Twin Passions (29 page)

"Nay, my lord, all is as it should be,"
Gwendolyn replied steadily, despite the rapid beating of her heart. She avoided
his gaze, though she could feel his eyes burning into her, searching. She
pulled away from his arms and went to stand by the window. She was determined to
fight the feelings stirring within her. She would not give in to them this
time!

Hakon's heavy brows knitted in thought, his eyes
clouding with frustration. Thor, one minute she was warm and willing, and the
next . . .! He shook his head, perplexed. Then a slow smile spread over his
face. Walking over to one of the massive chests, he lifted the heavy lid and
drew out a small bundle wrapped in silk cloth. He
unwrapped
it carefully, holding up a delicate necklace made of interwoven strands of
silver and gold that was studded with glittering emerald stones. Yea, perhaps
this would bring the light back to her eyes, he thought hopefully.

He walked over to where she stood with her back to him
and gently drew the necklace about the alabaster column of her throat. Closing
the delicate clasp, he bent and tenderly kissed the nape of her neck. "'Tis
from Byzantium, Anora," he murmured, his lips brushing against the
softness of her cheek. "I had it made for that one day when I would find a
woman who could equal its fire. I see now that you far surpass it with your
beauty."

Suddenly Gwendolyn wheeled around to face him, anger
flaring from her eyes. "If you think that your rich gifts will buy my
affection, you are sadly mistaken, my lord!" she railed at him. She felt a
twinge of remorse at the pain and confusion she saw reflected in his eyes, but
she hardened her heart. Biting words were the only defense she had left against
the feelings within her that even now threatened to overwhelm her resolve. She
brushed by him, but before she had gone three steps he grabbed her by the
waist. With one easy movement she was in his arms, his mouth crushing cruelly
down upon hers.

She tried to break free of him, but her struggling was
to no avail. His lips ravaged hers, his arms like tight bands of steel around
her. Suddenly he tore his mouth from hers and looked down at her. His blue eyes
were darkened with rage. "If I choose to give you gifts, you will wear
them, and gladly," he said gratingly. His voice was low, implacable. "Remember
this above aught else, Anora. You are mine. I will have you . . . with or
without your affection."

With that he pulled her toward the door. "We are
expected in the great hall. You have a choice, Anora. Either walk by my side,
or I shall carry you in my arms. I am sure the assembled guests would find that
most amusing."

Gwendolyn's thick lashes glistened with unshed tears,
though she did her best to fight them back. At that moment, she knew she was
lost. It seemed there was no defeating him. And from this last exchange, she
was no longer sure she wanted to. "I shall walk, my lord," she stated
evenly, belying the storm of emotions that raged within her. She held her head
proudly as he wrapped her fur cloak about her delicate shoulders,
then
took his proffered arm.

Chapter 27

Hakon did not speak to her again until they reached the
massive wooden doors at the entrance to the great hall, though Gwendolyn could
tell he was no longer angry by the gentle pressure of his hand on her arm. He
turned to face her beneath the gabled entrance and drew her to him. "'Tis
a festive night, Anora, and meant to be enjoyed," he murmured in her ear,
loud enough so only she could hear his words. "Let us do so, and forget
what passed between us in my chamber." His lips brushed
lightly
against her own
. Then he nodded to one of the Viking guards, who pushed
open the heavy doors.

Warmed by his words, Gwendolyn felt her spirits rise as
they stepped into the hall. Aye, she could forget . . .
for now
, she thought, her eyes widening at the merry scene that
greeted them.

The long main room was ablaze with light. At least a
hundred torches burned brightly from polished wall sconces, casting everything
in a golden glow. Green pine boughs were festooned around the thick, carved
pillars, their fresh, spicy fragrance melding with the mouthwatering aromas of
roasted meat turning on the spits above the central fireplaces.

The Vikings' love of fine clothes and elaborate jewelry
was much in evidence this night, as warriors and their wives milled about
dressed in their very best. Servants carrying brimming vessels of foaming mead
moved among the crowd of guests, hurrying to fill and refill the goblets so
quickly emptied. The merry conversation and uproarious bursts of laughter
seemed to echo from every corner of the hall, punctuated every so often by a
wild Viking cry to Odin.

