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

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “It will be hard, then, that I promise you,” said Rurik, exasperated by her stubbornness. When she gave no reply and tramped on without him, he stared after her, shaking his head.

  Loki take him, how could a woman who appeared so innocent and vulnerable in sleep vex him so completely when awake? And how could this one woman have captivated him to the point where his most exotic concubine had failed to tempt him?

  Even the ale he had consumed last night in the hall with his men had failed to spark his desire when he finally summoned Semirah to his longhouse. Never before had he held a warm, seductive woman in his arms only to be consumed with thoughts of another whose lips seemed so much redder, breasts so much more exquisite, and skin so much softer.

  Thank Odin that Semirah was proud. He doubted that she would reveal to anyone his lack of interest. And if the same thing happened again tonight with Radinka, his Bulgarian beauty, or tomorrow night with Kerstin, the Finnish mother of three of his sons, he might very well have to change his plan. Perhaps only when he had his fill of Zora would life here settle back to normal. His concubines might be willing to bear his indifference for a time if they believed that he would then welcome them lustily back to his bed…

  It was an idea, by Thor, and a damn good one! Rurik decided as he strode to catch up with Zora. But he wasn’t ready to abandon his most important lesson yet. His imperious princess would know that another woman had lain in his arms last night, and would tomorrow and the next day. Whether he made love to his concubines or not wasn’t important. All that mattered was that Zora learn her place. She was just another woman to warm his bed.

  “Hold!” he demanded, not surprised when she refused to stop.

  Her heart pounding, Zora sensed that Rurik was closing the distance between them but she couldn’t have been more surprised when she was suddenly swept up into his arms. His taunting smile astonished her all the more. She had hoped her defiance would have angered him. She had sworn to make his life a hell and she would, too, doubly now that he had just promised to make her life as difficult as possible. But she hadn’t expected such a reaction—

  “I told you to hold, woman,” he said huskily, gripping her hard against his massive chest. “I expect my commands to be obeyed without question.”

  Flustered by the heat in his eyes, Zora began to wriggle in his arms.

  “I’m not one of your warriors who you can just order about, nor one of your concubines who worships the ground you walk on! Do not forget I am here against my will and I plan to act accordingly!”

  “Then perhaps if I sling you over my shoulder and walk with you around the compound so everyone can see my new bride with her pretty bottom to the sky, you will come to understand that I will not tolerate such defiance. I had thought the feast tonight a good time to introduce you to my retainers, but this method might make a more lasting impression—”

  “Do what you wish,” Zora flung at him, thinking that he wouldn’t dare to so humiliate her. She was Grand Prince Yaroslav’s niece, after all. “I don’t care in the least what your people think of me!”

  “Very well.”

  To her horror, Zora suddenly found herself in the position Rurik had described, pitched over his broad shoulder. Unable to speak for a moment while she gasped for breath, she heard hearty laughter coming from the scaffolding and her face burned with embarrassment.

  “Comfortable?” Rurik asked amiably as he set out with her along the palisade.

  Zora could barely sputter a reply, she was so outraged, one of his hands splayed upon her bottom while the other caressed her upper thigh. “Put…put me down!” she demanded, striking his back with her fists. To her frustration, he seemed unaffected by her pummeling.

  “Tell me, wife,” he began conversationally. “How did you come by making such an observation about my concubines? Or did you simply assume they were content with their lot, as you should be.”

  “You’re mad if you think I’ll ever be content with the likes of you,” Zora said through clenched teeth, giving up her futile pounding. “Your Semirah may believe that she found paradise when she was sold into your arms, but I never will!”

  Rurik slowed his pace, some of his good humor fading. “You spoke with Semirah? When?”

  “This morning. You weren’t the only one to sneak into my room, though I doubt you came in through the window. Your guards would have given me no protection at all if your Khazar beauty had wanted to smother me with a pillow. She may have spent the night in your bed, as she so gloatingly informed me, but she isn’t very happy that you’ve taken a wife.”

