Twin Passions (4 page)

"Aye, if I had a man such as Wulfgar to warm my
bed, I might even marry again!"

"But he is a Dane!" a dissenting voice
replied indignantly. "It matters naught to me. He fits his trousers better
than many a man, be he Dane or Anglo-Saxon!"

Blushing heatedly, Anora pushed open the door,
interrupting the merry conversation as the ladies-in-waiting sought to suppress
their giggles. Lady Bronwen rose gracefully from her chair and quickly crossed
the room to her daughter.

"You look lovely, Anora," she said
approvingly, kissing her daughter's burning cheek. Taking Anora's hand, Lady
Bronwen led her to an empty chair beside Edythe, who was suddenly very intent
on the needlework before her.

A short, stout woman with a kindly face, Edythe had
been married as a girl to an elderly, wealthy landowner who died shortly after
the wedding. Vowing never to marry again, the rich young widow retired to her
new estates, where it was rumored she amused herself over the years with many
lovers. Now well past middle age, the thought of her dallying with a handsome
warrior seemed unlikely, but one could never be sure. The twinkle in her eye
and her flirtatious manner belied her advancing years.

Peering out of the corner of her eye, Edythe caught a
ghost of a smile curving Anora's lips and seized the opportunity to make
amends. "Pay no mind to an old widow, my lady, I meant you no harm. We are
glad of your marriage to such a fine, handsome man!"

The other ladies nodded in agreement, including the one
sour-faced dissenter, after receiving a sharp elbow in the ribs. Soon the room
was once again filled with lighthearted talk of the wedding festivities as the
women stitched at a magnificent tapestry that would one day grace the timbered walls
of the great hall. Depicting a lively hunting scene, the tapestry told the tale
of the giant boar that had been killed the past year by Earl Godric and his
thanes. And, at her father's side, the small figure of Gwendolyn seated bravely
on her dappled mare was immortalized in threads of every hue.

Lady Bronwen left the room quietly, assured that Anora
would be kept busy the rest of the afternoon. Tradition demanded that she not
see Wulfgar until the betrothal feast. Closing the door firmly, she turned her
thoughts to the frenzied preparations taking place throughout the stronghold. "There
is so much yet to do," she murmured to herself, as she walked down the
wooden stairs that led to the kitchen.

Chapter 4

Locked in the throes of a vivid nightmare, Gwendolyn
shook her head wildly from side to side. Dark, menacing trees were reaching out
to snatch her from her mare, and their trunks were etched with leering faces
that grinned demoniacally. She tried to fend off the grasping branches that
scratched and tore at her, but she lost her balance and slipped off her mare's
back. Rolling over and over down a steep embankment, she tumbled into icy,
swirling water. The dark waves closed over her head for a moment. Then she
surfaced, struggling and gasping for breath. Suddenly, rising up from the
center of a giant whirlpool, a dragon creature loomed above her. She screamed
as the apparition coiled its scaly tail about her body, but her voice made no
sound. Once again she was dragged beneath the murky water. She felt herself
sinking, sinking . . . surrounded by raucous laughter that rang in her ears.

"Nay!" Gwendolyn awoke with a start, her
defiant cry echoing about the small room. Wide-eyed with terror, she felt her
heart beating wildly in her breast. For a moment she could not remember where
she was. Then a long, shuddering sigh escaped her throat as she recognized her
surroundings. She shaded her eyes from the bright sunlight streaming into her
room from the high, narrow windows.

How long had she been asleep?
she
wondered dazedly, sitting up in her bed. Faint memories of her nightmare, its
twisted images blurred and foggy, still tortured her thoughts. Rubbing her
aching temples, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose shakily to
her feet. Swaying unsteadily, she felt her legs suddenly buckle beneath her and
she crumpled to the floor.

"Lady Gwendolyn!" Just returning from the
kitchen, Leah rushed over to her young mistress's side. She gently lifted her
from the wooden floor and helped her back into bed. "'Tis the sleeping
herbs, my lady. They make a body feel all wobbly for a while," she
murmured. Turning to the small table at the side of the bed, she poured cool
water into a goblet,
then
handed it to Gwendolyn. "It
will soon pass," she added. "Just give it a moment."

