Twin Passions(29)

Anora hugged her sister tightly. "Oh, Gwendolyn, you promised we would escape, and tonight we will!" Suddenly she realized she had been gone overlong from the cooking house. "I must get back before Berta comes looking for me. Where shall I meet you?"

"As soon as the Vikings ride out of the settlement, meet me here. There will be guards scattered about, but I know of a way we can avoid them."

Anora nodded, then hurried to the door of the stable. "Tonight, then," she murmured, her eyes shining. She slipped through the door.

"Aye, tonight!" Gwendolyn watched her sister walk quickly down the path until she disappeared from view around the corner of a nearby longhouse. Turning back into the stable, she could not suppress a joyful leap into a pile of hay. Frightened chickens scattered in every direction, their squawking and cackling drowning out her happy laughter.

Anora smiled to herself as she hurried along the outer wall of the longhouse. Soon she would feel Wulfgar's strong arms around her again! She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not see the tall, cloaked figure waiting for her under the gabled entrance until she almost ran into him. Startled, she looked up into a pair of startling blue eyes.

"M-my lord," she stammered, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. How long had he been waiting for her? Sweet Jesu! Had he perhaps overheard their conversation in the stable?

Hakon's hands gripped her arms tightly, pulling her to him. "I went to the cooking house in search of you, and Berta said you had gone to the stable with some food for your brother. I was only just now on my way there."

Anora relaxed visibly in his arms. So, he had not heard. Relieved, she tried to pull away, but he only drew her closer, hugging her to him beneath his fur cloak. She could feel the heat of his muscled body through her thin shift. His breath was warm against her cheek. "You seem to grow more beautiful to me every day, Anora, though perhaps it is because I have been gone from the settlement overmuch."

Indeed, he had been gone overmuch, Hakon thought wearily. His duties as Jarl had kept him busy from the day of Eirik's burial until now, and even today he had to leave on another journey to a meeting of the council at his uncle's settlement across the valley. He had only just returned from the Hardanger, where he had taken Bodvild and her small daughter, Erika, to live with her family. It had been her wish to do so, though he wanted her to stay on with him at the settlement. He smiled faintly, remembering their conversation a week past.

"But I know nothing of running a household," he had groaned, shrugging his broad shoulders in exasperation. "'Tis women's work, Bodvild. Stay on here at the settlement as the honored wife of my brother, and help me!"

But she had only laughed at him, her gray eyes full of mirth. "Nay, 'tis not seemly for me to stay, Hakon, and well you know that. The settlement is now your responsibility, including the household, though I will miss it . . ." Her voice trailed off, a hint of sadness in her expression. "Nay, I wish to return to my homeland. Erika and I will be happy there. This place holds too many memories for me."

It had pained him to see the haunted look on her beautiful face. Kneeling on one knee, Hakon mock-pleaded for her to stay, though in his heart he had known she was right. His antics had served to enliven her spirits, for her laughter had rung out once again in the great hall.

"'Tis time for you to take a wife, Hakon Jarl," she admonished him, her face sobering. Taking the bunch of keys from the belt at her waist, she had laid them in his hand. "For the new mistress of Sogn, whoever and wherever she may be!"





***





A wife, Hakon groaned inwardly, breathing in the heady fragrance of Anora's silky hair. Nay, that was not what he needed, nor wanted, at this moment. He already held in his arms the one woman he desired most of all.

He held Anora's slender body tightly against his, reveling in her softness. Bending his head, he suddenly brought his lips down upon hers in a crushing kiss. He would drive her fear away, he thought wildly, savoring the sweetness of her mouth, deepening his kiss. He had to . . .

Summoning all her strength, Anora pushed away from him so abruptly that he was almost knocked backward against the timbered wall of the longhouse. Before he could reach out and grab her, she was running down the path, her long hair flowing out behind her, as if Gorm, the hellhound of the gods, was snapping at her heels.

