The Pagan's Prize (Captive Brides Collection)

by Miriam Minger

  “Was there?”

  Zora nodded. “You, Ivan. News of my father’s decision that I would become your bride upon our arrival in Chernigov reached us just before we left Tmutorokan, but Hermione never said a word to me about it until the night she drugged me and I was abducted. I can only believe that she’s in love with you and wanted me out of the way so she could become your wife—”

  “But Hermione has been thwarted for I have found you.” Ivan swept Zora with a possessive look that filled her with dread. “I’ve no doubt your father will punish her soundly for her treachery.”

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Sensing his intent as he began to advance upon her, Zora backed away nervously. “Hermione loves you! Surely you could be just as content with her as your bride! She is a trueborn princess, not a bastard daughter—”

  “It is not Hermione I want. You’re the woman I chose, the woman I will have.”

  “But…but you never explained how you knew to find me in the market,” she blurted, desperate to distract him as he drew closer. “Nor how you learned that Rurik was my husband.”

  “Simple. After my men and I arrived last night in Novgorod, I had only to mention your name to hear what had happened to you. The common folk of that city seemed to know a great deal about their most famed warrior and his recent marriage, yet it was by pure chance that I spied you in the marketplace when I went to buy food. Obviously you were meant to be returned to me, Zora.”

  Ivan seized her so suddenly that she had no chance to elude him, his mouth brutal as it covered hers. As he forced open her lips with his tongue, she tried to fight him but he was a strong man, and her struggles were futile. All she could do was endure his loathsome kiss, cursing herself for having been so foolish as to trust him.

  “You will be my bride, Zora of Tmutorokan,” he said when at last he released her and so abruptly that she fell against the railing. “And don’t think that an annulment will be enough to satisfy me. If your Lord Rurik doesn’t fall in battle, he will find his death upon my sword, for I’ll take no chance that you will ever be reunited.”

  Tears stinging her eyes, Zora stared at him in horror. “You lied to me!”

  His laugh was bitter, but his arrogant gaze held triumph. “So I did.”

  Unable to bear to look at him, Zora fled to the tent and stumbling inside, she collapsed to her knees. Hugging herself tightly, she rocked back and forth, her anguish so intense that she made no sound as tears coursed down her face.

  “Rurik…” she mouthed silently over and over, wishing by some magic he could hear her and know where she was. Yet even if he could, would he answer her cries? Unsure, she sank onto the floor in despair.

  ***

  It was almost dark when Rurik returned to the compound, his two hundred warriors riding silently behind him, none daring to speak. Even Arne had held his tongue, which was a wise thing. Rurik was in so black a mood he was ready to lash out at anyone.

  Zora and her accomplices were well on their way to the first portage and there was nothing he could do to stop them. Grand Prince Yaroslav had doused that hope, his words still echoing in Rurik’s mind.

  “I know it’s a hard thing for you to accept, Rurik, but I cannot allow you to leave. Not now. We sail in less than two days and I need you to command your men. But do not lose heart. Upon our victory, you will regain your errant wife.”

  Do not lose heart. He didn’t have one left. By Odin, if he ever so much as thought he might trust a woman again, may he fall upon his own sword!

  Dismounting in front of his longhouse, Rurik met Arne’s somber gaze.

  “See that the men are given a good share of ale, and extend to them my thanks for aiding in the search.”

  “As you say, my lord.” Arne shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “Do you wish my company? I could bring you some ale—”

  “And then what, Arne? We drink ourselves into a stupor and bemoan the fact that we were both deceived by sea-blue eyes and a soft, willing manner? I think not. I can do that well enough alone.”

  “But maybe you shouldn’t be alone, my lord—”

  “Believe me, friend, there isn’t anything more I want right now.”

  Rurik turned and entered the longhouse, sighing heavily as he shut the door. He knew Arne meant well, but he had already taken enough advice from him about Zora and he could stomach no more. Moving farther into the main room, he saw that his slaves had seen well to his comfort. A fire burned brightly in the central hearth and he could smell food, yet he wasn’t surprised that he felt no hunger.

  He was thirsty, though, and he made straight for the table to pour himself a brimming goblet of wine. He downed it and, pouring another, tossed it back as well. Then he shrugged, and leaving the goblet on the table, he sat down in a chair near the hearth and rested the wine jug on his knee.

  Why not get good and drunk? If he dulled his senses, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so damnably that the gods had seen fit to spite him after all.

  He could almost hear them laughing, Loki more loudly than the rest. That wily god of mischief must surely have fashioned this day’s wretched events! Yet perhaps none were gloating any more than Zora, wherever she was, for Rurik granting her the perfect opportunity to escape. He couldn’t have done a better job than if he had escorted her to the boat himself and shoved it from the dock.

  Thor, what madness had seized him to think that he could trust her? She must have been waiting all along for the right moment to escape, her acquiescence and softening of temper toward him just a part of her plan. He had been right about women! They were capable of only the foulest treachery. And he had believed Zora might love

  Cursing aloud the twisting pain over his heart, Rurik took a long draft of wine, almost emptying the jug as he stared unseeing at the flames.

