Twin Passions

by Miriam Minger

  "Perhaps we should go back to the hall and wait for him to summon us," Gwendolyn murmured suddenly, the same feeling of apprehension that she had felt earlier overwhelming her once again. It was strange, she thought. Hakon had not even looked once in their direction, though they stood alone on the hill in full view of the ship.

  "But why?" Anora asked, startled by this suggestion. "Give him a few more moments, Gwendolyn. Surely when he leaves the ship he will see you."

  But Gwendolyn did not even hear her words. Her eyes widened as Hakon turned away from Olav and reached out his hand to a small cloaked figure sitting on a nearby rowing bench. She gasped in disbelief as two delicate, white hands pushed away the hood of the cloak, revealing a very pretty young woman with long, flowing hair the color of golden flax. The woman took Hakon's outstretched hand, smiling as he drew her to his side.

  "Nay . . ." Gwendolyn murmured in horror. She felt numb to the very core of her being. Nay, this cannot be! her mind screamed, even as she watched in stunned silence. Hakon had found another love!

  The young woman's bright laughter carried out across the hillside, piercing through her heart just as surely as the spear had penetrated her shoulder months before. Without another word, she turned and fled up the hill to Hakon's hall, scalding tears dimming her eyes.

  Chapter 39

  "Gwendolyn, you must eat something," Anora urged softly. "Look, Berta has prepared a wonderful tray for you. There is warm rye bread, goat cheese, and even some of the wild berries you like so well. Please, if you would try just a little . . ." She waited a moment, but there was no response.

  Sighing, Anora shook her head sadly. It was useless. Gwendolyn had not moved from the bed since that morning, and it was already past midday. She lay on her side huddled under the fur coverlet, clutching it tightly just below her chin. Her eyes stared fixedly at the timbered wall in front of her.

  Anora set the wooden tray on the small table near the bed, then walked to the window and leaned against the ledge. She folded her arms in front of her, hugging her chest. "Damn the Viking!" she swore fiercely under her breath, surprising herself. She had always been the one to chide her sister for using coarse language, but those words truly expressed how she felt at that moment. How she longed for the day when they would be free of this cursed land!

  Anora angrily recalled the scene near the docks that morning. She had never seen Gwendolyn look so crushed, as if the very light had gone out of her eyes. And when she had looked toward the longship to see what had upset her so, she hadn't a chance to utter a single word before Gwendolyn left her side, racing as fast as she could up the hill.

  She had followed her sister a few moments afterward, even though she heard Lord Hakon's voice call out to them from the longship. She doubted if Gwendolyn had heard him call out her name, and doubted even more that she would have stopped. She had already been lying on the bed, just as she was now, by the time Anora rushed into the chamber.

  A sudden knock at the door broke into her thoughts. "Who is there?" she said irritably, venting her frustration at whoever waited outside.

  "Hakon."

  Anora's hand flew to her throat. She glanced quickly over at the bed, but Gwendolyn had not stirred. She hurried to the door and opened it just a crack. "My lord?" she queried tersely, though a shiver of fear coursed through her. She had forgotten how tall and broad he was!

  "I wish to speak with you both," he replied evenly, his eyes meeting hers through the narrow opening.

  "'Tis not possible, my lord. Gwendolyn is not feeling well —"

  "Nay, let him enter," Gwendolyn's determined voice interrupted her. Anora whirled around, surprised to see her sister had moved silently from the bed to the chair near the window. She opened her mouth to protest, but Gwendolyn shook her head.

  "'Tis all right, Anora. Let us hear what Lord Hakon has to say," she murmured steadily, belying the turmoil raging within her.

  Anora shook her head doubtfully, then moved away from the door and hurried over to Gwendolyn's side. She stood next to her chair and rested her hand on her sister's shoulder.

  Hakon drew in his breath sharply as he entered the sunlit chamber. Truly, he had never seen two more radiantly beautiful women! Yet his eyes sought only Gwendolyn's. She met his gaze evenly, though he could see she was trembling. Thor, how many tortured nights had he spent dreaming of her, how many anxious days wondering if she had recovered from her wound! But he quickly caught hold of himself, remembering his sworn vow to harden his heart against her. She was lost to him, he told himself fiercely. There was naught he could do.

