Twin Passions

by Miriam Minger

  "Gwendolyn, what are you doing?" Anora's drowsy voice suddenly called out to her from the bed. She brought herself up on one elbow, rubbing her hand over her eyes.

  "I am going out for a walk along the fjord," Gwendolyn said softly, wrapping a light cloak about her shoulders. "'Tis a beautiful morning, and I am weary of being confined to this chamber."

  "Would you like some company?" Anora asked, though she knew she would far prefer to sleep a while longer.

  "Nay, I think I would like to be alone," Gwendolyn replied. "I will be back before the morning meal." She eased open the door. "Go back to sleep."

  Anora sank back down upon the soft pillows and snuggled under the warm coverlet. "Very well, Gwendolyn," she whispered, her heavy eyelids closing once again. "Just be careful . . ." Yet as she drifted back to sleep, Anora knew she did not have to worry. The Viking guards who followed them everywhere they went would see that her sister was well protected.

  Gwendolyn closed the door quietly behind her. She hurried across the main room of the hall, her cloak swirling about her trousered legs. She pushed on the heavy wooden door at the entrance, ever so slowly so it would not creak, and peered outside.

  She could not believe her good fortune! The Viking warriors who usually guarded the hall were nowhere in sight. Yet that surprised her. Hakon had demanded that she and Anora be kept under constant guard to prevent any possible mishaps before they sailed. Perhaps they had thought it was safe to step away for a few moments, she surmised. She had never ventured out this early before, so they would have had no reason to be concerned. Aye, that was probably it.

  Gwendolyn shrugged. Whatever the reason, she was determined to seize her unexpected opportunity. If she were truly lucky, she might be able to sneak away from the settlement unnoticed and enjoy her walk in blissful solitude. She slipped through the door, her eyes watchful and wary. She felt a heightened sense of adventure that enlivened her long-numbed spirits.

  Suddenly her stomach growled hungrily, startling her. God's blood! she thought, exasperated. Then she giggled nervously. Her own stomach had frightened her! She looked longingly toward the cooking house. A thin column of white smoke was wafting from the opening in the roof, and she could smell the mouth-watering aroma of fresh-baked bread carried upon the light breeze. No doubt Berta had been up and about for several hours already, preparing the morning meal that would be served in the great hall to dozens of ravenous warriors.

  Gwendolyn's appetite had suffered during the past few weeks, but she had forced herself to eat because of the babe she carried within her. But today, for the first time in a long while, she felt truly hungry. She doubted whether she could wait any longer to eat!

  Thinking fast, she drew the hood of the cloak over her tousled hair and hurried down the hill. If she kept her head down, she thought hopefully, no one would recognize her in these clothes. She held her breath as two Viking guards passed by her, but they took little notice of her. She did not stop until she had reached the back door of the cooking house. It was ajar. Gwendolyn knew that Berta kept it that way to allow some fresh air into the main room, which was usually warm due to the raging hearth fires.

  She peeked inside. Berta was bent over a caldron of bubbling stew, humming to herself, her back turned to the door. Gwendolyn wasted no time. She tiptoed into the room and over to a nearby table, then grabbed one of the crusty loaves of bread that was still warm from the clay oven. She spied a small round of goat cheese, and grabbed that, too. Then she turned and hurried from the cooking house, just as Berta straightened up.

  "Who's there?" the stout cook called out, whirling around, her eyes sweeping about the room. The wooden door was swinging slightly on its hinges, creaking eerily. "'Tis Loki and his children, up to some mischief," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. She shrugged, then turned back to her stew.

  Gwendolyn could not help but smile at her success. Clutching the loaf of bread and the round of cheese in the crook of her arm, she hurried alongside the timbered wall of the cooking house until she got to the far end. It was some distance to the thick line of trees that surrounded the settlement, but if she ran, it would take her only a few moments to reach them. She looked furtively about her. She could see a few guards here and there, but none was close enough to see her from this angle of the building. She took a deep breath, then raced swiftly across the grassy slope to the nearest trees.

  She dodged behind a massive tree trunk, panting, and listened for any calls of alarm. There were none. Gwendolyn breathed a sigh of relief, exulting in her newfound freedom. Now, if she remembered correctly, she could follow the tree line down to the fjord. By then she would be way past the settlement, and she could enjoy her walk out in the open without fear of being seen.

