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Twin Passions(10)

By:Miriam Minger


Pocketing the key, Gwendolyn stood up and brushed the dirt from her trousers. "We will have to run to the trees," she whispered.

Anora nodded. She took her sister's hand and with the other held up her long tunic and mantle. She felt like giggling as they sprinted across the barren field, knowing how ridiculous she must look with her cloak flying in the wind.

"We did it!" Gwendolyn laughed excitedly when they reached the cover of the trees. She leaned on a gnarled oak while she caught her breath.

"Aye, just like always," Anora agreed happily. It did feel wonderful to be out in the woods, she thought, breathing in the brisk morning air. Reflecting on the many times she and Gwendolyn had managed to sneak away in the past, she was amazed they had never been caught.

Only their father and a few trusted servants were to have known about the secret door. But Gwendolyn had found the door years ago while playing in the cellar, and before long had learned where her father kept the key. Sneaking out of the stronghold and visiting the grotto had been the sisters' private game all these years, and it had never lost its thrill or sense of intrigue. Yet this morning Anora felt a bittersweet ache, knowing that this would be their last visit to the grotto for a long time.

Sensing Anora's thoughts, Gwendolyn suddenly grabbed her sister's hands and whirled her about in a circle until they were both laughing so hard they tumbled to the cold ground, exhausted. "There shall . . . be no more sad . . . thoughts today," she panted, smiling broadly. "Agreed?"

"Very . . . well, Gwendolyn." Anora gasped, trying to catch her breath. She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. "Do you think we should be on our way?"

"Aye, Anora, always the practical one," agreed Gwendolyn. She stood up and helped her sister to her feet. She could see that the shadows in the forest were fast receding with the first tentative rays of light peeking above the horizon. "We will have to hurry if we want to see the sunrise from the grotto," she said over her shoulder as she set off through the dense trees along an almost hidden path.

Scrambling to keep up with Gwendolyn, Anora held her tunic and mantle above her knees to keep them from snagging in the brambles that choked the path.

Fallen leaves and broken twigs crackled under their feet as they made their way in companionable silence through the woods. An owl, hooting its final night cry in the distance, was echoed by the melodies of mourning doves and tiny sparrows. A light layer of frost had fallen during the night, blanketing the forest in a pearly sheen of white.

Anora hugged her fur cloak tightly about her, grateful for its warmth and protection. Rubbing her cheek against the softness of the fur-lined hood, she smiled. Wulfgar had given her the luxurious cloak shortly after their first meeting. She remembered how he had wrapped it about her shoulders, gently, yet possessively. She had felt too shy to look up at him, so he had lifted her chin to meet his gaze. She would never forget the searing intensity of his blue eyes, and her whispered name upon his lips . . .

She leaned against a tree for a moment and closed her eyes. The memory was alive and vibrant, as if it had been only yesterday. Suddenly she heard her name shouted aloud, breaking rudely into her thoughts. Her eyes flew open to find Gwendolyn looking at her quizzically.

"I said, we are almost to the stream bed," Gwendolyn repeated impatiently, shaking her head. Not hearing Anora's footsteps behind her, she had turned around to find her sister resting against a tree, her eyes closed dreamily, a secretive smile upon her lips. God's blood! She thinks of him all the time! Men!



Giggling sheepishly, Anora ran toward Gwendolyn and took her hand. "Come on!" She laughed, a flash of apology in her eyes. They dashed together down a steep hill, their gay laughter echoing in the narrow ravine.

At the foot of the hill, a clear stream surged through the ravine on its way to the river. Gwendolyn once again took the lead as they walked along the stream's grassy banks. The grotto lay just ahead, hidden beneath a large outcropping of rock.

Gwendolyn finally spied their secret hideaway from the bend in the stream. She whooped with delight and stepped eagerly across a natural bridge of jagged rocks that stretched across the stream bed.

"Gwendolyn, please wait!" Anora had tried to follow her, only to find herself balanced precariously on a large rock in the middle of the stream. She looked dubiously at her sister. This was the only part of their adventure she disliked. The rushing waters of the stream never failed to make her feel nervous and unsure of herself. She did not move until Gwendolyn stepped back out onto the rocks and grabbed her outstretched hand, guiding her safely to the far bank.

