Twin Passions (41 page)

"Lord Hakon left the settlement four days ago,
Gwendolyn," Anora murmured, gently plumping up the eiderdown pillows
beneath her sister. She turned and drew the leather-backed chair closer to the
side of the bed, then sat down. Aye, the quicker she told Gwendolyn what had
happened, the better. It would do her sister little good to excite herself
overmuch, especially now when she was still so weak.

"Wh-where did he go?" Gwendolyn whispered,
another wave of pain shooting through her. She glanced down, her eyes widening
at the thick linen bandages covering her shoulder. Suddenly everything came
rushing back to her. The awful battle, the twisted, blood-soaked bodies, Rhoar
standing over Hakon, his axe glinting brightly, throwing the knife . . . then
the exploding pain that had shattered through her body. She shuddered, her
hands trembling uncontrollably.

Anora leaned forward and took Gwendolyn's hands in her
own. "He sailed for Trondheim with news for Haarek Jarl," she replied
softly.

"Trondheim? But we only just returned from there.
He did not say he would be sailing there again, and so soon!" Gwendolyn
cried hoarsely, her mind trying to make sense of this news.

"Gwendolyn, if you would only let me speak,"
Anora said gently, yet insistently. "I have something to tell you that
concerns us both." She squeezed her sister's hands, barely able to contain
her excitement. "Much has happened during the past four days while you
have been asleep. It is such wonderful news!" She paused for a moment, her
voice almost breathless. "We shall be returned to our homeland as soon as
the seas are safe to cross!
'
Twill
be
only a few months from now, in the early spring!"

Stunned, Gwendolyn almost could not grasp what Anora
had just said. Returned to their homeland? But how could that be? The last
thing she remembered, she had been Garric, marching into battle with Hakon
Jarl, and Anora had been hiding in the stable. Now, all of a sudden, they were
to be returned to England!

"Aye, 'tis true," Anora said, reading the
bewildered expression on Gwendolyn's face. She quickly explained what Hakon had
told her a few nights before, the night he had discovered their guise.

Gwendolyn listened in dazed silence. So, that was why
Hakon had been summoned to Trondheim. She could scarcely believe it. Wulfgar,
gathering together a mammoth fleet, and joining forces with the King of Denmark
to sail on Norge! She shook her head gravely. No wonder Haarek Jarl had been so
incensed. She had learned enough about political strategy from her father to
understand the awful urgency behind the Jarl's desire to avoid this war if at
all possible.

And to think that she and Anora were at the center of
it all! She suddenly recalled how Hakon had looked at her so strangely on the
return voyage from Trondheim. Perhaps he had guessed the truth even then, but
had not wanted to admit it to himself for fear of losing the woman he loved.

Gwendolyn sighed heavily. So, her own words had given
them away, she thought ironically, after she had done everything in her power
to preserve their guise. She wondered fleetingly what Hakon must have thought
at that moment. A pained expression flitted across her face. Nay, she would not
think of it! She felt no joy at Anora's news, only a mixture of relief and
overwhelming sadness. She sighed heavily. At least she would no longer have to
play the part of Garric . . . or Anora. She turned her face away, hot tears
welling up in her eyes.

"But what is the matter, Gwendolyn?" Anora
asked
,
her face etched with concern. She had very
rarely seen her sister cry at anything, let alone something she thought would
bring her great joy. "We are no longer the slaves of Lord Hakon. We are
free and shall be home within a few short months! If you are frightened of when
he returns from Trondheim, why, he can no longer touch you. He would not dare!
You are free of him, Gwendolyn!"

Nay, my heart
shall never be free of him,
Gwendolyn thought desolately. She could no more
have stopped her tears at that moment than she could have denied she loved him .
. . aye, loved him with every fiber of her being. She turned her head and met
Anora's concerned gaze.

"Do you remember that day at the grotto, right
before we were captured, when I asked you if a man's kiss burned like fire or
ice?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

"Aye, I remember," Anora replied softly. "'Twas
one of Leah's superstitious sayings. How did it go? 'If a man's kiss burns like
ice, his love will bring pain and ruin, but if a man's kiss'—"

"— 'burns like fire,'" Gwendolyn finished for
her, "'his love will be true.'" She hesitated, brushing the tears
from her eyes. "You said that one day I, too, would know such a kiss."

