Twin Passions(60)

Hakon's breath caught in his throat. He felt the strangest sensation, as if time suddenly stood still around him. All he could hear was the beating of his heart, pounding furiously against his chest. It grew louder and louder in his ears, almost drowning out Gwendolyn's voice as she repeated the words.

"I love you, Hakon."

Yet his expression did not change. Only his eyes betrayed the terrible chaos of emotions raging within him. He could feel the anger of his hurt pride melting away, only to be replaced by an inner agony that was so great he could have cried out from the crushing pain.

Odin, help him! Hakon felt as if he were being ripped apart by the overwhelming desire to take Gwendolyn in his arms and never let her go . . . and his fierce loyalty to his homeland. Wildly he wished that she had never said the words he had long ago despaired of ever hearing from her lips. It would have been far easier for him to return her to her homeland thinking she had made a mockery of his love.

For Hakon knew he had no choice. Once a Viking warrior had sworn allegiance to his lord, it was inviolable, a sacred vow that could never be broken. He had to obey the command of Haarek Jarl. To do otherwise would bring lifelong contempt upon his entire clan, and possibly their deaths as well.

Hakon swallowed hard, his eyes locking with hers. She looked so vulnerable, so hopeful. Yet he knew their love could never be. He sighed raggedly. There was only one way he could answer her. It would be better for her—for them both— to endure what was to come, he tried to tell himself. Yet Hakon knew his next words would haunt him the rest of his life.

His deep voice echoed about the chamber. "Your love matters naught to me, Gwendolyn," he said harshly. "'Tis better if you save it for an Anglo-Saxon." The stricken look on her beautiful face was more than he could bear. He turned abruptly and left the room.

Gwendolyn stood for a moment, unable to move. She did not feel the hot, bitter tears streaking her face, nor the nails biting so cruelly into her clenched hands that they drew blood. Numbed to the very core of her being, she felt as if her heart were shattering within her breast.

Then, slowly, defiantly, she lifted up her trembling chin. In the silence of the room, she cursed Hakon's name, and the unhappy fates that had ever brought them together.





Chapter 40





Gwendolyn leaned on the ledge of the window and gazed up at the morning sky. The eve of their homeward journey to England had dawned bright and clear, boding well for the weather they could expect during the voyage. Small white clouds dotted the endless expanse of blue. The settlement still lay in shadows, though golden shafts of light from the rising sun were peeking above the surrounding mountains.

She took a deep breath of the pristine air, filling her lungs. Everything smelled so fresh and new. During the past two weeks the last of the snows had melted, the icy moisture feeding the thick grasses that now carpeted the curving slopes surrounding the settlement. Truly, she had never seen such rugged beauty as this in her own land.

Gwendolyn sighed heavily and turned back into the darkened chamber. She glanced over at the wide bed. Anora was still sound asleep, her silver-blond hair spread out like fine gossamer across the eiderdown pillow. Gwendolyn shrugged. At least her sister would be well rested for the journey, which was more than she could say for herself. She had been unable to sleep well at all since Hakon had . . .

Nay, she would not think of it, Gwendolyn told herself fiercely. She stood at the bedside for a moment, wondering what she could do to pass the time until the morning meal. A slow smile spread across her delicate features. Perhaps a walk would take her mind off the memories that continually plagued her. Aye, that was what she would do!

She walked quickly to the ornately carved chest that held her clothes, her bare feet padding across the wooden floor. She quietly lifted the lid, then bent down and rummaged around for a moment. With a satisfied smile, she pulled out a pair of soft linen trousers and a matching tunic. Hastily she whisked the silken shift she was wearing over her head, and tossed it aside with some distaste. She was sick and tired of the confining nature of women's clothing. Luckily Berta had secured for her this one pair of trousers and tunic, albeit with much cajoling. The kindly woman's initial reluctance had reminded Gwendolyn of her mother, and their constant battle over what was appropriate for her to wear.

Gwendolyn quickly donned the trousers, pulling tight the leather drawstring at her still-narrow waist. She gently touched her stomach. Even though she was nearing her fourth month, her slender form had changed little but for the subtle rounding of her belly, and an increasing tenderness in her breasts. Yet she knew it would not be long before her body would betray her secret. She shook her head. Nay, she would not think of that either, at least not now!

