Twin Passions(32)

"Tell me quickly, Egil, did you see aught of the lad and Anora?" Hakon asked him, noting that he was none the worse for his mishap save the angry welt on his forehead.

"Yea, my lord," he murmured, groaning. "I followed the wench here from the women's slave house. She was acting a bit strangely, what with looking over her shoulder, peering around corners and such, so I thought I had better have a look. When I walked in the door . . ." He shook his head in disbelief. "There was a loud crack, and then I remember naught else."

Hakon helped Egil shakily to his feet, then bade one of the other men to care for him. Just as he was rushing from the stable, his keen eyes scanning the waters of the fjord, he heard the scream. Loud and high-pitched, it carried out over the water, echoing among the hills surrounding the settlement.

He had wasted no time in mounting his stallion, though a sense of dread settled over him as he rode like the wind down the hill and along the rocky shoreline. Just barely able to make out several battling figures in the darkness, he had sent a fervent prayer to Odin that he would not be too late. He had drawn his winged spear from his saddle, holding it poised and ready in hand until he could be sure of his target.

The wild Viking war cry carried high upon the wind had been all Hakon needed. The deadly weapon had sailed through the air, finding its mark, the awful scream cut off as abruptly as the life of the man who had uttered it.

Dismounting from his stallion with sword in hand, Hakon had quickly taken in the scene before him. Relief had surged through his body once he knew Anora was unharmed, but it had soon been replaced by cold, restrained fury at the look of hateful defiance that had burned in the lad's eyes.





***





"My lord!" Olav's shout interrupted Hakon's dark thoughts, as he rode up into the stable yard and dismounted from his sweating horse. "The bodies of Svein and Torvald have been thrown into the fjord, as you commanded, and may Hel, goddess of the underworld, enjoy their foul company!" he spat fiercely.

Hakon only nodded, his face grim, his chiseled lips a tight line. Anora still huddled beside Gwendolyn, her arms tightly hugging her sister's shoulders. Truly, they made a pathetic pair, he thought. But right now he had no time for pity.

Walking up to Anora, he bent down and pulled her away from Gwendolyn's side. She struggled, but in vain. Her protests were no match for his muscled strength. "Hold her fast," he bid Olav, who grabbed her and held her arms tightly.

"Stand up, Garric!" Hakon ordered.

Gwendolyn raised her eyes to meet his. Angry rebellion shone from the emerald depths, hitting Hakon with an almost physical force as she rose unsteadily to her feet.

Even now the lad shows his hate, he marveled, impressed by Garric's courage despite the severe punishment that was sure to come. A Viking guard approached the small group carrying a studded lash and handed it to Hakon. He took it, wrapping it about his right hand.

"Tie him to the post!" Hakon commanded. Two warriors rushed to obey, seizing Gwendolyn by the arms and dragging her up against the thick timbered post. She offered no resistance as they tied her securely. Her face was expressionless, though her eyes glittered defiantly.

Hakon stood back several feet from the post as he tested the lash. The cruel piece of leather cut through the air like a slithering serpent, the metal studs cutting small gouges in the snow-covered dirt as it hit the ground.

"I have warned you from the start, Garric, not to force my hand, but in this last instance you have pressed me too far. Though you are but a mere boy, I can no longer tolerate such blatant defiance on your part. You must be punished."

Gwendolyn closed her eyes tightly and leaned against the post as she heard the lash sing through the air. She jerked as it cut across her back, though the pain was slight due to the thickness of her fur-lined jerkin. Again the lash sailed through the air, this time hitting her across the legs. The woolen breeches were no match for the biting sting of the studded lash. She cried out in pain.

"Nay . . . please stop . . . please!" begged Anora, suddenly wrenching free from Olav's arms. She ran over to Hakon and threw herself at his feet, her beautiful face streaked with tears as she looked up at him beseechingly. "Please, strike him no more!" she pleaded, her slender body wracked by sobs. "If you will only stop, my lord Hakon, I promise that I will come to your bed this night. You have made known your desire for me many times. If it is still your wish, I . . . I am yours."

