The Wolf and the Dove (20 page)

Gwyneth laid the whip again across Cleome’s side and whipped her into a frenzied gallop. The two escorts followed at a distance, sparing their animals the headlong pace. Accustomed to the firm and knowledgeable grip of her mistress, the mare could find no authority in the loose reins. She chose her own way over the solid path and gave her rider’s commands only the briefest attention. The effect was simply to send Gwyneth’s rage to a higher level and in absolute fury she jerked the reins and the horse fled from the path into the dense woods. Now Gwyneth whipped the steed soundly until finally it threw out its head and began to run with long, swift strides, crashing through the brush. Some fear rose as Gwyneth realized what she had begun, for branches whipped and vines tore at her, yet the mare plunged heedlessly onward, up the hills and through the dales. Gwyneth could hear voices calling from behind bidding her halt, but the mare had the bit in her teeth and gave no mind when the reins were tugged. The maddened beast pressed onward, harder, faster. Gwyneth felt panic bite deep now. A narrow gorge lay ahead yet the horse thrashed on in agony as if some raging monster tagged close behind her heels. She gave no pause but leaped into the gorge. Gwyneth screamed and threw herself from the saddle as the mare hurled downward through branches and brush to fall with a sickening crash to the rocky bed of the ravine. The two escorts came crashing through the woods and drew their horses to a stop. Gwyneth rose, her rage far from satisfied; she forgot her fear and her own foolishness and spit words out with venom.

“You brainless beast!” she railed. “You low-born nag! On open path you prance along but take to the woods and you flee like the hunted stag!”

She brushed leaves and the matted forest turf from her gunna and sought to rake some from her tangled hair. She glared at the horse wheezing in pain at the bottom of the gulley and made no effort to ease its agony. One of the escorts dismounted and went to stand close to the edge. He turned with a sickly smile upon his face.

“My lady, I fear your mount is broken badly.”

But Gwyneth flung her head and spun about. “Aaah, that stupid nag, couldn’t see a hole as big as that! Good riddance that she should be broken!”

A new sound came and heavy thundering and a crashing in the brush drew near. From the dark shadows of the wood, Wulfgar rode into view followed by his men. He pulled his great red warhorse to a halt beside Gwyneth and her escorts and his scowl raked them.

“What goes here?” he demanded. “Why are you here? We heard a scream.”

The mounted escort gestured to the gorge and Wulfgar approached closer. He scowled heavily as he recognized Aislinn’s mare lying at the bottom. Many times he had stopped to stroke the fine beast and feed her a handful of oats. He whirled to face Gwyneth.

“You, dear sister, riding a horse and one I gave you no word for?”

Gwyneth flicked a dried leaf from her skirt and shrugged. “A slave’s horse, what would it matter? Aislinn will have little use for it now; her duties lie in your chamber.”

Wulfgar’s face grew rigid and it was with a great effort of will that he spoke below a shout. “ ’Twas a good nag you slaughtered by your wretched carelessness! Your utter disregard for another’s property, Gwyneth, has wasted a valuable steed.”

“The mare was ill tempered,” Gwyneth replied evenly. “I could have been killed.”

Wulfgar bit off a sharp reply. “Who gave you permission to take the horse?”

“I need not have permission from a slave,” she retorted haughtily. “ ’Twas Aislinn’s horse, thereby it was available for my use at my discretion.”

Wulfgar’s hands clenched into tight fists. “If Aislinn is a slave, then what she owns is mine,” he rumbled low. “For I am lord of all this and everything here is mine. You will not abuse my horses nor my slaves.”

“ ’Twas I who was abused!” Gwyneth flung back in high rage. “Look at me! I could have been killed riding that beast and no one warned me that I would be taking my life in my hands. Aislinn could have stopped me, yet I think she would have me dead. Not a word of warning did she utter.”

Wulfgar’s frown became ominous.

“Really, Wulfgar, what do you see in that driveling wench,” Gwyneth inquired. “I would think you spoiled for lesser creatures after being accustomed to the ladies of William’s court. She’s a scheming, conniving little bitch and she will have your head as well as mine in the end.”

Wulfgar whirled abruptly, jerking the great steed about to face his men. Lifting an arm, he gestured for them to set off.

“Wulfgar!” Gwyneth cried, stamping her foot. “The least you can do is dismount one of your knights and give me a horse for the return.”

He turned his head to stare at her stonily for a long moment, then glancing about him spoke to her mounted escort.

