The Wolf and the Dove (12 page)

He snorted. “My nature is never gallant, Aislinn, least of all towards women. You may rest assured that you will pay and pay well.”

Her lips remained curved in a beguiling smile and her eyes were aglow with a sparkle that would have bedazzled a man less fierce. “I think, my lord, that your growl is worse than your bite.”

His tawny brow arched. “Think you so, damoiselle? Then one day you will wish you had given me more credence.”

With that he blew out the candles and undressed by the glow of the fire, then flung himself upon the bed to take his rest. In the shadows of the room, his voice came stern and harsh.

“On the morrow you will wear a dagger for your protection. Mayhap it will discourage other attacks upon your person.”

With a shrug and a smile Aislinn nestled down upon her bed of furs and sought the benefit of slumber, thinking dreamily of how the firelight played upon his bronze skin and the way the muscles of his back rippled with every movement.

There were only a few descriptive words that floated to Aislinn’s ears of Ragnor’s departure the next morning. Rumors were that the manner of his going was hurried, angry, and darkly silent. Aislinn grinned to herself as she heard, gloating over her good fortune to have seen his put down and went merrily about her duties with a lighthearted mood and step. The familiar and welcome weight of her girdle about her hips and the accustomed dagger in its sheath added to her confidence. She did not feel quite as naked wearing the belt. Wulfgar, himself, had brought it to her as she dressed that morning, and in his usual manner, brushed away her thanks with a satirical quip that spurred her anger.

It was late in the afternoon when Aislinn, sitting beside Erland’s grave with her mother, glanced up to see a man wearily trudging his way through the woods toward the hall. She watched him for some moments sensing there was something odd about his appearance, when suddenly she realized his hair was shaggy and long and his chin was wreathed by a beard. She gasped in surprise but abruptly hid her astonishment from her mother who looked up at the sound. She smiled reassuringly and shook her head and Maida bent her head again to gaze sadly upon the mound of dirt, rocking back and forth as she continued with her low, whining song.

Aislinn cast anxious glances about to see if some Norman had also sighted the man, but no one stirred. She rose with an air of calm that she struggled to attain and strolled leisurely toward the back of the manor. When she was reassured no one watched or followed her, she turned and darted across the clearing into the thickest edge of the swamp then made her way back toward higher ground and the place where she had seen the man, paying little heed to the sharp branches and small shrubs that tore at her mantle as she ran through the woods. She caught sight of the fellow still plodding along through the trees and recognized Thomas, the knight and vassal of her father. With a cry she hailed him, overcome with joy and relief, having thought him dead. He stopped and on seeing her, began to hurry toward her, meeting her half way.

“My lady, I despaired I would ever see Darkenwald again,” he said, tears coming to his eyes. “How is your father? Well, I hope. I was wounded at Stamford Bridge and could not travel with the army when it moved south to meet William.” His face saddened. “These are bad times for England. It is lost.”

“They are here, Thomas,” she murmured. “Erland is dead.”

His face twisted in his grief. “Oh, my lady, ‘tis sad news you bear.”

“We must hide you.”

He glanced up in alarm toward the hall, his hands upon his sword, only now realizing the import of her words. He saw the enemy about the courtyard and where some had approached nearer to where Maida sat.

Aislinn dropped a hand upon his arm in an urgent manner. “Get to Hilda’s and hide there. Her husband was killed with Erland and her daughter slain by thieves. She will welcome your company. Go now. I will follow when I am sure no one watches and bring food.”

He nodded and hastened to escape through the trees. Aislinn stood watching after him until he was well out of sight, then made her own way back to the hall. With Hlynn’s help she quickly gathered bread, cheese and meats and hid them beneath the folds of her mantle. In her haste she passed Kerwick, forgetful of his presence, but he reached out and grabbed her skirts, almost making her drop the food.

“Where is it you go in such a flutter?” he demanded “Is your lover waiting?”

“Oh, Kerwick,” she cried impatiently. “Not now! Thomas is back. I go to see him.”

“Tell me when your lover will loose me.” He held up his chains. “These chains are burdensome and my mind grows weary and dulled. I would have some task to occupy me besides keeping the hounds from my neck. They loose them before me.” He indicated the dogs roaming the empty hall, and asked in desperation, “What must I do to get free?”

