The Wolf and the Dove (19 page)

Gray eyes bright with amusement, Wulfgar reached out an arm and with a quick movement pulled her into his bath. Aislinn shrieked and fought to remove herself from his lap.

“My kirtle!” she sobbed, tears coming quickly as she held the dampened cloth from her skin. “ ’Twas my finest and you’ve ruined it.”

Wulfgar only laughed the more. He pressed his face near to hers and smiled into her flashing eyes.

“Your head would be swollen with conceit if I yielded that you are by far the fairest or that you would bedevil any man into forgetting his convictions. Indeed, you would grow cocky and vain if I hinted that you are more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen.” He tightened his grip as she strangled with unreasoning fury and struggled against him. “You might even become overconfident and think that I would never turn to another woman because I thought you more desirable than any other. Therefore, I do none of this, and I do you a kindness. Your heart might soften toward me and you would cry and cling to me when I choose another to replace you. I want no strings that are difficult to break.” And he added as if giving her warning. “Do not fall in love with me, Aislinn, or you will be hurt.”

Aislinn’s eyes brightened with turbulent tears as she glared at him. “Do not distress yourself. You are the last person in all of Christendom that I would fall in love with.”

Wulfgar smiled. “ ’Tis well.”

“If you despise women as you claim, why do you warn me? Do you caution all the women you have affairs with?”

Wulfgar loosed his grip and settled back against the tub. “Nay, you are the first, but you are younger than the rest and more tender.”

Aislinn smiled thoughtfully as she propped her arms upon his chest, laying her chin on her hands, and gazed into his eyes.

“But still, I am a woman, monseigneur. Why are you kind to me when you have not been with others? You must feel something more for me than you did for them.” Her grin deepened wickedly as she traced a slim finger along the scar marking his cheek. “Beware, m’lord, do not fall in love with me.”

He caught her under the knees and behind the shoulders and set her dripping wet from the tub. “I love no woman nor shall I ever,” he stated flatly. “For the moment I find you entertaining. That is all.”

“And after me, m’lord, who then?”

Wulfgar shrugged. “Whoever meets my fancy.”

Aislinn fled across the room to a darkened corner behind him where she crushed her hands over her ears. She trembled with frustrated anger and was sure he would never intentionally allow her to gain advantage. It was a game he played with her because of his contempt for women, never allowing her the smallest measure of confidence in her relationship with him, never allowing her to draw close to the man inside the shell. He ridiculed and taunted womankind while he watched their reactions in calm amusement, teasing with deliberate patience until the time when they would break or flee from his abuse. But he had not fully found her depth, Aislinn thought, nor drawn the bounds of her mettle. It was truly a battle that raged between them. While he casually cautioned her not to fall in love with him, she sought out every softness in his professed armor of hatred.

Shivering in the wet kirtle, she doffed it and quickly slid into his bed, drawing the pelts up high under her chin. When he joined her there a few moments later she feigned sleep, resting on her side with her back to him. Though she could not see him, she felt his attention on her, and smiled secretly to herself, wondering his next move. It was not long before she learned. His hand upon her shoulder pressed her down upon her back and she found herself staring into warm gray eyes as he bent over her.

“Damoiselle, you are not asleep,” he mocked her.

“Would it matter?” she inquired with a hint of sarcasm.

He shook his head as he lowered his mouth to hers. “Nay.”

Gwyneth stepped into the moonlit clearing and caught her breath sharply as a hand closed upon her shoulder. She swung round with a start, remembering the large, rugged men who had crammed the hall at the feasting hour, and knew an instant prickle of fear. At sight of Ragnor’s smiling face, however, she laughed softly in relief.

“You came,” he grinned.

“Indeed, sir knight I am here.”

Ragnor bent, sweeping her into his arms, and quickly carried her a short distance into the woods. Gwyneth’s heart beat fiercely at the swiftness of his actions. She giggled nervously, looping her arms about his neck, feeling herself small and helpless in his strong embrace.

“You make me forget my sanity,” she whispered against his ear. “It is hard to realize we met only this morn.”

