The Wolf and the Dove (23 page)

The girl turned to face the approaching woman and waited until she halted before her. “So, Gwyneth.” Aislinn’s tone rang clear in the railing winds. “You have taken upon yourself the authority of Wulfgar. And do you seek to deprive him of one more useful serf?”

“Useful?” Gwyneth spat. “This sluggard deliberately disobeyed me.”

“Strange,” Aislinn returned, “I have no such problems with him. Mayhaps it be your manner that confuses him. He is unaccustomed to the chittering of a jackdaw.”

Gwyneth choked in unrestrained fury. “Jackdaw! You bastard’s whore! You flippant Saxon slut! How dare you question my manner! In Wulfgar’s absence I am lady of this manor and no one shall question it.”

“No one doubts what you would be, dear Gwyneth. Whether you are or not must be asked of Wulfgar.”

“There is no need for asking!” The retort was ground out. “I am his sister and you are no kin of his.”

Aislinn lifted her chin proudly. “Aye, no kin of his! Yet I know his reasonings beyond your ken. He brings justice swift and sure, not madness as you preach, for he knows the worth of treating his serfs kindly and with heart.”

Gwyneth gave a derisive snort. “I find it indeed difficult to understand how in your rush to his bed you took time to know his very thoughts.” Her eyes narrowed until they were but pale slits outlined with tawny lashes. “Or is it more that you feel you can bend his mind to your will?”

“If I could,” Aislinn retorted, “then that man would deserve no better than to be so bent. But I doubt Wulfgar’s mind so easily won.”

“Bah! A harlot’s sport to castrate a man to any but her own way and tie his gaze to her swinging hips that he should never know he is being led.” Gwyneth fairly trembled with ire as her gaze swept Aislimn in rude appraisal. Her mind could not press down the memory of Wulfgar fondling this Saxon wench outside his bedchamber the morning he left or the tortured thought that Ragnor might have done the same. “Men! They will forever chase that plump harlot form that jiggles with each movement and ignore the trim and proper lady who feels it ill to display her sex so bluntly.”

“Ho! What trim form do you boast?” Aislinn chuckled, raising a winsome brow. “Why, a budding willow switch has that which you could envy.”

“Harlot!” the other woman croaked. “ ’Tis said that a woman’s shape grows full and plump under a man’s touch, and I see that you must have known many.”

Aislinn shrugged. “If that were so, then you, dear Gwyneth, have known no other’s touch since your mother’s.”

Gwyneth reddened profusely and could make no reply. “Enough! I grow tired of your endless bickering and I care not to dally in the cold.” She turned to the two Normans who dared show no humor. “Take the serf hence and strip his back a while. We’ll see if he doesn’t mind a lady’s words more meekly in the future.”

“Nay!” Aislinn cried. She whirled to the Normans and in a cajoling manner pleaded. “A young child lies yonder seized in ague, and herbs are needed to ease her suffering.” She turned a hand to Ham. “He bears no mark for sin, for he carries there the very leaves I bade him seek. Let the two of us see to this sick child first and when Wulfgar returns I shall place the matter before him and seek his justice whatever he will name.”

Gwyneth saw the uncertainty in the men’s faces and felt her issue failing. “Nay! ‘Twould serve no end! Let his punishment be done now that he remembers and will serve the better for it.”

Aislinn turned in frustration to the woman and flung her hands wide. “Would you place this matter above the life of a child? Will you see the child dead that this punishment be carried out.”

“I care no whit for a Saxon brat,” Gwyneth sneered. “Let the serfs insolent tongue be served its due and stay my will no further, slut. Yea, I bid you stay and watch his hiding that you would no more challenge my commands.”

“You have no right to command here,” Aislinn cried.

Gwyneth turned livid with unshackled fury. “You deny my rights, harlot, but as Wulfgar’s only kin I am the one who must speak in his absence. And you are naught but serf here, his slave who has no choice but must bear his weight in bed at his whim. You say I have no say here? Well, ‘tis you who are without rights and should taste the way of one who disobeys her betters.” Her pale eyes glimmered with the thought of Aislinn’s soft flesh stripped by scars from the whip. “Aye, you should also learn obedience.” She thrust her arm toward the younger girl. “Seize her! Put her beside the stubborn chit!”

The French words were not lost upon the boy who had learned much of the Normans’ ways since their coming. Ham struggled with the men violently.