A great roar of greeting went up as Hakon and Gwendolyn
stepped from the dark entranceway into the main room. The crowd of guests moved
aside quickly, making a path for them. Gwendolyn tried to ignore the
appraising, curious glances cast her way as they walked together to the high
seat, but she could not help but overhear several loudly whispered comments.

"Is that the foreign wench? Thor, I have never
before seen such beauty! 'Tis as if she was fashioned by the hands of Odin
himself to tempt us all!"

"Yea, her eyes alone could bewitch the strongest
man . . . and from the looks of it, she already has!"

"'Tis a pity she is but a slave . . ."

Gwendolyn blushed heatedly at this last remark.
Obviously her position as their chieftain's concubine seemed to be common
knowledge, and most likely the favored topic of conversation. She was surprised
when Hakon squeezed her arm reassuringly. So, he had heard them, too. With her
slender back straight and her head held high, she took her place in the carved
chair to the left of the high seat.

Hakon stood before the crowd, looking truly magnificent
in his dark blue tunic embroidered with gold-braided edging, and his matching
cloak trimmed in fine fur. "I bid you welcome!" he shouted warmly,
gesturing for everyone to be seated. Ordinarily men and women took their meals
apart. But on this festive night they sat together, the women occupying the
inner end of the hall, while the men were seated at the outer end, toward the
main entrance. Benches creaked as all took their places. Then the hall fell
silent.

Hakon picked up the ceremonial silver drinking horn set
before him,
then
strode over to the sacred banquet
table in the middle of the room. With one motion he dipped the horn into the
huge caldron filled with mead, then held it up high, the amber liquid spilling
out over the rim and onto the rush-strewn floor. Though his expression was
solemn, his eyes sparkled with laughter. "I salute you all, in the name of
Odin!" he stated loudly. Bringing the horn to his lips, he drained it with
one draft,
then
wiped his hand across his mouth. A
great smile lit his handsome face. "Drink and be merry, for 'tis Yule!"

The guests roared their approval, pounding their fists,
spoons, goblets, and whatever else was handy upon the tables. As Hakon returned
to the high seat, servants rushed in with steaming bowls of water and towels,
so that everyone could wash their hands before the meal.

Gwendolyn furtively glanced up at Hakon as he took his
seat, but then hastily looked down again, blushing. She had not missed the
desirous
intensity burning in his eyes. She busied herself
with washing her hands, then took a hasty sip from her goblet, hoping the
frothy mead would cool the warming sensation his gaze had fanned within her.

Suddenly a chorus of loud screams soared above the din
of the crowd, seeming to come from the entrance of the hall. Startled,
Gwendolyn gasped as the great doors swung open. A large group of men, masked as
horses and rams and wearing furred clothing, rushed into the room, banging
their spears upon their wooden shields. Yelling fiercely, they ran among the
tables of delighted guests, stopping every so often to drink from an offered
cup of mead.

Berta had not told her about this, Gwendolyn thought fleetingly,
as a tall, broad-shouldered man, larger than the others and masked fearsomely
as a grinning ram, broke away from the screaming hoard and approached their
table. He did not go near Hakon, but came directly to her. She could see his
eyes, hard and glittering, through holes in the mask, and the fringes of a
thick red beard flowing from beneath it.

Her breath caught in her throat as he took the silver
goblet from her hand and lifted the mask only high enough to drain its
contents, though never uncovering his face. "Good Yule, my lady," he
murmured, his voice low and menacing as he set the empty goblet on the table.
Gwendolyn felt a cold, inexplicable chill course through her body, though she
could not understand why. Then, in a flash he was gone, melding into the crowd
of masked revelers that was converging upon the sacred banquet table.

Seeing the frightened look on her face, Hakon leaned
toward her. His warm hand took hers. "There is nothing to fear, Anora,"
he said soothingly. "'Tis good fortune to share your cup with the masked
ones."

