He rose swiftly to his feet. Hastily stripping off his silken trousers, he stood before her in all his masculine glory, his manhood erect and throbbing. Walking over to her, he took the vessel of wine from her hand and set it down on the table.
Gwendolyn gasped, awed by his male beauty. Taking both her hands in his own, Hakon stepped back, gently drawing her with him to the center of the thick rug. As his strong arms encircled her narrow waist, she gazed up at him with an impassioned look of love that took his breath away.
Thor, it was true . . . at last! Hakon's heart raced at the raw emotion he saw reflected in the emerald depths of her eyes. He had known if he waited long enough, one day she would return his love. Bending his head, he captured her parted lips fiercely with his own. Their arms wrapped tightly about each other in a timeless embrace. They stood there for a long moment in the light of the fire, oblivious to all but the love they shared.
"Anora . . . my only love," Hakon murmured huskily, finally tearing his lips from hers. He slowly sank to his knees, his hands caressing the silky length of her body. As he gently cupped her breasts, his tongue flickered around and around the pale pink nipples in a ring of fire, tasting the nectar of the fig upon her warmed skin.
Gwendolyn moaned softly, wrapping her fingers in his long white-blond hair as his mouth moved down her abdomen, caressing her navel, to the mound of silver-blond curls below. He held her against him, reveling in the taste and feel of her, while his strong fingers teased and stroked the soft cleft between her silky thighs.
Wantonly writhing within his grasp, Gwendolyn felt lost in a passion-numbed daze. Everything was so sweet, so wonderful. . . . Throwing back her head, she exulted in the exquisite sensations that caused her to tremble uncontrollably.
Hakon at last drew her down beside him on the luxurious black fur until his hard length was poised above her. Thor, she was beautiful . . . so soft, so willing . . . He knew she was ready for him. Ever so gently he parted her legs with his knee, then entered her, but not too far. She reached up to pull him to her, but he tenderly stretched her slender arms above her head, holding her wrists with one strong hand. Suddenly he brought his lips down upon her own at the same time he entered her completely.
Gwendolyn gasped with pleasure, arching her back as he lunged deep inside her. She struggled to free her arms so she could wrap them about his neck, but he would not let her loose.
"Nay, Anora, do not struggle," he whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending shivers racing through her. "Do not move." She tried to do as he bade her, though it was difficult at first, her hips instinctively moving in rhythm against his slow, measured thrusts. "Nay, nay, lie still, my love," he said softly. "Let me move within you."
Gwendolyn relaxed beneath him, closing her eyes as the most delicious sensations washed over her. This was different from the times before. Just as intense . . . but so achingly, so wonderfully different. She felt as if her body were adrift in a warm sea, as wave after wave of the purest pleasure radiated within her, crescendoing, yet ever so languorously. She could feel his warm kisses on her throat, her eyelids, her lips. His fingers teased at her breast, stroking, caressing. Suddenly her breath caught in her throat, all conscious thought driven from her mind, as the sweetest, most exquisite wave of bliss broke over her.
Watching her beautiful face for the moment of her release, Hakon smiled as she writhed beneath him. He could hold back no longer. He groaned as he shuddered deep within her, overwhelmed by the tumultuous sensations that seared through his loins.
They lay together so, merged as one and entwined in each other's arms, long after the logs blazing brightly in the fireplace had been reduced to glowing embers.
Chapter 33
A fierce pounding on the heavy door to his hall roused Hakon enough to raise his head. He opened his eyes and looked about him. Only a dull glow remained in the central fireplace, telling him that the fire must have died out hours ago. Most likely it was near dawn, he thought, shaking his head. The pounding at the door grew louder.
"Lord Hakon, I must speak with you at once!"
The warrior in Hakon became instantly alert as he recognized Olav's voice. His men knew well enough not to disturb him at night unless it was a matter of the greatest urgency. Pulling gently away from Gwendolyn's arms, he swiftly covered her with one end of the fur rug and hurriedly slipped on his silken trousers.
"What is it, my lord?" Gwendolyn asked drowsily, opening her eyes. She, too, had been awakened by the pounding. She brought herself up on one elbow.
