Twin Passions (39 page)

Hakon felt cold fear grip him for the first time in his
life. He had braved many battles in the past, and had fought against fierce
opponents—yea, the fiercest of all this very day—yet he had never known fear,
not once. But now, the mere thought of losing the only woman he had ever loved was
more than he could bear. For a moment he was unable to reply, his blue eyes
staring off into the distance. Suddenly he shook his head fiercely. Nay, he
would not let death steal her from him! "Hear me, Hel, goddess of the
underworld, you will not take her!" he yelled, his defiant voice echoing
about the chamber. He snatched the long-bladed knife from the bed and drove it
with all his might into the carved corner post. It sank in to the hilt,
splintering the wood.

Berta's eyes were wide with awe as she looked at the
carved hilt of the knife protruding from the post. Yea, if that did not serve
to protect her young mistress and drive away the spirits that would wrench the
life from her body, then nothing would. She looked back at Hakon, who stood
tall and powerful by the bed, a blaze of heated defiance in his eyes.

"I will stay with her this night," he stated
evenly. "Tell me what I must do."

Berta nodded. "The room must be kept very warm, my
lord. I will see that a roaring fire is lit in the central fireplace, and a
slave will tend it through the night to see that it does not go out. There will
also be a caldron of boiling water for your use. You must see that the wound is
cleansed often. I will leave you plenty of cloth for bandages, and more of the
herb poultice. First apply hot cloths to the wound, then the poultice, then the
bandages. I will also leave a cask of cool water by the bed, and some soft
cloths to bathe away the fever from her body. I will cleanse the wound this
time, my lord. Watch me carefully."

With practiced hands she deftly applied the hot cloths.
Gwendolyn started from the searing heat. Though still unconscious, she screamed
out in pain. "Pay no mind to her cries, my lord, it must be done,"
Berta said, rubbing the herb paste all around the wound. Then she quickly
wrapped a bandage over it, tying it tightly under her arm. "There, now,
that should do for a while. The bleeding has stopped, thankfully." She
started to walk to the door. "I will go now and prepare a soothing broth to
give her if she awakens. It will help her keep up her strength."

"My thanks, Berta," Hakon murmured. He moved
back to the other side of the bed and began gently to remove the rest of
Gwendolyn's clothing. Suddenly he remembered the Viking guard standing quietly
by the door. "Wait outside, man," he ordered, though not too gruffly,
"but
leave
the door open so the heat from the
fireplace may warm this room."

"Yea, Lord Hakon," the guard replied,
complying hastily.

Hakon threw her soiled clothing on a pile beside the
bed. How had she gotten Garric's clothes? He looked about the room. The heavy
lid to her chest was thrown open, and silken garments were scattered about the
floor. His eyes flew to the timbered wall where he kept his weapons; the spot
where the knife had rested on two pegs was bare.

He could read the scene before him almost as well as if
he had been there to see it. She must have dressed in great haste, probably
right after he had left the chamber,
then
grabbed the
long-bladed knife from the wall. She had then jumped from the window to the
ground below, and headed for the stable. That was when he had seen her, and had
called out to her to saddle his stallion. Hakon shuddered. If only he had known
it then!

Hakon wrung out one of the cloths in the hot water and
gently bathed her slender body. Her alabaster skin was flushed, glowing with a
fine sheen of perspiration. He almost choked with emotion. Thor, she was so
beautiful! When he was finished bathing her, he pulled the fur coverlet up over
her delicate shoulders.

Hakon looked down at his own sweat-soaked garments.
There were several bright red splatters on his tunic . . . the blood of his
enemies. He grimaced. And Anora's. He walked to the leather-backed chair by the
window and unfastened the silver brooches that held his cloak. Easing it from
his shoulders, he draped it over the chair, then pulled the heavy shirt of mail
over his head and dropped it with a clanking thud to the floor. He kicked off
his boots,
then
stripped off his tunic and leggings. Pulling
a linen tunic and trousers from one of the massive chests, he hastily put them
on. There would be no time for a bath this night.

"Hakon!" Gwendolyn's anguished cry tore from
her throat, shattering the stillness of the room.

