Twin Passions (14 page)

Sweet Mother
Mary, protect me!
Anora thought wildly. She could scarcely breathe. A
stifled cry broke from her throat, shattering the stillness of the room.

The wrenching, agonized sound suddenly pierced the
cloud of lust and raging desire in Hakon's mind. He pulled back from her lips,
his passion subsiding at the paleness of her tear-stained cheeks and the stark
fear reflected in her eyes. She stood limply against his chest, her
heartrending sobs tearing through her slender body.

Stunned, Hakon angrily cursed his crude callousness.
Thor, what had come over him? He had never before forced himself on any woman,
preferring instead the pleasures of a willing partner in his bed. Yet, blinded
by his desire, he had chosen to treat Anora like the lowliest of whores . . .
and even they were well paid for their favors! Gathering her in his arms, he
strode to the door and kicked it open violently.

"Greta!" he roared into the night. "Greta!"
After a few moments the stout woman appeared from a longhouse nearby, clutching
a woolen cloak about her shoulders and carrying a small oil lamp.

"My lord?" she asked, surprised at Hakon's
obvious ill temper. He had been in such a fine mood only a short time ago.

"Show me to my sleeping room," he said
curtly, a dark scowl on his handsome face.

He must truly be
in a hurry to bed the wench,
she thought somewhat jealously. Holding up her
lamp, she hastily led the way along a dirt path until she reached Einar's hall
at the far end of the settlement. As an honored guest, it was only befitting
that Hakon have a room in the chieftain's longhouse.

Entering the hall with Hakon close behind her, Greta
turned into an adjoining room and placed the oil lamp on a wooden table beside
the large bed. "On the morrow, shall I bring a morning meal for you and
the lady?" she asked, crossing the room to stand by the entrance.

"Nay, only for the lady," Hakon replied. "I
sleep in the hall with my men tonight."

Greta started in surprise. "Very well, my lord,"
she muttered. Shrugging, she quickly left the room.

Hakon
lay
Anora gently on the
bed and covered her with one of the warm furs. The sight of her long lashes,
glistening with tears in the dim lamplight, caused him to curse himself again
for his rough treatment of her. He tenderly traced the trail of a tear with his
finger, marveling at the silky softness of her skin. Thor, he had only to touch
her to feel the rekindling of his desire! He knew he could tarry no longer.

"Greta will prepare a meal for you on the morrow,
then
bring you to the ship. We will sail at first light,"
he murmured. "Sleep well, little one."

Anora watched in disbelief as he turned and abruptly
left the room. Her thoughts whirled in dizzying confusion. Had she seen a
flicker of tenderness in the Viking's eyes, where moments before there had been
only a burning lust? Sighing raggedly, she only knew that for the moment she
had been spared. Rolling over on her side, she clutched the soft fur to her
chin and fell into a deep sleep.

Once outside the hall, Hakon leaned against the turf
wall and looked up at the clear night sky. The sparkling stars, winking
brightly in the heavens as if they were the eyes of the gods, seemed to be
laughing at him. A trial of fire would have been no worse than what he had
experienced this night.

Never before had he felt such overwhelming desire for a
woman. Every fiber in his body had cried out for him to take her in the bathing
house, to plunge himself into her, to feel her writhe in passionate abandon
beneath him. Hakon knew it was his right—she belonged to him as his slave. But
for some inexplicable reason, he would not—could not — take her by force.

Why am I being so
sorely tempted?
he
raged silently, throwing his
arms up to the glittering heavens. Yet even as the question tormented him, he
knew the answer. It was the memory of her eyes, full of
fear,
that
haunted him. Perhaps, with time, he thought, there would be longing
and desire reflected in those emerald pools instead of fear. Perhaps, one day,
she would come to him willingly.

Walking back to the main hall, Hakon breathed a fervent
prayer to his gods that he would not have to wait for long.

Chapter 14

Gwendolyn drew her legs up to her chin, watching wide-eyed
as the lusty festivities going on about her heightened to a fever pitch. From
where she was sitting she could look down the length of the low-ceilinged room,
crowded as it was by Hakon's men and a dozen scantily clad serving-women. The
hall was a long, wide one, its massive walls a mixture of turf and stone, with
a central hearth at one end that blazed with a roaring fire. A hole was cut in
the roof above the hearth to let the smoke escape, but much of it still hung in
the air. She coughed, her eyes smarting.

