Berta shrugged. Nay, she just could not understand it. It was clear to all that Lord Hakon wanted Anora. He had even warned his men to stay away from her or feel the sting of his sword! Yet for some reason he had not taken her by force. She sighed, shaking her head. Whatever happened to the days when a Viking chieftain took a wench if he wanted her, and that was that! She closed her heavy-lidded eyes, a secret smile on her face, as she remembered her youth.
"Do you think the stew is ready, Berta?" Anora asked, leaning over the steaming caldron.
Berta's eyes flew open. Enough daydreaming! she chided herself. There was work to be done! She took a long ladle from a hook on the wall and dipped it into the thick, meaty stew, stirring it around and around. Breathing in the hearty aroma, a broad smile of satisfaction spread across her face. She ladled a good amount into a soapstone bowl, then eased herself down on a nearby bench and set the bowl in her wide lap.
"'Tis always a cook's right to sample the stew. Only then can it be served!" she stated emphatically.
Anora watched hungrily, her eyes wide, as Berta spooned a goodly portion into her mouth. The woman's happy grin caused her to smile.
"Well, go on, lass, try some for yourself," Berta invited warmly, nodding toward the steaming caldron.
Anora did just that. Helping herself, she sat down on a low stool and quickly devoured the contents of her bowl, along with a good hunk of bread to sop up the savoury juices. Her stomach now satisfied, she felt much better. Perhaps, if she asked nicely, Berta would allow her to take a bowl of the stew and some bread to Gwendolyn in the stable. She had not seen her sister since yester morn, and she longed to hear the news of her journey to the trading settlement.
Berta seemed to have read her mind. "There is still much to be done this morn, lass. If you are thinkin' that perhaps you might visit that brother of yours, well . . ." Her voice trailed off as she shook her head. But the look of abject disappointment on Anora's face changed her mind. Her tone softened considerably. "Very well, then, but don't you be too long!" she warned, her kindly eyes belying the stern look on her broad face.
Anora smiled her thanks. She wrapped a heavy cloak around her shoulders, then filled a good-sized bowl with the stew. Grabbing a loaf of rye bread from the table, she headed out the door.
"Remember, now, lass, I'll come looking for you if you don't return within the hour!" Berta shouted as the door swung shut. She smacked her lips. "I think I'll just have me a little more stew," she muttered, waddling over to the caldron.
Anora walked quickly along the path that led to the stable. Hugging her cloak more tightly about her, she was grateful for the warmth of the bowl in her hands. The morning air was frosty and cold. The night before, there had even been a little snow, the first snow of the season. The ground and the roofs of the longhouses were dusted with a blanket of soft white.
She could hardly believe how long it had been since they had arrived at Lord Hakon's settlement. The time had passed so quickly, hastened by the coming of winter. The days were much shorter now, while the nights were long and dark. Suddenly she cast down her eyes as she passed a Viking warrior on his way to the great hall.
The young man looked at her appraisingly, openly admiring her fragile beauty, but said nothing as she hurried by him. Hakon Jarl had made it very clear that this woman was not to be harassed by any of his men, and so far no one had dared. And the young warrior, for one, valued his position as one of the chieftain's resident guards too highly to lose it over a slave wench . . . even one as lovely as she. Without a backward glance, he continued on his way.
Anora breathed a sigh of relief and quickened her pace. The stable lay to the west of the settlement, a good walk from the cooking house. If she used up all her time walking, she thought worriedly, she would have little chance to sit and talk with her sister. And she did not want the stew to be cold by the time she reached the stable. She walked as fast as she could, her panting breaths hanging in fine clouds of white vapor before disappearing in the frigid air like smoke.
The door to the stable was slightly ajar, so she pushed it open with her shoulder and stepped inside. Leaning against the inside wall for a moment, she paused to catch her breath. The stable smelled of dung and straw, but to her it was a comforting smell. It was in the stable that she could always find her sister if she needed her. The dusty air was warm, heated by the many animals huddled together in their stalls. Lord Hakon had not only a thriving herd of sheep, but many cattle and horses as well.
