Twin Passions(30)

"Was the food not to your liking, my lord?" Berta asked quietly, removing his plate from the table.

"Nay, 'twas fine, Berta," Hakon replied, his tone softening as he looked at the rotund woman who had served his family for so many years. "Where is Anora?" he asked, trying to appear nonchalant, though hardly succeeding. "Why is she not here serving with the others?"

Berta was not fooled by his seeming indifference. He is indeed a proud one, she thought sagely, stifling a smile that would force itself to her lips. His face was inscrutable, yet his eyes bespoke the hold the wench had over him.

"Anora is resting, my lord," she replied. "She seemed well enough earlier this morning when she took some food to her brother in the stable, but upon her return she was quite overwrought." Her eyes watched the play of emotions across Hakon's face. "From the looks of her, I'd say she had quite a shock."

Hakon slammed his goblet down upon the table, his blue eyes flaring dangerously. The set of his jaw was grim, determined. "We ride within the half hour," he stated evenly to his men, hiding the anger that raged within him. So, his kiss disturbed her so greatly that she had sought the comfort of her bed! Thor's teeth, but he was a fool! He almost felt like overturning the table, but thought better of it. It would not do for his men to see him behave like a besotted youth whose love had been spurned by the object of his affection. Rising from the high seat, he strode angrily out of the great hall.

The men at the surrounding tables sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then suddenly the hall was filled with the scraping of benches as they jumped to their feet. Tossing down the ale in their goblets, they hurried out after their chieftain.

Olav was the only one to rise slowly from his chair. He turned to Berta, who stood by the table. "I have known Hakon for many years, but I have never seen him so taken by any one wench." He sighed. "'Twas your words, woman, that brought on this rage. I know naught of what took place that could explain their meaning, but my warning to you is this: See that the wench is well protected while we are gone. Hakon has laid claim to her, and there would be hell to pay if aught is amiss when we return." With that, he turned and walked out of the hall.

Berta shook her head slowly. Yea, she would see that Anora moved only from the cooking house to her chamber, and back again. She did not want it upon her head if aught happened to the girl while Lord Hakon was away. She snapped at the servingwomen standing near the door, "Why do you stand there gaping while there is work to be done?"

The women quickly moved about the hall, picking up the debris from the meal. Berta ambled over to a chair and sat down heavily. So much trouble over one wench, she thought, draining the ale from a half-empty goblet.

Hakon looked over his shoulder to see his men rushing out of the great hall. Then he turned back around, his voice roaring out loudly as he strode toward the stables. "Garric! Saddle my horse!"

Gwendolyn jumped up from her pallet, where she had been resting just as he pushed open the door. She backed away slightly, for she could see he was in a black mood.

"Did you not hear me, lad? Saddle my horse, and be quick about it. The sky is already growing dark," Hakon stated sternly. "I wish for you to accompany me on this journey as well, to care for my stallion, so you had best hurry. I am sure my uncle does not have a groom at his settlement who comes close to your skill with horses."

Gwendolyn felt a sudden sense of panic at his words, but quickly regained her composure, her mind working fast. She suddenly clutched her stomach, a look of intense pain on her face. "Oh, b-but, my lord," she stammered, "I have b-been lying here on my pallet since this morning. I fear I have t-taken sick . . . probably from that stew Anora brought me this morning." She moaned convincingly, doubling over as if in intense misery.

Hakon looked at her doubtfully. He could not very well take the lad if he was sick, he decided. Garric would then be more of a hindrance than a help. "Very well, lad. Lie back down on your pallet. I will send the healer to you with some herbs for your stomach." Pulling the saddle from the wall, he strode over to his stallion and hoisted it onto its back. He then tightened the girths beneath the horse's belly, and drew the harness over its proud head.

Gwendolyn watched from the corner of her eye as Hakon led the high-spirited animal by the reins from its stall. She clutched her stomach again and groaned several times for good measure. Hakon paused for a moment by her pallet, and she looked up at him as he towered above her. "My lord?" she asked weakly.

