Twin Passions(43)

Hakon chuckled from deep in his throat. Her wild response never ceased to delight him. "One moment, my love." Suddenly he moved away from the bed. Gwendolyn opened her eyes in surprise. Then a faint smile curved her lips. He was quickly stripping away his own garments, until his powerful body was bared to her gaze. Truly, he was a magnificent sight!

Delighted by her admiring and lusty perusal, Hakon did not tarry from her side for long. Before she could blink she was once again wrapped in his strong arms as he drew her against him.

He traced his finger slowly down the side of her face, his hand stroking the small of her back and her slender, curved hips. "I want you to touch me, Anora," he whispered huskily, brushing his lips against her long, gold-tipped lashes.

She blushed heatedly at his request. He had never asked this of her before!

"'Twould please me," he murmured, sensing her obvious embarrassment by the flushed rose color of her cheeks. Still she hesitated, unsure of herself, so he gently took her hand and guided it down his taut, sculpted belly to between his sinewy thighs.

Gwendolyn gasped as his manhood seemed to leap into her hand. Then, emboldened by her desire, she tentatively caressed the tip. It was smooth to her touch. She wound her fingers around his growing hardness, not knowing quite what to do. Slowly she began to caress him.

Hakon groaned with pleasure, the pressure of her hand stoking the burning fire that was raging in his loins. Suddenly he drew her hand away and pressed her back against the eiderdown pillows. Nay, he could endure her sweet torture no longer!

"Have I displeased—"

Hakon cut off her whispered question with his kiss, determined to erase the memory of Rhoar's touch from her lips, her body, her mind. "Nay, my love, never . . . never," he replied, his voice low, emphatic, as his kisses seared like wildfire across her slender body.

His strong hands were everywhere, teasing, stroking, until her skin felt warm and tingling from head to toe. His fingers explored the moist core of her, while his mouth, hot, insistent, suckled hungrily at her breast, occasionally nipping her gently with his teeth. She moaned in ecstasy, overwhelmed by the heated torrent of his desire, as he trailed a fiery path of kisses down the curved indent of her belly to the soft silver-blond mound of curls between her silky thighs.

Gwendolyn gasped in surprise as his mouth found the bud of her desire where his fingers had been only moments before. She tried to pull away from him, but he held her fast, his hands supporting her hips. Thrilling to this new sensation, she gave in to the heady waves of passion that coursed through her body like flickering tongues of flame. She moaned with wild delight, arching her back.

Suddenly Hakon drew himself up over her, his startling blue eyes ablaze with desire as he slowly entered her. Supporting his weight with his arms, he held back for a moment, watching in fascination as she writhed beneath him. She reached up and wrapped her arms about his waist, then pulled him to her.

Hakon could wait no longer. Inflamed with an urgency borne of the burning need to possess her completely, he plunged himself into the warmth and softness of her body. She cried out his name, over and over, her legs gripping him tightly, as he thrust deep within her to the hilt of his manhood.

Gwendolyn met him with a passionate fury that equaled his own. Panting, breathless, they raced together to that apex of desire. For one blinding moment it seemed that the world had stopped but for the fusion of their bodies into a throbbing, shuddering whole.

Hakon collapsed against her, nuzzling her neck with gentle kisses as their breathing returned to normal. Afraid that he might crush her with his weight, he gently rolled over to one side and pulled her to him, cradling her head against his shoulder. Holding her close with his strong arms, he felt a numbing sense of contentment wash over him. He knew this was how it was meant to be between them . . . forever. He chuckled deeply as her fingers played absently with the golden curls on his broad chest.

"Yea, I believe 'tis time I took a wife," he stated softly.

Gwendolyn started in surprise. "My . . . my lord?"

"Perhaps a wench with silver-blond curls and emerald eyes the color of the sea." He smiled, his teeth a flash of white as she looked up at him in astonishment. He suddenly brought himself up on one elbow, his hand tenderly caressing the silky skin of her cheek. His eyes burned into hers with piercing intensity.

"I love you, Anora."

Gwendolyn gasped, but he gently touched his finger to her tender lips.

"Yea, and when I came so close to losing you this night, I finally realized that my life would be naught without you.

