Lady Bronwen sighed as she smoothed an unruly curl from Gwendolyn's forehead, remembering the many times she had tried to convince her daughter to grow her hair long. Yet all her pleas had been for naught. Strong-minded like her father, Gwendolyn had insisted since childhood that long hair was a nuisance. Besides, she had not wanted to be an exact replica of her twin sister, Anora. A bright smile at her father had always ended the argument, and Gwendolyn once again managed to have her way. Lady Bronwen shook her head. She truly feared that perhaps Godric had spoiled this daughter overmuch. Her wild escapade tonight was proof of that!
'Tis hard to believe so many years have passed . . . and so quickly, she thought, reflecting on her eighteen years of marriage to Earl Godric. Their union had produced twin daughters, just turned seventeen, and one son who had died at childbirth. A flicker of sorrow passed across Lady Bronwen's lovely face. Her heart still ached at the thought of the lost child, a pain she had carried since his death.
Yet it was her husband, deprived of his only son, who had thrilled at the early interest displayed by Gwendolyn in such masculine pursuits as riding, hunting, and archery. He had encouraged her, and before long she had become proficient at all of them. Her skill and accuracy with all manner of small weapons, especially the knife, were well known. She had even accompanied her father on his twice-yearly hunts for wild boar, and had taken great delight in the dangerous sport. Never once had she shown the least bit of fear.
Ever the doting parent, Earl Godric had even allowed Gwendolyn to wear a boy's clothing, specially made to fit her slender form. She had taken to them happily, relishing the ease of movement the woolen shirts and breeches afforded her. From then on, Lady Bronwen had always been hard pressed to get Gwendolyn to wear a proper lady's tunic and mantle.
"'Tis no wonder Gwendolyn has such a rebellious nature," Lady Bronwen murmured resignedly. Finding a husband for her tempestuous daughter would indeed be a task. He would have to be a strong man to tame her, yet wise enough not to break her courageous spirit. She wondered if there was such a man . . .
A soft knock at the door broke into her thoughts. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Anora waiting expectantly. "Come in, love," she whispered, beckoning to her.
Anora walked quietly across the room, her eyes wide with apprehension. "Is she well?" she asked fearfully.
"Aye," Lady Bronwen answered, noting the anxious concern radiating from her daughter's emerald eyes.
Anora's delicate shoulders slumped with relief. "Could I stay with her awhile, Mother?"
"Nay, Anora, I think 'tis best that Leah stay with her this night," Lady Bronwen replied gently. "I have already sent for her." Seeing the disappointment on her daughter's face, she continued gently. "Tomorrow will be a long day for you, Anora, and you must rest well tonight. I am sure you would want to look your best for Wulfgar's arrival."
Lady Bronwen smiled at the sudden blush in Anora's cheeks. She had no doubt that her daughter would be the fairest woman at the betrothal feast —well, save for one, she amended quickly, gazing at Anora's mirror image sleeping peacefully in her bed. Together her twin daughters made a radiant pair, neither surpassing the other in beauty, but equal in loveliness of face and form.
"Aye, Mother, you are right," Anora murmured. "Good night, then." She bent and kissed Lady Bronwen's cheek, then turned just as Leah walked into the candlelit room. "Good night, Leah," she said softly. With one last look at her sister, Anora left as quietly as she had come.
"'Tis time you also rested, my lady," Leah admonished gently, having overheard their conversation. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly as she walked to the bed. What kind of trouble had the lass gotten herself into this time?
Lady Bronwen seemed to read her thoughts. "Now, Leah, let us not judge too harshly," she murmured, trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress a smile. The faithful maid had been with the family for many years, and had no qualms about speaking her mind, especially when it came to Gwendolyn. "Would you sit with her this night? I would remain myself, but there is still so much to be done before the betrothal feast tomorrow."
"Go on with ye, my lady. I will see to the lass," Leah reassured her. Aye, she had seen both Anora and Gwendolyn through many a fever, but from what she could tell so far, there was no illness this night. "And mind you, get some rest yourself, my lady," she repeated, noting with concern the faint circles under her mistress's eyes.
Lady Bronwen nodded, then rose from her chair. She leaned over and lightly kissed Gwendolyn's cool forehead. "She seems to be fine now, but if she should call out for me, or grow feverish—"
"I will wake you if there is need, my lady," Leah murmured.
