Twin Passions(57)

"But 'tis not over for me, Anora." Gwendolyn shook her head sadly. She grimaced at the pain in her shoulder. Truly, she thought, the wrenching pain in her heart was far worse. "When I saw Rhoar standing over Hakon on the battlefield, with his bloody axe poised and ready to deal him a death blow, I knew then my life would be naught without him. Now I see that I have lost him just as surely as if he had died that day."

Anora looked away for a moment, overwhelmed by the agonizing despair reflected in the depths of Gwendolyn's eyes. She had never seen her sister like this before, yet she knew what she must be feeling. She had known the same sorrow, the same hopelessness, when she had been taken from Wulfgar on the eve of their marriage. She had looked then to Gwendolyn for solace, strength, aye, and protection, these past months, and she had never failed her. Yet now her sister needed the same from her.

She gazed down at Gwendolyn's pale face. She looked so fragile, so weak. If this news had threatened her sister's will to live . . . nay, there had to be something she could say to ease Gwendolyn's terrible heartache!

Anora suddenly recalled that night when she had told Lord Hakon of their guise. There had been such terrible anguish in his voice, such pain. He seemed almost a beaten man as he stared distantly into the fire, as if he had lost the one thing that had given his life meaning. And now that she knew he had planned to make Gwendolyn his wife, and had expressed his love for her . . . A faint smile curved her lips. So, her instincts had been right, then. He had felt more than lust for her sister. Lord Hakon truly loved Gwendolyn!

"Perhaps all is not lost, Gwendolyn," Anora said softly, leaning toward her. "Have you yet told him of your feelings?"

"Nay," Gwendolyn replied. "I could not, for fear I would be betraying my promise to you."

Anora sighed. "You have kept your promise to me, Gwendolyn, so you need have no fear of betraying me any longer. Now it is time for you to think of yourself," she said gently, yet insistently. "When Lord Hakon returns to the settlement from Trondheim, tell him of your love. Perhaps there is yet a way to resolve all of this happily."

Gwendolyn felt a glimmer of hope suddenly flare within her at Anora's words. Aye, she would tell Hakon that she loved him and wanted to be his wife. Perhaps he could send word to Haarek Jarl that she did not want to return to her homeland, but instead wished to stay in Norge. Surely if Anora were returned safely, it would be enough!

Anora noted the rosy flush of color in her sister's cheeks and murmured a silent prayer of thanks. "Now, 'tis time you rested, Gwendolyn. I must go to the cooking house and fetch some more broth. I will be gone only a few moments," she said as she rose from the chair. She tucked in the fur coverlet around her sister's shoulders. "Try to sleep. 'Twould be a welcome sight for Lord Hakon if you are up and about when he returns." She walked quietly from the room and closed the door behind her.

Gwendolyn smiled faintly, the pain in her shoulder forgotten. Aye, she would run down the hill to the docks to meet him, and tell him of her love, she thought happily. She closed her eyes and fell into a peaceful sleep, his name upon her lips.





Chapter 38





Gwendolyn sat alone in the chamber, her chair turned toward the open window. The leather shade was drawn back, and morning sunlight was pouring into the room, the bright rays warming her upturned face. She reached out, her small hand trying to catch the tiny flecks of dust whirling about in the streaming shafts of light. Smiling to herself, she dropped her hand to her lap and leaned back in the chair.

She took a deep breath of the early spring air, scented with the musky fragrance of new grass and wet earth. The soft breeze blowing through the window teased the silver-blond tendrils framing her delicate features, and carried with it the joyful melodies of birdsong. She could just barely see green tufts of grass peeking up from the drifts of melting snow.

Gwendolyn sighed, the faint smile disappearing from her lips. The sky was a vivid blue, the color of Hakon's eyes. She had not seen him for almost three months now. She shook her head sadly. Would he ever return?

She closed her eyes, trying to conjure up an image of him in her mind, but for some reason she could recall the strong lines of his powerful body . . . but not his face. She shuddered suddenly, crossing herself. She hoped it wasn't a bad omen.

The days had passed by so slowly, merging into weeks, then months, and still Hakon and his crew had not returned to the settlement. The fierce northern winter had raged all around them, wrapping everything in a thick blanket of white as the snows had flown with a blinding fury the likes of which had not been seen for many years.

