Twin Passions (13 page)

"It has been a hard journey, Einar," Hakon
stated, amused by the unspoken questions in his cousin's eyes. "This woman
needs a warm bath and a place to rest."

"She will be well tended to, my boy," Einar
replied. Over his shoulder, he called out to a stout, red-haired woman standing
nearby. "Greta, see that this wench gets a bath and a good meal."
Turning back to Hakon, he threw his head back and laughed uproariously. His
young cousin had never failed to surprise him, but this time he had outdone
himself. "I see there are many things for us to talk of this night!"
he said, grinning broadly.

Hakon set Anora down on the sandy beach. "Go with
her. She will see to your needs." Anora hesitated for a moment,
then
resignedly allowed the woman to lead her away. Seeing
Gwendolyn start to follow them, he called out sharply, "Nay, Garric, you
will stay with me."

Gwendolyn stopped abruptly in her tracks,
then
reluctantly turned back toward Hakon. A protest was on
her lips, but Hakon's expression boded no resistance. "Do not worry, lad,
your sister will be well cared for."

That's just what
I am afraid of, Viking,
Gwendolyn thought warily, trudging behind him along
the sandy beach toward the well-lighted hall.

Chapter 13

"So, what has it been, Hakon— two years since you
passed this way?" Einar asked between long drafts of ale from his drinking
horn. Some of the frothy liquid spilled out over his thick beard and down the
front of his leather tunic, but he did not seem to mind. He wiped his mouth
with the back of his hand, his eyes widening lustily at the sight of a serving
girl's ample breasts as she leaned over to refill his drinking horn.

Suddenly he pulled her onto his lap, his large hands
roaming freely over her well-rounded body. The girl's startled squeal brought a
roar of delight from the grizzled Viking. She struggled in mock resistance,
giggling all the while. "Go on with you, wench, but mind you do not stray
too far," Einar chortled, releasing her reluctantly. Planting a rough kiss
on her smiling red lips, he followed her with his eyes as she sauntered away.

Hakon laughed heartily. "Yea, cousin, at least
two. And I can see that you have not changed in the least during that time!"
And he hoped Einar would never change, for he was truly fond of his unruly
cousin.

Einar had sailed with him when he left Norway ten years
ago, only to decide to homestead on the Shetlands after they had stopped there
for several days on their journey south. At that time there had been plenty of
land for the taking: lush, green, and well suited for raising sheep. And since
Einar had never really been a sailor at heart, he had opted to stay.

Hakon reluctantly bade his cousin farewell, but had
promised to return whenever his trading voyages brought him near the islands.
He had since made many visits to Sum-burgh Voe, for the Viking settlement was
always in need of provisions, trade goods, and news from other lands. Yet his
most recent trading voyages had all been to the south, and Hakon had been
unable to sail to the Shetlands for these past two years.

"This journey is different from the others, is it
not?" Einar shouted, leaning forward to hear Hakon's answer. The carousing
in the hall had reached a near fever pitch, and it was proving difficult to
converse over the drunken rabble and coarse laughter. He had perceived there
was a great weight upon Hakon's mind, for his young cousin had been slightly
subdued all evening. And for him to be immune to the provocative glances thrown
his way by several comely wenches was more than Einar could comprehend.

"It seems my trading days are past, cousin. I have
received word that my brother Eirik lies on his deathbed, gravely ill. And as
he has no heirs, he wishes to leave his lands and wealth to me —that is, if I
get to Norge before Rhoar makes his play for the inheritance."

Suddenly Einar jumped from his chair and brought his
huge fist down upon the wooden table. "Rhoar lives?" he roared, his
swarthy face livid with anger. The hall suddenly grew still at the chieftain's
outburst, all eyes upon him.

"Yea, he lives, cousin. I am afraid your sword,
though mighty, did not end his life." It had been Einar, fighting at Hakon
and Eirik's side those ten years past, who had plunged his sword into Rhoar
Bloodaxe. Believing the chest wound would provide a slow and painful death to
the traitor, as Einar believed Rhoar to be, he had not dealt him a final
deathblow. Instead, he watched as Rhoar's men dragged their leader from the
battlefield, confident that he would breathe his last before the night had
fallen.