Ragnor halted in his stride and pulled his hand from under her knees, letting her limbs slide against his until her toes reached the ground.

“Was it only today we met?” he asked hoarsely, tightening his arms about her until he could feel every curve of her thin body pressed to his. “I thought centuries had passed since I left you in the hall.”

Gwyneth’s head reeled giddy. “Oh, it was only years, my darling.”

His mouth crushed down upon hers feverishly as they strained against each other in their passion. With great skill Ragnor loosened her gunna and kirtle, letting them fall to her feet and pushed her gently down upon his mantle spread out upon the ground. His eyes for a moment traveled the length of her body glowing silvery in the moonlight. He caressed her small breasts while his thoughts played idly upon a rounder, fuller bosom, remembering the soft creamy skin and curling coppery tresses twining wantonly about a beautiful body. In his imagination he saw Wulfgar’s hands taking possession of its perfection. Ragnor jerked sharply with his irritation, making Gwyneth cry out in fright.

“What is it? Does someone come?” she asked, frantically grabbing for his mantle to cover herself.

His hands stayed her movement. “Nay. There is nothing. The moon plays tricks with me, that is all. I thought there was something moving there, but I was mistaken.”

Relaxing back into his arms, Gwyneth slipped her hand beneath his tunic and slid it over the hard muscles of his chest.

“You have me sorely at a disadvantage, sir knight,” she breathed. “I am very inquisitive.”

Ragnor smiled and began to remove his garments.

“That is better,” Gwyneth murmured in approval when they lay discarded. “How handsome you are, my dearest. You are dark like the warm earth and strong like yon oaks. I had not thought men could be beautiful, but I was mistaken.”

Her hands moved over him boldly, stirring the hot flames of passion.

“Be gentle with me,” she whispered against his throat and lay back upon his mantle. Her pale eyes were like stars in the night, glittering and distant until Ragnor bent over her, covering her narrow frame with his, and then they slowly closed.

A wolf howled in the distance when Ragnor finally sat up, wrapping his arms about his knees as he gazed through the darkness toward the dim light coming from the lord’s chamber window. As he watched a figure of a man shadowed the square and then moved out of sight to reappear again shortly. The dark silhouette flexed its arm, and Ragnor grinned, hoping the practice of arms that day had affected Wulfgar’s pleasure, and knew otherwise as he thought of it, for his own tired limbs had little hampered his. The black shape turned in profile toward what Ragnor knew was the bed. He could almost see the bright hair spread across the pillows and the small, oval face soft and perfect in sleep, as if he were the man at the window.

How intensely he desired revenge. At times he could almost feel it within his grasp, yet it was allusive and much like that damsel who slept in the lord’s bed, irresistible and untouchable, ever taunting. His body stirred quickly at the memory of the wench in his arms. The thought gave him no rest, plaguing him day and night until he knew that he would not be satisfied until she belonged to him. He smiled, knowing that he would have revenge upon Wulfgar by taking her. Even if Wulfgar harbored no affection for the girl there would still be his pride to suffer.

“What are you thinking of?” Gwyneth murmured softly, reaching out to caress his lean and muscular ribs.

Ragnor turned and took her in his arms again. “I was just thinking how happy you have made me. Now I may go to William with your sweet memory riding atop the highest peak of my imagination.” He pulled her chilled body closer against his. “Do you shiver with the cold, ma cherie, or the fierceness of our love?”

Gwyneth wrapped her thin arms about his neck, pressing her body to his. “Both, my dear love’s heart. Both.”

The first rays of the sun struck the frosted trees, making them sparkle as if spread with rare jewels, and the doves stirred in the cote. Ragnor gave a quick thump upon the door of the lord’s chamber and pushed it open on the sleeping couple. With a warrior’s instinct for danger, Wulfgar rolled from Aislinn’s side and snatched up his sword lying on the stone floor. Before the door ceased its swing he stood ready to meet a foe. For a man who but a moment before slumbered peacefully at the side of a maid, he now seemed fully alert and quite capable of meeting any attack directed toward the occupants of that room.