Hollowed out years ago by an ancient river, the grotto was set into the side of the ravine a short distance from the stream. A pool of tranquil water, glistening with the first early rays of sunlight, rested at the mouth of the grotto. A soft haze hung over the pool, lending an almost ethereal air to the quiet scene.

Gwendolyn stretched out on one of the flat rocks that surrounded the pool, breathing a sigh of contentment. Anora unfastened her cloak and spread it across her favorite rock, then knelt down along the edge. Flushed and warm from the exertion of their walk, she cupped her hand and took a drink of icy-cold water, then delicately splashed some on her face. Refreshed, she settled comfortably onto the rock and gazed about her.

"I will miss this place," she murmured softly, a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Aye, it will not be the same without you," Gwendolyn agreed, sighing. Turning over onto her side, she propped her head on her hand. The early morning sun felt warm upon her face, and she squinted against its brightness. The sky was gradually lightening to a vivid blue as the sun inched higher above the horizon.

Trailing her hand in the water, Anora watched the gentle ripples float on the surface of the pool in ever-widening circles. The stillness of the grotto was like a calming herb, lulling her into a strange sense of detachment. Childhood memories came flooding back to her, and she recalled the many happy hours spent with Gwendolyn in this mystical place. Suddenly she laughed.

"Do you remember the time you tried to spear that huge fish with your hunting knife, and you fell headlong into the pool?" Anora asked, her eyes sparkling with mirth as she recalled the image of a very wet and bedraggled Gwendolyn sputtering indignantly in water up to her waist.

"Not without a helpful shove from you!" Gwendolyn countered, laughing. Stretching languidly on the rock, she leaned over the edge and gazed at her reflection in the pool. Hesitantly, she touched her lips, and the image staring at her from the water mirrored the movement. "Anora," she asked softly, "does a man's kiss burn like fire . . . or ice?"

Blushing, Anora looked incredulously at Gwendolyn.

"'Tis a strange question you ask, Gwendolyn! You have never been one to concern yourself with the ways of men . . . I mean, in other pursuits besides hunting or riding . . . with women, that is . . ." she stammered, her voice trailing off as she stared at her sister.

"Leah once told me that if a man's kiss burns like fire, his love will be true, but if his kiss burns like ice . . ." —she paused, a faraway look in her emerald eyes— ". . . his love will bring pain and ruin." She looked up and gazed searchingly at Anora. "Last night, was Wulfgar's kiss like fire?"

Anora shivered suddenly. She had never liked Leah's superstitious notions. "Aye," she answered softly, drawing her knees up to her chin.

"'Twas as I thought," Gwendolyn replied. She tugged absently at a tuft of dried grass sticking up between the rocks. Lost in their own thoughts, neither spoke for several moments.

Anora finally broke the melancholy silence, understanding in her voice. "One day, Gwendolyn, you will know such a kiss." She reached out and squeezed her sister's hand.

"Perhaps," Gwendolyn said faintly, looking away. Suddenly she whispered, "Look, over there!"

A young doe stepped silently from the cover of the trees and walked toward the far side of the pool. Stopping to sniff the air, the beautiful animal stood motionless for a moment, its soft, brown eyes watchful and alert.

Gwendolyn and Anora gazed at the doe in awed silence, scarcely breathing, as the graceful creature bent its head to drink. Its pink tongue scarcely disturbed the surface of the pool. Several times the doe lifted its head and looked about cautiously, then quickly took another drink.

Suddenly a loud, crackling sound, like the snapping of a tree branch, startled the animal. It froze momentarily, its nostrils flared and muscles twitching. Then, with a bound, the doe disappeared into the dense trees.

"Gwendolyn, what was that?" Anora asked fearfully, looking beyond the pool into the forest.

"Shh!" Gwendolyn whispered, holding her finger to her lips. She rose to her feet. Listening for any sounds, her hand went to the hilt of her hunting knife, strapped to her waist. "We must get back to the stronghold!" she hissed urgently.

Anora stood and hastily wrapped her cloak about her shoulders. She had no reason to doubt Gwendolyn's instincts, honed as they were by years of hunting and training with their father.

They left the shelter of the grotto and quickly ran to the stream. Gwendolyn stepped gingerly over the rocks to the other bank, then turned and beckoned to Anora. "Come on!" she urged, looking about them.