She had thought herself no stranger to the ways of men .
. . until this night. Aye, 'twas true she had practically been raised by her
father, and had always been surrounded by his thanes while hunting or training
in weaponry. And she had heard plenty of bawdy tales from Edythe, her mother's
lady-in-waiting. Why, once when she had gone to the stable to saddle her mare,
she had seen a stable hand groping wildly at the bare breasts of a serving
wench, their bodies melded into one as they writhed in a dark corner. The sight
had strangely excited her, yet she had run from the stable, flushed and
embarrassed.

But all that could not have prepared her for what was
going on only a few feet away from where she sat. Now Gwendolyn realized she
really knew nothing of men. Everywhere she looked, Hakon's men were falling
upon the servant women, who screamed with wild delight. On the floor, on the
tables, backed up against the wall—it did not seem to matter where the men took
them. Holding her head in her hands, she closed her eyes to the lurid sight.
God's blood, if this was the way Vikings were with their women . . .

Suddenly Gwendolyn's emerald eyes flew open. Sweet
Jesu! Anora! A cold sense of foreboding settled over her as she recalled what
the Viking had said before he left the hall. "If I do not return . . ."
Aye, those had been his parting words. Angrily she tried to dispel from her
mind the vision of her sister struggling desperately beneath the bronzed weight
of the Viking, but she could not.

Gwendolyn looked frantically about her for a way to
escape. She could see that Egil was enjoying himself with a buxom woman on a
nearby bench, his broad back to her. He obviously had forgotten his orders from
Hakon, for he was deeply involved in his own pleasure.

Seizing her chance, she jumped up from the ground and
made a dash for the entrance of the hall. Nimbly dodging flailing limbs and
sweating bodies, she was almost to the door when a glint of silver caught her
eye.

On a table against a nearby wall, a small cutting knife
lay beside a half-eaten portion of roasted meat. Gwendolyn quickly snatched the
knife from the table and slid it into her leather belt. Looking furtively about
her, she breathed a sigh of relief that she had not been seen. The drunken orgy
showed no signs of abating, and Egil was still preoccupied with the blond
serving girl. She slipped stealthily through the main door, then ran to a
nearby building and crouched down low in the shadows.

Even though the hour was late, Gwendolyn could see by
the dim light of the quarter moon that several people were still walking about
the settlement. Hugging the turf-and-stone wall to keep from being seen, she
began to inch slowly around the corner of the building.

Suddenly a huge man ambled by her in the dark, so close
that the edge of his fur cloak brushed against her leg. Holding her breath,
Gwendolyn's eyes widened as she recognized Einar. God's blood, he was alone!
She watched in grim silence as he stopped before the door of the main hall and
leaned upon it for a moment, swaying unsteadily. The sound of coarse, raucous
laughter from within the hall caused him to chuckle at first. Then with a great
laugh he pushed open the door and staggered inside.

Gwendolyn swore softly under her breath. Einar and
Hakon had left the hall together, but only one had returned. Where, then, was
Hakon? Forcing herself to remain calm, she scanned the surrounding buildings.
There were so many. How could she ever find Anora?

Hugging her jerkin tightly to her chest, Gwendolyn
rubbed her arms for warmth. There was no wind, but even so, the air was cold
and tinged with the sharp scent of the sea.
Nay,
you will not find Anora standing here,
she chided herself. Taking the small
knife from her belt, she held it poised in front of her as she ran along the
side of the building.

The figure of a woman hurrying along a path not far
from her caught her eye. With a start Gwendolyn realized it was the same
red-haired woman who had led Anora away earlier that evening. Looking down the
path beyond the woman, she saw that it led to a very large longhouse near the
edge of the settlement. Perhaps . . .

Daring to hope, yet fearing what she might find, Gwendolyn
crouched behind a pile of wood as the woman passed by her, mumbling to herself.
She waited until the sound of the woman's footsteps had died away,
then
ran swiftly up the path until she reached the ornately
carved entrance.

