Twin Passions (16 page)

"Say another word to the lad . . . or the wench .
. . and you will lose your tongue." With that, Hakon strode to the railing
as his men began climbing aboard the ship. Though some of them staggered
unsteadily, and all were bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, they quickly took
their places at the rowing benches.

"Hail, Hakon! Reach over and lend your cousin a
hand!"

Hakon could not help but laugh as he leaned over the
side of the ship and grabbed Einar's thick forearms. Grunting with exertion, he
pulled his cousin aboard, while several men heaved him up on their shoulders
from below.

"Whoa! My boy, it seems I am growing too old for
this." Einar wheezed breathlessly once he stood on the deck. "Or else
the ale has grown more potent!"

"Nay, Einar, you are as fit as ever," Hakon
reassured his grizzled cousin. "'Tis the ale, I am sure."
But truly,
he thought to himself,
he does look the worse for the past evening's
festivities.
He shook his head, chuckling.

Einar looked curiously about the ship. His eyes widened
as he spied Svein lying in a crumpled heap on the deck. "I thought 'twas
you walking toward my hall a short while ago. Then all of a sudden you turned
and ran back to the ship. Is aught amiss, my boy?"

"Nay, cousin. Whatever trouble there was has been
dealt with," Hakon replied evenly.

"So I see. Well, no doubt he deserved it, eh,
Hakon?" He laughed,
then
shrugged his great
shoulders. "Ah, here is the wench. Thor's hammer! If I was a younger man,
I might feel the need to fight you for this beauty, my boy!"

Hakon leaned over the side once again as one of his
crewmen lifted Anora into his waiting arms. "I see the rest has done you
some good, little one," he murmured, noting the clearness of her emerald
eyes and the rosy color of her cheeks. But she turned her head away and would
not look at him.

Distressed at her lack of response, though he tried
hard not to show it, Hakon hugged her against his broad chest and carried her
over to the tent. He could see that she had bathed, though she still wore the
same torn clothing. Her long, silver-blond hair was damp and freshly combed,
the fresh, clean scent of her skin enveloping his senses. He set her down
gently, but she stepped abruptly away from him. She gasped with alarm at the
sight of Gwendolyn's arms bound tightly behind her back, then looked up at him,
her eyes full of questions.

"Garric's hands must remain tied for the rest of
the journey, if only for his own protection," Hakon muttered tersely. He
angrily turned his back to them as Anora threw her arms around Gwendolyn's
neck. Thor! The wench made him feel as if he should doubt his own orders!

Einar laughed out loud at the dark scowl on Hakon's
face. Yea, his young cousin had indeed been smitten by the Anglo-Saxon wench!
Slapping him heartily on the back, he had to admit that he did not envy Hakon.
Women were such trouble. His three wives were proof enough of that!

"Well, my boy, I had your men bring aboard a good
supply of ale that should last you through the voyage, along with some salted
meat and goat cheese," Einar said loudly. Not one for good-byes, he
enveloped Hakon in a massive embrace, then was over the side of the ship and
wading back to shore before his cousin had uttered a word. "May the gods
protect you during your journey!" he called out, his hand cupped to his
mouth. "And remember!" he shouted at the top of his lungs as the
longship pulled away from the shoreline. "Send word if you need me!
'
Twould be an honor to send that bastard Rhoar to his grave!"

Hakon waved his arm in a final salute,
then
turned back to his crewmen. The sun, a great glowing
ball of orange, was already well above the horizon. "Hoist the sail!"
he shouted with exhilaration. Though he would miss Einar, he was glad to be
under way again.

Raised on a yard nearly forty feet long, the great sail
flapped and crackled as it billowed out with the gusting wind. Breathing a
silent prayer to Odin for a safe, swift journey, Hakon turned his eyes to the
north.

Chapter 16

Gwendolyn leaned on her oar for a moment and wiped her
face with the sleeve of her light woolen shirt. God's blood, she was sore! Her
slender back ached miserably, and the palms of her hands were blistered and
raw. She stood up from the bench and stretched her arms wide above her head.

"I gave you no permission to stop rowing, Garric,"
Hakon said sternly, walking up beside her.