  "You said you wished to speak to us, my lord," Gwendolyn murmured softly. Her delicate hands lay in her lap, clasped tightly so they would not shake. Hakon seemed to fill the very room with his powerful presence, overwhelming her, shattering her ability to reason.

  Hakon started at the lilting sound of her voice. Yet her simple statement served to remind him of the purpose for his visit. He took a few steps toward them, his hand resting on the polished hilt of his broadsword. His voice was hard, implacable.

  "I have come to tell you that we shall sail within the fortnight for England. Haarek Jarl has already sent emissaries to both your father and Wulfgar Ragnarson, informing them of your imminent . . . and safe return." He paused, noting the sudden paleness of Gwendolyn's cheeks. "If you are not feeling well, we can talk of this later, Gwendolyn."

  She, too, started visibly. She had never heard him say her name before. "I am fine, my lord," she replied, though somewhat shakily. She was grateful for the reassuring pressure of Anora's hand on her shoulder.

  "Very well, then. As soon as preparations are made and all is in readiness, we will set sail for your homeland. Two of Haarek Jarl's warships will meet us at the mouth of the Sogn and escort us during the journey." He looked at them pointedly, an unspoken question in his eyes. "I would have given you this news earlier this day, but it seemed you were both in a great hurry to return to the hall."

  Gwendolyn turned her face away, a burning blush firing her cheeks. So, he had seen them standing there on the hill after all! She fought to keep her voice low and steady. "It seemed to us that you were well occupied, my lord. We thought perhaps our meeting should wait for another time." She looked back at him, hurt and betrayal flaring in the emerald depths of her eyes.

  Hakon was taken aback by the force of her gaze. What could she possibly be referring to? he wondered, perplexed.

  Gwendolyn did not wait for a response. "Is it your wish that we gather our few things together and move to another longhouse . . . to make room for your new concubine?" she asked bitterly.

  "Concubine?" Hakon muttered, almost to himself. Then his eyes widened in surprise as he guessed the meaning of her question. Had he detected a hint of jealousy in her voice, or had he imagined it? Nay, it was not possible. Gwendolyn cared naught for him. He quickly dismissed the thought.

  "If you speak of the young woman aboard my ship this morning, she is a sister to the wife of Haarek Jarl, " Hakon explained. "She wished to return to her home, which is in this region, and I offered to escort her this far. Her kin will be here tomorrow morn to fetch her." Hakon shrugged. "She is a winsome lass, and comely as well. I have half a mind to ask her kin to consider a betrothal between her and my uncle's middle son. 'Twould be a fine match that would join our family to that of Haarek Jarl's."

  "Oh!" Gwendolyn cried. She looked down at her hands, embarrassed, as overwhelming relief surged through her body. So, all was not yet lost! A faint smile curved her lips.

  Anora squeezed her shoulder, then left her side and hurried toward the door. "If you will excuse me, my lord, there is a matter I must attend to," she murmured, lowering her eyes as she passed by Hakon. "My thanks for your news." She pulled the door shut behind her, but not before she had smiled reassuringly at Gwendolyn.

  The room fell silent after the sound of Anora's footsteps had died away. Hakon shifted uncomfortably. He had not planned to be alone with Gwendolyn, fearing
it could prove too much of a temptation for him. His resolve to remain distant had already been tried enough during this short visit!

  His eyes roamed about the chamber and he noted the decidedly feminine trappings here and there. His weapons had been removed from the timbered walls, and a loom had been set in the far corner. A half-worked tapestry was stretched across the wooden frame.

  "I see you have kept busy these past months," he said, turning back to her, breaking the awkward silence between them.

  "'Tis Anora's work, not mine," Gwendolyn replied softly. "I do not care much for the loom and such things."

