The Wolf and the Dove (21 page)

He ignored Gwyneth’s furious expression and strode away to the center of the hall where he faced her again.

“I must leave to do the Duke’s bidding on the morrow,” he said, drawing Aislinn’s startled gaze upon him. “The journey is of a length I cannot know but when I return I hope you have been reconciled to the fact that I am master here and will run this manor and my life as I see fit. Sweyn will be here in my absence and you will give him due respect. I will leave coins to see to your needs, not because you demand them, but by reason that it was my intention. Now I tire easily of women’s prattle and I bid you to test my patience no further. You are dismissed, dear sister, and if you question that, it means you are free to retire to your chamber.”

He waited until she whirled in silence and fled up the stairs, passing Aislinn without meeting her gaze and slammed the door of her chamber behind her. Aislinn lifted tearful eyes to his and in their violet depths Wulfgar recognized the anguish there. For a long moment their eyes held and then he watched her turn, observing the square set of her shoulders and the gentle swing of her hips. While holding herself proudly erect, she slowly mounted the stairs.

Wulfgar became aware of his stepfather’s gaze and turned to face the older knight, half expecting some reproof. Instead there was the slightest trace of a smile on Bolsgar’s lips. He nodded his head ever so slightly and then leaned back, rolling his head upon the pelts to stare into the fire. Wulfgar’s gaze swept on to Sweyn who stood just inside the door. The Norseman’s face was void of expression, yet the two old friends knew each other’s thoughts. After a moment Sweyn turned and left the hall

Picking up his helmet and shield, Wulfgar mounted the stairs. His tread was heavy as if he almost forced his feet to take the steps. He knew Aislinn sorely felt the loss of her horse. He thought himself capable of dealing with her rages, but what of her sorrows? Superior strength and force would not alleviate the pain of this needless waste of the Barb. He blamed himself mostly for what had happened. He could have prevented it all by a simple word, yet his mind had been on other matters, his duties and these estates that would need guarding in his absence.

He entered his chamber and closed the door softly behind him. Aislinn stood near the window with her head resting against the inside shutter. Tears made wet paths down her cheeks and fell unheeded to her bosom. He watched for a time and then with his usual care removed and put away the trappings of his profession, his hauberk, his helm, his sword, his shield, each to its place.

In his own mind he was unattached and needed no woman to clutter his thoughts. He had lived his life hard and vigorously. There was no place in it for a spouse, nor had any wench ever made him yearn for a mate. Now, he felt hampered by the lack of gentleness in his life. He didn’t know in what manner to approach a grieving maid and express his regret. There had never been an occasion when he had to or even wanted to. His affairs with women had been brief and without depth, rarely going beyond a night or two with the same one. He took women to appease a basic desire. When he became bored with them, he simply left them without explanation. Their affections or feelings mattered naught. Yet he sympathized with Aislinn’s loss and felt compassion, for he had experienced some sadness himself at losing a favored steed.

As if some inner knowledge guided him, he went to her and took her in his arms, hushing her tearful sobs against his strong and hardened chest. Tenderly he brushed dampened hair from her cheek and kissed each tear from her face until she lifted her mouth to his. Her response surprised him pleasantly yet a fleeting moment of confusion at her moods swept him. Since first taking her she had tolerated his advances as any slave would her master, seeming anxious to place the moment behind her. But his kisses she fought, turning her face away when she could, straining against him as if she were afraid of yielding some victory to him. Now in her woe, she met his kiss almost eagerly, her soft lips parting warm and moist beneath his mounting ardor. Hot blood surged through his veins, beating fierce and turbulent like a storm at sea. He dismissed the wonder of her reaction as he raised her in his arms and bore her now soft and willing to his bed.

A thin silvery beam of moonlight crept effortlessly between the closed shutters, invading the chamber where Aislinn lay asleep curled warm and secure, protected in the arms of her knight. Yet in wakeful repose, Wulfgar stared at the shaft of light, reflecting upon the moments passed, unable to pick any logic from his own confused mind.

