Twin Passions

by Miriam Minger

  "'Tis the honeyed mead, I fear, my lord," Anora murmured, rubbing her temples to ease the dull ache in her head. Accustomed to drinking only small quantities of the potent brew, she could not recall how many times her goblet had been refilled. She knew only that she had never felt so light-headed before. Chiding herself for her foolishness, she rose unsteadily to make her excuses.

  "Wait, Anora," Wulfgar bade her gently. He turned to Earl Godric, his voice low. "My lord, I beg leave to escort Lady Anora to her chamber. It seems the drink and excitement have proved too much for her this evening."

  Caught off guard by Wulfgar's request, Earl Godric leaned back in his chair, shrewdly appraising the younger man. God's blood, he's impetuous, he thought. Then he chuckled. He could still vividly recall his own haste to bed the beautiful Bronwen eighteen years ago, and gazing on his radiant wife this night he was not surprised that he felt the same even now. Yet, he pondered, sobering, propriety must be maintained. Without the proof of Anora's bloodstain of innocence on the marriage bed, the marriage agreement would be annulled.

  Sensing Earl Godric's thoughts, Wulfgar stated bluntly, "No harm shall befall her, my lord. She will be on her wedding day as she is this night . . . a virgin. You have my word."

  "You may escort her, then, Wulfgar," Earl Godric consented, a look of firm understanding passing between them.

  Wulfgar only hoped that Anora had not heard that rather indelicate exchange. Offering her his arm, they descended the stairs from the dais. Engrossed in their revelry, very few guests noticed the couple's departure as they slipped through a side door that led to the family quarters.

  The darkened corridors, dimly lit by sputtering torches, were a relief to Anora from the brightness and smoke-filled air of the great hall. Pausing for a moment to get a breath of fresh air from an open door, she looked up at Wulfgar. "Forgive me, my lord," she began, but he hushed her words with a gentle finger to her lips.

  "Come, my love, the hour is late." Leading her by the elbow, Wulfgar carefully guided her through the narrow winding halls. Grateful for his assistance, Anora doubted that she would have been able to walk to her chamber alone. Her head was pounding incessantly, and another wave of dizziness caused her to stumble on the first step that led up to her chamber.

  Suddenly she felt herself lifted by Wulfgar's strong arms, and he took the wooden stairs two at a time as if she weighed no more than a feather. Crushed against his broad chest, she could hear the steady beat of his heart. The rhythmic sound sent an odd thrill coursing through her body, and she tensed within his arms. The day's past events seemed a jumbled confusion to her now, and she struggled to clear her clouded mind.

  At the top of the stairs, Wulfgar swung open the door and set Anora down just inside the threshold. A copper brazier, glowing brightly in the comer, was the only light in the darkened room. "It is far too warm," Wulfgar announced. Crossing over to the small window, he pushed aside the tanned leather that served as a covering. Cool night air swept into the chamber.

  Wulfgar took a deep breath of the bracing air. You are a fool to have brought her here, he thought distractedly, fighting to control his senses. He had never seen Anora look lovelier, or more vulnerable, than she did this night. He longed to hold her in his arms and caress her delicate curves, to awaken the smoldering passion that lay dormant within her. Leaning against the window, he tried to reason with himself that she would be his completely . . . forever . . . in only two days' time.

  Anora swayed unsteadily as she stood by the door. Soft moonlight was streaming in from the window, and she could see Wulfgar's tall form illuminated against the indigo sky. "Wulfgar?" she questioned softly, fearful she had displeased him. She had never meant to drink so much mead, and she wondered if that was why he was so silent. Perhaps he had changed his mind, and there would be no wedding. The thought of being without him was more than she could imagine. A low, anguished cry tore from her throat, shattering the stillness of the room.

  Suddenly she felt Wulfgar's arms around her, drawing her firmly to him. His lips, warm and hard, possessed her mouth and seemed to draw the very breath from her body. He held her so tightly she could feel the muscled hardness of his chest through her clothing. Returning his kiss with a passion born of innocence, Anora felt an urgent core of longing begin to surge within her and she trembled uncontrollably.

  "Anora . . . my Anora," Wulfgar said softly against her ear. He nibbled a tender earlobe, sending shivers of hitherto unknown passion racing through her. By the blood of Odin, he could take her now but for his promise to her father, he thought wildly. Her very nearness threatened to overwhelm his resolve. Parting her lips, he deepened his kiss, his tongue gently probing the honeyed recesses of her mouth.

  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 crushin
g 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!" Gwendo
lyn 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.

  Scrambling to keep up with Gwendolyn, Anora held her tunic and mantle above her knees to keep them from snagging in the brambles that choked the path.

  Fallen leaves and broken twigs crackled under their feet as they made their way in companionable silence through the woods. An owl, hooting its final night cry in the distance, was echoed by the melodies of mourning doves and tiny sparrows. A light layer of frost had fallen during the night, blanketing the forest in a pearly sheen of white.