  She set out happily. Occasionally she gazed up into the trees as she walked, admiring the shimmering green leaves that seemed to dance and sway in the cool morning breeze. She loved the rustling sound they made. There was a freshness in the air that invigorated her, renewing her senses. Her step was light, buoyant. It did not take her long to reach the bank of the fjord.

  Gwendolyn walked for quite a while, paying no heed to the distance she was covering, until she came to a narrow peninsula that jutted out a short way into the fjord. The grassy knoll overlooking the peninsula looked soft and inviting, and she was feeling a little tired and quite hungry. She took off her cloak and spread it out upon the ground, then sat down. From here she could just barely make out the settlement, set in among the steep, rolling hillsides at the end of the fjord.

  After tearing a generous hunk from the loaf of crusty bread, Gwendolyn crumbled some of the pungent goat cheese on top of it. She took a bite, savoring the simple flavors. The bright sunlight warmed her skin through her clothes, and she kicked off her leather slippers, stretching her toes. She looked out across the glistening expanse of water, marveling at the reflection of the snow-capped mountains on its tranquil surface. The stunning beauty of the land made it so easy to forget the numbing pain that had plagued her heart these last two weeks. Yet try as she would, she could not forget it completely.

  She had seen little of Hakon since that awful day he had returned from Trondheim, and that was how she wanted it. After she told Anora what had happened, she had insisted that they never speak of it again. She and Anora had taken all of their meals in their chamber, preferring each other's company over that of a teeming hall full of Viking warriors and their wives. Only Berta had been welcome to visit them. The kindly woman had seen to it that they ate well, and they had never wanted for anything.

  Gwendolyn sighed unhappily. It was those few times when she had seen Hakon that haunted her, tormenting her mind. One morning only a few days past, she had been returning from the bathing house when he suddenly rounded the corner in front of her. She had been looking down, and had run right into him. His strong arms had encircled her, instinctively drawing her close. She looked up in startled surprise, her eyes locking with his for one breathless moment. His handsome face was strangely gaunt, almost pale, despite the bronzed tint of his skin, the blue depths of his eyes full of turmoil. She felt him shudder. Then he had suddenly released her and had hurried away.

  And then only the night before she had ventured from the hall for a breath of fresh air. It was almost dusk. She had stretched her arms high above her head for a moment, then had leaned against the timbered wall, looking up at the stars just beginning to appear in the night sky. She had suddenly sensed that someone was watching her. Turning her head, she spied Hakon only a few feet away. He had started to walk toward her, then wheeled around and strode almost angrily down the hill toward the great hall.

  Gwendolyn shook her head fiercely. If she thought of this any longer, it would surely spoil the day for her. Whatever had been between them was over, finished. Hakon no longer loved her, if he ever had at all. Yet even as she tried to wrest him from her mind, she could not forget.

  She quickly ate the rest of her simple meal, then rose to her feet.
It was probably time she headed back to the settlement. The sun had already crept up high in the sky, telling her it was almost midday. She must have missed the morning meal entirely. No doubt Anora would worry if she did not return soon. She stepped into her leather slippers, then shook out her cloak and whisked it about her delicate shoulders. A slight twinge of pain shot through her. Aye, she grimaced, even her healed wound would not let her forget him.

  She left the grassy knoll overlooking the peninsula and walked back down to the bank of the fjord. The sound of a rushing waterfall was suddenly carried to her on the breeze. A cool drink of fresh water would taste so wonderful, she thought, realizing how thirsty she was. Surely it could not be very far from where she was.

  Instead of walking back toward the settlement, she hurried farther along the fjord. With each step the sound of the waterfall grew more thunderous, more powerful, until at last, after rounding a steep hillside, she was greeted by a sight that took her breath away. A sheer wall of rock towered high above her, and spilling over its glistening crags and hollows was the most majestic waterfall she had ever seen. Swollen by the melting mountain snows, the waterfall plummeted with deafening fury into the fjord below, sending up a dense white spray of cold mist into the air.

