He rose swiftly to his feet. Hastily stripping off his silken trousers, he stood before her in all his masculine glory, his manhood erect and throbbing. Walking over to her, he took the vessel of wine from her hand and set it down on the table.
Gwendolyn gasped, awed by his male beauty. Taking both her hands in his own, Hakon stepped back, gently drawing her with him to the center of the thick rug. As his strong arms encircled her narrow waist, she gazed up at him with an impassioned look of love that took his breath away.
Thor, it was true . . . at last! Hakon's heart raced at the raw emotion he saw reflected in the emerald depths of her eyes. He had known if he waited long enough, one day she would return his love. Bending his head, he captured her parted lips fiercely with his own. Their arms wrapped tightly about each other in a timeless embrace. They stood there for a long moment in the light of the fire, oblivious to all but the love they shared.
"Anora . . . my only love," Hakon murmured huskily, finally tearing his lips from hers. He slowly sank to his knees, his hands caressing the silky length of her body. As he gently cupped her breasts, his tongue flickered around and around the pale pink nipples in a ring of fire, tasting the nectar of the fig upon her warmed skin.
Gwendolyn moaned softly, wrapping her fingers in his long white-blond hair as his mouth moved down her abdomen, caressing her navel, to the mound of silver-blond curls below. He held her against him, reveling in the taste and feel of her, while his strong fingers teased and stroked the soft cleft between her silky thighs.
Wantonly writhing within his grasp, Gwendolyn felt lost in a passion-numbed daze. Everything was so sweet, so wonderful. . . . Throwing back her head, she exulted in the exquisite sensations that caused her to tremble uncontrollably.
Hakon at last drew her down beside him on the luxurious black fur until his hard length was poised above her. Thor, she was beautiful . . . so soft, so willing . . . He knew she was ready for him. Ever so gently he parted her legs with his knee, then entered her, but not too far. She reached up to pull him to her, but he tenderly stretched her slender arms above her head, holding her wrists with one strong hand. Suddenly he brought his lips down upon her own at the same time he entered her completely.
Gwendolyn gasped with pleasure, arching her back as he lunged deep inside her. She struggled to free her arms so she could wrap them about his neck, but he would not let her loose.
"Nay, Anora, do not struggle," he whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending shivers racing through her. "Do not move." She tried to do as he bade her, though it was difficult at first, her hips instinctively moving in rhythm against his slow, measured thrusts. "Nay, nay, lie still, my love," he said softly. "Let me move within you."
Gwendolyn relaxed beneath him, closing her eyes as the most delicious sensations washed over her. This was different from the times before. Just as intense . . . but so achingly, so wonderfully different. She felt as if her body were adrift in a warm sea, as wave after wave of the purest pleasure radiated within her, crescendoing, yet ever so languorously. She could feel his warm kisses on her throat, her eyelids, her lips. His fingers teased at her breast, stroking, caressing. Suddenly her breath caught in her throat, all conscious thought driven from her mind, as the sweetest, most exquisite wave of bliss broke over her.
Watching her beautiful face for the moment of her release, Hakon smiled as she writhed beneath him. He could hold back no longer. He groaned as he shuddered deep within her, overwhelmed by the tumultuous sensations that seared through his loins.
They lay together so, merged as one and entwined in each other's arms, long after the logs blazing brightly in the fireplace had been reduced to glowing embers.
Chapter 33
A fierce pounding on the heavy door to his hall roused Hakon enough to raise his head. He opened his eyes and looked about him. Only a dull glow remained in the central fireplace, telling him that the fire must have died out hours ago. Most likely it was near dawn, he thought, shaking his head. The pounding at the door grew louder.
"Lord Hakon, I must speak with you at once!"
The warrior in Hakon became instantly alert as he recognized Olav's voice. His men knew well enough not to disturb him at night unless it was a matter of the greatest urgency. Pulling gently away from Gwendolyn's arms, he swiftly covered her with one end of the fur rug and hurriedly slipped on his silken trousers.
"What is it, my lord?" Gwendolyn asked drowsily, opening her eyes. She, too, had been awakened by the pounding. She brought herself up on one elbow.