“I will speak with Wulfgar this eventide,” she replied.

“What sweet thing will you promise that you have not already given him?” he questioned bitterly.

She sighed. “Your jealousy eats at you.”

Angrily Kerwick yanked her down to him, causing her to drop her bundle, and pulled her roughly across his lap. His mouth crushed upon hers, bruising her lips as he forced them apart. His hand ripped at the fabric over her bosom.

“Oh, Kerwick, no!” Aislinn gasped, tearing her mouth free. She pushed against his chest. “Not you, too!”

“Why the bastard and not me?” he demanded, moving his hand over her bare breasts. His face appeared pinched and hard, contorted by desire, and his caress was rough and brutal. “I have the right, not him!”

“Nay! Nay!” she choked in rage, pushing at his hands. “No words were spoken by a priest to seal our bonds! I belong to no one. Not you! Not Ragnor! Not even Wulfgar! Only myself!”

“Then why do you crawl into the Norman’s bed like some docile bitch?!” he hissed. “You sit with him and dine and your eyes are only for him. He gives you the slightest glance and your tongue stumbles over words.”

“ ’Tis not true!” she cried.

“You think I don’t notice, when there’s naught else to entertain me?” he railed. “My Lord, you crave him as any starving man craves food! Why?! Why?! He is the enemy and I, your betrothed! Why do you not show me the same kindness? I have need for your body, too. All these months I have remained chaste to honor you. My patience is at an end!”

“Do you take me here with the hounds then?!” she questioned furiously. “Do you care so little for me that you must satisfy yourself as your lowly bedmates do—those hounds?! With no regard for their bitches?! At least Wulfgar does not treat me so!”

He gave her a violent shake. “Then you admit you prefer his embraces to mine?”

“Yea!” she blurted out, tears of pain and anger springing forth. “His touch is gentle! Now loose me before he comes.”

Abruptly he did so, flinging her away with an oath. In the past days as he sat chained with no other distractions for his mind to rest upon, he had watched her with Wulfgar and sensed her affections slipping from his grasp. Always proud and distant with other men, the winsome woman came to surface when she was in the presence of that devil Norman. She was like an unlit candle, slim, cool, remote until that one called Wulfgar entered and set her aflame, and then she became a light that enchanted and beguiled. It was doubly hard for him, her betrothed, to watch, knowing he had never been capable of the feat which seemed so easy for the Norman. And that knight did not treasure his wealth but vowed his contempt for women in a language he thought not understood. That man had stolen his love from him without the simplest effort. Yet if there was a chance of winning her back, Kerwick promised himself, he would take it and snatch her from the wolf’s power.

Regretfully he reached out for her hand, making her recoil and look at him with suspicion.

“You are right, Aislinn. This jealousy gnaws at me. Forgive me, my dearest love.”

“I will see if Wulfgar will set you free,” she said quietly and left him, clutching her mantle closed over the shreds of clothing and her small bundle of food. She had not time to change her garments now when she feared Wulfgar would return to the hall.

Hilda was waiting at the door of the cottage and quickly let her in.

“Is he well?” Aislinn asked softly, glancing toward Thomas who sat before the hearth in a dismal mood, hanging his head.

“Yea, only his heart needs healing, lady, as mine does,” Hilda returned. “I will care for him here.”

Aislinn gave her the food, taking care the mantle did not slip away from her torn bodice. “If anyone should see these meats, tell them ‘twas I who stole. I would not have you chastened for my deeds.”

“It does not matter if they should kill me,” the old woman returned. “My life is nearly over and yours is just beginning.”

“Wulfgar will not kill me,” Aislinn said with a small measure of confidence. “Now, is there place for Thomas to hide if they come searching? They must not find him here.”

“Never fear, my lady. We will find a secret place.”

“Then I must go.” Aislinn turned toward the door. “I will bring more food when I can.”

She had opened the door and was about to step through when she heard Hilda cry out in alarm.

“The Normans!”

Aislinn glanced up, fear chilling every nerve. Wulfgar stood before the door, flanked by two of his men. Aislinn froze as his steely gray eyes pierced her. He stepped forward to enter the cottage, but she blocked his path, seeking to make a barrier of her slender form. With a grunt of contempt for her effort, he stretched out a hand and moved her easily aside.