A movement near the far wall of the stable caught her eye. She walked toward it tentatively, carefully avoiding the piles of dung. "Garric?" she called out. She knew she did not dare use her sister's name until she was certain they were alone. But she was answered instead by the lowing of several cattle and the nervous rustling of the sheep. "Garric?" she tried again, louder this time.
A tousled head looked out over the rim of a stall. "Over here!" Gwendolyn replied, throwing one last handful of hay into the great stallion's feed bin. She gently rubbed its black velvet-soft nose. "That's my boy," she murmured. She had just finished rubbing him down after Hakon's morning ride. The stallion was indeed a beauty. She had not seen a finer one even in her father's stables. Too bad she would not get the chance to ride him, she thought, then shrugged. Nay, she and Anora would not be here long enough for that! She stepped out of the stall just as Anora reached her side.
"I brought you some stew and fresh-baked bread." Anora said, smiling. Gwendolyn took it from her hands gratefully. Her morning meal had been interrupted by Hakon's men, who brought the last herd of sheep down from the mountains where they had been grazing through the summer and fall. She had helped them chase the skittish sheep into the stable, and by the time she had returned to her meal it had congealed into a cold, unappetizing lump at the bottom of the bowl.
"Come, let us sit over there." Gwendolyn nodded to a bench set against the wall near the door. They sat down, and Anora watched with approval as Gwendolyn hungrily devoured the still steaming stew and crusty bread. In only a few moments she was done.
Anora laughed, something she did only too rarely. She brushed some crumbs from the side of her sister's mouth. "Your manners have gotten no better since we left . . ." Sobering, she could not finish her sentence. The smile faded from her lips.
"Aye, say it, Anora—since we left our home," Gwendolyn finished for her. "It has been more than a month since we were abducted. Ansgar has told me they will celebrate Yuletide here within the fortnight. He says the Vikings feast for twelve days and nights to welcome the winter solstice." She paused and leaned closer to Anora, her voice a whisper. "But perhaps we will be on a ship before then, and on our way back to our homeland!"
Anora's eyes grew wide. "Were you able to speak with that merchant again yesterday, the one you told me about?" she asked breathlessly, her heart pounding.
"Aye, I spoke with him, and 'tis all arranged!" Gwendolyn replied excitedly.
"Oh, Gwendolyn! I can hardly believe it!" Anora exclaimed. She leaned her head back against the timbered wall, her hands clasped to her breast.
No doubt she is thinking of Wulfgar's embrace, Gwendolyn thought happily. Truly, their escape had been easier to arrange than she had thought it would be!
She had accompanied Hakon several weeks ago to a trading settlement only a short distance south along the fjord for winter supplies. While he had been busy with an oil merchant, she stopped to admire another merchant's wares at one of the large open-air stalls, and had unwittingly asked him the price for a small knife, not in Norse, but in her own tongue. Much to her surprise, the man answered her in English. Hakon had called her away before she could strike up a conversation, but during another trading visit the previous day she had been able to talk to the man for almost a quarter hour.
Hakon had been overseeing the loading of supplies onto his longship, so his attention had been diverted while she spoke to the merchant. At first the man had been a bit wary of her, wondering why a slave who obviously
had no money would so strongly wish to talk with him. When she asked how he had come to know their language, he had muttered reluctantly that he was a Frankish merchant, but often traded in London, where it helped to speak the native tongue. He then tried to dismiss her with a curt nod, and turned to wait on two cloaked men standing at the far end of the stall. But she had pressed on. She had not known if she could trust him, but she decided it was worth a chance. Hurriedly she told him of how she and her sister had been abducted from their homeland.
"But what is this to me, lad?" the merchant asked impatiently. "So there are many slaves in this land who were taken from their homes in England."
"Our father is the Earl of Cheshire, kind sir," she had whispered, her tone almost pleading. "He would most certainly pay a king's ransom for our return to England, as would my sister's betrothed, Wulfgar Ragnarson, a prince of the Danelaw!" The merchant's shrewd eyes had suddenly glittered at this bit of news, knowing an opportunity when he heard one. He rubbed his hands together, thinking hard.
