Twin Passions (15 page)

Startled by his words, Gwendolyn felt a great sense of
relief. So, her effort had not been in vain. At least this night Anora would be
spared a rape.

Following quickly behind Hakon as he strode along the
path toward the shore, Gwendolyn looked up at the stars. Aye, she and Anora
would have their chance for escape, she vowed silently. They would simply have
to wait until the time was right . . .

Chapter 15

"'Tis time to wake, lad," Hakon said. He
nudged Gwendolyn's shoulder with the toe of his leather boot. Yawning sleepily,
she merely turned over onto her side and snuggled deeper into the warm fur. "Very
well, then," he muttered, "if that is the way you will have it."
He reached down and grabbed the ends of her pallet with both hands. Then, with
a sharp tug, he pulled it out from under her. Gwendolyn went rolling across the
deck, stopping only after she'd tumbled into a nearby rowing bench.

"Oh!" she groaned, flat on her back, her eyes
wide open now. She stared blankly into the early morning sky, just beginning to
lighten in faint hues of pink and lavender. Stunned, for a moment she could not
remember where she was. But Hakon's hearty laugh behind her was all it took to
jog her memory. She propped herself up on one elbow and ran her fingers through
her short curls.

"A good morning to you, Garric!" Hakon
chuckled, his eyes alight with mirth. Holding out his hand, he bent down to
help her to her feet.

"Hardly a good morning," Gwendolyn replied
heatedly, ignoring his proffered hand. She rose shakily to her feet and eyed
him warily.

"Forgive my rude method of waking you, Garric,"
he said somewhat apologetically, chiding himself for perhaps being a bit rough
on the lad. "But if I had not done so, you would have slept 'til noon."
He shrugged. Thor, but this lad was a delicate one, he thought, noting the
swelling on Gwendolyn's lower lip. "Here, let me look at that," he
said, with some measure of concern.

But Gwendolyn jerked away from his hand. "'Tis
naught," she muttered resentfully. She stepped back a few paces from him
and furtively touched her lip. She winced, her expression betraying her pain.

"Well, then, at least have some bread," Hakon
offered, not unkindly. He reached into a cloth bag and pulled out a dark,
crusty loaf. Tearing off a large hunk, he handed it to her. "You will have
to put some meat and muscle on those bones,
Garric,
else you will be of little use to me. I need strong workers, and it looks to me
as if you have spent your life in book-learning and the like."

His observation caused Gwendolyn to bristle angrily.
Better to let him know what she was capable of than to have him think she was
weak and useless! "I can wield a weapon as well as any of your men,
Viking, though perhaps not quite as large as your sword," she retorted
hotly. "And I have killed many a wild boar with bow and arrow —while
riding a horse at full gallop!"

Hakon stared in amazement at Gwendolyn for a moment,
then threw back his head and
laughed,
a full, rich
sound that echoed about the ship. By the blood of Odin, he had never seen such
brazenness in a lad before! What a boast! 'Twas as if, despite his small size,
Garric thought he could prevail over the mightiest of warriors without any fear
of death or defeat.

Perhaps I have
underestimated this smooth faced boy,
Hakon mused, rubbing his chin. He
decided he would have to watch him even more carefully from now on, or run the
risk of taking a sword blow in the back when he wasn't looking!

Gwendolyn watched the play of emotions across the
bronzed planes of the Viking's face.
So,
he laughs at me,
she thought irritably, her ire rising again. Biting into
the coarse bread, she chewed angrily, nearly choking as she tried to swallow.

"Slow down, lad," Hakon muttered, slapping
her hard in the middle of her back. Gwendolyn fell forward from the force of
his blow, losing her balance. She put out her hands to cushion her fall, yet
she landed hard against the side of the ship.

"What are you trying to do, Viking, kill me before
we even reach your homeland?" she sputtered indignantly. "What use
will I be to you then?"

But Hakon was given no chance to reply, for suddenly
two large hands appeared at the railing. Grunting, Egil heaved himself up and
over the side of the ship.

"Lord Hakon, the boy . . . he has disappeared!"
Egil blurted anxiously. He leaned against the railing as he tried to catch his
breath. "He must have run from the hall during the night. I . . . uh . . .
I only turned my back for a short while . . . uh, the wench . . ." he
faltered, his voice dying away. He looked down at his feet, red-faced. Loki
take him for a fool, he berated himself. He would probably be lashed for this
offense!

