Twin Passions (24 page)

"Cut him down!" he ordered tersely. One of
the Viking guards drew his sword and quickly severed the ropes binding
Gwendolyn. She did not fall, but stood leaning on the post. Anora gasped in
relief and tried to run to her sister's side. But Hakon held her fast.

"Please, my lord, allow me a few moments to help
Garric to his pallet in the stable, and to see to his wounds," she
entreated, her eyes pleading with him.

"Nay, Anora." Hakon shook his head. "You
will hold to your promise this night, and accompany me to my hall."

But Anora stood fast, awakened to the power she had
over him. She looked at him with a newfound boldness that she had not known she
possessed. "I cannot come to you knowing my brother is hurt. If you will
allow me only a few moments to care for him, I will be most grateful, my lord
Hakon." She gazed up at him unabashed, her meaning reflected in her eyes.

Hakon looked confounded for a moment. Loki's mischief,
he would never understand women! For the past month Anora had avoided him at
every turn, spurning his advances, and now she had gifted him with such a look
that made his blood boil! He glanced over at Gwendolyn, who was leaning her
head against the post.
The lad does
indeed look pale,
he admitted,
and
she has asked for only a few moments . . .

"Very well," he said gruffly, letting go of
her arm. "But do not linger overlong. My patience has already been sorely
tried this day." She nodded,
then
ran over to
Gwendolyn's side. His eyes hungrily followed her lithe form. Yea, he would not
wait long. "Olav, see that Anora is escorted to my hall after she has seen
to her brother," he ordered.

"Yea, my lord," he answered, watching as
Hakon threw the lash to the ground and strode off in the direction of his hall.
He sighed, grateful for how the night had ended. Hakon's wrath would have
turned on them all if aught had happened to the wench.

"Come on, Gwen— . . . Garric," Anora
whispered in her sister's ear. Gwendolyn let go of the post and leaned on her
for support, testing the strength in her legs. She gritted her teeth at the
pain.

"I am fine now, Anora," she murmured, limping
as she walked toward the stable. Her sister held her arm, despite her weak
protests, until they had walked through the stable door.

Anora's delicate features were etched with concern. "Here,
let me help you to your palle
— "

"Shut the door behind us!" Gwendolyn suddenly
hissed, interrupting her. She feigned a collapse on the pallet for the benefit
of Olav, who stood watching them from the stable-yard. Anora looked dubiously
at her sister, then hurried back to the entrance and quietly closed the wooden
door.

"We must work fast, Anora!" Gwendolyn
whispered urgently. She jumped up from her pallet, ignoring the ache in her
legs, and ran to the far wall of the stable, where the farming implements and
metal tools were kept. Her eyes quickly scanned the varied assortment until she
found the one she was looking for — a long metal blade that was used to shear
sheep. She yanked it from its hook and tested the blade's sharpness with her
finger. Aye, it would do, she thought, hurrying back to her sister.

Anora looked at her incredulously. "What are you
going to do?"

"I will not have you give yourself to that Viking!"
Gwendolyn blurted angrily, a fierce light burning in her eyes. "I made a
promise to you on that ship, and I mean to keep it
!
 
We will escape from here, but it will
take more time." She paused, her voice low. "I will go to Lord Hakon
tonight in your place!"

Anora could not believe her ears.
Sweet Jesu! Gwendolyn has gone mad!
she
thought frantically, tears rushing to her eyes. It was more than she could
bear. She fell to her knees, her shoulders shaking from the despair that
wracked her body. Would that Svein had killed her rather than see her sister
like this!

Gwendolyn dropped to her knees and shook Anora roughly.
"Listen to me," she pleaded desperately, "for we have little
time left! No doubt Olav will soon call for you." She held Anora's face in
her hands. "I cannot bear the thought of you sacrificing yourself for me.
You belong to Wulfgar . . . he is the only man who should ever touch you!"

Anora nodded numbly. Her eyes stared into the distance
as she remembered those long days spent in the tent on Hakon's ship during the
sea crossing. She had never told Gwendolyn that she had considered ending her
life then, that she would rather have died knowing one night with Wulfgar than
feel another man's hands upon her. It was only Gwendolyn's vow to her that had
restored her will to live and given her hope.

