The Wolf and the Dove (47 page)

“Where do you go, milord? Am I not pleasing?”

“I go to join Sweyn,” he growled in return. “He does not badger me so much.”

With that he left the room, slamming the door behind him in a fit of temper. Smiling to herself Aislinn drew the pelts up around her and, wrapping her arms about his pillow, breathed in his scent that lingered upon it and presently went to sleep.

“What saucy wench, that?” Wulfgar swore as he strode angrily across the courtyard to the stables. “She would have me wed to her, declaring to the world she was my lady proper. I am not the one to be led about by a ring in my nose. She’ll have to be content.”

He found some fresh hay beside the Hun and thumped about until he had prepared an adequate bed for himself. The noise he made stirred the animals and then drew aggravated grumbles from his men. At a sharp word from a lowly archer, he flung himself down on the straw at the Hun’s head, drawing his mantle about him and tried in vain to get the rest he sorely needed.

He rode hard and fast the next day, tiring his mind and body in hopes he might drift into a well deserved sleep that night, yet as dawn painted the horizon with soft magenta hues he still lay fitfully tossing and turning upon his bed of straw. He had avoided the hall since leaving it that other night but now and again he caught a glimpse of Aislinn as she crossed to her mother’s hut or went upon some other chore. At these times he would stop and watch her go, admiring the gentle swing of her skirts and the brilliance of her coppery tresses as her hair shone in the sunlight. She cast furtive glances his way but generally stayed out of his reach. His men looked at them questioningly, glancing from one to the other, and scratched their heads at his bed in the straw. They were careful to remain silent if some sudden oath or snarl woke them in the night, recognizing his voice, and huddled upon their own pallets, hoping greatly that he would soon find sleep.

The third morning he rose and took his breakfast in the hall, casting glances toward the stairway until Aislinn finally descended. For a moment she seemed surprised to see him but then quickly recovered her composure and went to help Ham serve the meal. She brought a platter around to the men and finally came to him with it, offering the quail to him without a word. He selected a plump bird and then peered at her.

“Fill my cup,” he commanded. Complying Aislinn reached across him, her breast brushing his shoulder, and took up the mug. She returned a moment later with it filled with milk and set it before him.

Wulfgar frowned. “Did you find it thusly? Move it to where it was, slave.”

“As you wish, milord,” she murmured.

Again she reached across him, her breast brushing his shoulder and placed the horn as it had been.

“Does that please you, milord?” she questioned.

“Aye,” he replied and bent his attention to his meal.

Gwyneth seemed delighted with this arrangement and took her meal beside Wulfgar that evening sitting in Aislinn’s chair. She bestowed a bit more kindness upon her brother and tried to draw him into conversation but was met with noncommittal grunts and silent stares. His attention seemed mainly centered upon Aislinn as she labored with Ham and Kerwick to set the food before him and his men. She struggled with the large platters, and Kerwick often came to her aid when it seemed she was about to drop the heavy load. His solicitude aggravated Wulfgar sorely and brooding stares followed them about the hall. Wulfgar’s hand tightened upon his cup as he watched Aislinn at one point laughing with the young Saxon.

“You see how she plays with him?” Gwyneth murmured near her brother’s ear. “Is she worth your concern? Look to Haylan instead.” Her thin hand swept the hall toward the young widow who eyed Wulfgar longingly. “ ’Twould seem she has more love to offer. Have you tried her in bed yet? She might prove a healing potion.”

Yet with all Gwyneth’s efforts, Wulfgar’s gaze returned to Aislinn. Bolsgar watched him silently for a while, then leaned near.

“The wolf roams the countryside but always returns to his one mate. Have you found that one yet?”

Wulfgar turned to him sharply. “What price have you taken to make this match?”

“ ’Twould seem it was low, whatever.” Bolsgar laughed softly, then grew serious. “Make your choice, Wulfgar. Free the maid Aislinn or take her for your own.”

Wulfgar gritted his teeth. “You conspire with Maida!” he accused.

“Why do you keep such a mean and vengeful maid in your household?” Bolsgar inquired, gesturing to Aislinn. “I see how she tortures you with her presence. She knows you are watching and plays with other men. Kerwick is no fool. He will take the girl to wife and be father to her babe. Why not give her to him? He would be happy. But you, milord fool—,” the old knight chuckled. “What of you? Can you bear the thought of her sharing his bed?”

Wulfgar’s fist banged down on the table. “Cease!” he roared.

“If you do not take her, Wulfgar,” Bolsgar continued imperturbed. “Then in good faith you cannot keep the young Saxon from marrying her to give a name to her babe.”

“What difference would it make to the child? My mother was married to you and I still am called bastard,” Wulfgar returned bitterly.

Bolsgar’s face paled. “I disclaimed you,” he said slowly, struggling with his words. “Say that I was then the fool, for many times I’ve regreted my action and yearned to have you back. You were a truer son to me than fair Falsworth. My mind is ever tortured with the agony I caused you, but it cannot be undone. Will you be so foolish?”

Wulfgar turned away, disturbed by the old man’s words. Finally he rose and strode from the hall, not noticing that Aislinn’s eyes followed him with worry drawing her brows together.

