Twin Passions (26 page)

"Before Odin I swear this woman is mine!" he
whispered fiercely. "And woe to any who try to wrest her from me!" He
lay
his head back against the eiderdown pillow, but it
was a long time before he slept.

Chapter 24

Gwendolyn snuggled deeper under the lush fur blanket
covering the wide bed. It was so soft and warm . . . so much nicer than her
straw pallet in the stable. Suddenly her eyes flew open, remembering where she
was. Hakon! She blushed heatedly, vivid memories of the night before flooding
back to her. Turning her head, she looked furtively over her shoulder expecting
to find him lying by her side. But he was not there, and after a quick glance
around the room she saw that she was alone. She felt an odd twinge of
disappointment,
then
shook her head angrily.
What was coming over her?
she
wondered, chiding herself. She sat up, her eyes darting
curiously about the room.

The late-morning sun was pouring in through two narrow
windows on the far wall, casting myriad patterns on the wooden floor. The room
was a large one, and its furnishings clearly bespoke a masculine influence.
Several massive, ornately carved chests rested against the walls, while a low
table and sturdy leather-backed chair were placed near one of the windows. Four
heavy posts, intricately carved with writhing serpents and grinning beasts,
supported each corner of the wide bed, which took up nearly a quarter of the
space alone.

The room had little decoration except for the many
brightly polished weapons hanging from the timbered walls. There were long
pointed spears with lavishly ornamented sockets, fierce, triple-edged
broadaxes, and several iron swords, though none was as fine as the one she knew
Hakon carried in a leather scabbard hanging at his belt. His sword had fascinated
her from the moment she had seen it aboard his ship, with its hilt of
contrasting precious metals and the hand guard carved from polished ivory. A
conical, silver helmet with nose and eye guards was laid on a roughhewn bench
near the bed, along with a thick chain of mail that glinted brightly in the
sunlight.

So, this is what
Ansgar meant when he said a Viking warrior was never far from his weapons!
To think that Hakon kept such an arsenal in his private chamber. Why, no doubt
he had left his sword within arm's reach last night while they . . .! She
blushed again. She could still feel the heat of his caress upon her skin.
Trembling suddenly, she quickly pulled the fur blanket up over her shoulders.

A pile of crumpled clothing that had been lying on top of
the blanket tumbled off the side of the bed. Gwendolyn gasped as she recognized
what little remained of her linen shift and mantle, noting well the jagged
tears from collar to hem.
There will be
no hope of mending these garments,
she thought wryly, even if she could
sew! But what was she to clothe herself with now?

"Perhaps one of the chests might have something
that would fit me," she muttered. It was worth a try. She stepped gingerly
from the bed, her teeth chattering from the cold. Grabbing the ends of the fur
blanket, she whisked it off the bed and wrapped it quickly about her shoulders.

Gwendolyn gasped at the blood-red stains that stood out
glaringly against the white of the linen sheet. She cursed under her breath,
wondering if the Viking had yet seen the proof of her innocence . . . the
innocence that he had so wantonly taken from her. She was about to pull the
offending sheet from the bed when a soft knock was heard at the door. She
turned around, her slender back straight and her head held proudly, though her
eyes were wide with apprehension.

A jovial face peeked from around the corner of the
door. "So, you are finally awake, lass," Berta said, clucking her
tongue approvingly. She bustled into the room carrying a steaming tray of food
and set it down on a beautifully carved table near the bed. Straightening up,
she was about to say something about the young woman's shortened hair when
another knock echoed through the room. "Yea, come on in with ye!" she
called out. Two young servingwomen hurried in, one carrying an armload of what
appeared to be fine silken clothing, while the other carried a small carved
casket.

"Set them down over there. Then be off with ye,"
Berta commanded in a severe tone, pointing to the chair by the window. The
women hastily complied, but not without first casting several envious glances
in Gwendolyn's direction. Their eyes widened at the vivid bloodstains on the
sheets . . . So the favored wench had been a virgin after all! They giggled
behind their hands as they fled the room.

"Don't mind them, lass." Berta shook her
head, promising herself to deal with them later. "'Tis only jealousy at
your good fortune." She closed the door firmly behind them.

