Twin Passions (23 page)

"'Tis quite a shame, really, but the merchant
decided he had other plans," a low voice growled in the dark.

Gwendolyn whirled around and pulled her knife from her
belt, but she saw no one. She knew that awful voice, God help them, she knew
it!

"Run, Anora, run!" Gwendolyn yelled, giving
her sister a shove. Anora began to run back along the shoreline, but her
efforts were hampered by the sharp, jagged rocks.

"The
lass is
all yours,
Torvald!" the evil voice cried. "At least for now!"

Suddenly Anora felt herself lifted up into the air and
hugged tightly against a broad chest. She screamed once, a loud, shrill sound,
before a large hand was clapped over her mouth. She struggled futilely in the
Viking's huge arms for several moments,
then
gave up
in despair.

Gwendolyn heard Anora's muffled cries and her heart
sank. It was all so horribly familiar. At that moment her knife was suddenly
knocked from her hand. It fell clattering to the rocks several feet away, and
she knew she would not be able to find it in time.

"'Twas so good of you to share your plans with us
in the marketplace, lad," Svein muttered, stepping out from behind a huge
rock. He walked up to Gwendolyn, a long knife held in his hand. "Of
course, it would have meant our deaths to allow Lord Hakon to see us there. So
we stood just behind the merchant's stall as you told him your life's story."

He laughed cruelly. "What good fortune, or should
I say strange coincidence? Torvald and I had been at the tradin' settlement
only two days, and who should we see? 'Twas then we decided to fetch you for
ourselves." He clucked his tongue in mock sympathy. "The good
merchant kindly allowed us to borrow his boat. It seems he will
na
' be needing it any longer!"

At that moment the moon broke away from the clouds,
illuminating Svein's scarred face. He walked toward her menacingly, brandishing
the knife. "And do na' think to sway me with talk of your father's gold,
lad.
'
Tis not gold we want now, but revenge!"

Gwendolyn had barely heard him, her mind working
quickly. But before she could make any move, Svein lunged at her and brought
his arm about her neck. She elbowed him fiercely in the ribs, and was rewarded
with a sharp slap across the face that knocked her reeling to the ground.

"Come on, Torvald, let's get them on the boat,"
Svein ordered gruffly. He bent down and grabbed her by the thick lining of her
fur jerkin, pulling her roughly to her feet.

Nay, she would not give up that easily, she thought
desperately, flailing her legs and arms. One of her legs caught him hard in the
groin and he doubled over in pain, cursing vehemently. She pulled away from
him, free. Catching sight of a glint of steel in the moonlight, she grabbed the
long knife from his hand. Without a thought, she plunged it deep into his
chest. Svein screamed in agony, trying to cover the wound with his hand, while
warm blood spurted between his fingers.

Gwendolyn quickly ran over to where Torvald stood
holding Anora. She knew this huge Viking would be a far more formidable foe.
Her fears were confirmed when he dropped Anora to the ground and pulled his
broadsword from the scabbard at his belt. Anora tried to crawl away from him on
her hands and knees, but he caught her by the hair and dragged her back again,
all the while keeping his eyes upon Gwendolyn.

Torvald towered above her, grinning wolfishly in the
moonlight. He swung his sword once, barely missing her as she dodged just in
time, though she tripped on a sharp rock and fell heavily to the ground. Seeing
his chance, he raised his sword high above his head, an awful, blood curdling
scream wrenching from his throat.

Suddenly Gwendolyn heard a high-pitched whistling sound
in the air, then a strangled, gurgling noise from Torvald as his whole body
jerked spasmodically. He seemed to sway for a moment, his arms still high above
his head. Then he fell forward with a crash onto the rocky beach.

Gwendolyn gasped at the long spear protruding from
Torvald's broad back. Looking up, she saw several riders fast approaching them
from the direction of the settlement. Their leader, dressed all in black, was
riding far ahead of the others. She could hear the snorting of his mighty
steed, and the pounding of its hooves as it galloped along the rocky shoreline.
Rushing over to Anora's side, she held her sobbing sister in her arms as the
rider bore down upon them. His bronzed face was barely discernible in the
moonlight, but she could sense the cold fury flashing dangerously from his
eyes.