Aislinn woke as the first gray hues of dawn were seeking their way through the shutters and lighting the room. She lay savoring the warmth of Wulfgar’s body and the feel of his muscled shoulder beneath her head.

Ah, my fine lord, she thought, running the tip of her finger along his lean ribs. You are mine and ‘tis only a matter of time, I think, before you know it also.

She smiled, half dreaming of the night passed yet basking in the soft, still moments of the present. She rose up on an elbow to further study her lord, marveling at the handsomeness of his features, and found suddenly his arms locked around her pulling her to him. Surprised by his feigned slumber, she gave a gasp and struggled in his embrace. His eyes came open and smiled into hers.

“Ma cherie, are you so eager for me that you must wake me from a sound sleep?”

Her face flaming, Aislinn sought to pull away but his grip was firm and unbreakable.

“You are conceited,” she accused.

“Am I, Aislinn?” he questioned, the corner of his mouth lifting as his gray eyes sparkled. “Or is it your greed for me? I think you must carry some warmth in your heart for me, my little vixen.”

His mockery burned her. “ ’Tis a lie,” she returned sharply. “Would a Saxon seek out a Norman?”

“Aaah,” he sighed, ignoring her protests. “I will be hard pressed to find a wench so entertaining upon the road, and one that bears some affection for me, never.”

“Oh, you swollen-headed buffoon,” she cried, straining against him. His arms tightened about her, crushing her naked breasts to his chest, and his smile deepened at that pleasure.

“Would that I could take you with me, Aislinn, I would not find boredom. But alas, I fear so soft a one could not bear the battle march and I would not risk so fine a treasure in a foolish game.”

His hand moved behind her head, forcing her lips down to meet his. He kissed her long and passionately, his mouth searing and bruising with its insistence. Again Aislinn felt her will to resist weaken. Wulfgar rolled over with her until his weight held her down, but there was now no need for force. Her hand slipping behind his neck attested to her frailty. The building fires that ran like molten lead through her veins and throbbed with pulsating agony in the depth of her belly only made her seek more heartily his appeasement. That same intense yearning began to sweep her as it had only a few hours ago when her young body had responded eagerly to his almost with a will of its own, meeting his with each deep thrust. Yet when he had moved away she had still ached for his caresses and known a strange hungering frustration she could not explain.

Shame at her earlier behavior and the thought of his mockery now cooled her passion. He used her, then taunted her for feeling some warmth for him. Was there no softness within him? How could she feel cold and distant with him when even his kisses drove her beyond the brink of sanity? Could it be that she was indeed falling in love with him?

The thought sobered her like a pail of icy water. She jumped, making him lose his grip on her and she twisted away, half dragging him with her as she scrambled to the edge of the bed.

“What the devil?” he cried and reached out to draw her back. Another moment there would have been no need for battles. Now he was eager and ready and perturbed with her. “Come here, wench.”

“Nay!” Aislinn shrieked and threw herself from the bed. She stood braced for action, her bosom heaving, her coppery hair cascading wildly around her naked body. “You laugh at me and then seek your pleasure! Well, find it on some whoremonger’s crone.”

“Aislinn!” he barked and flung himself after her. She screeched and leapt out of his way, putting the bed between them.

“You go to fight my people and you expect me to send you off with my good tidings! Heaven help me!”

She made a very fetching sight standing in the shaft of light, her slim body glowing golden in the early rays. He paused in rounding the end of the bed and leaned against a massive post regarding her with amusement. She glared back at him defiantly, aware of his nakedness, his passion, his strength, yet determined to salvage this small bit of pride.

He smiled slowly. “Ah, cherie, you make it hard to think of leaving, but I must. I am a knight of William.” He approached her with measured tread and she eyed him with suspicion, ready to fling herself across the bed again if he made a move to take her. “Would you have me neglect my duty?”

“Your duty has taken too many English lives. When will it end?”

He shrugged and replied easily. “When England has bowed before William.”

