Twin Passions (40 page)

Hakon reached out and grabbed her roughly by the arm. "Come,
we must waste no more time!" He pulled her from the stable, dragging her
along the path to his hall, while the Viking guards watched in puzzled
astonishment. He could feel her shivering from the cold, but he did not slow
his pace.

Anora's heart was pounding in her chest. She panted for
breath, the frigid air hurting her lungs as she tried frantically to keep up
with him. Suddenly she stumbled on the slippery path. She gasped when Hakon
picked her up in his arms and carried
her the
rest of
the way, hugging her close to his broad chest. Hakon Jarl would not treat a lad
so, she thought fleetingly, as he kicked open the massive door to his hall and
strode across the main room. He set her down just outside his chamber and took
her by the shoulders, his eyes burning into hers.

"Go in to your sister, Garric," he murmured,
his voice low. His face was inscrutable, though his eyes glittered dangerously.
With that, he released her abruptly, and she staggered back, almost falling.
Catching herself on the timbered wall, she felt her legs grow wooden as she
entered the softly lit room and crossed over to the bed. She barely noticed as
the older woman sitting in the chair suddenly got up and hurried out. Her eyes
were on the thick white bandages wrapped about Gwendolyn's left shoulder, and
the deathly pallor of her skin.

"Gwendolyn . . ." she whispered in stunned
horror, oblivious to Hakon's tall form standing near her. She sank to her knees
by the bed, hot tears coursing down her cheeks as she fiercely clutched the fur
coverlet. "Nay, this cannot be!" she cried out in bitter anguish,
burying her face in her hands. Suddenly she looked up at Hakon. "How did
this come about?" she asked, her voice ragged.

"I had hoped you might be able to answer that same
question, Anora," Hakon replied grimly.

"Nay," Anora whispered fearfully at the sound
of her name. Her eyes widened in awful surprise. So, he knew at last! Sweet Jesu!
Help her!

Hakon bent down and lifted her easily to her feet,
taking her arm as he tried to lead her from the room.

"Nay, where are you taking me?" Anora
screamed, struggling to break free of his iron grip. She fought him so fiercely
that he finally had to grab her and toss her over his broad shoulder, holding
her slender legs tightly so she could not kick him. Even then she pummeled him
with her small fists, landing a well-aimed blow just below the back of his rib
cage. He grunted in pain, yet did not stop until he was out in the main room of
the hall. Waving the older woman away, he plopped Anora down into a carved
chair near the central fireplace,
then
caught her
wrists with one strong hand as he leaned over her.

"Tell me about Wulfgar Ragnarson," Hakon
muttered,
his deep voice almost a whisper.

Anora paled visibly. Dumbfounded, she opened her mouth
to speak, but she could not. She could scarcely breathe.

"Answer me, Anora," Hakon snapped, his mouth
a tight line, his bronzed features hard, inscrutable.

"He . . . he is m-my betrothed," Anora
stammered, fear gripping her. "H-how do you know of him?"

Hakon let go of her wrists and stood up, his heart
hammering in his chest. So, the tides of fate had turned against him, he
thought bitterly, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He went over
and stood by the fireplace, staring into the bright flames. The hall grew
silent, except for the crackle of the logs in the fire. An orange spark
suddenly flew out from under the hearth, spitting and hissing."

 
'Tis Loki, the
fire spirit, beating his children," Hakon said softly, an ironic smile on
his lips as he stepped on the glowing ember, crushing it. He sighed, his
handsome profile illuminated by the roaring flames. It was best to have out
with it. "It seems your Wulfgar is gathering together a fleet of warships
to sail on Norge in the spring . . . in search of you and your sister," he
said, almost dispassionately. "Unless, of course, you both are returned
safely to England before he sets sail." He ignored Anora's startled gasp
and continued, though he did not look at her.

"I only learned of this a few days past when I
went to Trondheim under a summons from Haarek Jarl, my liege lord. It was his
command to the gathered chieftains that if you and your sister were found in
Norge, you must be returned as soon as the north seas can be crossed, to divert
a war with Denmark."