  Hakon tried to suppress a smile, though unsuccessfully. He suddenly remembered what Berta had said so long ago about Anora's reluctance to spend much time in the weaving house. But that had not been Anora, he reminded himself grimly, his smile disappearing as quickly as it had come. The wrenching pain of discovering their guise gripped him as if it had been only yesterday.

  "I am glad you have returned, my lord," Gwendolyn said simply, watching the rapid play of emotions across his handsome face. "'Twas my fear that perhaps the sea had claimed you."

  Her gently spoken words stunned him. Why would she care if aught had happened to him? She had gotten what she wanted, hadn't she? "The winter was such that we could not sail until a few weeks ago," Hakon said tersely.

  "Aye, that is what Olav told me," she replied, "though I think he was worried, too."

  "Olav has been known to fret overmuch," Hakon muttered. He turned his head away, pretending to look about the room once again. Yea, the brutal winter had been part of the reason, he thought grimly, but not all. He had stayed in Trondheim as long as he possibly could, dreading to return to the settlement. The thought of seeing Gwendolyn there, knowing that she would never be his, had been more than he could bear.

  Haarek Jarl had generously provided lodging to him and his crew during the past three months, but eventually he had been angered at Hakon's reluctance to return to his lands. Finally he had commanded him to sail at once for Sogn, berating him for tarrying overlong when so much was at stake. And though the shrewd Jarl had never asked for an explanation, Hakon believed he had surmised the truth for his delay. He vividly recalled Haarek's parting words.

  "There are many women in the world," Haarek Jarl had said grimly, his dark eyes boring into Hakon's with heated intensity. "But one woman, no matter how beautiful, is surely not worth the betrayal of an entire people. Think well on this, Lord Hakon. I have entrusted to you the task of returning these women to their homeland. Do not fail me."

  Hakon had resigned himself to the inevitable, and had set sail that very day. Yet even so, Haarek Jarl had ordered two well-armed warships to accompany him, no doubt to ensure he followed through with his orders.

  "My lord," Gwendolyn murmured, "there is something I must tell you."

  Hakon started, his eyes meeting hers. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he had not even noticed she had left the chair and was now standing only a few feet from him. As ever, he was struck by her incredible beauty. Yet he looked at her warily. What could she possibly want to say to him? When she had played the part of Garric, there had always been biting words upon her tongue. Perhaps it was not enough that she had won her freedom. Perhaps now she wished to flaunt it at him, exulting in the fact that she and her sister had played him for a fool.

  Nay, he shook his head fiercely. He did not care to hear her words, whatever they might be. His male pride had been hurt enough already. "There is nothing left to say between us, Gwendolyn. You have heard the news which you no doubt have long awaited. Now it is time I returned to the great hall." He turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

  "Hakon . . . please, wait!" Gwendolyn cried out desperately. She ran over to him and caught his arm. What had she done to make him so angry?

  He stopped and looked down at her, his expression cold, inscrutable. Yet he could not deny her touch sent a surge of longing through his body.

  Gwendolyn stepped back, her emerald eyes bright with unshed tears at his sudden indifference. "Hakon . . . I have longed so for your return. I wanted to t-tell you . . . I . . . I love you," she almost whispered.

  Hakon's breath caught in his throat. He felt the strangest sensation, as if time suddenly stood still around him. All he could hear was the beating of his heart, pounding furiously against his chest. It grew louder and louder in his ears, almost drowning out Gwendolyn's voice as she repeated the words.

  "I love you, Hakon."

  Yet his expression did not change. Only his eyes betrayed the terrible chaos of emotions raging within him. He could feel the anger of his hurt pride melting away, only to be replaced by an inner agony that was so great he could have cried out from the crushing pain.

  Odin, help him! Hakon felt as if he were being ripped apart by the overwhelming desire to take Gwendolyn in his arms and never let her go . . . and his fierce loyalty to his homeland. Wildly he wished that she had never said the words he had long ago despaired of ever hearing from her lips. It would have been far easier for him to return her to her homeland thinking she had made a mockery of his love.