"Aye, so I see," he muttered, his raspy voice now no more than a whisper. "But what is it you want me to do, lad? I had planned to sail on the morn, before the heavy snows start to fly. Truly, I have no love for these Viking barbarians. I only journeyed this far inland along the Sogn because their love of trade in this region is unsurpassed." He pointed to the stacks of fine furs piled high along the back of his wooden stall, luxurious proof of his words. "It will be a rough sea crossing as it is, lad. I cannot afford to tarry here much longer."
At that moment Hakon suddenly called out to her from his longship, gesturing for her to climb aboard. Gwendolyn noted his stormy expression, and hoped fleetingly that she had not raised his suspicion.
"Please, sir, if you would only wait one more day," she had said hurriedly, her eyes desperate. "Lord Hakon and most of his men will be leaving the settlement on the morrow after the midday meal to journey inland. Your trading vessel is much too large to pass unnoticed along the fjord, but if you could bring a small boat to just south of the settlement after it grows dark, near the high waterfall, my sister and I could meet you there! Then we could row back here, board your ship, and be off!"
"Aye, 'tis a good plan. But how do I know you speak the truth, and that you are who you say?" he had asked, his narrowed eyes searching hers.
"All I have to give you is my word," she replied simply, "and my promise that your reward will be great. Are we agreed, then?"
The wily merchant had shaken his head in assent. After all, he had naught to lose from this venture. If indeed, it was a lie, he had no doubt he could find plenty of traders interested in buying so striking a lad. And if his sister was near as pretty, well . . . "Aye, I will be there," he had rasped, his eyes glinting with greed.
Gwendolyn had barely enough time to flash him a look of thanks. Then she had run swiftly back to the ship.
Hakon glared at her as she jumped onto the deck from the wooden dock. "What was so important that you held up our journey home, Garric?" he asked, his voice low.
"'Twas naught, my lord. That ridiculous merchant wanted me to buy a knife, of all things! I told him first I had no use for any weapons, and second, that I had no money with which to buy it." She shrugged, then quickly made her way to her bench, hoping he had believed her. He said nothing to her all the way back to the settlement, so she considered the matter dropped.
***
"So when do we leave? What should I do?" Anora asked, interrupting Gwendolyn's thoughts. Her eyes were ablaze with excitement.
"We shall leave tonight, though I think it best you do not know all the details," Gwendolyn whispered. "As soon as Hakon and his men finish their meal later today, they will be leaving for a council meeting across the valley. Ansgar has said they will be gone for several days, which will give the merchant's ship plenty of lead time, should Hakon try to follow us once he returns and finds us gone. If he does, by the time his longship reaches the mouth of the Sogn we will be sailing across the seas toward England!"
Anora hugged her sister tightly. "Oh, Gwendolyn, you promised we would escape, and tonight we will!" Suddenly she realized she had been gone overlong from the cooking house. "I must get back before Berta comes looking for me. Where shall I meet you?"
"As soon as the Vikings ride out of the settlement, meet me here. There will be guards scattered about, but I know of a way we can avoid them."
Anora nodded, then hurried to the door of the stable. "Tonight, then," she murmured, her eyes shining. She slipped through the door.
"Aye, tonight!" Gwendolyn watched her sister walk quickly down the path until she disappeared from view around the corner of a nearby longhouse. Turning back into the stable, she could not suppress a joyful leap into a pile of hay. Frightened chickens scattered in every direction, their squawking and cackling drowning out her happy laughter.
Anora smiled to herself as she hurried along the outer wall of the longhouse. Soon she would feel Wulfgar's strong arms around her again! She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not see the tall, cloaked figure waiting for her under the gabled entrance until she almost ran into him. Startled, she looked up into a pair of startling blue eyes.
"M-my lord," she stammered, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. How long had he been waiting for her? Sweet Jesu! Had he perhaps overheard their conversation in the stable?
Hakon's hands gripped her arms tightly, pulling her to him. "I went to the cooking house in search of you, and Berta said you had gone to the stable with some food for your brother. I was only just now on my way there."
