Twin Passions (11 page)

Gwendolyn instinctively moved in front of Anora,
placing herself between her sister and the Viking. Aye, for now she knew the
origin of their captors. She had heard enough tales of the Norsemen from her
father to recognize the man before her as one of those fierce raiders of the
sea.

Dressed in a richly embroidered tunic that reached to
his thighs, tightly gartered leggings, and high boots trimmed in fur, the
Viking looked to be highborn and very wealthy. But what fascinated Gwendolyn
most, although she tried not to show it, was the large, silver amulet in the
shape of a hammer that hung from his neck on a finely wrought chain, and the
polished hilt of his sword that rested above a fine leather scabbard slung from
his belt. He was clean-shaven, unlike the other man she had seen. Around his
head was wrapped an ornamental headband that held back his hair, which was
shoulder length.

Gwendolyn had never before seen such thick, white-blond
hair on a man. And the startling blue of his eyes set against the tanned bronze
of his skin was quite striking. His fair brows, knitted in thought, softened
his somewhat hawkish features. She found herself thinking many a woman would
find him an extremely handsome man, with his straight nose, chiseled mouth, and
strong, square-cut jawline. Yet the glitter in his eyes was hard, and she could
not read his expression.

"Come forward into the light," Hakon
commanded softly, speaking the Celtic tongue. He was answered by only a blank stare.
He tried again, this time in the language of the Saxons. Seeing a flicker of
surprise in the lad's eyes, he could barely suppress a smile.
So, they are Anglo-Saxon,
he thought.
Then his expression once again hardened. Obviously some on board the ship had
seen fit to disobey his orders, and he had a strong suspicion of who the
culprits might be.

Watching the angry tic in the Viking's jaw, Gwendolyn
only hoped his anger was not directed at them. He had spoken their language
almost without an accent, and that amazed her greatly. How had a Viking come to
know their language, and speak it so well?
she
wondered fleetingly.

"Now, lad, I know you understand me. Come forward
where I can see you better, and bring the girl with you," Hakon stated
patiently in a low voice. It would serve no purpose to frighten them, he
thought, although he had no delusions of winning their trust. Right now, he
only needed to know who had brought them aboard his ship.

Gwendolyn hesitated for a moment, assessing their
position. From the commanding look of this Viking and the richness of his garb,
he could be the captain of this ship, she considered, and therefore the master
of their fate. Perhaps if they cooperated with him, he might consider returning
them to their homeland. He certainly did not have the same evil look as the two
men who had abducted them. Daring to hope just a little, she turned to Anora,
who was huddled behind her. "Remember your promise," she whispered
just loud enough for her sister to hear. Struggling awkwardly to her feet, she
pulled Anora up beside her.

For a moment the pounding pain in her head drowned out
all else, and her knees wobbled unsteadily on the verge of collapse. Suddenly a
strong arm reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder, steadying her. She looked
up, her emerald eyes meeting the Viking's blue gaze as he held her against him
until she regained her balance.

"There, now, lad, you will get your sea legs in a
moment," Hakon assured her, reaching out to steady Anora as well. Cringing
at his touch, she jerked away from him and fell heavily against a wooden cask.
Hakon shook his head. He could see that the wench was as frightened as a
skittish doe. Before she could dodge him again, he picked her up in his arms,
then carried her struggling and kicking to the open hatch. "Take the
wench, Egil, but watch your eyes!" he shouted. "She might be in the
mood to scratch them out!"

With a small heave Hakon tossed Anora gently into Egil's
waiting arms. Then he turned back to Gwendolyn.

"Now it is your turn, lad. You may have your
choice. Climb out like a man, or I will have to toss you out as well."

"I would prefer to climb out, my lord,"
Gwendolyn answered with no hesitation, trying to keep her womanish voice low, "but
my wrists are bound." Trying not to let him see her face too closely in
the light from the open hatch, she kept her head down.

Hakon started in surprise at the lilting quality of her
voice.
The lad looks to be sixteen
winters, but perhaps he is even younger,
he thought. He pulled his
long-bladed knife from his belt. With one quick movement he cut the leather
thong binding Gwendolyn's wrists. "There, now, off with you," he
commanded gruffly.