Hakon cursed vehemently under his breath. You are a fool to think she will ever come to you willingly! he raged at himself. Truly, his patience was wearing thin. He had tried everything he knew to gain her trust: he had spoken to her with gentleness, but she had spurned his every advance; he had given her beautiful silken clothes, but she had refused to wear them, preferring instead the simple linen shifts that the rest of the slave women wore; he had given her freedom of movement, but she had confined herself to the cooking house and the solitude of her own chamber in the women's slave house—all this and much more he had allowed her, but still the expression of fear had not left her emerald eyes.

Hakon strode angrily toward the great hall, firmly resolved that after his return from his uncle's settlement, he would wait no longer. She would come to him, willing or not!

Anora dashed into the cooking house and slammed the wooden door behind her. She leaned against the roughhewn wall for a moment and closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. She felt as if her heart were in her throat. The Viking's kiss still burned upon her lips, and the skin on her arms had red imprints from where his hands had held her so tightly. She took off her cloak, her hands trembling uncontrollably, and hung it upon its hook near the door.

Berta, hearing the slam of the door, called out to her from the hearth, where she was turning some loaves of bread on an iron griddle. "Did Garric enjoy my stew?" she asked pleasantly, knocking the crusty top of one of the loaves with her third finger and thumb. Yea, these are done, she thought, straightening up. She lifted the heavy griddle to the table near the hearth where other loaves were cooling. "Anora?" Receiving no answer, Berta looked toward the door.

Anora was sitting silently upon a stool, her eyes downcast, her face pale and drawn.

"What is it, lass?" she queried, bustling over to Anora's side and putting a fat arm about her shoulders. Yet she already knew the answer. Her keen eyes noted well the red marks on the young woman's slim, white arms. Yea, 'twill not be long now, she shook her head knowingly, before Lord Hakon will have his way with her.

"Why don't you go to your room, lass, and lie down for a while?" she said gently. "All is in readiness for the midday meal, and if I need aught else I will get one of the others to help me. Go on with you, now."

Anora looked up gratefully. "Thank you, Berta," she murmured. Aye, a rest was what she needed, she thought numbly, wrapping her cloak about her once again. It would hasten away the hours 'til it grew dark. Then soon enough she and Gwendolyn would be gone from this cursed place forever.

Berta shook her head as Anora closed the door behind her. "Someday the lass will surely look back on this and realize her fears were for naught," she muttered under her breath, walking over to the hearth. To her mind, there could be no greater honor than being the concubine of a great chieftain . . . especially one so handsome and powerful as Hakon Jarl!





Chapter 21





"If rumors are to be believed, it seems Rhoar Bloodaxe continues to strengthen his forces against you, my lord," Olav said, his voice low. "Perhaps 'twould be best to postpone this meeting of the council across the valley for another time. Even a few days' absence from the settlement could prove too tempting an invitation for that bastard!" Olav leaned forward in his chair, the concern evident on his swarthy face. He took his new role as adviser to Hakon Jarl very seriously, as he had taken his former position as helmsman on his longship. It was his belief that though Rhoar had not attacked the settlement upon Eirik's death, his threat was still very real . . . and possibly imminent. He was merely waiting for the right opportunity.

Hakon shook his head. "The council meeting at my uncle's settlement will help to solidify my control in that region. It cannot be delayed," he said tersely. He took a long draft of ale from his goblet. "There will be more than enough guards left here to protect the settlement. 'Twould be different if we were to be more than a few hours' ride away, but Rhoar would be a fool to attack while we were only in the next valley . . . and with plenty of reinforcements close at hand."

Hakon's eyes scanned the great hall, unable to keep his mind on the conversation. By the blood of Odin, where was she? He pushed his plate away, his food barely touched. Settling back in his chair, he toyed absently with the ale in his goblet, swirling the amber liquid around and around. The black scowl deepened on his face, warning those who sat near him that their chieftain was indeed in a foul mood.

"More ale, my lord?" a buxom serving woman ventured, rubbing her thigh seductively against his knee as she leaned over to refill his goblet.

"Be gone, wench!" he roared, shattering the brooding silence in the hall. The woman backed away in fear, then hurried away. Hakon caught the furtive glances of his men, who then quickly looked back to their plates of food, and he cursed again. What spell had Anora cast over him? he wondered, his ire rising with each moment she did not enter the hall.