Hakon studied her face, a niggling sense of doubt pricking at his mind. The lad was somewhat pale, he admitted, though his groans seemed a bit too convincing. "Egil will remain here to keep an eye on things while I am gone," he warned. "In other words, Garric, do not try anything foolish. I have given him permission to mete out punishment if any is necessary." He was answered with a small nod as Gwendolyn rolled over onto her side.

Aye, that Viking dog Egil would no doubt relish every minute of it if given half the chance, she thought fiercely, watching through half-closed eyes as Hakon led the stallion through the door of the stable. Too bad he would never get the opportunity!

She lay on the pallet listening to the commotion as the Vikings prepared to ride out of the settlement. She could hear the clanking of swords against wooden shields slung from saddles, and knew that they were well armed. This came as no surprise to her. She had heard all about Rhoar Bloodaxe, Hakon's bastard brother, and his threat of blood vengeance from Ansgar.

At last came the command she had been waiting for, as Hakon shouted to his men to prepare to ride. Jumping up from her pallet, she flew to the door of the stable and peeked outside. Hakon made a commanding figure astride his mighty stallion, dressed all in black except for the white-blond of his hair. That's how I will remember him, Gwendolyn thought, fully appreciating for the first time his handsome looks. After all, she allowed herself, she was a woman, too!

The ground thundered from the many flashing hooves as the Vikings rode out of the settlement. Indeed, the hour was growing late. The moon had already risen in the darkening sky to just above the jagged slopes of the mountains towering above the fjord. Gwendolyn could not believe how quickly it grew dark in this northern land. Why, it could not be more than four hours past the noon hour!

She turned back into the stable. There were just a few things to be done, but she wanted to be ready when Anora came to meet her. She hurried over to a far comer of the stable, shooing away the frightened sheep that got in her way. Kneeling near the wall, she felt around with her hands until she found what she was looking for. A smile lighted her face as she pulled out a narrow-bladed knife from beneath the straw. Anora had stolen it for her one day from the cooking house. It was not nearly as fine as the hunting knife she had lost to Svein, but it was a sorely needed weapon nonetheless.

Fitting the knife into her belt, she ran over to her pallet and pulled together what little clothing she possessed that was not already on her back. Hakon had given her several woolen tunics in the style of the Vikings, and another pair of loose-fitting breeches. But she still preferred the clothing she had worn on the day of their capture. Pulling her fur-lined jerkin about her, she was ready at last. She sat down on her pallet while she waited for Anora.

It could not have been more than an hour when she finally heard a small rap at the door of the stable. Gwendolyn hopped up, her heart in her throat. "Anora?"

"Aye, 'tis me," Anora replied, slipping furtively through the door, her fur cloak swirling about her. She grabbed Gwendolyn's wrist. "I fear someone has followed me," she whispered tremulously, her eyes wide. "Shh! I hear him coming now!"

"Stand over there, behind the stall!" Gwendolyn hissed. Grabbing a wooden plank nearly as tall as she, she leaned up close against the wall near the door.

It opened slowly, creaking eerily. A man, his face hidden in the shadows, eased carefully inside. Gwendolyn did not wait to discover who it was. She lifted the plank, then brought it down with all her strength upon the man's head. He fell heavily to his knees, groaning and holding his head. She hit him again. This time he fell forward with a heavy thud.

"Quick, Anora, you take one leg, I'll take the other!" Gwendolyn whispered. Together they dragged him to the back wall of the stable, though he was a big man and very heavy.

"'Tis Egil!" Anora cried out softly, as a shaft of moonlight hit the man's face through an opening in the wall. Blood trickled down his forehead, pooling on the ground behind his ear.

"So, he has finally gotten what he deserves!" Gwendolyn muttered fiercely, covering him up with heaps of straw. She did not feel even a twinge of remorse. "Come on!" Taking Anora by the hand, she dragged her sister across the stable to the entrance, where she gathered up her few belongings. Nudging the door open with her booted toe, she peered outside.

There were several Viking guards posted down the hill near the great hall, and some were walking about near the docks; otherwise, the settlement appeared quiet. Gwendolyn eased open the door, then looked over her shoulder at Anora. "We will have to run up into the woods behind the stable, then follow along the crest of those hills for a ways," she explained in a whisper. "Ready?"