Gwendolyn rushed on anxiously. "I had thought all
was lost until you begged Hakon to allow you a few moments to care for me. It
gave me the time I needed to think." She stood and pulled off her jerkin. "Here,
quickly! Exchange your clothes with mine. Then I will have to cut your hair,
Anora. 'Tis really the only thing that sets us apart. You must now play the
part of Garric, while I will go to Lord Hakon in your place. He will never know
the difference, for we look so much alike. If I have managed to deceive him
this long as a boy, surely this plan cannot fail!" She hurriedly stripped
off her shirt and bent down to pull off her leather boots. "Now, Anora!
Give me your clothes!"

Anora stared dumbfounded, her mind racing. "You
would do this for me?" she asked, searching Gwendolyn's face.

"Aye," Gwendolyn replied simply. She
straightened up and embraced her sister tightly. "I would do aught to
protect you, Anora."

Her eyes shining with grateful tears, Anora hesitated
no longer. She quickly slipped her plain woolen mantle, then the linen shift,
over her head. She had lost her fur cloak during the awful encounter along the
shoreline, though she had scarcely noticed the cold until now. She stood
shivering while Gwendolyn finished undressing. Then she quickly donned the
clothes tossed over to her.

"You always wished you had the daring to wear men's
clothing, Anora," Gwendolyn whispered, a faint smile on her lips as she
pulled the shift down over her head, then the mantle. "Now is your chance."
At any other time she would have laughed. But a strange fear was beginning to
gnaw at her, chasing all thoughts from her mind and threatening to weaken her
resolve. Nay, she could not change her mind now, she chided herself. There
would be no turning back . . .

Anora's worried voice interrupted her dark thoughts. "But
I know naught of horses and such, Gwendolyn. What shall I do—
"

"I will teach you what I can whenever Lord Hakon
is away from the settlement, though you will have to learn fast," she
replied. "And if there is need, I can always become Garric again!"
She winked reassuringly. "Now, kneel down, Anora, so I may cut your hair,"
she murmured, picking up the blade from the ground.

It did not take long before the stable floor around
them was strewn with Anora's long, silver-blond tresses. Gwendolyn stepped back
to survey her handiwork. Aye, it would have to do, she thought grimly, noting
with satisfaction how her sister's newly shorn hair curled softly about her
face much the same as her own.

"'Tis a small price to pay for such a cost,"
Anora murmured. She quickly gathered her hair in a pile and was about to hide
it under the straw when Gwendolyn stopped her.

"Nay, Anora, I wish to take it with me to the
Viking's hall," Gwendolyn whispered. She bent down and scooped up the
silky mass.

Suddenly Olav's voice boomed out from the stable yard. "
Enough,
wench! If the lad needs further help, I will fetch
the healer to minister to him. Come out from the stable!"

Gwendolyn wheeled around, her hand to her throat, the
other clutching the long strands of silver-blond hair. Suddenly she did not
feel so brave.

Anora threw her arms about her sister's neck, her face
wet with tears. "I shall never forget what you have done for me this
night, Gwendolyn," she said softly.

Gwendolyn nodded, though her eyes were distant. "Lie
down on the pallet . . . quickly!" She covered her sister with the woolen
blanket. "You are now Garric, slave and stable hand to Hakon Jarl!"
she whispered vehemently. "We will play this out as long as we can, and
hopefully find a way to escape before our guise is discovered!"

And if God wills
it,
she thought, crossing herself. She turned away abruptly, knowing that
if she lingered any longer she might lose her courage. At that moment Olav pushed
open the stable door.

"Come on, wench, before Lord Hakon returns himself
to carry you back to his hall!" he blustered. He stepped back in surprise.
What has the wench done to her hair?
he
wondered, his mouth gaping as he looked at the long
strands dangling from her hand. Truly the short curls did little to lessen her
beauty, but he could not help but think Lord Hakon would be extremely
displeased. He shook his head, his eyes flickering over the huddled figure
lying on the pallet. He bent down to pull back the woolen blanket, but
Gwendolyn stopped him.

"Please, do not disturb him," she murmured
quietly, her hand on his arm. "My brother is sleeping at last."