  Until this morning he had never thought that he might regret his sworn allegiance to Yaroslav. His frustration that his request to command a ship had been denied was still so acute that even now he was tempted to disobey the grand prince’s orders and strike out after her. It galled him more than he could express that Zora was traveling the route he and his men would take in another day’s time. The same damned route!

  “My lord?”

  Muttering an oath against this sudden intrusion, Rurik glanced up to find Nellwyn standing a few feet away from him. He hadn’t even heard her enter the longhouse.

  “If you’re looking for your mistress,” he said tightly, “she isn’t here.”

  “I know, my lord, and when I heard you had finally returned from the city, I came at once to speak with you.”

  “Speak of what?” Rurik gave a short, humorless laugh. “If you’re wondering how to fill your time now, you’ll have to find yourself some other tasks to keep you busy, Nellwyn, for I cannot say when your mistress will be back. She’s on a boat heading home to her beloved father and her betrothed, Lord Ivan.” This time Rurik drained the jug, his pain unbearable, then dropping it with a dull thunk to the floor, he lunged from the chair to fetch another.

  “That’s why I’ve come, my lord. To speak about your wife, not my duties. I don’t know what happened today at the market, but I do know Lady Zora would never have left you for this Ivan.”

  “And how do you know that?” demanded Rurik, turning on the slave woman so suddenly that she jumped.

  “Because she loves you, my lord! She confided in me many times over the past few weeks—”

  “You believed her?” Inwardly shaken by the slave woman’s emphatic pronouncement, Rurik nonetheless hardened his heart. It seemed that he and Arne hadn’t been the only ones tricked by Zora’s guile. “She deceived you once before, Nellwyn, the night of the fire. Now she’s deceived you again.”

  “No, she hasn’t, my lord, and I would swear to it! If she didn’t care about you, she would have slept through the night like a babe, knowing that in the morning she would escape from you. But she didn’t sleep at all because she was waiting up for you, waiting and worrying about the coming bat
tle and what might happen to you. Aye, if she did anything today, maybe in her mind it was to help you.”

  “What are you saying, Nellwyn? That my wife fled the city because she thought by doing so she could somehow protect me? She’s gone to Chernigov, while the battle most likely will be fought to the north. What good can she do me?”

  “Perhaps more than she could have done here in Novgorod—”

  “Enough!” As Rurik’s harsh command echoed around them, Nellwyn’s green eyes widened with alarm. “Leave me, woman, and take your fanciful theories of my wife’s actions with you! You’ve already overstepped your bounds.”

  He turned from her and took a draft of wine, expecting to hear the door close behind her. But when he looked over his shoulder, Nellwyn was still there, standing her ground, her hands propped at her thickened waist and her chin raised stubbornly in a manner that reminded him all too much of Zora.

  “You may punish me for this, my lord, but I will have my say! Your lady confided much in me and from what I have heard, I believe you love her as she loves you. Yet you’re so willing to think the worst of her, to let your past rule your heart instead of what you can see and feel, that perhaps you don’t deserve her love! Why dare to trust, why dare to put faith in another when it is so much easier not to?”

  The room went silent for a long moment, Nellwyn’s outburst striking Rurik more deeply than he would ever admit. Yet as deeply felt was his hurt and when he finally faced her, his voice was low with warning.

  “Are you finished?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then you hear me. What I see is that my wife is not with me and what I feel is that I am a fool. Now leave me, woman!”

  Nellwyn did this time, hastening from the room while Rurik stood there, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. As the door shut with a thud, he hurled the jug with all his might at the wall, dashing it to splinters.

  Chapter 27

  Zora had never known a more miserable five days in her life, her heartsickness growing. Already they had passed one portage and were nearing the second, their rapid progress due to favorable winds and that Ivan and his men never seemed to rest, rowing like demons whenever the sails slackened.

  The boat was longer, too, and not as wide as the one Rurik had commanded, which to Zora now seemed like months ago; it cut through the water like a serpent. The only good thing was that Ivan had left her alone, she sensed as much because she disgusted him in her present state as his concentration was fixed upon getting them to Chernigov as quickly as possible.

  She had overheard him talking with his men about the scores of warships they had seen in Novgorod docked north of the bridge, and the flurry of preparations that meant that Grand Prince Yaroslav’s forces would soon be setting sail. She hoped with all her heart that they had left by now, and that those fearsome ships that she had also glimpsed from the market might overtake this smaller boat. She imagined that was Ivan’s fear since he spent much of his time in the stern, scanning the distance for any sign of approaching sails.

  “All right, men, let’s waste no time!” came Ivan’s impatient command outside the tent, telling Zora that they had reached the second portage. Yet she didn’t move from her pallet, staring at the bucket that was never far from her side.

  At the first portage she had ventured outside to watch them hoist the vessel onto the log rollers, but seeing the woods again where Kjell had lost his life had been so painful that she had quickly retreated to the tent. She had been frightened, too, wondering if another band of marauders might be lurking nearby, looking to prey on passing ships.

