Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “Damn you, you’re hurting me!” she cried, twisting futilely. “Why are you squeezing me so? I’m not fool enough to jump off a galloping horse!” When he didn’t answer or ease his hold, she peered around her and saw that they were riding through dense woods, the sky still so gray and cloudy that it appeared almost dusk.

  “Maybe you think we haven’t gone far enough, but I certainly do,” she persisted, struggling anew. “What of your arrangements with Lord Ivan? He won’t know where to find me in this forest—’

  “No arrangements were made,” Rurik interrupted, his voice grim.

  Zora felt a telling chill. “No arrangements?”

  “Your Ivan is probably still searching the ships along the Desna River. When he and his men reach ours, they will find it deserted. And when he discovers his so-called elite guards allowed four unknown men to leave the city, he’ll connect the two incidents and hang the witless fools right then. I would do so if they were warriors under my banner.”

  “You…you lied to me!” Zora cried, sickened that she could have allowed herself to be tricked by this black-hearted devil. She should have screamed, struggled, fought him, anything to draw attention to herself! Instead she had clung to him as he had commanded, afraid that if she made a move she would never see Ivan again. “I’ll see you skewered alive for this treachery! You damned heathen, you lied!”

  “As you did to me…Zora, princess of the Tmutorokan Rus.”

  She froze, gaping at him. Fear and incredulity quickly quenched her indignation. May God protect her, he knew!

  “Why do you call me by that name?” Zora said in a desperate attempt to confuse him. But she knew it was hopeless. He was too perceptive, seemingly able to read her moves before she even made them. “I’m Ilka—”

  “Your name is Zora and you are the youngest daughter of Prince Mstislav, the usurper.” Rurik’s expression was hard as he glanced at her for an instant and then lifted his gaze to the path ahead of them. He kept his voice just loud enough so that she could hear him above the horses’ galloping hooves.

  “You were abducted from a royal caravan by a slave trader who was tricked into believing you were a concubine, although for what purpose I have yet to discover. News of your disappearance reached Chernigov only this morning and presently hundreds of your father’s troops, perhaps thousands, are searching for you under the direction of your betrothed, Lord Ivan. Your father has even announced a reward of one thousand gold grivna for your safe return.” He clasped her tighter, his grip punishing. “But they won’t find you, Princess. By sunset, we’ll be on a ship bearing north.”

  “North?” she parroted, her mind unwilling to grasp how close she had come to her father, Ivan, and safety only to have their rescue and all hope snatched from her. “What of Kiev?”

  “Another lie,” he said easily. “We’re bound for Novgorod.”

  Zora tensed. So her captor was a damned spy. Why else would he forgo such an exorbitant reward, instead planning to travel almost five hundred miles? No unscrupulous fortune hunter with a whit of sense would pass up such a sum! This Varangian was fueled only by allegiance, and she could well imagine to whom it belonged. Grand Prince Yaroslav, her father’s hated brother. Novgorod was his city, and the seat of his power.

  With this startling realization came some comfort, and Zora willed herself to relax.

  Her captor could no longer hurt her! If anything, he would be obliged to protect her until they reached Novgorod and she came face-to-face with the liege lord who had sent him upon his secretive mission.

  “You’re a spy, aren’t you?” she accused, not surprised when Rurik briefly met her eyes. “For Yaroslav, my uncle.”

  He did not answer, but she knew from the way he clenched his jaw that she had guessed the truth.

  “And I?” she demanded. “What have I become, Lord Rurik?”

  “A pawn.”

  His blunt reply was horribly final, and Zora was seized by sudden desperation. “Please…” she begged, though it galled her that she even found it within herself to do so. “Please let me go. What use can I be to Grand Prince Yaroslav? He must know that I am a—”

  “Enough!” Rurik cut in harshly. “It is not my authority to release you. The grand prince alone can decide your fate. I only escort you to him.”

  Zora held her reckless tongue then. She must keep calm; use her head. It was a good thing that he had interrupted her before she had given away her baseborn status. A very good thing.

