Twin Passions (38 page)

Suddenly his eyes widened in astonishment; his breath
caught in his throat. The cut half of the woolen shirt had fallen away,
revealing to his startled gaze a high, firm breast! The healer almost choked.
Swiftly cutting away the rest of the garment, he could not believe his eyes. 'Twas
not a lad, but a young wench! Hastily he covered her breasts with another
blanket, looking furtively about him to see if any of the other men had
noticed. Thankfully none had. It would not do for anyone to know of this before
Lord Hakon, he thought wildly. Then he chided himself. It was none of his
affair if the lad was a wench! It was only his duty to see that she did not
die!

Though still unconscious, Gwendolyn started violently
as the steaming cloths were applied to her wound. "Hakon . . ." she
murmured over and over, writhing in fevered delirium.

The healer shook his head, pleased, as the flow of
blood was finally halted. He took away the cloths and packed the angrily
swelling hole with the foul-smelling herb poultice, then gently rubbed the
paste on the damaged tissue surrounding the wound. Finally he wrapped a clean
piece of cloth over her shoulder and then beneath her arm, around and around,
until the entire area was bandaged. He sighed, sitting back on his haunches.
There was naught else he could do but hope that the wound would not grow
infected. If that happened . . . He shuddered, afraid to think of the
consequences. He brought the blanket up under her chin and tucked it in around
her.

Now there were others to attend to, the old man thought
wearily. He rose shakily to his feet and wiped his soiled hands on his bloodied
tunic. There were so many wounded. He carried the platter of rags back over to
the caldron and dumped them into the boiling water.

Suddenly Hakon threw back the flap of the tent and
rushed in, startling the healer once again.

"My lord, I would have sent word—"

Hakon silenced him with an abrupt wave of his hand.
Once he had seen that the battle was indeed won and that those of Rhoar's men
who had been captured were put swiftly to the sword, he had returned as quickly
as he could, deciding not to wait any longer for news of Garric's condition.

"Will the lad live?" he asked, his eyes
flying apprehensively to the far end of the tent where Gwendolyn lay. He
grimaced at the ashen pallor of her skin and the shallow rise and fall of her
chest beneath the woolen blanket. He quickly glanced back at the healer,
dreading his answer.

"The wound is deep, my lord, and there has been a
great loss of blood," the old man murmured, shifting his feet
uncomfortably, "but in time, yea, in time it will heal."

Hakon's broad shoulders slumped visibly with relief. He
walked over to the blanket and knelt down on one knee beside Gwendolyn. The
healer walked up slowly behind him.

"Th-there is something you m-must know, my lord,"
he stuttered nervously.

"Yea, what is it?" Hakon asked, his voice
low, not taking his eyes from Gwendolyn's face.

"The lad is a . . . I mean, he is not a . . ."

"Speak up, man!" Hakon shouted gruffly.

"'Tis a wench, my lord, not a lad!" the
healer blurted out, backing away several steps.

Hakon stood up suddenly and faced the older man,
towering over him. "What did you say?"

"When I was dressing the wound, my lord, I
discovered that 'twas a young woman you had brought to this tent, not a lad,"
he hastily explained. He stepped back a few more steps, afraid of Hakon's
reaction.

Stunned, Hakon did not move for a moment. Garric . . .
a wench! Nay, it could not be! Slowly he turned around,
then
lifted the blanket. His blue eyes narrowed, an angry scowl darkening his
features. What mischief was Loki playing on him? His white-blond brows were
knit in confusion.

Suddenly Gwendolyn tossed her head deliriously, moaning
in pain. "Nay, my love,
nay
!" she cried out
in heart-wrenching anguish. Though her slender body was racked by shivering
spasms, she was bathed in perspiration. Her lips were parched and dry. "Hakon!"
she murmured hoarsely. "Hakon . . ." Her voice died away as she lay
still once again.

Hakon stared at her as if he had been struck. Falling
to his knees, he gathered her into his arms, tucking the ends of the blanket
about her delicate shoulders. "Anora," he murmured thickly, his voice
catching on her name. He rocked her in his arms, stroking the sweat-dampened
hair that curled in tendrils about her pale face. But how?
he
wondered frantically. Odin
help
him! She must have
disguised herself as Garric and followed him into battle to be near him. That
alone would explain the long-bladed knife from his chamber! Gwendolyn moaned
softly and licked her dry lips, her muted cry breaking into his tormented
thoughts.