"Would that I had run that spawn of Midgard,
serpent of the underworld, clean through his black heart with my sword, rather
than let him wreak further havoc upon your house!" Einar blustered
fiercely. Drawing his broadsword from its scabbard, he thrust it with great
vengeance at an imaginary opponent, just barely missing several of Hakon's men,
who dove beneath the table to escape the flashing blade.

"Yea, cousin, I would that he had died that day,
also. But the gods have let him live for some purpose, if not just to try me,"
Hakon replied grimly. "Come, Einar, sheathe your sword, and let us walk
outside for a moment. My men have a hard sail before them, and they are in dire
need of merriment tonight."

Catching Hakon's meaning, Einar returned his sword to
the scabbard at his wide belt. "Very well, my boy," he agreed. The
cold night air would no doubt help to quench his ire, and he had no wish to
spoil the evening's promise for Hakon's crew. Turning to the still-silent
revelers, he shouted, "There is more ale to be had, men, so drink up, and
remember the wenches are willing!"

At his words the walls once again resounded with
laughter and merriment. Grinning, Einar glanced at Hakon. "But what of
that scrawny lad, cousin? Will you have him accompany us, or may we walk alone?
He has not left your side since you entered the hall an hour ago, but remains
near you like some pup
who
has lost its mother!"

Hakon's gaze fell on
Gwendolyn,
sitting huddled on the floor near his chair. The lad had been so quiet Hakon
had almost forgotten he was there. "Garric, stay here with Egil. He will
show you where to sleep tonight if I do not return." With that curt
command, he strode out of the hall after Einar.

Gwendolyn stood up suddenly from the ground as if to
follow after him, but Egil grabbed her by the shoulder, thwarting her escape.
He gestured for her to sit back down, his stern expression threatening certain
punishment if she disobeyed. Sliding back down to the floor, she slumped in
utter frustration.

Sweet Jesu!
Gwendolyn agonized.
What if he seeks out
Anora?
Once again her feeling of helplessness was almost more than she
could bear. She muttered every curse she could think of upon Hakon and his
kind.

Outside the hall, Hakon took a bracing breath of the
sea air. The sound of the waves crashing against the shoreline enlivened his
senses, and his step was light. For several moments he and Einar walked in
silence, each occupied by his own thoughts. The sounds of revelry from the hall
gradually receded into the distance, drowned out by the wind and the sea.

"So Hakon, tell me of these prisoners . . . and
the wench," Einar said, his voice low. "From what little I have seen
of her, her eyes alone could cast a spell over many a lesser man. Have you been
bewitched by this silver-haired beauty?"

Hakon did not answer. Had he been bewitched? Yea, it
seemed so. He had known many women in the past, and had even loved a few of
them. Or so he had thought at the time. But he had never felt stranger than
when he had looked into the emerald depths of this woman's eyes.

""So 'tis true, then." Einar threw back
his shaggy head and laughed out loud, the hearty sound carrying over the roar of
the waves. "I never thought I would live to see you taken by any one
woman!"

"Her name is Anora. She and her brother, Garric,
the scrawny lad in the hall"—Hakon chuckled— "were taken captive by
two of my men . . . against my orders." He sobered quickly at the thought
of Svein and Torvald's deceit. He continued, relating the entire story to
Einar, who listened with great interest.

"Those are the men chained to their benches this
night?"

"Yea. They have been more trouble than their lives
are worth, but I cannot help thinking I would not have the girl now if it had
not been for them," Hakon replied, recalling how it had felt to hold her
in his arms when he carried her ashore. She had trembled against his broad
chest, reminding him of a frightened doe.

"It sounds like the mischief of Loki is afoot, my
boy, or perhaps the goddess Freyja has seen fit to turn your head with a sea
nymph instead of a woman!"

"Nay, Einar, she is a woman of flesh and blood . .
. and she is mine."