Leah's startled cry had pierced the gray mist in
Gwendolyn's mind, painfully reviving her dulled senses. Sipping the water, she
could feel a tingling in her limbs as the numbness gradually disappeared. She
handed the goblet back to Leah,
then
stretched her
slender arms above her head, yawning.

"There, now, that's better," said Leah. The
color was slowly returning to Gwendolyn's cheeks, and her eyes had regained a
hint of their sparkle. Satisfied that her charge was feeling more like herself,
Leah patted her mistress's hand. "The hour is growing late, my lady. You
slept way past the midday meal, and now you must bathe and dress for the feast.
If you are feeling better we should begin, for there is little time."

Gwendolyn groaned inwardly. So, the day she had dreaded
had come at last. Tonight Wulfgar would present his marriage gift to Anora. If
her sister accepted, as Gwendolyn had no doubts she would, the wedding ceremony
could proceed as planned. She threw back the fur coverlet. "Very well,
Leah, I suppose we had better hurry."

Leah frowned at Gwendolyn's obvious lack of enthusiasm.
Surely the lass could show some joy on such a day, she thought irritably, but
for once she held her tongue. Nay, there simply was not enough time to lecture
her today!

Soon the room was a flurry of activity. Servants
quickly filled the large brass tub in the corner of the room with buckets of
warm water, while Leah began to pull silken garments from the large chest at
the foot of the bed.

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes at the sight of the various
tunics from which she must choose. She knew this was one occasion when a shirt
and breeches would
not
be allowed.
Stepping gingerly into the tub, she bathed herself quickly, ignoring the
disapproving glance from Leah as she dunked her head under the water to wet her
hair. Her method made much more sense than standing over a small basin while
someone poured water over her head. It was far quicker, and required a lot less
fuss! Shaking her wet curls, she stepped out of the tub and toweled herself
dry.

"Where can I find Anora?" she asked
impatiently, squirming as Leah slipped a cream silk tunic over her head.

"She has been in the solar this afternoon, no
doubt working on that fine tapestry with your mother's ladies-in-waiting,"
Leah replied gruffly. "Please stand still, my lady!" Her attempts to
smooth the many folds and pleats in the tunic were being frustrated by
Gwendolyn's constant wriggling. Next
came
a mauve
mantle of fine linen embroidered with golden threads, which she managed to get
over her young mistress's tousled head with slightly less trouble.

Lastly, Leah handed Gwendolyn an ivory comb to smooth
her unruly curls. But she threw up her hands in despair when Gwendolyn chose
instead simply to run her fingers through her damp hair. Sliding her feet into
a pair of gray kidskin slippers, the girl was out the door and hurrying down
the stairs before Leah had even set the comb back on the table.

"My lady, you forgot the circlet for your hair!"
Leah called out after her, running to the door. Receiving no response, she
turned back into the room, grimacing at the mess. Towels were flung every which
way, water sat in puddles on the floor, and clothes lay in scattered disarray
upon the bed. "'Twill
be
a fine day when that
lass is finally wed," she muttered, picking up a sodden towel. "And I
hope her man, God help him, can tame her manners!"

***

Reaching the door of the solar, Gwendolyn paused a
moment to catch her breath. She felt guilty at leaving such a mess in her
chamber, but she did not turn back. It was far more important to speak with
Anora before they went to the great hall for the betrothal feast, she thought
wildly. There just had to be something she could do to convince her sister to
change her mind!

Gwendolyn gently pushed open the door to the solar. The
room was empty but for her sister, who was bent over the tapestry, absorbed in
her fine needlework. "Anora?" she said softly.

Whirling around in her chair, Anora had a look of startled
surprise on her face. "Gwendolyn, I've been so worried about you!"
she exclaimed, rushing across the room. Embracing her sister warmly, she drew
her into the room.
She looks none for the
worse for her misadventure,
Anora thought with no small amount of relief,
quickly noting the healthy glow of Gwendolyn's cheeks. "If I'd known you
were awake, I would have come to your chamber," she said apologetically.