"Fetch me some water, man!" Hakon shouted at
the astonished healer, who stood wringing his hands helplessly.

"Yea, my lord!" The old man hurried to his
vials of herbs, his fingers trembling as he poured fresh water from a small
cask into a soapstone bowl. Had he heard right? Was she indeed the beautiful
Anora, Hakon Jarl's favored concubine? His legs felt wooden as he rushed over
to Hakon. He spilled half the water on the ground in his haste.

Hakon grabbed the bowl from the healer's wrinkled hand
and gently raised it to Gwendolyn's lips. He gave her only a small amount for fear
she might choke. She swallowed it thirstily, much to his relief. But after
giving her another sip he drew the bowl away. "'Tis enough for now,"
he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He handed the bowl to the
healer, then gathered Gwendolyn's limp form to his chest and rose to his feet.

"Do you have any other spare blankets?"

"Yea. Here, my lord," the old man replied
hastily. He bent and picked up a thick blanket lying on the ground. He shook it
roughly,
then
wrapped it snug and tight about Gwendolyn's
shoulders.

"Good. I shall tell Olav to have litters brought
here shortly for these men," Hakon said, striding toward the entrance of
the tent. "See that their wounds are bandaged well enough for the journey
back to the settlement." He wheeled around suddenly to face the healer,
his eyes bright with the pain of his emotions. "You have my thanks,"
he murmured.

The old man bowed his head in acknowledgment,
overwhelmed with pity at the anguished expression of concern etched on Hakon's
face. "Take care not to jar her overmuch, my lord," he warned, his
raspy voice almost a whisper. "It could well cause the bleeding to begin
anew."

Hakon nodded. Then without another word he ducked his
head and pushed aside the leather flap.

"Lord Hakon, how is it with Garric?" Olav
asked, dismounting from his horse. He looked somewhat startled. Why was Hakon
carrying the lad from the tent? He was even more surprised when Hakon walked up
to him and gently placed Gwendolyn in his arms.

"'Tis not Garric," Hakon muttered tersely. "'Tis
Anora. Take care of her for a moment, Olav, while I fetch my horse."

Olav stared in horrified disbelief at Gwendolyn's fair
features, so deathly pale in the bright sunlight. Anora! Nay, he could not
believe his eyes!

"But how did she . . . when . . . ?" he
gasped. A young woman on the battlefield . . . he had never heard of such a
thing! And she had saved Lord Hakon's life, no less!

"We can talk of this later, Olav. My only thought
now is to get her away from this cursed valley and back to the settlement,"
Hakon said grimly, easing his spirited stallion up beside Olav. "Hand her
up to me, yea, but gently now."

Olav lifted Gwendolyn easily into Hakon's waiting arms,
then held the reins for him until he had her settled in front of him, his right
arm encircling her protectively.

Hakon tucked in the blankets securely around her,
fearful that she might take cold from the wintry air. "My thanks, Olav. I
will see to it that a hearty meal and plenty of mead await your arrival at the
settlement. Pass that news along to the men as well."

"Shall I not ride with you, then?" Olav
asked, his eyes lighting with concern as he handed Hakon the reins. "Surely
you do not plan to ride unescorted, my lord! There may still be some of Rhoar's
renegades about the valley."

"Yea, Olav, you are right, but I need to leave you
in charge of the men," Hakon replied. He nodded toward several of his
petty chieftains not far away. "I shall have those four men accompany me."

"Very well, then," Olav said, the expression
on his swarthy face darkening as his eyes scanned the battlefield. "But
what of the bodies, my lord?"

"See to it that those of our men are carried back
to the settlement. They are heroes and deserve a Viking burial as befitting
their bravery this day," Hakon replied. His eyes grew cold, an angry tic
working in his jaw. "Leave the rest for the wolves." He clicked his
tongue to his stallion and urged him into a gentle trot.