  If she had revealed to him that she was a bastard daughter, Rurik might think her less valuable and decide that he could still take liberties with her. It was possible. He had assaulted her when he thought her a mere concubine, hadn’t he? Usually, bastards counted as no more than slaves in Rus, and even though her father had offered an incredible reward for her, Rurik might hold the more common view.

  Suddenly an idea came to her, filling her with nervous excitement and almost bringing a smile to her lips.

  Why not make this journey as difficult for him as possible? Since he must protect her until they reached Novgorod, he would be loathe to touch her or punish her no matter what she did to frustrate him. And frustrate him she would! This pagan would wish a thousand times that he had left her in Chernigov!

  Now Zora did smile. If she escaped somewhere along the route to Novgorod, so much the better. How humiliating it would be for him to return to her uncle’s kreml with the news that he had captured her, but she had eluded him! If Rurik was a lord indeed, as his title suggested, her escape would discredit him. A proud Varangian warrior bested by a mere woman! He would be dishonored forever.

  Zora glanced furtively at Rurik to find that he was paying her no heed, his expression grim and his gaze narrowed as if searching the forest for signs of danger.

  Why not begin? It would make a fine test and maybe, if she was lucky, she would bring some of her father’s troops down upon them. They might still be close enough to Chernigov that someone might hear her.

  Inhaling deeply, Zora let out such a piercing scream that a flock of blackbirds perched high in the branches above them took to the sky, screeching and cawing in protest. Rurik was so startled that she managed to scream once more, this time right in his ear, before he could clap his hand over her mouth.

  “By Odin, woman, what are you trying to do?” he shouted, his face flushed dark with anger. Yanking the gag back into her mouth, he called to his warriors. “The wench might have given away our position. Ride hard, men, as if the black hounds of Hel were upon us! They might be now!”

  Zora gasped as Rurik jerked her hard against his chest and kicked his mount into a faster canter, his tone menacing as he added, “And if they find us, wench, I swear—”

  “I hope they do find us!” she retorted in spite of her gag, and to enrage him further, she started to laugh.

  “Minx! Do you think this a game? Thor’s blood, royal princess or no, you’ll soon discover that you’ve more than met your match!”

  “So will you, you cloddish pagan,” Zora replied under her breath, grinning just for his benefit. “So will you.”

  Chapter 9

  Her knees clasped to her breasts, Zora glowered at the tent wall.

  Were those swine going to bring her something to eat or not? Her stomach was so wretchedly empty that she felt almost sick from hunger. She hadn’t tasted food since the few bites she had managed in Chernigov, yet her Norse captors had the gall to be enjoying a meal without her! Outside they were loudly commenting on how delicious everything was while Arne recounted some ribald tale. She was certain his mouth was full as he spoke. The coarse, unmannered slob!

  The boat dipping and swaying beneath her like a flimsy piece of flotsam wasn’t helping her hollow stomach either. She had never imagined a river could be so rough, but then again, she’d only traveled smaller routes in the past. They were now on the great Dnieper, one of Rus Land’s main trade routes. When she had caught a glimpse of the vast river before she had been whisked aboard la
te yesterday afternoon, appearing as wide as any three she had ever seen, it was still swollen from the spring thaw, the currents fast and dangerous.

  Hearty male laughter erupted outside again. Zora frowned. The Varangians certainly seemed relaxed now that they were a night’s journey from Liubech.

  Before today the mood had been much darker. The tension resulting from her screaming fit in the forest had been palpable enough to cut and had lasted until well after they set sail. Although it had become clear from eavesdropping on Rurik’s low-spoken conversation with his men that the small trading town posed no threat, he hadn’t said more than a sentence to her.

  He had thrust her inside this stuffy, hastily constructed tent and roughly removed her gag with a terse threat that she had better remain quiet or else. She had been tempted to fling at him, “Or else what?” but had reluctantly held her tongue. His scowl had been fearsome. Obviously his anger toward her had not abated.