"Very well. Good night, Leah and my thanks." She looked gratefully at her maid, unspoken words of comfort passing between them.
Turning toward the door, she was not surprised to see the shadowed figure of Earl Godric standing inside the threshold. She walked over to him and took his proffered arm, the look in her luminous eyes telling him all he needed to know. Relief surged through his body, and with a last backward glance at their sleeping daughter, they descended the stairs together.
Chapter 3
"Will there be anything else, my lady?" the maid questioned softly as she poured a generous amount of perfumed lavender oil into the steaming bath water.
"Nay, everything is fine," Anora murmured contentedly, settling deeper into the large brass tub. Reaching for a small cake of lavender-scented soap, she began to hum softly.
What a luxury! she thought, soaping a silky leg. The perfumed soaps and oils, gifts from the household of the king, delighted her beyond measure. Breathing in the fragrant steam, she giggled as she flicked scented droplets of water at the gray kitten curled up asleep on the soft towel at the foot of the tub. The kitten stretched, its little pink mouth yawning widely, then snuggled deeper into the towel.
Anora leaned her head against the rim of the tub, the smile fading from her lips as her thoughts drifted back to the night before. A troubled look crossed her brow, startling the maid, who was laying out fresh garments on the bed.
"My lady, are you not feeling well?" the maid asked, voicing her concern. With only two more days until the wedding, she could think of nothing worse than Anora's becoming ill.
"Have you any news of Gwendolyn this morning?"
Taken aback, the maid realized Anora had not even heard her question. "Aye, she is fine, but still sleeping," she replied, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. "She had a fitful night, Leah says, tossing and turning and mumbling about dragons, demons, and such." She would have continued to recite what she had heard earlier that morning in the kitchen, but thought better of it at the sight of Anora's stricken face. "Don't you worry now, my lady, she'll be just fine," she soothed, seeking to allay any needless fears. "I'll be back shortly to help you dress." With a reassuring glance, she left the room.
Hardly feeling reassured, Anora sighed as she recalled the frantic scene in the great hall the night before. It had been like a bad dream. When Gwendolyn had not returned with her guards in time for the evening meal, their father sent half his men out into the raging storm to search for them. He had then called loudly for a stable hand to saddle his own mighty steed, but had been stayed by the shouts from outside the hall. A drenched thane entered with the news that Gwendolyn had been found.
Anora shuddered. She remembered all too painfully her feelings of dread when Gwendolyn was carried into the hall, shivering and bedraggled. Her own body had felt chilled at the sight of her sister, and a feeling of helplessness had welled up deep within her. Shivering in empathy, she had experienced a strange sense of sharing in a frightening vision, but the feeling had quickly passed. Only later, after visiting Gwendolyn's chamber, had she felt reassured. Her mother's presence had lent an air of calm, and she returned to her own chamber much relieved.
But what was this talk of dragons and nightmares? Anora wondered. A shiver suddenly ran through her body, recalling her sense of foreboding from the night before. Feeling the water in her bath growing tepid, she realized she had lingered overlong. She stepped out of the tub so quickly that water sloshed onto the sleeping kitten. With a startled yowl it streaked from the room, leaving wet paw prints across the floor. Smiling once again, Anora took a towel from the table near the tub and dried herself quickly.
Wulfgar. She could hardly believe her future husband was now within the stronghold. She had heard the commotion of his arrival earlier that morning. The thought of him made her senses reel with excitement and longing. Do all young women feel this way, she wondered, on the eve of their marriage? Her fingers trembled as she loosened the ivory pins from the thick coil of hair at her nape. It tumbled about her shoulders and down her back in a riot of silvery-blond waves. Standing in a stream of sunshine from the window, she luxuriated for a moment in the golden warmth.
Returning from the kitchen with a light breakfast, the maid paused just inside the door. Aye, here is one that was made for the love of a man, she thought approvingly, proud of her mistress's beauty.
An air of innocence surrounded Anora as she stood lost in some private thought, a smile playing about her lips. Her lustrous hair framed her long, graceful throat and delicate shoulders, falling like a gossamer cloud about her narrow waist. Her breasts, high and firm, were small, yet perfectly rounded, the nipples pale roseates that peeked out from beneath her long tresses. Walking over to the bed, she picked up a white silken camise and drew it up over the slender curve of her hips, then slipped her slim arms through the embroidered straps.