The Pagan's Prize (30 page)

"It was not my intent for you to fall asleep,
Zora, but I'm sure this will wake you," he said with amusement in his
voice. Supporting her with one arm, he drew something from a basket set near
the hearth.

"I'm not sleepy," was all she managed to say
just before she felt a stinging sensation cut right across her bottom. "Ouch!
That hurt! What are you . . . ?" Now fully alert, she stared in horror
from the telltale birch branches he held to the innocent smile on his face.

"It's part of the steam bath," Rurik tried to
explain through the laughter threatening to erupt from his throat, Zora's
indignant outrage truly a sight to behold. "To get the blood moving. You
scarcely feel it after the first few—"

"Blood moving be damned! You will not strike me
with those . . . those branches again!" She broke free of his grasp and
skittered to the other side of the room. "If you want to lash yourself to
ribbons, go right ahead, Rurik Sigurdson, but you'll not have me participating
in your strange Varangian custom!"

Her eyes were sparking such fire, Rurik could suppress
his mirth no longer.

"It's not funny!" she cried, although he
could see that she was fighting hard not to join him, her lips twitching and
her dimples beginning to show. "You could have at least warned me!"

"And ruin the surprise?" he asked, actually
wiping tears from his eyes. By Thor, he didn't think he had laughed so hard in
years. His stomach hurt!

"Some surprise." She swiped irritably at the
steam. "I want out of here. I've had enough! From now on, you can enjoy
your steam baths and I'll keep my tub, thank you."

"Oh, but we're not through yet, Princess."

Zora glanced at Rurik warily, not liking the enigmatic
smile that he now wore on his face.

"Whipping me isn't enough?" she demanded, a
giddy excitement fast overwhelming her vexation as he began to stalk her around
the hearth. The rogue! She glanced at the door they had entered, but that one
led outside and she'd never have enough time to wriggle into her tunic before
he caught up with her.

She threw a glance at the opposite door. Surely it led
into the longhouse . . . and if she went right now—

Zora screamed as she dashed for the door for at that
same moment, Rurik lunged for her. Yet he wasn't quite fast enough for she had
it open before he reached her and she rushed inside another room, only to stop
right up against a huge wooden tub that was blocking her path.

"What . . . ?" She gasped as Rurik grabbed
her from behind and lifting her kicking and squirming into his arms, he stepped
with her into the tub.

"It will feel good, Zora, I promise you," she
heard him say just before he knelt and then dunked her under the coldest water
she had ever felt in her life.

"You're mad!" she sputtered a split second
later when she came up for air, her shivering body one giant goose bump and her
teeth chattering uncontrollably. Her fingers were so cold that she could barely
shove her hair out of her eyes. "Mad, I tell you!"

"Exhilarating, isn't it?" Rurik said as if he
hadn't heard her, and letting go of her suddenly, he disappeared for a long moment
under the water, so long in fact that Zora began to grow anxious. Yet she needn't
have worried for he exploded above the surface with a mighty splash that sent
shimmering droplets flying through the room, extinguishing an oil lamp on a
table near the tub. His delighted roar shook the rafters.

"By Odin, you can't come any closer to rolling in
snow than this! Fresh water from a stream still ice-cold with the spring thaw!"

Zora stared at him incredulously, thinking herself a
sorry contrast to Rurik's vigor. He looked like an invincible Norse god rising
up from the water, his wet blond hair slicked back from his forehead, his skin
sleek and tanned and his face flushed healthily, while she must appear a
drowned rat.

"You roll in snow?"

"From October to May, if we're lucky." His
broad smile warmed Zora more than she could have imagined possible. "Where
do you think we Varangians gain our strength?" Then he sobered a little,
beckoning to her. "Come here, Princess."

Inching over to him, Zora wondered what he might be
plotting to do to her next in this damnable steam bath of his and she stopped
just shy of his reach. "You're not going to dunk me again, are you?"
she asked suspiciously, although the water didn't feel half so cold to her now
that she had been in it for a while.