Gwendolyn stepped on one of the casks near the open
hatch and pulled herself up and out of the cargo well, followed shortly by the
Viking. The daylight, although beginning to fade into dusk, was still intensely
bright compared to the pitch-darkness of the well. Blinded temporarily, she
opened her eyes slowly to adjust to the change. Suddenly she spied Anora sitting
forlornly on the deck, her pale cheeks dirty and stained with tears. She rushed
over to her sister's side and sat down beside her.

"I am here now, Anora," Gwendolyn whispered
reassuringly, throwing her arm protectively around her sister's delicate shoulders.
Her eyes, now accustomed to the light, were wide-eyed as she looked about the
Viking ship. It was just as her father had told her in his stories, she thought
in awe, remembering his vivid description of a fleet of Viking vessels he had
seen in the London harbor while a young man in the king's army.

She was amazed at the swiftness of the ship as it cut
through the ocean swells. The large, rectangular sail, white with bold red
stripes, was stretched taut by the stiff wind. A gilded bronze vane, etched with
strange designs and hung with metal pendants that rattled and jangled in the
breeze, was fitted to the masthead. And at its top, a proud, gilded beast was
mounted, as if to keep watch over the horizon.

Letting her eyes roam, she looked toward the bow. Suddenly
she gasped, her breath caught in her throat. A fierce dragon head, carved into
the strongly curved prow, leered back at her with its sharp, grinning teeth. A
flash of memory coursed through her mind—a bright bolt of lightning, crashing
thunder, her mare rearing and pawing the air, then a demon rising from the
rushing water —and with the memory came the cold shock of realization.

Her nightmare vision during the storm two nights ago
had not been an evil apparition from the depths of hell, but the carved prow of
the Viking ship!

"God help us! I could have prevented this,"
she murmured numbly, her mind racing. If only she had tried to think of an
explanation for her vision that night, or had at least told one of her father's
thanes about it . . . perhaps one of them might have recognized her vision for
what it was and could have been alerted to the Viking threat. Then, none of
this would have happened . . .

The finality of her last thought caused Gwendolyn to
curse her weakness of judgment. Heatedly she swore to herself it would never,
never
happen again. The flash of
defiance was still burning in her eyes when she looked up to find the Viking
regarding Anora intently.

Chapter 11

Hakon drew in his breath sharply. Now that the captives
were in the light, he was able to study them more closely. He liked what he saw
huddled on the deck before him. The wench was truly a beauty, despite her
soiled appearance and tangled hair. Nay, not just a beauty, but probably the
most enchantingly lovely young woman he had ever seen.

As for the lad, he obviously was her brother, for their
resemblance to each other was remarkable. In fact, he thought as his sharp eyes
took in every detail, their features were virtually identical. Twins were
indeed a rare sight, and oddly enough Hakon found himself thinking their
presence on his ship was a good omen:

Yet the lad's defiant glance served as a reminder to
Hakon, and he turned his mind somewhat reluctantly to the grim task yet at
hand. He turned first to the oarsmen seated in the stern. All eyes were focused
upon him, their interest obviously piqued by the sight of the beautiful wench
on board. Their faces revealed no knowledge of the captives, however, so Hakon
turned to the oarsmen seated forward of the well in the bow section of the
ship.

Again all eyes were upon him, except for those of the
very two men he had suspected. With their shoulders hunched and their backs to
him, Svein and Torvald
were
the picture of guilt.

Hakon strove to check the cold fury in his voice. "Escort
those two men amidships!"

Rushing to obey, Egil noted that he had never before
seen Lord Hakon so angry. He strode over to where Svein and Torvald were
sitting. "All right, you two, you heard Lord Hakon. On your feet!"

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Svein
rose slowly from his bench, his face a pasty white. Surely the captain would
not make good his threat of throwing him overboard, he thought nervously, but
he could not be sure. Torvald also
rose
, his massive
size somehow diminished by his apparent fear. Walking in front of Egil, the two
men approached the cargo well.

