Twin Passions

by Miriam Minger

  Anora was sitting silently upon a stool, her eyes downcast, her face pale and drawn.

  "What is it, lass?" she queried, bustling over to Anora's side and putting a fat arm about her shoulders. Yet she already knew the answer. Her keen eyes noted well the red marks on the young woman's slim, white arms. Yea, 'twill not be long now, she shook her head knowingly, before Lord Hakon will have his way with her.

  "Why don't you go to your room, lass, and lie down for a while?" she said gently. "All is in readiness for the midday meal, and if I need aught else I will get one of the others to help me. Go on with you, now."

  Anora looked up gratefully. "Thank you, Berta," she murmured. Aye, a rest was what she needed, she thought numbly, wrapping her cloak about her once again. It would hasten away the hours 'til it grew dark. Then soon enough she and Gwendolyn would be gone from this cursed place forever.

  Berta shook her head as Anora closed the door behind her. "Someday the lass will surely look back on this and realize her fears were for naught," she muttered under her breath, walking over to the hearth. To her mind, there could be no greater honor than being the concubine of a great chieftain . . . especially one so handsome and powerful as Hakon Jarl!

  Chapter 21

  "If rumors are to be believed, it seems Rhoar Bloodaxe continues to strengthen his forces against you, my lord," Olav said, his voice low. "Perhaps 'twould be best to postpone this meeting of the council across the valley for another time. Even a few days' absence from the settlement could prove too tempting an invitation for that bastard!" Olav leaned forward in his chair, the concern evident on his swarthy face. He took his new role as adviser to Hakon Jarl very seriously, as he had taken his former position as helmsman on his longship. It was his belief that though Rhoar had not attacked the settlement upon Eirik's death, his threat was still very real . . . and possibly imminent. He was merely waiting for the right opportunity.

  Hakon shook his head. "The council meeting at my uncle's settlement will help to solidify my control in that region. It cannot be delayed," he said tersely. He took a long draft of ale from his goblet. "There will be more than enough guards left here to protect the settlement. 'Twould be different if we were to be more than a few hours' ride away, but Rhoar would be a fool to attack while we were only in the next valley . . . and with plenty of reinforcements close at hand."

  Hakon's eyes scanned the great hall, unable to keep his mind on the conversation. By the blood of Odin, where was she? He pushed his plate away, his food barely touched. Settling back in his chair, he toyed absently with the ale in his goblet, swirling the amber liquid around and around. The black scowl deepened on his face, warning those who sat near him that their chieftain was indeed in a foul mood.

  "More ale, my lord?" a buxom serving woman ventured, rubbing her thigh seductively against his knee as she leaned over to refill his goblet.

  "Be gone, wench!" he roared, shattering the brooding silence in the hall. The woman backed away in fear, then hurried away. Hakon caught the furtive glances of his men, who then quickly looked back to their plates of food, and he cursed again. What spell had Anora cast over him? he wondered, his ire rising with each moment she did not enter the hall.

  "Was the food not to your liking, my lord?" Berta asked quietly, removing his plate from the table.

  "Nay, 'twas fine, Berta," Hakon replied, his tone softening as he looked at the rotund woman who had served his family for so many years. "Where is Anora?" he asked, trying to appear nonchalant, though hardly succeeding. "Why is she not here serving with the others?"

  Berta was not fooled by his seeming indifference. He is indeed a proud one, she thought sagely, stifling a smile that would force itself to her lips. His face was inscrutable, yet his eyes bespoke the hold the wench had over him.

  "Anora is resting, my lord," she replied. "She seemed well enough earlier this morning when she took some food to her brother in the stable, but upon her return she was quite overwrought." Her eyes watched the play of emotions across Hakon's face. "From the looks of her, I'd say she had quite a shock."

  Hakon slammed his goblet down upon the table, his blue eyes flaring dangerously. The set of his jaw was grim, determined. "We ride within the half hour," he stated evenly to his men, hiding the anger that raged within him. So, his kiss disturbed her so greatly that she had sought the comfort of her bed! Thor's teeth, but he was a fool! He almost felt like overturning the table, but thought better of it. It would not do for his men to see him behave like a besotted youth whose love had been spurned by the object of his affection. Rising from the high seat, he strode angrily out of the great hall.

