"Nay, you will not find him there," Hakon cut him off abruptly, a sardonic half smile upon his lips. He pushed open the door to the stable. "Hand me a torch," he demanded.
Hakon stepped inside the large, darkened room. He held up the torch in front of him, making a slow sweep of the shadowed recesses of the stable. The sheep and cattle rustled nervously about in their stalls, while frightened chickens dodged for cover, clucking incessantly.
"Garric!" he called out sharply. He was answered only by the snorting of his stallion, which tossed its head in greeting. "Garric!" He waited a moment, but still there was no reply. Anger flared within him. His instincts told him that Garric was in the stable, somewhere, perhaps hiding.
"'Tis Lord Hakon, lad. You must come out at once! Anora has taken sick this night with a burning fever. Even now she is calling out your name. I promised her I would find you and bring you to her side!"
Hakon's ruse was instantly rewarded. He heard a rustling of hay from the far end of the stable, then the sound of footsteps, as a slender figure hurried forward into the light cast by the blazing torch. He started, recognizing the tunic and breeches she wore. They were the extra clothes he had given Garric, the ones the lad had always refused to wear.
But on her small feet were soft leather slippers . . . women's slippers!
"My-my lord?" Anora murmured apprehensively, shielding her eyes. Her mind was racing. Gwendolyn, taken sick? But how? When? Her face was pale and drawn, and she swayed unsteadily on her feet. She had not eaten for almost two days.
Hakon reached out and grabbed her roughly by the arm. "Come, we must waste no more time!" He pulled her from the stable, dragging her along the path to his hall, while the Viking guards watched in puzzled astonishment. He could feel her shivering from the cold, but he did not slow his pace.
Anora's heart was pounding in her chest. She panted for breath, the frigid air hurting her lungs as she tried frantically to keep up with him. Suddenly she stumbled on the slippery path. She gasped when Hakon picked her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way, hugging her close to his broad chest. Hakon Jarl would not treat a lad so, she thought fleetingly, as he kicked open the massive door to his hall and strode across the main room. He set her down just outside his chamber and took her by the shoulders, his eyes burning into hers.
"Go in to your sister, Garric," he murmured, his voice low. His face was inscrutable, though his eyes glittered dangerously. With that, he released her abruptly, and she staggered back, almost falling. Catching herself on the timbered wall, she felt her legs grow wooden as she entered the softly lit room and crossed over to the bed. She barely noticed as the older woman sitting in the chair suddenly got up and hurried out. Her eyes were on the thick white bandages wrapped about Gwendolyn's left shoulder, and the deathly pallor of her skin.
"Gwendolyn . . ." she whispered in stunned horror, oblivious to Hakon's tall form standing near her. She sank to her knees by the bed, hot tears coursing down her cheeks as she fiercely clutched the fur coverlet. "Nay, this cannot be!" she cried out in bitter anguish, burying her face in her hands. Suddenly she looked up at Hakon. "How did this come about?" she asked, her voice ragged.
"I had hoped you might be able to answer that same question, Anora," Hakon replied grimly.
"Nay," Anora whispered fearfully at the sound of her name. Her eyes widened in awful surprise. So, he knew at last! Sweet Jesu! Help her!
Hakon bent down and lifted her easily to her feet, taking her arm as he tried to lead her from the room.
"Nay, where are you taking me?" Anora screamed, struggling to break free of his iron grip. She fought him so fiercely that he finally had to grab her and toss her over his broad shoulder, holding her slender legs tightly so she could not kick him. Even then she pummeled him with her small fists, landing a well-aimed blow just below the back of his rib cage. He grunted in pain, yet did not stop until he was out in the main room of the hall. Waving the older woman away, he plopped Anora down into a carved chair near the central fireplace, then caught her wrists with one strong hand as he leaned over her.
"Tell me about Wulfgar Ragnarson," Hakon muttered, his deep voice almost a whisper.
Anora paled visibly. Dumbfounded, she opened her mouth to speak, but she could not. She could scarcely breathe.
"Answer me, Anora," Hakon snapped, his mouth a tight line, his bronzed features hard, inscrutable.
"He . . . he is m-my betrothed," Anora stammered, fear gripping her. "H-how do you know of him?"
