She sighed raggedly. Why was she being tormented by such thoughts? She cared naught if the Viking had any affection for her! Glancing furtively behind her at the sheets on the bed, she was relieved to see that the stained ones were gone, replaced by fresh linen. She lay down, pulling her fur cloak about her, and closed her eyes.
Berta entered the room a short while later, only to find Gwendolyn fast asleep. Ah, well, 'tis probably best, she thought. At least the lass will be well rested for the morrow. She set the tray of food on the table near the bed, then lit the bronze brazier in the corner to lend some warmth to the room. With a last backward glance over her shoulder, she shut the door quietly behind her.
Chapter 25
It was almost dusk several days later when Hakon and his men finally returned to the settlement. The flashing hooves of their horses thundered upon the hard, snow-covered ground as they rode into the stable yard.
"Garric!" Hakon shouted. He threw his long leg over the side of his saddle and dismounted. "Garric!"
Starting at the sound of his voice, Anora dropped the chunk of bread she had been eating, the last remnant of her evening meal. Several stray chickens immediately set upon it, but she had no time to kick them away. She quickly pulled a woolen cap over her head, her fingers shaking nervously, and hastened out the door of the stable. She almost could not swallow the bite she still had in her mouth, her throat was so constricted in fear.
"Ah, there you are, lad," Hakon said good-naturedly. He handed her the reins to his stallion, his eyes flicking over her. Garric seemed strangely ill at ease this day, almost cowering in his presence. He shrugged. Perhaps the lad was still suffering from the lash, he thought, though he surmised it was probably more a case of hurt pride than anything else. "See that he is rubbed down well, and given an extra measure of oats," he stated. Then he turned on his heel and began to walk down the hill.
"Aye, my lord," Anora murmured softly, barely loud enough for him to hear.
Startled, Hakon stopped in his tracks and wheeled around. "What? No retorts for me this day, Garric?" But Anora seemed not to hear him as she led the spirited stallion into the stable. Her mind was on the instructions Gwendolyn had given her. She guided the horse into its stall, then gently patted the velvety softness of its nose. The horse snorted loudly, then crunched contentedly on the dried apples she pulled from her pocket and held out to him. This might not be so bad after all, she thought, relieved.
Hakon shrugged again. As he walked hurriedly down the path to his hall, he chuckled to himself. Perhaps Garric's defiant spirit has been tamed at last, though Hakon was not ready by any means to let down his guard just yet. The lad might still be plotting a rebellion against him.
"Lord Hakon!" Berta cried out, her short legs carrying her up the hill from the cooking house. She met him at the entrance to his hall, her great breasts heaving with exertion beneath her woolen shawl. "Welcome . . . back, my lord." She panted, trying to catch her breath. A pleased grin lit her broad face.
"Thank you, Berta," Hakon replied warmly. "I fear the council meeting kept me longer at my uncle's than I had intended. Has all gone smoothly during my absence?"
"Oh, yea, my lord!" she answered happily. "Anora has taken very well to her new duties, though at first I must say she seemed a bit surprised at her good fortune. Already she has been seeing to the preparations for the Yuletide feast—with my help, of course."
Hakon smiled. "I appreciate your efforts, Berta. But now, my only wish is for a hot bath. We can talk of these things later."
"Very well, my lord. Shall I summon her to you?"
"She is not in my hall?" he asked, stepping away from the door. "I had thought I would find her there, taking her evening meal."
"Nay, she is still in the weaving house, my lord. She has not taken kindly to the loom, though I have insisted that she spend some time there each day." Berta frowned, shaking her head. Indeed, it had been a struggle to get the wench to pick up a needle. "I have never seen the like before, my lord. The lass is obviously well bred, but she doesn't even know the difference between warp and filling threads!" she exclaimed with obvious exasperation.
Hakon threw back his head and laughed, a hearty, rich sound. "Do not fret, Berta. Give her some time, she will learn." He was striding up the hill before she had a chance to reply. "See that a bath is prepared in the bathing house," he called out over his broad shoulder, "and that there is a vessel of wine placed near the tub with two goblets!"