  The men at the surrounding tables sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then suddenly the hall was filled with the scraping of benches as they jumped to their feet. Tossing down the ale in their goblets, they hurried out after their chieftain.

  Olav was the only one to rise slowly from his chair. He turned to Berta, who stood by the table. "I have known Hakon for many years, but I have never seen him so taken by any one wench." He sighed. "'Twas your words, woman, that brought on this rage. I know naught of what took place that could explain their meaning, but my warning to you is this: See that the wench is well protected while we are gone. Hakon has laid claim to her, and there would be hell to pay if aught is amiss when we return." With that, he turned and walked out of the hall.

  Berta shook her head slowly. Yea, she would see that Anora moved only from the cooking house to her chamber, and back again. She did not want it upon her head if aught happened to the girl while Lord Hakon was away. She snapped at the servingwomen standing near the door, "Why do you stand there gaping while there is work to be done?"

  The women quickly moved about the hall, picking up the debris from the meal. Berta ambled over to a chair and sat down heavily. So much trouble over one wench, she thought, draining the ale from a half-empty goblet.

  Hakon looked over his shoulder to see his men rushing out of the great hall. Then he turned back around, his voice roaring out loudly as he strode toward the stables. "Garric! Saddle my horse!"

  Gwendolyn jumped up from her pallet, where she had been resting just as he pushed open the door. She backed away slightly, for she could see he was in a black mood.

  "Did you not hear me, lad? Saddle my horse, and be quick about it. The sky is already growing dark," Hakon stated sternly. "I wish for you to accompany me on this journey as well, to care for my stallion, so you had best hurry. I am sure my uncle does not have a groom at his settlement who comes close to your skill with horses."

  Gwendolyn felt a sudden sense of panic at his words, but quickly regained her composure, her mind working fast. She suddenly clutched her stomach, a look of intense pain on her face. "Oh, b-but, my lord," she stammered, "I have b-been lying here on my pallet since this morning. I fear I have t-taken sick . . . probably from that stew Anora brought me this morning." She moaned convincingly, doubling over as if in intense misery.

  Hakon looked at her doubtfully. He could not very well take the lad if he was sick, he decided. Garric would then be more of a hindrance than a help. "Very well, lad. Lie back down on your pallet. I will send the healer to you with some herbs for your stomach." Pulling the saddle from the wall, he strode over to his stallion and hoisted it onto its back. He then tightened the girths beneath the horse's belly, and drew the harness over its proud head.

  Gwendolyn watched from the corner of her eye as Hakon led the high-spirited animal by the reins from its stall. She clutched her stomach again and groaned several times for good measure. Hakon paused for a moment by her pallet, and she looked up at him as he towered above her. "My lord?" she asked weakly.

  Hakon studied her face, a niggling sense of doubt pricking at his mind. The lad was somewhat pale, he admitted, though his groans seemed a bit too convincing. "Egil will remain here to keep an eye on things while I am gone," he warned. "In other words, Garric, do not try anything foolish. I have given him permission to mete out punishment if any is necess
ary." He was answered with a small nod as Gwendolyn rolled over onto her side.

  Aye, that Viking dog Egil would no doubt relish every minute of it if given half the chance, she thought fiercely, watching through half-closed eyes as Hakon led the stallion through the door of the stable. Too bad he would never get the opportunity!

  She lay on the pallet listening to the commotion as the Vikings prepared to ride out of the settlement. She could hear the clanking of swords against wooden shields slung from saddles, and knew that they were well armed. This came as no surprise to her. She had heard all about Rhoar Bloodaxe, Hakon's bastard brother, and his threat of blood vengeance from Ansgar.

  At last came the command she had been waiting for, as Hakon shouted to his men to prepare to ride. Jumping up from her pallet, she flew to the door of the stable and peeked outside. Hakon made a commanding figure astride his mighty stallion, dressed all in black except for the white-blond of his hair. That's how I will remember him, Gwendolyn thought, fully appreciating for the first time his handsome looks. After all, she allowed herself, she was a woman, too!

