Twin Passions(37)

She walked quickly to the door, then turned and looked back at Anora, a fierce light in her emerald eyes. "I will learn much as mistress of this settlement, Anora. And the more I know of the Viking and his ways, the better I can plan our escape." A faint smile crossed her lips. "Until later, then, Garric." As soon as she stepped through the door, Berta hastened to her side.

"I'm half frozen, lass! What kept you so long?" Berta asked, hugging her cloak tightly about her wide bulk. She did not wait for an answer, but grabbed Gwendolyn by the arm. "Come on with ye, now! There is much to be done!"





***





The rest of the day passed in a dizzying whirl. Gwendolyn was led first to the brewing house, where male slaves were busy making the strong mead and ale so favored by the Vikings. The heavy fragrance of barley spiced with aromatic herbs hung in the air, making it difficult to breathe, but Berta refused to leave until she had sampled a hearty mug of the brew.

"'Tis nectar of the gods." She smacked her lips, after a long draft of the foaming mead. "Here, have a try," she offered kindly. But Gwendolyn shook her head. She wanted to keep her wits about her this day.

Next was the weaving house, where Gwendolyn was informed she would be spending much of her time. This news irked her greatly. She had never been one for the womanly arts of weaving and needlework, and had balked whenever her mother had subtly suggested she learn to use the loom. She decided then and there that she would try to avoid the weaving house as much as possible.

Berta did not bother to show Gwendolyn the cooking house, for she thought she was familiar enough with it already. She did show her the large building where they kept the dried and smoked meat, salted fish, and the large vats of curdled milk that had been salted, soured, and stored to last through the long winter. Dried berries, apples, and nuts were also stored in abundance, as well as great quantities of onions, leeks, and field peas.

Gwendolyn felt her stomach rumble as she looked at all the stored food, reminding herself that she had not yet eaten. It was way past midday, and the sky had already begun to darken. Suddenly she was feeling strangely tired. She tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a yawn.

"Come, lass, let us return to Lord Hakon's hall," Berta said kindly, noting the paleness of Gwendolyn's cheeks. There was so much to learn yet, but perhaps she had been pushing her young mistress too hard. It would not do for Lord Hakon to return to find Anora completely exhausted from her new duties.

Gwendolyn nodded her head. It had indeed been a long day. As they walked together to the hall, Berta chattered on and on about the myriad duties that accompanied managing a chieftain's household, especially one as large as this. She did not stop talking until they had reached the door of Hakon's chamber.

"Go on in with ye, lass," Berta said, pushing open the carved door, "whilst I see to your meal." She turned and bustled off.

Gwendolyn sighed in relief. She knew Berta meant well, but her ceaseless chatter had given her a throbbing headache. Rubbing her temples, she walked over to the wide bed and sat down. Everything was happening so fast. One minute she was a slave. Then after one night of passion she had become not only Hakon's concubine, but the mistress of his household! Her forehead crinkled in thought. He had no reason to trust her. She had given him last night only what he had taken, and no more. Perhaps he was testing her, but for what purpose she could not imagine. Could it be that he felt more for her than lust . . . perhaps something even closer to affection?

Nay, it was not possible. Gwendolyn shook her head fiercely. From what she had heard of the Vikings —the gruesome tales of their bloodthirsty brutality, their single-minded devotion to valor and heroic deeds, their cold hearts thought to be as hard as the steel of the swords they wielded —nay, Hakon could not possibly be capable of anything more than lust.

She sighed raggedly. Why was she being tormented by such thoughts? She cared naught if the Viking had any affection for her! Glancing furtively behind her at the sheets on the bed, she was relieved to see that the stained ones were gone, replaced by fresh linen. She lay down, pulling her fur cloak about her, and closed her eyes.

Berta entered the room a short while later, only to find Gwendolyn fast asleep. Ah, well, 'tis probably best, she thought. At least the lass will be well rested for the morrow. She set the tray of food on the table near the bed, then lit the bronze brazier in the corner to lend some warmth to the room. With a last backward glance over her shoulder, she shut the door quietly behind her.





Chapter 25





It was almost dusk several days later when Hakon and his men finally returned to the settlement. The flashing hooves of their horses thundered upon the hard, snow-covered ground as they rode into the stable yard.