She drew the linen tunic down over her head, sighing with pleasure at the freedom of movement men's clothing afforded her. She planned to wear this during the voyage to England, whether anyone protested or not.

Hopping first on one foot, then the other, she quickly slipped into a pair of hard-soled leather slippers. She did not know what had happened to her favorite pair of boots. Perhaps Hakon had given them to one of his other slaves, she thought. She shrugged, then ran her fingers through her tousled hair. At least that had not changed! Anora had refused to cut her sister's hair during the weeks she lay on her sickbed, but as soon as Gwendolyn was up and about she had seen to it that it was trimmed every month. That was how she liked it!

"Gwendolyn, what are you doing?" Anora's drowsy voice suddenly called out to her from the bed. She brought herself up on one elbow, rubbing her hand over her eyes.

"I am going out for a walk along the fjord," Gwendolyn said softly, wrapping a light cloak about her shoulders. "'Tis a beautiful morning, and I am weary of being confined to this chamber."

"Would you like some company?" Anora asked, though she knew she would far prefer to sleep a while longer.

"Nay, I think I would like to be alone," Gwendolyn replied. "I will be back before the morning meal." She eased open the door. "Go back to sleep."

Anora sank back down upon the soft pillows and snuggled under the warm coverlet. "Very well, Gwendolyn," she whispered, her heavy eyelids closing once again. "Just be careful . . ." Yet as she drifted back to sleep, Anora knew she did not have to worry. The Viking guards who followed them everywhere they went would see that her sister was well protected.

Gwendolyn closed the door quietly behind her. She hurried across the main room of the hall, her cloak swirling about her trousered legs. She pushed on the heavy wooden door at the entrance, ever so slowly so it would not creak, and peered outside.

She could not believe her good fortune! The Viking warriors who usually guarded the hall were nowhere in sight. Yet that surprised her. Hakon had demanded that she and Anora be kept under constant guard to prevent any possible mishaps before they sailed. Perhaps they had thought it was safe to step away for a few moments, she surmised. She had never ventured out this early before, so they would have had no reason to be concerned. Aye, that was probably it.

Gwendolyn shrugged. Whatever the reason, she was determined to seize her unexpected opportunity. If she were truly lucky, she might be able to sneak away from the settlement unnoticed and enjoy her walk in blissful solitude. She slipped through the door, her eyes watchful and wary. She felt a heightened sense of adventure that enlivened her long-numbed spirits.

Suddenly her stomach growled hungrily, startling her. God's blood! she thought, exasperated. Then she giggled nervously. Her own stomach had frightened her! She looked longingly toward the cooking house. A thin column of white smoke was wafting from the opening in the roof, and she could smell the mouth-watering aroma of fresh-baked bread carried upon the light breeze. No doubt Berta had been up and about for several hours already, preparing the morning meal that would be served in the great hall to dozens of ravenous warriors.

Gwendolyn's appetite had suffered during the past few weeks, but she had forced herself to eat because of the babe she carried within her. But today, for the first time in a long while, she felt truly hungry. She doubted whether she could wait any longer to eat!

Thinking fast, she drew the hood of the cloak over her tousled hair and hurried down the hill. If she kept her head down, she thought hopefully, no one would recognize her in these clothes. She held her breath as two Viking guards passed by her, but they took little notice of her. She did not stop until she had reached the back door of the cooking house. It was ajar. Gwendolyn knew that Berta kept it that way to allow some fresh air into the main room, which was usually warm due to the raging hearth fires.

She peeked inside. Berta was bent over a caldron of bubbling stew, humming to herself, her back turned to the door. Gwendolyn wasted no time. She tiptoed into the room and over to a nearby table, then grabbed one of the crusty loaves of bread that was still warm from the clay oven. She spied a small round of goat cheese, and grabbed that, too. Then she turned and hurried from the cooking house, just as Berta straightened up.

"Who's there?" the stout cook called out, whirling around, her eyes sweeping about the room. The wooden door was swinging slightly on its hinges, creaking eerily. "'Tis Loki and his children, up to some mischief," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. She shrugged, then turned back to her stew.