  The ground thundered from the many flashing hooves as the Vikings rode out of the settlement. Indeed, the hour was growing late. The moon had already risen in the darkening sky to just above the jagged slopes of the mountains towering above the fjord. Gwendolyn could not believe how quickly it grew dark in this northern land. Why, it could not be more than four hours past the noon hour!

  She turned back into the stable. There were just a few things to be done, but she wanted to be ready when Anora came to meet her. She hurried over to a far comer of the stable, shooing away the frightened sheep that got in her way. Kneeling near the wall, she felt around with her hands until she found what she was looking for. A smile lighted her face as she pulled out a narrow-bladed knife from beneath the straw. Anora had stolen it for her one day from the cooking house. It was not nearly as fine as the hunting knife she had lost to Svein, but it was a sorely needed weapon nonetheless.

  Fitting the knife into her belt, she ran over to her pallet and pulled together what little clothing she possessed that was not already on her back. Hakon had given her several woolen tunics in the style of the Vikings, and another pair of loose-fitting breeches. But she still preferred the clothing she had worn on the day of their capture. Pulling her fur-lined jerkin about her, she was ready at last. She sat down on her pallet while she waited for Anora.

  It could not have been more than an hour when she finally heard a small rap at the door of the stable. Gwendolyn hopped up, her heart in her throat. "Anora?"

  "Aye, 'tis me," Anora replied, slipping furtively through the door, her fur cloak swirling about her. She grabbed Gwendolyn's wrist. "I fear someone has followed me," she whispered tremulously, her eyes wide. "Shh! I hear him coming now!"

  "Stand over there, behind the stall!" Gwendolyn hissed. Grabbing a wooden plank nearly as tall as she, she leaned up close against the wall near the door.

  It opened slowly, creaking eerily. A man, his face hidden in the shadows, eased carefully inside. Gwendolyn did not wait to discover who it was. She lifted the plank, then brought it down with all her strength upon the man's head. He fell heavily to his knees, groaning and holding his head. She hit him again. This time he fell forward with a heavy thud.

  "Quick, Anora, you take one leg, I'll take the other!" Gwendolyn whispered. Together they dragged him to the back wall of the stable, though he was a big man and very heavy.

  "'Tis Egil!" Anora cried out softly, as a shaft of moonlight hit the man's face through an opening in the wall. Blood trickled down his forehead, pooling on the ground behind his ear.

  "So, he has finally gotten what he deserves!" Gwendolyn muttered fiercely, covering him up with heaps of straw. She did not feel even a twinge of remorse. "Come on!" Taking Anora by the hand, she dragged her sister across the stable to the entrance, where she gathered up her few belongings. Nudging the door open with her booted toe, she peered outside.

  There were several Viking guards posted down the hill near the great hall, and some were walking about near the docks; otherwise, the settlement appeared quiet. Gwendolyn eased open the door, then looked over her shoulder at Anora. "We will have to run up into the woods behind the stable, then follow along the crest of those hills for a ways," she explained in a whisper. "Ready?"

  Anora nodded, her eyes bright in the moonlight. "I am ready. "

  "Aye, then, to freedom!" Gwendolyn dashed out alongside the stable with Anora close on her heels. Pausing for a moment after they rounded the corner, they broke out in a run up the hill until they reached the cover of the thick trees surrounding the settlement. Anora was hindered somewhat by the skirt of her shift, but she quickly hoisted it above her knees and soon caught up with Gwendolyn. They slowed their pace a bit as they disappeared into the trees, for they knew they could no longer be seen.

  It seemed as if they had been walking for at least an hour when Gwendolyn gestured to Anora to start down the side of the hill. Leaving the cover of the trees, they began the steep descent to the fjord. Gwendolyn could hear the loud roar of the waterfall not far in the distance, and she knew they were almost there. With every step, her heart grew lighter. She could have laughed out loud with joy.

  "Is it much farther, Gwendolyn?" Anora asked, leaning for a moment against a large rock outcropping to catch her breath.

  "Nay," she replied. Then she whispered excitedly "Look, Anora, I can see the boat!"