“Oh, ‘tis you,” Wulfgar grunted, sitting back upon the bed.

Aislinn roused much more slowly, raising up to stare at Wulfgar in sleepy confusion and failed to notice Ragnor standing near the door in the dimness of the room. The small pelt she clutched more revealed than covered her breasts and it was toward this view that Ragnor stared. Following his gaze, Wulfgar saw the reason for his great attention and lifted his sword toward the intruding knight.

“We have an early morning visitor, cherie,” he said and watched calmly as she started in surprise and hurriedly covered herself.

“Why came you here to my chamber at this hour, Ragnor?” he inquired as he rose to sheathe his sword.

Ragnor swept his hand before him and bowed in mockery before the spectacular form of the naked man.

“Your pardon, my lord, I did but want to take my leave of Darkenwald and desired to know if you wished anything further of me before I turn my horse upon the road. Mayhap you desire me to carry a message to the Duke.”

“Nay, there is nothing,” Wulfgar replied.

Ragnor nodded and turned to go, then paused, facing them again. A slow smile grew upon his lips.

“You should be careful of the woods at night. Wolves range the groves wide. I heard them close in the late hours.”

Wulfgar raised a questioning brow, wondering who might have entertained the roving knight this time. “The way you make your rounds, Ragnor, ‘tis certain you’ll shortly replenish the populace of Darkenwald.”

Ragnor chuckled. “And who should give birth first but my fair lady Aislinn.”

Before he sensed the wrath his words had wrought, a small vessel glazed his ear and crashed against the door behind him. Ragnor looked at Aislinn kneeling in the middle of the bed with clenched fists holding a pelt close about her. He rubbed his ear and grinned, admiring the beauty her rage stirred forth.

“My dove, I’m overwhelmed by your passionate nature. Are you so tormented because of my love of last night? I assure you I did not think of your jealousy.”

“Aaah!” Aislinn shrieked, glancing around for some other object to throw. Finding nothing in reach she flung herself from the bed. She crossed to where Wulfgar watched in silent amusement and snatched at his sword, only to find it too heavy for her to lift.

“Why do you stand and laugh at his jibes?!” she demanded of Wulfgar. She stamped her foot in rage. “Make him show respect to your authority.”

Wulfgar shrugged and returned a smile for her glare. “He plays at games like a child. When he plays in earnest I will kill him.”

The grin faded from Ragnor’s face. “I am at your call, Wulfgar.” He smiled stiffly. “At any hour.”

He left the chamber without further ado, and for a long moment Aislinn stared in deep thought at the closed door before finally commenting.

“Monseigneur, I believe he sees you a threat.”

“Do not let your fancies lead you astray, cherie,” Wulfgar bade her shortly. “He is from one of the richest families in Normandy. He hates me, true, but it is because he thinks only blooded men should bear titles.” He laughed. “And of course, he wants you.”

Aislinn whirled to face him. “Ragnor wants me only because I belong to you.”

Wulfgar chuckled as he drew her to him. He raised her chin until he could gaze into her eyes. “Somehow I cannot imagine his wrath if I had taken Hlynn from him.”

His arms swept under her, lifting her up against his chest.

“M’lord,” Aislinn protested, struggling in his embrace. “ ’Tis morn. You must be about your duties.”

“Later,” he said huskily and silenced further argument by a fiery kiss that left Aislinn weak and tingling and unable to find any logic in resistance. He was stronger and she would only prolong the misery by fighting him.

Gwyneth swept down the stone stairs, feeling gay and thoroughly in love with the world this early morning hour. She had watched Ragnor ride off only a moment before and knew that her heart went with him. In the hall the men sat at the trestle tables, taking bread and meats. They paid her little heed, for they bantered among themselves and their laughter rose heartily at their own quips. Before the hearth Bolsgar still slept and glancing about for a familiar face, Gwyneth found only Ham and the young man Aislinn had spoken and laughed with the night before. They served Wulfgar’s men and did not seem to take notice of her yet when she strode to the lord’s table and took her place Ham shortly approached with food.

