"I am here now, Anora," Gwendolyn whispered reassuringly, throwing her arm protectively around her sister's delicate shoulders. Her eyes, now accustomed to the light, were wide-eyed as she looked about the Viking ship. It was just as her father had told her in his stories, she thought in awe, remembering his vivid description of a fleet of Viking vessels he had seen in the London harbor while a young man in the king's army.
She was amazed at the swiftness of the ship as it cut through the ocean swells. The large, rectangular sail, white with bold red stripes, was stretched taut by the stiff wind. A gilded bronze vane, etched with strange designs and hung with metal pendants that rattled and jangled in the breeze, was fitted to the masthead. And at its top, a proud, gilded beast was mounted, as if to keep watch over the horizon.
Letting her eyes roam, she looked toward the bow. Suddenly she gasped, her breath caught in her throat. A fierce dragon head, carved into the strongly curved prow, leered back at her with its sharp, grinning teeth. A flash of memory coursed through her mind—a bright bolt of lightning, crashing thunder, her mare rearing and pawing the air, then a demon rising from the rushing water —and with the memory came the cold shock of realization.
Her nightmare vision during the storm two nights ago had not been an evil apparition from the depths of hell, but the carved prow of the Viking ship!
"God help us! I could have prevented this," she murmured numbly, her mind racing. If only she had tried to think of an explanation for her vision that night, or had at least told one of her father's thanes about it . . . perhaps one of them might have recognized her vision for what it was and could have been alerted to the Viking threat. Then, none of this would have happened . . .
The finality of her last thought caused Gwendolyn to curse her weakness of judgment. Heatedly she swore to herself it would never, never happen again. The flash of defiance was still burning in her eyes when she looked up to find the Viking regarding Anora intently.
Chapter 11
Hakon drew in his breath sharply. Now that the captives were in the light, he was able to study them more closely. He liked what he saw huddled on the deck before him. The wench was truly a beauty, despite her soiled appearance and tangled hair. Nay, not just a beauty, but probably the most enchantingly lovely young woman he had ever seen.
As for the lad, he obviously was her brother, for their resemblance to each other was remarkable. In fact, he thought as his sharp eyes took in every detail, their features were virtually identical. Twins were indeed a rare sight, and oddly enough Hakon found himself thinking their presence on his ship was a good omen:
Yet the lad's defiant glance served as a reminder to Hakon, and he turned his mind somewhat reluctantly to the grim task yet at hand. He turned first to the oarsmen seated in the stern. All eyes were focused upon him, their interest obviously piqued by the sight of the beautiful wench on board. Their faces revealed no knowledge of the captives, however, so Hakon turned to the oarsmen seated forward of the well in the bow section of the ship.
Again all eyes were upon him, except for those of the very two men he had suspected. With their shoulders hunched and their backs to him, Svein and Torvald were the picture of guilt.
Hakon strove to check the cold fury in his voice. "Escort those two men amidships!"
Rushing to obey, Egil noted that he had never before seen Lord Hakon so angry. He strode over to where Svein and Torvald were sitting. "All right, you two, you heard Lord Hakon. On your feet!"
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Svein rose slowly from his bench, his face a pasty white. Surely the captain would not make good his threat of throwing him overboard, he thought nervously, but he could not be sure. Torvald also rose, his massive size somehow diminished by his apparent fear. Walking in front of Egil, the two men approached the cargo well.
Hakon's face was inscrutable as he addressed them. "I am sure you men recall my orders when we landed in England. There was to be no disruption of any kind upon the inhabitants of that land during our brief stay—no raping, no pillaging, and no killing unless we were attacked. Do you remember?" Receiving short nods, he demanded, "How did these captives come to be on my ship, then?" Another question plagued him, but he did not ask it . . . not yet. He only knew that if the wench had been raped, the two men would not live to see a new day.
Torvald looked at his feet, unable to find his voice to answer. Speaking for both of them, Svein kept his tone ingratiating and servile. "My lord Hakon, we found those two during our hunt, and thinkin' you would be pleased to possess so lovely a wench, and the lad thrown in for good measure, we could na' resist bringing them to the ship as an offering to our fine captain." His pale eyes shifted over to the captives, their watery blue depths sending an undeniable threat of violence in their direction. Shuddering, Anora hid her face in her hands.