"Stay there, little one," Hakon admonished softly. He grabbed his broadsword from beneath some nearby pillows and held it at his side as he strode to the door.
At that moment Olav burst into the hall and rushed into the main room, almost running into Hakon. Several Viking guards were also with him, but they stayed just outside the door, their great torches shedding light into the darkened hall.
"Forgive me, Lord Hakon," he said hastily, averting his eyes from the fetching sight of Gwendolyn lying barely covered beneath the fur rug. "'Tis Rhoar Bloodaxe! He and his forces, numbering several hundred strong, have been sighted just over the valley. I fear this is the day he shall seek his vengeance, my lord!"
"Thor's blood!" Hakon cursed loudly, his voice echoing about the hall. "Who has brought this news?"
"A messenger from your uncle's settlement was on his way here when he almost rode into the very midst of Rhoar's camp. He arrived only a few moments ago. Shall I send for him, my lord?"
"Nay, Olav. I will speak with him shortly." Hakon's face was grim in the bright light of the torches, his mind working fast. "See that the men are alerted and ready for battle," he ordered. "Post a third of the guards around the perimeter of the settlement, and see that several men are stationed at each longhouse . . . though I want at least ten to guard my hall." Olav nodded as Hakon continued. "We are fortunate that most of the reinforcements I summoned to guard the settlement while I was in Trondheim still remain," he said tersely.
"Yea, my lord, 'tis fortunate indeed." Olav shook his head in assent, though he felt a slight sense of unease. Hakon had the advantage of at least two men to every one of Rhoar's, but some of them would have to remain behind to protect the settlement. No doubt Hakon's forces would meet the enemy in battle near their camp in the valley, for he was sure Hakon would do everything in his power to keep Rhoar and his men away from the settlement.
"Go, Olav, and see to it that all is in readiness," Hakon commanded, interrupting his thoughts. "I will join you in a few moments."
"Yea, my lord." Turning on his heel, Olav strode quickly from the hall.
Hakon stood for a moment, lost in thought. So, the day of Rhoar's blood vengeance had finally come! Today his hated bastard brother would make a violent play to wrest from him the right of his inheritance, or meet his death trying.
Yea, for Hakon knew it would be a fight to the death. There could be no other way. He shook his head grimly. He would meet Rhoar in battle, but now there was more to fight for than just his inheritance. He looked over to where Gwendolyn lay, her emerald eyes searching his face. Her tousled beauty took his breath away. His fist clenched tightly around the hilt of his broadsword. Nay, he would not have such happiness taken from him! By the blood of Odin, he vowed angrily, he could not, would not, be defeated!
He walked back to her side and held out his hand to her. She grasped his hand, the fur rug falling away from her slender body as he gently pulled her to her feet. Holding her close against his bare chest, he caressed her silken curls.
"You heard Olav's words?" he asked softly.
Gwendolyn nodded her head, though for some strange reason she could not speak. She listened to the strong, steady beating of his heart, a cold lump of apprehension in her throat. She turned suddenly and looked up at him, their eyes meeting in a gaze of longing so intense she could have cried out. But still she was silent. What would be her and Anora's fate if aught happened to him? What would her life be without him? She shook her head fiercely. Nay, she would not think of it! A solitary tear ran down the side of her face. Seeing it, Hakon gently brushed it away.
"Nay, my love, there is no time for tears," he murmured. "You must have courage . . . it will help me to do what I must. Now, come, I must prepare for battle." He led her into his chamber and sat her down on the wide bed, leaning his broadsword against one of the carved corner posts. Thankfully the room was warm from the glowing heat of the bronze brazier, but he still wrapped her within the thick coverlet.
Gwendolyn watched as he strode over to one of his massive chests and lifted the heavy lid. He stripped off his silken trousers and hastily donned a black woolen tunic that reached to mid-thigh. Then he bent and pulled on woolen trousers and protective leggings fastened at the back of his calves. Next came high leather boots that rose to just below his knees, and then he wrapped his wide leather belt with the long scabbard finely ornamented with metal mounts about his waist. A mail shirt made of linked iron rings that reached just to his belt went on over the tunic. He drew a thick black mantle trimmed in fur from the chest and wrapped it about his shoulders, attaching it to the mail shirt with two large silver brooches.