“I was young,” he finally muttered. He raised his head to stare in front of him again. “I barely knew the meaning of the word.”
Then, thinking guiltily that he was being far too harsh and that there was no good reason why he shouldn’t share this part of his past with her other than how uncomfortable it made him, he added, “Yes, I believed I was in love with her, but apparently she had only been toying with me. When my brother Rolf’s wife died after childbirth, Astrid was right there to comfort him. I suppose a man who one day would be a powerful chieftain seemed far more tempting than a second son who must make his way by sword and by trade.”
When Zora did not reply, Rurik turned to find her studying him intently as if she didn’t believe that he had told her everything.
“Does my answer not satisfy you?”
She slowly shook her head.
Sensing that this woman knew him far better than he could have imagined possible, Rurik sighed heavily. “May I ask why not?”
“You speak Astrid’s name with bitterness, yet I cannot believe that it was only her betrayal that caused you to denounce all women and to deem them worthy of no more a place in your life than to share your bed and bear your children. No, I believe your hurt goes much deeper.”
Her bluntness startled him. Wondering where she might be leading him with such a pronouncement, Rurik decided to be just as blunt.
“If my hurt goes deep, it is only because I have witnessed more treachery in women than loyalty—”
“Is that what happened to Sveinald?”
Rurik was as stunned by her question as hearing his long-dead friend’s name upon her lips. “How did you…?”
“On the riverboat. Late one evening you began to recite poetry with Kjell and I was still awake in the tent. I heard you speak of Sveinald as your closest friend, and that he had lost his life because of a woman—”
“Solveig, one of the loveliest women in the Hardanger,” Rurik broke in, struck by how much the memory still pained him after so many years. “She led Sveinald to believe that she loved him no matter the long-standing oath of blood vengeance between their two families, and he was so taken by her beauty that he would heed no warnings, not even from me. One night she lured him to his death, her three brothers falling upon him with knives when he came to her bower. They cut him to pieces, then threw his flesh to the dogs.”
“How terrible,” breathed Zora.
“No more terrible than what happened to my mother because of another scheming woman,” he added, his voice as harsh as she had ever heard it as he turned his face from her to stare at some distant point.
“I told you some nights ago that I left Norway because I wanted to seek my fortune, but that wasn’t the truth. If I had stayed, my father’s blood would have stained my sword. He abandoned my mother for his Welsh concubine Gwyneth, who cruelly harried my mother into her grave while my father did nothing to stop it…an aging fool of a chieftain made blind by fiery hair and a young, voluptuous body.” Rurik snorted in disgust. “The bastard married Gwyneth the day after my mother died. I hope she has made his life as much a Hel.”
He fixed his angry, pain-filled gaze back upon Zora, his shoulders stiff with tension. “Are you satisfied now, wife? Have you heard enough?”
Seeing what it had cost him to reveal so much to her, Zora said softly, “Enough that I understand why you first treated me as you did, and said the things you did. Enough that I would understand if you still blame me for Kjell’s death, and rightly. So many times I’ve wished I could take back the events of that day, that I hadn’t run away into those woods…that I hadn’t misled him as I did. If I can’t forgive myself, I don’t know how I could ever expect you to.”
Rurik didn’t reply, yet she could see the strain easing from his face and body as if her words had moved him. When he finally spoke, his tone was hauntingly quiet. “I don’t blame you, Princess. Not anymore.”
Swept by wild elation, Zora’s heart began to beat faster at the way Rurik was looking at her. His gaze no longer held pain but a candidness that made her hope flare bright.
“You don’t?”
He shook his head, reaching out to touch a damp curl that clung to her arm. “It was my fault for having brought Kjell along on that mission. If he had been a fighter instead of a poet, he would have known not to rush headlong into those woods without his sword at the ready. Such a simple thing could have saved him. And as for you trying to escape, you only acted as you felt you must. If I ever had a daughter in a like situation, I would want her to fight just as hard as you did.”