"He is here with me, man," Hakon said. He
gestured toward Gwendolyn, who was still sprawled out awkwardly on the deck.

"Damned Viking," she muttered fiercely under
her breath. She reached up and grabbed the railing, then struggled to her feet.

Hakon tried to suppress a grin at the comical sight she
made, but he could not. He turned back to Egil. "I found the lad near
Einar's longhouse last night, on his way to rescue his sister, no doubt."
Sensing the oarsman's discomfort at having failed in his orders to watch
Garric, he added, "'Tis only an island, Egil. We would have found them had
they strayed too far."

Egil looked up, astonished by his good fortune. His broad
shoulders slumped with relief. Yea, Lord Hakon could be a hard man, he thought,
and sometimes quick to anger, but let no one say he was not fair.

"I trust the wench was well worth the tumble?"
Hakon asked, smiling broadly.

"Yea, my lord, indeed she was!" Egil laughed
lustily. "And I've the scratches to prove it!"

"Good." Hakon chuckled. "I only hope the
others fared as well." But he sobered as his thoughts turned abruptly to
the matter at hand. "Return to the hall and rouse the men, Egil. We must
sail within the hour or risk losing the tide."

Egil nodded, then scrambled over the side of the ship
and waded back to shore.

Hakon glanced at Gwendolyn. His tone was stern,
forbidding. "You will stay aboard the ship while I bid farewell to my
cousin and fetch your sister. Is that understood?" His startling blue
eyes, like the color of a cloudless, midsummer sky, seemed to burn right
through her, daring any thought of resistance.

"Aye, my lord," she mumbled grudgingly,
watching him as he walked over to the side of the ship.

"And while I am gone, stay away from those two,"
he cautioned sharply, just before jumping from the railing to the shallow water
below.

Gwendolyn's emerald eyes narrowed as she looked over at
Svein and Torvald, chained by their hands and feet to the rowing benches.
Torvald was still fast asleep, slumped against the side of the ship and snoring
loudly. But Svein was awake, his pale eyes staring viciously at her. Naked from
the waist up, his back was crisscrossed with angry red stripes and oozing welts
from the lash. He and Torvald had been forced to row along with the others,
despite their festering wounds.

Seating herself on a nearby bench, Gwendolyn hugged her
legs to her body and rested her chin on her knees. She could only hope that
Hakon and his men would not be gone for long. She didn't like the idea of being
alone on the ship with those two curs. She took a deep breath of the salty sea
air and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the waves as they crashed
onto the shore.

Her stomach suddenly grumbled angrily, reminding her
that she had eaten little since the day before. She reached out and grabbed the
loaf of bread lying on top of the cask where Hakon had left it.
He must have gone to the cooking house
earlier this morning,
she thought, while she had been sleeping. Aye, at
least she could thank him for that! She ravenously bit into the crusty loaf,
savoring the fresh-baked flavor.

"How about sharin' a bit o' that bread with me,
lad?" Svein called out, his forced
smile strangely
distorted into a grimace by the scar slashing down
the left side of his
face. He looked at the bread hungrily, licking his parched lips.

Gwendolyn nearly choked, her throat constricting at the
sound of his evil voice. Deep-seated feelings of hate and rage welled up within
her. She could barely keep herself from running over and striking the grin from
his face. "You must truly be a fool, Viking dog, to think that I would do
aught to sustain your miserable life," she snapped, her fists clenched in
anger.

Enraged by Gwendolyn's reply, Svein's face turned a
livid purple. He jerked up from his bench, furiously tugging at the chains
binding him. "Do
na
' think I am done with you yet,
lad!" he screamed, thrashing madly. "Nor with your fine sister! If
you think Lord Hakon will be able to protect you from me, think again. I swear
by the blood of Odin I will have my revenge!"

Awakened by the loud commotion, Torvald gaped at his
raving companion. "Svein, do you want to bring Lord Hakon down upon us
again?" he questioned worriedly. His back ached from the earlier lashing,
and he did not want to suffer another one.

