The Wolf and the Dove (39 page)

Wulfgar shook the fetter from his leg and managed to rise beneath Ragnor’s stunning blows. He stumbled back and gained respite and met the other’s renewed attack with both feet now solidly on the ground. The battle raged and it seemed that neither could gain the upper hand until again by sheer strength Wulfgar began to tell on the other. Suddenly his great long sword reached out, not with a swinging blow but with a thrusting motion. It caught Ragnor’s helm and knocked it askew. Before he could recover the blade had swung high in the air and now crashed down, biting into the edge of the shield and striking the helm again. Ragnor stumbled and Wulfgar fought to draw his sword free from the other’s shield. Ragnor discarded the piece as Wulfgar freed his blade. He now wove an ever pressing net of steel about the dark knight. Ragnor was forced to retreat, having to provide with his weapon both defense and attack. He found more and more that his sword was held to meet the other’s or turned
aside. A stunning blow caught his shoulder and sapped the arm below its strength. His ribs smarted as the ever threatening blade rang against the mail that covered them. Ragnor stumbled again and his sword fell for the barest instant. The helmet flew from his head as Wulfgar’s sword smote heavily. Ragnor dropped and rolled upon the frosted grass, trampling it beneath his flailing limbs. Wulfgar stood back and rested, panting heavily as he watched the other try to rise. Again and again Ragnor strained to gain his feet but always fell back upon the sod. Aislinn held her breath as she waited, praying with every ounce of her being that the contest was at an end. Ragnor finally lay motionless and Wulfgar slowly turned to William, saluting him with the hilt of his sword against his forehead. It was Aislinn’s wide eyes and look of fear upon her face that warned Wulfgar of the movement behind him. He spun in time to turn aside Ragnor’s blow and laid the knight flat with the broadside of his sword hard
against the ribs. Ragnor let out a yelp of pain as he was flung to the ground by the impact. This time he made no move but moaned in agony against the earth.

Now Wulfgar approached the king’s pavilion. He caught a glimpse of Aislinn’s joyful face out of the corner of his eye before directing a question to William.

“Is the contest met, sire?”

William smiled and acknowledged him. “I never doubted the outcome, Wulfgar. You have done this day a worthy battle and have upheld the field of honor.” He peered askance at Aislinn and remarked with dry humor to Wulfgar, “Poor maid, she thinks to thrive upon your meager ardor. Should I warn her to take less heart in your winning?”

Wulfgar stabbed his sword into the ground and tossing his gauntlets upon the earth beside it, cuffed his helmet and coif from his head and perched them upon the hilt. With bold strides he mounted the steps of the pavilion and came to stand before Aislinn, startling a gasp from her as he snatched her from her seat. He kissed her with deliberate slowness, holding her crushed against him as if he would draw her within his own body. His lips parted and moved upon hers with a searing hunger she had known only in the privacy of the bedchamber.

Ragnor was helped to his feet by his cousin and the two stood alone on the empty field, watching the embrace. Ragnor’s body ached and his face twisted in a grimace of pain that hid his inner rage. As he leaned against Vachel, the other heard him speak with vengeance heavy in his voice.

“Someday I will kill that bastard,” he muttered, then he turned and limped toward his tent.

When Wulfgar released Aislinn, she sank slowly back into her chair, no strength left in her knees, and struggled until she could draw an even breath. Wulfgar turned to William and made a brief bow.

“Does that meet your pleasure, Sire?” he asked.

William laughed heartily and winked at Aislinn. “Aah, the truth will out. The lad is more eager for you than the lands.”

Aislinn blushed but found pleasure in his words. The king became more serious as he turned back to Wulfgar.

“There are contracts to be drawn as the result of this and the time will be well taken. I bid you come tonight to my table and sup with myself and your charming lady, for I would extend her presence to the limits. The court has been dull without the benefit of feminine companionship. We shall see you then. Good day, Wulfgar.”

William turned and left, gesturing for Aislinn to accompany him. She did as bade, drawing the hood of her cloak over her brilliant hair, but before she descended the steps she cast a glance back over her shoulder at Wulfgar and bestowed a farewell smile upon him.