  That was reason enough why she had made no escape attempts. She had no wish to relive that harrowing experience. Nor had she considered jumping overboard. Her single swimming lesson had hardly left her with the skills to tackle a river’s powerful currents, and the thought that the water would be many times over her head—

  Zora shuddered. As she felt the boat being lifted from the water followed by a jarring thunk as it was settled upon the logs, her mind raced ahead to when they would leave the river behind to cross overland to Chernigov.

  Then she would attempt to escape, for she had no intention of returning to her father’s city with Ivan. She would take refuge at a church or with a peasant family and wait for Grand Prince Yaroslav’s forces to march past, then find Rurik. He would probably want to send her back to Novgorod, but maybe he might keep her with him. She could hope…

  “That’s it, men, we’re almost there, now ease her back into the— By God, men, draw your arms! Behind you! Look behind you!”

  Zora sat bolt upright, her hand flying to her breast as a horrifying shriek split the air, then another. It sounded as if the hounds of hell had been loosed upon them. She had never heard such a terrible wolfish howling, which almost drowned out the telltale clashing of swords.

  Holy Mother protect them, they were under attack! Yet the boat was still moving and she realized it must have already been shoved back into the water. Had Ivan or any of his men made it aboard?

  She screamed when an arrow suddenly came splicing through the tent wall to embed in the bucket, and she hesitated no more. Dashing outside, she somehow retained the presence of mind to keep her head down, and peering over the railing, she thought she was going to be sick all over herself.

  Ivan and what was left of his men were surrounded by a horde of yowling attackers, outnumbered by more than four to one. As swords and battleaxes flashed in the waning sunlight, another of his warriors falling in a spray of blood, Zora saw Ivan glance toward the drifting boat as if he was searching for her. Then he suddenly collapsed to his knees, an axe blow felling him from behind. Zora closed her eyes, unable to watch anymore.

  “Oh, God…” she breathed, having no idea what she should do. “Oh, God, please help me…”

  Wild, triumphant shouts caused her to lift her head and she gazed in horror at the grisly dance upon the shore. Dismembered arms and legs were being paraded upon spears like trophies, then a severed head was tossed from one sword onto another…a head with dark brown hair just like Ivan’s—

  “No…oh, no,” she murmured, fear tightening like cold fingers around her throat. She watched in disbelief as ten or twelve marauders broke away from the group and began to run along the riverbank…running hard as if they wanted to catch up with the boat that Zora realized to her mounting horror was drifting back toward their side of the shore.

  It was the shock she needed. Scrambling on hands and knees to the other side of the boat, Zora ripped her tunic from hem to thigh with hands shaking so badly that she could barely use them. Then, taking care to use the tent as cover, she climbed over the railing at a point where she hoped they couldn’t see her and eased herself into the water.

  It was so cold and deep, her fear almost overwhelmed her, but hearing the attackers’ raucous shouts growing louder and their splashing as they rushed into the river, she willed herself to let go. As the boat floated away from her, she drew as much air into her lungs as she could hold and then dived beneath the surface, using her arms and legs as Rurik had taught her to propel herself downstream.

  Fortunately, the currents were strong and that aided her efforts, and swimming until she was sure her lungs were going to burst, she finally came up for air. To her relief, the marauders looked like little figures upon the distant shoreline, they were that far away. Filling her lungs again, she lowered her head beneath the surface and let the currents carry her farther away.

  Dusk had fallen by the time Zora dared to consider stopping but she pushed herself onward, sometimes floating on her back to save her strength. She didn’t head for the opposite shoreline until it was pitch-dark. With her exhaustion so intense that she feared she might drown before she got there, only by sheer force of will was she able to keep herself calm and her arms and legs moving.

  When her feet touched bottom she began to weep with relief, and pulling herself from the water, she crawled into the deep grass and collapsed. She was so weak that
her sobs were no more than whimpers, and soon even these grew silent as she closed her eyes against the starry sky.

  ***

  “The princess, my lord?”

  “Aye, I met her only once but you never forget such a face. No wonder my son was willing to risk his life for her, and Rurik Sigurdson to give up his vow and marry her. It’s a good thing she didn’t crawl so far into the grass that we would have missed her.”

  “A good thing, too, that we found her before whoever it was that slaughtered those poor bastards upstream.”

  “Aye, wandering thieves, most likely. Stripped the dead and the boat, right down to the sails. It’s a miracle the wench escaped…though she might wish otherwise when she’s back with her husband. I’ve never seen Rurik in so foul a mood as when we sailed from Novgorod.”

  “That’s true enough, my lord, but look, she’s waking up.”

  Zora moaned softly, lifting her hand to shade her eyes from the bright sunlight. Still half in her dream, she could have sworn she had heard someone say Rurik’s name, but that couldn’t be possible

  “Lady Zora?”

  She froze, scarcely breathing. Alert now and remembering all too suddenly where she was, the next thing she thought was how absurd that in the middle of nowhere, someone would know her name.

  Slowly lowering her hand, she squinted against the light, making out two men who were staring down at her. One she didn’t know, but the other…

  “Oh…!” She was swept up into Thordar the Strong’s massive arms at almost the same instant she recognized him, her head spinning from the sudden movement. As he turned around, she gaped at the seventy-foot warship moored along the shoreline, fifty armed warriors staring back at her.