Twin Passions(31)

Anora nodded, her eyes bright in the moonlight. "I am ready. "

"Aye, then, to freedom!" Gwendolyn dashed out alongside the stable with Anora close on her heels. Pausing for a moment after they rounded the corner, they broke out in a run up the hill until they reached the cover of the thick trees surrounding the settlement. Anora was hindered somewhat by the skirt of her shift, but she quickly hoisted it above her knees and soon caught up with Gwendolyn. They slowed their pace a bit as they disappeared into the trees, for they knew they could no longer be seen.

It seemed as if they had been walking for at least an hour when Gwendolyn gestured to Anora to start down the side of the hill. Leaving the cover of the trees, they began the steep descent to the fjord. Gwendolyn could hear the loud roar of the waterfall not far in the distance, and she knew they were almost there. With every step, her heart grew lighter. She could have laughed out loud with joy.

"Is it much farther, Gwendolyn?" Anora asked, leaning for a moment against a large rock outcropping to catch her breath.

"Nay," she replied. Then she whispered excitedly "Look, Anora, I can see the boat!"

Anora's heart leaped in her breast at the sight of the small boat bobbing along the shoreline of the fjord. They quickened their pace, half sliding down the steep slope of the hill that was slippery from the wet snow. Almost to the bottom, Gwendolyn suddenly lost her footing and rolled down the rest of the way.

"Gwendolyn!" Anora called out sharply, her hand to her throat. Relief surged through her body at the sound of her sister's uproarious giggle.

"Go on! You should try it, Anora!" Gwendolyn called out softly.

Though she smiled, Anora shook her head. "I think I would prefer to walk the rest of the way down." When she reached her sister at last, they embraced each other tightly.

"There it is!" Gwendolyn cried, turning around. The boat was yet a few hundred feet away from them, anchored just off the shoreline. They carefully picked their way in the dark along the rocky beach, for the full moon was now hidden behind a dense bank of clouds.

Gwendolyn was the first to reach the boat. To her surprise, it was empty. A strange feeling of foreboding settled over her, and she turned and looked about them. It was so dark that she could barely make out the details of the shoreline. Anora reached her side, and her hand clutched Gwendolyn's arm.

"Where is the merchant?" she asked.

Gwendolyn could tell her sister was frightened by the tone of her voice. She was, too, but she was loath to admit it.

"'Tis quite a shame, really, but the merchant decided he had other plans," a low voice growled in the dark.

Gwendolyn whirled around and pulled her knife from her belt, but she saw no one. She knew that awful voice, God help them, she knew it!

"Run, Anora, run!" Gwendolyn yelled, giving her sister a shove. Anora began to run back along the shoreline, but her efforts were hampered by the sharp, jagged rocks.

"The lass is all yours, Torvald!" the evil voice cried. "At least for now!"

Suddenly Anora felt herself lifted up into the air and hugged tightly against a broad chest. She screamed once, a loud, shrill sound, before a large hand was clapped over her mouth. She struggled futilely in the Viking's huge arms for several moments, then gave up in despair.

Gwendolyn heard Anora's muffled cries and her heart sank. It was all so horribly familiar. At that moment her knife was suddenly knocked from her hand. It fell clattering to the rocks several feet away, and she knew she would not be able to find it in time.

"'Twas so good of you to share your plans with us in the marketplace, lad," Svein muttered, stepping out from behind a huge rock. He walked up to Gwendolyn, a long knife held in his hand. "Of course, it would have meant our deaths to allow Lord Hakon to see us there. So we stood just behind the merchant's stall as you told him your life's story."

He laughed cruelly. "What good fortune, or should I say strange coincidence? Torvald and I had been at the tradin' settlement only two days, and who should we see? 'Twas then we decided to fetch you for ourselves." He clucked his tongue in mock sympathy. "The good merchant kindly allowed us to borrow his boat. It seems he will na' be needing it any longer!"

At that moment the moon broke away from the clouds, illuminating Svein's scarred face. He walked toward her menacingly, brandishing the knife. "And do na' think to sway me with talk of your father's gold, lad. 'Tis not gold we want now, but revenge!"

Gwendolyn had barely heard him, her mind working quickly. But before she could make any move, Svein lunged at her and brought his arm about her neck. She elbowed him fiercely in the ribs, and was rewarded with a sharp slap across the face that knocked her reeling to the ground.

