Twin Passions (43 page)

Anora shook her head doubtfully, then moved away from
the door and hurried over to Gwendolyn's side. She stood next to her chair and
rested her hand on her sister's shoulder.

Hakon drew in his breath sharply as he entered the
sunlit chamber. Truly, he had never seen two more radiantly beautiful women!
Yet his eyes sought only Gwendolyn's. She met his gaze evenly, though he could
see she was trembling. Thor, how many tortured nights had he spent dreaming of
her, how many anxious days wondering if she had recovered from her wound! But
he quickly caught hold of himself, remembering his sworn vow to harden his
heart against her. She was lost to him, he told himself fiercely. There was
naught he could do.

"You said you wished to speak to us, my lord,"
Gwendolyn murmured softly. Her delicate hands lay in her lap, clasped tightly
so they would not shake. Hakon seemed to fill the very room with his powerful
presence, overwhelming her, shattering her ability to reason.

Hakon started at the lilting sound of her voice. Yet
her simple statement served to remind him of the purpose for his visit. He took
a few steps toward them, his hand resting on the polished hilt of his
broadsword. His voice was hard, implacable.

"I have come to tell you that we shall sail within
the fortnight for England. Haarek Jarl has already sent emissaries to both your
father and Wulfgar Ragnarson, informing them of your imminent . . . and safe
return." He paused, noting the sudden paleness of Gwendolyn's cheeks. "If
you are not feeling well, we can talk of this later, Gwendolyn."

She, too, started visibly. She had never heard him say
her name before. "I am fine, my lord," she replied, though somewhat
shakily. She was grateful for the reassuring pressure of Anora's hand on her
shoulder.

"Very well, then. As soon as preparations are made
and all is in readiness, we will set sail for your homeland. Two of Haarek Jarl's
warships will meet us at the mouth of the Sogn and escort us during the
journey." He looked at them pointedly, an unspoken question in his eyes. "I
would have given you this news earlier this day, but it seemed you were both in
a great hurry to return to the hall."

Gwendolyn turned her face away, a burning blush firing
her cheeks. So, he had seen them standing there on the hill after all! She
fought to keep her voice low and steady. "It seemed to us that you were
well occupied, my lord. We thought perhaps our meeting should wait for another
time." She looked back at him, hurt and betrayal flaring in the emerald
depths of her eyes.

Hakon was taken aback by the force of her gaze. What
could she possibly be referring to?
he
wondered,
perplexed.

Gwendolyn did not wait for a response. "Is it your
wish that we gather our few things together and move to another longhouse . . .
to make room for your new concubine?" she asked bitterly.

"Concubine?" Hakon muttered, almost to
himself. Then his eyes widened in surprise as he guessed the meaning of her
question. Had he detected a hint of jealousy in her voice, or had he imagined
it? Nay, it was not possible. Gwendolyn cared naught for him. He quickly
dismissed the thought.

"If you speak of the young woman aboard my ship
this morning, she is a sister to the wife of Haarek Jarl, " Hakon
explained.
"
She wished to return to her home,
which is in this region, and I offered to escort
her this
far. Her kin will be here tomorrow morn to fetch her." Hakon shrugged. "She
is a winsome lass, and comely as well. I have half a mind to ask her kin to
consider a betrothal between her and my uncle's middle son. 'Twould be a fine
match that would join our family to that of Haarek Jarl's."

"Oh!" Gwendolyn cried. She looked down at her
hands, embarrassed, as overwhelming relief surged through her body. So, all was
not yet lost! A faint smile curved her lips.

Anora squeezed her shoulder, then left her side and
hurried toward the door. "If you will excuse me, my lord, there is a
matter I must attend to," she murmured, lowering her eyes as she passed by
Hakon. "My thanks for your news." She pulled the door shut behind
her, but not before she had smiled reassuringly at Gwendolyn.

The room fell silent after the sound of Anora's
footsteps had died away. Hakon shifted uncomfortably. He had not planned to be
alone with Gwendolyn, fearing it could prove too much of a temptation for him.
His resolve to remain distant had already been tried enough during this short
visit!

