Twin Passions

by Miriam Minger

  Gwendolyn suddenly lay still across his broad shoulder, except for her labored breathing. She had seen what the lash had done to Svein and Torvald, and would not put it past the Viking to do the same to her. And to be stripped to the waist, her slender back laid bare, would put a sudden end to her disguise as a boy. Nay, better to let the Viking think he has won this battle, she thought. Dropping her head against Hakon's back, she sighed in resignation.

  "I will let you down on one condition, Garric," Hakon said firmly. "You will obey my orders henceforth without question. Is that understood?"

  "Aye, my lord," Gwendolyn lied, gritting her teeth. And may you live to rue this day, Viking, she thought bitterly.

  "I will hold you to your word, lad, so do not force me to deal harshly with you," Hakon said grimly. "Many slaves have died for less offense than attacking their master." Setting her feet down upon the ground, he towered over her. "Come, we will sleep on the ship. I doubt Einar and my men have yet had their fill of ale and women this night."

  Startled by his words, Gwendolyn felt a great sense of relief. So, her effort had not been in vain. At least this night Anora would be spared a rape.

  Following quickly behind Hakon as he strode along the path toward the shore, Gwendolyn looked up at the stars. Aye, she and Anora would have their chance for escape, she vowed silently. They would simply have to wait until the time was right . . .

  Chapter 15

  "'Tis time to wake, lad," Hakon said. He nudged Gwendolyn's shoulder with the toe of his leather boot. Yawning sleepily, she merely turned over onto her side and snuggled deeper into the warm fur. "Very well, then," he muttered, "if that is the way you will have it." He reached down and grabbed the ends of her pallet with both hands. Then, with a sharp tug, he pulled it out from under her. Gwendolyn went rolling across the deck, stopping only after she'd tumbled into a nearby rowing bench.

  "Oh!" she groaned, flat on her back, her eyes wide open now. She stared blankly into the early morning sky, just beginning to lighten in faint hues of pink and lavender. Stunned, for a moment she could not remember where she was. But Hakon's hearty laugh behind her was all it took to jog her memory. She propped herself up on one elbow and ran her fingers through her short curls.

  "A good morning to you, Garric!" Hakon chuckled, his eyes alight with mirth. Holding out his hand, he bent down to help her to her feet.

  "Hardly a good morning," Gwendolyn replied heatedly, ignoring his proffered hand. She rose shakily to her feet and eyed him warily.

  "Forgive my rude method of waking you, Garric," he said somewhat apologetically, chiding himself for perhaps being a bit rough on the lad. "But if I had not done so, you would have slept 'til noon." He shrugged. Thor, but this lad was a delicate one, he thought, noting the swelling on Gwendolyn's lower lip. "Here, let me look at that," he said, with some measure of concern.

  But Gwendolyn jerked away from his hand. "'Tis naught," she muttered resentfully. She stepped back a few paces from him and furtively touched her lip. She winced, her expression betraying her pain.

  "Well, then, at least have some bread," Hakon offered, not unkindly. He reached into a cloth bag and pulled out a dark, crusty loaf. Tearing off a large hunk, he handed it to her. "You will have to put some meat and muscle on those bones, Garric, else you will be of little use to me. I need strong workers, and it looks to me as if you have spent your life in book-learning and the like."

  His observation caused Gwendolyn to bristle angrily. Better to let him know what she was capable of than to have him think she was weak and useless! "I can wield a weapon as well as any of your men, Viking, though perhaps not quite as large as your sword," she retorted hotly. "And I have killed many a wild boar with bow and arrow —while riding a horse at full gallop!"

  Hakon stared in amazement at Gwendolyn for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed, a full, rich sound that echoed about the ship. By the blood of Odin, he had never seen such brazenness in a lad before! What a boast! 'Twas as if, despite his small size, Garric thought he could prevail over the mightiest of warriors without any fear of death or defeat.

  Perhaps I have underestimated this smooth faced boy, Hakon mused, rubbing his chin. He decided he would have to watch him even more carefully from now on, or run the risk of taking a sword blow in the back when he wasn't looking!

  Gwendolyn watched the play of emotions across the bronzed planes of the Viking's face. So, he laughs at me, she thought irritably, her ire rising again. Biting into the coarse bread, she chewed angrily, nearly choking as she tried to swallow.