  Feeling a knot of anger in his stomach, Rurik decided that he would have to speak with Semirah. He would tolerate no trouble between his women. Yet he was relieved to hear that she hadn’t divulged the truth about last night.

  “So you know—”

  “Yes, I know how you spent your wedding night and I don’t care!” Zora cut him off heatedly. “I told Semirah the same thing, too. If you’re thinking to taunt me with your concubines, Rurik, you only deceive yourself. It doesn’t matter to me in the least what you do with your women!”

  Rurik lifted her from his shoulder so quickly that he heard her gasp, yet when he set her down hard in front of him, her eyes shone with indignation, not fear.

  “Whether you care or not about what I do and with whom isn’t my aim, Princess,” he said tightly, his earlier humor vanished. “You can see now that I decide who shares my bed and when. You hold no special status here. The only difference between yourself and my concubines is that you bear the legal title of wife. Aside from that, they are your equals.”

  How hollow his words sounded to him, Rurik thought as Zora’s eyes filled with angry tears. He felt like he was trying to convince himself that they were true by saying them aloud, while in his innermost heart, he knew that the more he told himself she meant nothing to him, the more he realized that she did.

  Lying to Thordar at the cathedral had proved to him that he would do anything to protect her, for Zora would have been the target of a call for blood vengeance and not his entire household as he had led her to believe. True, Grand Prince Yaroslav deplored strife between his warriors, but Rurik had been thinking of her alone.

  Then standing in her chamber last night after he had left a disgruntled Semirah in his bed, he had almost believed that he might even be falling in love. But, by Odin, that was impossible! He trusted Zora the least of any woman he had ever known. She may be his wife but her allegiance lay with her father, his sworn enemy.

  “Come.” Rurik took her arm, inwardly cursing the effect her furious, teary-eyed silence had upon him. If she had believed him to be a ruthless brute before, he could just imagine what she must think of him now. “I’ve sent seamstresses to fit you for some new clothes. They will be waiting for you—”

  “Damn my new clothes and damn you to hell!” Zora shouted, his touch igniting like a red-hot spark to tinder the outrage boiling inside her. “I never asked to be your wife!” She swiped at her eyes, refusing to cry again in front of him. “I remember you telling my uncle that you had sworn never to marry and I wish to God you had kept your vow! I’ve never known a man as hard and unfeeling as you! How could I be cursed with such a husband?”

  Jerking away from him, her emotion almost choking her, Zora gave no thought to why Rurik didn’t stop her nor did she hear his ragged, half-whispered reply as she fled toward her longhouse.

  “Because I want you, Princess. The gods may spite me for a fool, but I want you.”

  Chapter 15

  Zora would have avoided Rurik the rest of the day, but he didn’t grant her a choice. Dressed in a new lavender silk tunic sewn by one of five busy seamstresses, she was escorted from the longhouse by two forbidding warriors.

  She could hear the clang of weapons well before they reached their destination, a large barren field on the opposite side of the compound, and she surmised that the men in Rurik’s druzhina were practicing their battle skills. It made little
sense to her that he would wish her to witness such a display. Did he think he might convince her that his warriors could best her father’s elite troops? Impossible.

  The field was lined by a two-deep throng of men wearing padded leather jerkins and helmets, wives dressed in their finest tunics, and excited, rosy-cheeked children. As soon as Zora approached with her escort, a path opened up for them that led right to the front. Again ignoring the curious stares, she spied Rurik at once, surrounded by three towheaded little boys who were tugging at his mail-shirt.

  “Play a game with us, Papa,” demanded the tallest boy who appeared about six years old. “We’ve been practicing!”

  “Yes, yes, Papa, a game!” chimed in the two littler ones, each holding a blunt-ended wooden sword.

  Laughter rippled through the crowd as Rurik obliged his eager sons by crouching low and parrying their awkward thrusts with his round, gold-painted shield. His delight at their efforts was obvious; he was smiling broadly and laughing, the rich, resonant sound echoed by the boys’ happy squeals.