Gwendolyn had not moved since Berta and the two women
had come into the room, but she had relaxed visibly. If it had been Hakon, she
did not know what she would have done. She had heard much about the cook from
Anora, and knew she had naught to fear from her. Anora had said she was a
kindly woman, despite her gruff manner.

Berta ambled over to the bed and stood with her hands
on her waist. "If you're wondering where Lord Hakon has gone, lass, he
left early this morn with Olav and some guards for his uncle's settlement
across the valley." She shook her head in sympathy. "'Tis a pity he had
to leave you. From the looks of him I'd say he would rather have stayed!"

"He is not missed," Gwendolyn muttered,
plopping down on the bed. She ran her fingers through her short curls,
obviously annoyed.

Berta gaped in astonishment. She could not believe her
ears! Here the wench had been bedded by a Viking chieftain—nay, well bedded
from the looks of the sheets—and she had naught but cross words to say about
him! She made a disapproving sound in her throat. Perhaps the wench was tired,
she thought. Slave or not, Anora was obviously highborn. Perhaps her delicate
nature had not taken kindly to Lord Hakon's lovemaking. Nay, Berta shook her
head,
she could hardly fathom that to be true! Well,
whatever the reason, it was none of her affair. Lord Hakon had given her
specific orders before he had left, and it was her job to see them through.

"'Tis Lord Hakon's wish that you no longer work in
the cooking house," she said, walking over to the window. She picked up
one of the silken garments draped over the back of the chair; a delicate
chemise in shimmering hues of gold-trimmed sapphire. "You are now the
favored one, Anora, concubine to Hakon Jarl.
'
Tis his
command that you learn the workings of this household and serve as mistress
over it. These clothes and jewels are for your pleasure alone, as befits the
honored position you now hold."

Ignoring Gwendolyn's gasp of surprise, Berta opened the
lid of the small casket and drew out a long beaded necklace. She held it up to
the light, a smile spreading across her round face. The necklace was truly the
finest she had ever seen, its richly colored glass beads alternating with
small, gold filigree pendants that glittered brightly in the sun.

She turned to Gwendolyn, sobering, her eyes full of
caution. "Now perhaps you will think no more of escape, eh? You have been
blessed with good fortune, lass. There are many broken hearts in the settlement
this day, many women who envy what fate has bestowed upon you. It is now for
you to use it wisely." She returned the necklace to the casket,
then
hurried to the door. "But first you must bathe,"
she said over her shoulder.

At the clap of her hands, two male slaves carried in a
large wooden tub and set it on the floor near the bed. Neither dared to look up
from his task; both scurried quickly out of the room, only to return time after
time with steaming buckets of water until the tub was filled.

Gwendolyn succumbed quietly to Berta's ministrations,
her mind too preoccupied with what the older woman had said to offer any
resistance. The water in the tub did feel wonderful; it was the first real bath
she had enjoyed since the day of Anora's betrothal feast. She leaned her head
against the rim and breathed in the fragrant steam.

Mistress of the household! Aye, those had been Berta's
words, though she could hardly believe it. That Hakon could trust her enough to
give her free rein within the settlement, even after the escape attempt of last
night . . . nay, she could not believe it!

But a short while later, after she had been dressed in
the most beautiful clothing she had ever seen and bedecked with fine jewelry,
she was beginning to believe it was indeed true. The sapphire blue chemise,
long and pleated with narrow, delicate sleeves, felt deliciously cool against
her freshly scrubbed skin. A scarlet satin tunic went over the chemise, the
embroidered shoulder straps held up by a pair of oval, gold filigree brooches,
while a belt of finely twisted strips of gold and silver encircled her narrow
waist. She was given a pair of soft leather shoes, fur-lined for warmth, and at
the last, Berta carried into the room the most luxurious gray fur cloak
Gwendolyn had ever seen.

"The air grows colder with each passing day,"
Berta said simply, wrapping the cloak about Gwendolyn's fine-boned shoulders. "You
will need this." She gathered the two ends of the cloak together and bound
them with a richly ornamented gold brooch inlaid with precious stones. Standing
back, she rested her hands on her wide hips and surveyed her handiwork.