Berta nodded, then smiled as he walked away. Ah, would that she were a young wench again, when her blood ran hot and she had her pick of lusty, young Viking warriors! She sighed wistfully, then hurried away to do his bidding.
Hakon's heart was pounding in his chest as he reached the weaving house and slowly pushed open the door. Thor, he felt more like a green youth than a man full-grown! During the days at his uncle's settlement he had been busy enough so that he was not tormented by thoughts of Anora, but during the nights . . . yea, that had been different. She had come to him in his dreams when he had finally been able to sleep, taunting him with her slender, curved body, always almost in his grasp, but then suddenly disappearing like a wisp of smoke.
He stepped inside the door, his eyes searching for her. Many women were still working busily at their looms, both slaves and wives of his men alike, their happy chatter echoing about the large room. But they fell silent when they saw Hakon standing at the threshold—all save for one.
"God's blood!" Gwendolyn cried out, her finger catching on a sharp hook holding the threads to the loom. She brought her pierced finger to her mouth, her eyes suddenly meeting Hakon's as he gazed heatedly at her from across the room. She gasped in surprise.
Hakon strode quickly to her side and took her hand in his. He raised the injured finger to his lips and kissed it gently. "Come with me," he murmured, his voice low.
Gwendolyn shivered, the touch of his hand sending strange tremors of excitement through her body that, try as she might, she could not suppress. She rose to her feet and followed closely behind him. The envious stares of some of the women were burning into her, but for some odd reason she did not seem to care.
"Where is your cloak?" he asked softly. She pointed to where it hung near the door. He pulled it off the hook and wrapped it about her shoulders, then held her against his side as they walked from the weaving house. Once outside the door, Hakon gathered her into his arms and crushed her to him. He seized her lips with his own, trying to slake the desperate, aching thirst for her that had built up inside him.
Gwendolyn had rehearsed this moment so many times in her mind over the past few days—how, when he returned, she would meet his gaze with defiance, how she would hold herself rigidly in his arms, angering him by her lack of response to his kiss —but now that he was there, holding her against his powerful body, the male scent of him enveloping her senses, she felt her firm resolve to defy him melt within her. With his lips, warm and possessive, upon hers, she no longer understood her feelings. Everything was jumbled in her mind. It was as if her will was no longer her own.
Releasing her at last, Hakon held her hand while he led her along the path to the bathing house. He ignored all the curious glances cast their way by his men, though he returned Olav's grin from across the way where he was talking with Berta.
Gwendolyn blushed when she realized where Hakon was taking her. What could he be thinking? Did he perhaps want her to bathe him? Surprisingly, the thought gave her an undeniable rush of pleasure.
As Hakon opened the door, warm steam rushed out of the small stone building, melding with the brisk air in dense clouds of white vapor. Once inside, he shut the door firmly behind them and bolted it. "So we will not be disturbed," he murmured, drawing her into the small anteroom, where there were two benches lining the walls. Without hesitation he began to strip off his clothing.
Gwendolyn's first instinct was to look away, but she could not, her eyes widening as his muscular form was revealed to her. She drank in the
sight of his powerful body, slender where it should be slender, and broad where it should be broad, from his head to his feet a perfectly beautiful man. Shocked by her bold thoughts, she closed her eyes, trying to regain a shred of her resolve to hate him. Suddenly she heard a loud splash.
Her emerald eyes flew open. Hakon had stepped into the huge tub in the center of the room and had sat down, the steaming water rising to the middle of his bronzed chest. He reached over the rim to a small table set nearby and poured a red, clear liquid from a pottery vessel into two silver goblets. He brought one of the goblets to his lips and took a long draft, though his eyes never left hers.