"Stay there, little one," Hakon admonished softly. He grabbed his broadsword from beneath some nearby pillows and held it at his side as he strode to the door.
At that moment Olav burst into the hall and rushed into the main room, almost running into Hakon. Several Viking guards were also with him, but they stayed just outside the door, their great torches shedding light into the darkened hall.
"Forgive me, Lord Hakon," he said hastily, averting his eyes from the fetching sight of Gwendolyn lying barely covered beneath the fur rug. "'Tis Rhoar Bloodaxe! He and his forces, numbering several hundred strong, have been sighted just over the valley. I fear this is the day he shall seek his vengeance, my lord!"
"Thor's blood!" Hakon cursed loudly, his voice echoing about the hall. "Who has brought this news?"
"A messenger from your uncle's settlement was on his way here when he almost rode into the very midst of Rhoar's camp. He arrived only a few moments ago. Shall I send for him, my lord?"
"Nay, Olav. I will speak with him shortly." Hakon's face was grim in the bright light of the torches, his mind working fast. "See that the men are alerted and ready for battle," he ordered. "Post a third of the guards around the perimeter of the settlement, and see that several men are stationed at each longhouse . . . though I want at least ten to guard my hall." Olav nodded as Hakon continued. "We are fortunate that most of the reinforcements I summoned to guard the settlement while I was in Trondheim still remain," he said tersely.
"Yea, my lord, 'tis fortunate indeed." Olav shook his head in assent, though he felt a slight sense of unease. Hakon had the advantage of at least two men to every one of Rhoar's, but some of them would have to remain behind to protect the settlement. No doubt Hakon's forces would meet the enemy in battle near their camp in the valley, for he was sure Hakon would do everything in his power to keep Rhoar and his men away from the settlement.
"Go, Olav, and see to it that all is in readiness," Hakon commanded, interrupting his thoughts. "I will join you in a few moments."
"Yea, my lord." Turning on his heel, Olav strode quickly from the hall.
Hakon stood for a moment, lost in thought. So, the day of Rhoar's blood vengeance had finally come! Today his hated bastard brother would make a violent play to wrest from him the right of his inheritance, or meet his death trying.
Yea, for Hakon knew it would be a fight to the death. There could be no other way. He shook his head grimly. He would meet Rhoar in battle, but now there was more to fight for than just his inheritance. He looked over to where Gwendolyn lay, her emerald eyes searching his face. Her tousled beauty took his breath away. His fist clenched tightly around the hilt of his broadsword. Nay, he would not have such happiness taken from him! By the blood of Odin, he vowed angrily, he could not, would not, be defeated!
He walked back to her side and held out his hand to her. She grasped his hand, the fur rug falling away from her slender body as he gently pulled her to her feet. Holding her close against his bare chest, he caressed her silken curls.
"You heard Olav's words?" he asked softly.
Gwendolyn nodded her head, though for some strange reason she could not speak. She listened to the strong, steady beating of his heart, a cold lump of apprehension in her throat. She turned suddenly and looked up at him, their eyes meeting in a gaze of longing so intense she could have cried out. But still she was silent. What would be her and Anora's fate if aught happened to him? What would her life be without him
? She shook her head fiercely. Nay, she would not think of it! A solitary tear ran down the side of her face. Seeing it, Hakon gently brushed it away.
"Nay, my love, there is no time for tears," he murmured. "You must have courage . . . it will help me to do what I must. Now, come, I must prepare for battle." He led her into his chamber and sat her down on the wide bed, leaning his broadsword against one of the carved corner posts. Thankfully the room was warm from the glowing heat of the bronze brazier, but he still wrapped her within the thick coverlet.
Gwendolyn watched as he strode over to one of his massive chests and lifted the heavy lid. He stripped off his silken trousers and hastily donned a black woolen tunic that reached to mid-thigh. Then he bent and pulled on woolen trousers and protective leggings fastened at the back of his calves. Next came high leather boots that rose to just below his knees, and then he wrapped his wide leather belt with the long scabbard finely ornamented with metal mounts about his waist. A mail shirt made of linked iron rings that reached just to his belt went on over the tunic. He drew a thick black mantle trimmed in fur from the chest and wrapped it about his shoulders, attaching it to the mail shirt with two large silver brooches.
