Varangian warriors, but not his. “You did not spurn my advances, wench, but eagerly welcomed them.”
“Liar!” Her eyes snapped indignant fire. “I would rather die than submit to a barbarian such as you!”
Suddenly she ground her heel into his big toe with such fury that he released her, cursing. She fled to the foot of the bed, and as if realizing for the first time that she was stark naked, she yanked a fur off the mattress and flung it around herself.
“Say what you like, wench, but you did submit to me and willingly.” Undaunted by her insults and her behavior although his toe throbbed in pain, Rurik took a step toward her but reconsidered when she lunged for the empty wine jug and held it poised in front of her like a weapon. Perhaps if he tried to reason with her, he might coax her into cooling her temper. She had already tried to kill him once and then stomped upon his foot. He didn’t relish the idea of sustaining any further injury at her hand.
“I didn’t know you were a virgin.” He used the same soothing tone she had responded to favorably in the past. “If I had, I wouldn’t have touched you. It was not my intent to cause any trouble between you and your master—”
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