"Shall you disrobe, my lady, or will I have the honor?" he asked, smiling rakishly. Gwendolyn looked at him incredulously, hesitating a moment too long. In a flash Hakon set down his goblet and was out of the tub, his bronzed body glistening with tiny droplets of water. He whirled the fur cloak from her shoulders and tossed it onto one of the benches, then picked her up in his arms and carried her over to the tub. He stepped over the rim, then slid into the steaming water with her, a wicked gleam in his eye.
"B-but the clothes . . . they are silk, my lord!" Gwendolyn blurted, the soaked garments molding to her body like a second skin.
"'Tis no matter, little one," he replied huskily, his blue eyes raking the curved outline of her breasts, her raised nipples tantalizingly taut against the wet fabric. "I have bolts of silk enough in my storerooms to make you a thousand more just like them." He pulled her to him, holding her tightly against his broad chest. His lips, warm and sensuous, kissed her eyelids, her white throat, her lush mouth.
Gwendolyn could taste the wine on his lips, sweet and fragrant. Hakon suddenly drew away from her, reaching for one of the silver goblets. "'Tis Frankish wine from my last trading voyage," he said, offering it to her. She took the goblet from him and drank deeply, savoring the heady liquid. She had never tasted anything so wonderful. She licked her lips, reddened from the wine, then drained the goblet. A delicious sensation of warmth coursed through her body, easing whatever tensions she still possessed.
Hakon took the goblet from her and set it on the table. He then unfastened the brooches holding up the straps of her tunic and dropped them over the side of the tub to the wooden floor. His hands roamed over her at will, stroking, caressing, as he eased the wet fabric from her body, until only her thin chemise remained.
Gwendolyn sighed with pleasure. Everything felt so delightfully warm to her—the steaming bath, the red wine coursing through her blood, Hakon's breath against her throat. She moaned softly as he nibbled at a tender earlobe, sending piercing shivers of passion through her body, while his strong fingers teased between the softness of her thighs.
Suddenly he lifted her and drew the clinging garment up above her hips, then set her down ever so slowly upon his lap.
Gwendolyn's eyes widened in surprise as she felt Hakon enter her, impaling her, yet ever so gently, on his erect shaft. But he did not begin to move within her. Instead, he drew the wet silk of the chemise over her head, his warm mouth capturing a rose-tipped breast as her arms were stretched high above her. He lingered there, suckling, nipping her playfully until she moaned in ecstasy. At last he freed her arms and flung the garment aside.
Hakon moved slightly away from the side of the tub, wrapping Gwendolyn's slender legs about his waist, his large hands grasping her hips. He nuzzled her firm breasts, but he remained still within her. His patience was soon rewarded as she began to move instinctively against him, slowly at first, but then faster and faster.
Gwendolyn felt as if she were on fire. An intense need was burning within her, surging, all-consuming, driving her onward to completion. Hakon's lips captured hers, and she met him passionately, measure for measure, with a raging abandon that both awed and delighted him. He could no longer remain still within her, as she demanded from him everything he had to give.
Matching her movements with his own, they strove together to that highest point, until at the moment of her greatest pleasure Gwendolyn arched her back and cried out, her nails raking his broad, muscled back. Hakon pulled her to him as he shuddered deep within her, his loins surging powerfully from the blazing heat of their passion.
They held each other for a long while, the small room quiet but for the sound of their breathing and the lapping of the water against the sides of the wooden tub. Hakon leaned back, his hand caressing Gwendolyn's damp curls as she lay with her head resting on his wide shoulder. "We have yet to bathe, my lady," he teased softly, relishing the thought of the lovemaking that would carry them through the night.
Aye, Gwendolyn smiled faintly, they had yet to bathe.
Chapter 26
Under Berta's watchful eye, Gwendolyn straightened the linen tablecloth on the wide table set before the high seat.
"Nay, lass, 'tis done like so," Berta said patiently, running her hand over the cloth until it lay perfectly flat against the surface of the table. "There, now," she muttered, a pleased look on her face. She looked up just as Gwendolyn plopped herself on one of the ornately carved chairs next to the high seat, her slim arms hanging limply over the sides.