"Come on, Torvald, let's get them on the boat," Svein ordered gruffly. He bent down and grabbed her by the thick lining of her fur jerkin, pulling her roughly to her feet.

Nay, she would not give up that easily, she thought desperately, flailing her legs and arms. One of her legs caught him hard in the groin and he doubled over in pain, cursing vehemently. She pulled away from him, free. Catching sight of a glint of steel in the moonlight, she grabbed the long knife from his hand. Without a thought, she plunged it deep into his chest. Svein screamed in agony, trying to cover the wound with his hand, while warm blood spurted between his fingers.

Gwendolyn quickly ran over to where Torvald stood holding Anora. She knew this huge Viking would be a far more formidable foe. Her fears were confirmed when he dropped Anora to the ground and pulled his broadsword from the scabbard at his belt. Anora tried to crawl away from him on her hands and knees, but he caught her by the hair and dragged her back again, all the while keeping his eyes upon Gwendolyn.

Torvald towered above her, grinning wolfishly in the moonlight. He swung his sword once, barely missing her as she dodged just in time, though she tripped on a sharp rock and fell heavily to the ground. Seeing his chance, he raised his sword high above his head, an awful, blood curdling scream wrenching from his throat.

Suddenly Gwendolyn heard a high-pitched whistling sound in the air, then a strangled, gurgling noise from Torvald as his whole body jerked spasmodically. He seemed to sway for a moment, his arms still high above his head. Then he fell forward with a crash onto the rocky beach.

Gwendolyn gasped at the long spear protruding from Torvald's broad back. Looking up, she saw several riders fast approaching them from the direction of the settlement. Their leader, dressed all in black, was riding far ahead of the others. She could hear the snorting of his mighty steed, and the pounding of its hooves as it galloped along the rocky shoreline. Rushing over to Anora's side, she held her sobbing sister in her arms as the rider bore down upon them. His bronzed face was barely discernible in the moonlight, but she could sense the cold fury flashing dangerously from his eyes.





Chapter 22





The full moon was high over the fjord by the time the silent party returned to the settlement. Hakon brought his great stallion to a halt in the stable yard and dismounted, his expression grim. He reached up, encircling Anora's slender waist with his hands, then lifted her from the saddle to the ground. She avoided his eyes and immediately ran over to her sister, who had sunk to her knees in exhaustion, her head slumped to her chest.

Gwendolyn had been forced to follow on foot all the way back to the settlement, her hands tied together with a long piece of rope that had been attached to the pommel of Hakon's saddle. Hakon had walked his stallion all the way back, but she had still been forced to run to keep up with them or else be dragged along the shore.

Hakon looked at them coldly, a mixture of anger and relief raging within him. He had been almost an hour's ride from the settlement when he had suddenly decided to turn back, a growing suspicion burning in his mind. He had bidden most of his men to continue on without him, saying only that he would meet them on the morrow at his uncle's settlement. Olav and three other warriors had returned with him, their horses galloping hard to keep pace with Hakon's powerful stallion.

He had reined in first at the women's slave house, not even bothering to announce his entrance. He had strode in amid the women, his eyes scanning the room for Anora. Berta had rushed forward at that moment, her round, anxious face telling him all he needed to know.

"She is not here, my lord!" Berta had lamented, wringing her hands. "I have only just returned from the cooking house after finishing my work for the next day's meals, and when I looked in her chamber, 'twas empty!"

This news had brought forth a blistering curse from Hakon. He entertained only one thought as he mounted his steed and rode over to the stable —Garric! He angrily recalled the events of the past few days—Garric's lingering overlong at the foreign merchant's stall at the trading settlement; his eagerness to please, so unlike him, just that morning when Hakon had taken his stallion out for a ride; his illness in the stable, and now as Hakon thought back, most likely feigned —and he could not believe he had failed to recognize these signs for what they had been . . . a prelude to escape. Grim-faced, he only hoped he would not be too late.

He had rushed into the stable, knowing in his heart that it, too, would be empty. A loud groan from along the back wall had led him to Egil, who was sitting in the middle of a pile of straw holding his head in his hands. Surrounded by cackling chickens and nervous sheep, with pieces of hay sticking to his thick hair and beard, the robust Viking made a comical sight. Hakon might have laughed had the situation been different, but laughter had been the last thing on his mind.