"If you do not let go of my neck, Anora, I may still never see the light of day," Gwendolyn murmured weakly, with a small laugh.
"Oh . . . forgive met" Anora hiccoughed. Relaxing her hold, she removed her arms but stayed close by Gwendolyn's side. "What are we going to do?" she asked miserably, her voice trembling.
"First, tell me what has happened," Gwendolyn replied softly, furtively touching the bump on her forehead. Grimacing in pain, she already knew from the roll and pitch of the floor that they were in a ship of some kind. That certainly did not bode well for their situation!
"Oh, Gwendolyn." Anora sighed raggedly, shuddering. Pouring out the horrible tale was like reliving it, and she alternately found herself weeping or benumbed with shock. Gwendolyn felt a great anger boiling within her at what her sister had suffered. At least she was spared a rape, she thought gratefully, knowing that Anora could never have survived such abuse.
"And Gwendolyn," Anora paused, her voice a whisper, "they think you are my brother!"
Not totally surprised by this revelation, Gwendolyn felt a glimmer of hope suddenly spark within her. She had been mistaken for a lad on other occasions, probably due to her dress and boyish mannerisms. Always seeing it as a lark before, she realized that perhaps this might be the one time when the guise could prove useful to her. How, she did not know, but she felt in time the answer would reveal itself to her.
"Anora, I want you to promise me something," Gwendolyn spoke firmly, despite the awful pounding in her head. "I want you to promise that from now on you will address me, and think of me, only as your brother."
"But, why?"
"Listen to me. Somehow we must find a way to escape, and if one of us is seen as a boy I think it will improve our chances." The more Gwendolyn thought of the idea, the more it made sense to her, yet she had to convince Anora. "You must trust me in this, Anora. If one of us is somewhat less vulnerable . . ." She paused, thinking out loud. "Well . . . I cannot say how it may help, but if you promise me, perhaps I can work out a plan."
Anora had always trusted her sister's judgment, and now she needed to more than ever. But could Gwendolyn carry it off? she wondered frantically. The idea seemed farfetched . . . but if there was even a chance it could help them to escape, certainly it was worth a try. "Aye, Gwendolyn, you have my promise!" she whispered fiercely. "You are now a brother to me!"
"Good! Now, I shall need a boy's name. Let me think. . . Eadric, Gawain, no . . . uh, Garric! Aye, Garric!" she exclaimed softly, remembering the name of the new stableboy.
Caught up in the soaring hope of the moment, Anora suddenly laughed out loud, a joyous sound. Yet, no sooner had the laughter escaped her throat than she regretted it with all her heart. A noise, something like scraping, was heard above their heads. Then the wooden hatch swung open and hit the deck with a thud.
"'Tis Svein, Gwendolyn, come to kill you!" Anora cried out, cringing in fear. If anything happened to her sister, she thought wildly, truly she would want to die herself.
Bright sunshine streamed into the cargo well, blinding them. Loud voices were heard overhead. Then a bearded face peered down at them. Shielding their eyes from the light, Gwendolyn and Anora squinted up at the man as he gaped back at them in total astonishment.
"What is it, Egil?" a deep voice called from beyond the open hatch.
"My lord, it seems we have some unwitting guests aboard!" the man shouted, not taking his eyes from the two huddled near a fresh-water cask. Thor! The wench is a pretty piece! he thought admiringly. But how did they come to be in the cargo well? Shaking his head, he knew the future did not bode well for some foolish man on the ship. Thanking the gods he had no hand in the matter, he got up from his knees and came face to face with Lord Hakon.
"What do you mean—unwitting guests?" Hakon questioned, a dark scowl clouding his features.
"Well, my lord, 'tis a fair wench and a lad in the well, and from the looks of them I'd say they've been a bit ill-used." Quickly Egil stepped out of Hakon's way.
Standing at the edge of the open hatch, Hakon looked down into the well. By the fire of Loki, what omen is this? he wondered, as his gaze was met by two pairs of emerald green eyes fixed warily upon him. Though the well was dark, he could tell the captives were bound, and their soiled and disheveled appearance did not speak well for their treatment. After taking a deep breath of the bracing sea air, he dropped into the well. The low ceiling prevented him from standing to his full height, which was well over six feet, so he knelt down on one knee not too far from them.
