Twin Passions (34 page)

Hakon's thoughts were interrupted by Haarek Jarl's
thin, raspy voice. "Two mere women are not worth the loss of our
independence!" he shouted angrily, standing before his high seat. His eyes
moved about the room, burning like two glowing coals. "I have sent
messengers out to the rulers in Haalogaland in the far north, to Viken near the
Foldenfjord, and even to the regions ruled still by Harald Gormsson, seeking
news of the whereabouts of these two women." He raised his arm suddenly,
pointing one by one at the gathered chieftains, who were now all standing.

"Send out messengers within your own lands! The
women must be found!" he admonished fiercely. "If the one is as
beautiful as they say, surely there must be those who would remember such a
face. And if you find them, or learn any news of their fate, send word to me at
once! Now begone, all of you! Sail this very day! And may Odin grant you safe
passage as you return to your lands!" He paused, his barrel chest heaving,
then warned, "Meanwhile, my lords, until you hear otherwise, prepare for
war!"

The Viking chieftains quickly opened a wide path for
Haarek Jarl and his retinue as he strode among them toward the massive doors at
the entrance to the great hall. His pale face was grim, his mouth a tight line
as he acknowledged their clenched fists
raised
in
homage, while other warriors pounded their brightly painted shields with their
spears. His glittering eyes searched every face that lined the path, and he
paused occasionally to mutter a greeting to a favored chieftain. He had almost
reached the doors when he spied Hakon standing back from the others with Olav
at his side. He stopped abruptly.

"You must be Hakon, Jarl of Sogn," he stated
loudly. The chieftains in front of Hakon quickly moved aside.

"Yea, my lord," Hakon said, stepping forward.
He met the smaller man's penetrating gaze evenly.

"I much admired your elder brother, Eirik,"
Haarek said simply. "You greatly resemble him, though I believe you are
taller and of broader build than he." He paused for a moment, then
murmured, "I am greatly comforted that 'tis you who shall carry on as Jarl
in his stead . . . and no other." Hakon bowed his head, not missing Haarek's
unspoken reference to Rhoar Bloodaxe. "You have my oath of allegiance, my
lord."

"Of that I had no doubt," Haarek replied, his
gaze never wavering from Hakon's face. A fleeting smile touched his stern
features, then was gone as he turned on his heel. The great doors swung open,
immediately silencing the loud din in the anteroom as the Jarl swept through.

Gwendolyn leaped to her feet to avoid being crushed by
the mob of Viking guards that surrounded the small, stocky man with the blazing
eyes. She watched in fascination as he passed by her. So this was the great
Haarek Jarl! She had heard much about him from Ansgar, who had taught her some
of the history of the Norse people. He had said the man was as feared as he was
respected, and though he was of small stature, he ruled his vast holdings with
a will of iron.

Her eyes scanned the faces of the Viking chieftains who
were now pouring from the great hall, but she did not see Hakon. It was several
moments before he finally walked through the doors, at least a full head taller
than those around him. She felt a thrill of excitement course through her body
at the sight of him. Aye, he was by far the most splendid warrior of them all!

"Lord Hakon!" Gwendolyn called
out,
for the crush of the crowd was so great she could not
break through to get to his side. She watched as he easily made his way over to
the timbered wall where she stood. Without a word, he took her arm and led her
through the surging crowd. Olav followed not far behind.

"Where do we go from here, my lord?" she
asked, shouting over the swell of raised voices. "Will there be a feast?"
She hoped so. Her stomach was growling hungrily.

"Nay, lad. You will have to settle for salted
fish. We must sail at once," he replied, the bronzed planes of his face
inscrutable.

"But we have only just arriv—"

"Ask me no further questions, Garric!" he cut
her off sharply.

Gwendolyn felt as if she had been struck. Aye, very
well, she thought, angered and hurt by his abrupt manner. Then she shook her
head, chiding herself for her foolishness. What more could she expect? She was
not playing the part of the beloved Anora now, but of Garric, the stable hand.
She was worthy of no more consideration than what she had just received! She
sighed raggedly, following close behind Hakon as he walked from the great hall into
the bright afternoon sun.