  "Slow down, lad," Hakon muttered, slapping her hard in the middle of her back. Gwendolyn fell forward from the force of his blow, losing her balance. She put out her hands to cushion her fall, yet she landed hard against the side of the ship.

  "What are you trying to do, Viking, kill me before we even reach your homeland?" she sputtered indignantly. "What use will I be to you then?"

  But Hakon was given no chance to reply, for suddenly two large hands appeared at the railing. Grunting, Egil heaved himself up and over the side of the ship.

  "Lord Hakon, the boy . . . he has disappeared!" Egil blurted anxiously. He leaned against the railing as he tried to catch his breath. "He must have run from the hall during the night. I . . . uh . . . I only turned my back for a short while . . . uh, the wench . . ." he faltered, his voice dying away. He looked down at his feet, red-faced. Loki take him for a fool, he berated himself. He would probably be lashed for this offense!

  "He is here with me, man," Hakon said. He gestured toward Gwendolyn, who was still sprawled out awkwardly on the deck.

  "Damned Viking," she muttered fiercely under her breath. She reached up and grabbed the railing, then struggled to her feet.

  Hakon tried to suppress a grin at the comical sight she made, but he could not. He turned back to Egil. "I found the lad near Einar's longhouse last night, on his way to rescue his sister, no doubt." Sensing the oarsman's discomfort at having failed in his orders to watch Garric, he added, "'Tis only an island, Egil. We would have found them had they strayed too far."

  Egil looked up, astonished by his good fortune. His broad shoulders slumped with relief. Yea, Lord Hakon could be a hard man, he thought, and sometimes quick to anger, but let no one say he was not fair.

  "I trust the wench was well worth the tumble?" Hakon asked, smiling broadly.

  "Yea, my lord, indeed she was!" Egil laughed lustily. "And I've the scratches to prove it!"

  "Good." Hakon chuckled. "I only hope the others fared as well." But he sobered as his thoughts turned abruptly to the matter at hand. "Return to the hall and rouse the men, Egil. We must sail within the hour or risk losing the tide."

  Egil nodded, then scrambled over the side of the ship and waded back to shore.

  Hakon glanced at Gwendolyn. His tone was stern, forbidding. "You will stay aboard the ship while I bid farewell to my cousin and fetch your sister. Is that understood?" His startling blue eyes, like the color of a cloudless, midsummer sky, seemed to burn right through her, daring any thought of resistance.

  "Aye, my lord," she mumbled grudgingly, watching him as he walked over to the side of the ship.

  "And while I am gone, stay away from those two," he cautioned sharply, just before jumping from the railing to the shallow water below.

  Gwendolyn's emerald eyes narrowed as she looked over at Svein and Torvald, chained by their hands and feet to the rowing benches. Torvald was still fast asleep, slumped against the side of the ship and snoring loudly. But Svein was awake, his pale eyes staring viciously at her. Naked from the waist up, his back was crisscrossed with angry red stripes and oozing welts from the lash. He and Torvald had been forced to row along with the others, despite their festering wounds.

  Seating herself on a nearby bench, Gwendolyn hugged her legs to her body and rested her chin on her knees. She could only hope that Hakon and his men would not be gone for long. She didn't like the idea of being alone on the ship with those two curs
. She took a deep breath of the salty sea air and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the waves as they crashed onto the shore.

  Her stomach suddenly grumbled angrily, reminding her that she had eaten little since the day before. She reached out and grabbed the loaf of bread lying on top of the cask where Hakon had left it. He must have gone to the cooking house earlier this morning, she thought, while she had been sleeping. Aye, at least she could thank him for that! She ravenously bit into the crusty loaf, savoring the fresh-baked flavor.

  "How about sharin' a bit o' that bread with me, lad?" Svein called out, his forced smile strangely distorted into a grimace by the scar slashing down the left side of his face. He looked at the bread hungrily, licking his parched lips.

  Gwendolyn nearly choked, her throat constricting at the sound of his evil voice. Deep-seated feelings of hate and rage welled up within her. She could barely keep herself from running over and striking the grin from his face. "You must truly be a fool, Viking dog, to think that I would do aught to sustain your miserable life," she snapped, her fists clenched in anger.