Never again shall it be said during a feast that 'tis a pity you are a slave. When I return from Trondheim, you shall become a free woman, and my wife."

Bending his head, he pressed his lips to hers in a breathtaking kiss that seemed to echo his words over and over . . . I love you . . . I love you.

Tearing his lips away from hers at last, Hakon gathered her into his arms. "We must rest now, my love. The morn will come only too soon." Sighing contentedly, he lay his head back against the eiderdown pillows and closed his eyes. He knew his revelation had startled her, and, he hoped, had pleased her. She had given him no response, though he had not really expected one. He knew such a fragile thing as love could not be forced. Yet he felt sure that one day Anora would return his love. Why, even tonight there had been more than passion and desire reflected in those deep, emerald depths. Yea, something more . . . perhaps a smoldering ember of affection that could one day flare into a raging love that would match his own.

It was not long before the steady rhythm of Hakon's breathing told Gwendolyn he was asleep. She looked up at him, her heart in her throat. Slowly, and ever so softly, she traced her finger down the high-boned planes of his face and across the sensuous curve of his mouth. Suddenly she shuddered from deep within her, and would have cried out but for fear that she would wake him. She felt as if she were being torn in two, her soul ripped asunder by the conflicting emotions that warred within her. The feeling that had plagued her, tearing her apart and destroying her resolve, had at last found a name . . . love.

Aye, she loved him, more than she wished to admit to herself. Hakon, the Viking warrior she had sworn to hate and defy until that one day when she and Anora would escape from him forever.

Gwendolyn's agonized thoughts swirled about in her mind. What could she do? Tell Hakon the truth, that she had adopted the guise first of a boy, then of Anora, to protect her sister's virtue? He was in love with the women he thought was Anora, not her! Would he release her sister, and allow her to return to their homeland if she stayed with him in Norge? Nay, she could not be sure. Perhaps he would have them both! She knew that many Vikings had more than one wife!

She shook her head fiercely. Nay, their love could never be! She would play the part, whether it be of Garric, or wife to Hakon Jarl, until that day when she would make good her vow to Anora, and escape from the Viking and the love that would capture her heart forever.

Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, Gwendolyn at last fell into a tormented sleep.





Chapter 29





Gwendolyn awoke with a start to find she was alone in the wide bed. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and looked about the room. It was clear that many of Hakon's things were gone—his silver coat of mail, the conical helmet, several weapons—and the lids to the heavy, carved chests were open, as if he had not wanted to disturb her slumber by closing them shut.

Sweet Jesu! What if they have already left! Gwendolyn bounded out of the bed and ran to the nearest window. She tore aside the leather shade and peered outside. The sky was overcast, laden with gray clouds that foretold a coming snowstorm. It was so dark that she could not tell what time of morning it was, though she had an awful feeling it was late. She could see many Viking guards walking about the nearby longhouses, but this side of Hakon's hall faced away from the fjord. She would have no way of knowing if his longship was still moored at the docks until she walked from the main entrance.

Turning back into the room, she hurried over to the ornately carved chest that held her clothing and threw back the lid. Hastily she donned a plain linen chemise of pale yellow and a mantle made of gray fustian, a strong cotton cloth. Her fingers shook as she quickly fastened two silver filigree brooches to the shoulder straps of the mantle. Her eyes darted about the room in search of her leather, fur-lined slippers.

"God's blood! Where are they?" she cursed impatiently, her heart pounding against her chest. Finally she spied them near the bed. She ran and picked them up, hurriedly slipping them on. Grabbing her fur cloak from the hook, she wrapped it about her shoulders and ran from the room.

The main hall was dark and cold. Even the glowing embers in the central fireplace lent little warmth to the large room. Gwendolyn hurried across the hall, gathering her cloak about her, and pushed open the massive wooden door. She could scarcely breathe, dreading what she might find. If Hakon's longship was gone, all was lost.

Relief flooded her body as she caught sight of the long-ship, still moored at the dock. Already some of the crewmen were taking their seats at the oars, and she could see Hakon on the deck, directing what appeared to be the last load of supplies into the cargo well. His voice, deep and resonant, carried out over the din of commotion that surged around him.