Hakon rushed over to the bed and sat down by her side.
He gathered her into his strong arms, willing some of his strength into her. "I
am here, love," he murmured. "I am here."

Gwendolyn's eyelids fluttered open. Her emerald eyes
were glazed and overbright, her fair features flushed with fever. She clung to
him, hot tears coursing down her cheeks. "It hurts so . . ." she
whispered hoarsely. "Make the pain go away . . . please . . ."

Hakon felt a hard lump in his throat. Odin, why are you
trying me so?
he
raged helplessly, stroking the side
of her face. The sight of Berta rushing through the door flooded him with
relief. "She has awakened, Berta!" he exclaimed softly.

"'Tis a good sign," Berta replied, nodding
approvingly as she hurried to the bed with a wooden tray. "Here is the soothing
broth, my lord. I have mixed in some sleeping herbs that should help to calm
her. If she is asleep, the pain will not plague her as much." She set the
tray upon the table, then dragged the chair over to the side of the bed and sat
down heavily. "Hold her head still, my lord."

Berta gently spooned some of the broth into Gwendolyn's
mouth. She was pleased to see that she swallowed it readily. Before long the
bowl was emptied. "Another good sign, Lord Hakon. The more of this she
drinks, the better! I shall leave the pot of broth on the hearth above the
fireplace." She heaved herself out of the chair. "If you have need of
aught else, send one of the guards for me and I will come at once." She
smiled faintly. "Good night, my lord."

Hakon reached out and caught her hand, squeezing it
gratefully. "Again, you have my thanks," he murmured. Berta reddened
in embarrassment, unable to speak. Nodding, she turned abruptly and moved about
the room, lighting the small oil lamps one by one. Then without a backward glance
she hurried out the door.
Yea, and
may
Odin protect the lass,
she thought fleetingly,
hugging her hand to her breast.

Hakon leaned his head back against the timbered wall.
He closed his eyes, his broad shoulders slumping with exhaustion. He must have
fallen asleep for a moment, but he was jerked awake as Gwendolyn cried out once
again.

So began a seemingly endless night as Hakon changed the
bandages on Gwendolyn's wound, bathed her feverish body, and fed her spoonfuls
of broth when she was conscious enough to swallow. He held her in his arms and
caressed her burning skin. He murmured her name over and over so that she would
know he was there with her, never leaving her side.

At one point she screamed so loudly that the Viking
guard rushed in, his eyes wide with alarm. "Shall I summon Berta?" he
asked fearfully.

Hakon waved him from the room. "Nay, 'tis only the
fever," he murmured, holding her tightly. She writhed deliriously in his
arms, her head tossing from side to side.

"Nay, Anora, run . . . run!" she moaned. "Damn
the Viking! We will escape from him, Anora, I promise you!" Hakon sat up,
listening. He had paid no heed to her wild ravings until now, for they had been
mostly unintelligible. But why was she calling to Anora? She was Anora!

"How can you . . . how can you marry him?"
Gwendolyn ranted feverishly. "Wulfgar Ragnarson . . . a Dane . . . our
enemy . . . nay, Anora!" She licked her dry lips. "'Tis all right, 'tis
all right . . . she loves him . . . so much water, all around . . . he must not
touch her . . . she belongs to Wulfgar Ragnarson . . . must go in her place . .
."

Hakon started, his eyes widening as she repeated the
name once again. Wulfgar Ragnarson! The man Haarek Jarl had spoken of at the
meeting in Trondheim! He felt a strange sense of foreboding tugging at his
mind, the same feeling that had overwhelmed him on the battlefield, but he
tried to ignore it.

"What can I do . . . I have no choice . . .
escape, we must escape . . . the merchant . . . what has happened to the
merchant!" Suddenly Gwendolyn wrenched herself free of Hakon's arms and
sat up in bed, her face a mask of horror. "Nay, Rhoar . . . there is no
time . . . the knife, throw the knife . . . Hakon!" she cried out,
anguished tears running down her flushed cheeks. "Hakon!" Her whole
body trembled as fierce sobs racked her body.

Hakon gently pulled her back down beside him and she
slumped, exhausted, in his arms. The tears had scarcely dried upon her face
when she fell into a deep sleep, her fever broken at last. He gathered her close
and pulled the thick coverlet over them both.

