Twin Passions

by Miriam Minger

  Acting quickly, the thane lifted her onto his saddle and covered her with his woolen cloak. Although sodden, it would offer her some protection from the cold rain. Cursing to himself, he knew there would be hell to pay for this misadventure. "Outwitted by a chit of a girl," he muttered darkly. The Lady Gwendolyn was well known for her willful exploits, but this time he feared she had gone too far. Signaling to his companion to grab the reins of her mare, he kicked the heaving sides of his steed and headed for the stronghold at a full gallop.

  Nestled within the heavy cloak, Gwendolyn could feel the warmth slowly returning to her aching limbs. The burly thane's arms about her were reassuring, and she attempted to dispel the memory of the nightmare vision from her mind. I can tell no one, she thought dazedly, or they will think I am mad. Yet, in her heart, she knew her vision had been real, though she could not explain it.

  Reining in their horses at the timbered gate of the stronghold, the thanes waited impatiently for the heavy doors to swing open. Great torches, sputtering in the rain, lit up the night as loud shouts heralded their entrance into the main yard.

  Gwendolyn felt herself being taken into the waiting arms of another thane. Then she was carried across the yard into the great hall. Blinking from the brightness, she felt a twinge of guilt at the anxious faces of those gathered around her. Her eyes came to rest on the figure of her mother rushing toward her.

  "Quickly, we must get her warm at once," Lady Bronwen ordered, taking immediate charge of the situation. She gestured for the thane to follow her, and a serving maid who also stood nearby. Holding a thick tallow candle in front of her, she led the way up a wooden staircase to Gwendolyn's chamber.

  "Lay her down on the bed," she said evenly, setting the candle in a large brass holder. The thane hastily obeyed, then stood aside, not knowing what to do next. His eyes widened as Lady Bronwen began unceremoniously to strip the drenched clothes from Gwendolyn's shivering body. She looked up at him, a faint smile curving her lips. "You may go now."

  "Aye, my lady." He nodded, red-faced. Without a backward glance, the sheepish thane beat a hasty retreat down the stairs.

  "Go to the kitchen and fetch some meat broth and herbs," Lady Bronwen said softly to the young serving maid. The girl bobbed her head and scurried out of the room, close on the heels of the departing thane. Lady Bronwen turned back to Gwendolyn and helped her into the bed, gently pulling the warm blankets up over her delicate shoulders. She looked kindly at her daughter, her gentle eyes speaking a message of concern, yet also a mild reproach.

  Overcome by her mother's tenderness, Gwendolyn felt hot tears burn her cheeks. "Mother, I . . ." she began hesitantly, but the words stumbled on her tongue.

  "Hush, lamb, we can talk of this later," soothed Lady Bronwen. She moved away from the bed and lit several small oil lamps about the chamber. The faint rustling of her linen tunic and mantle was the only sound in the room.

  "Here are the herbs and the broth, my lady!" the serving maid whispered breathlessly as she entered the bedchamber. She had run all the way to the kitchen and back, anxious to please her kind mistress.

  Lady Bronwen nodded her thanks, then took the bowls from the girl and set them on a small wooden table by the bed. "Go now and find Leah. I have need of her," she said over her shoulder.

  "Aye, mistress," the serving maid replied, hurrying out the door once again.

  Stirring the herbs into the steaming meat broth, Lady Bronwen offered one of the bowls to Gwendolyn. "Here, lamb, but drink it slowly."

  Gwendolyn cupped the bowl in her hands, bringing it shakily to her lips. She took a sip, savoring the richness of the beef broth. After several more sips a gradual warmth began to spread through her, stilling at last the shivering spasms that wracked her slender body. Feeling her eyelids growing heavy, she handed the empty bowl to her mother. Lying back against the soft down pillow, she could no longer keep her eyes open. Gradually she felt herself drift into a comforting sleep.

  Tucking in the soft woolen blanket, Lady Bronwen gazed down at her sleeping daughter. How could such an angelic-looking young woman cause so much trouble? she wondered, shaking her head. Indeed, Gwendolyn's fair features shone with almost unearthly beauty. Her brows arched delicately, her nose was straight and slender, her cheekbones high and graceful. Her lips, lush and rosy, were curved in the faintest of smiles, and her emerald green eyes, closed in sleep, were thickly fringed with dark lashes that fluttered ever so slightly against her creamy skin. The only feature that gave a hint of her true temperament was the stubborn set of her chin.

