Twin Passions (44 page)

She drew the linen tunic down over her head, sighing
with pleasure at the freedom of movement men's clothing afforded her. She
planned to wear this during the voyage to England, whether anyone protested or
not.

Hopping first on one foot, then the other, she quickly
slipped into a pair of hard-soled leather slippers. She did not know what had
happened to her favorite pair of boots. Perhaps Hakon had given them to one of
his other slaves, she thought. She shrugged,
then
ran
her fingers through her tousled hair. At least that had not changed! Anora had
refused to cut her sister's hair during the weeks she lay on her sickbed, but
as soon as Gwendolyn was up and about she had seen to it that it was trimmed
every month. That was how she liked it!

"Gwendolyn, what are you doing?" Anora's
drowsy voice suddenly called out to her from the bed. She brought herself up on
one elbow, rubbing her hand over her eyes.

"I am going out for a walk along the fjord,"
Gwendolyn said softly, wrapping a light cloak about her shoulders. "'Tis a
beautiful morning, and I am weary of being confined to this chamber."

"Would you like some company?" Anora asked,
though she knew she would far prefer to sleep a while longer.

"Nay, I think I would like to be alone,"
Gwendolyn replied. "I will be back before the morning meal." She
eased open the door. "Go back to sleep."

Anora sank back down upon the soft pillows and snuggled
under the warm coverlet. "Very well, Gwendolyn," she whispered, her
heavy eyelids closing once again. "Just be careful . . ." Yet as she
drifted back to sleep, Anora knew she did not have to worry. The Viking guards
who followed them everywhere they went would see that her sister was well
protected.

Gwendolyn closed the door quietly behind her. She
hurried across the main room of the hall, her cloak swirling about her
trousered legs. She pushed on the heavy wooden door at the entrance, ever so
slowly so it would not creak, and peered outside.

She could not believe her good fortune! The Viking
warriors who usually guarded the hall were nowhere in sight. Yet that surprised
her. Hakon had demanded that she and Anora be kept under constant guard to
prevent any possible mishaps before they sailed. Perhaps they had thought it
was safe to step away for a few moments, she surmised. She had never ventured
out this early before, so they would have had no reason to be concerned. Aye,
that was probably it.

Gwendolyn shrugged. Whatever the reason, she was
determined to seize her unexpected opportunity. If she were truly lucky, she
might be able to sneak away from the settlement unnoticed and enjoy her walk in
blissful solitude. She slipped through the door, her eyes watchful and wary.
She felt a heightened sense of adventure that enlivened her long-numbed
spirits.

Suddenly her stomach growled hungrily, startling her.
God's blood!
she
thought, exasperated. Then she
giggled nervously. Her own stomach had frightened her! She looked longingly
toward the cooking house. A thin column of white smoke was wafting from the
opening in the roof, and she could smell the mouth-watering aroma of
fresh-baked bread carried upon the light breeze. No doubt Berta had been up and
about for several hours already, preparing the morning meal that would be
served in the great hall to dozens of ravenous warriors.

Gwendolyn's appetite had suffered during the past few
weeks, but she had forced herself to eat because of the babe she carried within
her. But today, for the first time in a long while, she felt truly hungry. She
doubted whether she could wait any longer to eat!

Thinking fast, she drew the hood of the cloak over her
tousled hair and hurried down the hill. If she kept her head down, she thought
hopefully, no one would recognize her in these clothes. She held her breath as
two Viking guards passed by her, but they took little notice of her. She did
not stop until she had reached the back door of the cooking house. It was ajar.
Gwendolyn knew that Berta kept it that way to allow some fresh air into the
main room, which was usually warm due to the raging hearth fires.

She peeked inside. Berta was bent over a caldron of
bubbling stew, humming to herself, her back turned to the door. Gwendolyn
wasted no time. She tiptoed into the room and over to a nearby table, then
grabbed one of the crusty loaves of bread that was still warm from the clay
oven. She spied a small round of goat cheese, and grabbed that, too. Then she
turned and hurried from the cooking house, just as Berta straightened up.