His eyes roamed about the chamber and he noted the
decidedly feminine trappings here and there. His weapons had been removed from
the timbered walls, and a loom had been set in the far corner. A half-worked
tapestry was stretched across the wooden frame.

"I see you have kept busy these past months,"
he said, turning back to her, breaking the awkward silence between them.

"'Tis Anora's work, not mine," Gwendolyn
replied softly. "I do not care much for the loom and such things."

Hakon tried to suppress a smile, though unsuccessfully.
He suddenly remembered what Berta had said so long ago about Anora's reluctance
to spend much time in the weaving house. But that had not been
Anora,
he reminded himself grimly, his smile disappearing as
quickly as it had come. The wrenching pain of discovering their guise gripped
him as if it had been only yesterday.

"I am glad you have returned, my lord,"
Gwendolyn said simply, watching the rapid play of emotions across his handsome
face. "'Twas my fear that perhaps the sea had claimed you."

Her gently spoken words stunned him. Why would she care
if aught had happened to him? She had gotten what she wanted, hadn't she? "The
winter was such that we could not sail until a few weeks ago," Hakon said
tersely.

"Aye, that is what Olav told me," she
replied, "though I think he was worried, too."

"Olav has been known to fret overmuch," Hakon
muttered. He turned his head away, pretending to look about the room once
again. Yea, the brutal winter had been part of the reason, he thought grimly,
but not all. He had stayed in Trondheim as long as he possibly could,
dreading
to return to the settlement. The thought of seeing
Gwendolyn there, knowing that she would never be his, had been more than he
could bear.

Haarek Jarl had generously provided lodging to him and
his crew during the past three months, but eventually he had been angered at
Hakon's reluctance to return to his lands. Finally he had commanded him to sail
at once for Sogn, berating him for tarrying overlong when so much was at stake.
And though the shrewd Jarl had never asked for an explanation, Hakon believed
he had surmised the truth for his delay. He vividly recalled Haarek's parting
words.

"There are many women in the world," Haarek
Jarl had said grimly, his dark eyes boring into Hakon's with heated intensity. "But
one woman, no matter how beautiful, is surely not worth the betrayal of an
entire people. Think well on this, Lord Hakon. I have entrusted to you the task
of returning these women to their homeland. Do not fail me."

Hakon had resigned himself to the inevitable, and had
set sail that very day. Yet even so, Haarek Jarl had ordered two well-armed
warships to accompany him, no doubt to ensure he followed through with his
orders.

"My lord," Gwendolyn murmured, "there is
something I must tell you."

Hakon started, his eyes meeting hers. He had been so
engrossed in his thoughts that he had not even noticed she had left the chair
and was now standing only a few feet from him. As ever, he was struck by her
incredible beauty. Yet he looked at her warily. What could she possibly want to
say to him? When she had played the part of Garric, there had always been
biting words upon her tongue. Perhaps it was not enough that she had won her
freedom. Perhaps now she wished to flaunt it at him, exulting in the fact that
she and her sister had played him for a fool.

Nay, he shook his head fiercely. He did not care to
hear her words, whatever they might be. His male pride had been hurt enough
already. "There is nothing left to say between us, Gwendolyn. You have
heard the news which you no doubt have long awaited. Now it is time I returned
to the great hall." He turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

"Hakon . . . please, wait!" Gwendolyn cried
out desperately. She ran over to him and caught his arm. What had she done to
make him so angry?

He stopped and looked down at her, his expression cold,
inscrutable. Yet he could not deny her touch sent a surge of longing through
his body.

Gwendolyn stepped back, her emerald eyes bright with
unshed tears at his sudden indifference. "Hakon . . . I have longed so for
your return. I wanted to t-tell you . . . I . . . I love you," she almost
whispered.

Hakon's breath caught in his throat. He felt the
strangest sensation, as if time suddenly stood still around him. All he could
hear was the beating of his heart, pounding furiously against his chest. It
grew louder and louder in his ears, almost drowning out Gwendolyn's voice as
she repeated the words.

"I love you, Hakon."