Dropping her arms to her sides, Gwendolyn turned
flashing eyes upon him. "I am tired, Viking. Does that mean naught to you?
I have been rowing for several hours now, and you have not once given me a
chance to rest!" she retorted hotly.

Hakon pushed her back down onto the bench and set her
hands upon the narrow wooden oar. "Row."

Gwendolyn bit her lower lip in anger. Very well, if the
Viking wanted her to row, then so she would! Heaving with all her strength, she
dropped her oar back into the water and began rowing at twice the speed of the
other oarsmen. A loud crack was heard as her oar hit the one next to it,
causing the man seated on the bench in front of her to turn and curse loudly at
her.

Hakon smiled faintly, stifling the chuckle in his
throat. Thor, if this lad wasn't a stubborn one! He gripped her firmly by the
shoulder, his voice allowing no argument. "If you continue to disrupt the
oarsmen and slow us down, lad, you will only row the longer. We shall soon be
at my brother's settlement, so any further delay will be of your own doing.
Now, row!"

Gwendolyn watched him stride to the front of the
long-ship, where he took his accustomed place near the dragon-headed prow.
Matching her stroke to that of the other oarsmen, she gritted her teeth and
rowed, knowing his vivid blue eyes were upon her.

It had been a long journey. She had counted a total of
seven days since they left Einar's settlement in the Shetlands; four days since
they had sighted land, and another three as they had sailed farther north along
the rocky coastline of Norway.

Hakon had cut her bonds one day out of Sumburgh Voe,
not so much out of concern for her chafed wrists, but due to Anora's repeated
pleas for him to do so. He had ignored them much of the time except to bring
them food and water, and to see that Anora was granted the privacy she required
for her personal needs. Gwendolyn had been forced to make do as best she could,
always
waiting
until cover of night to take care of
her own. Her guise as a boy had been sorely tested; fortunately, no one had bid
her to change her clothes as yet, dirty as they were.

After only two days of sailing, the ship had encountered
a vicious storm, the ferocity of which Gwendolyn had never seen before. An
oarsman seated in the stern had been washed overboard at the height of the
squall, disappearing beneath the angry black waves before anyone could reach
out to save him. Only Hakon's knowledge of the sea and his skill at commanding
his longship had saved them all from perishing, earning him Gwendolyn's
grudging respect.

It wasn't until the ship had reached the mouth of the
great Sogn fjord that she was forced to replace the lost oarsman. No amount of
protest could dissuade Hakon, and after a few simple instructions she had been
seated at the bench and ordered to row.

Gwendolyn looked up over her shoulder at the sheer
sides of the snowcapped mountains towering above the fjord. Some of the sparsely
wooded slopes plunged right into the deep, blue water, while others were more
gently rolling, the green hillsides dotted with farmsteads and herds of grazing
sheep. She had to admit that she had never seen such wild beauty as in this
rugged land of the Vikings.

They had traveled west for some distance along the
Sogn,
then
had turned sharply northward into a more
narrow fjord. Gwendolyn had seen several large settlements along the way, and
she had smiled softly at the fair-haired children who had lined the grassy
banks to wave at the passing longship. These settlements appeared to her to be
trading towns, for there were all shapes and sizes of boats lined up along the
shore and scores of people milling about the clustered buildings. She heard the
shouts of men, no doubt arguing over their wares, and the gay laughter of
women, carrying out over the surface of the water.

Gwendolyn's eyes widened as the longship passed near a
roaring waterfall, the cascading water sending a fine mist of spray into the
air as it plummeted into the deep waters of the fjord. The cool moisture on her
face enlivened her weary senses, and she truly smiled for the first time since
she and Anora had been abducted from their homeland.

"So, Garric, you can smile after all," Hakon
said amiably, stopping by her bench after conferring with Olav at the helm. "'Tis
good to know you are capable of more than angry scowls and fierce glances."
The fleeting smile disappeared from Gwendolyn's face just as quickly as it had
come, but not before Hakon wondered how a lad could be so pretty. He had seen
such beauty in a boy only once before, several years past, in a marketplace in
Byzantium.