But Hakon could not sleep. He felt as if the cold steel
of a knife had been thrust into his heart and twisted cruelly around. Who was
this woman he held in his arms? Was she
Anora,
or
someone else? He suddenly remembered the question he had asked himself on the
battlefield: How could brother and sister look so much alike? How could brother
and sister . . . unless they weren't brother and sister after all!

Suddenly everything seemed clear to him, achingly, painfully
clear. His powerful body trembled uncontrollably, as if he himself were racked
with fever. Ever so gently he slid his arm out from beneath Gwendolyn's tousled
head and got up from the bed. He briefly touched her forehead. It was cool to
his touch, and her breathing had returned to normal. At least he could be
grateful for that, he thought, tucking the coverlet snugly about her. He walked
almost in a daze to the door.

"Find Garric, and bring him here to me!" he
ordered, startling the Viking guard who was asleep on a bench just outside the
door.

"G-Garric?" the guard asked, jumping to his
feet.

"Yea, the stable hand. Take other guards if you
must, only find him . . . and quickly. I wish to see him, now!"

The Viking guard wasted no time. He strode quickly
across the main room of the hall and hurried out the door.

Hakon turned back into his chamber and walked over to
the chair by the bed. He sat
down,
his startling blue
eyes fixed upon Gwendolyn's face, and waited.

Chapter 36

The Viking guard returned a short while later,
breathing hard from running back to the hall. "My lord, the lad is not in
the stable!" he gasped. "I have alerted the other guards and they are
out looking for him now, but so far there is no sign of him!"

Hakon slammed his fist down hard upon the wooden arm of
the chair. "Garric must be in the stable," he muttered, almost to
himself. He rose to his feet. "I will go with you and we will look again."
He quickly pulled on his boots and grabbed a thick fur vest hanging on a wooden
peg near the door. He glanced over his shoulder at the bed. Gwendolyn was still
sleeping soundly. He rushed out of the room, the Viking warrior close behind
him.

Hakon's voice startled the woman who was busily tending
the blazing fire in the central hearth. "Go sit in my chamber and watch
Anora carefully until I return," he called out, striding across the hall. "If
she
wakes,
see that she drinks more of the broth. The
herbs should help her to sleep again."

"Yea, my lord!" The woman bowed her head,
wiping her hands upon her woolen tunic. She hurried into his chamber.

Hakon drew in his breath sharply as he stepped outside.
Thor, but it was cold this night! Their footsteps made crunching sounds in the
new snow that had fallen as they hurried along the path to the stable.

They were met at the door to the stable by several
Viking warriors. Their faces were grim as they held up their torches. "We
have not found the lad, my lord. We even looked in the women's slave house,
thinking perhaps he might be with a wench
— "

"Nay, you will not find him there," Hakon cut
him off abruptly, a sardonic half smile upon his lips. He pushed open the door
to the stable. "Hand me a torch," he demanded.

Hakon stepped inside the large, darkened room. He held
up the torch in front of him, making a slow sweep of the shadowed recesses of
the stable. The sheep and cattle rustled nervously about in their stalls, while
frightened chickens dodged for cover, clucking incessantly.

"Garric!" he called out sharply. He was
answered only by the snorting of his stallion, which tossed its head in
greeting. "Garric!" He waited a moment, but still there was no reply.
Anger flared within him. His instincts told him that Garric was in the stable,
somewhere, perhaps hiding.

"'Tis Lord Hakon, lad. You must come out at once!
Anora has taken sick this night with a burning fever. Even now she is calling
out your name. I promised her I would find you and bring you to her side!"

Hakon's ruse was instantly rewarded. He heard a
rustling of hay from the far end of the stable, then the sound of footsteps, as
a slender figure hurried forward into the light cast by the blazing torch. He
started, recognizing the tunic and breeches she wore. They were the extra
clothes he had given Garric, the ones the lad had always refused to wear.

But on her small feet were soft leather slippers . . .
women's slippers!

"My-my lord?" Anora murmured apprehensively,
shielding her eyes. Her mind was racing. Gwendolyn, taken sick? But how? When?
Her face was pale and drawn, and she swayed unsteadily on her feet. She had not
eaten for almost two days.