Twin Passions (7 page)

A soft moan broke from Anora's throat. Wulfgar
hesitated a moment, holding her away from him while he gazed at her delicate
features in the moonlight. Her eyes, deep emerald pools veiled by lush lashes,
reflected her innocent desire. Reaching a decision, he gathered her into his
arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her gently upon the thick fur
coverlet, then stepped away and loosened the silver-studded belt from around
his waist. Placing his sword, arm bands, and medallion on the chest at the foot
of the bed, he kicked off his leather boots and hurriedly stripped off his
tunic.

In the moonlight, Wulfgar's lean, battle-hardened form
was illuminated in all its male glory. Anora gasped at the sight of his
sculpted chest, thickly covered with dark curls, and the dark line of hair that
trailed down his taut belly and narrow hips to end in another mass of curls
between sinewy thighs. She stared at him openly; surprisingly, she felt little shyness.
Her interest pleased him, and he laughed with pleasure at her wide-eyed
admiration. Lying down on the bed beside her, he stretched his hard length
against her and enfolded her in his steely embrace.

"There is much to learn of love, Anora," he
whispered, tracing a path of fiery kisses along her throat. "Tonight I will
give you just a taste of the pleasure we will find in each other's arms."

Murmuring gentle, soothing words, he unpinned the
silver brooches from her mantle and slowly drew the garment over her head, and
there followed shortly by her silken tunic. As the beauty of her form was
revealed to him, Wulfgar drew in his breath sharply. His large hands trembled
as he slid the lace straps of her camise from her delicate shoulders,
then
gently pulled the sheer garment from her body. Stunned
by her beauty, he knew he had never before beheld such perfection in a woman.

"Anora," he whispered huskily, raking her
body with his heated gaze, "you are truly a vision of the gods." Her
satiny skin, pale as alabaster, gleamed in the moonlight. Pink nipples,
hardened by the cool night breeze, seemed to cry out for his touch. Leaning
over, Wulfgar captured one of the rosy peaks within his mouth, his tongue
flicking gently. Startled by the new sensation, Anora tensed suddenly in his
arms, moaning softly.

"Do not be afraid, my love," he murmured
reassuringly, caressing the arch of her back. "It is my only wish to give
you pleasure this night." Gently, and ever so slowly, he began to caress
her silky skin with a feather-light touch. Anora shivered, her mind reeling
with the delicate sensations. Wulfgar's lips, warm, searching, trailed a
burning path across a delicate shoulder and once again found her breast. He
traced a circle of molten fire around the raised nipple with his tongue,
suckling gently. His strong hands moved over her body, caressing and stroking
her flat abdomen and the slender curve of her hips, only to linger teasingly at
the silky mound between her thighs.

Writhing under his touch, Anora gave herself over to
the heady waves of passion that rippled through her body. All conscious thought
fled from her mind, and she was overwhelmed by a burning ache of desire as old
as love itself. She moaned in wild delight. Her slender hips moved
instinctively against the pressure of Wulfgar's hand, betraying her inner
desires all too clearly.

"That will have to wait for another night, my
love." Wulfgar gasped, fighting to control the searing flames of desire in
his loins. Encircling Anora in his strong arms, he sought her mouth in a
crushing kiss, stifling her cries as his fingers explored the soft, moist core
of her. Gently he probed the satiny folds, searching for her most sensitive
point.

Suddenly Anora arched against his hand, her body
trembling uncontrollably. Wrapping her arms about Wulfgar's muscled
back,
she pulled him to her, entwining her delicate fingers
in his black curls. He deepened his kiss, all the while stroking and teasing
the delicate bud of her desire, exulting in her passionate abandon.

Bathed in a fine sheen of perspiration, Anora felt a
mounting tension of pure, unbridled ecstasy building within her, spiraling
upward and upward until it reached a pinnacle of burning desire. Crying out
Wulfgar's name, she felt a roaring wave of molten pleasure explode in
shimmering lights and piercing sensation.

Wulfgar held her close within his arms for long time,
savoring the warmth of her slender body against his own. He gazed down at the
perfection of her delicate features. She had fallen asleep almost immediately,
but he was loath to leave her side. She was so beautiful . . .