Chapter 22

The full moon was high over the fjord by the time the
silent party returned to the settlement. Hakon brought his great stallion to a
halt in the stable yard and
dismounted,
his expression
grim. He reached
up,
encircling Anora's slender waist
with his hands, then lifted her from the saddle to the ground. She avoided his
eyes and immediately ran over to her sister, who had sunk to her knees in
exhaustion,
her head slumped to her chest.

Gwendolyn had been forced to follow on foot all the way
back to the settlement, her hands tied together with a long piece of rope that
had been attached to the pommel of Hakon's saddle. Hakon had walked his
stallion all the way back, but she had still been forced to run to keep up with
them or else be dragged along the shore.

Hakon looked at them coldly, a mixture of anger and
relief raging within him. He had been almost an hour's ride from the settlement
when he had suddenly decided to turn back, a growing suspicion burning in his
mind. He had bidden most of his men to continue on without him, saying only
that he would meet them on the morrow at his uncle's settlement. Olav and three
other warriors had returned with him, their horses galloping hard to keep pace
with Hakon's powerful stallion.

He had reined in first at the women's slave house, not
even bothering to announce his entrance. He had
strode
in amid the women, his eyes scanning the room for Anora. Berta had rushed
forward at that moment, her round, anxious face telling him all he needed to
know.

"She is not here, my lord!" Berta had
lamented, wringing her hands. "I have only just returned from the cooking
house after finishing my work for the next day's meals, and when I looked in
her chamber, 'twas empty!"

This news had brought forth a blistering curse from
Hakon. He entertained only one thought as he mounted his steed and rode over to
the stable —Garric! He angrily recalled the events of the past few days—Garric's
lingering overlong at the foreign merchant's stall at the trading settlement;
his eagerness to please, so unlike him, just that morning when Hakon had taken
his stallion out for a ride; his illness in the stable, and now as Hakon
thought back, most likely feigned —and he could not believe he had failed to
recognize these signs for what they had been . . . a prelude to escape.
Grim-faced, he only hoped he would not be too late.

He had rushed into the stable, knowing in his heart
that it, too, would be empty. A loud groan from along the back wall had led him
to Egil, who was sitting in the middle of a pile of straw holding his head in
his hands. Surrounded by cackling chickens and nervous sheep, with pieces of hay
sticking to his thick hair and beard, the robust Viking made a comical sight.
Hakon might have laughed had the situation been different, but laughter had
been the last thing on his mind.

"Tell me quickly, Egil, did you see aught of the
lad and Anora?" Hakon asked him, noting that he was none the worse for his
mishap save the angry welt on his forehead.

"Yea, my lord," he murmured, groaning. "I
followed the wench here from the women's slave house. She was acting a bit
strangely, what with looking over her shoulder, peering around corners and
such, so I thought I had better have a look. When I walked in the door . . ."
He shook his head in disbelief. "There was a loud crack, and then I
remember naught else."

Hakon helped Egil shakily to his feet,
then
bade one of the other men to care for him. Just as he
was rushing from the stable, his keen eyes scanning the waters of the fjord, he
heard the scream. Loud and high-pitched, it carried out over the water, echoing
among the hills surrounding the settlement.

He had wasted no time in mounting his stallion, though
a sense of dread settled over him as he rode like the wind down the hill and
along the rocky shoreline. Just barely able to make out several battling
figures in the darkness, he had sent a fervent prayer to Odin that he would not
be too late. He had drawn his winged spear from his saddle, holding it poised
and ready in hand until he could be sure of his target.

The wild Viking war cry carried high upon the wind had
been all Hakon needed. The deadly weapon had sailed through the air, finding
its mark, the awful scream cut off as abruptly as the life of the man who had
uttered it.

