Free Twin Passions by Miriam Minger

she was not prepared for the sight
that greeted her. Anora, her eyes wide with fright, was wrapped within the
huge, bronzed arm of a giant of a man, his massive hand covering her mouth. His
other arm brandished a long, pointed spear, which he had trained directly on
Gwendolyn's throat. Towering over them both, the bearded giant was grinning
from ear to ear, but his eyes glinted dangerously. He uttered some words in a
foreign tongue, motioning for Gwendolyn to drop her knife.
    Hesitating for a moment, Gwendolyn understood true fear
for the first time in her life. Trained expertly by her father in all manner of
weaponry, she knew none of her training could have prepared her for this encounter.
Licking her dry lips, she shifted her feet to better her stance.
    "I would na ' try anything
foolish, lad. Torvald has been known to skewer larger men wi'out blinking an
eye!"
    Startled by the guttural voice, Gwendolyn turned slowly
around to face her new opponent. Her heart sank as another man, shorter than
the blond giant but stockily built and well muscled, stepped out from behind a
tree. He stood with his feet spread wide and arms folded across his broad
chest, eyeing her shrewdly. A jagged scar, slashing down the left side of his
face and ending at the corner of his thin lips, had marred what might have once
been a handsome face.
    Speaking again in his strangely accented English, the
man took a menacing step toward Gwendolyn. "Drop the weapon, lad. ' Twould na ' do for your fair sister
to see your blood spilled out upon the ground."
    Ignoring his words, Gwendolyn suddenly lunged at the
man. She caught him off guard by her quick movement, and was on him before he
could reach for the sword at his belt. Hitting him with the full force of her
slender weight, she raised her arm to plunge her knife into his chest. A sharp,
sickening blow to the side of her head stopped her, and she fell heavily to her
knees. Through a maze of pain she could hear Anora screaming. Then all was
blackness as she slumped to the ground.
     
     

 
    Chapter 8
     
    Anora's screams died to a whimper as she stared in
disbelief at Gwendolyn's crumpled form lying on the cold ground. She longed to
rush to her sister's side, but the bearded giant held her fast, his massive
arms gripping her like bands of iron. She watched fearfully as the other man
knelt down beside Gwendolyn.
    "'Twould seem your brother has little fear of
death," he muttered wryly, "or else his foolishness has made him
bold." He shook his head grimly. He did not relish the thought that a
beardless youth had almost sent him to Valhalla! He rolled Gwendolyn roughly
over onto her back, then took a leather thong from his belt and bound her hands
tightly.
    A large, angry welt on the side of Gwendolyn's forehead
and the ashen pallor of her skin caused Anora to wince painfully. Gwendolyn was
lying so still that the shallow rise and fall of her chest could barely be seen
through the thickness of her fur-lined jerkin. He thinks she is a boy, Anora thought dazedly, her mind reeling
from the sudden twist of events.
    Following only a few steps behind Gwendolyn, Anora had
not even heard the huge man steal up behind her. He had grabbed her so suddenly
that the breath was knocked from her body, her scream stifled by his hand
clapped over her mouth. Unable to voice a warning, she had watched in horror as
Gwendolyn attacked the scar-faced man, only to be felled by a glancing blow
from the butt of the giant's spear. Biting into her captor's hand, Anora's
agonized screams had torn from her throat, echoing through the sunlit woods
until a filthy rag had been stuffed in her mouth.
    "There, now, that should hold the lad for a while,"
the scar-faced man muttered, rising to his feet. Licking his lips, his pale,
blue eyes moved lustfully over Anora. Her wet tunic and mantle clung to her
shivering body, accentuating her delicate curves. "'Tis strange that a beautiful lass such as yourself would have a mere lad for
her