Hakon could have struck him down at that moment for his bald-faced lie. But first he needed to hear from the captives themselves the extent of Svein and Torvald's crimes. He walked over to Anora, bent down, and tilted up her chin to face him. Staring into her eyes, so lushly fringed with gold-tipped lashes, he felt for a moment as if he would lose himself in the deep emerald pools gazing back at him. Strangely enough for a man who so dearly loved his freedom, the thought did not displease him.
"Tell me, little one," he murmured gently, "were you hurt in any way by either of those two men?" Hakon dreaded to hear her answer, fearing the worst, but he had to know.
Anora felt cold fear clutching at her throat. For the life of her she could not speak. Stark terror lit her eyes when she glanced over at Svein's evil face, remembering all too well his threat. Frightened for Gwendolyn's life, she shook her head slowly from side to side. At her answer, Hakon felt an immense surge of relief.
"Aye, if an attempted rape is not hurt enough!" Gwendolyn blurted furiously, her eyes flashing. If Anora was too afraid to speak, she certainly was not! Though unable to understand the Norse language, she could tell Hakon was indeed the captain of the ship, and a feared and respected one at that. Never had she seen men so ready to obey another's command.
Only he has the power to punish those two curs, she thought fiercely. Svein's fawning and silky tones had not fooled her. She did not have to speak their language to know a sniveling liar when she saw one. Damned if she wouldn't let the Viking know exactly what had happened!
Startled by her vehement words, Hakon felt a white-hot stab of rage course through his body. The thought of Svein pressing his crude body against the girl's fragile beauty was more than he could bear. He grabbed Gwendolyn by the shoulders. "Tell me what you know, lad, and be quick about it," he demanded.
"My sister and I were in the woods when these two" —she pointed at Svein and Torvald—"jumped out at us from behind some trees. I was hit on the head and remember naught else. The rest I know from Anora."
Anora. So that was the beauty's name. Rolling it over his tongue like the finest honey, Hakon glanced at the girl. Even Freyja, the goddess of love and beauty, could not have fashioned a more perfect name for her. Ever so gently, he reached out and touched the purplish bruise on her fair cheek. Anora started from his hand as if stung.
"I will not hurt you," Hakon said softly, oddly distressed that she would shrink from his touch. "Just tell me who struck you, or at least, if you will not speak, point to the man."
Emboldened by Gwendolyn's outburst, Anora's hand trembled as she pointed at Svein.
"You would take the word of an English slut against one of your own?" Svein screamed, his voice an ugly snarl. Before anyone could grab him, he suddenly rushed at the captives, his eyes red with rage. Gwendolyn quickly moved in front of Anora, taking the full force of Svein's weight as he fell upon her.
Yet no sooner had Svein knocked the breath from Gwendolyn's body than he found himself hurled violently across the deck of the ship. "Seize his arms!" Hakon yelled. Several oarsmen rushed to obey. Hoisting Svein to his feet, they pinned his arms behind his back, subduing him. He struggled in vain, all the while screaming foul curses and oaths until Hakon doubled up his first and slammed it into his face. Silenced at last, Svein slumped limply amid his captors.
"Tie him to the mast!" Hakon ordered. "And Egil, prepare the lash." Striding over to the captives, he helped Gwendolyn to her feet. "You are indeed a brave lad," he said, a hint of admiration in his eyes. But his expression remained cold. Speaking to both of them, his voice was grim. "Those men brought you aboard this ship against my orders, most likely for their own gain. When we reach shore, their punishment will be far more severe. But for now, they will feel the kiss of the lash for their greed."
When we reach shore . . . Had she heard correctly? Gwendolyn wondered excitedly. Aye, those had been the Viking's words. A feeling of elation surged within her, bringing a smile to her lips. So she had been right, she thought, proud of her intuition. They had cooperated with the Viking, and now he would return them to their homeland!
The high-pitched whine of the lash through the air interrupted Gwendolyn's thoughts, and the ship soon echoed with Svein's terrible screams for mercy. Anora, unable to watch the awful scene, leaned against the railing and looked out over the sea. But Gwendolyn counted every stroke of the lash until there had been thirty, and did not blink once when Svein, his back torn and bloodied, was finally cut down from the mast. She watched in the same manner as Torvald received his punishment, not feeling vindicated until he, too, crumpled moaning to the deck. Dragged back to their benches, the two men were left to lie in their own blood.