“Nay! Leave her be!”

The men could only gape in mute astonishment at the infuriated woman. The whipping of a Saxon wench was nothing in itself, but when that wench belonged to Wulfgar, that made all the difference in the world. There would be severe repercussions over this deed and they themselves would not suffer lightly. Perhaps Wulfgar’s sister was foolhardy, but they were of a different mood.

“Take her!” Gwyneth shrieked, unable to further tolerate their delay.

Ham broke from the men and fled as one Norman stepped forward, intending more to escort the girl from danger than to do her harm. The men laid a hand upon her shoulder, but Aislinn, mistaking his move, whirled from him in outrage, leaving her mantle in his grasp.

“Be careful of the garments, you dolt!” Gwyneth snapped, showing her greed. “And take the gunna from her. I have need of it.”

“So, you have need of it?” Aislinn choked. With trembling fingers she snatched the gown from her body and before Gwyneth could stop her she flung it down in the mud at her feet and trampled upon it. She faced the woman, wearing nothing more than a thin kirtle in the biting wind yet she hardly noticed its icy chill with the furious storm raging within her. “Then, Gwyneth, you must take it as it is.”

The woman’s strident voice cut like a blade through the cold wind. “Begin the whipping and do not cease until fifty lashes have fallen upon her back.” Then she sneered at Aislinn. “My brother will find precious little to entice him when he views your frame again.”

But Gwyneth’s bidding was not to be carried out by the men. The one dropped the whip and backed away, shaking his head, as his companion followed him.

“Nay, we will not do it. The Lady Aislinn has nursed our wounds and ills and we are not wont to repay that kindness in this manner.”

“You spineless curs!” Gwyneth railed. She snatched up the whip herself. “I’ll show you how to mete out well earned discipline.”

With all the fury bent of hatred burning deep within her, Gwyneth raised her arm, and the whip hissed like a serpent’s tongue to bite through Aislinn’s simple garment and taste the tender flesh of her hip. Aislinn writhed in silent agony and pulled away, tears of pain sparkling in her eyes.

“Cease!”

They turned abruptly and men and woman faced a raging Sweyn. Ham stood beside him and there was no doubt in any mind that he had fetched the huge Viking. But the heady knowledge of her power drove Gwyneth beyond caution and she whirled to Aislinn again, drawing the whip back for another blow, but as she brought it forward the butt was snatched from her hand. Gwyneth spun about in frustrated fury to find Sweyn’s foot planted firmly upon the end of the whip and his brawny arms set akimbo to his large frame.

“I said cease!” he bellowed.

“Nay!” Gwyneth half sobbed, half shrieked. “The bitch needs be chastened here and now.”

The Viking approached the thin woman until he stood tall above her and bent his head that he could meet her flashing pale eyes.

“Hear me well, Lady Gwyneth, for I fear your life may depend upon the care you give my words. My Lord Wulfgar gave this girl over to me to guard against harm in his absence, and that means from woman as well as man. She belongs to him by his word, and he will not tolerate your whipping of her. Unless he speaks otherwise the girl will have my protection, and thus far I have heard no order from him releasing me of my vow to keep her from danger. Wulfgar would not be above breaking you if he returned to find the wench maimed because of you. Therefore I am removing her to safety for your sake as well as hers. Peace be with you, Lady Gwyneth, but I must satisfy my lord’s wishes before considering another’s.”

With that he brushed past her, giving her no further opportunity to speak, and went to Aislinn. Snatching her mantle from one of the Normans, he spread it about her shivering body. Aislinn’s eyes were brimming with tears as she raised her gaze to his in mute gratitude. She put a hand upon his arm and the great Viking made rumbling noises deep in his throat, embarrassed by this display of softness from a woman. Aislinn spoke no word but moved past him to take Ham’s arm and steered the lad safely away from Gwyneth’s glare back to the hut where the small girl still gasped for breath.