  Gwendolyn gathered her cloak more tightly about her, for it was much cooler near the waterfall. She could see several small pools of water worn into the rocks not far from the surging cascade. She walked over to the nearest one and knelt down. Cupping her hand, she dipped it into the icy water, then brought it to her lips. She felt instantly refreshed as she drank thirstily. Some of the water spilled from her hand onto the front of her tunic, but she did not mind. She filled her cupped hand, again and again, until she was sated.

  The sun-warmed rock she was kneeling on reminded Gwendolyn of her favorite grotto back in her homeland, and that fateful day that now seemed so long ago. She leaned over the side, gazing at her reflection on the placid surface of the pool. She did not look any different, yet she knew she had changed. Aye, how she had changed . . .

  She touched her wet fingers to her lips, as she had done those many months past. A wave of incredible sadness washed over her, and she felt hot tears streak her face. One by one they tumbled into the clear water, distorting her reflection as tiny ripples radiated out to the edges of the pool.

  Suddenly Gwendolyn's eyes widened in horror as she noticed another broken reflection staring up at her from the surface of the pool. She gasped in disbelief as she recognized the leering, evil grin. Nay, it cannot be! her mind screamed, as she plunged her hand into the icy water to dispel the horrible image. But she heard cruel laughter behind her, and she knew it was real. She wheeled around just as two clawlike hands bit into her shoulders. She winced in pain as the gnarled fingers dug into the skin just above her scar. She tried to scream, but fear had constricted her throat. Like a hideous apparition back from the grave, Svein's scarred face loomed above hers.

  "At last I have my revenge," he snarled, his fetid breath assailing, her, causing her to gag. He shoved her to the ground with unbelievable force, then kneeled astride her, grinning madly as he pulled a long knife from his belt. His pale eyes were red-rimmed and bulging. "I'll wager you did na' think you'd be seeing the likes o' me again, eh, lad?" he rasped hoarsely. He brought the knife down to within inches of her face. "I could na' believe my good fortune when I saw 'twas you, Garric."

  "But how . . . I st-stabbed you Hakon's men threw you into the fjord . . ." Gwendolyn gasped, her frantic thoughts rushing back to the night she and Anora had tried to escape. Aye, it was her knife that had felled him, she thought wildly.

  Svein threw back his head and laughed, a high-pitched, wheezing sound. Then he stopped just as suddenly and looked down at her with boiling hatred in his eyes. "Aye, your knife almost finished me, lad. And if I hadn't lain so still, not even breathin' while Hakon's men stood over me they would have run me through with their swords as well. But when they threw me into the fjord, I just drifted a ways along the shore 'til I could see 'twas safe to crawl out again. Fools!" he spat vehemently.

  He shifted his weight above her, his tongue licking his cracked lips. "'If na' for the old woman who found me, I would have died for sure. But I did na' die. I have been waitin' these many months, waitin' for the right moment to have my revenge!" He laid the cold steel of his blade across her throat. "When you taste the kiss of my knife, when I twist it into your heart, only then will you know half the torment I've suffered because o' you, Garric."

  Gwendolyn felt a cold chill course through her at his words, but she did not allow herself to panic. God's blood! If she could only get the knife away from him, she thought, her mind working fast, at least then she might have a chance. She could see he was mad beyond all reason. Perhaps if she could confuse him, even for a moment . . .

  She found her voice once again. "B-but, Svein, you are mistaken. My name is not Garric—'tis Anora!"

  "Anora?" he repeated, his pale eyes widening. "Nay, you lie!" he hissed. "She has long, beautiful hair, like spun silver — "

  "I c-cut it off!" Gwendolyn stammered, trying to stay calm despite the fierce beating of her heart. "S-see for yourself, Svein . . . tear my tunic if you must . . ." Sweet Jesu! she prayed fiercely. Protect me! She watched breathlessly as Svein's eyes moved from her face to her heaving chest. He laid his knife on the ground beside her, then took the linen fabric of her tunic in both his hands and ripped it easily from collar to hem. He gasped in surprise as her rounded breasts were bared to his stunned gaze.