Aye, there will
be many more nights like this,
he thought, consoling himself.
Nights when we will both find release in
each other's arms.
Lingeringly and ever so gently, he kissed her
love-bruised lips. "Sleep well, my only love," he whispered, covering
her with the coverlet. He stepped out of the bed and quietly pulled on his
clothes. Then, after one last, tender kiss, he silently left her room.

Chapter 7

"Anora, wake up!" Gwendolyn whispered
urgently, shaking her sister's shoulder. Deep in the midst of a dream, Anora
merely yawned and rolled over onto her side. Her long hair lay in wild disarray
on the eiderdown pillow, and her delicate features lay in peaceful repose, a
gentle smile curving her lips as she slept.

Gwendolyn felt a twinge of guilt at disturbing her
sister's sound slumber, but the feeling was short-lived. Realizing that drastic
measures were needed to awaken her, she climbed onto the wide bed and began to
jump up and down on the mattress.

Rudely awakened by the sudden jarring, Anora opened her
eyes, a startled look on her face. "Gwendolyn, what are you doing?"
she asked dazedly, her mind clouded from sleep and faint memories of her dream.

Gwendolyn plopped down beside her sister. "Forgive
me for waking you so, Anora," she whispered apologetically, "but you
promised we would go to the grotto this morning. Have you forgotten?"

Sorting through her jumbled thoughts, Anora groaned
inwardly. Aye, she remembered all too well the promise she had made the day
before, and how much it had meant to Gwendolyn. If only she weren't so sleepy .
. .

But one glance at Gwendolyn's hopeful expression was
all she needed to rouse herself. Anora knew she could not refuse her sister —it
had been her idea to visit the grotto in the first place. Besides, if they left
right away they would surely be there and back before the morning meal.
Yawning, she threw back the coverlet and swung her legs over the side of the
bed. "Well, we'd best be going if we want to see the sunrise," she
said, stretching her arms above her head. She smiled warmly. She felt such a
great sense of well-being and contentment this morning.

Gwendolyn squealed delightedly at Anora's announcement,
then
quickly clapped her hand over her mouth. She
jumped off the bed, grabbed the silken camise lying crumpled on the floor, and
handed it to her sister. Shivering, Anora pulled the garment over her head,
then
hurried over to the chest at the foot of the bed.

Suddenly she gasped. On top of the chest, glinting at
her in the glow of the candle held aloft for her by Gwendolyn, lay one of
Wulfgar's gold arm bands. Memories of the previous night came flooding back to
her, and she flushed heatedly. Those memories had seemed only a dream when she
had awakened . . . a breathless, swirling vision of passion and moonlight. Yet
now, holding the arm band in the palm of her hand, the bright gold warming from
her touch, she knew the dream had been real.

Gwendolyn's eyes widened in surprise. "Was Wulfgar
with you last night?" she questioned softly, although Anora's blushing
cheeks told her all she needed to know.

"Aye," Anora answered simply, ignoring her
sister's startled look. She lifted the heavy lid of the chest and set the arm
band inside, covering it with clothing. Pulling out a plain linen tunic and a
heavy woolen mantle, she dressed quickly. At last she turned to Gwendolyn, who
was still standing by the chest dumbfounded. "We will speak of this later,
Gwendolyn, but for now, we must hurry." She grabbed her fur cloak from a
wooden hook by the door and wrapped it about her shoulders, fastening it with a
silver brooch. "Ouch!" she exclaimed suddenly.

"What happened?"

"The pin on the brooch pierced my finger,"
Anora winced painfully, examining the tiny drop of blood on her fingertip.

"Perhaps trousers would be
a
more
suitable attire for a walk in the woods!" Gwendolyn suggested,
chuckling softly. Dressed in a woolen shirt and trousers, a wide leather belt,
sturdy leather boots, and a fur-lined jerkin, she looked every inch a young
huntsman. Her short hair was covered by a fur cap, and her hand rested on the
engraved handle of a large hunting knife strapped to her belt.

"Aye, maybe if I had more daring like you,"
replied Anora, somewhat wistfully. She quickly wrapped her wound with a small
piece of linen. The thought of herself in men's trousers made her giggle, her
sore finger forgotten.