Hakon's face was inscrutable as he looked down at Anora, a cold, empty feeling inside him. So, he had won at last, he thought bitterly, though his victory was indeed a hollow one. He bent down and gently lifted Anora to her feet, his blue eyes searching her face. For the first time she met his gaze evenly and without fear, despite her trembling.

Only her love for her brother and her desire to protect him has brought her to this, he thought ironically. His punishment of Garric had accomplished so easily what his patience and gentle words had failed to do. He noted well the set determination of her delicate chin, and the hint of defiance in her eyes that now matched that of her brother's. Hakon sighed. This was not how he had imagined it would be. But, if he could not have her heart . . . he would no longer deny himself her body.

"You are mine, Anora, by your consent or not," he murmured possessively, drawing her close. "Garric will be spared not because you have given yourself to me at last, but only if I wish it to be so." With that, he held her away from him, one hand gripping her arm, while the other still toyed with the lash. He stared at Gwendolyn for several moments, not saying a word. Truly the lad deserved to be punished further for the escape attempt, for he had no doubt that Garric had been the one to plan it. But Hakon had spent his wrath. His mind had turned to other things . . .

"Cut him down!" he ordered tersely. One of the Viking guards drew his sword and quickly severed the ropes binding Gwendolyn. She did not fall, but stood leaning on the post. Anora gasped in relief and tried to run to her sister's side. But Hakon held her fast.

"Please, my lord, allow me a few moments to help Garric to his pallet in the stable, and to see to his wounds," she entreated, her eyes pleading with him.

"Nay, Anora." Hakon shook his head. "You will hold to your promise this night, and accompany me to my hall."

But Anora stood fast, awakened to the power she had over him. She looked at him with a newfound boldness that she had not known she possessed. "I cannot come to you knowing my brother is hurt. If you will allow me only a few moments to care for him, I will be most grateful, my lord Hakon." She gazed up at him unabashed, her meaning reflected in her eyes.

Hakon looked confounded for a moment. Loki's mischief, he would never understand women! For the past month Anora had avoided him at every turn, spurning his advances, and now she had gifted him with such a look that made his blood boil! He glanced over at Gwendolyn, who was leaning her head against the post. The lad does indeed look pale, he admitted, and she has asked for only a few moments . . .

"Very well," he said gruffly, letting go of her arm. "But do not linger overlong. My patience has already been sorely tried this day." She nodded, then ran over to Gwendolyn's side. His eyes hungrily followed her lithe form. Yea, he would not wait long. "Olav, see that Anora is escorted to my hall after she has seen to her brother," he ordered.

"Yea, my lord," he answered, watching as Hakon threw the lash to the ground and strode off in the direction of his hall. He sighed, grateful for how the night had ended. Hakon's wrath would have turned on them all if aught had happened to the wench.

"Come on, Gwen— . . . Garric," Anora whispered in her sister's ear. Gwendolyn let go of the post and leaned on her for support, testing the strength in her legs. She gritted her teeth at the pain.

"I am fine now, Anora," she murmured, limping as she walked toward the stable. Her sister held her arm, despite her weak protests, until they had walked through the stable door.

Anora's delicate features were etched with concern. "Here, let me help you to your palle — "

"Shut the door behind us!" Gwendolyn suddenly hissed, interrupting her. She feigned a collapse on the pallet for the benefit of Olav, who stood watching them from the stable-yard. Anora looked dubiously at her sister, then hurried back to the entrance and quietly closed the wooden door.

"We must work fast, Anora!" Gwendolyn whispered urgently. She jumped up from her pallet, ignoring the ache in her legs, and ran to the far wall of the stable, where the farming implements and metal tools were kept. Her eyes quickly scanned the varied assortment until she found the one she was looking for — a long metal blade that was used to shear sheep. She yanked it from its hook and tested the blade's sharpness with her finger. Aye, it would do, she thought, hurrying back to her sister.

Anora looked at her incredulously. "What are you going to do?"

"I will not have you give yourself to that Viking!" Gwendolyn blurted angrily, a fierce light burning in her eyes. "I made a promise to you on that ship, and I mean to keep it! We will escape from here, but it will take more time." She paused, her voice low. "I will go to Lord Hakon tonight in your place!"