Gwendolyn instinctively moved in front of Anora, placing herself between her sister and the Viking. Aye, for now she knew the origin of their captors. She had heard enough tales of the Norsemen from her father to recognize the man before her as one of those fierce raiders of the sea.
Dressed in a richly embroidered tunic that reached to his thighs, tightly gartered leggings, and high boots trimmed in fur, the Viking looked to be highborn and very wealthy. But what fascinated Gwendolyn most, although she tried not to show it, was the large, silver amulet in the shape of a hammer that hung from his neck on a finely wrought chain, and the polished hilt of his sword that rested above a fine leather scabbard slung from his belt. He was clean-shaven, unlike the other man she had seen. Around his head was wrapped an ornamental headband that held back his hair, which was shoulder length.
Gwendolyn had never before seen such thick, white-blond hair on a man. And the startling blue of his eyes set against the tanned bronze of his skin was quite striking. His fair brows, knitted in thought, softened his somewhat hawkish features. She found herself thinking many a woman would find him an extremely handsome man, with his straight nose, chiseled mouth, and strong, square-cut jawline. Yet the glitter in his eyes was hard, and she could not read his expression.
"Come forward into the light," Hakon commanded softly, speaking the Celtic tongue. He was answered by only a blank stare. He tried again, this time in the language of the Saxons. Seeing a flicker of surprise in the lad's eyes, he could barely suppress a smile. So, they are Anglo-Saxon, he thought. Then his expression once again hardened. Obviously some on board the ship had seen fit to disobey his orders, and he had a strong suspicion of who the culprits might be.
Watching the angry tic in the Viking's jaw, Gwendolyn only hoped his anger was not directed at them. He had spoken their language almost without an accent, and that amazed her greatly. How had a Viking come to know their language, and speak it so well? she wondered fleetingly.
"Now, lad, I know you understand me. Come forward where I can see you better, and bring the girl with you," Hakon stated patiently in a low voice. It would serve no purpose to frighten them, he thought, although he had no delusions of winning their trust. Right now, he only needed to know who had brought them aboard his ship.
Gwendolyn hesitated for a moment, assessing their position. From the commanding look of this Viking and the richness of his garb, he could be the captain of this ship, she considered, and therefore the master of their fate. Perhaps if they cooperated with him, he might consider returning them to their homeland. He certainly did not have the same evil look as the two men who had abducted them. Daring to hope just a little, she turned to Anora, who was huddled behind her. "Remember your promise," she whispered just loud enough for her sister to hear. Struggling awkwardly to her feet, she pulled Anora up beside her.
For a moment the pounding pain in her head drowned out all else, and her knees wobbled unsteadily on the verge of collapse. Suddenly a strong arm reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder, steadying her. She looked up, her emerald eyes meeting the Viking's blue gaze as he held her against him until she regained her balance.
"There, now, lad, you will get your sea legs in a moment," Hakon assured her, reaching out to steady Anora as well. Cringing at his touch, she jerked away from him and fell heavily against a wooden cask. Hakon shook his head. He could see that the wench was as frightened as a skittish doe. Before she could dodge him again, he picked her up in his arms, then carried her struggling and kicking to the open hatch. "Take the wench, Egil, but watch your eyes!" he shouted. "She might be in the mood to scratch them out!"
With a small heave Hakon tossed Anora gently into Egil's waiting arms. Then he turned back to Gwendolyn.
"Now it is your turn, lad. You may have your choice. Climb out like a man, or I will have to toss you out as well."
"I would prefer to climb out, my lord," Gwendolyn answered with no hesitation, trying to keep her womanish voice low, "but my wrists are bound." Trying not to let him see her face too closely in the light from the open hatch, she kept her head down.
Hakon started in surprise at the lilting quality of her voice. The lad looks to be sixteen winters, but perhaps he is even younger, he thought. He pulled his long-bladed knife from his belt. With one quick movement he cut the leather thong binding Gwendolyn's wrists. "There, now, off with you," he commanded gruffly.
Gwendolyn stepped on one of the casks near the open hatch and pulled herself up and out of the cargo well, followed shortly by the Viking. The daylight, although beginning to fade into dusk, was still intensely bright compared to the pitch-darkness of the well. Blinded temporarily, she opened her eyes slowly to adjust to the change. Suddenly she spied Anora sitting forlornly on the deck, her pale cheeks dirty and stained with tears. She rushed over to her sister's side and sat down beside her.