"Who's there?" the stout cook called out,
whirling around, her eyes sweeping about the room. The wooden door was swinging
slightly on its hinges, creaking eerily. "'Tis Loki and his children, up
to some mischief," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. She
shrugged,
then
turned back to her stew.

Gwendolyn could not help but smile at her success.
Clutching the loaf of bread and the round of cheese in the crook of her arm,
she hurried alongside the timbered wall of the cooking house until she got to
the far end. It was some distance to the thick line of trees that surrounded
the settlement, but if she ran, it would take her only a few moments to reach
them. She looked furtively about her. She could see a few guards here and
there, but none was close enough to see her from this angle of the building.
She took a deep breath,
then
raced swiftly across the
grassy slope to the nearest trees.

She dodged behind a massive tree trunk, panting, and
listened for any calls of alarm. There were none. Gwendolyn breathed a sigh of
relief, exulting in her newfound freedom. Now, if she remembered correctly, she
could follow the tree line down to the fjord. By then she would be way past the
settlement, and she could enjoy her walk out in the open without fear of being
seen.

She set out happily. Occasionally she gazed up into the
trees as she walked, admiring the shimmering green leaves that seemed to dance
and sway in the cool morning breeze. She loved the rustling sound they made.
There was
a freshness
in the air that invigorated her,
renewing her senses. Her step was light, buoyant. It did not take her long to
reach the bank of the fjord.

Gwendolyn walked for quite a while, paying no heed to
the distance she was covering, until she came to a narrow peninsula that jutted
out a short way into the fjord. The grassy knoll overlooking the peninsula
looked soft and inviting, and she was feeling a little tired and quite hungry.
She took off her cloak and spread it out upon the ground, then sat down. From
here she could just barely make out the settlement, set in among the steep,
rolling hillsides at the end of the fjord.

After tearing a generous hunk from the loaf of crusty
bread, Gwendolyn crumbled some of the pungent goat cheese on top of it. She
took a bite, savoring the simple flavors. The bright sunlight warmed her skin
through her clothes, and she kicked off her leather slippers, stretching her
toes. She looked out across the glistening expanse of water, marveling at the
reflection of the snow-capped mountains on its tranquil surface. The stunning
beauty of the land made it so easy to forget the numbing pain that had plagued
her heart these last two weeks. Yet try as she would, she could not forget it
completely.

She had seen little of Hakon since that awful day he
had returned from Trondheim, and that was how she wanted it. After she told
Anora what had happened, she had insisted that they never speak of it again.
She and Anora had taken all of their meals in their chamber, preferring each
other's company over that of a teeming hall full of Viking warriors and their
wives. Only Berta had been welcome to visit them. The kindly woman had seen to
it that they ate well, and they had never wanted for anything.

Gwendolyn sighed unhappily. It was those few times when
she had seen Hakon that haunted her, tormenting her mind. One morning only a
few days past, she had been returning from the bathing house when he suddenly
rounded the corner in front of her. She had been looking down, and had run
right into him. His strong arms had encircled her, instinctively drawing her
close. She looked up in startled surprise, her eyes locking with his for one
breathless moment. His handsome face was strangely gaunt, almost pale, despite
the bronzed tint of his skin, the blue depths of his eyes full of turmoil. She
felt him shudder. Then he had suddenly released her and had hurried away.

And then only the night before she had ventured from
the hall for a breath of fresh air. It was almost
dusk
.
She had stretched her arms high above her head for a moment, then had leaned
against the timbered wall, looking up at the stars just beginning to appear in
the night sky. She had suddenly sensed that someone was watching her. Turning
her head, she spied Hakon only a few feet away. He had started to walk toward
her, then wheeled around and strode almost angrily down the hill toward the
great hall.

Gwendolyn shook her head fiercely. If she thought of
this any longer, it would surely spoil the day for her. Whatever had been
between them was over, finished. Hakon no longer loved her, if he ever had at
all. Yet even as she tried to wrest him from her mind, she could not forget.