Yet his expression did not change. Only his eyes
betrayed the terrible chaos of emotions raging within him. He could feel the
anger of his hurt pride melting
away,
only to be replaced
by an inner agony that was so great he could have cried out from the crushing
pain.

Odin, help him! Hakon felt as if he were being ripped
apart by the overwhelming desire to take Gwendolyn in his arms and never let
her go . . . and his fierce loyalty to his homeland. Wildly he wished that she
had never said the words he had long ago despaired of ever hearing from her
lips. It would have been far easier for him to return her to her homeland
thinking she had made a mockery of his love.

For Hakon knew he had no choice. Once a Viking warrior
had sworn allegiance to his lord, it was inviolable, a sacred vow that could
never be broken. He had to obey the command of Haarek Jarl. To do otherwise
would bring lifelong contempt upon his entire clan, and possibly their deaths
as well.

Hakon swallowed hard, his eyes locking with hers. She
looked so vulnerable, so hopeful. Yet he knew their love could never be. He
sighed raggedly. There was only one way he could answer her. It would be better
for her—for them both— to endure what was to come, he tried to tell himself.
Yet Hakon knew his next words would haunt him the rest of his life.

His deep voice echoed about the chamber. "Your
love matters naught to me, Gwendolyn," he said harshly. "'Tis better
if you save it for an Anglo-Saxon." The stricken look on her beautiful
face was more than he could bear. He turned abruptly and left the room.

Gwendolyn stood for a moment, unable to move. She did
not feel the hot, bitter tears streaking her face, nor the nails biting so
cruelly into her clenched hands that they drew blood. Numbed to the very core
of her being, she felt as if her heart were shattering within her breast.

Then, slowly, defiantly, she lifted up her trembling
chin. In the silence of the room, she cursed Hakon's name, and the unhappy
fates that had ever brought them together.

Chapter 40

Gwendolyn leaned on the ledge of the window and gazed
up at the morning sky. The eve of their homeward journey to England had dawned
bright and clear, boding well for the weather they could expect during the
voyage. Small white clouds dotted the endless expanse of blue. The settlement
still lay in shadows, though golden shafts of light from the rising sun were
peeking above the surrounding mountains.

She took a deep breath of the pristine air, filling her
lungs. Everything smelled so fresh and new. During the past two weeks the last
of the snows had melted, the icy moisture feeding the thick grasses that now
carpeted the curving slopes surrounding the settlement. Truly, she had never
seen such rugged beauty as this in her own land.

Gwendolyn sighed heavily and turned back into the
darkened chamber. She glanced over at the wide bed. Anora was still sound
asleep, her silver-blond hair spread out like fine gossamer across the
eiderdown pillow. Gwendolyn shrugged. At least her sister would be well rested
for the journey, which was more than she could say for herself. She had been
unable to sleep well at all since Hakon had . . .

Nay, she would not think of it, Gwendolyn told herself
fiercely. She stood at the bedside for a moment, wondering what she could do to
pass the time until the morning meal. A slow smile spread across her delicate
features. Perhaps a walk would take her mind off the memories that continually
plagued her. Aye, that was what she would do!

She walked quickly to the ornately carved chest that
held her clothes, her bare feet padding across the wooden floor. She quietly
lifted the lid, then bent down and rummaged around for a moment. With a
satisfied smile, she pulled out a pair of soft linen trousers and a matching
tunic. Hastily she whisked the silken shift she was wearing over her head, and
tossed it aside with some distaste. She was sick and tired of the confining
nature of women's clothing. Luckily Berta had secured for her this one pair of
trousers and tunic, albeit with much cajoling. The kindly woman's initial
reluctance had reminded Gwendolyn of her mother, and their constant battle over
what was appropriate for her to wear.

Gwendolyn quickly donned the trousers, pulling tight
the leather drawstring at her still-narrow waist. She gently touched her stomach.
Even though she was nearing her fourth month, her slender form had changed
little but for the subtle rounding of her belly, and an increasing tenderness
in her breasts. Yet she knew it would not be long before her body would betray
her secret. She shook her head. Nay, she would not think of that either, at
least not now!