Hakon had heard of those men who had a taste for young
boys rather than women, but he could not have been more amazed at the lively
slave trade this perversion encouraged. A large crowd had gathered in the
marketplace around a raised pallet, upon which stood the most beautiful boy
Hakon had ever seen. Young and slender, with smooth, olive skin, the boy had
been stripped of his ragged clothing and was being slowly turned around for all
to see.

A fat, leering merchant had pushed his way to the front
of the crowd, and had bought him for several pieces of gold. Hakon would never
forget the terror he had seen written on the boy's delicate features at the
loathsome sight of his new owner, or the sheer desperation reflected in his
dark, almond-shaped eyes. Repulsed, Hakon had turned away, when a sudden roar
from the crowd caused him to wheel around. The boy had grabbed the curved knife
from the merchant's belt and had plunged it into his own breast, his lifeblood
splattering the merchant's fine clothes and spilling out upon the ground.

"Why do you stare at me so, Viking?"
Gwendolyn asked guardedly. Hakon's eyes had not moved from her face for several
moments, his forehead creased in thought. It was making her extremely
uncomfortable. She would have to remember not to smile from now on. Obviously
it drew too much attention to her face, and could possibly threaten her disguise.

Hakon blinked, her question suddenly thrusting him back
to the present. "You reminded me of someone, 'tis all," he muttered,
his mouth grim.

"And who would that be?" she queried testily,
wondering what dark thoughts had chased the earlier amusement from his eyes.

"Ask me no further questions, Garric. Tend to your
oar," he said abruptly, dismissing her. Without another word, he turned
and walked away.

Gwendolyn opened her mouth to retort, but then thought
better of it. God's blood, one minute the Viking was good-natured, the next a
tyrant again! She sighed heavily, shaking her tousled head. If she and Anora
were ever to escape, she would have to learn to gauge his moods. Only then
would she be able to know when his guard was down, and perhaps use it to their
advantage.

Hakon did not stop until he was between the benches
where Svein and Torvald were sitting. "Get up," he muttered tersely.

Svein looked up at him in surprise. "My-my lord?"
he stammered, a hint of fear in his pale eyes.

"You and Torvald, get up," Hakon repeated,
his voice low, expressionless. "Egil, unlock their chains."

"Yea, my lord," Egil murmured, hastening to
obey. He took a bunch of keys from his pocket, then bent over and unlocked the
metal shackles binding Torvald's feet and those around his thick wrists. The
heavy shackles fell to the deck with a clanking thud.

Torvald rose to his feet. As he stretched his massive
arms and shoulders, his eyes never left Hakon's face.

Egil hurried over to Svein's bench and did the same
with his chains. He could tell from Hakon's tone that something was brewing,
and thanked the gods it was not directed toward him. "Is there aught else,
my lord?"

"Yea. See that the men do not slacken their pace,"
Hakon said. He had noticed that a few of the oarsmen were no longer rowing, but
were watching the proceedings with great interest.

"As you say, Lord Hakon." Egil nodded. He
strode along the narrow aisle between the rowing benches. "All right, men,
keep to your oars!" he shouted. The oarsmen obliged him by leaning into
their oars, their muscles bulging and straining with exertion.

"Move to the side of the ship," Hakon told
the two men, drawing his heavy broadsword from its scabbard in one swift
movement. The polished steel blade glinted brightly in the late afternoon sun.

Torvald obeyed instantly, his quick movements belying
his huge bulk. But Svein stood his ground, though he trembled visibly.

"You area hard man, Lord Hakon, to treat us so!"
he blurted incredulously, stepping back as Hakon pointed the sword at his
heaving chest. "Our backs still bleed from your lashin', and the skin on
our wrists and ankles has been rubbed raw from those damned shackles! Have you
na
' punished us enough?" he asked, his face white but
for the glaring red scar. "You surely canna' mean to kill us?"

"Question my orders once again, Svein, and you
will most certainly feel the sting of my blade," Hakon growled. He walked
forward with slow, measured steps.

Svein did not hesitate any longer. Scurrying behind
Torvald, he furtively peered out from behind his giant companion.