Chapter 31

Gwendolyn pulled halfheartedly on her oar, her mind
working quickly as the longship cut across the surface of the icy water. Hakon's
settlement was just around the bend of the fjord.

Soon the charade
will begin again,
she thought miserably, her eyes upon Hakon as he stood
beside the dragon-headed prow,
his
legs spread wide,
his muscled arms folded across his broad chest. Aye, she loved
him, that
she knew. But like a double-edged sword, she also
knew that she could not betray Anora's trust in her. She sighed heavily. Never
before had she been faced with such an awful dilemma. She now dreaded the role
she must play for her sister's sake, fearful that at any time she might give
herself away. Yet she could not deny that she longed for the feel of Hakon's
strong arms about her, the scorching heat of his touch, and the warmth of his
lips upon her own.

She shivered suddenly. Aye, there was nothing left of
the serenity she had felt the last two days. The homeward journey had been a
welcome respite from the inner turmoil that plagued her; but it had, too,
quickly passed.

It had taken less than two days for the longship to
sail southward along the rocky coast to the mouth of the great Sogn fjord. The
entire journey had been blessed with a steady north wind, calm seas, and clear
blue skies during the day, while at night the longship was guided by the light
of a half-crescent moon and thousands of winking stars.

Gwendolyn had actually enjoyed herself during much of
the return voyage. Thankfully she had been spared the seasickness that had
wracked her body on the way to Trondheim. The brisk wind in her hair and the
golden rays of the sun on her face had enlivened her senses, giving her some
peace and allowing her to forget, even for a short time, the disquieting
thoughts that had been tormenting her so.

She had spoken little during the voyage, preferring
instead to sit quietly at her bench to watch the ever-changing scenery of the
rugged Norse coastline. But it had also given her a chance to observe silently
the easy camaraderie Hakon had with his crewmen. It was obvious that the good
weather had buoyed everyone's spirits. Outrageous jests and ribald stories had
flown through the air, and hearty laughter had rung out across the waves. A
couple of times Hakon had even goaded her with a few good-natured taunts,
especially about the slave wench in Trondheim. But she had done her best to
ignore him, until he finally shrugged and left her alone.

She noticed that Hakon had said nothing, not even to
his trusted crewmen, about the matter of grave importance that had summoned him
to Trondheim. And she had not ventured to ask, fearing another sharp rebuttal
like the one she'd received in Haarek Jarl's hall. She had also caught him
staring at her rather strangely several times, but he had always looked away
quickly, avoiding her eyes. She shrugged it off, thinking that perhaps he was
puzzled that she had not joined in the merriment of the others.

It was best that way, she decided. If she did not speak,
and stayed away from him, something not so easily achieved on so narrow a ship,
she would have no fear of giving her emotions away, and perhaps threatening her
guise as well.

It was only when they reached the mouth of the Sogn and
left the open seas behind them that she noticed Hakon had grown increasingly
impatient to reach the settlement. He had been standing alone at the prow for
the past hour, his eyes intent on the landscape before him. The sun was sinking
behind the surrounding mountainsides in a glowing ball of orange fire when the
longship finally rounded the last bend in the fjord.

Hakon whooped with delight as he caught sight of the
settlement. His wild cry startled Gwendolyn, though Olav and the crew laughed
uproariously. Aye, she knew why he was so elated. Soon he would once again hold
Anora in his arms.

"Up with your oars, men!" he shouted to the
crew, a broad smile playing across his handsome features.

Gwendolyn shook her head grimly as she complied with
his order. No doubt Hakon would rush to find her sister as soon as the ship was
moored. If his greeting were anything like the one she had received in his
bathing house . . . She blushed hotly, remembering. Nay, she had to find Anora
first, and exchange places with her before . . .

The longship suddenly scraped against the wooden dock,
jarring her thoughts. There was an instant commotion as the Viking guards
onshore rushed to grab the lines tossed to them. With their sinewy muscles
heaving and straining, the men tied the ship securely to the dock.

"Welcome, my lord!" Egil called out, jumping
down onto the wooden deck. He had been left behind to oversee the settlement
and the extra men while Hakon was in Trondheim.

Hakon greeted him with a hearty slap on the back. "Was
there any trouble during my absence?" he asked.

