Free The Pagan's Prize by Miriam Minger

form appeared
once more in the doorway, and he left the woman to drag a low, lopsided table
over to the bed, indicating with a nod that their meal should be set upon it.
As the warrior obliged him, Rurik cut the rope binding the furs and spread some
of them over the mattress. The rest he tossed to Arne.
    "Sleep well, my friend, but take care that your
sword is drawn and ready at your side," Rurik cautioned. "As you
said, we've enemies all around us."
    "Aye, the usurping dogs," Arne muttered in
agreement as he shut the door behind him.
    Following his own advice, the first thing Rurik did
when he and the woman were finally alone was unbuckle his sword belt and lay it
upon the floor within easy reach of the bed. Then he bade the woman to sit upon
the lumpy mattress and he took the place beside her.
    "Are you hungry, little one?" Rurik noted how
prominent her cheekbones were in a face grown thinner during the past few days.
    She smiled her assent, a small curve of her lips that
tugged strangely at his heart. He tore off a chunk of bread for her, deciding
as she eagerly took a bite that the recovery of her appetite was a good sign.
Combined with her recent displays of temperament, he hoped that before the
evening was done he would see many more such signs, and thus have a terse
message addressed to her wealthy master not long after the first light of dawn.
    "Wine?"
    As she swallowed another mouthful of bread, she nodded,
and he quickly pulled out the stopper and offered her the jug so that she might
drink. To his surprise, she took a long draft as if very thirsty, yet it
pleased him for her to do so. If she possessed any fears at all about his
sensual advances, he hoped they would be dulled by the wine's soothing effect.
    "Try some of the mutton," he urged, waiting
until she had eaten a good portion despite the fact that the fragrant seared
meat had his stomach growling.
    It seemed in moments that the wooden platter was empty
between them, the bread devoured, and the wine jug empty. He could not help
noticing how delicately she had consumed her meal, confirming to him that her
manners were indeed refined. Frowning as if trying to remember something, she
seemed to look about her for a water bowl to cleanse her soiled fingers, then
she sighed in frustration, her hands falling to her lap.
    "Would you like to bathe?" Rurik asked,
remembering the large bucket of fresh water that the owner of the shack had
left them in the other room. At her low-spoken "Yes," he was on his
feet and striding from the bedchamber, startling Arne who almost dropped a hunk
of mutton as he lurched from the table.
    "My lord?"
    "Go back to your meal." Rurik picked up the
bucket, wishing that he had hot, steaming bathing water to offer the woman. It
was easy to imagine how fetching she might look sitting in a tub with her wet
hair streaming around her, her beautiful breasts sleek and glistening with
moisture.
    When he returned to their room, the woman had stripped
to the waist, her tunic and the cloth sash lying upon the floor, and she was
working at the rope belt at her waist. She must have sensed him standing there,
for she looked up and met his eyes, her expression troubled.
    "I can't untie the knot."
    Closing the door, Rurik moved quickly to her side,
marveling that she was so unconcerned by her nakedness. As he deftly undid the
belt, she regarded him with such frankness that it took his breath away. Her
manner was so comfortable, so trusting, she must look upon him in the same
light as her master.
    Suddenly he found himself deeply envious of this boyar
to possess such a woman. She seemed so eager to please him, almost as if
awaiting his next move . . .
    "Let me help you," he said huskily, slipping
her trousers down over her curved hips and deliciously rounded bottom. When she
was standing naked before him, her body silhouetted in gold from the lamp
behind her, Rurik doubted he had ever known such desire. She was fashioned so finely.
Perfection.
    His