"Are you almost ready?" Gwendolyn asked
impatiently. It was at least an hour before dawn, yet soon the servants would
be up and about their morning duties.

"Aye, just one more moment," Anora said, running
an ivory comb through her tangled hair. She hastily donned a pair of sturdy
leather-soled slippers. "There, I am ready."

Opening the door, Gwendolyn moved stealthily down the
wooden stairs with Anora close behind her. At the foot of the stairs they stopped
and peered down the darkened corridor. All was silent and still. With Gwendolyn's
candle lighting the way, they hurried along the corridor, their footsteps
making little sound.

Pausing for a moment at the top of another flight of
stairs that led to the kitchen area, Gwendolyn listened for any noise. Hearing
nothing but the snores of sleeping servants in the room adjacent to the
kitchen, she beckoned to Anora and they ran quietly down the stairs.

"Do you have the key?" Anora whispered as
they tiptoed through the large kitchen. The room was lit by the smoldering
embers in the stone hearth. Gwendolyn nodded, holding up a heavy iron key.

When they reached the door of the root cellar, they
found it slightly ajar. "Let me go first," Gwendolyn whispered, holding
her candle in front of her. Squeezing through the narrow opening, she was
assailed by the dank, musty smell of the earthen cellar. "Come on!"
she hissed. Once her sister was through the door, Gwendolyn shut it firmly
behind them. The iron hinges creaked in protest, and they froze in their steps,
listening. But to their relief they heard nothing.

Gwendolyn swiped away the spider webs draped from the
low, wooden beams of the cellar and stepped over to several large kegs resting
against the far side of the room. She pushed aside one of the empty kegs,
revealing a narrow wooden door that barely reached her waist. She fit the key
into the rusty lock and turned it sharply. The little door swung open and a
strong gust of fresh air surged into the cellar.

Coughing from the dust, Anora gingerly crawled through
the open door on her hands and knees. When it was her turn, Gwendolyn blew out
her candle, plunging the cellar into pitch-darkness. A chill went down her
spine and she quickly followed on Anora's heels. Once outside, she firmly shut
and locked the little door. Hewn from the same logs as the high walls of the
stronghold, the door fit so snugly that it matched exactly the grain of the
surrounding timber. Invisible to even the keenest eye, only Gwendolyn's familiarity
with the door's location would enable her to find it again.

Pocketing the key, Gwendolyn stood up and brushed the dirt
from her trousers. "We will have to run to the trees," she whispered.

Anora nodded. She took her sister's hand and with the
other held up her long tunic and mantle. She felt like giggling as they
sprinted across the barren field, knowing how ridiculous she must look with her
cloak flying in the wind.

"We did it!" Gwendolyn laughed excitedly when
they reached the cover of the trees. She leaned on a gnarled oak while she
caught her breath.

"Aye, just like always," Anora agreed
happily. It did feel wonderful to be out in the woods, she thought, breathing
in the brisk morning air. Reflecting on the many times she and Gwendolyn had
managed to sneak away in the past, she was amazed they had never been caught.

Only their father and a few trusted servants were to
have known about the secret door. But Gwendolyn had found the door years ago
while playing in the
cellar,
and before long had learned
where her father kept the key. Sneaking out of the stronghold and visiting the
grotto had been the sisters' private game all these years, and it had never
lost its thrill or sense of intrigue. Yet this morning Anora felt a bittersweet
ache, knowing that this would be their last visit to the grotto for a long
time.

Sensing Anora's thoughts, Gwendolyn suddenly grabbed
her sister's hands and whirled her about in a circle until they were both
laughing so hard they tumbled to the cold ground, exhausted. "There shall
. . . be no more sad . . . thoughts today," she panted, smiling broadly. "Agreed?"

"Very . . . well, Gwendolyn." Anora gasped,
trying to catch her breath. She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. "Do
you think we should be on our way?"

"Aye, Anora, always the practical one,"
agreed Gwendolyn. She stood up and helped her sister to her feet. She could see
that the shadows in the forest were fast receding with the first tentative rays
of light peeking above the horizon. "We will have to hurry if we want to
see the sunrise from the grotto," she said over her shoulder as she set
off through the dense trees along an almost hidden path.