With a quick movement he reached out and grabbed her arm, taking her off guard, and snatched her against him. She struggled furiously but to no avail, for his arms were clamped securely about her. He chuckled at her efforts, thoroughly enjoying them and with a frustrated groan Aislinn halted her movements and stood stock still against him, aware that doing otherwise only aroused his passions further.

“You see, Aislinn, it is what the lord of the manor dictates, not what his slave wishes.”

Aislinn made a strangling, enraged sound beneath his kiss and would not relent to the beckoning excitement of his searing lips. Instead she held herself cold and rigid against him. After a long moment he drew away and met the mockery in her gaze.

“For once, Wulfgar, my Norman knight,” she breathed, her violet eyes glowing with the warmth he did not find in her lips. “ ’Tis what the slave wills—”

She danced away as his hands fell from her and curtseyed pretty for him. Her eyes swept him from toe to head and knew his desires had not cooled.

“Mind you dress, lord. These days would chill even the stoutest of men.”

Grabbing up a pelt she pulled it close about her and gave him a impishly wicked look as she grinned. Turning on her heels with a low laugh, she went to the hearth, there to lay small logs upon the still warm coals. She blew upon them but drew back in haste as the ashes flew up and sat back upon her heels rubbing her reddened eyes while Wulfgar’s amused chuckles filled the room. She made a face at his mirth and swung the kettle of water on its hook over the building heat as he crossed to the warmth of the fire beside her and began to dress.

The water steamed and she went to where his sword and belt hung and there found his scabbard knife and returning with it, began to whet it on the stone of the fireplace. He raised his brow in wonder at her actions.

“My flesh is much more tender than yours, Wulfgar,” she explained. “And if you would go about barefaced you should keep it so. The burr upon your chin does sorely chasten me and since I’ve seen this shaving done so well upon my people, I would think it not unseemly that you would allow me the single honor to return the favor.”

Wulfgar glanced at her small dagger lying atop her gunna, remembering his thoughts of the day before. Was his death warranted now when he must go and fight her people? Should he tell her he was not one to waste lives needlessly? By Heavens, he would know the truth now. He nodded.

“Perhaps your hand is gentler than most, Aislinn,” he replied. He took up a linen and dipped it into the kettle. Wringing it out, he shook the piece free to cool the steam and leaning back in a chair, laid it several folds across his face.

“Ah, Wulfgar, what a tempting pose you make,” Aislinn quipped, considering him. “Would that it had been a moon ago that a Norman throat be laid bare before me—”

She rose and stood over him fingering the blade. Wulfgar removed the towel and their eyes met as he lifted a brow. Her mouth curved and she grinned devilishly, tossing her long hair with a shake of her head. Her tone became quite casual.

“Ah, but were I not so afraid of my next master the temptation might be far greater.”

The benefit of her humor was the solid whack of his large hand upon her buttock, bringing from her a small shriek and a more eager manner. She slowly plied the well honed blade along his cheeks until the same had lost their bristles and were again smooth. When she was done he rubbed a hand across his face, marveling at the fact she had not cut him once.

“A better manservant a knight could never have.” He reached beneath the pelt and pulled her down onto his lap. His gaze burned deeply into hers as he murmured hoarsely, “Remember that you are mine, Aislinn, and I will not share you.”

“Do you treasure me after all, m’lord?” she murmured softly, tracing her finger lightly over the scar on his cheek.

He did not answer her inquiry but said, “Remember.”

It was with a definite hunger he pulled her against him and kissed her, this time tasting the warmth and passion he knew her capable of.

The morning was cold and wet with a brisk wind sweeping the rain across the hills and in through every crack that plagued the manor. Small wisps of the chill breeze crept beneath the outer doors, bringing with them trickles of water and stirring the frosty air within the hall. Aislinn huddled deeper into the woolen shawl and with cold-numbed fingers picked a small crust of bread to nibble as she crossed to the hearth where Sweyn and Bolsgar sat. The newly kindled fire was just beginning to drive the chill from the hall, and she took a seat on a small stool beside Bolsgar’s chair. In the days following Wulfgar’s departure, her fondness for the old knight had grown, for he reminded her much of her own father. He was a cushion that softened Gwyneth’s harsh railery and made life bearable when that woman was about. He was kind and understanding when his daughter was not.