Now with the hardship of the day behind him, Wulfgar could relax, yet as he returned to the townhouse and waited for evening to approach he found himself champing at the bit. Each time he thought of Aislinn he felt the excitement stir within him and he grew more anxious for the night. He chafed at the delay as Sanhurat labored up the stairs with buckets of steaming water, impatient for the bath that would soak the aches and pains from his bruised body. He sorted through his garments with a critical eye, finally settling again on the brown, a sober hue and one he would not feel conspicuous in.

A gay abandon overcame him as he rode through the streets that evening to the castle and he hummed an ancient air, his spirits considerably lightened. He was greeted differently now at the court. The Hun was taken and openly admired by the men. He was guided by a page to the hall, where he was met by a large group of lords immediately upon passing the door. They paid him compliments and congratulated him on the battle. As they parted he saw Aislinn across the room standing quietly with another woman. Yet her eyes were upon him. Their gaze met and held as they exchanged smiles. She was a poised beauty, seeming unattainable, yet of all the high lords present Wulfgar marveled that it should be him to have claim upon her.

Begging leave of the men, he strode toward her and she moved to meet him.

“Again, my lord,” she murmured. “You have won me.”

The expression on his face did not change as he presented his arm and she laid her hand upon his.

“Come,” he bade her and escorted her toward their chairs at the table. His manner was that befitting a victorious knight claiming his prize and none present guessed the truth. Within his chest there was an ache to take her in his arms and smother her protests with his kisses. It sapped the strength of his will to walk beside her, feeling her touch light as down on his arm and not turn and astound the court with what he felt.

The meal was passed in light repartee and amid many toasts to Normandy, the Crown, England, William, and finally to Wulfgar’s victory of the day. The food had been devoured, the wine drunk, and Wulfgar’s courage and skill at arms well noted when the guests began to melt quickly away. A page came and bent to Aislinn and whispered in her ear. She turned to Wulfgar.

“The King wants a private word with you, and I must go make ready. Farewell for now, monseigneur.”

Wulfgar rose and waited as the table was moved away by servants then knelt before his king. He heard the doors close behind the servants as the chamber was emptied, and Bishop Geoffrey moved to stand behind William’s chair.

“Sire, I am at your call,” Wulfgar said, bowing his head.

“Rise, sir knight, and hear my words,” William returned firmly. “You have fought this battle and the day is won. The lands of Darkenwald and Cregan with all between and around are yours as is the Lady Aislinn. Let no one from this day forward question your possession of them. It is known to me that the lands are small and thus I would not give you lordship over them. Instead I give you full title. They lay in command of the roads east and west and the shortest route to the coast from London. It is my wish that you build at Darkenwald a fine stone castle able to quarter a thousand men or so, should the need arise. Though Cregan sits at the crossroads, it is also in the lowlands and poorly protected. A castle there would bear witness to all of our hand upon the land. Darkenwald will serve the same purpose and nestles in the hills beyond. There the castle should be built. You will pick the site and build it strong and well. The Norwegians still lend an eye to England and the kings of Scotland would
also bend them to their heel. So we must plan.”

He paused and raised a hand to the bishop who moved forward taking from his voluminous robes a scroll which he spread and slowly read. When it was done the King affixed his seal upon it and the bishop handed it to Wulfgar and withdrew from the room. William sat back and clapped his hand to the arms of the heavy chair.

“It has been a day to remember but again I say to you, Wulfgar, I had no doubt.”

“My liege is overkind, I fear,” Wulfgar murmured, somewhat abashed at this rich praise.

“Yea, Wulfgar, I am overkind,” William sighed. “I am overkind but I do naught without cause. I know that you are loyal to me and will see to my affairs, for soon I must return to Normandy. Even in that fair land there are those who would see me set aside for their own purpose, and I have few enough truly loyal men to do my business here. Build the castle strong, I bid thee, and hold the lands for your own sons. I know well a bastard’s plight and ‘tis the least of fair that I should share my fortunes with another of my kind.”

Wulfgar had no words to answer him and the King rose and stepped forward, holding out his hand. Wulfgar clasped it and they stood for a moment as two soldiers looking eye to eye.

“We have shared many a cup, good friend,” William said softly. “Go your way and make the best of it and do not in a foolish moment cast away the Lady Aislinn. It comes to mind that she is a rare woman and would do any man honor as his wife.”