"Nay, my lord," Egil replied, shaking his
shaggy head. "It has been very quiet these past few days . . . perhaps too
quiet."

"How so?" Hakon queried, lowering his voice.

Seeing Egil and Hakon engrossed in conversation,
Gwendolyn seized her chance. She knew there was not a moment to lose. Without
hesitation, she jumped up from her bench with her roll of clothing clutched in
one hand and bounded over the side of the ship onto the dock. Running up the
hill as if the very hounds of hell were snapping at her heels, she did not stop
even when she heard Hakon's voice calling out after her.
Perhaps Egil will keep him occupied for a few moments,
she thought
wildly. That Viking was known to be long-winded even at his best moments. Aye,
she could only hope he would be the same this day.

Hakon cursed aloud, interrupting Egil's detailed
account of the last few days. Where was Garric off to, and in such a hurry?
Then he shrugged. No matter. He would see to the lad's impudence later. Now he
had other things on his mind. A slow smile spread over his face as he thought
of Anora. "We can talk of this later, Egil. From what you have said so
far, I see no cause for alarm."

"Very well, my lord," Egil said, noting his
impatience. His eyes glinted knowingly. Yea, if he had a wench as beautiful as
Lord Hakon's, he would not wish to tarry overlong from her side!

With a nod to Olav, Hakon jumped from the ship to the
dock with one agile movement. Whistling, he strode quickly along the path to
his hall, his blood beginning to race with excitement.

Gwendolyn said a quick prayer of thanks when she saw
there were no guards at the entrance to Hakon's private hall. She pushed open
the heavy door and hurried across the main room. Bursting in the door to his
chamber, she startled Anora, who was sitting in the leather-backed chair facing
the window. Her sister stood up and whirled around, dropping to the floor the
fine needlework she was stitching.

"Gwendolyn, you frightened me!" Anora cried
out. The look on Gwendolyn's face sent a surge of fear through her body. "How
long have you been here? Where is Hakon?"

"I think he is still at the docks! Quickly, Anora,
there is no time to talk. We must change clothes . . .
now!
" Gwendolyn whispered fiercely, pulling off her leather jerkin.
But at that moment she heard the door at the entrance to the hall grate open. A
familiar, lilting whistle echoed about the main room.
God's blood! 'Tis Hakon!
she
thought
wildly. Her heart flew to her throat. Nay, their guise could not end like this!
There had to be another way!

Suddenly her eyes flew to the window, and back again to
Anora. She rushed over to her sister's side and shoved the roll of clothing
into her hand. "Climb out the window, Anora, and do not stop until you get
to the stable!" she hissed urgently. "You can change into some of my
other clothes once you get there . . . then hide the ones you are wearing under
a pile of straw! Now go!"

Anora nodded numbly. She did not hesitate, though her
eyes were wide with apprehension. Gripping the roll of clothing tightly under
her arm, she hoisted her silken chemise and mantle over her knees and climbed
through the window as Gwendolyn held back the leather shade. "But what of
you?" she whispered urgently, peering over the wooden ledge of the window,
her face pale and drawn.

"I will be fine. Now go, quickly!" Gwendolyn
dropped the shade as Anora hurried off. Stepping away from the window, she
pulled frantically at her woolen clothes. Truly, she had never undressed with
greater speed as she did in those few moments, all the while hurrying to the
ornate chest that held her fine clothing. She flung back the lid and dumped her
fur-lined jerkin, shirt, breeches, and leather belt into a far corner and
covered them quickly with silken garments.

Drawing out a fine, almost transparent chemise of
emerald green silk gauze, she pulled it over her head,
then
quietly closed the lid of the chest. She could hear heavy footsteps approaching
the door. With a last look around the room, she dashed over to the wide bed and
jumped under the covers.

"God's blood!" she suddenly cursed under her
breath. Throwing back the fur coverlet, she yanked off her fur-trimmed leather
boots and tossed them under the bed. She ran her fingers through her short
curls, then gathered the thick coverlet up about her shoulders and rolled over
onto her side. She forced herself to take several deep breaths until she felt
somewhat relaxed, though her heart still pounded madly against her breast. No
more than a moment had passed when she heard the door to the chamber open
slowly.