"Then, my boy, perhaps you would like to seek out
this woman?" Einar queried slyly, glancing sideways at Hakon. "I
believe you will find her in the bathing house beyond that hall over there."
He
pointed,
a lewd grin on his bearded face. "I
myself feel a call to return to where the women no doubt are more willing!"
With a crude laugh, he slapped Hakon on the back. Then he turned around and was
gone.

"You old bear," Hakon muttered fondly,
watching Einar's huge form lumber off along the shore. Why should he feel
strange that Einar knew him so well?
he
wondered. The
man had practically raised him along with his brother Eirik. Laughing to
himself, he began to walk slowly toward the bathing house.

Hakon had barely reached the small stone building when
the door opened suddenly. Greta, in a great hurry and with her head down, ran
right into him as he stood along the path.

"Oh . . . my lord Hakon, forgive me," she
blurted apologetically, wringing her hands. "I was just coming to speak
with you." Her face was flushed from the steam in the bathing house, and
her massive breasts heaved from obvious frustration. "The wench refuses to
bathe, my lord. She would barely eat—like a bird she picked at her meal. And
now she will not let me near her to remove her clothing. She does not
understand that I mean her no harm—"

"'Tis all right, Greta," Hakon cut her off
gently. "My thanks for your trouble, but I will see to the wench now."

"Very well, my lord." She smiled broadly, her
eyes following Hakon's tall form as he disappeared into the bathing house. What
she would give to be in that wench's place!
she
thought wistfully. Lord Hakon was by far the finest-looking man she had ever
seen, and he no doubt knew how to please a woman!

Closing the wooden door softly behind him, Hakon stood
silent for a moment. Anora was facing away from the door, her slender back
proud and straight.

"For the last time, woman, I do not wish to bathe,"
she said clearly, yet firmly, caring naught if the woman could understand her
words.

"But it is my wish that you do so," Hakon
murmured in a deep, husky voice.

Startled, Anora whirled around, her hands clutching her
mantle tightly to her body. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Viking looming
in the doorway. He looked so much taller and broader than she remembered from
the ship. Suddenly the bathing house seemed suffocatingly small to her as she
stared at him across the room.

By the blood of
Odin,
Hakon thought, his blood hammering in his veins,
only the gods could have created a woman as beautiful as this.
His
piercing blue eyes took in every inch of her. The steam, rising from the
surface of the warm water in the large wooden tub, had flushed her fair cheeks
with a rosy hue, and tendrils of her long, silver-blond hair curled damply
about her delicate features. The curves of her slender body, accentuated by the
clinging lines of her clothing, seemed to cry out to him for his touch.

Taking a step toward her, Hakon felt an inner sense of
dismay as Anora edged away from him until she could go no farther, her back
against the rough stone wall. He could see the pulse point at her slender
throat beating rapidly, her fear of him an almost palpable presence in the
small room. "Why do you fear me so, Anora?" he questioned softly, his
eyes not leaving her face.

"'Tis not you I fear, m-my lord," she
murmured shakily, "
only
what you will do with me."
Her emerald eyes met his, an unmistakable plea for mercy reflected in their
depths.

But Hakon could no longer deny the powerful attraction
drawing him to her. He had known from the moment he saw her on the deck of his
ship that this moment would come. His arms ached to hold her, his mouth longed
to taste the sweetness of her lips.

"Do you not understand that you belong to me now?
I have the right to do with you as I wish." Moving slowly toward her, he stopped
by the side of the tub. His voice was low, commanding. "You will do as I
ask, Anora. Take off your clothes, or I shall have to do it for you."

She stared at him in horror, unable to reconcile
herself to the inevitable. "Nay . . . please," she whispered
desperately, her eyes looking past him to the door. Suddenly she darted across
the room past the other side of the tub.

But Hakon was quicker than she had expected. Catching
her about the waist, he crushed her against the hard length of his body and brought
his lips fiercely down upon hers. Anora frantically pommeled his broad chest
with her small fists as she tried to twist free of his arms, but to no avail. Her
slender arms were no match for Hakon's well-muscled strength. Catching both of
her wrists behind her back with one hand, he entwined his other hand in her
long, silky hair and deepened his kiss.