Yea, the
lass was
truly a
beauty, she thought appreciatively, despite the loss of her long hair. Her
short silver-blond locks had dried into soft, gleaming curls that delicately
framed her fair features. Berta still did not know why the lass had cut her
hair, but she surmised it had been meant as another way to defy Lord Hakon.
Well, it was none of her affair, she reminded herself. She whisked her own
cloak about her huge form,
then
started toward the
door. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks and threw her hands up in the air.

"Ah, we have forgotten your meal," she said. "No
doubt 'tis cold by now."

"It matters naught," Gwendolyn replied. "I
am not hungry this morn." Truly she was not. Her mind was racing with the
opportunities that had now presented
themselves
to
her, and she longed to see Anora. Her head was filled with plans, and she was
too excited to eat.

"Come, then, lass. There is much to be done before
Lord Hakon returns," Berta said. "We shall first visit the brewing
house."

"Nay, Berta," Gwendolyn disagreed firmly. "I
wish to visit my brother first, in the stable."

Berta drew herself up, a disgruntled look upon her
face. But the glint of determination in Gwendolyn's eyes squelched any protest
she would offer.
Yea, Lord Hakon will
have his hands full with this one,
she thought indignantly. "Very
well, lass, but mind you do not linger overlong. Lord Hakon expects you to be
well taught by the time he returns!"

Gwendolyn nodded,
then
swept
hurriedly out of the room, her fine cloak flowing out behind her. She did not
bother to wait for Berta, knowing the portly cook would catch up to her at the
stable. Besides, what she had to say to Anora was for her sister's ears alone.
She quickly made her way through the hall, not even glancing at the treasures
that had so intrigued her the night before, and pushed open the great wooden
door leading outside. She blinked from the bright sunlight and gathered the
cloak about her. Berta was
right,
the air had grown
much colder. She walked quickly along the path to the stable, unaware that she
was being closely followed by a Viking guard.

Gwendolyn spied Anora near the door of the stable,
struggling to lift a bale of hay. Her back was turned, so Gwendolyn was able to
walk up quietly behind her. "'Twould help if you bent your knees a bit,
Garric," she murmured softly.

Anora wheeled around, her eyes wide with surprise. "
Gw—
Anora!" she exclaimed, though not too loudly, noting
the guard who stood watching them several paces away. She took her sister's arm
and led her quickly into the stable. They embraced each other tightly for
several moments. Then Anora drew away to look searchingly at her sister's face.
"Are you well?" she asked, though she felt somehow ill at ease. Her
question, though heartfelt, seemed hardly appropriate.

Gwendolyn caught the fleeting look of embarrassment in
Anora's eyes. "There can be no regrets, Anora, not now, not ever,"
she replied simply. "'Tis done."

Anora looked away, sudden tears rushing to her eyes,
but she did not allow herself to cry. Swallowing hard, she pulled Gwendolyn
down beside her on the bench by the door. "Lord Hakon came here early this
morn, but he did not disturb me. I heard him walking toward the stable, and I
pulled the blanket up over my head. He was whistling, Gwendolyn—a strange,
lilting tune!"

Gwendolyn blushed at these words, but quickly looked down
in her lap so Anora would not see it.
Aye,
so the man whistled. That matters naught to me,
she thought angrily.
Perhaps his morning meal had pleased him!

Not noticing her sister's discomfort, Anora rushed on. "He
stood by the pallet for several moments, looking at me. Then he went and
saddled his own horse. All the while he was whistling away, as if he did not
mind in the least that I had not jumped up to help him." She sighed
heavily. "I have never said so many prayers before in my life! If he had
asked me to saddle his stallion—"

"You will have to learn, Anora," Gwendolyn
interrupted. "If our guise is to succeed, you must know how to care for
his stallion." She clasped her sister's hand reassuringly, feeling perhaps
she had been a bit too abrupt with her. "'Tis not hard, I promise. I will
teach you later today. Just think of how surprised Wulfgar will be when you one
day saddle his great stallion!" They both giggled at the thought, then
fell silent, their hands clapped over their mouths as Berta called to them from
just outside the door.