  Eventually she had fallen asleep, so exhausted from their long ride that she couldn’t keep her eyes open. At one point in the night she had half awoken to the unsettling sensation of someone watching her, but when she had rolled over to look, she was alone. She hadn’t opened her eyes again until a short while ago.

  “Shall I take the wench some food, my lord?” came an unknown male voice. At last someone had thought of her needs! “She’s probably awake by now and I imagine she’s hungry,” the voice continued.

  “You heard my orders, Kjell. If she wants something to eat, she can come out here and fetch it. I don’t want to see any of you waiting upon her. She may be Grand Prince Yaroslav’s niece, but I’ll not have you taking your minds off your duties to coddle some spoiled, overindulged princess.”

  Spoiled! Zora thought, outraged. Hardly! Hermione had always seen that she remembered her place in the terem whenever their warrior father wasn’t around, which was much of the time. And if she had known she was free to leave the tent without fear of rebuke, she would have done so earlier!

  Rising to her feet, Zora quickly smoothed her hair—the shortened length of her braid blatant testimony to Rurik’s cruelty—and adjusted her rumpled clothes. Then she swept from the tent to stand blinking at the bright morning sunshine.

  “Ali, Princess Zora. So you’ve decided to join us.”

  She shielded her eyes to look in the direction of that familiar mocking voice. Its rich, husky quality had strangely stirred her, she realized to her annoyance. Immediately she skipped her gaze from Rurik, whose wry half smile only fanned her resentment, to Arne, who eyed her suspiciously, then she regarded the two Varangians whom she’d barely gotten a close look at yesterday before that smelly blanket had been tossed over her head.

  One of the men, his hand upon the helm, was nearly as tall and immense about the shoulders as Rurik, with curly, flame-red hair and beard, while the other was clearly the youngest of the group and very blond, his youthful face sparsely bearded and quite handsome in a boyish sort of way. He gazed upon her almost with awestruck shyness. This surprised her. She had always heard that Varangians were brutal, bloodthirsty warriors, yet this one, although he had the build of a fighter, possessed the expressive eyes of a poet.

  “Are you going to stand there gawking or come and eat?”

  With a start, Zora met Rurik’s gaze and her heart suddenly seemed to beat faster. His eyes were so devastatingly blue, the sunlight glinting off his silver-blond hair as from a mirror, and there was certainly no boyish youthfulness about him. He was all man, dangerous-looking, powerful, from his arresting features to the hard, muscled lines of his body. To think that she had lain in his arms, that he had touched her so intimately—

  What in heaven’s name are you doing? Zora berated herself, stunned and infuriated by her thoughts. The rogue was her captor! He’d kidnapped her, gagged her, and practically starved her. Doing her best to ignore his disconcerting appraisal, ignoring all of them for that matter, she lifted her chin and went to the bench where the food was laid out.

  Entranced by the graceful way she moved, Rurik drank in the sight of her. Despite his determined resolve to consider her only as a pawn, he was relieved she was wearing baggy male garb. If she could look this fetching in ill-fitting rags, he could well imagine how she might appear in a luxurious full-length silk tunic cut to fit her temptress’s form.

  Apparently Kjell had noticed as well. The warrior was fairly gaping. Rurik threw the younger man a stern warning glance, though he could hardly blame him. Princess Zora seemed fashioned to turn any man’s head.

  “There’s plenty of food so take as much as you want.” Zora merely glared at him.

  Undaunted, Rurik added, “I suggest you take an extra portion of boiled beef. You slept through supper last night, so it’s cold. But it tastes good, and we won’t have fresh meat again for days.”

  She gave no reply, but quickly filled a wooden platter. Then she turned away, and determinedly kept from looking at them while she proceeded to the prow where she perched upon a water cask with her back to them.