“Where is my brother?” she demanded. “These men here seem to be at their leisure. Does he not give them tasks to perform?”

“Aye, m’lady. They only wait for him. He has not come from his chambers yet.”

“His laziness spreads like a plague,” she said in derisive tones.

“ ’Tis his usual custom to rise early. I would not know what keeps him.”

Gwyneth leaned back in her chair. “The Saxon wench, no doubt.”

Ham’s face reddened with anger and he opened his mouth to make a reply then snapped it shut again before uttering one. Spinning on his heels, he strode to the cooking chamber without a backward glance.

Gwyneth picked at her food absently, half listening to the men, half musing on the night before. When Sir Gowain entered with the knight, Beaufonte, the Normans called a greeting and beckoned them over.

“Were you not to ride to Cregan this morn?” Gowain inquired, turning to Milbourne, the eldest knight.

“Yea, lad, but Wulfgar seems wont to stay in his chamber instead,” Milbourne replied with a chortle. He rolled his eyes and smacked his fingers in a gesture that was not lost upon his comrades who guffawed their delight at his silent wit.

Gowain grinned. “Mayhaps we should see to his welfare to be sure he does not lie abed with his throat slit. The way Ragnor slammed about and cursed him before he took to road, ‘tis most likely they had another row.”

The elder knight shrugged. “ ’Tis over that girl again no doubt. Ragnor has had his blood up ever since he bedded her.”

Gwyneth started in surprise, all senses stunned and reeling in confusion. Her breath came hard as if someone had struck a blow against her chest, and she thought she could not bear the pain.

“Aye,” Gowain smiled. “And ‘tis no small matter taking the wench from Wulfgar either, if he is bound to keep her. But she is a prize I’d gladly fight for, were I Ragnor.”

“Aah, lad, she’s a hot blooded one,” the elder laughed. “ ’Tis best you leave her for a man with experience.”

Their conversation ceased abruptly as a door banged closed on the upper level. Wulfgar came into view and strode down the stairs, buckling on his sword. He saluted his sister, who eyed him coldly.

“I trust you rested well, Gwyneth.”

He turned without waiting for a reply and went to his men.

“So, you think you can dally because I do. Well, we shall see what better men you are for it.” He broke off a piece of bread, picked up a piece of meat and went to the door, where he turned again and considered them. He smiled leisurely.

“Why do you delay? I am for Cregan. What of you?”

They scrambled after him as he strode out, knowing they were bound for a rigorous day, and they stumbled over themselves as they hastened to catch up. Wulfgar was already in his saddle, chewing on the bread and meat, as they scrambled to mount. When they regained some order about them, he swung his large steed about, tossing the remaining bread to Sweyn who stood watching with amusement, and set the spurs to the Hun’s flanks to send him thundering off in the direction of Cregan.

Gwyneth slowly rose from the table, feeling sick inside, and walked carefully to the stairs and mounted them. In front of the lord’s chamber door she paused, her hand trembling violently as she reached out for the latch, then she drew back sharply clutching the clenched fist to her breast as if she had just touched fire. Her ashen face looked sharp and hardened in the shadows and her pale eyes seemed to pierce the very wood that separated her from the peacefully sleeping form on the other side. She knew a hatred now that exceeded the contempt she felt for Wulfgar, and she vowed quietly in her misery that the Saxon wench would feel her wrath.

With measured care, as if she were afraid some slight noise would awaken the other to the malice she felt, Gwyneth backed away from the door then slowly moved on down the hall to her own small chamber.

When Aislinn woke a short time later, she dressed and went down to the hall to learn that Wulfgar had gone to Cregan. Sweyn had been left in command of the hall and was at the moment trying to mediate a petty squabble between two young women over an ivory comb given to one of them by a Norman soldier. Aislinn strolled outside to stand on the steps and listen in amusement at Sweyn’s attempts to placate the two. One swore she had found it, the other claimed her companion stole it. Very capable of dealing with men, the Viking found himself completely at a loss to settle this argument.