“Nay! He has done nothing!” she cried, clinging to Wulfgar’s arm in desperation. “Leave him be!”

Wulfgar glanced down at the slim hands clutching his sleeve, and his voice held a warning note when he spoke. “You go beyond yourself, Aislinn of Darkenwald. This matter does not concern you.”

Aislinn glanced fearfully toward Thomas who stood braced for battle. Need yet another Saxon fall beneath a Norman sword? The thought brought a coldness to her belly and she knew she must do what she could to forestall further violence.

Her eyes held a plea for mercy as she lifted them to Wulfgar. “My lord, Thomas is a valiant warrior. Must his blood be spilled now after the battle is done because he fought honestly for the king to whom he and my father owed their loyalty? Oh, seigneur, show wisdom and mercy here. I will pick up the gauntlets and be your slave.”

Wulfgar’s face was stony. “You bargain with what is already mine. Do you try again to influence me? Loose me and set your mind on other matters.”

“Please, my lord,” she whispered, tears welling forth.

Without word, Wulfgar disengaged her fingers and set her from him then turned and approached Thomas as his men brushed past Aislinn and took their places behind him.

“You are called Thomas?” Wulfgar questioned.

Thomas looked toward Aislinn in bewilderment.

“My lord, he does not speak your language,” she explained.

“Tell him to lay down his sword and come with us,” Wulfgar directed.

As she repeated the words for Thomas, the vassal eyed the three men warily.

“My lady, are they bound to kill me?”

She glanced uncertainly at Wulfgar’s back, the broad shoulders covered with mail, the hand casually resting upon his sword. If he could kill four armed thieves who set upon him, one weary and hungry Saxon would offer him little difficulty if he chose to slay him. She could only rely upon Wulfgar’s mercy.

“Nay,” she replied, with some assurance mounting. “I think not. The new lord of Darkenwald deals fairly with men.”

Thomas, with some hesitation, reversed his sword and laying it across his palms, presented it to Wulfgar. Accepting it, the Norman lord turned and walked toward the door, catching Aislinn’s arm and steering her out ahead of him as his men fell in behind Thomas and followed them out. In the sunlight Aislinn glanced up at Wulfgar in confusion as he continued to draw her with him. His face held no emotion and he gave her no heed. She dared not question his intent. His strides were long and swift. She had to step quickly to keep pace and many times stumbled over ruts. She felt his hand tighten upon her arm lending her support. Then she tripped in front of him, letting go the mantle in an effort to check her fall. He drew her up by the arm he held, and his gaze dropped to the torn garments baring her bosom. His eyes widened in surprise as her white breasts boldly thrust through the rent cloth, then they narrowed as they dropped to her sheathed dagger and finally lifted to her face. There the cold steel held her
gaze and seemed to burn into her brain and seize upon her very thoughts until she was certain he knew the full truth. She stood breathless until he gathered the mantle about her shoulders so she might hold it better and took her elbow again.

The silence continued between them until they reached the hall and he freed her, then as he seemed to turn his attention to Thomas, she ascended the first stone steps to the sleeping chambers in hopes of changing her gunna. With a voice that boomed within the hall, he halted her.

“Nay!” he bellowed and thrust his finger toward her.

Aislinn’s heart quailed in her bosom, and she glanced toward Kerwick in dismay. His startled face etched her own apprehension of Wulfgar’s penetrating gaze. Near her, Maida whined fearfully, wringing her hands. Slowly and with a quiet dignity, Aislinn turned and descended the stairs and went to him.

“My lord?” she questioned softly. “What is thy will?”

His voice was gruff, cold. “My will is that you honor me with your presence until I bid you go. Now find a perch to rest thyself.”

She nodded and sat on a bench by the table. Swinging round, Wulfgar pointed to Kerwick.

“Loose him and bring him here!”

Kerwick’s color waned and he struggled back against the Normans who sought to take hold of him. He was outnumbered and soon faced Wulfgar. As he appeared to shrink beneath Wulfgar’s hard gaze, Sweyn chuckled.

“The little Saxon quakes in fright. What has he done now to make him tremble thus?”

“Nothing!” Kerwick cried. “Unhand me!”