Gwendolyn was astonished at how quickly he dressed, and with such practiced efficiency. Lastly he pulled a massive wooden shield from the timbered wall where it had been hanging. It was brightly painted in black and yellow, and an iron boss glinted from the center that would serve to protect his hand.
Hakon ran his free hand through his white-blond hair and approached the bed. He bent and picked up his heavy broadsword and slid it easily into the scabbard at his belt. "You must stay here, Anora, in this room, until I return," he commanded softly. "There will be guards posted outside the hall to protect you, so you need not fear. 'Tis my hope that the battle will be fought and won before night falls once again." His voice grew hard as he thought of what lay ahead. He could tarry no longer. "I must go, my love," he said, the bronzed planes of his face determined, grim.
Gwendolyn suddenly rose from the bed, the fur coverlet falling to the floor. She flung her arms about his neck, standing on tiptoes, and kissed him with such passionate fervor that it nearly took his breath away. The iron links of his mail shirt bit cruelly into her skin, but she did not care. Nothing mattered for that one moment but the kiss they shared.
At last Hakon tore his lips from hers, chuckling deeply. "I shall look forward to many more of those, my love." He strode over to the table near the window and picked up his silver helmet. Holding it in the crook of his arm, he glanced one last time at Gwendolyn.
She stood beside the bed, her beautiful body bared to his heated gaze. Thor, he had never before seen her look so vulnerable and alone! "Do not fear, little one, Odin shall protect me," he murmured reassuringly. And with that, he was gone from the room, his footsteps echoing down the length of the hall until the heavy door slammed shut behind him.
Gwendolyn waited a moment, still and silent, until she was sure he was gone. Then, without wasting any more time, she raced over to her chest of clothing and threw back the lid. Nay, my love, I shall be with you, she thought resolutely, not as Anora, but as Garric . . . She knew Hakon would probably need the services of his stable hand to see to his stallion, and perhaps he would even need a weapons bearer. Their guise would fail for sure if Anora went with him into battle. Her sister knew nothing of weapons and warfare. Aye, if she hurried, she would probably make it to the stable before he got there!
Gwendolyn pulled her jerkin, woolen shirt, leather belt, and breeches out from beneath the pile of silken garments, and dressed quickly. She then ran to the wide bed and peered underneath it. Her leather boots were out of reach, but after a few lunges she was able to grab them and put them on her feet. Now, all that was needed was a weapon, she thought, glancing about the room. She was not about to go onto a battlefield empty-handed!
Her eyes scanned the array of weapons hanging on the timbered walls of the chamber. Spying a long-bladed knife with an ornately carved hilt, she lifted it from the two wooden pegs it was resting on and slid it into her belt. She then ran back over to the bed and mounded several eiderdown pillows up beneath the fur coverlet. At least that way if anyone came into the room, they would think she was fast asleep and not disturb her!
Gwendolyn hurried to the nearest window and lifted the leather shade. She peered outside furtively. The early morning sky was just beginning to lighten with the first golden rays of sunlight. Several inches of new snow had fallen during the night, adding to the icy covering already on the frozen ground. Relieved at seeing no one near Hakon's hall, she hoisted herself up and over the window ledge and jumped easily to the ground below.
She hugged the outside wall for a moment, getting her bearings. Suddenly two Viking guards rounded the corner of Hakon's hall, so she started walking nonchalantly in the direction of the stable. Her heart was pounding wildly against her chest. Sweet Jesu! If they had come a moment sooner . . .! She did not want to think about it. It certainly would have looked suspicious for a stable hand to be sneaking out of the window of Hakon Jarl's private chamber! She had almost reached the path to the stable not far from the hall when she heard a familiar voice call out to her.
"Garric!" She froze in her steps, looking over her shoulder. Hakon was standing near the front of his hall surrounded by Olav and about twenty Viking warriors. "Fetch my stallion, lad, and be quick about it!" he commanded in a tone that bespoke no resistance. Gwendolyn broke out in a run, her panting breath billowing out in clouds of vapor from the cold morning air.