  Lady Bronwen sighed as she smoothed an unruly curl from Gwendolyn's forehead, remembering the many times she had tried to convince her daughter to grow her hair long. Yet all her pleas had been for naught. Strong-minded like her father, Gwendolyn had insisted since childhood that long hair was a nuisance. Besides, she had not wanted to be an exact replica of her twin sister, Anora. A bright smile at her father had always ended the argument, and Gwendolyn once again managed to have her way. Lady Bronwen shook her head. She truly feared that perhaps Godric had spoiled this daughter overmuch. Her wild escapade tonight was proof of that!

  'Tis hard to believe so many years have passed . . . and so quickly, she thought, reflecting on her eighteen years of marriage to Earl Godric. Their union had produced twin daughters, just turned seventeen, and one son who had died at childbirth. A flicker of sorrow passed across Lady Bronwen's lovely face. Her heart still ached at the thought of the lost child, a pain she had carried since his death.

  Yet it was her husband, deprived of his only son, who had thrilled at the early interest displayed by Gwendolyn in such masculine pursuits as riding, hunting, and archery. He had encouraged her, and before long she had become proficient at all of them. Her skill and accuracy with all manner of small weapons, especially the knife, were well known. She had even accompanied her father on his twice-yearly hunts for wild boar, and had taken great delight in the dangerous sport. Never once had she shown the least bit of fear.

  Ever the doting parent, Earl Godric had even allowed Gwendolyn to wear a boy's clothing, specially made to fit her slender form. She had taken to them happily, relishing the ease of movement the woolen shirts and breeches afforded her. From then on, Lady Bronwen had always been hard pressed to get Gwendolyn to wear a proper lady's tunic and mantle.

  "'Tis no wonder Gwendolyn has such a rebellious nature," Lady Bronwen murmured resignedly. Finding a husband for her tempestuous daughter would indeed be a task. He would have to be a strong man to tame her, yet wise enough not to break her courageous spirit. She wondered if there was such a man . . .

  A soft knock at the door broke into her thoughts. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Anora waiting expectantly. "Come in, love," she whispered, beckoning to her.

  Anora walked quietly across the room, her eyes wide with apprehension. "Is she well?" she asked fearfully.

  "Aye," Lady Bronwen answered, noting the anxious concern radiating from her daughter's emerald eyes.

  Anora's delicate shoulders slumped with relief. "Could I stay with her awhile, Mother?"

  "Nay, Anora, I think 'tis best that Leah stay with her this night," Lady Bronwen replied gently. "I have already sent for her." Seeing the disappointment on her daughter's face, she continued gently. "Tomorrow will be a long day for you, Anora, and you must rest well tonight. I am sure you would want to look your best for Wulfgar's arrival."

  Lady Bronwen smiled at the sudden blush in Anora's cheeks. She had no doubt that her daughter would be the fairest woman at the betrothal feast —well, save for one, she amended quickly, gazing at Anora's mirror image sleeping peacefully in her bed. Together her twin daughters made a radiant pair, neither surpassing the other in beauty, but equal in loveliness of face and form.

  "Aye, Mother, you are right," Anora murmured. "Good night, then." She bent and kissed Lady Bronwen's cheek, then turned just as Leah walked into the candlelit room. "Good night, Leah," she said softly. With one last look at her sis
ter, Anora left as quietly as she had come.

  "'Tis time you also rested, my lady," Leah admonished gently, having overheard their conversation. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly as she walked to the bed. What kind of trouble had the lass gotten herself into this time?

  Lady Bronwen seemed to read her thoughts. "Now, Leah, let us not judge too harshly," she murmured, trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress a smile. The faithful maid had been with the family for many years, and had no qualms about speaking her mind, especially when it came to Gwendolyn. "Would you sit with her this night? I would remain myself, but there is still so much to be done before the betrothal feast tomorrow."