Aislinn huddled nearer the blazing fire on the hearth, drawing away from the chilled darkness of the hall. She thought upon the day as a hellish nightmare that she was at last waking from. She was thankful for the tiny girl’s improvement. The fever had broken and in a few days the babe would be back to normal. But in those terrifying moments after the first cruel blow of the whip had struck, her mind had not lent itself to any thought other than that of Wulfgar meting out punishment on Kerwick’s helpless form; then her mind had whirled in a vision and she had seen herself lashed to the beams waiting for Wulfgar to deal out his worst, his strong arm raised against her in hatred. A shiver passed through her now as she remembered that frightening apparition. She forced her attention to the task Ham and Kerwick were performing, braiding strips of hide into a bridle for one of the Normans. But she could not forget her own need, her own desire to be comforted and reassured in Wulfgar’s strong arms. Never before in his absence had she longed so deeply to feel the touch of his hands or to have his lips upon hers and to know that she was something more than some wench he had toyed with for a time. If she closed her eyes now she could almost see him before her, his lips curved in a slow smile, his eyes soft and warm in the moments after their lovemaking.

Oh Lord, she was letting her feelings play havoc with her reason. There was no guarantee he would come back of the same mind as when he left. As Gwyneth had said, he might indeed return to Darkenwald with a wife and where would she be cast? To his men?

Aislinn shuddered as the icy tendrils of fear crept around her heart. He had declared his hatred of women in simple language. Would he seek to revenge himself upon her because she was of that same unpredictable gender? He might not care how much he hurt her. And what if she were with child? His hatred of her would only grow the more, for he could never know whether it was his own or Ragnor’s.

Disparaging thoughts thrust upward to rob her of confidence, to steal away the deliciousness of that soft moment when they had clung together just before his departure and he had kissed her tenderly. She had been assured then that he cared, if only slightly. But had she been telling herself another lie? Were they all lies? His kisses? His fierce embraces? Lies to rob her of her sanity?

She rose from her needlework with a ragged, pensive sigh and stepped away, twisting her hands in mute frustration. What must she do? Should she go away that she might salvage what little pride she had left?

Kerwick glanced up from his labor and studied the slender figure now turned from him. Her fingers strummed across the strings of a crwth which had lain untouched since the Normans’ coming. The strange chords of music broke the silence in the hall and echoed in the large room.

The scene seemed a re-enactment of another that he had been witness to many months ago when her father had announced his consent for their marriage. Kerwick had been overjoyed, more so than she, he knew, for when she grew troubled, her father had once told him, she always plucked idly upon the crwth as she had done that night long ago, making an odd melody that sounded eerie in the great hall. She had never learned to play the instrument, preferring instead to be played and sung to by some knight or troubadour. With a clear, lilting voice she could catch the gaiety of their song and enchant all those who listened. Yet it was a weird sound that came to his ears now, as if her soul was crying out for ease.

He rose to his feet and coming to stand at her side, reached his hand out to take hers in gentle understanding. Aislinn looked up through gathering tears into his compassionate gaze, her lips trembling slightly to show the uncertainty she felt and she heaved a sigh.

“Oh, Kerwick, I am so weary of this battle that rages between Gwyneth and me. What must I do? Relinquish my place as harlot to the lord and let Gwyneth have her way? If I were to leave, mayhap she would soften and show kindness toward the serfs.”

“She would but do her worst having a free hand and with no one to call her game,” he replied. “You are the only one in Wulfgar’s absence who can lessen the tide of hate that flows from her. Her father sees little of her cruelty. Sweyn is too busy with the affairs of this hall and Wulfgar’s men to notice the way she truly is. And I,” he laughed. “I am but serf now.”

“But what can I do to curb her?” Aislinn insisted. “I have no status. I am merely a plaything for a Norman.”

Kerwick bent to her. “Wulfgar has given you his protection. She can do no harm to you. Wulfgar’s men will know that after today. And Gwyneth knows it, too. You’re safe from her hatred. Sweyn is proof of that. Would you leave the serfs to suffer from her whims when you are the only one who can help them?”

“You will not let me run from my obligations, will you, Kerwick?” she asked wryly.

“Nay, no more than you would me.”

Aislinn laughed suddenly, her mood lightening. “Oh, Kerwick, how vengeful you are.”

He smiled and spoke in sincerity though his tone was light. “Yea, to be a betrothed scorned does not make for a generous man.”

Aislinn peered at him askance. “Your wounds have healed quickly, eh, Kerwick? I see no scars.”

“What wounds you speak of, my lady? Those of my heart? Nay, I conceal them well, ‘tis all, for they yet throb and pain me.” He stared down into the violet depths of her eyes. “You are still beautiful, Aislinn, though you belong to another man.”