"Aye, 'tis true. I remember."

Gwendolyn's voice shook with emotion. "I have
found that man whose kiss is like fire . . . 'Tis Hakon, Anora. I love him more
than life itself."

Anora was so completely stunned she could not speak for
a moment. She stared wide-eyed at Gwendolyn, her heart pounding against her
chest. "Sweet Jesu . . ." she said finally, almost as a whisper.
Gwendolyn . . . in love, and with their Viking captor!

Gwendolyn rushed on, releasing the raging torrent of
emotions she had kept welled up inside her for so long. "Hakon told me
that he loved me the night that I was almost abducted by
Rhoar,
and that when he returned from Trondheim I would become a free woman . . . and
his wife."

"His wife?"

"Aye. I tried to tell you of this after we
exchanged clothes that morning the ship was to sail for Trondheim, but Hakon
came into the stable before I had a chance."

"He did speak to me of making some kind of
preparations for when he returned," Anora recalled, her fair brow creased
in thought. "But I would never have imagined he meant wedding
preparations!"

Gwendolyn caught her sister's hand. "Anora, I was
afraid to tell you of my feelings for fear you would think I had betrayed my
promise to you. But it was always my intent to hold to my vow, and find a way
for us to escape. I swore to myself that I would fight against this love, but
every time I was with him, every time he held me in his arms . . ." She
sighed sorrowfully, painful tears welling up in her eyes as the torment of the
past weeks overwhelmed her.

"Please, Gwendolyn, 'tis over," Anora said,
trying to comfort her. "You did not betray me. You have been so brave, so
strong, never thinking of yourself, but always of me." How she must have
suffered, she thought, chiding herself that she had not seen the turmoil that
had been tearing her sister apart.

"But 'tis not over for me, Anora." Gwendolyn
shook her head sadly. She grimaced at the pain in her shoulder. Truly, she
thought, the wrenching pain in her heart was far worse. "When I saw Rhoar
standing over Hakon on the battlefield, with his bloody axe poised and ready to
deal him a death blow, I knew then my life would be naught without him. Now I
see that I have lost him just as surely as if he had died that day."

Anora looked away for a moment, overwhelmed by the
agonizing despair reflected in the depths of Gwendolyn's eyes. She had never
seen her sister like this before, yet she knew what she must be feeling. She
had known the same sorrow, the same hopelessness, when she had been taken from
Wulfgar on the eve of their marriage. She had looked then to Gwendolyn for
solace, strength, aye, and protection, these past months, and she had never
failed her. Yet now her sister needed the same from her.

She gazed down at Gwendolyn's pale face. She looked so
fragile, so weak. If this news had threatened her sister's will to live . . .
nay, there had to be something she could say to ease Gwendolyn's terrible
heartache!

Anora suddenly recalled that night when she had told
Lord Hakon of their guise. There had been such terrible anguish in his voice,
such pain. He seemed almost a beaten man as he stared distantly into the fire,
as if he had lost the one thing that had given his life meaning. And now that
she knew he had planned to make Gwendolyn his wife, and had expressed his love
for her . . . A faint smile curved her lips. So, her instincts had been right,
then. He had felt more than lust for her sister. Lord Hakon truly loved
Gwendolyn!

"Perhaps all is not lost, Gwendolyn," Anora
said softly, leaning toward her. "Have you yet told him of your feelings?"

"Nay," Gwendolyn replied. "I could not,
for fear I would be betraying my promise to you."

Anora sighed. "You have kept your promise to me,
Gwendolyn, so you need have no fear of betraying me any longer. Now it is time
for you to think of yourself," she said gently, yet insistently. "When
Lord Hakon returns to the settlement from Trondheim, tell him of your love.
Perhaps there is yet a way to resolve all of this happily."

Gwendolyn felt a glimmer of hope suddenly flare within
her at Anora's words. Aye, she would tell Hakon that she loved him and wanted
to be his wife. Perhaps he could send word to Haarek Jarl that she did not want
to return to her homeland, but instead wished to stay in Norge. Surely if Anora
were returned safely, it would be enough!