Hakon
turned,
a strange look
on his face. "It seems your abduction has created quite a stir, Anora.
For, you see, there is more at stake now than just your freedom . . . and that
of your sister. Wulfgar Ragnarson has received the support of not only King
Edgar of England, but King Harald Gormsson of Denmark as well. Haarek Jarl
believes it is the perfect ploy for King Harald to seize control of our land
once again."

Hakon's voice grew hard. "But all of this meant
naught to me until this night. Haarek Jarl had said two sisters had been
abducted from their homeland, not a brother and sister, so I gave the matter no
more thought. 'Twas only from your sister's fevered rantings that I heard the
name Wulfgar Ragnarson, revealing your guise." He paused, his eyes cold. "I
did not know until this night that I have been played the fool." He took a
step toward her. "Was it you who traveled with me to Trondheim as Garric?"

Stunned by all she had heard, Anora did not answer for
a moment. She could scarcely believe it! She felt a surge of incredible joy
well in up inside her. They would be returned to their homeland . . . and she
to Wulfgar! Then she sobered suddenly, recalling the ashen pallor of Gwendolyn's
face. What if her sister did not survive her wound? She shuddered visibly. Nay,
she would not think of id

"Was it you, or your sister?" Hakon repeated
his question, watching the play of emotions across Anora's fair features.

Anora met his penetrating gaze. She slowly shook her
head. "'Twas Gwendolyn, my lord," she replied softly. She could see
no harm in telling him the truth now. He would not dare harm her or Gwendolyn.
If he did, he would be defying the orders of his liege lord. Surely that would
be a punishable crime!

Gwendolyn. So that was her name, Hakon thought. It was
a beautiful name. . . . "Then who came to my hall that night you both
tried to escape?" he asked, his voice low. He turned his gaze back to the
leaping flames. He could already sense her answer.

"Gwendolyn, my lord. She sacrificed herself to
protect me."

Hakon grimaced. So that was how she had thought of that
night. She had seen herself as a sacrifice.

Anora's voice interrupted his dark thoughts. "Gwendolyn
played the part of Garric from the very first day we were captured, believing
it would somehow help us. It was only when you caught us trying to escape"
— Anora flushed heatedly— "when you were using the whip against her and I
promised to come to
your
. . ." She could not say
it.

"When you promised to come to my
bed
," Hakon finished for her. "Yea?"

Anora's voice was almost a whisper. "Gwendolyn cut
my hair so we could pass for each other.
'
Twas the
only thing that set us apart. Then we exchanged clothes, and I became Garric.
She went to your hall in my place."

Hakon shook his head in disbelief. How could he have
missed what was going on before his very eyes? He thought back to that day on
his ship when he had seen Garric smile for the first time, and how he had
thought he was too pretty for a lad. And the change in him after the lashing .
. . he had thought he had crushed the lad's defiant spirit. Yet it had been
Anora all along, too frightened even to look him full in the face!

His thoughts raced on wildly. And when they had
returned from Trondheim, when Garric had jumped from the ship and raced madly
up the hill? The lad had been Gwendolyn again! She must have gone directly to
his hall and taken Anora's place, just barely in time before he entered the
chamber. Thor's blood! How could he have been so blind?

"Was it always Gwendolyn then, in the bathing
house after I returned from my uncle's settlement . . . and during the nights?"
Hakon
asked,
a catch in his voice.

"Aye," Anora said simply. "She vowed she
would bear it only until she could find a way for us to escape."

"I have heard enough!" Hakon exclaimed
suddenly, pounding his clenched fist against the timbered wall next to the
fireplace. "Leave me, Anora!" He strove to check the cold fury threatening
to overwhelm him. "Go attend to your sister in my chamber. No doubt she
will thrive under your care. This hall will be yours until we sail for England
in the spring. I am sure you will find it comfortable . . . and much more
suited to the style in which someone of your high birth is accustomed. Now
leave me!" he shouted angrily.

Anora rose from the chair, frightened by his outburst.
She walked hurriedly toward his chamber, but turned around just before she
reached the door. "You have not yet told me how Gwendolyn was wounded, my
lord," she murmured. His back was to her, so she could not see his face.

