Twin Passions(53)

"Very well, then," Olav said, the expression on his swarthy face darkening as his eyes scanned the battlefield. "But what of the bodies, my lord?"

"See to it that those of our men are carried back to the settlement. They are heroes and deserve a Viking burial as befitting their bravery this day," Hakon replied. His eyes grew cold, an angry tic working in his jaw. "Leave the rest for the wolves." He clicked his tongue to his stallion and urged him into a gentle trot.

Olav watched Hakon ride over to where the four chieftains were standing alongside their horses. He spoke to them in low tones, and they quickly mounted and reined in beside him. Then the small group eased into a gallop. It was not long before they had disappeared over the crest of the hillside.





Chapter 35





"Fetch Berta to my chamber at once!" Hakon ordered grimly, taking Gwendolyn from the arms of the Viking guard who held her while he dismounted. The burly warrior nodded, then set off at a brisk run toward the cooking house. Hakon kicked in the heavy door to his hall, cursing under his breath. He had taken great care not to jostle her overmuch, but he feared the bleeding had begun again. She had lain so still in his arms during the ride back to the settlement, not once calling out his name. He strode quickly across the hall to his chamber and pushed open the door.

His eyes widened in surprise at the slender form outlined beneath the thick, fur coverlet on the wide bed. "What folly is this?" he muttered, his startled gaze moving from the bed back to Gwendolyn's pale face. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest. He crossed the floor and threw back the coverlet with one hand, his breath caught in his throat. But there were only three eiderdown pillows clumped together.

Hakon let out his breath sharply. If he had not been so concerned, he would have been livid with anger at her ploy. Yet he knew if she had not been there on the battlefield, his fate would have been far different. She must have jumped from the window, he thought fleetingly, shaking his head. There would have been no other way she could have avoided the Viking guards posted just outside his hall.

He pushed aside the pillows and lay her on the bed, then gently drew back the blankets he had wrapped around her. Hakon sighed raggedly, his worst fears confirmed by the deep red stain that was seeping through her bandages.

"You summoned me, my lord?" Berta's hearty voice rang out across the chamber. She started, aghast, as Hakon looked up from the bed. She had never seen his face so drawn and haggard! She rushed to his side, her hand flying to her heart at the pitiful sight before her. "Anora!" she gasped in disbelief, her massive breasts heaving. "But how can this be? I brought a midday meal to her earlier this day. It seemed she was sleeping, so I did not wake her. See? The meal is still there!" Her eyes flew to the table by the window. "Though it is untouched . . ." Her voice trailed off as she looked back to Hakon, her expression troubled and confused.

"'Twas not her sleeping, Berta," Hakon murmured, nodding toward the pillows shoved to the other side of the bed. "She covered those pillows to fool anyone who might have entered the chamber while she was gone. She followed me into battle, dressed as Garric."

Berta's mouth gaped open in stunned surprise, but she quickly regained her composure, taking charge when she saw the ugly bloodstain spreading ever wider across the cloth bandages.

"Cut away the bandages, my lord! Then take this cloth and hold it tight against the wound. I will return shortly!"

She shoved a linen towel into his hand and bustled out of the room.

Hakon took the long-bladed knife from his belt and swiftly cut away the soiled bandages. He grimaced at the flaring hole, now swollen and red despite the herb poultice the healer had applied to it earlier that day. Thor, he could not lose her now! he raged silently. Wadding up the linen cloth, he pressed it against the oozing wound. He wiped the sweat from his face with his free hand, his lips murmuring a fervent prayer. "Odin, hear me!" he prayed, his voice a muted whisper. "Do not take her from me!"

It seemed that only a few moments had passed before Berta hurried back into the room, followed by a guard carrying a steaming kettle of boiling water.

"Set it over there"—she pointed to the small table near the bed — "but do not leave. I may yet need your help." The Viking guard nodded, quickly averting his gaze from Hakon Jarl's concubine lying naked from the waist up on the bed. He took his place by the door, his arms folded across his broad chest, his eyes downcast.

"Now, my lord, if you will step aside," Berta said matter-of-factly. Hakon obliged her, walking over to the other side of the bed.