But Svein ignored Torvald and continued his taunts. His
pale eyes glittered wildly as he lowered his voice to a raspy whisper. "I
have tasted your sister's lips once, lad, like honey they were, and I have
na
' forgotten the feel of her breasts or the heat of her
body as she writhed beneath me. Do
na
' think I will
rest 'til she is mine again!"

Sickened with revulsion by his words, Gwendolyn had
only one thought. She would silence the bastard, once and for all. Her eyes
fell on a sword lying under a rowing bench. With grim purpose she walked over
and picked up the heavy weapon, testing it in her hand. It was larger than
anything she had wielded before, but she had no doubt it would serve her well.
She turned on her heel and strode across the deck toward Svein, holding the
sword in a firm hand.

"Put the weapon down, Garric." Hakon's voice
was firm as he quickly hoisted himself over the railing near the bow of the
ship. Halfway to Einar's hall, he had realized the folly of leaving the lad
alone with Svein and Torvald. Sending two of the men he had met along the path
to collect Anora, he had run swiftly back to the ship, hoping he would not be
too late. He knew any amount of goading on Svein's part would surely force
Garric to take some action. The lad's hate ran too deep for it to be otherwise.
"Garric, do not be a fool. Put down your weapon," he muttered once
again, slowly walking toward Gwendolyn.

But Hakon's words seemed to have no effect on her. She
scarcely blinked at his voice. Her eyes were cold, ruthless, as she stared at
Svein with deadly intent. Grasping the hilt of the sword with both hands, she
lifted it high into the air.
So, this is
what it is like to kill a man,
she thought fleetingly, surprised at her
lack of feeling. It mattered naught to her that he was chained and defenseless.

Svein cringed before her, his mouth gaping in
disbelief. His eyes darted pleadingly from the sword above his head to Hakon,
then back again.
Odin, help me,
he
prayed wildly, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold morning air.

Hakon waited no longer for a response to his command.
Moving silently behind Gwendolyn, he grabbed the blade end of the sword. The
sharpened metal cut into the palm of his hand, stinging painfully, yet he did
not let go. Twisting the sword easily from her grasp, he threw it on the deck,
then
angrily grabbed her by the shoulders.

"You are proving more trouble than you are worth,
Garric," he said angrily. Reaching for some rope atop a nearby cask, he
yanked her arms roughly behind her back and deftly tied her wrists together.
Gwendolyn did not resist. Her eyes were vacant, and she stared blankly at
Hakon; as if in a trance. Her only thought was that she had failed . . . and
that Svein still lived.

Hakon dragged her over to the makeshift tent where
Anora had slept and shoved her to the deck. "You have sorely tried my
patience this day, Garric," he muttered darkly. "Had your sword found
its mark, I would have been forced to kill you. Any slave who takes the life of
a freeman—for whatever reason—forfeits his own."

He kneeled beside her, taking hold of her chin and
forcing her to look at him. "I understand your feelings, Garric. I, too,
would see him dead. But it cannot be by your hand." Receiving only a
sullen glance from her, Hakon hardened his voice. "You are valued property
to me, and I want you alive.
'
Tis not my wish to bind
you, but as you cannot be trusted, you will remain so 'til we reach Norge."

He rose to his feet, wiping his bloodied hand on his
tunic.

Striding across the deck toward Svein, he could almost
feel the lad's defiant eyes piercing his back like poisoned arrows. Yea, 'twas
true he wanted Garric alive, but for another reason as well. Should anything
happen to him, Hakon thought grimly, any hopes he might have of winning Anora's
favor would be dashed forever. He did not want to see the same hate reflected
in her eyes that he had seen in Garric's from the moment he had found them on
his ship. 'Twas strange, he mused. He had never before cared so much what a
wench thought of him . . . until now.

Svein's sneering voice broke rudely into his thoughts. "My
thanks to you, Lord Hakon.
'
Tis the second time that
cursed Anglo-Saxon has raised a weapon to me. Perhaps it would be better to
throw him over the side and be done with him."

The blow came so suddenly and with such lightning speed
that Svein hardly knew what hit him. Knocked to the deck, he felt as if his jaw
had become unhinged from his skull. He spat out several teeth into his hand,
then
looked up incredulously. Hakon towered above him.