She quickly ate the rest of her simple meal,
then
rose to her feet. It was probably time she headed back
to the settlement. The sun had already crept up high in the sky, telling her it
was almost midday. She must have missed the morning meal entirely. No doubt
Anora would worry if she did not return soon. She stepped into her leather
slippers, then shook out her cloak and whisked it about her delicate shoulders.
A slight twinge of pain shot through her. Aye, she
grimaced,
even her healed wound would not let her forget him.

She left the grassy knoll overlooking the peninsula and
walked back down to the bank of the fjord. The sound of a rushing waterfall was
suddenly carried to her on the breeze. A cool drink of fresh water would taste
so wonderful, she thought, realizing how thirsty she was. Surely it could not
be very far from where she was.

Instead of walking back toward the settlement, she
hurried farther along the fjord. With each step the sound of the waterfall grew
more thunderous, more powerful, until at last, after rounding a steep hillside,
she was greeted by a sight that took her breath away. A sheer wall of rock
towered high above her, and spilling over its glistening crags and hollows was
the most majestic waterfall she had ever seen. Swollen by the melting mountain
snows, the waterfall plummeted with deafening fury into the fjord below,
sending up a dense white spray of cold mist into the air.

Gwendolyn gathered her cloak more tightly about her,
for it was much cooler near the waterfall. She could see several small pools of
water worn into the rocks not far from the surging cascade. She walked over to
the nearest one and knelt down. Cupping her hand, she dipped it into the icy
water,
then
brought it to her lips. She felt instantly
refreshed as she drank thirstily. Some of the water spilled from her hand onto
the front of her tunic, but she did not mind. She filled her cupped hand, again
and again, until she was sated.

The sun-warmed rock she was kneeling on reminded
Gwendolyn of her favorite grotto back in her homeland, and that fateful day
that now seemed so long ago. She leaned over the side, gazing at her reflection
on the placid surface of the pool. She did not look any different, yet she knew
she had changed. Aye, how she had changed . . .

She touched her wet fingers to her lips, as she had
done those many months past. A wave of incredible sadness washed over her, and
she felt hot tears streak her face. One by one they tumbled into the clear
water, distorting her reflection as tiny ripples radiated out to the edges of
the pool.

Suddenly Gwendolyn's eyes widened in horror as she
noticed another broken reflection staring up at her from the surface of the
pool. She gasped in disbelief as she recognized the leering, evil grin.
Nay, it cannot be!
her
mind screamed, as she plunged her hand into the icy water to dispel the
horrible image. But she heard cruel laughter behind her, and she knew it was
real. She wheeled around just as two clawlike hands bit into her shoulders. She
winced in pain as the gnarled fingers dug into the skin just above her scar.
She tried to scream, but fear had constricted her throat. Like a hideous
apparition back from the grave, Svein's scarred face loomed above hers.

"At last I have my revenge," he snarled, his
fetid breath assailing, her, causing her to gag. He shoved her to the ground
with unbelievable force,
then
kneeled astride her,
grinning madly as he pulled a long knife from his belt. His pale eyes were
red-rimmed and bulging. "I'll wager you did
na
'
think you'd be seeing the likes o' me again, eh, lad?" he rasped hoarsely.
He brought the knife down to within inches of her face. "I could
na
' believe my good fortune when I saw 'twas you, Garric."

"But how . . . I st-stabbed you Hakon's men threw
you into the fjord . . ." Gwendolyn gasped, her frantic thoughts rushing
back to the night she and Anora had tried to escape. Aye, it was her knife that
had felled him, she thought wildly.

Svein threw back his head and
laughed,
a high-pitched, wheezing sound. Then he stopped just as suddenly and looked
down at her with boiling hatred in his eyes. "Aye, your knife almost
finished me, lad. And if I hadn't lain so still, not even breathin' while Hakon's
men stood over me they would have run me through with their swords as well. But
when they threw me into the fjord, I just drifted a ways along the shore 'til I
could see 'twas safe to crawl out again. Fools!" he spat vehemently.