Scarcely able to believe what he had just told her, Zora shivered as his knuckles grazed her breast. “Then if you’ve forgiven me,” she murmured, finding it very hard to concentrate, “perhaps you don’t look upon me as harshly as you once did. After everything you’ve suffered in the past, I would understand if it might take you a while to admit…” Her courage faltering, she glanced nervously at the ground.
“Admit what, Zora?”
His tone was gentle, yet probing. He was scarcely breathing as if hanging upon her every word.
“I…I thought that was why you had brought me out here today,” she began haltingly, her cheeks flushing with warmth as she met his eyes. “Not just to swim, but because you might want to tell me—”
Zora got no further, for suddenly Rurik gestured for her to be silent while he inclined his head slightly, listening for something. She heard nothing, but he must have for he lunged to his feet and found his belt. His sword seemed to ring as he yanked it from the scabbard.
“What—”
“The blanket, Zora. Wrap it around yourself. Now!”
She obeyed him, watching anxiously as he tugged on his trousers. It was then that she heard it, the unmistakable sound of galloping horses drawing closer and closer. She had no sooner stood, clutching the blanket around her, when three riders burst through the trees. Yet she relaxed when she recognized Arne and two more of Rurik’s men, as did Rurik who lowered his sword as the warriors reined in their lathered mounts only a few feet away from him.
“My lord, a message has just come from the grand prince,” announced Arne, his bearded face beet-red and sweating. “He has called an immediate meeting at the kreml. The reinforcements have arrived.”
“At last,” Rurik said under his breath, then catching one of the warriors who had accompanied Arne casting a covert glance at Zora, he shouted, “Wait for us beyond those trees!”
Thinking as the three men rode away that he would have to speak to the younger warrior, Rurik turned to find Zora already gathering up her clothes.
“I’m sorry, Princess,” he said. But she seemed not to have heard him, moving woodenly and avoiding his eyes as she dressed. Only when he had settled her in the saddle did he try again, holding her close against him after he mounted behind her.
“We will talk later. I promise.” Growing concerned when still she did not answer, he prodded, “Zora?”
“Yes, later,” she replied in a strange monotone, her body rigid in his arms.
Sighing, Rurik would have liked to say more, but there was no time.
Spurring their mount into a gallop, his thoughts turned to the urgency of Grand Prince Yaroslav’s message and the council of war that would probably go well into the night. Yet however late it ended, he planned to awaken Zora as soon as he arrived home. He would hear what she had been going to say…words he hoped would confirm the intuition that even now was driving all other matters from his mind.
Chapter 25
“My lady, does this cloth not please you? It is of the finest quality, pure Byzantine silk…My lady?”
“What?” Startled, Zora focused upon the shimmering bolt of yellow fabric that Yakov was pointing out to her. “I said does this silk not please you?”
“Oh, yes, it’s lovely,” she murmured, although in truth she might have been looking at coarse wool for all the enjoyment it brought her. As the steward began to haggle with the merchant ov
er the price, obviously having assumed that she must want some for a new tunic, Zora found her gaze straying once again to the imposing kreml that lay directly across the Volkhov River from the marketplace.
Rurik was still there, the council of war having lasted through the night and now continuing into the morning. That could only mean war was at hand. How could she find pleasure in silk and brocade while the man she loved would soon be leaving, perhaps never to return
No, she mustn’t think like that! At least she was here in Novgorod and close to him rather than pacing their bedchamber as she had done all night, unable to sleep for those same terrible questions roiling in her mind.
If the meeting ended soon, Rurik might even come to the market to find her. Then perhaps they could talk as Rurik had promised and this time she would not allow anything to stop her.
Deep in the night, she had realized that if she was to free him of his past, she would have to tell him of her love. If she harbored fears, she could imagine what his must be. No wonder he was testing her! It was so plain to her now why he needed to know that he could trust her. True, her life had been touched by treachery, but not anywhere as tragically as his.