  “Uppity little thing.” Arne tore off another generous chunk of rye bread. “Why don’t you tell her something of yourself, my lord? I don’t see any harm in it. Mstislav’s troops will never catch us now. You said she already knows you’re a spy, and if she knows your high rank as well, maybe she’ll feel herself in better company.”

  “I doubt anything I have to say will appease her,” Rurik muttered, ignoring the sidelong glances his men cast each other.

  He only hoped he could appease her uncle. He could imagine the heated accusations that would fly when they reached Novgorod and he presented his indignant captive to the grand prince. Yet he doubted Yaroslav would fault his actions. Rurik trusted that the grand prince would understand his motives, which had been fueled by Zora’s misrepresented identity. In time of war, such an excuse should suffice, even though Rurik knew it wasn’t the entire truth. Lust had played a part as well.

  Since leaving Chernigov, the journey had become a Hel for him. He kept recalling the sleek softness of her skin and the firm rounded beauty of her breasts, the seductive way she had parted her lips to him and the sweet, intoxicating taste of her mouth…the way she had moaned in ecstasy beneath him. He had been tempted to caress her cheek last night when he had gone to check on her, and only her sudden waking had sent him quickly from the tent.

  “Women,” Rurik said under his breath, rising.

  “Aye, they’re the plague of the world,” Arne answered with a grunt as Leif and Kjell looked on in silence. “You’re going to speak with her, then?”

  Nodding, Rurik filled a wooden cup with honey mead. After studying the distant shoreline for a moment and glancing upriver, he ordered his men, “Keep alert for any trouble.” Then he walked toward her. If Zora heard him approaching, she gave no hint of it, not even deigning to look in his direction, which irritated him further.

  By Thor, he couldn’t wait until they arrived in Novgorod, where he could relinquish his charge of her to Grand Prince Yaroslav! Surely having his six beautiful concubines around him again would chase this all too bewitching woman from his mind!

  “I brought you something to drink,” he said, holding out the brimming cup.

  Flustered by how close he was standing, Zora shifted to the very edge of the cask. “What is it?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Mead. Have you ever tasted it before? We Varangians highly favor it—”

  “I don’t want any,” she cut him off, although in truth she would have enjoyed the heady drink. But she refused to partake of anything this man said he enjoyed. Her eyes returned to her meal.

  Rurik sighed but he didn’t leave. To Zora’s annoyance, he sat down on an opposite cask, facing her.

  “It’s not poisoned, Zora, or drugged, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Swallowing a bit of beef and feeling that she was fast losing her appetite, Zora met his gaze. It unnerved her to hear him utter her name with such intimate familiarity. At least he could cont
inue to address her properly as “Princess Zora” or “my lady,” but she doubted he would even if she demanded it.

  “What’s on my mind is none of your concern—”

  “It is my concern,” he interrupted stiffly as if bridling his temper. “You may be my prisoner, Zora, but you don’t have to fear for your life or your person. Contrary to what you probably believe, my men and I do not prey upon women.”

  “Oh, no? After what I experienced at your hands, Lord Rurik, I would have to disagree. If rape isn’t preying upon women, then I must be misinformed.”

  His eyes took on a dark stormy hue as he leaned toward her. “It was no rape, and this is the last time I will tell you! How can you say that when you have no recollection of what happened? You weren’t yourself, woman! And you were not unwilling. I believed that you were a boyar’s concubine, familiar with the ways of men and women and experienced in lovemaking,” he stressed pointedly. “I took you to my bed hoping you would call out your master’s name in your pleasure, then I could return you to the man–”

  “In exchange for military information, am I not right?” Zora’s cheeks were ablaze from even hearing him talk of bedding her. It did not matter what he said, she would never believe him. How could she have given him so easily what she had wanted to preserve until her marriage to Ivan? She was no wanton!

  After a long moment, Rurik finally nodded, his expression grave. “You are as perceptive as I had thought. Yes, I knew when I learned of your value from the Slav merchant that my mission could profit from assisting you.”

  “I could expect no more from my father’s enemy,” Zora spat.