“Take her up behind you, Gard. Let her ride the rump of your horse back to Darkenwald. Perhaps she will learn the value of a worthy steed on the return.”

He moved his gaze back to Gwyneth who eyed him coldly.

“Nay, dear sister, the least I can do is to finish the work that was so carelessly begun.”

He bit the words off as if they were distasteful to him and swung down from the Hun. He tied the reins to a nearby bush and made his way down the steep side of the gully until he stood near Cleome’s head. Reaching down he took the mare in a firm grip by the lower jaw, stretched her head upward until he looked into her great soft eyes. Cleome struggled gallantly to rise but with two quick thrusts of his dagger Wulfgar cut the pulsing veins in each side of her throat and then gently lowered the head again. In great vexation he returned to his own mount. Slowly the sounds from the gulley quieted until only silence hung heavily in the forest.

Wulfgar whirled the Hun about with a jerk at the reins and urged the huge steed forward until he had rejoined the party. It was in a sharp tone of voice that he bade Gwyneth’s other escort to return and collect the trappings from Cleome. The group continued on in silence against the darkening day until they reached Darkenwald where a shout from the lookout heralded their approach.

Wulfgar saw the blue of Aislinn’s gunna as she left the door to wait upon them, and Gwyneth’s words fell heavily upon his thoughts. What web of contentment had the Saxon wench woven about him that he could feel at ease with his back turned to her? Was he someday to have that small dagger he had let her keep thrust between his ribs? She had stated herself that she was safer with him alive and this was true, but what of later? Would circumstances in the future warrant his death and would she be the one to carry out the execution? Lord, he could not trust any woman! His jaw tightened as he considered how greatly he enjoyed her company. She would be difficult to replace, for she pleasured him well. He’d be a fool if he let his sister’s accusation goad him into putting her aside. A more winsome bedmate a man could not find. As long as he held his trust from her, he could gratify himself with her and suffer no consequences. He almost smiled again, yet he remembered the mare and knew he would have
to be the one to tell Aislinn of her loss. Sourly his thoughts turned back to Gwyneth. Another woman whose idiocy he must contend with, but this one gave him no pleasure.

Aislinn stood silent as they neared. Sweyn had come from the hall and waited beside her. She blushed lightly as Wulfgar met her gaze, unable to forget his passionate caresses of that morning, but he scowled and glanced away, barking an order over his shoulder at his men. In mean temper he drew the Hun to a halt and dismounted, throwing the reins to Gowain. Ignoring Aislinn, he brushed past her into the hall, flinging the door wide with a bang.

Aislinn knew only confusion and she looked from one to another of the men as they led their horses away, but each avoided her gaze and no one spoke. Aislinn turned, wondering at their manner and spied Gwyneth mounted on behind one of her former escorts. Aislinn glanced around in further bewilderment, seeking some sight of the small mare among the huge Norman steeds, but try as she might she could not see Cleome. She faced Gwyneth again and watched her dismount and brush at her skirts. In sudden apprehension Aislinn stared at the streaks of dirt marring the other’s gown. Gwyneth raised cold eyes to hers, seeming to dare her to ask. Swallowing a cry of dismay Aislinn whirled and followed Wulfgar with a rush. She found him seated at a table, staring at its top with a horn of ale in his hand. He lifted his gaze to hers as she came to stand before him.

“You left Cleome at Cregan?” she asked softly, almost knowing better.

He sighed heavily. “Nay. The mare broke her forelegs and I had to ease her pain. She is dead, Aislinn.”

“Cleome?!” Aislinn half laughed, half sobbed. “But how? She knew the paths well.”

A sharp cutting voice came from behind her. “Hah! That stupid nag could not find her way through the simplest of paths, yet she did find her way into a hole and threw me in the course of it. Why, she could have killed me! You did not warn me of her meanness, Aislinn.”

“Meanness?” Aislinn repeated in confusion. “Cleome was not mean. She was a fine beast. There was no horse swifter than she.”

“Hah! You can ask my escorts of her temper. They saw her themselves and can vow to my truth. What would you gain with my death?”

Aislinn shook her head, completely baffled. She felt Wulfgar’s steadfast gaze upon her. It was as if he, by his silence, questioned her, too. She attempted to laugh.

“You jest with cruelty, Gwyneth. It was my horse you killed.”