“My lady, if you will come this way, I’d like to show you something in another section of the market,” said Yakov, his nasally voice once more breaking into her thoughts. “Something that I think will please you.”
Puzzled by the steward’s enigmatic smile, Zora waited while Yakov handed the wrapped bolt of silk to one of the four warriors who were following them at a discreet distance. Then the spare little man eagerly led her through the bustling market, pointing out various of the brightly colored stalls—a locksmith whom he trusted or a merchant known for the quality of his rubies—until they came to an area that she recognized at once from the cacophony of smells as the perfumer’s section.
“Lord Rurik asked me to buy whatever you need to make your perfumes, my lady,” Yakov announced, waving his thin, white hand at the many stalls. “Copper braziers to distill the precious oils, flowers fresh plucked from the fields, spices, sweet gums and resins, ambergris and musk to fix the scents, and over here” —he beckoned to her as he moved to a nearby stall, the same secretive smile upon his narrow face— “rare oils from the fabled city of Constantinople.”
Flushed with pleasure at Rurik’s generosity, Zora watched the swarthy Greek merchant who stood behind the counter set a delicate blue-green bottle in front of her.
“What is it?” she asked excitedly, her intuition pricked as Yakov’s smile grew wider. She and the steward might have started out on the wrong footing, but since she had made it clear to him that she had no intention of usurping his duties, he had gone out of his way to be kind to her.
“A gift from your husband. Lord Rurik sent men into the city each morning to ask if any perfumers had come from the south, and two days ago, word was brought that this merchant possessed the scented oil you favor. Lord Rurik thought to present it to you himself, but he decided you might enjoy the surprise of finding it here.”
“White jasmine?” Zora didn’t have to see Yakov’s nod to know that it was so. She had no sooner pulled out the stopper than she was greeted with the lush, intoxicating fragrance. She closed her eyes, savoring its beauty.
“You are pleased, my lady?”
“More than I could ever say.” Remembering how Rurik had looked at her when he had asked what was her favorite scent, it was all Zora could do to return the stopper for how her fingers had begun to tremble. She clasped the precious bottle to her breast. “I’d like to carry it, Yakov. My husband might meet us here and I want to thank him…”
“Whatever you wish, my lady. Now if I may, I’ll leave you to choose the things you need while I speak with some of the other merchants. But I’ll be back soon to pay for your purchases, and Lord Rurik’s men will not be far away if you have need of them.”
“Yes, thank you, Yakov,” she murmured. She was so absorbed in the fragrant array of Eastern spices at the next few stalls that long moments passed before she realized when looking around her that she had been left completely alone, Rurik’s warriors nowhere in sight among the dense throng of shoppers. It dawned on her then that her test had begun, and smiling confidently to herself, she bent to sniff some pungent cinnamon.
“I cannot say that I’m pleased to see how well captivity suits you, my love, but at least you were easy to find.”
Zora froze, her heart suddenly slamming in her throat. Dear God, no, it couldn’t be…
“What’s this? No fond greeting for your betrothed? Perhaps I’ve cause to be jealous after all of the bastard you were forced to wed. I sensed as much after witnessing how favorably you respond to his gifts.”
Zora slowly straightened, seeing first a tall man wearing the plain brown garb and hood of a monk before she could find it within herself to focus upon his face. She could no more swallow than speak as she met Ivan’s cold blue gaze.
“Yes, it’s me,” he said, keeping his voice very low, “but we have no time to answer your questions. My men are waiting for us at the wharf.”
“Y-your men?” Zora’s voice was a mere squeak.
“I didn’t come alone to rescue you, and from the looks of it,” he spat, his tone derisive, “I would almost think that you may not want to be rescued.”
“I…I don’t.”
Ivan’s angry countenance grew all the blacker.
“I’m sorry, Ivan, but I want to stay here—”
“So it is as I thought,” he cut in bitterly. “Wedded and well bedded and now a traitor to her own countrymen. Hardly the news to encourage your father to spare this Lord Rurik of Novgorod if he falls into our hands.”
