"'Tis not Garric," Hakon muttered tersely. "'Tis Anora. Take care of her for a moment, Olav, while I fetch my horse."
Olav stared in horrified disbelief at Gwendolyn's fair features, so deathly pale in the bright sunlight. Anora! Nay, he could not believe his eyes!
"But how did she . . . when . . . ?" he gasped. A young woman on the battlefield . . . he had never heard of such a thing! And she had saved Lord Hakon's life, no less!
"We can talk of this later, Olav. My only thought now is to get her away from this cursed valley and back to the settlement," Hakon said grimly, easing his spirited stallion up beside Olav. "Hand her up to me, yea, but gently now."
Olav lifted Gwendolyn easily into Hakon's waiting arms, then held the reins for him until he had her settled in front of him, his right arm encircling her protectively.
Hakon tucked in the blankets securely around her, fearful that she might take cold from the wintry air. "My thanks, Olav. I will see to it that a hearty meal and plenty of mead await your arrival at the settlement. Pass that news along to the men as well."
"Shall I not ride with you, then?" Olav asked, his eyes lighting with concern as he handed Hakon the reins. "Surely you do not plan to ride unescorted, my lord! There may still be some of Rhoar's renegades about the valley."
"Yea, Olav, you are right, but I need to leave you in charge of the men," Hakon replied. He nodded toward several of his petty chieftains not far away. "I shall have those four men accompany me."
"Very well, then," Olav said, the expression on his swarthy face darkening as his eyes scanned the battlefield. "But what of the bodies, my lord?"
"See to it that those of our men are carried back to the settlement. They are heroes and deserve a Viking burial as befitting their bravery this day," Hakon replied. His eyes grew cold, an angry tic working in his jaw. "Leave the rest for the wolves." He clicked his tongue to his stallion and urged him into a gentle trot.
Olav watched Hakon ride over to where the four chieftains were standing alongside their horses. He spoke to them in low tones, and they quickly mounted and reined in beside him. Then the small group eased into a gallop. It was not long before they had disappeared over the crest of the hillside.
Chapter 35
"Fetch Berta to my chamber at once!" Hakon ordered grimly, taking Gwendolyn from the arms of the Viking guard who held her while he dismounted. The burly warrior nodded, then set off at a brisk run toward the cooking house. Hakon kicked in the heavy door to his hall, cursing under his breath. He had taken great care not to jostle her overmuch, but he feared the bleeding had begun again. She had lain so still in his arms during the ride back to the settlement, not once calling out his name. He strode quickly across the hall to his chamber and pushed open the door.
His eyes widened in surprise at the slender form outlined beneath the thick, fur coverlet on the wide bed. "What folly is this?" he muttered, his startled gaze moving from the bed back to Gwendolyn's pale face. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest. He crossed the floor and threw back the coverlet with one hand, his breath caught in his throat. But there were only three eiderdown pillows clumped together.
Hakon let out his breath sharply. If he had not been so concerned, he would have been livid with anger at her ploy. Yet he knew if she had not been there on the battlefield, his fate would have been far different. She must have jumped from the window, he thought fleetingly, shaking his head. There would have been no other way she could have avoided the Viking guards posted just outside his hall.
He pushed aside the pillows and lay her on the bed, then gently drew back the blankets he had wrapped around her. Hakon sighed raggedly, his worst fears confirmed by the deep red stain that was seeping through her bandages.
"You summoned me, my lord?" Berta's hearty voice rang out across the chamber. She started, aghast, as Hakon looked up from the bed. She had never seen his face so drawn and haggard! She rushed to his side, her hand flying to her heart at the pitiful sight before her. "Anora!" she gasped in disbelief, her massive breasts heaving. "But how can this be? I brought a midday meal to her earlier this day. It seemed she was sleeping, so I did not wake her. See? The meal is still there!" Her eyes flew to the table by the window. "Though it is untouched . . ." Her voice trailed off as she looked back to Hakon, her expression troubled and confused.
"'Twas not her sleeping, Berta," Hakon murmured, nodding toward the pillows shoved to the other side of the bed. "She covered those pillows to fool anyone who might have entered the chamber while she was gone. She followed me into battle, dressed as Garric."