  Enraged by Gwendolyn's reply, Svein's face turned a livid purple. He jerked up from his bench, furiously tugging at the chains binding him. "Do na' think I am done with you yet, lad!" he screamed, thrashing madly. "Nor with your fine sister! If you think Lord Hakon will be able to protect you from me, think again. I swear by the blood of Odin I will have my revenge!"

  Awakened by the loud commotion, Torvald gaped at his raving companion. "Svein, do you want to bring Lord Hakon down upon us again?" he questioned worriedly. His back ached from the earlier lashing, and he did not want to suffer another one.

  But Svein ignored Torvald and continued his taunts. His pale eyes glittered wildly as he lowered his voice to a raspy whisper. "I have tasted your sister's lips once, lad, like honey they were, and I have na' forgotten the feel of her breasts or the heat of her body as she writhed beneath me. Do na' think I will rest 'til she is mine again!"

  Sickened with revulsion by his words, Gwendolyn had only one thought. She would silence the bastard, once and for all. Her eyes fell on a sword lying under a rowing bench. With grim purpose she walked over and picked up the heavy weapon, testing it in her hand. It was larger than anything she had wielded before, but she had no doubt it would serve her well. She turned on her heel and strode across the deck toward Svein, holding the sword in a firm hand.

  "Put the weapon down, Garric." Hakon's voice was firm as he quickly hoisted himself over the railing near the bow of the ship. Halfway to Einar's hall, he had realized the folly of leaving the lad alone with Svein and Torvald. Sending two of the men he had met along the path to collect Anora, he had run swiftly back to the ship, hoping he would not be too late. He knew any amount of goading on Svein's part would surely force Garric to take some action. The lad's hate ran too deep for it to be otherwise. "Garric, do not be a fool. Put down your weapon," he muttered once again, slowly walking toward Gwendolyn.

  But Hakon's words seemed to have no effect on her. She scarcely blinked at his voice. Her eyes were cold, ruthless, as she stared at Svein with deadly intent. Grasping the hilt of the sword with both hands, she lifted it high into the air. So, this is what it is like to kill a man, she thought fleetingly, surprised at her lack of feeling. It mattered naught to her that he was chained and defenseless.

  Svein cringed before her, his mouth gaping in disbelief. His eyes darted pleadingly from the sword above his head to Hakon, then back again. Odin, help me, he prayed wildly, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold morning air.

  Hakon waited no longer for a response to his command. Moving silently behind Gwendolyn, he grabbed the blade end of the sword. The sharpened metal cut into the palm of his hand, stinging painfully, yet he did not let go. Twisting the sword easily from her grasp, he threw it on the deck, then angrily grabbed her by the shoulders.

  "You are proving more trouble than you are worth, Garric," he said angrily. Reaching for some rope atop a nearby cask, he yanked her arms roughly behind her back and deftly tied her wrists together. Gwendolyn did not resist. Her eyes were vacant, and she stared blankly at Hakon; as if in a trance. Her only thought was that she had failed . . . and that Svein still lived.

  Hakon dragged her over to the makeshift tent where Anora had slept and shoved her to the deck. "You have sorely tried my patience this day, Garric," he muttered darkly. "Had your sword found its mark, I would have been forced to kill you. Any slave who takes the life of a freeman—for whatever reason—forfeits his own."

  He kneeled beside her, taking hold of her chin and forcing her to look at him. "I understand your feelings, Garric. I, too, would see him dead. But it cannot be by your hand." Receiving only a sullen glance from her, Hakon hardened his voice. "You are valued property to me, and I want you alive. 'Tis not my wish to bind you, but as you cannot be trusted, you will remain so 'til we reach Norge."

  He rose to his feet, wiping his bloodied hand on his tunic.

  Striding across the deck toward Svein, he could almost feel the lad's defiant eyes piercing his back like poisoned arrows. Yea, 'twas true he wanted Garric alive, but for another reason as well. Should anything happen to him, Hakon thought grimly, any hopes he might have of winning Anora's favor would be dashed forever. He did not want to see the same hate reflected in her eyes that he had seen in Garric's from the moment he had found them on his ship. 'Twas strange, he mused. He had never before cared so much what a wench thought of him . . . until now.

