The Pagan's Prize by Miriam Minger Page B

irritation. He would be a fool
to change his plans and keep her. It would be akin to treason, and let him
never, never forget that wanting a
woman too much held its own dangers.
    "Dawn will come soon, Arne. I'll stay on watch
while you get some rest."
    "As you wish, my lord." He gave a grunt as he
hauled himself to his feet. "But rouse me if you decide to go for another
moonlit swim. The wench may yet surprise us."

     

     

 
    Chapter 5

     
    But there were no surprises during the next three days.
To Rurik's annoyance, the woman's state did not improve. Sleeping much of the
time, she ventured from the tent only to attend to her private needs behind a
blanket while he made sure that all eyes were averted. To him, it seemed as if
she were ensnared in a strange dreamlike daze, for she showed little interest
in anything around her and cared not if she ate or drank. She still remembered
nothing when questioned about her identity, and the one time he had raised his
voice at her to see if she might for some reason be feigning her malady, he
brought on such a fit of tears that he no longer doubted her loss of memory.
    She also made no further references to Halfdan,
seemingly content with Rurik's explanation that the Varangian trader had been
killed. Nor did she ask any questions about Rurik or his men or why she might
be with them. In fact, she had spoken very little since that first night.
Whenever Rurik questioned her about the name of her master, he had been greeted
with the same blank stare.
    "Slap her, my lord! That will bring the wench out
of it quick enough!" Arne had urged impatiently on more than one occasion,
but Rurik had decided that remedy was too severe.
    Instead, he hoped that the simple trust she displayed
in him would encourage her memory. She clearly viewed him as her protector, a
role he knew was useful. Yet they were nearing Chernigov, and she seemed no
closer to recalling her name than the first night of their journey.
    "The trousers, my lord." Kjell handed over
the linen garment as well as a rope belt and a wide cloth sash. "They only
reached to my knees, so the wench won't be swallowed up by them."
    "They'll do." Rurik strode to the tent, glad
for the concealing gray light of dusk. He had purposely adjusted the sail
earlier, slowing the boat's pace. He wanted to arrive at the fortified city at
nightfall, no sooner.
    The men would easily pass as fur traders, but the wench
might attract attention, even disguised as a male slave. In the light of day a
sharp-eyed individual might discern a female's form so he would take the
cautious path, especially since the caravan's searching guards might have
reached the city before them.
    Inside the tent, Rurik was displeased to see that the
woman was resting again, one small hand curled beneath her chin as she lay on
her side. He had never seen anyone sleep so much, ill or no! But he supposed it
was a form of healing and it had kept her from trying any tricks. The past days
she had been as docile as a newborn lamb.
    Usually, he preferred women with fire and passion like
his tempestuous Semirah, although this woman's tawny beauty more than
compensated for her lack of spirit. Looking at her now, the seductive curves of
her body outlined beneath the woolen blanket, was enough to rekindle the wanton
thoughts he had done his best to repress these past few days—
    Thor's blood,
man, do not forget she may still remember her name! Rurik berated himself,
angered by his wavering self-control. He went down on one knee and shook her by
the shoulder.
    "Time to wake, little one."
    His breath caught as she opened her eyes, huge liquid
pools of cobalt-blue that inexplicably fascinated him. Their unusual hue
reminded him of the faraway Sea of Marmara on a cloudless, sunlit morning. She
yawned prettily and stretched, kittenlike, her slim arms extended in front of
her and her bare toes peeking from beneath the blanket. Then she looked up and
gifted him with a smile as open and guileless as a