Aislinn often sought his counsel over matters concerning the hall or serfs and knew the wisdom of his advice had come by his own experience through the years. Sweyn often came seeking his opinion as well and more than not stayed to enjoy a horn of ale and reminisce upon the days when Wulfgar was still looked upon as a true son. When these moods struck the men, Aislinn sat quietly and listened in rapt attention as they spoke of the young lad with fondness and praised his feats. Their manner was proud, enough to make a person wonder if each had not had a part in siring the boy.

There were times when Sweyn would spin tales of his adventures with Wulfgar and their life as mercenaries. Bolsgar listened with an eagerness easily discernible. At an early age Wulfgar left the house of de Sward, and he and Sweyn found their sustenance by hiring out as soldiers of war. Their reputation grew until their services commanded the highest prices and the demand for them was constant. It was in this time the Duke heard of Wulfgar’s prowess with a sword and lance and called the pair out of France to join him. The friendship between knight and nobleman began at the first moment of their meeting, when Wulfgar declared without ado that he was bastard and that only coin brought his allegiance. Taken with the other’s frankness, William pressed him to join forces and swear fealty to him. It was a matter quickly done, for the Duke was a persuasive man and Wulfgar found in William a man he could respect. At his present age of three and thirty, Wulfgar had been with the Duke for several years and was
well set in his loyalty.

Aislinn now looked at the Norseman and the old knight where they sat and knew that if Gwyneth had been present, she would have berated them severely for wasting time. As she chewed her crust, Aislinn mused on Wulfgar’s sister. How different she was from either her brother or her father. Wulfgar had no more than ridden over the hill when Gwyneth began to reign as mistress of the hall. She treated the serfs as low, contemptuous beings there to serve only her. She gave no pause to interrupting their labors and setting them about on some petty errand. It seemed to completely infuriate the woman for the peasants to go to Aislinn or Sweyn for approval before doing much of what she bade them do. The woman had taken charge of the larder as well and doled out food as if it were she who had paid dearly for each grain of wheat. She measured the meat in portions and scolded loudly if some was left on the bone. She made no accounting of the poor serfs who came and waited hungrily for scraps to be cast from the table. It became a game for Bolsgar and Sweyn to cheat her meager ration and fling large meaty joints to the watchful peasants. When she noted this, Gwyneth seemed to take their treachery to heart and ranted long on their wasteful ways.

The serenity of the morning was suddenly shattered as a piercing shriek rent the quiet of the hall. Aislinn rose to her feet with a start as her mother came flying down the stairs waving her arms in outraged passion, calling for all the demons of hell to come forth and plague this daughter of Satan. Aislinn stared at Maida in astonishment, half convinced that she had passed the border of reason and fled into the depths of madness. Gwyneth strode to the head of the stairs and with a smug smile on her lips gazed down upon them as Maida scuttled behind her daughter’s skirts. Aislinn faced Gwyneth as she leisurely descended and came to them.

“I caught your mother stealing from me,” Gwyneth charged. “Not only must we abide in the same hall with serfs, but with thieves as well. Wulfgar will hear of this. Mark my words well.”

“Lies! ’Tis lies!” Maida shrilled. She held up her hands in appeal to Aislinn. “My spider eggs! My leeches! They were mine! I bought them from the Jews. Now they are all gone.” She cast an evil look at Gwyneth. “I but ventured into her chamber to find them.”

“Lies?” Gwyneth gasped indignantly. “I find her rummaging in my room and I am named the thief? She is mad!”

“My mother suffered greatly at the hands of Ragnor and his men,” Aislinn explained. “The things were of use in ministering to the hurts of all. She valued them highly.”