But Gwendolyn was not reassured. Her eyes searched for
the tall man among the writhing figures, but he was no longer there. It was as
if he had disappeared from the hall.

The masked men, joined by several Viking warriors
caught up in the frenzied spirit of the moment, danced around the sacred
banquet table three times shouting "Yule! Yule!" Soon everyone in the
hall had joined in, until it seemed the very walls would burst from the sound.
Gwendolyn covered her ears with her hands as even Hakon lent his voice to the
melee. The hall resounded with the deafening cries, until at the very moment
when it seemed they could yell no louder, the men ripped off their masks and
tossed them high in the air.

Great peals of laughter greeted them as their
identities were revealed. Gwendolyn recognized Egil and Olav among them, as
well as many of Hakon's guards, but she did not see the tall, red-bearded man
who had worn the ram's mask. How strange, she thought, perplexed. But she knew
she had not dreamed it. Her attention was diverted at that moment by the
procession of the Yule boar into the hall, set on a great platter and borne on
the shoulders of six male slaves.

The unmasked revelers, laughing and roughly jostling
one another, quickly took their seats among the other guests as the roasted
boar was paraded around the room for all to see. One Viking warrior, apparently
so hungry he could not wait for the meal to begin, drew out his sword and
lopped off a great hunk, just barely missing one of the slaves. Holding the
browned meat in his hand, he bit off a succulent mouthful, much to the roaring
delight of the guests. The savory juices from the roasted boar dripped down his
chin and into his beard, but he did not seem to mind in the least. Grinning
from ear to ear, he bowed to Hakon.

"I've ne'er tasted a finer Yule boar, my lord!"
he shouted, taking his seat amid uproarious laughter. Hakon raised his drinking
horn in acknowledgment, smiling broadly.

After the Yule boar was loudly dedicated to Frey, the
god of pleasure and fertility, the feast began in earnest. Countless steaming
platters of spit-roasted meats and fowl were paraded before the ravenous guests
and set upon the linen-clothed tables. Baskets of crusty, flat barley loaves,
warm ground pea porridge with leeks and onions, and smoked fish accompanied the
meal, along with baked apples drizzled with precious golden honey.

Gwendolyn smiled at Berta, who passed by her table with
a platter of roast lamb. "'Tis a magnificent feast," she said warmly.
She was rewarded with a pleased nod from the portly woman. Aye, Berta had truly
outdone herself this night. She noted that the loud din in the hall had not
abated, even though the guests were busily devouring the well-prepared food.
Countless toasts were being offered to every Norse god imaginable; some names,
like Odin and Thor, were heard over and over again.

She looked over at Hakon, who was engrossed in
conversation with the Viking warriors to his right. Her eyes roamed over the
bronzed profile of his face: the straight nose, his chiseled lips, the strong,
square cut of his jaw, the cleft in his chin. Aye, she had to admit, she had
never seen a more handsome man.

A sensation of intense longing suddenly flared within
her as she recalled their last bout of lovemaking the night before. Once again,
her mind seemed to have a will of its own when it came to Hakon. She sat back
in her chair and closed her eyes. She could almost feel his burning caresses
upon her skin, and she flushed with warmth. A curved smile played about her
lips. She did not know that Hakon had turned and was watching her intently.

"I take it everything is to your liking, little
one," he said softly, so low she almost did not hear him. "But I must
warn you. Your secret smile is firing my blood. I believe your thoughts right
now and mine are the same." He chuckled lustily. "We shall have to
keep our minds upon the feast, Anora, else I will be forced to retire with you
early from the hall and let the guests celebrate Yuletide without us!"

Gwendolyn's eyes flew open and she looked away,
embarrassed. God's blood, his very words could send shivers of desire coursing
through her body! Shakily, she took another sip of mead. The fiery liquid
burned her throat, but it seemed to help her regain her sense of composure.
Throwing caution to the wind, she took a long draft.

"Nay, my love," Hakon murmured, staying her
hand. He gently took the goblet from her. "'Twill be a long night, and the
mead is much stronger than what you are accustomed to. You must drink it
slowly." He raised the goblet, touching his lips to where hers had been
only a moment before.