Hakon let go of her wrists and stood up, his heart hammering in his chest. So, the tides of fate had turned against him, he thought bitterly, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He went over and stood by the fireplace, staring into the bright flames. The hall grew silent, except for the crackle of the logs in the fire. An orange spark suddenly flew out from under the hearth, spitting and hissing."
'Tis Loki, the fire spirit, beating his children," Hakon said softly, an ironic smile on his lips as he stepped on the glowing ember, crushing it. He sighed, his handsome profile illuminated by the roaring flames. It was best to have out with it. "It seems your Wulfgar is gathering together a fleet of warships to sail on Norge in the spring . . . in search of you and your sister," he said, almost dispassionately. "Unless, of course, you both are returned safely to England before he sets sail." He ignored Anora's startled gasp and continued, though he did not look at her.
"I only learned of this a few days past when I went to Trondheim under a summons from Haarek Jarl, my liege lord. It was his command to the gathered chieftains that if you and your sister were found in Norge, you must be returned as soon as the north seas can be crossed, to divert a war with Denmark."
Hakon turned, a strange look on his face. "It seems your abduction has created quite a stir, Anora. For, you see, there is more at stake now than just your freedom . . . and that of your sister. Wulfgar Ragnarson has received the support of not only King Edgar of England, but King Harald Gormsson of Denmark as well. Haarek Jarl believes it is the perfect ploy for King Harald to seize control of our land once again."
Hakon's voice grew hard. "But all of this meant naught to me until this night. Haarek Jarl had said two sisters had been abducted from their homeland, not a brother and sister, so I gave the matter no more thought. 'Twas only from your sister's fevered rantings that I heard the name Wulfgar Ragnarson, revealing your guise." He paused, his eyes cold. "I did not know until this night that I have been played the fool." He took a step toward her. "Was it you who traveled with me to Trondheim as Garric?"
Stunned by all she had heard, Anora did not answer for a moment. She could scarcely believe it! She felt a surge of incredible joy well in up inside her. They would be returned to their homeland . . . and she to Wulfgar! Then she sobered suddenly, recalling the ashen pallor of Gwendolyn's face. What if her sister did not survive her wound? She shuddered visibly. Nay, she would not think of id
"Was it you, or your sister?" Hakon repeated his question, watching the play of emotions across Anora's fair features.
Anora met his penetrating gaze. She slowly shook her head. "'Twas Gwendolyn, my lord," she replied softly. She could see no harm in telling him the truth now. He would not dare harm her or Gwendolyn. If he did, he would be defying the orders of his liege lord. Surely that would be a punishable crime!
Gwendolyn. So that was her name, Hakon thought. It was a beautiful name. . . . "Then who came to my hall that night you both tried to escape?" he asked, his voice low. He turned his gaze back to the leaping flames. He could already sense her answer.
"Gwendolyn, my lord. She sacrificed herself to protect me."
Hakon grimaced. So that was how she had thought of that night. She had seen herself as a sacrifice.
Anora's voice interrupted his dark thoughts. "Gwendolyn played the part of Garric from the very first day we were captured, believing it would somehow help us. It was only when you caught us trying to escape" — Anora flushed heatedly— "when you were us
ing the whip against her and I promised to come to your . . ." She could not say it.
"When you promised to come to my bed," Hakon finished for her. "Yea?"
Anora's voice was almost a whisper. "Gwendolyn cut my hair so we could pass for each other. 'Twas the only thing that set us apart. Then we exchanged clothes, and I became Garric. She went to your hall in my place."
Hakon shook his head in disbelief. How could he have missed what was going on before his very eyes? He thought back to that day on his ship when he had seen Garric smile for the first time, and how he had thought he was too pretty for a lad. And the change in him after the lashing . . . he had thought he had crushed the lad's defiant spirit. Yet it had been Anora all along, too frightened even to look him full in the face!
His thoughts raced on wildly. And when they had returned from Trondheim, when Garric had jumped from the ship and raced madly up the hill? The lad had been Gwendolyn again! She must have gone directly to his hall and taken Anora's place, just barely in time before he entered the chamber. Thor's blood! How could he have been so blind?