Hakon's face was inscrutable as he addressed them. "I
am sure you men recall my orders when we landed in England. There was to be no
disruption of any kind upon the inhabitants of that land during our brief
stay—no raping, no pillaging, and no killing unless we were attacked. Do you
remember?" Receiving short nods, he demanded, "How did these captives
come to be on my ship, then?" Another question plagued him, but
he did not ask it . . . not yet
. He only knew that if the
wench had been raped, the two men would not live to see a new day.

Torvald looked at his feet, unable to find his voice to
answer. Speaking for both of them, Svein kept his tone ingratiating and
servile. "My lord Hakon, we found those two during our hunt, and thinkin'
you would be pleased to possess so lovely a wench, and the lad thrown in for
good measure, we could na' resist bringing them to the ship as an offering to
our fine captain." His pale eyes shifted over to the captives, their
watery blue depths sending an undeniable threat of violence in their direction.
Shuddering, Anora hid her face in her hands.

Hakon could have struck him down at that moment for his
bald-faced lie. But first he needed to hear from the captives themselves the
extent of Svein and Torvald's crimes. He walked over to Anora, bent down, and
tilted up her chin to face him. Staring into her eyes, so lushly fringed with
gold-tipped lashes, he felt for a moment as if he would lose himself in the
deep emerald pools gazing back at him. Strangely enough for a man who so dearly
loved his freedom, the thought did not displease him.

"Tell me, little one," he murmured gently, "were
you hurt in any way by either of those two men?" Hakon dreaded to hear her
answer, fearing the worst, but he had to know.

Anora felt cold fear clutching at her throat. For the
life of her she could not speak. Stark terror lit her eyes when she glanced
over at Svein's evil face, remembering all too well his threat. Frightened for
Gwendolyn's life, she shook her head slowly from side to side. At her answer,
Hakon felt an immense surge of relief.

"Aye, if an attempted rape is not hurt enough!"
Gwendolyn blurted furiously, her eyes flashing. If Anora was too afraid to
speak, she certainly was not! Though unable to understand the Norse language,
she could tell Hakon was indeed the captain of the ship, and a feared and
respected one at that. Never had she seen men so ready to obey another's
command.

Only he has the power to punish those two curs, she
thought fiercely. Svein's fawning and silky tones had not fooled her. She did
not have to speak their language to know a sniveling liar when she saw one.
Damned if she wouldn't let the Viking know exactly what had happened!

Startled by her vehement words, Hakon felt a white-hot stab
of rage course through his body. The thought of Svein pressing his crude body
against the girl's fragile beauty was more than he could bear. He grabbed
Gwendolyn by the shoulders. "Tell me what you know, lad, and be quick
about it," he demanded.

"My sister and I were in the woods when these two"
—she pointed at Svein and Torvald—"jumped out at us from behind some
trees. I was hit on the head and remember naught else. The rest I know from
Anora."

Anora. So that was the beauty's name. Rolling it over
his tongue like the finest honey, Hakon glanced at the girl. Even Freyja, the
goddess of love and beauty, could not have fashioned a more perfect name for
her. Ever so gently, he reached out and touched the purplish bruise on her fair
cheek. Anora started from his hand as if stung.

"I will not hurt you," Hakon said softly,
oddly distressed that she would shrink from his touch. "Just tell me who
struck you, or at least, if you will not speak, point to the man."

Emboldened by Gwendolyn's outburst, Anora's hand
trembled as she pointed at Svein.

"You would take the word of an English slut
against one of your own?" Svein
screamed,
his
voice an ugly snarl. Before anyone could grab him, he suddenly rushed at the
captives, his eyes red with rage. Gwendolyn quickly moved in front of Anora,
taking the full force of Svein's weight as he fell upon her.

Yet no sooner had Svein knocked the breath from
Gwendolyn's body than he found himself hurled violently across the deck of the
ship. "Seize his arms!" Hakon yelled. Several oarsmen rushed to obey.
Hoisting Svein to his feet, they pinned his arms behind his back, subduing him.
He struggled in vain, all the while screaming foul curses and oaths until Hakon
doubled up his first and slammed it into his face. Silenced at last, Svein
slumped limply amid his captors.