"'Tis no matter," Gwendolyn replied. "Leah
told me I would find you here." She walked over to the tapestry, stretched
across a large wooden frame, and inspected the fine embroidery. "It
appears they have kept you busy this afternoon."

"
Aye,
and Edythe kept us
well entertained!" Anora laughed. "I would have thought it impossible
to keep my mind on other things besides Wulfgar, but Mother saw to it that I
had plenty to do. The hours have flown."

At the mention of Wulfgar's name, Gwendolyn felt her
body tense. She pulled absently at a stray thread on the tapestry, barely
listening as Anora happily recounted one of Edythe's bawdy tales.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. With a
start, Gwendolyn realized Anora had stopped talking and was gazing at her with
questioning eyes.

"What is troubling you, Gwendolyn?" Anora
asked gently, clasping her sister's arm. "You have not heard a single word
I said." Concern touched her delicate features. "Does it have aught
to do with what
happened
last night?"

Pulling away from her sister, Gwendolyn turned aside. "Aye,"
she muttered tersely.

"Then tell me, Gwendolyn. What happened?"
Anora walked around to face her sister, her gaze searching.

"I went for a ride and . . . and lost my way in
the dark," Gwendolyn stated defensively, staring down at the floor.

"But how could that be?" Anora asked,
puzzled. "Surely Father's thanes knew the way . . ." She paused, her
eyes widening in stunned surprise. "Unless you were no longer with them!"
Receiving no response, Anora shook her head in bewilderment. "Gwendolyn, I
cannot believe you would have ridden off without a guard. Why, anything could have
happened! We were all so worried about you, and now to find out that it was
just a willful prank—"

"'Twas not a prank!" Gwendolyn cut her off
sharply, her voice strained. Tears glistened on her lashes as she fought to
hold back the torrent of emotions that had raged within her for so long, but it
was too late. "How can you marry an enemy of our people . . . and . . .
and so willingly?" she blurted angrily, her flashing eyes mirroring her
deep sense of betrayal.

Not surprised by Gwendolyn's sudden outburst, Anora
sighed unhappily.
So, it has finally been
said,
she thought, gazing at her proud sister. Gwendolyn had not been
herself for many weeks, and Anora had long suspected it was due to her
impending marriage. Yet she also sensed there was some deeper, greater hurt
hanging like a palpable presence in the small room.

For a long moment Anora was at a loss for words. How
could she make her sister understand what it was like to be truly in love? "You
judge too harshly, Gwendolyn," she finally murmured, taking her sister's
hand in her own. "I love him."

"Love is but a word, Anora!" Gwendolyn
retorted vehemently. "He is a Dane. Does that not matter to you?" She
spat out the words, her hands clenching into small fists.

"Aye, it mattered before I met him," Anora agreed.
"Wulfgar Ragnarson is a Dane, that cannot be denied, but I see him first
as a man, Gwendolyn —a courageous man who is seeking peace for his people
and
ours."

"Aye, that may be so," Gwendolyn said
angrily. "But can you not see that you are being used as a king's pawn?"

Anora nodded. "Aye, but I now consider it an
honor, Gwendolyn. It is through this match that I have found my greatest
happiness." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I could have
denied Wulfgar, Gwendolyn. I was given a choice. And as Father's favored
daughter, I am sure you will one day be granted the same freedom."

Gwendolyn opened her mouth to protest, but she was
silenced as Anora rushed on. "You know that to be true, but I do not
begrudge that you have always held Father's heart. So you see, you have naught
to fear that you will be forced into a miserable marriage."

Anora sighed heavily as the room fell silent once
again. She could not tell if her words had served to convince her sister, or
had made matters worse. Well, she could think of only one other thing that
could possibly have upset her so. "Look at me, Gwendolyn . . . please,"
she murmured. "If you are angry that I have spent most of my time with
Wulfgar these past months, then I am sorry for that."

Gwendolyn suddenly turned her head away. Her lower lip
trembled with emotion, hot tears streaking unchecked down her face. She quickly
wiped them away with the back of her hand, but it did little good. Her fair
cheeks simply grew wet again.