Dismounting from his stallion with sword in hand, Hakon
had quickly taken in the scene before him. Relief had surged through his body
once he knew Anora was unharmed, but it had soon been replaced by cold,
restrained fury at the look of hateful defiance that had burned in the lad's
eyes.

***

"My lord!" Olav's shout interrupted Hakon's
dark thoughts, as he rode up into the stable yard and dismounted from his
sweating horse. "The bodies of Svein and Torvald have been thrown into the
fjord, as you commanded, and may Hel, goddess of the underworld, enjoy their
foul company!" he spat fiercely.

Hakon only nodded, his face grim, his chiseled lips a
tight line. Anora still huddled beside Gwendolyn, her arms tightly hugging her
sister's shoulders. Truly, they made a pathetic pair, he thought. But right now
he had no time for pity.

Walking up to Anora, he bent down and pulled her away
from Gwendolyn's side. She struggled, but in vain. Her protests were no match
for his muscled strength. "Hold her fast," he bid Olav, who grabbed
her and held her arms tightly.

"Stand up, Garric!" Hakon ordered.

Gwendolyn raised her eyes to meet his. Angry rebellion
shone from the emerald depths, hitting Hakon with an almost physical force as
she rose unsteadily to her feet.

Even now the lad
shows his hate,
he marveled, impressed by Garric's courage despite the
severe punishment that was sure to come. A Viking guard approached the small
group carrying a studded lash and handed it to Hakon. He took it, wrapping it
about his right hand.

"Tie him to the post!" Hakon commanded. Two
warriors rushed to obey, seizing Gwendolyn by the arms and dragging her up
against the thick timbered post. She offered no resistance as they tied her
securely. Her face was expressionless, though her eyes glittered defiantly.

Hakon stood back several feet from the post as he
tested the lash. The cruel piece of leather cut through the air like a
slithering serpent, the metal studs cutting small gouges in the snow-covered
dirt as it hit the ground.

"I have warned you from the start, Garric, not to
force my hand, but in this last instance you have pressed me too far. Though
you are but a mere boy, I can no longer tolerate such blatant defiance on your
part. You must be punished."

Gwendolyn closed her eyes tightly and leaned against
the post as she heard the lash sing through the air. She jerked as it cut
across her back, though the pain was slight due to the thickness of her
fur-lined jerkin. Again the lash sailed through the air, this time hitting her
across the legs. The woolen breeches were no match for the biting sting of the
studded lash. She cried out in pain.

"Nay . . . please stop . . . please!" begged
Anora, suddenly wrenching free from Olav's arms. She ran over to Hakon and
threw herself at his feet, her beautiful face streaked with tears as she looked
up at him beseechingly. "Please, strike him no more!" she pleaded,
her slender body wracked by sobs. "If you will only stop, my lord Hakon, I
promise that I will come to your bed this night. You have made known your
desire for me many times. If it is still your wish, I . . . I am yours."

Hakon's face was inscrutable as he looked down at
Anora, a cold, empty feeling inside him. So, he had won at last, he thought
bitterly, though his victory was indeed a hollow one. He bent down and gently
lifted Anora to her feet, his blue eyes searching her face. For the first time
she met his gaze evenly and without fear, despite her trembling.

Only her love for
her brother and her desire to protect him has brought her to this,
he
thought ironically. His punishment of Garric had accomplished so easily what
his patience and gentle words had failed to do. He noted well the set
determination of her delicate chin, and the hint of defiance in her eyes that
now matched that of her brother's. Hakon sighed. This was not how he had
imagined it would be. But, if he could not have her heart . . . he would no
longer deny himself her body.

"You are mine, Anora, by your consent or not,"
he murmured possessively, drawing her close. "Garric will be spared not
because you have given yourself to me at last, but only if I wish it to be so."
With that, he held her away from him, one hand gripping her arm, while the
other still toyed with the lash. He stared at Gwendolyn for several moments,
not saying a word. Truly the lad deserved to be punished further for the escape
attempt,
for he had no doubt that Garric had been the
one to plan it. But Hakon had spent his wrath. His mind had turned to other
things . . .