  Gwendolyn waited no longer. With every ounce of her strength she brought her knee up and drove it into his groin. Svein screamed in pain and doubled over on top of her, but she shoved him off roughly and scrambled to her feet. He lunged for her, but only managed to wrench the cloak from her shoulders before she was off and running along the bank of the fjord as fast as her legs would carry her. She breathed in great gulps of air that hurt her lungs, and her sides ached horribly, but she did not stop.

  "Anora!" Svein shrieked, as he dragged himself to his feet. He snatched his knife from the ground and set out after her. His enraged cries could be heard even above the surging roar of the waterfall. They echoed off the steep sides of the mountains, over and over again. "Anora!"

  Gwendolyn glanced over her shoulder, cold fear gripping her as she saw that he was narrowing the distance between them. Suddenly she slipped on the grass, wet from the mist of the waterfall, and fell heavily to the ground. For a moment she was stunned. She did not hear the thundering hooves fast approaching her from the direction of the settlement, nor the spirited snorting of a horse as it was reined in not far from her. She tried to get up, then felt herself lifted to her feet by strong arms.

  "Nay!" she screamed, struggling wildly, thinking Svein had caught up with her. But she gasped in surprise, her breath caught in her throat, as she looked up into a pair of vivid blue eyes.

  Chapter 41

  "Stand behind me," Hakon muttered tersely, pushing her away as Svein ran swiftly toward them, brandishing his long knife in his hand.

  Gwendolyn quickly did as she was told. Clutching her torn garment about her, she took several stumbling steps backward until she was well out of the way. She watched, wide-eyed, as Hakon drew his broadsword from the scabbard at his belt, then gripped it in front of him with both hands on the polished hilt. He stood tall and straight, his keen eyes never wavering from the grotesque figure approaching him.

  Svein slowed his pace, then pulled up short a good twenty feet from Hakon. Sweat had stained his tattered clothes, and his dark hair and beard were matted and damp. His red-rimmed eyes looked from Hakon to Gwendolyn, then back again. He smiled, an evil, lopsided grin that was distorted into a grimace by the red scar that slashed down the left side of his face.

  "So, I see you have your protector here, Anora," Svein sneered. He bowed mockingly. "A good day to you, Lord Hakon." He spat out those last words with obvious loathing. "Well, 'tis fine wi'me. When I finish with
him, the outcome will be the same." His crazed eyes raked heatedly over Gwendolyn while he slowly walked forward. "I have waited a long time to savor what is mine. If your fine lord had na' seen fit to steal you from me, I would have felt your body writhe beneath me a long time ago!"

  Gwendolyn shuddered visibly and backed up a few more steps. Even his voice made her flesh crawl. Try as she might, she could not still her trembling.

  "Save your wild ravings, man," Hakon growled, his blue eyes glittering dangerously. "Come, your death awaits you." Hakon's words infuriated Svein. Suddenly he rushed forward, bellowing madly, his long knife poised in front of him. He lunged fiercely at Hakon, but he found only empty air as Hakon stepped swiftly out of his way. He charged once again, deadly intent in his pale eyes, only to be met by a swipe of Hakon's broadsword across his middle. He screamed in pain and fell to his knees, his eyes rolling as he clutched his stomach. Blood spurted from beneath his gnarled fingers.

  "Mercy, Lord Hakon, mercy!" Svein shrieked in terrible fear. But there was to be no mercy. Hakon raised his broadsword above his head, his expression cold, implacable.

  Svein's pale eyes widened in horror. Then he laughed, a bone-chilling, maniacal sound. "May the gods curse the rest of your day—"

  The flashing blade of Hakon's broadsword sang through the air as it came down, severing Svein's head from his body in a spray of blood.

  Gwendolyn gasped, closing her eyes to the gruesome sight. Nay, she could take no more of this brutal land! Repulsed and sickened by the awful carnage, her only thought was to flee from the savagery she had just witnessed, from Hakon and his blood-red sword . . . from everything!

  She turned on her heel and took off running along the bank of the fjord, ignoring Hakon's repeated shouts for her to stop. Raging tears blinded her eyes and streaked her ashen cheeks. She stumbled and fell, crawling on her hands and knees until she could summon the strength to pick herself up and continue her mad dash along the grassy slope. Her chest heaved painfully, her labored breathing tore at her throat.