Anora relaxed visibly in his arms. So, he had not heard. Relieved, she tried to pull away, but he only drew her closer, hugging her to him beneath his fur cloak. She could feel the heat of his muscled body through her thin shift. His breath was warm against her cheek. "You seem to grow more beautiful to me every day, Anora, though perhaps it is because I have been gone from the settlement overmuch."
Indeed, he had been gone overmuch, Hakon thought wearily. His duties as Jarl had kept him busy from the day of Eirik's burial until now, and even today he had to leave on another journey to a meeting of the council at his uncle's settlement across the valley. He had only just returned from the Hardanger, where he had taken Bodvild and her small daughter, Erika, to live with her family. It had been her wish to do so, though he wanted her to stay on with him at the settlement. He smiled faintly, remembering their conversation a week past.
"But I know nothing of running a household," he had groaned, shrugging his broad shoulders in exasperation. "'Tis women's work, Bodvild. Stay on here at the settlement as the honored wife of my brother, and help me!"
But she had only laughed at him, her gray eyes full of mirth. "Nay, 'tis not seemly for me to stay, Hakon, and well you know that. The settlement is now your responsibility, including the household, though I will miss it . . ." Her voice trailed off, a hint of sadness in her expression. "Nay, I wish to return to my homeland. Erika and I will be happy there. This place holds too many memories for me."
It had pained him to see the haunted look on her beautiful face. Kneeling on one knee, Hakon mock-pleaded for her to stay, though in his heart he had known she was right. His antics had served to enliven her spirits, for her laughter had rung out once again in the great hall.
"'Tis time for you to take a wife, Hakon Jarl," she admonished him, her face sobering. Taking the bunch of keys from the belt at her waist, she had laid them in his hand. "For the new mistress of Sogn, whoever and wherever she may be!"
***
A wife, Hakon groaned inwardly, breathing in the heady fragrance of Anora's silky hair. Nay, that was not what he needed, nor wanted, at this moment. He already held in his arms the one woman he desired most of all.
He held Anora's slender body tightly against his, reveling in her softness. Bending his head, he suddenly brought his lips down upon hers in a crushing kiss. He would drive her fear away, he thought wildly, savoring the sweetness of her mouth, deepening his
kiss. He had to . . .
Summoning all her strength, Anora pushed away from him so abruptly that he was almost knocked backward against the timbered wall of the longhouse. Before he could reach out and grab her, she was running down the path, her long hair flowing out behind her, as if Gorm, the hellhound of the gods, was snapping at her heels.
Hakon cursed vehemently under his breath. You are a fool to think she will ever come to you willingly! he raged at himself. Truly, his patience was wearing thin. He had tried everything he knew to gain her trust: he had spoken to her with gentleness, but she had spurned his every advance; he had given her beautiful silken clothes, but she had refused to wear them, preferring instead the simple linen shifts that the rest of the slave women wore; he had given her freedom of movement, but she had confined herself to the cooking house and the solitude of her own chamber in the women's slave house—all this and much more he had allowed her, but still the expression of fear had not left her emerald eyes.
Hakon strode angrily toward the great hall, firmly resolved that after his return from his uncle's settlement, he would wait no longer. She would come to him, willing or not!
Anora dashed into the cooking house and slammed the wooden door behind her. She leaned against the roughhewn wall for a moment and closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. She felt as if her heart were in her throat. The Viking's kiss still burned upon her lips, and the skin on her arms had red imprints from where his hands had held her so tightly. She took off her cloak, her hands trembling uncontrollably, and hung it upon its hook near the door.
Berta, hearing the slam of the door, called out to her from the hearth, where she was turning some loaves of bread on an iron griddle. "Did Garric enjoy my stew?" she asked pleasantly, knocking the crusty top of one of the loaves with her third finger and thumb. Yea, these are done, she thought, straightening up. She lifted the heavy griddle to the table near the hearth where other loaves were cooling. "Anora?" Receiving no answer, Berta looked toward the door.
Twin Passions Page 15