"Hardly, wife," came his low reply, but he
didn't wait for her to come to him, he came to her. In a single splash, he
captured her in his arms, and finding her mouth, his lips were as hot as
firebrands upon hers.

Zora was certain she had never felt a kiss more
passionate or more incredibly powerful, and within seconds, she no longer felt
the cold at all for the seductive weight of his hands upon her body and the wet
possession of his tongue as he led hers in a heady dance. Then she felt him cup
her bottom and lift her and she was sinking onto fire and steel, the water
churning around them.

He took her fast and hard and she let him, her thrusts
as relentless and demanding as his own, but never once did their mouths lift
from each other's as if neither could bear to breathe alone. And when their
climax burst upon them, they shared it wildly, ecstatically, clutching each
other as if all joy and life depended upon it for in that moment, it did.

Chapter 22

Zora's hair was still damp when she and Rurik took
their places at the high seat. She couldn't believe that they were at supper
just a little past the appointed hour.

Rurik's hunger for her had not abated after they left
the tub, and only the fierce growling of his stomach had been a pointed
reminder to him that he should seek some food. Yet he had laughingly hidden his
need for nourishment under the guise of building his strength for later that
evening, a thought that had filled Zora with dizzying expectation before they
had even set foot from his longhouse.

"Good evening, my lady! My lord!" came Arne's
boisterous greeting from Rurik's left, the warrior waving a foaming cup of mead.
"We were about to give up on you, but it seems the old saying rings true,
man cannot live by pleasure alone!"

Was it so obvious
what she and Rurik had been doing?
Zora wondered, a blush creeping over her
face. She touched her hair, wishing it wasn't so thick so she could have dried
it faster.

"Don't let him fluster you, Princess," Rurik
said in a low aside as if he had known her thoughts. "You'll find that
Arne says exactly what leaps onto his tongue. As we've known each other for
years, it allows him liberties he deems as his right, I suppose, for putting up
with me for so long."

She smiled, appreciating that Rurik had thought to
reassure her, then seeing the warmth kindling in his night-blue eyes, she
looked away, overwhelmed.

For weeks she hadn't allowed herself to recognize any
good qualities in Rurik, and now she seemed to be noticing them all at once.
His gentleness, his attentiveness, his humor.

She loved the wonderful richness of his laughter and
how exuberant and unrestrained he had been in the bathhouse, giving her a
glimpse of the playful boy inside the man. She loved the way he looked at her
and the way he touched her. She loved the way he kissed her. Oh, she loved

Take care,
Zora warned herself just in time, her thoughts skirting dangerously close to a
precipice she was trying so hard to avoid. She would never have imagined that
Rurik letting down his guard around her could make her feel as if she didn't
know which direction to turn, but it had! It was all she could do now to
remember her plan, and with a start, she realized that she had scarcely thought
of it for hours.

"Is anything wrong, Zora? You look troubled."

"No, no, I'm fine," she said, touched by the
concern in Rurik's eyes that he made no effort to hide. Suddenly it was twice
as hard to think clearly, but she forced herself by finding a matter to which
she could turn her hand. "I . . . I was only wondering why the food has
not yet been served. You must be so hungry and—"

"Perhaps the preparation has taken longer than the
cooks anticipated." He laughed, holding up his brimming goblet. "At
least we have fine Burgundian wine to soothe our stomachs. Don't fear,
Princess. I will not starve."

"But it's wrong, just the same," she
insisted, "and I plan to speak with them in the morning. I had the chance
to oversee several feasts for my father, and this is not proper. I was taught a
great lord and his guests should never be kept waiting."

"Ah, is that what I am to you now?" Rurik's
voice was full of teasing that did not reach his eyes. "A great lord? I
thought I was just the husband with whom you've been cursed." As if he
didn't want her to answer, he swiftly changed the subject. "What else did
they teach you in Tmutorokan? It has occurred to me that I know very little
about you other than some family history and that you don't like steam baths."

Zora was relieved to see him smiling again. She
remembered all too well the angry words she had thrown at him the morning after
their wedding, words that she now found herself wishing she had never said.