"Was it always Gwendolyn then, in the bathing house after I returned from my uncle's settlement . . . and during the nights?" Hakon asked, a catch in his voice.
"Aye," Anora said simply. "She vowed she would bear it only until she could find a way for us to escape."
"I have heard enough!" Hakon exclaimed suddenly, pounding his clenched fist against the timbered wall next to the fireplace. "Leave me, Anora!" He strove to check the cold fury threatening to overwhelm him. "Go attend to your sister in my chamber. No doubt she will thrive under your care. This hall will be yours until we sail for England in the spring. I am sure you will find it comfortable . . . and much more suited to the style in which someone of your high birth is accustomed. Now leave me!" he shouted angrily.
Anora rose from the chair, frightened by his outburst. She walked hurriedly toward his chamber, but turned around just before she reached the door. "You have not yet told me how Gwendolyn was wounded, my lord," she murmured. His back was to her, so she could not see his face.
"A spear hit her in the shoulder, just after she threw the knife that saved my life," Hakon replied. "Now leave me." He sighed heavily, not knowing she was still there, and leaned against the timbered wall as if for support.
Anora felt a strange wave of pity and sadness wash over her at the anguished pain in his voice. He looked so vulnerable standing there, so alone. This powerful man who had terrified her from the first moment she had seen him . . . Could it be that he felt more than lust for her sister, perhaps even some affection? Suddenly she heard a soft moan carry out into the main room of the hall. Gwendolyn! She turned and fled into his chamber, shutting the door behind her.
Hakon felt a sudden, wrenching pain within him that was sharper, more excruciating, than any wound he had ever suffered. So, the only woman he had ever loved had made a mockery of his affections! He pounded his clenched fist into the timbered wall again. But what more could he have expected? he berated himself. He had taken them from their homeland, away from the people they loved, had forced his attentions upon them, and had expected to be loved in return! Thor, what a fool he had been!
His shoulders slumped with weariness, but he shrugged it off. Nay, there was no time for that, he thought angrily. There was much to be done. He would have to sail at first light of day for Trondheim. Olav could take charge of the settlement while he was gone. Yea, he thought bitterly, no doubt Haarek Jarl would be most delighted with his news!
Hakon walked to the door of his hall, overwhelmed by utter despair, but he knew his feelings mattered naught. Come spring, Gwendolyn would be lost to him forever. It would he almost as if she had perished, yet he would know she still lived and breathed, somewhere far away from him. He pushed open the door and stepped out into the frigid air. It hit him like a fierce slap on the face.
He looked up into the night sky, just beginning to lighten along the far horizon. It seemed all his questions had been answered by Anora, save for one. Yet he did not think she knew the answer. It haunted him, tormenting his mind. Why did Gwendolyn save his life if she longed so much to escape from him? She had never said she loved him, though he could have sworn he had seen more than desire reflected in the emerald depths of her eyes. He shuddered suddenly. Her choice on the battlefield had been him . . . or Rhoar. Perhaps she had saved his life only because she feared him less!
Hakon cursed himself for a fool. Whatever the reason, it no longer mattered. Raising his clenched fists to the heavens, he raged silently against his gods for their cruel deception . . . to take from him the truest happiness he had ever known.
Chapter 37
Gwendolyn awoke to a burning sensation in her left shoulder. She opened her eyes, heavy-lidded from sleep, and squinted in the bright golden sunlight pouring in from the two windows. Her head hurt terribly. She shaded her eyes with her hand, until she grew accustomed to the light. God's blood! Why did she feel so dizzy? She tried to sit up, hoisting herself up on her elbows. A piercing wave of pain shot through her. She gasped aloud, then fell back on the eiderdown pillows.
"Gwendolyn!" a familiar voice cried out across the chamber. She heard hurried footsteps move toward the bed. Then Anora's concerned face hovered over her. "You must lie still, else the wound will open again!" her sister chastised softly.
Gwendolyn blinked. Then her eyes widened. Was she imagining it, or was Anora dressed in a silken chemise and tunic? "Anora, what are you doing? Why are you dressed like that!" she exclaimed weakly. "Quickly, put on Garric's clothes, before Lord Hakon sees you!" She tried to sit up again, but fell back, wincing in pain. She moaned softly, biting her lower lip.