Berta clucked her tongue as she lifted the towel from the wound. "'Tis a bad one, my lord," she murmured, "though from the looks of it, the healer's herbs have given her some relief." She looked up at him, her expression grim. "I tell you this only because I must. She is strong, but already her skin burns as if on fire. If Anora survives the night, my lord, I believe she may live."

Hakon felt cold fear grip him for the first time in his life. He had braved many battles in the past, and had fought against fierce opponents—yea, the fiercest of all this very day—yet he had never known fear, not once. But now, the mere thought of losing the only woman he had ever loved was more than he could bear. For a moment he was unable to reply, his blue eyes staring off into the distance. Suddenly he shook his head fiercely. Nay, he would not let death steal her from him! "Hear me, Hel, goddess of the underworld, you will not take her!" he yelled, his defiant voice echoing about the chamber. He snatched the long-bladed knife from the bed and drove it with all his might into the carved corner post. It sank in to the hilt, splintering the wood.

Berta's eyes were wide with awe as she looked at the carved hilt of the knife protruding from the post. Yea, if that did not serve to protect her young mistress and drive away the spirits that would wrench the life from her body, then nothing would. She looked back at Hakon, who stood tall and powerful by the bed, a blaze of heated defiance in his eyes.

"I will stay with her this night," he stated evenly. "Tell me what I must do."

Berta nodded. "The room must be kept very warm, my lord. I will see that a roaring fire is lit in the central fireplace, and a slave will tend it through the night to see that it does not go out. There will also be a caldron of boiling water for your use. You must see that the wound is cleansed often. I will leave you plenty of cloth for bandages, and more of the herb poultice. First apply hot cloths to the wound, then the poultice, then the bandages. I will also leave a cask of cool water by the bed, and some soft cloths to bathe away the fever from her body. I will cleanse the wound this time, my lord. Watch me carefully."

With practiced hands she deftly applied the hot cloths. Gwendolyn started from the searing heat. Though still unconscious, she screamed out in pain. "Pay no mind to her cries, my lord, it must be done," Berta said, rubbing the herb paste all around the wound. Then she quickly wrapped a bandage over it, tying it tightly under her arm. "There, now, that should do for a while. The bleeding has stopped, thankfully." She started to walk to the door. "I will go now and prepare a soothing broth to give her if she awakens. It will help her keep up her strength."

"My thanks, Berta," Hakon murmured. He moved back to the other side of the bed and began gently to remove the rest of Gwendolyn's clothing. Suddenly he remembered the Viking guard standing quietly by the door. "Wait outside, man," he ordered, though not too gruffly, "but leave the door open so the heat from the fireplace may warm this room."

"Yea, Lord Hakon," the guard replied, complying hastily.

Hakon threw her soiled clothing on a pile beside the bed. How had she gotten Garric's clothes? He looked about the room. The heavy lid to her chest was thrown open, and silken garments were scattered about the floor. His eyes flew to the timbered wall where he kept his weapons; the spot where the knife had rested on two pegs was bare.

He could read the scene before him almost as well as if he had been there to see it. She must have dressed in great haste, probably right after he had left the chamber, then grabbed the long-bladed knife from the wall. She had then jumped from the window to the ground below, and headed for the stable. That was when he had seen her, and had called out to her to saddle his stallion. Hakon shuddered. If only he had known it then!

Hakon wrung out one of the cloths in the hot water and gently bathed her slender body. Her alabaster skin was flushed, glowing with a fine sheen of perspiration. He almost choked with emotion. Thor, she was so beautiful! When he was finished bathing her, he pulled the fur coverlet up over her delicate shoulders.

Hakon looked down at his own sweat-soaked garments. There were several bright red splatters on his tunic . . . the blood of his enemies. He grimaced. And Anora's. He walked to the leather-backed chair by the window and unfastened the silver brooches that held his cloak. Easing it from his shoulders, he draped it over the chair, then pulled the heavy shirt of mail over his head and dropped it with a clanking thud to the floor. He kicked off his boots, then stripped off his tunic and leggings. Pulling a linen tunic and trousers from one of the massive chests, he hastily put them on. There would be no time for a bath this night.