"I suppose I learned things that any girl brought
up in a palace would," she replied, warmed that he would want to know
about her life. "How to embroider . . . Lady Canace never seemed to think
we made enough vestments for the Church. How to take care of a household for
the day when I would marry" —suddenly thinking of Ivan, Zora was surprised
at how easily she could dismiss him from her mind— "and how to make
perfume."

"Perfume?"

"Yes, Lady Canace had a passion for concocting
fragrance. She learned it at the emperor's palace in Constantinople before her
marriage, and when Hermione and I were old enough, she taught us her skills,
except Hermione had no desire to learn. She would rather soak in a tubful of
rose petals than boil them, so she always insisted that I make her share."

"And did you?" Rurik asked gently.

Zora sighed. "If I wanted to live peacefully. But
I enjoyed the work, so I didn't mind."

"It must have been hard for you, living in that
terem
. From Grand Prince Yaroslav's
description, Lady Canace and her daughter weren't the most gracious of
creatures."

"No, they weren't," Zora agreed, recalling
the slights and insults she had suffered at their hands and the worst indignity
of all that Hermione had wrought upon her. Yet this time the memory of the trading
camp was noticeably tempered, for it was that incident after all that had
brought her to Rurik—

Stunned by her reasoning, Zora dropped her gaze to
stare blindly at her hands. Yet she had no sooner done so than Rurik lifted her
chin so he could look into her eyes.

"But you survived . . . beautifully, which proves
your perseverance and courage." He chuckled, caressing the line of her
jaw. "Your stubbornness must have helped, too, Princess. I've known few
more headstrong than you."

Zora had to remind herself to breathe. Rurik's gaze was
so intent that she feared he could see right into her heart.
 
"My—my mother was stubborn," she
said, her words tumbling forth in a nervous rush as she sought to divert the
topic from herself. "And proud. My father must have asked her a thousand
times to come back with him to the palace, but she always refused. She had been
banished once while he was gone from the city and she vowed never to endure the
indignity again. We were happy in the country . . . until she became ill."

"What happened?"

"A fever. The climate could be very damp and she
liked the out-of-doors so much. She had grown up in a small village before my
father found her . . ." Realizing that she was running on and on, Zora
sighed softly. "Forgive me. I must be boring you."

"You could never bore me," came Rurik's
startling answer, his eyes burning into hers.

Zora found she could not swallow, let alone tear away
her gaze even if she had wanted to. Her cheeks glowing, she heard herself
stammer, "B-but what of you, Rurik? I know as little about you—"

"What would you like to know?" he asked,
although his expression had tightened, his eyes becoming guarded.

Wondering at this change, Zora hoped her question would
not upset him further. "Why do you still invoke your pagan gods? I find it
a curious thing, considering you are Christian. . ."

Rurik seemed to visibly relax as if this was a topic he
did not mind discussing, a small smile coming to his lips.

"To me, the gods are like familiar old friends who
linger at the table long after the feast is done, telling long-winded yet
fantastic tales that so astound and amaze that all who listen are reluctant to
leave the hall even for the warmth of their beds."

"Like Odin?" Zora asked, entranced.

Rurik nodded. "The High One. All-knowing,
all-powerful, the lord of battles and god of wisdom. To gaze deep into the well
of knowledge, he paid for the privilege with one of his eyes. But he is a
fickle god, giving victory to his favorites until he casts them aside for new
champions. The fallen become his warriors in death's kingdom, Valhalla."

"Yet I have heard you call out to Thor more often,"
said Zora when Rurik paused for a draft of wine.

"Fighting men look to the giant god of thunder for
strength, for every warrior strives to be like Thor, bold and invincible in
battle. Yet as protector of the world, governing the sun and wind and rains,
Thor is called upon to give bounty, not only in the fields, but for new brides
to be made fruitful."

Zora started as Rurik reached out to caress her cheek.

"Which brings us to Frey, who understands well the
needs and desires of men . . . and his sister, Freyja, the voluptuous goddess
of plenty who embodies the sensual mysteries of women." Rurik slowly
traced his finger over Zora's lips. "She has blessed few with such beauty
and passion as you possess—"