"A spear hit her in the shoulder, just after she
threw the knife that saved my life," Hakon replied. "Now leave me."
He sighed heavily, not knowing she was still there, and leaned against the
timbered wall as if for support.

Anora felt a strange wave of pity and sadness wash over
her at the anguished pain in his voice. He looked so vulnerable standing there,
so alone. This powerful man who had terrified her from the first moment she had
seen him . . . Could it be that he felt more than lust for her sister, perhaps
even some affection? Suddenly she heard a soft moan carry out into the main
room of the hall. Gwendolyn! She turned and fled into his chamber, shutting the
door behind her.

Hakon felt a sudden, wrenching pain within him that was
sharper, more excruciating, than any wound he had ever suffered. So, the only
woman he had ever loved had made a mockery of his affections! He pounded his
clenched fist into the timbered wall again. But what more could he have
expected?
he
berated himself. He had taken them from
their homeland, away from the people they loved, had forced his attentions upon
them, and had expected to be loved in return! Thor, what a fool he had been!

His shoulders slumped with weariness, but he shrugged
it off. Nay, there was no time for that, he thought angrily. There was much to
be done. He would have to sail at first light of day for Trondheim. Olav could
take charge of the settlement while he was gone. Yea, he thought bitterly, no
doubt Haarek Jarl would be most delighted with his news!

Hakon walked to the door of his hall, overwhelmed by
utter despair, but he knew his feelings mattered naught. Come spring, Gwendolyn
would be lost to him forever. It would he almost as if she had perished, yet he
would know she still lived and breathed, somewhere far away from him. He pushed
open the door and stepped out into the frigid air. It hit him like a fierce
slap on the face.

He looked up into the night sky, just beginning to
lighten along the far horizon. It seemed all his questions had been answered by
Anora, save for one. Yet he did not think she knew the answer. It haunted him,
tormenting his mind. Why did Gwendolyn save his life if she longed so much to
escape from him? She had never said she loved him, though he could have sworn
he had seen more than desire reflected in the emerald depths of her eyes. He
shuddered suddenly. Her choice on the battlefield had been him . . . or Rhoar.
Perhaps she had saved his life only because she feared him less!

Hakon cursed himself for a fool. Whatever the reason,
it no longer mattered. Raising his clenched fists to the heavens, he raged
silently against his gods for their cruel deception . . . to take from him the
truest happiness he had ever known.

Chapter 37

Gwendolyn awoke to a burning sensation in her left
shoulder. She opened her eyes, heavy-lidded from sleep, and squinted in the
bright golden sunlight pouring in from the two windows. Her head hurt terribly.
She shaded her eyes with her hand, until she grew accustomed to the light. God's
blood! Why did she feel so dizzy? She tried to sit up, hoisting herself up on
her elbows. A piercing wave of pain shot through her. She gasped aloud,
then
fell back on the eiderdown pillows.

"Gwendolyn!" a familiar voice cried out
across the chamber. She heard hurried footsteps move toward the bed. Then Anora's
concerned face hovered over her. "You must lie still, else the wound will
open again!" her sister chastised softly.

Gwendolyn blinked. Then her eyes widened. Was she
imagining it, or was Anora dressed in a silken chemise and tunic? "Anora,
what are you doing? Why are you dressed like that!" she exclaimed weakly. "Quickly,
put on Garric's clothes, before Lord Hakon sees you!" She tried to sit up
again, but fell back, wincing in pain. She moaned softly, biting her lower lip.

"Nay,
lie
still,
Gwendolyn, 'tis all right," Anora said, her voice low and soothing. She
brushed her small hand across her sister's forehead. There was no longer any
sign of fever, she thought gratefully. And the rosy color was slowly returning
to her cheeks. She lifted the fur coverlet and brought it back up about
Gwendolyn's delicate shoulders.

Gwendolyn lifted her tousled head from the pillow, her
emerald eyes clouded with confusion. "How can you say 'tis all right,
Anora? This is Hakon Jarl's chamber, is it not? He could walk in at any moment!"
Suddenly she lay back down, a ragged sigh escaping her throat. Hakon's chamber
. . . But how had she gotten here? As Garric, she should be in the stable,
shouldn't she? Her head was beginning to ache from the turmoil of her thoughts.