  Zora watched him in amazement. So he had some feelings after all. Clearly he loved his children.

  Suddenly a little girl with bright red curls came running toward him, and asking his sons to stay their swords, Rurik rose and swept the child high into the air, her chubby arms flying around his neck to hug him tight. Their embrace reminded Zora of how she had used to race to greet her father in those happy times before her mother had died.

  Sighing, Zora broke from her reverie. Rurik was studying her, his pretty daughter’s flushed cheek pressed to his. Her own face growing warm under his appraisal, she could see that his expression had changed, becoming guarded where a moment ago it had been boyishly open. He had feelings, but they clearly did not extend to her. Squaring her shoulders, she watched as he kissed his child and then set her down, the little girl skipping over to a comely, russet-haired woman.

  Another concubine, Zora thought, assailed by that same perplexing pang of resentment. It was then that she noticed for the first time Semirah standing close to Rurik, her chin tilted haughtily, as well as several other richly dressed women with babes in arms or fair-haired tots at their skirts. Strange that she hadn’t noticed them earlier.

  Was it his plan now to publicly humiliate her by having all of his women and their children around him? Zora wondered as she walked toward him, her head held high. He seemed to be going to great lengths to prove she meant nothing to him. She had never been more convinced of anything in her life.

  “You sent for me, my lord?” As he regarded her, she could not help becoming a bit flustered. His eyes were so blue, his intent gaze holding hers captive.

  “It is far too beautiful an afternoon for anyone to stay indoors,” said Rurik, finding himself more entranced than he wanted to be by the way the sunlight glinted off her hair and how her eyes seemed to catch the light. “I thought you might enjoy the fresh air.”

  “In different company, perhaps I might. But as I don’t care to watch any display of arms, especially enemy forces, I would like to return—”

  “You will stay here,” Rurik broke in. “You will also accompany me later to the hall for a feast prepared in honor of our marriage.”

  “Oh, will I sit, then, at a table with your concubines or will I have the honor of a place at your side?” she asked innocently. Glancing around her, she added, “I see that you like keeping your women in packs… Not quite the way we do things.”

  “You will find yourself sitting in my lap for the entire meal if you don’t curb your tongue.” Rurik smiled just to taunt her. “And don’t think I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

  Giving her no chance to reply, he turned to Arne who stood nearby, and taking his helmet from the burly warrior, he donned it as he joined his men in the field. He could feel Zora glaring at him, her indignant gaze boring into his back, but he had other things to occupy him.

  Tomorrow he would again oversee his druzhina’s training, yet this afternoon he wanted to experience firsthand how some of his newest recruits’ skills had improved during his absence. Due to his information about the traitorous Severians joining Mstislav’s forces, Grand Prince Yaroslav had decided not to march against his brother until additional Varangian mercenaries arrived from his northern allies. That might take another month, which gave Rurik time to hone his men’s skills.

  “Wield your weapons as if your life depended upon it, men!” came the bellowed command of Nils Ulfsson, his senior warrior, as Rurik slid his sword from its sheath. “Soon it will!”

  Zora covered her ears as bloodcurdling war cries split the air, but the din didn’t seem to bother the rest of the onlookers. The shrieks and howls of the crowd’s approval combined with the wild melee. Barbarians! They loved the sights and sounds of battle…not just the men, but the women and children, too!

  As broadaxes and spears thudded against crude wooden targets shaped like warriors, Zora’s gaze moved instinctively to Rurik. He forged across the field, taking on one opponent after another, but this time thankfully it was only in practice.

  With a shudder she recalled the blood-soaked bodies strewn across that grassy field at the portage. And she felt fear for her father. If Yaroslav’s forces were made up of such powerful men as Rurik, what would be her father’s fate? Rurik looked invincible in his silver mail-shirt, which shone brightly in the sun, and a helmet she could only describe as a fearsome mask, the metal nose and cheek guards shielding his face. The ease with which he swung his sword amazed her; she recalled all too well how heavy it had been when she had lifted it against him.