Berta's mouth gaped open in stunned surprise, but she quickly regained her composure, taking charge when she saw the ugly bloodstain spreading ever wider across the cloth bandages.
"Cut away the bandages, my lord! Then take this cloth and hold it tight against the wound. I will return shortly!"
She shoved a linen towel into his hand and bustled out of the room.
Hakon took the long-bladed knife from his belt and swiftly cut away the soiled bandages. He grimaced at the flaring hole, now swollen and red despite the herb poultice the healer had applied to it earlier that day. Thor, he could not lose her now! he raged silently. Wadding up the linen cloth, he pressed it against the oozing wound. He wiped the sweat from his face with his free hand, his lips murmuring a fervent prayer. "Odin, hear me!" he prayed, his voice a muted whisper. "Do not take her from me!"
It seemed that only a few moments had passed before Berta hurried back into the room, followed by a guard carrying a steaming kettle of boiling water.
"Set it over there"—she pointed to the small table near the bed — "but do not leave. I may yet need your help." The Viking guard nodded, quickly averting his gaze from Hakon Jarl's concubine lying naked from the waist up on the bed. He took his place by the door, his arms folded across his broad chest, his eyes downcast.
"Now, my lord, if you will step aside," Berta said matter-of-factly. Hakon obliged her, walking over to the other side of the bed.
Berta clucked her tongue as she lifted the towel from the wound. "'Tis a bad one, my lord," she murmured, "though from the looks of it, the healer's herbs have given her some relief." She looked up at him, her expression grim. "I tell you this only because I must. She is strong, but already her skin burns as if on fire. If Anora survives the night, my lord, I believe she may live."
Hakon felt cold fear grip him for the first time in his life. He had braved many battles in the past, and had fought against fierce opponents—yea, the fiercest of all this very day—yet he had never known fear, not once. But now, the mere thought of losing the only woman he had ever loved was more than he could bear. For a moment he was unable to reply, his blue eyes staring off into the distance. Suddenly he shook his head fiercely. Nay, he would not let death steal her from him! "Hear me, Hel, goddess of the underworld, you will not take her!" he yelled, his defiant voice echoing about the chamber. He snatched the long-bladed knife from the bed and drove it with all his might into the carved corner post. It sank in to the hilt, splintering the wood.
Berta's eyes were wide with awe as she looked at the carved hilt of the knife protruding from the post. Yea, if that did not serve to protect her young mistress and drive away the spirits that would wrench the life from her body, then nothing would. She looked back at Hakon, who stood tall and powerful by the bed, a blaze of heated defiance in his eyes.
"I will stay with her this night," he stated evenly. "Tell me what I must do."
Berta nodded. "The room must be kept very warm, my lord. I will see that a roaring fire is lit in the central fireplace, and a slave will tend it through the night to see that it does not go out. There will also be a caldron of boiling water for your use. You must see that the wound is cleansed often. I will leave you plenty of cloth for bandages, and more of the herb poultice. First apply hot cloths to the wound, then the poultice, then the bandages. I will also leave a cask of cool water by the bed, and some soft cloths to bathe away the fever
from her body. I will cleanse the wound this time, my lord. Watch me carefully."
With practiced hands she deftly applied the hot cloths. Gwendolyn started from the searing heat. Though still unconscious, she screamed out in pain. "Pay no mind to her cries, my lord, it must be done," Berta said, rubbing the herb paste all around the wound. Then she quickly wrapped a bandage over it, tying it tightly under her arm. "There, now, that should do for a while. The bleeding has stopped, thankfully." She started to walk to the door. "I will go now and prepare a soothing broth to give her if she awakens. It will help her keep up her strength."
"My thanks, Berta," Hakon murmured. He moved back to the other side of the bed and began gently to remove the rest of Gwendolyn's clothing. Suddenly he remembered the Viking guard standing quietly by the door. "Wait outside, man," he ordered, though not too gruffly, "but leave the door open so the heat from the fireplace may warm this room."
"Yea, Lord Hakon," the guard replied, complying hastily.
