Twin Passions(54)

"Hakon!" Gwendolyn's anguished cry tore from her throat, shattering the stillness of the room.

Hakon rushed over to the bed and sat down by her side. He gathered her into his strong arms, willing some of his strength into her. "I am here, love," he murmured. "I am here."

Gwendolyn's eyelids fluttered open. Her emerald eyes were glazed and overbright, her fair features flushed with fever. She clung to him, hot tears coursing down her cheeks. "It hurts so . . ." she whispered hoarsely. "Make the pain go away . . . please . . ."

Hakon felt a hard lump in his throat. Odin, why are you trying me so? he raged helplessly, stroking the side of her face. The sight of Berta rushing through the door flooded him with relief. "She has awakened, Berta!" he exclaimed softly.

"'Tis a good sign," Berta replied, nodding approvingly as she hurried to the bed with a wooden tray. "Here is the soothing broth, my lord. I have mixed in some sleeping herbs that should help to calm her. If she is asleep, the pain will not plague her as much." She set the tray upon the table, then dragged the chair over to the side of the bed and sat down heavily. "Hold her head still, my lord."

Berta gently spooned some of the broth into Gwendolyn's mouth. She was pleased to see that she swallowed it readily. Before long the bowl was emptied. "Another good sign, Lord Hakon. The more of this she drinks, the better! I shall leave the pot of broth on the hearth above the fireplace." She heaved herself out of the chair. "If you have need of aught else, send one of the guards for me and I will come at once." She smiled faintly. "Good night, my lord."

Hakon reached out and caught her hand, squeezing it gratefully. "Again, you have my thanks," he murmured. Berta reddened in embarrassment, unable to speak. Nodding, she turned abruptly and moved about the room, lighting the small oil lamps one by one. Then without a backward glance she hurried out the door. Yea, and may Odin protect the lass, she thought fleetingly, hugging her hand to her breast.

Hakon leaned his head back against the timbered wall. He closed his eyes, his broad shoulders slumping with exhaustion. He must have fallen asleep for a moment, but he was jerked awake as Gwendolyn cried out once again.

So began a seemingly endless night as Hakon changed the bandages on Gwendolyn's wound, bathed her feverish body, and fed her spoonfuls of broth when she was conscious enough to swallow. He held her in his arms and caressed her burning skin. He murmured her name over and over so that she would know he was there with her, never leaving her side.

At one point she screamed so loudly that the Viking guard rushed in, his eyes wide with alarm. "Shall I summon Berta?" he asked fearfully.

Hakon waved him from the room. "Nay, 'tis only the fever," he murmured, holding her tightly. She writhed deliriously in his arms, her head tossing from side to side.

"Nay, Anora, run . . . run!" she moaned. "Damn the Viking! We will escape from him, Anora, I promise you!" Hakon sat up, listening. He had paid no heed to her wild ravings until now, for they had been mostly unintelligible. But why was she calling to Anora? She was Anora!

"How can you . . . how can you marry him?" Gwendolyn ranted feverishly. "Wulfgar Ragnarson . . . a Dane . . . our enemy . . . nay, Anora!" She licked her dry lips. "'Tis all right, 'tis all right . . . she loves him . . . so much water, all around . . . he must not touch her . . . she belongs to Wulfgar Ragnarson . . . must go in her place . . ."

Hakon started, his eyes widening as she repeated the name once again. Wulfgar Ragnarson! The man Haarek Jarl had spoken of at the meeting in Trondheim! He felt a strange sense of foreboding tugging at his mind, the same feeling that had overwhelmed him on the battlefield, but he tried to ignore it.

"What can I do . . . I have no choice . . . escape, we must escape . . . the merchant . . . what has happened to the merchant!" Suddenly Gwendolyn wrenched herself free of Hakon's arms and sat up in bed, her face a mask of horror. "Nay, Rhoar . . . there is no time . . . the knife, throw the knife . . . Hakon!" she cried out, anguished tears running down her flushed cheeks. "Hakon!" Her whole body trembled as fierce sobs racked her body.

Hakon gently pulled her back down beside him and she slumped, exhausted, in his arms. The tears had scarcely dried upon her face when she fell into a deep sleep, her fever broken at last. He gathered her close and pulled the thick coverlet over them both.

But Hakon could not sleep. He felt as if the cold steel of a knife had been thrust into his heart and twisted cruelly around. Who was this woman he held in his arms? Was she Anora, or someone else? He suddenly remembered the question he had asked himself on the battlefield: How could brother and sister look so much alike? How could brother and sister . . . unless they weren't brother and sister after all!