“I threw them out.” Gwyneth drew herself up in righteous pride. “Yea, I threw them out. Let her keep her playthings from this hall. I will have none of them crawling about my chamber.”

“Gwyneth!” Bolsgar snapped, sorely vexed. “You have no right to act thus. You are a guest here and must abide in Wulfgar’s way.”

“No right!”
Gwyneth railed in a fit of temper. “I am the only one here of kin to the lord of this hall. Who denies my rights?” Her pale blue eyes flashed and dared them all to answer. “I will see to the welfare of Wulfgar’s possessions while he is gone.”

Bolsgar gave a derisive snort. “As you see to mine? You lay out food as if it were yours to give. Wulfgar leaves us monies and you toss out a few coppers and horde the rest. You have never seen to anyone else’s welfare that I know of.”

“I only keep it safe from your free hand,” his daughter retorted sharply. “You would squander it as you threw away our gold. Arms! Men! Horses! What good did it do you? Had you held a few coins back, we would not have had to beg for a crust and lodgings.”

The old man grumbled into the fire. “Had I not been bestowed with two nagging females who demanded the best of everything, I might have been able to send more men with your brother and we would not be here now.”

“Aye, blame poor mother and myself. We had to beg you for even a few coppers to buy a gown. Look at my gunna and see how well you kept us,” Gwyneth berated him harshly. “But I am here now and the only kinsman of Wulfgar. I claim the rights of blood, and I shall see these Saxons do not abuse his generous nature.”

“There are no rights of blood.” Sweyn was so bold as to enter the fray. “When he was cast out, your mother did not claim him as her son either. Then she denied his kinship also.”

“Keep your tongue still, you lickspittle lackey!” Gwyneth snarled at the Viking. “You polish Wulfgar’s armor and guard his door when he sleeps. You have no say here. My words will stand. That woman will keep her vermin from this hall!”

“Aaaiee!” Maida wailed. “I can not have my chamber safe from thieves even here in my own hall.”

“Your hall!” Gwyneth scoffed. She laughed jeeringly. “By William’s hand you are set away from these walls.”

Aislinn’s temper flared. “By Wulfgar’s command we are held here and given these abodes.”

Gwyneth’s wrath would not be stayed. “You are serf here! The lowest kind! You can hold no possessions!” She thrust a finger toward Maida. “You, you sniveling old crone, prance about this hall as if you were still the lady of it, when in truth you are no more than slave. I will not have it.”

“Nay! She is here at Wulfgar’s will.” Aislinn cried, her ire raised at this senseless attack upon her mother. “Your brother even stayed Ragnor’s hand when that knave would have set her out.”

The other woman’s lips curled in contempt. “Do not call a true-blooded Norman knight by your Saxon names!” She whirled on Maida again. “By what right do you claim a place in this hall? Because your daughter beds the lord?” She chuckled scornfully. “You think that gives you Norman rights, old hag? What say you when the lord returns with wife and throws your precious kin to his men? What rights then will you sport? A mother of a whore?! ‘Twould do you ill to even stay upon these lands. Yea! Begone from here, out of my sight. Find some hovel where you can take your bony frame, but get thee gone. Clear your chamber of those vile pests and get out of this hall! Get out!”

“Nay!” Aislinn cried. “ ’Twill not be so! Wulfgar, himself set her in that room. Do you challenge his command?”

“I challenge naught.” Gwyneth spat. “I see only to his good.”

“Aislinn?” The whisper came softly and the girl looked down as her mother tugged at her gunna. “I will go. I will get my things. They are few enough now.”

There were tears in Maida’s eyes as she spoke and a chaotic flow of emotions flickered across her face. As Aislinn opened her mouth to speak, the old woman shook her head negatively and crossed to the stairs and slowly mounted them, her thin shoulders sagging with defeat. Aislinn glared her voiceless rage at Gwyneth, standing with clenched fist as the other smiled tauntingly.

“There are times, Gwyneth,” Bolsgar slowly ground out, “when you sicken my gut.”

