Twin Passions(21)

But Svein ignored Torvald and continued his taunts. His pale eyes glittered wildly as he lowered his voice to a raspy whisper. "I have tasted your sister's lips once, lad, like honey they were, and I have na' forgotten the feel of her breasts or the heat of her body as she writhed beneath me. Do na' think I will rest 'til she is mine again!"

Sickened with revulsion by his words, Gwendolyn had only one thought. She would silence the bastard, once and for all. Her eyes fell on a sword lying under a rowing bench. With grim purpose she walked over and picked up the heavy weapon, testing it in her hand. It was larger than anything she had wielded before, but she had no doubt it would serve her well. She turned on her heel and strode across the deck toward Svein, holding the sword in a firm hand.

"Put the weapon down, Garric." Hakon's voice was firm as he quickly hoisted himself over the railing near the bow of the ship. Halfway to Einar's hall, he had realized the folly of leaving the lad alone with Svein and Torvald. Sending two of the men he had met along the path to collect Anora, he had run swiftly back to the ship, hoping he would not be too late. He knew any amount of goading on Svein's part would surely force Garric to take some action. The lad's hate ran too deep for it to be otherwise. "Garric, do not be a fool. Put down your weapon," he muttered once again, slowly walking toward Gwendolyn.

But Hakon's words seemed to have no effect on her. She scarcely blinked at his voice. Her eyes were cold, ruthless, as she stared at Svein with deadly intent. Grasping the hilt of the sword with both hands, she lifted it high into the air. So, this is what it is like to kill a man, she thought fleetingly, surprised at her lack of feeling. It mattered naught to her that he was chained and defenseless.

Svein cringed before her, his mouth gaping in disbelief. His eyes darted pleadingly from the sword above his head to Hakon, then back again. Odin, help me, he prayed wildly, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold morning air.

Hakon waited no longer for a response to his command. Moving silently behind Gwendolyn, he grabbed the blade end of the sword. The sharpened metal cut into the palm of his hand, stinging painfully, yet he did not let go. Twisting the sword easily from her grasp, he threw it on the deck, then angrily grabbed her by the shoulders.

"You are proving more trouble than you are worth, Garric," he said angrily. Reaching for some rope atop a nearby cask, he yanked her arms roughly behind her back and deftly tied her wrists together. Gwendolyn did not resist. Her eyes were vacant, and she stared blankly at Hakon; as if in a trance. Her only thought was that she had failed . . . and that Svein still lived.

Hakon dragged her over to the makeshift tent where Anora had slept and shoved her to the deck. "You have sorely tried my patience this day, Garric," he muttered darkly. "Had your sword found its mark, I would have been forced to kill you. Any slave who takes the life of a freeman—for whatever reason—forfeits his own."

He kneeled beside her, taking hold of her chin and forcing her to look at him. "I understand your feelings, Garric. I, too, would see him dead. But it cannot be by your hand." Receiving only a sullen glance from her, Hakon hardened his voice. "You are valued property to me, and I want you alive. 'Tis not my wish to bind you, but as you cannot be trusted, you will remain so 'til we reach Norge."

He rose to his feet, wiping his bloodied hand on his tunic.

Striding across the deck toward Svein, he could almost feel the lad's defiant eyes piercing his back like poisoned arrows. Yea, 'twas true he wanted Garric alive, but for another reason as well. Should anything happen to him, Hakon thought grimly, any hopes he might have of winning Anora's favor would be dashed forever. He did not want to see the same hate reflected in her eyes that he had seen in Garric's from the moment he had found them on his ship. 'Twas strange, he mused. He had never before cared so much what a wench thought of him . . . until now.

Svein's sneering voice broke rudely into his thoughts. "My thanks to you, Lord Hakon. 'Tis the second time that cursed Anglo-Saxon has raised a weapon to me. Perhaps it would be better to throw him over the side and be done with him."

The blow came so suddenly and with such lightning speed that Svein hardly knew what hit him. Knocked to the deck, he felt as if his jaw had become unhinged from his skull. He spat out several teeth into his hand, then looked up incredulously. Hakon towered above him.

"Say another word to the lad . . . or the wench . . . and you will lose your tongue." With that, Hakon strode to the railing as his men began climbing aboard the ship. Though some of them staggered unsteadily, and all were bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, they quickly took their places at the rowing benches.