  Svein's sneering voice broke rudely into his thoughts. "My thanks to you, Lord Hakon. 'Tis the second time that cursed Anglo-Saxon has raised a weapon to me. Perhaps it would be better to throw him over the side and be done with him."

  The blow came so suddenly and with such lightning speed that Svein hardly knew what hit him. Knocked to the deck, he felt as if his jaw had become unhinged from his skull. He spat out several teeth into his hand, then looked up incredulously. Hakon towered above him.

  "Say another word to the lad . . . or the wench . . . and you will lose your tongue." With that, Hakon strode to the railing as his men began climbing aboard the ship. Though some of them staggered unsteadily, and all were bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, they quickly took their places at the rowing benches.

  "Hail, Hakon! Reach over and lend your cousin a hand!"

  Hakon could not help but laugh as he leaned over the side of the ship and grabbed Einar's thick forearms. Grunting with exertion, he pulled his cousin aboard, while several men heaved him up on their shoulders from below.

  "Whoa! My boy, it seems I am growing too old for this." Einar wheezed breathlessly once he stood on the deck. "Or else the ale has grown more potent!"

  "Nay, Einar, you are as fit as ever," Hakon reassured his grizzled cousin. "'Tis the ale, I am sure." But truly, he thought to himself, he does look the worse for the past evening's festivities. He shook his head, chuckling.

  Einar looked curiously about the ship. His eyes widened as he spied Svein lying in a crumpled heap on the deck. "I thought 'twas you walking toward my hall a short while ago. Then all of a sudden you turned and ran back to the ship. Is aught amiss, my boy?"

  "Nay, cousin. Whatever trouble there was has been dealt with," Hakon replied evenly.

  "So I see. Well, no doubt he deserved it, eh, Hakon?" He laughed, then shrugged his great shoulders. "Ah, here is the wench. Thor's hammer! If I was a younger man, I might feel the need to fight you for this beauty, my boy!"

  Hakon leaned over the side once again as one of his crewmen lifted Anora into his waiting arms. "I see the rest has done you some good, little one," he murmured, noting the clearness of her emerald eyes and the rosy color of her cheeks. But she turned her head away and would not look at him.

  Distressed at her lack of response, though he tried hard not to show it, Hakon hugged her against his broad chest and carried her over to the tent. He could see that she had bathed, though she still wore the same torn clothing. Her long, silver-blond hair was damp an
d freshly combed, the fresh, clean scent of her skin enveloping his senses. He set her down gently, but she stepped abruptly away from him. She gasped with alarm at the sight of Gwendolyn's arms bound tightly behind her back, then looked up at him, her eyes full of questions.

  "Garric's hands must remain tied for the rest of the journey, if only for his own protection," Hakon muttered tersely. He angrily turned his back to them as Anora threw her arms around Gwendolyn's neck. Thor! The wench made him feel as if he should doubt his own orders!

  Einar laughed out loud at the dark scowl on Hakon's face. Yea, his young cousin had indeed been smitten by the Anglo-Saxon wench! Slapping him heartily on the back, he had to admit that he did not envy Hakon. Women were such trouble. His three wives were proof enough of that!

  "Well, my boy, I had your men bring aboard a good supply of ale that should last you through the voyage, along with some salted meat and goat cheese," Einar said loudly. Not one for good-byes, he enveloped Hakon in a massive embrace, then was over the side of the ship and wading back to shore before his cousin had uttered a word. "May the gods protect you during your journey!" he called out, his hand cupped to his mouth. "And remember!" he shouted at the top of his lungs as the longship pulled away from the shoreline. "Send word if you need me! 'Twould be an honor to send that bastard Rhoar to his grave!"

  Hakon waved his arm in a final salute, then turned back to his crewmen. The sun, a great glowing ball of orange, was already well above the horizon. "Hoist the sail!" he shouted with exhilaration. Though he would miss Einar, he was glad to be under way again.

  Raised on a yard nearly forty feet long, the great sail flapped and crackled as it billowed out with the gusting wind. Breathing a silent prayer to Odin for a safe, swift journey, Hakon turned his eyes to the north.

  Chapter 16

  Gwendolyn leaned on her oar for a moment and wiped her face with the sleeve of her light woolen shirt. God's blood, she was sore! Her slender back ached miserably, and the palms of her hands were blistered and raw. She stood up from the bench and stretched her arms wide above her head.