His daughter glowed in her triumph. “I cannot see why you bemoan her leaving, father. The crone has marred this hall long enough with her rags and twisted face.”

He turned his great shoulders away to stare stonily into the roaring blaze on the hearth. Sweyn did likewise for a space then heaved his bulk up and left the hall. Aislinn glowered on until Gwyneth strode away and seating herself in Wulfgar’s chair, began to daintily pick at a trencher of mutton Hlynn had placed there.

Maida descended the stairs with a ragged pelt covering her back and a small bundle in her arms. She paused in the doorway, turning a pleading glance to her daughter. Aislinn gathered the shawl tightly against the cold and wet outside and followed her mother. They shivered together as the north wind caressed their meagerly clad bodies and a frosty mist dampened their hair.

“Where am I to go now, Aislinn?” Maida wept, wringing her hands as they crossed the courtyard. “Should we not go before Wulfgar returns and seek a place far from here?”

“Nay.” Aislinn shook her head. It was difficult to speak calmly when she wanted to tear at Gwyneth’s hair and vent her rage upon the other. “Nay, mother mine. If we leave the people will suffer and would have no one to ease their hurts. I cannot betray them to Gwyneth’s shallow mercy. In any cause, there is war upon the land. ’Tis no time for two women to wander about.”

“Wulfgar will cast us out if he returns with a bride,” Maida insisted. “And we will be no better off than if we were to go now.”

Aislinn lifted her gaze to the distant horizon as she thought of the last night spent in Wulfgar’s arms. She could almost feel his hands upon her again, caressing, touching, arousing until it seemed each single nerve cried out for him. Her eyes grew soft and dreamy. The mere memory of their play now set her breasts and thighs aflame and a hunger grew within her. But what of him? Had he truly been hers then or was she to find herself put aside for another woman upon his return? A brief vision of Wulfgar holding some wench within his passionate embrace loomed upward before her and the delicious excitement that had swept her youthful body was crushed in a wave of anger. Of all the men who had desired her hand and begged her father to consider them worthy of her, she must now be the paramour of one who loathed women and did not trust them. She almost laughed aloud. What irony to have been so proud to those who pined for her and to find herself a slave to that strange Norman who declared that he could forget her
as easily as some glove. Yet there had been a proven need for the gauntlet. Aislinn calmed now, thinking of that. A small smile touched her lips and a new confidence took root. Even if he did return with some trollop to fill his bed, would he forget her so easily? Did she haunt his memory as he did hers? He had enjoyed her well that last night together. Even in her inexperience, she knew this, so she must lay upon his visions of her as a woman to bring him back unfettered.

She turned down the lane that led to an empty cottage, made vacant by the deaths of a father and son who had fought with Erland against Ragnor and lost life in that battle. But Maida cringed away as Aislinn took her arm to lead her into the hut.

“Ghosts! I am afraid of ghosts!” she cried. “What will they do to me, alone and with no one to stand fast for me? They will take me away and harm me! I know it!”

“Nay.” Aislinn soothed her mother’s fears. “There were none but friends who lived here. They would not return to do Erland’s widow ill.”

“You think not?” Maida whined. With a sudden childlike trust she followed Aislinn nearer the cottage. The dismal dwelling stood separate from the rest of the town near a small scraggly copse of which in turn bordered on the marsh. Aislinn pushed the rickety door ajar and half choked on the dusty, fetid smell of the place.

“See, mother.” She gestured within. “ ’Tis of sturdy frame and needs only a clever hand to set it aright and make it a good home.”

The interior was gloomy and Aislinn sought hard to quell her own doubts and keep her manner light and cheerful. The two small windows had thin oiled skins stretched over them which let in much less light than cold wintery wind and every footfall brought dust from the dry dirt door thinly scattered with rushes. A crude hearth commanded one wall and a sturdy oaken bedframe covered with a limp rotting mattress was against the other. A single rough hewn chair stood beside a slab table near the fireplace and here Maida sank in dejected despair and began a low moaning song as she rocked back and forth on that simple seat.