Suddenly everything seemed clear to him, achingly, painfully clear. His powerful body trembled uncontrollably, as if he himself were racked with fever. Ever so gently he slid his arm out from beneath Gwendolyn's tousled head and got up from the bed. He briefly touched her forehead. It was cool to his touch, and her breathing had returned to normal. At least he could be grateful for that, he thought, tucking the coverlet snugly about her. He walked almost in a daze to the door.

"Find Garric, and bring him here to me!" he ordered, startling the Viking guard who was asleep on a bench just outside the door.

"G-Garric?" the guard asked, jumping to his feet.

"Yea, the stable hand. Take other guards if you must, only find him . . . and quickly. I wish to see him, now!"

The Viking guard wasted no time. He strode quickly across the main room of the hall and hurried out the door.

Hakon turned back into his chamber and walked over to the chair by the bed. He sat down, his startling blue eyes fixed upon Gwendolyn's face, and waited.





Chapter 36





The Viking guard returned a short while later, breathing hard from running back to the hall. "My lord, the lad is not in the stable!" he gasped. "I have alerted the other guards and they are out looking for him now, but so far there is no sign of him!"

Hakon slammed his fist down hard upon the wooden arm of the chair. "Garric must be in the stable," he muttered, almost to himself. He rose to his feet. "I will go with you and we will look again." He quickly pulled on his boots and grabbed a thick fur vest hanging on a wooden peg near the door. He glanced over his shoulder at the bed. Gwendolyn was still sleeping soundly. He rushed out of the room, the Viking warrior close behind him.

Hakon's voice startled the woman who was busily tending the blazing fire in the central hearth. "Go sit in my chamber and watch Anora carefully until I return," he called out, striding across the hall. "If she wakes, see that she drinks more of the broth. The herbs should help her to sleep again."

"Yea, my lord!" The woman bowed her head, wiping her hands upon her woolen tunic. She hurried into his chamber.

Hakon drew in his breath sharply as he stepped outside. Thor, but it was cold this night! Their footsteps made crunching sounds in the new snow that had fallen as they hurried along the path to the stable.

They were met at the door to the stable by several Viking warriors. Their faces were grim as they held up their torches. "We have not found the lad, my lord. We even looked in the women's slave house, thinking perhaps he might be with a wench— "

"Nay, you will not find him there," Hakon cut him off abruptly, a sardonic half smile upon his lips. He pushed open the door to the stable. "Hand me a torch," he demanded.

Hakon stepped inside the large, darkened room. He held up the torch in front of him, making a slow sweep of the shadowed recesses of the stable. The sheep and cattle rustled nervously about in their stalls, while frightened chickens dodged for cover, clucking incessantly.

"Garric!" he called out sharply. He was answered only by the snorting of his stallion, which tossed its head in greeting. "Garric!" He waited a moment, but still there was no reply. Anger flared within him. His instincts told him that Garric was in the stable, somewhere, perhaps hiding.

"'Tis Lord Hakon, lad. You must come out at once! Anora has taken sick this night with a burning fever. Even now she is calling out your name. I promised her I would find you and bring you to her side!"

Hakon's ruse was instantly rewarded. He heard a rustling of hay from the far end of the stable, then the sound of footsteps, as a slender figure hurried forward into the light cast by the blazing torch. He started, recognizing the tunic and breeches she wore. They were the extra clothes he had given Garric, the ones the lad had always refused to wear.

But on her small feet were soft leather slippers . . . women's slippers!

"My-my lord?" Anora murmured apprehensively, shielding her eyes. Her mind was racing. Gwendolyn, taken sick? But how? When? Her face was pale and drawn, and she swayed unsteadily on her feet. She had not eaten for almost two days.

Hakon reached out and grabbed her roughly by the arm. "Come, we must waste no more time!" He pulled her from the stable, dragging her along the path to his hall, while the Viking guards watched in puzzled astonishment. He could feel her shivering from the cold, but he did not slow his pace.

Anora's heart was pounding in her chest. She panted for breath, the frigid air hurting her lungs as she tried frantically to keep up with him. Suddenly she stumbled on the slippery path. She gasped when Hakon picked her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way, hugging her close to his broad chest. Hakon Jarl would not treat a lad so, she thought fleetingly, as he kicked open the massive door to his hall and strode across the main room. He set her down just outside his chamber and took her by the shoulders, his eyes burning into hers.