  "Go on with ye, my lady. I will see to the lass," Leah reassured her. Aye, she had seen both Anora and Gwendolyn through many a fever, but from what she could tell so far, there was no illness this night. "And mind you, get some rest yourself, my lady," she repeated, noting with concern the faint circles under her mistress's eyes.

  Lady Bronwen nodded, then rose from her chair. She leaned over and lightly kissed Gwendolyn's cool forehead. "She seems to be fine now, but if she should call out for me, or grow feverish—"

  "I will wake you if there is need, my lady," Leah murmured.

  "Very well. Good night, Leah and my thanks." She looked gratefully at her maid, unspoken words of comfort passing between them.

  Turning toward the door, she was not surprised to see the shadowed figure of Earl Godric standing inside the threshold. She walked over to him and took his proffered arm, the look in her luminous eyes telling him all he needed to know. Relief surged through his body, and with a last backward glance at their sleeping daughter, they descended the stairs together.

  Chapter 3

  "Will there be anything else, my lady?" the maid questioned softly as she poured a generous amount of perfumed lavender oil into the steaming bath water.

  "Nay, everything is fine," Anora murmured contentedly, settling deeper into the large brass tub. Reaching for a small cake of lavender-scented soap, she began to hum softly.

  What a luxury! she thought, soaping a silky leg. The perfumed soaps and oils, gifts from the household of the king, delighted her beyond measure. Breathing in the fragrant steam, she giggled as she flicked scented droplets of water at the gray kitten curled up asleep on the soft towel at the foot of the tub. The kitten stretched, its little pink mouth yawning widely, then snuggled deeper into the towel.

  Anora leaned her head against the rim of the tub, the smile fading from her lips as her thoughts drifted back to the night before. A troubled look crossed her brow, startling the maid, who was laying out fresh garments on the bed.

  "My lady, are you not feeling well?" the maid asked, voicing her concern. With only two more days until the wedding, she could think of nothing worse than Anora's becoming ill.

  "Have you any news of Gwendolyn this morning?"

  Taken aback, the maid realized Anora had not even heard her question. "Aye, she is fine, but still sleeping," she replied, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. "She had a fitful night, Leah says, tossing and turning and mumbling about dragons, demons, and such." She would have continued to recite what she had heard earlier that morning in the kitchen, but thought better of it at the sight of Anora's stricken face. "Don't you worry now, my lady, she'll be just fine," she soothed, seeking to allay any needless fears. "I'll be back shortly to help you dress." With a reassuring glance, she left the room.

  Hardly feeling reassured, Anora sighed as she recalled the frantic scene in the great hall the night before. It had been like a bad dream. When Gwendolyn had not returned with her guards in time for the evening meal, their father sent half his men out into the raging storm to search for them. He had then called loudly for a stable hand to saddle his own mighty steed, but had been stayed by the shouts from outside the hall. A drenched thane entered with the news that Gwendolyn had been found.

  Anora shuddered. She remembered all too painfully her feelings of dread when Gwendolyn was carried into the hall, shivering and bedraggled. Her own body had felt chilled at the sight of her sister, and a feeling of helplessness had welled up deep within her. Shivering in empathy, she had experienced a strange sense of sharing in a frightening vision, but the feeling had quickly passed. Only later, after visiting Gwendolyn's chamber, had she felt reassured. Her mother's presence had lent an air of calm, and she returned to her own chamber much relieved.

  But what was this talk of dragons and nightmares? Anora wondered. A shiver suddenly ran through her body, recalling her sense of foreboding from the night before. Feeling the water in her bath growing tepid, she realized she had lingered overlong. She stepped out of the tub so quickly that water sloshed onto the sleeping kitten. With a startled yowl it streaked from the room, leaving wet paw prints across the floor. Smiling once again, Anora took a towel from the table near the tub and dried herself quickly.

  Wulfgar. She could hardly believe her future husband was now within the stronghold. She had heard the commotion of his arrival earlier that morning. The thought of him made her senses reel with excitement and longing. Do all young women feel this way, she wondered, on the eve of their marriage? Her fingers trembled as she loosened the ivory pins from the thick coil of hair at her nape. It tumbled about her shoulders and down her back in a riot of silvery-blond waves. Standing in a stream of sunshine from the window, she luxuriated for a moment in the golden warmth.