Her wound had healed well under Anora's watchful and caring ministrations, but slowly. Eventually there was nothing left to remind her of that awful day but the red scar just below her left shoulder, and the infrequent tinglings of pain that plagued her still.

She had stayed in bed for the first few weeks after Hakon left for Trondheim, too weak and light-headed to sit up. But one day, despite Anora's repeated pleas to wait just a while longer, she had swung her slender legs over the side of the bed, determined that she would walk to the roughhewn table near the window. She had hoisted herself up by holding on tightly to the carved corner post. Then, with her hand on Anora's arm for support, she had taken several hesitant steps.

Gwendolyn grimaced as she recalled the awkward sensation she had felt as her knees suddenly buckled beneath her. If it hadn't been for Berta's standing so close behind her, she would have crumpled to the floor. She was hastily tucked back into bed, much to her chagrin. But on the next day's try she had succeeded, laughing with exhausted relief at her accomplishment.

As her strength returned, and along with it her sense of daring, each passing day had seen her walk a little farther from the bed. And soon she was able to walk about the hall without anyone's help. She had even begun a little daily ritual. Each morning, after she dressed, she walked to the entrance and slowly opened the great door. On some days the snow was falling so heavily that she was unable to see all the way down to the fjord. But on other days, when the sky was clear, she looked out over the sparkling, snow-covered hillside in the direction of the docks, searching for any sign of Hakon's longship. Yet she was always disappointed. The docks had remained empty, the stout posts and wooden planks glistening under a transparent sheen of thick ice.

Aye, but that ritual had soon ended, Gwendolyn thought with a secret smile. She remembered with distaste the strange queasiness that had begun to plague her each morning after she awoke, and she found herself miserably retching the contents of her stomach into a wooden bucket. She had thought perhaps it was the sleeping herbs making her ill, but her intuition was confirmed when she twice missed her monthly flow.

Thankfully the sickness was over now, Gwendolyn thought as she lay her hands gently over her stomach. It was still flat, only perhaps slightly rounded near the center. She reveled in the knowledge that she carried Hakon's child within her. It was one more link that bound them together. Yet she had made Anora swear not to say a word to anyone, and especially not to Hakon when he returned. Aye, it was her secret. Hakon would learn of it from her lips alone.

Yet despite the happiness she felt about the child, it had not served to make the days go by any faster. The settlement had become completely snowbound. And though narrow paths had been dug out between the longhouses, it had been deemed unsafe for her and Anora to venture outside.

But there had been a few bright spots to relieve the boredom of their wintry confinement. A loom was set up in Hakon's chamber for them, accompanied by sacks of fine yarns, though Gwendolyn found little pleasure in that. It was Anora who spent many contented hours working on a beautiful tapestry, and stitching delicate embroidery with silken threads of every hue.

Nay, it was Berta who had truly enlivened their days. She had spent a great deal of time with them, once she had gotten over her initial shock at their true identity. Her countless ribald stories of her past, when she had been a young serving wench in the service of Magnus Haardrad's household, Hakon's lusty father, had both embarrassed and amused them. She had also seen to it that they had plenty of well-prepared food to eat. Gwendolyn sometimes wondered if perhaps Berta had somehow guessed her secret from the constant, prying questions about her health. But she had simply smiled, assuring the kindly woman that she had never felt better.

And occasionally Olav had come to visit. At first he never stayed but a few moments, just long enough to inquire gruffly after their well-being. But eventually he had spent several afternoons in their company, seemingly delighted to sit and chat with two such lovely maidens. He told them entrancing tales of the sea, and of his boyhood home far to the north of Trondheim, where he had tamed strange, wild creatures called reindeer.

Yet, when pressed for any news of Hakon's expected return, Olav had always grown silent, saying only that perhaps the fierce winter weather had kept him from sailing homeward. Gwendolyn had not missed the worried expression in his eyes, though he had done his best to hide it. His apprehension had not helped to ease her own mind in the least.

The haunting sound of the great horns brought Gwendolyn suddenly out of her reverie. She sat forward in the chair, listening, her heart pounding furiously against her breast. The rich tones echoed about the steep hillsides surrounding the settlement, surging, crescendoing.