  For Hakon knew he had no choice. Once a Viking warrior had sworn allegiance to his lord, it was inviolable, a sacred vow that could never be broken. He had to obey the command of Haarek Jarl. To do otherwise would bring lifelong contempt upon his entire clan, and possibly their deaths as well.

  Hakon swallowed hard, his eyes locking with hers. She looked so vulnerable, so hopeful. Yet he knew their love could never be. He sighed raggedly. There was only one way he could answer her. It would be better for her—for them both— to endure what was to come, he tried to tell himself. Yet Hakon knew his next words would haunt him the rest of his life.

  His deep voice echoed about the chamber. "Your love matters naught to me, Gwendolyn," he said harshly. "'Tis better if you save it for an Anglo-Saxon." The stricken look on her beautiful face was more than he could bear. He turned abruptly and left the room.

  Gwendolyn stood for a moment, unable to move. She did not feel the hot, bitter tears streaking her face, nor the nails biting so cruelly into her clenched hands that they drew blood. Numbed to the very core of her being, she felt as if her heart were shattering within her breast.

  Then, slowly, defiantly, she lifted up her trembling chin. In the silence of the room, she cursed Hakon's name, and the unhappy fates that had ever brought them together.

  Chapter 40

  Gwendolyn leaned on the ledge of the window and gazed up at the morning sky. The eve of their homeward journey to England had dawned bright and clear, boding well for the weather they could expect during the voyage. Small white clouds dotted the endless expanse of blue. The settlement still lay in shadows, though golden shafts of light from the rising sun were peeking above the surrounding mountains.

  She took a deep breath of the pristine air, filling her lungs. Everything smelled so fresh and new. During the past two weeks the last of the snows had melted, the icy moisture feeding the thick grasses that now carpeted the curving slopes surrounding the settlement. Truly, she had never seen such rugged beauty as this in her own land.

  Gwendolyn sighed heavily and turned back into the darkened chamber. She glanced over at the wide bed. Anora was still sound asleep, her silver-blond hair spread out like fine gossamer across the eiderdown pillow. Gwendolyn shrugged. At least her sister would be well rested for the journey, which was more than she could say for herself. She had been unable to sleep well at all since Hakon had . . .

  Nay, she would not think of it, Gwendolyn told herself fiercely. She stood at the bedside for a moment, wondering what she could do to pass the time until the morning meal. A slow smile spread across her delicate features. Perhaps a walk would take her mind off the memories that continually plagued her. Aye, that was what she would do!

  She walked quickly to the ornately carved chest that held her clothes, her bare feet padding across the wooden floor. She quietly lifted the lid, then bent d
own and rummaged around for a moment. With a satisfied smile, she pulled out a pair of soft linen trousers and a matching tunic. Hastily she whisked the silken shift she was wearing over her head, and tossed it aside with some distaste. She was sick and tired of the confining nature of women's clothing. Luckily Berta had secured for her this one pair of trousers and tunic, albeit with much cajoling. The kindly woman's initial reluctance had reminded Gwendolyn of her mother, and their constant battle over what was appropriate for her to wear.

  Gwendolyn quickly donned the trousers, pulling tight the leather drawstring at her still-narrow waist. She gently touched her stomach. Even though she was nearing her fourth month, her slender form had changed little but for the subtle rounding of her belly, and an increasing tenderness in her breasts. Yet she knew it would not be long before her body would betray her secret. She shook her head. Nay, she would not think of that either, at least not now!

  She drew the linen tunic down over her head, sighing with pleasure at the freedom of movement men's clothing afforded her. She planned to wear this during the voyage to England, whether anyone protested or not.

  Hopping first on one foot, then the other, she quickly slipped into a pair of hard-soled leather slippers. She did not know what had happened to her favorite pair of boots. Perhaps Hakon had given them to one of his other slaves, she thought. She shrugged, then ran her fingers through her tousled hair. At least that had not changed! Anora had refused to cut her sister's hair during the weeks she lay on her sickbed, but as soon as Gwendolyn was up and about she had seen to it that it was trimmed every month. That was how she liked it!