“What are you saying?” blurted Zora, Ivan’s ominous words passing like an ice-cold hand over her heart.
“Simple, my love. Come with me and you can plead for your husband’s life when the battle falls to our favor. If Lord Rurik is captured, surely you know he will be held for execution, but perhaps your voice raised in his defense will sway your father’s judgment. Yet if you stay here, you will have no way to help him, no way to be heard.” Glancing around them, Ivan shifted impatiently. “Choose, Zora, and quickly. The time to be gone is now!”
Holy Mother of God, what was she going to do? Zora wondered desperately, her mind racing. She didn’t want to leave! Not now! Now when she and Rurik were so close to admitting their love for each other. Yet she could not deny that Ivan was making sense. Damn him for making sense!
She had been tormented for days with thoughts of what might happen to Rurik if her father’s forces prevailed, imprisonment, torture, and, if what Ivan said was true, execution, yet now she was being presented with a way to intercede for him. Surely her father would listen to her pleas!
And if he didn’t win and Grand Prince Yaroslav retained his throne, Rurik would get her back…that is, if he would still want her after her seeming treachery. She had no doubt that he would think the worst of her, yet she could explain everything to him when they were together again. Surely he would understand that she had left him out of love
“Zora, there is no more time!”
“I don’t know…” she whispered, never having felt so horribly unsure.
“Do you love him?”
Meeting Ivan’s piercing gaze, his expression inscrutable, she nodded numbly.
“Then there is only one thing you can do. I will lead the way and you follow. Our boat is docked by the bridge.”
With that, Ivan lowered his head, and folding his hands as if in prayer, he began to move deftly through the crowds, leaving Zora staring after him. But she didn’t stand there for long.
Glancing around her and seeing no sign of Yakov or any of Rurik’s warriors, she hastened to catch up with Ivan, almost tripping in her haste not to lose sight of him. To her dismay, the bottle of perfume went flying from her hands to shatter at her feet but there wasn’t anything she could do.
As tears welled in her eyes, she rushed on, tryi
ng not to dwell upon what Rurik would think of her when he discovered she was gone. It was too terrible to contemplate.
Rurik had never known such impatience as he was forced to slow his horse to a walk, the bridge so jammed with people and carts coming and going from the market that he had to wend his way carefully or risk trampling someone.
Thor’s blood, he hoped he hadn’t missed Zora! The council of war had ended early enough that there was still a chance he would find her at the market; he didn’t want to have to wait until he returned to the estate to tell her what he should have said days ago. It was amazing that he felt so exhilarated after being awake all night, but he supposed love could do that to a man.
“Now if that isn’t an odd sight,” Rurik suddenly overheard someone say as he threaded his mount through the milling throng. “A boat manned entirely by monks, not a sailor among them.”
“Aye, must be headed south on some pilgrimage, probably to the cathedral of St. Sophia in Kiev,” commented another man as Rurik glanced over to see two merchants eating their morning meal against the railing as they watched the river traffic below.
Looking beyond them, Rurik spied the boat already well in the distance, its white sail billowing in the wind as hooded monks moved about on deck. A curious thing, he had to agree, then he turned his attention back to the busy pedestrian traffic and the market that lay ahead.
Damn, he couldn’t wait to find Zora! Had she already gone to the perfumer’s section? Maybe if he was fortunate, Yakov had kept her busy elsewhere and Rurik would have the chance to see her face when his gift was placed in her hands. If not, at least he knew that she was thinking about him, perhaps even wearing the white jasmine perfume he couldn’t wait to smell upon her skin.
As for himself, Zora had never been far from his thoughts, nor had their exchange at the stream that had finally convinced him that he had been acting the fool. Why did he need to test her when he could see shining from her beautiful eyes how much she cared? If she hadn’t admitted anything to him yet, he had himself to blame. He had only to remember the callous things he had said to her to understand that she might be afraid. By Odin, he would make amends!
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