Twin Passions (2 page)

He is a Dane, an
enemy of our people,
Gwendolyn thought angrily.
How could Father ever have agreed to such a proposal?
Yet, she knew
the answer. A king's pawn . . . a reward . . . The words echoed in her mind,
over and over. After that day in the chapel, she had known that her life would
never be the same. The grim realization that she and Anora could be used as
barter at the whim of a king, their fates so easily decided by others, had
shaken her to the very depths of her being.

And now, not only had her father betrayed her, but
Anora, too. Gwendolyn raged silently. Though her sister had been given the
right to refuse this Wulfgar Ragnarson if she so desired, she had fallen in
love with him, agreeing to be his wife!
How
could Anora let herself be used so?
Gwendolyn wondered, shaking her head in
dismay.

Yet Gwendolyn had to admit that it wasn't just that
Anora was to marry a Dane that upset her so. Nay, there was something else,
something even more painful. She had watched in silence while her sister
underwent a mysterious transformation during the summer months. Where she and
Anora had once been inseparable, sharing laughter and tears, secret dreams and
hopes, and hiding nothing from each other, Gwendolyn now found
herself
alone. From their first meeting, Anora and Wulfgar
had seemed as if they were in a world that only two could share. Aye, perhaps
it was this that had hurt her most of all.

Gwendolyn shook her head fiercely. Nay, she didn't want
to think of the wedding, of Wulfgar Ragnarson, or of Anora's betrayal anymore!
But suddenly an odd thought struck her. She laughed ruefully, startling her
mare.
It could have been my fate that was
decided by the king, except for an accident of birth.
She wondered if her
own betrothal was being planned to follow shortly after Anora's marriage, now
just three days away. The thought of being subject to any man made her stomach
knot angrily. Why, she could ride a horse and wield a weapon as well as any of
her father's thanes, if not better!

"A king's pawn!" Gwendolyn snorted
derisively. "Nay, I will not settle for any man unless it is by my own
choosing!" Urging the mare into a full gallop, she looked mischievously
over her shoulder. She could barely make out the two thanes through the thick
trees. They were riding hard and fast, yet she had the advantage of distance as
she rebelliously spurred her mare onward.

Spying a path that led away from the river, Gwendolyn
veered down the steep side of a hill. She hid behind some low branches,
watching breathlessly as the two thanes thundered past her, their steeds
flecked with sweat and foam. Confident that she had eluded them, she left the
shelter of the trees and urged the mare once again into a gallop.

"Faster, Arrow, faster!" Gwendolyn laughed
with joyful exhilaration. She rode through the woods with wild abandon, her
painful thoughts forgotten, at least for now. The brisk air enlivened her
senses. Aye, it had been a long time since she had felt so lighthearted and
free!

Chapter 2

Damp evening mists parted before the mare's flashing
hooves as she galloped through a clearing in the densely wooded forest. At
Gwendolyn's urging, the mare plunged back into the woods nimbly dodging the
shadowed trees that loomed all around them. A loud clap of thunder suddenly
exploded in the distance, startling the spirited animal. She reared in fright,
nearly throwing Gwendolyn off her back.

"Whoa, Arrow!" she shouted, pulling firmly on
the reins. Another clap of thunder echoed through the strangely silent woods,
startling a flock of resting blackbirds into flight. Their raucous cries
shattered the growing stillness as lightning was etched against the sky.
Looking up at the dark, menacing clouds, Gwendolyn realized she had not noticed
the approaching storm. She had been riding for hours, and knew it was long past
the time when she should have returned to the stronghold.

She twisted around in the saddle, peering about her,
but she could not make out any familiar landmarks in the gathering darkness.
Now you've done it, my girl,
she
thought, cursing her foolhardiness. She had never ridden so far from the
stronghold before, and doubted she was even on her father's lands.

Stifling a twinge of apprehension, Gwendolyn decided to
ride toward the river. Aye, surely from there she would find a path leading
back to the stronghold. She wheeled her frightened mare around, and set out the
way she had come.