Anora noted the rosy flush of color in her sister's
cheeks and murmured a silent prayer of thanks. "Now, 'tis time you rested,
Gwendolyn. I must go to the cooking house and fetch some more broth. I will be
gone only a few moments," she said as she rose from the chair. She tucked
in the fur coverlet around her sister's shoulders. "Try to sleep.
'
Twould be a welcome sight for Lord Hakon if you are up and
about when he returns." She walked quietly from the room and closed the
door behind her.

Gwendolyn smiled faintly, the pain in her shoulder
forgotten. Aye, she would run down the hill to the docks to meet him, and tell
him of her love, she thought happily. She closed her eyes and fell into a
peaceful sleep, his name upon her lips.

Chapter 38

Gwendolyn sat alone in the chamber, her chair turned
toward the open window. The leather shade was drawn back, and morning sunlight
was pouring into the room, the bright rays warming her upturned face. She
reached out, her small hand trying to catch the tiny flecks of dust whirling
about in the streaming shafts of light. Smiling to herself, she dropped her
hand to her lap and leaned back in the chair.

She took a deep breath of the early spring air, scented
with the musky fragrance of new grass and wet earth. The soft breeze blowing
through the window teased the silver-blond tendrils framing her delicate
features, and carried with it the joyful melodies of birdsong. She could just
barely see green tufts of grass peeking up from the drifts of melting snow.

Gwendolyn sighed, the faint smile disappearing from her
lips. The sky was a vivid blue, the color of Hakon's eyes. She had not seen him
for almost three months now. She shook her head sadly. Would he ever return?

She closed her eyes, trying to conjure up an image of
him in her mind, but for some reason she could recall the strong lines of his
powerful body . . . but not his face. She shuddered suddenly, crossing herself.
She hoped it wasn't a bad omen.

The days had passed by so slowly, merging into weeks,
then months, and still Hakon and his crew had not returned to the settlement.
The fierce northern winter had raged all around them, wrapping everything in a
thick blanket of white as the snows had flown with a blinding fury the likes of
which had not been seen for many years.

Her wound had healed well under Anora's watchful and
caring ministrations, but slowly. Eventually there was nothing left to remind
her of that awful day but the red scar just below her left shoulder, and the
infrequent tinglings of pain that plagued her still.

She had stayed in bed for the first few weeks after
Hakon left for Trondheim, too weak and light-headed to sit up. But one day,
despite Anora's repeated pleas to wait just a while longer, she had swung her
slender legs over the side of the bed, determined that she would walk to the
roughhewn table near the window. She had hoisted herself up by holding on
tightly to the carved corner post. Then, with her hand on Anora's arm for
support, she had taken several hesitant steps.

Gwendolyn grimaced as she recalled the awkward
sensation she had felt as her knees suddenly buckled beneath her. If it hadn't
been for Berta's standing so close behind her, she would have crumpled to the
floor. She was hastily tucked back into bed, much to her chagrin. But on the
next day's try she had succeeded, laughing with exhausted relief at her
accomplishment.

As her strength returned, and along with it her sense
of daring, each passing day had seen her walk a little farther from the bed.
And soon she was able to walk about the hall without anyone's help. She had
even begun a little daily ritual. Each morning, after she dressed, she walked
to the entrance and slowly opened the great door. On some days the snow was
falling so heavily that she was unable to see all the way down to the fjord. But
on other days, when the sky was clear, she looked out over the sparkling, snow-covered
hillside in the direction of the docks, searching for any sign of Hakon's
longship. Yet she was always disappointed. The docks had remained empty, the
stout posts and wooden planks glistening under a transparent sheen of thick
ice.

Aye, but that ritual had soon ended, Gwendolyn thought
with a secret smile. She remembered with distaste the strange queasiness that
had begun to plague her each morning after she awoke, and she found herself
miserably
retching
the contents of her stomach into a
wooden bucket. She had thought perhaps it was the sleeping herbs making her
ill, but her intuition was confirmed when she twice missed her monthly flow.