God's blood, that was twice she had been lucky! Hakon had obviously not yet been to the stable. She only hoped now that he would not return to his chamber and find her gone! Reaching the stable door, she pushed it open and leaned against it for a moment, trying to catch her breath.
"Garric, are you here?" she called out, not daring to use Anora's name until she knew for sure her sister was alone. Her eyes searched the dim interior. There was no answer. At least it was warm, Gwendolyn thought, rubbing her cold hands together as she closed the door behind her and stepped farther into the stable. "Garric?" There was a sudden rustling from the direction of one of the stalls.
"Aye, 'tis I," Anora whispered faintly, stepping out from behind the nearest stall. There was hay stuck in her short curls, and from the rumpled appearance of the clothing Gwendolyn had given her the night before, she must have been sleeping. She rubbed her eyes, then stared in startled surprise at her sister.
"Gwendolyn, what are you doing?" she blurted, though not too loudly. "We cannot both be dressed as Garric!" Gwendolyn shook her head and quickly explained. "Lord Hakon has received news that Rhoar Bloodaxe is planning to attack this very day!" She ignored Anora's gasp and rushed on. "I changed into these clothes and hurried here." She smiled fleetingly. "The same way you escaped last night. I have no doubts that Lord Hakon will wish for Garric to accompany him to the battlefield. As I did not think you would enjoy the task, I came as quickly as I could!"
Anora nodded fiercely in agreement, her eyes wide and frightened. "But how shall I get back to his hall? It was hard enough last night, though thankfully I had cover of darkness."
"Nay, you will have to stay here, in the stable," Gwendolyn replied. "But you must keep yourself hidden. Hakon bade me not to leave the chamber before he left this morning. If he saw you walk now from the stable . . ." She shrugged. Anora nodded in understanding.
"Aye, but what of when you return, after the battle?" she asked, then shuddered. Nay, she would not think that Gwendolyn might not return.
Gwendolyn seemed to have read her thoughts. "Do not fear, Anora, I will stay far back and well out of danger," she said reassuringly. "I am sure the Vikings do not employ mere youths to fight their battles!" She grimaced. At least, she hoped not! "And when I return to the settlement, I will simply sneak back through the window of Lord Hakon's hall and resume my guise. No one will be the wiser!"
Suddenly she heard the tramp of many feet
and loud voices echoing from the stable yard. They must be getting ready to march from the settlement, she thought wildly. "Anora, hide yourself, and well!" she hissed. "I will somehow let you know when all is safe for you to come out of hiding."
"Please be careful, Gwendolyn," Anora murmured. She hugged her sister tightly, then disappeared into the dark recesses of the stable.
Gwendolyn ran to the stall where Hakon's great stallion stood tossing its proud head and neighing loudly in response to the sounds from other horses in the stable yard. With practiced hands she quickly saddled the huge animal, then grabbed the reins and led it from the stable.
"What took you so long, lad?" Hakon asked angrily, striding toward her. "Do you think the battle waits upon your pleasure?" He grabbed the reins from her hand. "Here, hold my shield while I mount." Gwendolyn almost collapsed under the heavy weight of the brightly painted shield, but somehow she managed to hold it upright until Hakon could take it from her. He hoisted it easily from her arms and fixed it to the side of his saddle. "Join the other boys back there, and be ready to assist if you are needed," he said gruffly. Pulling sharply on the reins, he brought the spirited stallion about so he could face his men.
Hakon felt a surge of excitement course through his body as several hundred pairs of eyes stared back at him with fierce, undying allegiance. Most of his warriors were on foot, some armed with spears, axes, and rude cudgels, while others had swords and bows and arrows slung over their shoulders. Only he and the petty chieftains under his rule were on horseback. All was quiet, hushed, save for the impatient nickering of the horses, and the sound of the cold wind as it whipped through the white banners painted with leering, fanged dragons that were carried by the standard-bearers.
Twin Passions Page 26