Wulfgar dropped to his knee again and paid homage to his king.

“The lady will be sent to you in all good time, Wulfgar,” William continued. “I shall see you again before you leave London and before I leave for Normandy. Good tidings, Wulfgar. Good fortune, friend.”

With that, William left the room and Wulfgar made his way to the yard where the Hun awaited him. He mounted and left the castle courtyard yet had little cause to hurry home. He could not help but wonder when William would release Aislinn to his custody once more, and chafed at his failure to plead for his cause. He wandered aimlessly, gazing at the buildings he passed. He found a small tavern and went within, calling for a jug of ale from the keeper. It was in his mind that perhaps this brew could ease his loneliness. Enough of it, he sneered to himself, might even make the night more bearable. He raised the cup and the stuff was bitter in his mouth. It gave no ease and he soon rose, leaving the cup half full. He rode again and wandered afield, stopping at another inn and this time ordering a thick red wine. But it, too, could ease his pain no smallest amount. Again he was on his way and he found himself standing once more before the townhouse. He gazed at it with saddened heart, reluctant to enter. It was late
when he made his way into the hall, and all others had long since sought their pallet. A low fire burned in the hearth and he paused to bank it for the night. He climbed the stairs with lagging step, but as he passed the small chamber Hlynn had occupied he heard a sound.

What’s this? He paused. Can it be? Hlynn? ’Tis Hlynn. If she is here then Aislinn must be—

Now his feet carried him on with urgent haste to the main chamber’s door and he threw it open to reveal her standing beside the window combing her hair. She turned at his entry and smiled. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it his eyes going about the room. All was in its place, her gowns where they should be, her combs on the small table. It was as if the room gained new life from her presence. She was dressed in a soft, clinging white kirtle. She seemed to glow with a radiance of her own, and her smile shone warmly in the soft light of the candle burning beside her. Aislinn could not see him well in the darkness beyond the candle, but suddenly he was there taking her in his arms, pulling her face up until his lips pressed against hers, smothering all words, all greetings, in a greeting more ageless than all. He gave her no time to breathe but lifted her in his arms and carried her gently to the bed. She gasped for air and would have spoken but his lips covered hers again and he was on top
of her, crushing her into the soft coverlet. His hand slipped down the open neck of the kirtle, and his burning lips traced a path across her throat down to where his hand trapped tender game. He pushed the garment up to take it from her but he drew back confused. Aislinn’s lips trembled and her eyes were tightly closed, yet tears slid from between the lids and ran across her cheeks. He frowned.

“Aislinn, do you fear, my love?” he ventured.

“Oh, Wulfgar,” she breathed. “I fear only that you will cast me aside. Will you ever know my plight?” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “A goblet may be often filled with wine and tasted with full pleasure, but when it’s bent and turns the lip then it is cast away, no longer used. ’Tis a thing. Purchased. Owned. Used. I am a woman. My purpose was made in Heaven and I fear the day when I am bent and cast away and another fills your need.”

He laughed away her fear. “There is no goblet that also tastes the wine nor finds the brew more heady once it’s filled. Yea, poor cup, my hand has grown accustomed to the grip and you provide much more than I would ever raise up to my lip. Bent or not, I find your brew more filling than what the vine could bear.” Then he chided her lightly. “And you have your pleasures too, I know.”

She rose, tucking her feet beneath her and straightened her gown around her. “Monseigneur.” She met his gaze. “I spent these days in William’s court. I made myself a gentle maid and he looked at me a gentle maid and all the lords treated me as such, yet the falseness of it all was bitter in my mouth, for I know what I am.”

“You belittle yourself, cherie, for this day I’ve laid my life on the field for you. What greater price would you demand?”

She laughed in mockery, waving a hand. “What price did you pay for your women in Normandy? The cost of one gown or two? A copper or a handful? What difference one coin or a thousand? But the woman is still a whore. For tonight the cost was some hour of your life today. The price is dear, I grant you.” She laid a hand upon his arm. “Even unto me, for I value your life perhaps more highly than you. What price did William pay for your life, for your loyalty sworn by oath? Could I purchase it from him? Would you then make your oath to me? But whatever cost you lay to me I am still a woman, gentle reared. If I come willingly for your price, I will still be a whore.”