Riding hard through the woods, the storm surging and
shrieking about her, Gwendolyn finally reached the churning river. Wracked by
shivering spasms, she felt chilled to the bone. Cold, stinging rain lashed at
her body through her soaking clothes. Her numbed hands could barely grasp the
reins. Shielding her eyes from the rain, she searched anxiously for any signs
of a path, but there was none. Desperately she plunged the mare into the heavy
underbrush that choked the muddy banks of the river.

A bright bolt of lightning suddenly flashed across the
sky and dashed into an ancient oak right in front of them. Orange flames leaped
from the ground where the bolt pierced the earth, as if shooting up from the
very depths of hell. Rearing and snorting in fright, the mare frantically pawed
the air, the whites of her eyes gleaming in the dark. Another veined streak of
lightning lit the sky, illuminating the swollen waters of the river.

Suddenly, Gwendolyn's face constricted in terror, her
breath tearing raggedly at her throat, at the apparition before her. Before her
very eyes, a demon creature, dragon-like, floated across the rushing torrents
of water, leering at her with devilish glee. Then
just as
suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone
.

"Holy Mother Mary, protect me!" she screamed,
crossing herself frantically. Hot tears streaked her cheeks as she clung
desperately to her mare's wet mane. She felt herself slipping from the saddle
as unconsciousness drew her deeper and deeper into a frightening maelstrom of
darkness.

The sound of hooves thundering toward her flooded her
with relief, and revived her failing senses. Peering into the surrounding
trees, Gwendolyn recognized the familiar shapes of the two thanes as they rode
up beside her.

"Lady Gwendolyn, are you all right?"
questioned the burly thane, his voice filled with concern. Receiving no
response, he gazed fearfully at her pale, stricken face. Her emerald eyes were
glazed and overbright.

Acting quickly, the thane lifted her onto his saddle
and covered her with his woolen cloak. Although sodden, it would offer her some
protection from the cold rain. Cursing to himself, he knew there would be hell
to pay for this misadventure. "Outwitted by a chit of a girl," he
muttered darkly. The Lady Gwendolyn was well known for her willful exploits,
but this time he feared she had gone too far. Signaling to his companion to
grab the reins of her mare, he kicked the heaving sides of his steed and headed
for the stronghold at a full gallop.

Nestled within the heavy cloak, Gwendolyn could feel
the warmth slowly returning to her aching limbs. The burly thane's arms about
her were reassuring, and she attempted to dispel the memory of the nightmare
vision from her mind.
I can tell no one,
she thought dazedly,
or they will think I
am mad.
Yet, in her heart, she knew her vision had been real, though she
could not explain it.

Reining in their horses at the timbered gate of the
stronghold, the thanes waited impatiently for the heavy doors to swing open.
Great torches, sputtering in the rain, lit up the night as loud shouts heralded
their entrance into the main yard.

Gwendolyn felt herself being taken into the waiting
arms of another thane. Then she was carried across the yard into the great
hall. Blinking from the brightness, she felt a twinge of guilt at the anxious
faces of those gathered around her. Her eyes came to rest on the figure of her
mother rushing toward her.

"Quickly, we must get her warm at once," Lady
Bronwen ordered, taking immediate charge of the situation. She gestured for the
thane to follow her, and a serving maid who also stood nearby. Holding a thick
tallow candle in front of her, she led the way up a wooden staircase to
Gwendolyn's chamber.

"Lay her down on the bed," she said evenly,
setting the candle in a large brass holder. The thane hastily obeyed, then
stood aside, not knowing what to do next. His eyes widened as Lady Bronwen
began unceremoniously to strip the drenched clothes from Gwendolyn's shivering
body. She looked up at him, a faint smile curving her lips. "You may go
now."

"Aye, my lady." He nodded, red-faced. Without
a backward glance, the sheepish thane beat a hasty retreat down the stairs.

"Go to the kitchen and fetch some meat broth and
herbs," Lady Bronwen said softly to the young serving maid. The girl
bobbed her head and scurried out of the room, close on the heels of the departing
thane. Lady Bronwen turned back to Gwendolyn and helped her into the bed,
gently pulling the warm blankets up over her delicate shoulders. She looked
kindly at her daughter, her gentle eyes speaking a message of concern, yet also
a mild reproach.