Hakon threw her soiled clothing on a pile beside the bed. How had she gotten Garric's clothes? He looked about the room. The heavy lid to her chest was thrown open, and silken garments were scattered about the floor. His eyes flew to the timbered wall where he kept his weapons; the spot where the knife had rested on two pegs was bare.
He could read the scene before him almost as well as if he had been there to see it. She must have dressed in great haste, probably right after he had left the chamber, then grabbed the long-bladed knife from the wall. She had then jumped from the window to the ground below, and headed for the stable. That was when he had seen her, and had called out to her to saddle his stallion. Hakon shuddered. If only he had known it then!
Hakon wrung out one of the cloths in the hot water and gently bathed her slender body. Her alabaster skin was flushed, glowing with a fine sheen of perspiration. He almost choked with emotion. Thor, she was so beautiful! When he was finished bathing her, he pulled the fur coverlet up over her delicate shoulders.
Hakon looked down at his own sweat-soaked garments. There were several bright red splatters on his tunic . . . the blood of his enemies. He grimaced. And Anora's. He walked to the leather-backed chair by the window and unfastened the silver brooches that held his cloak. Easing it from his shoulders, he draped it over the chair, then pulled the heavy shirt of mail over his head and dropped it with a clanking thud to the floor. He kicked off his boots, then stripped off his tunic and leggings. Pulling a linen tunic and trousers from one of the massive chests, he hastily put them on. There would be no time for a bath this night.
"Hakon!" Gwendolyn's anguished cry tore from her throat, shattering the stillness of the room.
Hakon rushed over to the bed and sat down by her side. He gathered her into his strong arms, willing some of his strength into her. "I am here, love," he murmured. "I am here."
Gwendolyn's eyelids fluttered open. Her emerald eyes were glazed and overbright, her fair features flushed with fever. She clung to him, hot tears coursing down her cheeks. "It hurts so . . ." she whispered hoarsely. "Make the pain go away . . . please . . ."
Hakon felt a hard lump in his throat. Odin, why are you trying me so? he raged helplessly, stroking the side of her face. The sight of Berta rushing through the door flooded him with relief. "She has awakened, Berta!" he exclaimed softly.
"'Tis a good sign," Berta replied, nodding approvingly as she hurried to the bed with a wooden tray. "Here is the soothing broth, my lord. I have mixed in some sleeping herbs that should help to calm her. If she is asleep, the pain will not plague her as much." She set the tray upon the table, then dragged the chair over to the side of the bed and sat down heavily. "Hold her head still, my lord."
Berta gently spooned some of the broth into Gwendolyn's mouth. She was pleased to see that she swallowed it readily. Before long the bowl was emptied. "Another good sign, Lord Hakon. The more of this she drinks, the better! I shall leave the pot of broth on the hearth above the fireplace." She heaved herself out of the chair. "If you have need of aught else, send one of the guards for me and I will come at once." She smiled faintly. "Good night, my lord."
Hakon reached out and caught her hand, squeezing it gratefully. "Again, you have my thanks," he murmured. Berta reddened in embarrassment, unable to speak. Nodding, she turned abruptly and moved about the room, lighting the small oil lamps one by one. Then without a backward glance she hurried out the door. Yea, and may Odin protect the lass, she thought fleetingly, hugging her hand to her breast.
Hakon leaned his head back against the timbered wall. He closed his eyes, his broad shoulders slumping with exhaustion. He must have fallen asleep for a moment, but he was jerked awake as Gwendolyn cried out once again.
So began a seemingly endless night as Hakon changed the bandages on Gwendolyn's wound, bathed her feverish body, and fed her spoonfuls of broth when she was conscious enough to swallow. He held her in his arms and caressed her burning skin. He murmured her name over and over so that she would know he was there with her, never leaving her side.
At one point she screamed so loudly that the Viking guard rushed in, his eyes wide with alarm. "Shall I summon Berta?" he asked fearfully.
Hakon waved him from the room. "Nay, 'tis only the fever," he murmured, holding her tightly. She writhed deliriously in his arms, her head tossing from side to side.