  Anora's heart leaped in her breast at the sight of the small boat bobbing along the shoreline of the fjord. They quickened their pace, half sliding down the steep slope of the hill that was slippery from the wet snow. Almost to the bottom, Gwendolyn suddenly lost her footing and rolled down the rest of the way.

  "Gwendolyn!" Anora called out sharply, her hand to her throat. Relief surged through her body at the sound of her sister's uproarious giggle.

  "Go on! You should try it, Anora!" Gwendolyn called out softly.

  Though she smiled, Anora shook her head. "I think I would prefer to walk the rest of the way down." When she reached her sister at last, they embraced each other tightly.

  "There it is!" Gwendolyn cried, turning around. The boat was yet a few hundred feet away from them, anchored just off the shoreline. They carefully picked their way in the dark along the rocky beach, for the full moon was now hidden behind a dense bank of clouds.

  Gwendolyn was the first to reach the boat. To her surprise, it was empty. A strange feeling of foreboding settled over her, and she turned and looked about them. It was so dark that she could barely make out the details of the shoreline. Anora reached her side, and her hand clutched Gwendolyn's arm.

  "Where is the merchant?" she asked.

  Gwendolyn could tell her sister was frightened by the tone of her voice. She was, too, but she was loath to admit it.

  "'Tis quite a shame, really, but the merchant decided he had other plans," a low voice growled in the dark.

  Gwendolyn whirled around and pulled her knife from her belt, but she saw no one. She knew that awful voice, God help them, she knew it!

  "Run, Anora, run!" Gwendolyn yelled, giving her sister a shove. Anora began to run back along the shoreline, but her efforts were hampered by the sharp, jagged rocks.

  "The lass is all yours, Torvald!" the evil voice cried. "At least for now!"

  Suddenly Anora felt herself lifted up into the air and hugged tightly against a broad chest. She screamed once, a loud, shrill sound, before a large hand was clapped over her mouth. She struggled futilely in the Viking's huge arms for several moments, then gave up in despair.

  Gwendolyn heard Anora's muffled cries and her heart sank. It was all so horribly familiar. At that moment her knife was suddenly knocked from her hand. It fell clattering to the rocks several feet away, and she knew she would not be able to find it in time.

  "'Twas so good of you to share your plans with us in the marketplace, lad," Svein muttered, stepping out from behind a huge rock. He walked
up to Gwendolyn, a long knife held in his hand. "Of course, it would have meant our deaths to allow Lord Hakon to see us there. So we stood just behind the merchant's stall as you told him your life's story."

  He laughed cruelly. "What good fortune, or should I say strange coincidence? Torvald and I had been at the tradin' settlement only two days, and who should we see? 'Twas then we decided to fetch you for ourselves." He clucked his tongue in mock sympathy. "The good merchant kindly allowed us to borrow his boat. It seems he will na' be needing it any longer!"

  At that moment the moon broke away from the clouds, illuminating Svein's scarred face. He walked toward her menacingly, brandishing the knife. "And do na' think to sway me with talk of your father's gold, lad. 'Tis not gold we want now, but revenge!"

  Gwendolyn had barely heard him, her mind working quickly. But before she could make any move, Svein lunged at her and brought his arm about her neck. She elbowed him fiercely in the ribs, and was rewarded with a sharp slap across the face that knocked her reeling to the ground.

  "Come on, Torvald, let's get them on the boat," Svein ordered gruffly. He bent down and grabbed her by the thick lining of her fur jerkin, pulling her roughly to her feet.

  Nay, she would not give up that easily, she thought desperately, flailing her legs and arms. One of her legs caught him hard in the groin and he doubled over in pain, cursing vehemently. She pulled away from him, free. Catching sight of a glint of steel in the moonlight, she grabbed the long knife from his hand. Without a thought, she plunged it deep into his chest. Svein screamed in agony, trying to cover the wound with his hand, while warm blood spurted between his fingers.

  Gwendolyn quickly ran over to where Torvald stood holding Anora. She knew this huge Viking would be a far more formidable foe. Her fears were confirmed when he dropped Anora to the ground and pulled his broadsword from the scabbard at his belt. Anora tried to crawl away from him on her hands and knees, but he caught her by the hair and dragged her back again, all the while keeping his eyes upon Gwendolyn.