  The cheers became even louder when a spear-throwing contest began, and Rurik’s exhilarated laughter carried to her as it came down to a match between him and three other warriors who at first appeared equally accomplished. How he was enjoying himself! She couldn’t have been more astonished when he grabbed a long spear in each hand and cast them together. And both struck the target, dead center.

  Victorious, Rurik gestured to a spear-carrying warrior standing at some distance from him. “Throw it at me,” he commanded.

  A charged hush fell over the field.

  What madness had possessed him to do such a thing? Zora wondered. Surely the man would not obey. Yet suddenly the weapon came hurtling through space, aimed at his heart.

  “Oh, God…” She gasped as Rurik dodged to one side and catching the spear in midair with a backhanded movement, he swung his arm around in a backward circle and brought the spear up again as if with a single motion. Then he flung it at the warrior who barely had time to duck before it sailed over his head.

  Everyone burst again into deafening cheers, the warriors who stood on the sidelines banging their swords upon their wooden shields. “Aye, Lord Rurik’s done that since he was a boy!” Arne boasted proudly.

  To her amazement, Zora felt herself smiling, but she grew sober when Rurik glanced toward her. Why, he was showing off! she realized, looking over her shoulder at his concubines who were broadly smiling. Then she noticed Semirah was standing right behind her, frowning. The Khazar woman leaned forward and whispered, “We must talk!”

  Confused, Zora pretended not to hear her. “You want to return to your home, yes?” Her voice was all but indiscernible for the shouting around them.

  Zora glanced sharply behind her, but fearing that someone might think her conversing with Semirah suspicious, she turned face front and said in a low aside, “Of course I—”

  “Then watch for my signal at the feast. When I stand, you follow a few moments later. Look for me outside the hall.”

  “But what will I say to Rurik—”

  “Think of something, Princess.”

  An instant later, Semirah slipped away. Hardly able to believe their brief exchange, Zora’s tense excitement became nervousness as Rurik strode from the field toward her. Holy Mother of God, had he seen them…?

  To her relief, he was smiling at her as he pulled off his helmet and her stomach did a strange flip-flop. Even with sweat tri
ckling down his tanned face, his blond hair damp and flattened against his head, he looked handsome enough to catch any woman’s eye. Semirah ran up to him and laughingly caught his arm. The concubine said something to him that Zora couldn’t hear, but it must have pleased Rurik for he laughed, too.

  Yes, she wanted to leave this place, Zora thought unhappily, swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat. It bothered her more than she cared to admit to see another woman clinging so possessively to Rurik, the same one he had taken to his bed only last night, although why she might feel this way…

  Oh, it was too absurd even to consider!

  The torchlit hall was enormous and richly appointed, the array of spiced food more varied and plentiful than Zora would have imagined, but she was too distracted to notice much else about either. Rurik’s hard, muscled thigh pressed against hers under the table was making it difficult to think, and Semirah’s every movement at an opposite table, whether to sample a morsel from her plate or to drink from her pewter cup, was only heightening Zora’s nervousness. She hoped the woman would not leave too early, arousing suspicion.

  “You’re not hungry?”

  She glanced at Rurik, surprised to see a hint of concern in his eyes.

  “No, not really—”

  “You’ve never lacked for an appetite before, Princess.” He regarded her untouched plate, then his blue eyes met hers. Did she see distrust there?

  “You seem agitated tonight…ever since we left the training field. Something is troubling you. What?” He gave a dry laugh. “Other than what you’ve already expressed to me, of course.”

  “Nothing would be troubling me if you would kindly shift your leg away from mine.” She hoped that a fit of temper would divert his sharp questioning. He had read her mood too well for comfort. “I’m practically in your lap for how close we are sitting and since I’ve held my tongue to prevent just such a thing, I’d appreciate it if you would move over!”

  “So my nearness is distressing you?” he asked with a roguish smile, stubbornly refusing to budge. “Why?”