“
Your
horse!” Gwyneth scoffed. “You claim a horse? A mere slave?” She smiled into Aislinn’s wide-eyed gaze. “You mean my brother’s horse, don’t you?”

“Nay!” Aislinn cried. “Cleome was mine! My father gave her to me!” She glared at sister and brother and choked. “She was all I—”

The rest was torn in sobs. Wulfgar rose and laid a hand upon her arm as if he would comfort her, but she jerked angrily away and fled from them to seek what little comfort privacy could afford her. She had mounted the stairs when Gwyneth’s voice rang out.

“Hold! You do not leave before you’re bidden!”

Even Wulfgar was taken aback and he peered questioningly at his sister. She turned to him.

“I am your sister while that simpering bitch is but a slave! A captured slave!” she stormed. “I thump about in bare feet and rags while you take this English whore to bed and dress her in the finest gowns! Does it seem fair that kin should suffer so while slaves enjoy the privileges of your hospitality? You hold her up before my father and myself as if she were some badge of courage that you’ve won, and we must eat the scraps from your table while you place the bitch by your side where you can fondle her at your leisure!”

Gwyneth missed the lowering of Wulfgar’s brows. Aislinn had frozen at her command and had turned and even with the rage burning inside of her noticed the gathering storm on his face.

Bolsgar struggled up on an elbow. “Gwyneth! Gwyneth, listen to me!” he commanded. “You will not speak to Wulfgar in this manner. He is a knight of William and they have conquered this land. Though I have not been defeated in battle, I am stripped of my lands. We did come here begging and are here on his mercy. If I am your father, you will not abuse his kindness.”

“My father indeed!” Gwyneth poised herself before him and gestured to his blank shield with her whip. “Were you my father when you sent my brother to his death? Were you my father when my mother died? Were you my father when you took me from my home and led me across half of England to this filthy hovel because we heard the Normans speak of this bastard, Wulfgar, here? ‘Twas I who was injured today, my life almost forfeited. Do you take a slave’s side against that of your daughter or will you for once be
my
father?”

She opened her mouth to continue her attack, but Wulfgar’s voice preceded hers and in thundering tones silenced her.

“Cease your prattle, woman!”

Gwyneth whirled to face him and met his hard, piercing eyes.

“Mind your manners here!” he commanded in a low angry tone, taking a step forward. “Mind them well, my sister. You have called me bastard. So I am. But ‘twas not of my choosing. And you complain that your fair mother died. ’Tis true, but of what? ’Tis my thought she died much of her own will. My brother, gallant knight for Harold, died upon a battlefield. No man sent him. ‘Twas his oath, his honor, that took him there. He died a man for the cause he chose. But what of my cause, sister? Where was my choice? You! Your brother! My mother! Your father! You all cast me to these ends. You sent me far across the seas so that I would not blemish your good name and bring embarrassment to you. I was young and knew no fault of blood, a mere lad and knew no other father but one.”

He turned to Bolsgar.

“And you say, my lord, that my mother sought to set a wrong aright?” He laughed coldly. “I say she sought the vengeance of a shrewish wife, for who was harmed by her words? She? But little. My sister?” He bowed, gesturing to that one. “None at all, for she was the fairest in my mother’s sight. My brother? Never, for he became the favored one. You? Deeply, I wouldst think, for you and I were truly father and son. But you in honor to her cast me out, sent me far away to that foppish sot who took the coins you sent and gave me for my care but the meanest share.”

The steel gray eyes settled coldly upon Gwyneth again.

“Do not lecture me on what I owe my family again. You take what is willingly given without complaints, for I feel no deep obligation here. You criticize my pleasures freely.” He swept his arm toward Aislinn. “That, too, is my affair and none of yours, for I will have her whether you say yea or nay. Be careful when you speak of whore and bastard, for I am not opposed to striking a woman. Many times have I been tempted and may one day yield that urge. So be warned.

“Now the mare you took without my word is dead and I am one to feel a fondness for a good steed and she was a fine piece of horse. As to your claim that she was ill tempered, I say she was but a trifle shy since Aislinn has not been allowed to ride her these weeks since my coming. I would rather think it was this reason that caused her loss and nearly yours. We will leave it at that, and I will hear no more accusations without proof. Further I would suggest you try to console yourself with a lesser wardrobe than you may have been accustomed to. I have neither the patience nor the inclination to hear your nagging about such things. If you feel yourself abused, speak with the women of England and learn of their losses and what they’ve suffered.”