"Nay, lie still, Gwendolyn, 'tis all right," Anora said, her voice low and soothing. She brushed her small hand across her sister's forehead. There was no longer any sign of fever, she thought gratefully. And the rosy color was slowly returning to her cheeks. She lifted the fur coverlet and brought it back up about Gwendolyn's delicate shoulders.
Gwendolyn lifted her tousled head from the pillow, her emerald eyes clouded with confusion. "How can you say 'tis all right, Anora? This is Hakon Jarl's chamber, is it not? He could walk in at any moment!" Suddenly she lay back down, a ragged sigh escaping her throat. Hakon's chamber . . . But how had she gotten here? As Garric, she should be in the stable, shouldn't she? Her head was beginning to ache from the turmoil of her thoughts.
"Lord Hakon left the settlement four days ago, Gwendolyn," Anora murmured, gently plumping up the eiderdown pillows beneath her sister. She turned and drew the leather-backed chair closer to the side of the bed, then sat down. Aye, the quicker she told Gwendolyn what had happened, the better. It would do her sister little good to excite herself overmuch, especially now when she was still so weak.
"Wh-where did he go?" Gwendolyn whispered, another wave of pain shooting through her. She glanced down, her eyes widening at the thick linen bandages covering her shoulder. Suddenly everything came rushing back to her. The awful battle, the twisted, blood-soaked bodies, Rhoar standing over Hakon, his axe glinting brightly, throwing the knife . . . then the exploding pain that had shattered through her body. She shuddered, her hands trembling uncontrollably.
Anora leaned forward and took Gwendolyn's hands in her own. "He sailed for Trondheim with news for Haarek Jarl," she replied softly.
"Trondheim? But we only just returned from there. He did not say he would be sailing there again, and so soon!" Gwendolyn cried hoarsely, her mind trying to make sense of this news.
"Gwendolyn, if you would only let me speak," Anora said gently, yet insistently. "I have something to tell you that concerns us both." She squeezed her sister's hands, barely able to contain her excitement. "Much has happened during the past four days while you have been asleep. It is such wonderful news!" She paused for a moment, her voice almost breathless. "We shall be returned to our homeland as soon as the seas are safe to cross! 'Twill be only a few months from now, in the early spring!"
Stunned, Gwendolyn almost could not grasp what Anora had just said. Returned to their homeland? But how could that be? The last thing she remembered, she had been Garric, marching into battle with Hakon Jarl, and Anora had been hiding in the stable. Now, all of a sudden, they were to be returned to England!
"Aye, 'tis true," Anora said, reading the bewildered expression on Gwendolyn's face. She quickly explained what Hakon had told her a few nights before, the night he had discovered their guise.
Gwendolyn listened in dazed silence. So, that was why Hakon had been summoned to Trondheim. She could scarcely believe it. Wulfgar, gathering together a mammoth fleet, and joining forces with the King of Denmark to sail on Norge! She shook her head gravely. No wonder Haarek Jarl had been so incensed. She had learned enough about political strategy from her father to understand the awful urgency behind the Jarl's desire to avoid this war if at all possible.
And to think that she and Anora were at the center of it all! She suddenly recalled how Hakon had looked at her so strangely on the return voyage from Trondheim. Perhaps he had guessed the truth even then, but had not wanted to admit it to himself for fear of losing the woman he loved.
Gwendolyn sighed heavily. So, her own words had given them away, she thought ironically, after she had done everything in her power to preserve their guise. She wondered fleetingly what Hakon must have thought at that moment. A pained expression flitted across her face. Nay, she would not think of it! She felt no joy at Anora's news, only a mixture of relief and overwhelming sadness. She sighed heavily. At least she would no longer have to play the part of Garric . . . or Anora. She turned her face away, hot tears welling up in her eyes.
"But what is the matter, Gwendolyn?" Anora asked, her face etched with concern. She had very rarely seen her sister cry at anything, let alone something she thought would bring her great joy. "We are no longer the slaves of Lord Hakon. We are free and shall be home within a few short months! If you are frightened of when he returns from Trondheim, why, he can no longer touch you. He would not dare! You are free of him, Gwendolyn!"
Twin Passions Page 29