  Returning from the kitchen with a light breakfast, the maid paused just inside the door. Aye, here is one that was made for the love of a man, she thought approvingly, proud of her mistress's beauty.

  An air of innocence surrounded Anora as she stood lost in some private thought, a smile playing about her lips. Her lustrous hair framed her long, graceful throat and delicate shoulders, falling like a gossamer cloud about her narrow waist. Her breasts, high and firm, were small, yet perfectly rounded, the nipples pale roseates that peeked out from beneath her long tresses. Walking over to the bed, she picked up a white silken camise and drew it up over the slender curve of her hips, then slipped her slim arms through the embroidered straps.

  "Here, let me help you, my lady," the maid offered, setting the breakfast trencher on a low table near the bed. She straightened the camise about Anora's body, smoothing the myriad soft folds that fell almost to the floor. "May I suggest the blue tunic for the betrothal feast?" she asked, glancing over at the array of garments spread out on the bed. Lady Bronwen's seamstresses had worked many hours preparing the fine clothes for the wedding festivities, each seeking to outdo the other in their choice of fabric and decorative stitching.

  Anora nodded her approval, sighing appreciatively as the silken fabric of the tunic was slipped over her head. The rich, sapphire blue silk felt cool to the touch, caressing her creamy skin. The neck, wrists, and hem of the tunic were stitched with fine embroidery of silver threads. After the tunic went a gray silk mantle fastened at the shoulders by two filigree silver brooches.

  "Mistress, you are truly beautiful!" exclaimed the maid, clapping her hands together as she surveyed her handiwork. The gray silk of the mantle enhanced the emerald depths of Anora's eyes, which were dancing with anticipation.

  Seating her on a cushioned chair, the maid brushed the few tangles from Anora's lovely hair. As a final touch she placed a finely etched silver circlet on her head, as a symbol of her maidenhood. After marriage, the circlet would be worn with a transparent veil to cover her hair. The maid then handed Anora a small metal mirror, holding her breath as she anxiously awaited a response.

  A radiant smile lit Anora's face as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. "Aye, I truly feel beautiful today." She blushed, secretly hoping that Wulfgar would also find her appearance pleasing. Thanking the maid for her assistance, she gently dismissed her, wishing to be alone for a while.

  As the maid shut the door behind her, Anora stepped over to the small window and gazed out into the courtyard at the busy scene below. Servants were bustling to and fro from the grea
t hall on their varied tasks, some carrying great rounds of cheese, others laden with piles of fine table linens, and still others hurrying toward the kitchen clutching squawking chickens. Large barrels of ale and mead were being wheeled into the hall from the brewing house, guests were beginning to arrive, and the sounds of boisterous laughter could be heard all around.

  Anora spied one of Wulfgar's men crossing the yard and her heart leaped to her throat. How she had yearned for this day! Wulfgar had left her for his lands near York a few weeks ago to make preparations for her arrival after their marriage. Knowing that he would soon return for her was consolation enough, but the days had passed achingly slow. The thought of him—his handsome face, and the memory of his strong arms around her —had filled her every waking hour. But it had been her dreams—veiled, breathless images of passion she had never before experienced—that had caused her to awaken trembling and flushed in the night, calling out his name.

  How different she felt now, as if she had never known life without him, she mused, remembering with some chagrin the day her father had told her of his agreement with King Edgar concerning her marriage. Shocked by the abruptness of his announcement, she had retreated to her chamber in a flood of tears. Earl Godric, who had been at a loss as how best to present the news, realized he had failed miserably as he watched his daughter flee the hall. With a reproachful glance at her startled husband, Lady Bronwen rushed out after her. Shaking his head at the strange ways of women, he had slumped resignedly into his chair before the fireplace.

  Sobbing miserably into her down pillow, Anora had felt that her childhood dreams were shattered forever. With her mother's comforting arms about her, she tearfully poured out her secret wish that she would one day marry for love. She knew the marriage of her parents had been decreed by others, but fortunately a great love had grown between them. Grasping a glimmer of hope that her mother would be able to make her father understand her feelings, she had watched through tear-dimmed eyes as Lady Bronwen hurriedly left the room.