Gwendolyn hesitated. Nay, 'twould be sheer folly to
walk inside the longhouse, she thought, her mind racing. Keeping her head low,
she crept along the curved sides of the wall until she came to a small window.
It was covered by a fur pelt to keep out the cold, but a thin shaft of light
shone between the edge of the pelt and the sod ledge. With her heart beating
wildly against her chest, she pushed aside the lower corner of the pelt and
peered inside the room.

"Out for a breath of fresh air, lad?" Rudely
jerked back by the collar of her woolen shirt and grabbed by the shoulders,
Gwendolyn's feet dangled off the ground as she was spun around to meet Hakon's
narrowed gaze. As he lifted her up to within several inches of his face, his
eyes glinted dangerously in the pale moonlight. "It appears to me you have
seen fit to disobey my orders," he snarled, his strong hands gripping her
shoulders like a vise.

Wincing painfully, Gwendolyn's first thought was to
plunge her small knife into Hakon's side and twist it cruelly. But her hand
lost its hold on the knife and it dropped to the ground with a thud.

"So, I see you have come well armed, Garric,"
Hakon said tersely.

He set her down so abruptly that she staggered back
against the turf-and-stone wall, almost losing her balance. Then he bent and
picked up the knife. A grim smile crossed his lips as he studied the meager
weapon.
Aye, Garric, you would have
wasted no time in using it, if given half a chance,
he thought. He glanced
at her, catching the look of pure hatred flashing at him from her emerald eyes.

Strange, Hakon thought. In the moonlight he could have
sworn he was looking at Anora's face. Shrugging, his voice was stem. "I
see I shall have to watch you more closely in the future, Garric."

"Do what you must, Viking, it matters naught to me!"
Gwendolyn said defiantly. "What have you done with Anora?"

Hakon stepped back to get a better look at the brazen
lad. Yea, what the boy lacked in size, he more than made up for in courage.
Garric was dressed simply, yet his proud bearing bespoke a high birth.
That will only make it harder for him to
accept his fate,
Hakon noted. He did not want to break the lad's spirit,
but the sooner he accepted his status as a slave, the better.

"Your sister is no longer your concern, Garric.
She belongs to me, just as you do," Hakon stated evenly. He
paused,
not missing her clenched fists, then went on
ruthlessly. "Your efforts to protect your sister are in vain. If —or I
should say
when?
—I choose to take
her,
it will no doubt be without your consent. Do not forget
you are now slaves, Garric. There is naught you can do."

"Nay!" Gwendolyn
screamed,
the rage and frustration of the last several days finally overwhelming her.
Lunging at Hakon, she threw her slender weight against him, striking him with
her clenched fists.

Hakon had expected this outburst, but was taken by
surprise at the ferocity of the lad's attack. Not a man who relished the idea
of striking a mere boy, he quickly thought of another plan. Catching Gwendolyn
by the wrists with one hand, he threw her kicking and struggling over his
shoulder. A well-placed kick hit him in the stomach, and he grunted painfully.

"My patience is wearing thin, Garric," he
said with a grimace, thinking maybe a sharp jab to the lad's chin would not
have been a bad idea. "Perhaps a taste of the lash would serve to persuade
you that I mean what I say."

Gwendolyn suddenly lay still across his broad shoulder,
except for her labored breathing. She had seen what the lash had done to Svein
and Torvald, and would not put it past the Viking to do the same to her. And to
be stripped to the waist, her slender back laid bare, would put a sudden end to
her disguise as a boy. Nay, better to let the Viking think he has won this
battle, she thought. Dropping her head against Hakon's back, she sighed in
resignation.

"I will let you down on one condition, Garric,"
Hakon said firmly. "You will obey my orders henceforth without question.
Is that understood?"

"Aye, my lord," Gwendolyn lied, gritting her
teeth.
And may you live to rue this day,
Viking,
she thought bitterly.

"I will hold you to your word, lad, so do not
force me to deal harshly with you," Hakon said grimly. "Many slaves
have died for less offense than attacking their master." Setting her feet
down upon the ground, he towered over her. "Come, we will sleep on the
ship. I doubt Einar and my men have yet had their fill of ale and women this
night."