"Nay, Anora, run . . . run!" she moaned. "Damn the Viking! We will escape from him, Anora, I promise you!" Hakon sat up, listening. He had paid no heed to her wild ravings until now, for they had been mostly unintelligible. But why was she calling to Anora? She was Anora!
"How can you . . . how can you marry him?" Gwendolyn ranted feverishly. "Wulfgar Ragnarson . . . a Dane . . . our enemy . . . nay, Anora!" She licked her dry lips. "'Tis all right, 'tis all right . . . she loves him . . . so much water, all around . . . he must not touch her . . . she belongs to Wulfgar Ragnarson . . . must go in her place . . ."
Hakon started, his eyes widening as she repeated the name once again. Wulfgar Ragnarson! The man Haarek Jarl had spoken of at the meeting in Trondheim! He felt a strange sense of foreboding tugging at his mind, the same feeling that had overwhelmed him on the battlefield, but he tried to ignore it.
"What can I do . . . I have no choice . . . escape, we must escape . . . the merchant . . . what has happened to the merchant!" Suddenly Gwendolyn wrenched herself free of Hakon's arms and sat up in bed, her face a mask of horror. "Nay, Rhoar . . . there is no time . . . the knife, throw the knife . . . Hakon!" she cried out, anguished tears running down her flushed cheeks. "Hakon!" Her whole body trembled as fierce sobs racked her body.
Hakon gently pulled her back down beside him and she slumped, exhausted, in his arms. The tears had scarcely dried upon her face when she fell into a deep sleep, her fever broken at last. He gathered her close and pulled the thick coverlet over them both.
But Hakon could not sleep. He felt as if the cold steel of a knife had been thrust into his heart and twisted cruelly around. Who was this woman he held in his arms? Was she Anora, or someone else? He suddenly remembered the question he had asked himself on the battlefield: How could brother and sister look so much alike? How could brother and sister . . . unless they weren't brother and sister after all!
Suddenly everything seemed clear to him, achingly, painfully clear. His powerful body trembled uncontrollably, as if he himself were racked with fever. Ever so gently he slid his arm out from beneath Gwendolyn's tousled head and got up from the bed. He briefly touched her forehead. It was cool to his touch, and her breathing had returned to normal. At least he could be grateful for that, he thought, tucking the coverlet snugly about her. He walked almost in a daze to the door.
"Find Garric, and bring him here to me!" he ordered, startling the Viking guard who was asleep on a bench just outside the door.
"G-Garric?" the guard asked, jumping to his feet.
"Yea, the stable hand. Take other guards if you must, only find him . . . and quickly. I wish to see him, now!"
>
The Viking guard wasted no time. He strode quickly across the main room of the hall and hurried out the door.
Hakon turned back into his chamber and walked over to the chair by the bed. He sat down, his startling blue eyes fixed upon Gwendolyn's face, and waited.
Chapter 36
The Viking guard returned a short while later, breathing hard from running back to the hall. "My lord, the lad is not in the stable!" he gasped. "I have alerted the other guards and they are out looking for him now, but so far there is no sign of him!"
Hakon slammed his fist down hard upon the wooden arm of the chair. "Garric must be in the stable," he muttered, almost to himself. He rose to his feet. "I will go with you and we will look again." He quickly pulled on his boots and grabbed a thick fur vest hanging on a wooden peg near the door. He glanced over his shoulder at the bed. Gwendolyn was still sleeping soundly. He rushed out of the room, the Viking warrior close behind him.
Hakon's voice startled the woman who was busily tending the blazing fire in the central hearth. "Go sit in my chamber and watch Anora carefully until I return," he called out, striding across the hall. "If she wakes, see that she drinks more of the broth. The herbs should help her to sleep again."
"Yea, my lord!" The woman bowed her head, wiping her hands upon her woolen tunic. She hurried into his chamber.
Hakon drew in his breath sharply as he stepped outside. Thor, but it was cold this night! Their footsteps made crunching sounds in the new snow that had fallen as they hurried along the path to the stable.
They were met at the door to the stable by several Viking warriors. Their faces were grim as they held up their torches. "We have not found the lad, my lord. We even looked in the women's slave house, thinking perhaps he might be with a wench— "
Twin Passions Page 28