Olav watched Hakon ride over to where the four
chieftains were standing alongside their horses. He spoke to them in low tones,
and they quickly mounted and reined in beside him. Then the small group eased
into a gallop. It was not long before they had disappeared over the crest of
the hillside.

Chapter 35

"Fetch Berta to my chamber at once!" Hakon
ordered grimly, taking Gwendolyn from the arms of the Viking guard who held her
while he dismounted. The burly warrior nodded,
then
set off at a brisk run toward the cooking house. Hakon kicked in the heavy door
to his hall, cursing under his breath. He had taken great care not to jostle
her overmuch, but he feared the bleeding had begun again. She had lain so still
in his arms during the ride back to the settlement, not once calling out his
name. He strode quickly across the hall to his chamber and pushed open the
door.

His eyes widened in surprise at the slender form
outlined beneath the thick, fur coverlet on the wide bed. "What folly is
this?" he muttered, his startled gaze moving from the bed back to
Gwendolyn's pale face. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest. He
crossed the floor and threw back the coverlet with one hand, his breath caught
in his throat. But there were only three eiderdown pillows clumped together.

Hakon let out his breath sharply. If he had not been so
concerned, he would have been livid with anger at her ploy. Yet he knew if she
had not been there on the battlefield, his fate would have been far different.
She must have jumped from the window, he thought fleetingly, shaking his head.
There would have been no other way she could have avoided the Viking guards
posted just outside his hall.

He pushed aside the pillows and
lay
her on the bed, then gently drew back the blankets he had wrapped around her.
Hakon sighed raggedly, his worst fears confirmed by the deep red stain that was
seeping through her bandages.

"You summoned me, my lord?" Berta's hearty
voice rang out across the chamber. She started, aghast, as Hakon looked up from
the bed. She had never seen his face so drawn and haggard! She rushed to his
side, her hand flying to her heart at the pitiful sight before her. "Anora!"
she gasped in disbelief, her massive breasts heaving. "But how can this
be? I brought a midday meal to her earlier this day. It seemed she was
sleeping, so I did not wake her. See? The meal is still there!" Her eyes
flew to the table by the window. "Though it is untouched . . ." Her
voice trailed off as she looked back to Hakon, her expression troubled and
confused.

"'Twas not her sleeping, Berta," Hakon
murmured, nodding toward the pillows shoved to the other side of the bed. "She
covered those pillows to fool anyone who might have entered the chamber while
she was gone. She followed me into battle, dressed as Garric."

Berta's mouth gaped open in stunned surprise, but she
quickly regained her composure, taking charge when she saw the ugly bloodstain
spreading ever wider across the cloth bandages.

"Cut away the bandages, my lord! Then take this
cloth and hold it tight against the wound. I will return shortly!"

She shoved a linen towel into his hand and bustled out
of the room.

Hakon took the long-bladed knife from his belt and
swiftly cut away the soiled bandages. He grimaced at the flaring hole, now
swollen and red despite the herb poultice the healer had applied to it earlier
that day. Thor, he could not lose her now!
he
raged
silently. Wadding up the linen cloth, he pressed it against the oozing wound.
He wiped the sweat from his face with his free hand, his lips murmuring a
fervent prayer. "Odin, hear me!" he prayed, his voice a muted
whisper. "Do not take her from me!"

It seemed that only a few moments had passed before
Berta hurried back into the room, followed by a guard carrying a steaming
kettle of boiling water.

"Set it over there"—she pointed to the small
table near the bed — "but do not leave. I may yet need your help."
The Viking guard nodded, quickly averting his gaze from Hakon Jarl's concubine
lying naked from the waist up on the bed. He took his place by the door, his
arms folded across his broad chest, his eyes downcast.

"Now, my lord, if you will step aside," Berta
said matter-of-factly. Hakon obliged her, walking over to the other side of the
bed.

Berta clucked her tongue as she lifted the towel from
the wound. "'Tis a bad one, my lord," she murmured, "
though
from the looks of it, the healer's herbs have given
her some relief." She looked up at him, her expression grim. "I tell
you this only because I must. She is strong, but already her skin burns as if
on fire. If Anora survives the night, my lord, I believe she may live."