Aislinn smiled, raising a brow in mockery. “Why, Sweyn, you can always cut their hair in the Norman fashion and they would have little use for the comb.”

The women turned to her with a start, their eyes wide, their mouths hanging open. The sudden grin upon Sweyn’s face quickly decided one to give up the comb and remove herself forthwith to some place distant from him while the other quickly retreated in the opposite direction.

Aislinn could not keep the tide of merriment from sweeping her away into mirthful laughter.

“Ah, Sweyn, you are human after all,” she smiled brightly. “I would not have believed it. To be confounded by mere women, Tsk. Tsk.”

“Blasted wenches,” he grumbled and shaking his head, stalked into the hall.

Bolsgar’s health was improved from the day before when his color had held to a waxen gray tone. Now his complexion once more glowed a leathery bronze, and at midday he did away with a hearty meal. Aislinn changed the poultice on his leg, gently cracking away the dried mud and drawing with it long gouts of the poisoned matter. She saw that the wound was already beginning to knit and that the flesh around it had taken on a healthier ruddy hue.

It was toward late afternoon that Gwyneth came downstairs and approached Aislinn.

“Do you have a mount? I wish to see this land Wulfgar has gained.”

Aislinn nodded. “A swift and mighty Barbary mare, but she is uncommonly spirited. I would not advise—”

“If you can ride her, I suspect I will have little trouble,” Gwyneth replied coldly.

Aislinn struggled with words. “I am sure you are well acquainted with a saddle, Gwyneth, yet I fear Cleome—”

She was silenced abruptly by the woman’s murderous look. Aislinn folded her hands and quietly stepped aside before the hatred she saw. Gwyneth turned and ordered the horse to be saddled and escorts provided for the ride. When the mare was brought forward, Aislinn tried once more to caution the woman and instruct her to hold the reins firmly but again she met that glowering look that chilled any words to silence. Aislinn winced as Gwyneth laid her whip heavily against Cleome’s flanks and sent the mare leaping ahead of her mounted escort. In dismay Aislinn watched them ride away and did not feel comforted with the direction they took, which would lead them to Cregan. It was not the destination that worried Aislinn but the countryside along the way. The paths were clearly laid but if one wandered from them there were many vales and gullies to snare the careless rider.

With apprehension sitting heavily upon her shoulders, Aislinn sought to occupy her time with matters dealing with the hall. But as it turned out she spent most of the afternoon hearing complaints from Maida about Gwyneth’s manners and lack of courtesy. Aislinn listened as long as she could then retired in frustration to the bedchamber. She could not approach Wulfgar about his kinswoman, for he hated women enough without added assurance that they were worthy of his contempt. He might consider her too critical of Gwyneth and be unwilling to lend a fair ear. Still, in a morning’s time his sister had made herself felt. She had spent the morning pawing through Maida’s coffer seeking gowns for herself, then grew petulant and sharp, for all of Maida’s garments were too small. Though she was thin Gwyneth was as tall as Aislinn and not of the tiny frame of the older woman. Shortly after she had commanded her meal to be brought to her chamber, Gwyneth had slapped Hlynn and caused the girl to cry over
no matter worthwhile. She excused her action by saying Hlynn was too slow to obey her orders. And now Gwyneth roamed the countryside on Aislinn’s favored steed.

Roamed the countryside indeed, for Gwyneth knew not where she went. It was simply a race. Her temper was high and her spirits were low. The very sight of that young Saxon wench enjoying the hospitality of her brother was enough to set her nerves on edge. But the crude revelation that her lover first had the woman ended any small chance of friendship they might have had between them. And if that was not enough, Wulfgar openly flaunted the slut as if she were some worthy maiden when in fact she was Wulfgar’s whore, at his beck and call, a captured slave. The bitch had the nerve to claim this mare as hers. What right did a serf have to own a horse, least of all a slave? She had nothing herself, not even a suitable gown to wear upon Ragnor’s return; all her possessions had been taken by the Normans. But Aislinn had fine clothes which Wulfgar allowed her to keep. That jeweled dagger she wore was worth a goodly sum.