Olav stood up, shifting uncomfortably under her steady,
emerald gaze. He was not immune to the charms of a beautiful woman, and this
one was truly bewitching. He found himself nodding,
then
followed her from the stable as she stepped out into the cold night air. She
shivered visibly. Olav took his heavy hooded cloak from his shoulders and
wrapped it around her.

"Come, lass, I will show you the way," he
muttered, holding her arm gently. Two other guards walked before them, their
blazing torches held high to light the path leading to Lord Hakon's hall.

Chapter 23

Gwendolyn entered the dimly lit hall, still wrapped in
Olav's hooded cloak. Her
heart was pounding madly, and try
as she would, she could not still her trembling. She could see a glowing light
from the central fireplace within the main room, but she did not see any sign
of Hakon. For a moment she stood as if rooted to the floor, overwhelmed by fear
of what was to come.

Hakon's deep voice suddenly called out to her from
across the hall. "Come forward into the light, Anora," he commanded.

Gwendolyn raised her chin defiantly, the fear chased
from her mind by the burning hate that flared within her at the sound of his
voice. Aye, she hated him . . . for bringing them to this cursed land, for
condemning them to a life of slavery, and, most of all, for what he was about
to do to her. And it was this hate that gave her the strength she needed. She
squared her delicate shoulders and began to walk slowly into the main room.

Her eyes widened in astonishment as she noted the
richness of the furnishings and the fine woven tapestries gracing the timbered
walls. She had never seen such luxury before! Everywhere she looked were new
and strange sights: delicately glazed pottery; blue-tinted vessels that one
could see through; silver goblets and bowls of every size and shape; a bronze
urn resting on the floor from which scented smoke was wafting. All this and
much more attested to the great wealth the Viking had acquired as a merchant
trader. Ansgar had told her Lord Hakon was as wealthy as he was powerful, but such
richness was beyond belief!

Why, he even has
fine furs upon the wooden floor!
Gwendolyn marveled. She had never heard of
such a thing. She stepped gingerly around a thick black fur placed in the
middle of the hall.

"The furs are laid on the floor to walk upon."
Hakon laughed easily, rising from an ornately carved chair set near the
fireplace. "There is no need to step around them."

Gwendolyn looked up, a sudden blush warming her skin.
She was no stranger to men's bodies, having grown up surrounded by her father's
thanes, but she had never seen a man built so powerfully as Hakon. She wondered
why she had never thought so before, but then she decided it was probably
because she had never seen him so scantily clothed.

He had changed from his black riding garb into a
sleeveless tunic, open down the
front, that
only too
well revealed his muscled arms and the bronzed expanse of his chest. The tunic
was tucked loosely into snug-fitting trousers that were molded to his tapered
hips and sinewy thighs, while soft leather boots came just to his knees. He had
no belt, but only a silken drawstring tied at his waist. His white-blond hair,
brushed back from his wide forehead, tumbled about his neck in soft waves.

Her wide-eyed perusal pleased Hakon, for he smiled, his
teeth a flash of white against the bronzed planes of his face.

He crossed the remaining distance between them in only
two strides, and gathered her into his arms.

"Anora . . . my Anora," he said huskily,
crushing her to him. Gwendolyn stiffened in his arms. He was so tall that he
seemed to tower over her, her head barely coming to his shoulder. Suddenly he
bent his head and lifted her chin to him, capturing her soft lips with his own.

Gwendolyn started in surprise, her breath caught in her
throat. She had never been kissed by a man before. Hakon's lips were warm upon
hers, even tender, and she found herself thinking the new sensation was not
altogether unpleasant. Unconsciously she leaned toward him, closing her eyes,
an odd stirring awakening deep within her.

Sensing her unexpected acquiescence, Hakon deepened his
kiss, his tongue forcing open her lips as he sought to taste the hidden
sweetness of her mouth. Gwendolyn's eyes flew open in shock at this new demand,
reality once again flooding her mind. She tried to pull away from him but he
held her fast, one strong arm encircling her waist, while his other hand
caressed the small of her back and her slender hips. Suddenly she twisted her
head to the side, tearing her lips from his. The hood of the cloak slipped from
her head.