"Garric!" Hakon shouted. He threw his long leg over the side of his saddle and dismounted. "Garric!"

Starting at the sound of his voice, Anora dropped the chunk of bread she had been eating, the last remnant of her evening meal. Several stray chickens immediately set upon it, but she had no time to kick them away. She quickly pulled a woolen cap over her head, her fingers shaking nervously, and hastened out the door of the stable. She almost could not swallow the bite she still had in her mouth, her throat was so constricted in fear.

"Ah, there you are, lad," Hakon said good-naturedly. He handed her the reins to his stallion, his eyes flicking over her. Garric seemed strangely ill at ease this day, almost cowering in his presence. He shrugged. Perhaps the lad was still suffering from the lash, he thought, though he surmised it was probably more a case of hurt pride than anything else. "See that he is rubbed down well, and given an extra measure of oats," he stated. Then he turned on his heel and began to walk down the hill.

"Aye, my lord," Anora murmured softly, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Startled, Hakon stopped in his tracks and wheeled around. "What? No retorts for me this day, Garric?" But Anora seemed not to hear him as she led the spirited stallion into the stable. Her mind was on the instructions Gwendolyn had given her. She guided the horse into its stall, then gently patted the velvety softness of its nose. The horse snorted loudly, then crunched contentedly on the dried apples she pulled from her pocket and held out to him. This might not be so bad after all, she thought, relieved.

Hakon shrugged again. As he walked hurriedly down the path to his hall, he chuckled to himself. Perhaps Garric's defiant spirit has been tamed at last, though Hakon was not ready by any means to let down his guard just yet. The lad might still be plotting a rebellion against him.

"Lord Hakon!" Berta cried out, her short legs carrying her up the hill from the cooking house. She met him at the entrance to his hall, her great breasts heaving with exertion beneath her woolen shawl. "Welcome . . . back, my lord." She panted, trying to catch her breath. A pleased grin lit her broad face.

"Thank you, Berta," Hakon replied warmly. "I fear the council meeting kept me longer at my uncle's than I had intended. Has all gone smoothly during my absence?"

"Oh, yea, my lord!" she answered happily. "Anora has taken very well to her new duties, though at first I must say she seemed a bit surprised at her good fortune. Already she has been seeing to the preparations for the Yuletide feast—with my help, of course."

Hakon smiled. "I appreciate your efforts, Berta. But now, my only wish is for a hot bath. We can talk of these things later."

"Very well, my lord. Shall I summon her to you?"

"She is not in my hall?" he asked, stepping away from the door. "I had thought I would find her there, taking her evening meal."

"Nay, she is still in the weaving house, my lord. She has not taken kindly to the loom, though I have insisted that she spend some time there each day." Berta frowned, shaking her head. Indeed, it had been a struggle to get the wench to pick up a needle. "I have never seen the like before, my lord. The lass is obviously well bred, but she doesn't even know the difference between warp and filling threads!" she exclaimed with obvious exasperation.

Hakon threw back his head and laughed, a hearty, rich sound. "Do not fret, Berta. Give her some time, she will learn." He was striding up the hill before she had a chance to reply. "See that a bath is prepared in the bathing house," he called out over his broad shoulder, "and that there is a vessel of wine placed near the tub with two goblets!"

Berta nodded, then smiled as he walked away. Ah, would that she were a young wench again, when her blood ran hot and she had her pick of lusty, young Viking warriors! She sighed wistfully, then hurried away to do his bidding.

Hakon's heart was pounding in his chest as he reached the weaving house and slowly pushed open the door. Thor, he felt more like a green youth than a man full-grown! During the days at his uncle's settlement he had been busy enough so that he was not tormented by thoughts of Anora, but during the nights . . . yea, that had been different. She had come to him in his dreams when he had finally been able to sleep, taunting him with her slender, curved body, always almost in his grasp, but then suddenly disappearing like a wisp of smoke.

He stepped inside the door, his eyes searching for her. Many women were still working busily at their looms, both slaves and wives of his men alike, their happy chatter echoing about the large room. But they fell silent when they saw Hakon standing at the threshold—all save for one.