"I am exhausted, Berta," she murmured, closing her eyes. Truly, she didn't think she had ever felt more tired. She had been up since the first light of dawn, assisting with the final preparations for the Yuletide feast that would be held in the great hall that evening.
Berta nodded her head in agreement. Yea, the lass had done more than her fair share during these last two weeks to help prepare for the celebration of the winter solstice. And, she chuckled, one also had to take into account the pleasurable demands placed upon her by Hakon Jarl!
"Very well, Anora," she said kindly, for truly she had grown quite fond of the lass. She may have caused her a bit of trouble at the start, Berta thought, but she had more than made up for that in her eagerness to learn everything she could about running the household. "Rest here for a moment, whilst I have a bath sent over to Lord Hakon's hall for you."
"My thanks, Berta," Gwendolyn replied, opening her eyes as the older woman bustled away. She looked about the great hall. Aye, everything was in order, she thought, noting the beautifully embroidered linen cloths that graced the tables, the thin wafer-like wheat breads set at every place that would serve as plates, and the sacred banqueting table in the very center of the hall, upon which sat an enormous caldron that would be filled later with foaming mead. Why, there was even a special table prepared for the dead. Berta had told her that on this night Hakon's ancestors would be honored, their great deeds recited and sung in poetic verse by the skalds.
She had learned that to the Vikings, the Yuletide feast of midwinter was one of the most important celebrations of the year. There would be many invited guests at the settlement this night, some traveling from quite a distance. As Jarl of the region, Hakon was expected to present an elaborate table for his guests, as testimony to his great wealth and power. No doubt at this very moment he was probably overseeing the slaughter of the Yule boar, the traditional meal for such an occasion, which would then be roasted to perfection in a large outdoor pit near the cooking house.
Gwendolyn sighed shakily. Why was it that whenever she thought of Hakon she felt a strange stirring sensation deep within her? This feeling constantly plagued her, tearing at her defenses, giving her no peace during those times when she was away from him. And then when she was with him, his strong arms wrapped about her, it was almost like a sharp, physical pain, a longing so intense that it would overwhelm her completely.
She shook her head fiercely, trying to dispel the image of him from her mind, but she could not. In utter frustration she pounded the wooden arm of the chair with her fist, but that did little more than to hurt her hand. Damn the Viking and his hold over her! she cursed vehemently under her breath. These feelings disturbed her greatly, for they were at cross purposes with her sworn intent to hate him . . . and to one day escape from him. Yet now it seemed that not only her body, but her heart as well,
was beginning to betray her. Though she tried to deny it to herself, and to fight against it, she knew that her hate was melting away in the searing heat of the passion they shared.
Gwendolyn could hardly believe that this change in her feelings had come about in the two short weeks since Hakon had returned from his uncle's settlement. The time had passed so quickly.
During the days she had been busy with Berta, learning the many responsibilities of overseeing Hakon's household. She had also managed to visit Anora often in the stable, but that was becoming increasingly more difficult. She knew she was still being watched, followed everywhere she went by a stern-faced Viking guard. She feared her frequent visits were drawing too much attention to them, perhaps threatening their guise, so she had not been to the stable in several days.
But another reason had kept her away from the stable. She also feared that Anora might perceive the change in her feelings for Hakon and despair of their plans for escape. That fear alone had served to strengthen her resolve to fight the changing tide of her feelings, aye, that and the vivid memory of the vow she had made to Anora the day of their capture.
But it was during the nights —those long, northern nights— that she felt the most threatened by her emotions. Hakon's lovemaking drew from her a wild, passionate abandon she had not known she possessed, leaving her shaken from its intensity. Then afterward, cradling her in his arms, he would tell her stories of his youth, and strange, exciting tales of his travels as a Viking merchant to mysterious, distant lands, until she was lulled to sleep by the rich tones of his deep voice and his gentle caresses. That he would share such personal knowledge with her had taken her by surprise, leading her to wonder about the depths of his own feelings for her.
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