Overcome by her mother's tenderness, Gwendolyn felt hot
tears burn her cheeks. "Mother, I . . ." she began hesitantly, but
the words stumbled on her tongue.

"Hush, lamb, we can talk of this later,"
soothed Lady Bronwen. She moved away from the bed and lit several small oil
lamps about the chamber. The faint rustling of her linen tunic and mantle was
the only sound in the room.

"Here are the herbs and the broth, my lady!"
the serving maid whispered breathlessly as she entered the bedchamber. She had
run all the way to the kitchen and back, anxious to please her kind mistress.

Lady Bronwen nodded her thanks, then took the bowls
from the girl and set them on a small wooden table by the bed. "Go now and
find Leah. I have need of her," she said over her shoulder.

"Aye, mistress," the serving maid replied,
hurrying out the door once again.

Stirring the herbs into the steaming meat broth, Lady
Bronwen offered one of the bowls to Gwendolyn. "Here, lamb, but drink it
slowly."

Gwendolyn cupped the bowl in her hands, bringing it
shakily to her lips. She took a sip, savoring the richness of the beef broth.
After several more sips
a gradual
warmth began to
spread through her, stilling at last the shivering spasms that wracked her
slender body. Feeling her eyelids growing heavy, she handed the empty bowl to
her mother. Lying back against the soft down pillow, she could no longer keep
her eyes open. Gradually she felt herself drift into a comforting sleep.

Tucking in the soft woolen blanket, Lady Bronwen gazed
down at her sleeping daughter. How could such an angelic-looking young woman
cause so much trouble?
she
wondered, shaking her head.
Indeed, Gwendolyn's fair features shone with almost unearthly beauty. Her brows
arched delicately, her nose was straight and slender, her cheekbones high and
graceful. Her lips, lush and rosy, were curved in the faintest of smiles, and
her emerald green eyes, closed in sleep, were thickly fringed with dark lashes
that fluttered ever so slightly against her creamy skin. The only feature that
gave a hint of her true temperament was the stubborn set of her chin.

Lady Bronwen sighed as she smoothed an unruly curl from
Gwendolyn's forehead, remembering the many times she had tried to convince her
daughter to grow her hair long. Yet all her pleas had been for naught.
Strong-minded like her father, Gwendolyn had insisted since childhood that long
hair was a nuisance. Besides, she had not wanted to be an exact replica of her
twin sister, Anora. A bright smile at her father had always ended the argument,
and Gwendolyn once again managed to have her way. Lady Bronwen shook her head.
She truly feared that perhaps Godric had spoiled this daughter overmuch. Her
wild escapade tonight was proof of that!

'Tis hard to
believe so many years have passed . . . and so quickly,
she thought,
reflecting on her eighteen years of marriage to Earl Godric. Their union had
produced twin daughters, just turned seventeen, and one son who had died at
childbirth. A flicker of sorrow passed across Lady Bronwen's lovely face. Her
heart still ached at the thought of the lost child, a pain she had carried
since his death.

Yet it was her husband, deprived of his only son, who
had thrilled at the early interest displayed by Gwendolyn in such masculine
pursuits as riding, hunting, and archery. He had encouraged her, and before
long she had become proficient at all of them. Her skill and accuracy with all
manner of small weapons, especially the knife, were well known. She had even
accompanied her father on his twice-yearly hunts for wild boar, and had taken
great delight in the dangerous sport. Never once had she shown the least bit of
fear.

Ever the doting parent, Earl Godric had even allowed
Gwendolyn to wear a boy's clothing, specially made to fit her slender form. She
had taken to them happily, relishing the ease of movement the woolen shirts and
breeches afforded her. From then on, Lady Bronwen had always been hard pressed
to get Gwendolyn to wear a proper lady's tunic and mantle.

"'Tis no wonder Gwendolyn has such a rebellious
nature," Lady Bronwen murmured resignedly. Finding a husband for her
tempestuous daughter would indeed be a task. He would have to be a strong man
to tame her, yet wise enough not to break her courageous spirit. She wondered
if there was such a man . . .

A soft knock at the door broke into her thoughts.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Anora waiting expectantly. "Come in,
love," she whispered, beckoning to her.