"Hail, Hakon! Reach over and lend your cousin a hand!"

Hakon could not help but laugh as he leaned over the side of the ship and grabbed Einar's thick forearms. Grunting with exertion, he pulled his cousin aboard, while several men heaved him up on their shoulders from below.

"Whoa! My boy, it seems I am growing too old for this." Einar wheezed breathlessly once he stood on the deck. "Or else the ale has grown more potent!"

"Nay, Einar, you are as fit as ever," Hakon reassured his grizzled cousin. "'Tis the ale, I am sure." But truly, he thought to himself, he does look the worse for the past evening's festivities. He shook his head, chuckling.

Einar looked curiously about the ship. His eyes widened as he spied Svein lying in a crumpled heap on the deck. "I thought 'twas you walking toward my hall a short while ago. Then all of a sudden you turned and ran back to the ship. Is aught amiss, my boy?"

"Nay, cousin. Whatever trouble there was has been dealt with," Hakon replied evenly.

"So I see. Well, no doubt he deserved it, eh, Hakon?" He laughed, then shrugged his great shoulders. "Ah, here is the wench. Thor's hammer! If I was a younger man, I might feel the need to fight you for this beauty, my boy!"

Hakon leaned over the side once again as one of his crewmen lifted Anora into his waiting arms. "I see the rest has done you some good, little one," he murmured, noting the clearness of her emerald eyes and the rosy color of her cheeks. But she turned her head away and would not look at him.

Distressed at her lack of response, though he tried hard not to show it, Hakon hugged her against his broad chest and carried her over to the tent. He could see that she had bathed, though she still wore the same torn clothing. Her long, silver-blond hair was damp and freshly combed, the fresh, clean scent of her skin enveloping his senses. He set her down gently, but she stepped abruptly away from him. She gasped with alarm at the sight of Gwendolyn's arms bound tightly behind her back, then looked up at him, her eyes full of questions.

"Garric's hands must remain tied for the rest of the journey, if only for his own protection," Hakon muttered tersely. He angrily turned his back to them as Anora threw her arms around Gwendolyn's neck. Thor! The wench made him feel as if he should doubt his own orders!

Einar laughed out loud at the dark scowl on Hakon's face. Yea, his young cousin had indeed been smitten by the Anglo-Saxon wench! Slapping him heartily on the back, he had to admit that he did not envy Hakon. Women were such trouble. His three wives were proof enough of that!

"Well, my boy, I had your men bring aboard a good supply of ale that should last you through the voyage, along with some salted meat and goat cheese," Einar said loudly. Not one for good-byes, he enveloped Hakon in a massive embrace, then was over the side of the ship and wading back to shore before his cousin had uttered a word. "May the gods protect you during your journey!" he called out, his hand cupped to his mouth. "And remember!" he shouted at the top of his lungs as the longship pulled away from the shoreline. "Send word if you need me! 'Twould be an honor to send that bastard Rhoar to his grave!"

Hakon waved his arm in a final salute, then turned back to his crewmen. The sun, a great glowing ball of orange, was already well above the horizon. "Hoist the sail!" he shouted with exhilaration. Though he would miss Einar, he was glad to be under way again.

Raised on a yard nearly forty feet long, the great sail flapped and crackled as it billowed out with the gusting wind. Breathing a silent prayer to Odin for a safe, swift journey, Hakon turned his eyes to the north.





Chapter 16





Gwendolyn leaned on her oar for a moment and wiped her face with the sleeve of her light woolen shirt. God's blood, she was sore! Her slender back ached miserably, and the palms of her hands were blistered and raw. She stood up from the bench and stretched her arms wide above her head.

"I gave you no permission to stop rowing, Garric," Hakon said sternly, walking up beside her.

Dropping her arms to her sides, Gwendolyn turned flashing eyes upon him. "I am tired, Viking. Does that mean naught to you? I have been rowing for several hours now, and you have not once given me a chance to rest!" she retorted hotly.

Hakon pushed her back down onto the bench and set her hands upon the narrow wooden oar. "Row."

Gwendolyn bit her lower lip in anger. Very well, if the Viking wanted her to row, then so she would! Heaving with all her strength, she dropped her oar back into the water and began rowing at twice the speed of the other oarsmen. A loud crack was heard as her oar hit the one next to it, causing the man seated on the bench in front of her to turn and curse loudly at her.