The next morning Aislinn was startled rudely out of sleep when Wulfgar tore the pelts from her and gave her a hearty whack upon her bottom.

“Rise, you wench. We will have important guests this day and I would present them with your best appearance.”

Aislinn sulked, rubbing her abused posterior and finally rose under his all too careful regard. As she reached for her kirtle, he clapped both his hands together loudly and the door immediately opened to admit Hlynn and Miderd who carried in water for a bath. Clutching her kirtle over her nakedness Aislinn glanced from the women to Wulfgar in confusion.

He raised a brow. “For you, milady. A scented bath will liven your spirit.” He whirled on his heels and strode to the door, there to turn again to her. “Wear the yellow gunna I bought for you. I like the color on you.”

Aislinn flounced down angrily upon the edge of the bed.

“Tsk! Tsk!” he scolded. “You seek to please, do you not? Or have you forgotten a slave’s duty?” He smiled. “I will be back shortly.”

With a laugh he stepped through the portal, quickly closing the door behind him before some missile could find his head, and strode down the stairs.

Reluctantly Aislinn let the two women assist her with the bath and finally relaxed under their massaging hands as they smoothed a scented oil upon her body. Then they combed her hair long and painstakingly until Aislinn thought they would never cease. They pulled it from her face and caught the mass high on her head, intricately coiling it with yellow ribbons. They helped her don the silk kirtle and the rich velvet gunna, then placed her gold filagree girdle about her hips, completing her toilet.

Miderd stepped back to admire her and smiled through happy tears. “Oh, milady, you are too lovely for words. ’Tis glad we are that he brought you back.”

Aislinn embraced her fondly. “To state the truth, Miderd, so am I, yet I wonder at his moods, if he will have me now or seek some other.”

Timid Hlynn slipped a comforting arm about her mistress’ waist and patted her back consolingly, failing to find the right words to comfort her. Aislinn hugged her close, tears brightening her eyes, and then Miderd and Hlynn hurried to tidy the room before Wulfgar returned. At his entrance several moments later they quickly scurried out, closing the door softly behind them.

Wulfgar came across the room to stand before Aislinn, clasping his hands behind his back and setting his feet apart. His eyes slowly traveled her length and then returned as leisurely to her face. Bristling slightly under his close scrutiny, Aislinn returned his gaze coldly. He came closer and his knuckles beneath her chin raised her head. Very lightly he pressed a kiss upon her soft lips, and his look was warm and devouring.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured huskily against her mouth, and it took all of Aislinn’s willpower not to relax against him and slip her hands around his waist. He laughed softly as he stepped away. “But a slave must not be made vain. Come down to the hall; the others wait,” he called over his shoulder as he left.

Still feeling the brush of his lips, Aislinn scuffed a small foot disconcertedly against the stone floor.

“A slave to do his bidding, nothing more. ‘Twould take all Heaven to convince him I would be a just mate.”

Gwyneth had donned her finest also and stood rankling at the mystery and the delay. Wulfgar leisurely quaffed ale as he watched her pace the floor giving him a glare now and then as she passed him.

“You drag me out of bed and do not tell me the reason, except that someone comes. Who would venture to this Godforsaken place other than the slow witted?”

“You came, dear Gwyneth,” he said with humor and watched the flash of anger he aroused. “Do you make yourself the exception or are we all slow witted?”

“You jest, brother, but I do not see your precious William come to view your holdings.”

Wulfgar shrugged. “Would you have the King visit a commonplace lord with small lands? His duties as king are far greater than mine as lord. I can well understand that his time is well met, especially if his subjects continually grumble as mine are wont to do.”

Gwyneth made a sneering reply with a toss of her head and then went to where Ham and Kerwick were turning a boar, venison, and an abundance of smaller game and fowl on spits above the fire. She gestured derisively toward the meats.

“This would feed us all for a month. You are careless with food, Wulfgar.”

“The grains in the meal,” Wulfgar sighed under his breath and turned to meet Bolsgar as he came down the stairs, a handsome man still when in fine garments. Wulfgar had shared with him from his own coffer, presenting to the older man some of his best. Though the belt had proven too narrow for Bolsgar’s waist the shoulders and length of his robe fit well enough. The elder man chuckled as he turned before them.

“I’ve regained my youth, I swear.”

Gwyneth scoffed. “In borrowed clothes yet.”

The old eyes measured Gwyneth, taking in Aislinn’s tawny gold gown that she wore.

“What ho! The pot calls the kettle black. It seems to me you have borrowed some yourself,” he said.

Gwyneth spun around, turning her back to him, and Bolsgar dismissed her as Wulfgar handed him a horn of ale. They sat enjoying the mellow taste of the drink until the great door swung open admitting one of Wulfgar’s men who hurried to his lord carrying a rather large bundle wrapped in skins. The man bent over Wulfgar’s ear as he set the package before him and spoke softly of some matter. Wulfgar nodded and as the man turned to go Wulfgar began to cut the cords binding the bundle. He drew it apart and pulled several men’s garments from it and threw them over his arm. He crossed to Kerwick who paid no heed to his approach so intent was he with the task he had been set to.

“Kerwick.”

Wulfgar spoke and the younger man immediately rose to his feet, turning. His eyes flew to the garments and widened slightly in surprise before he quickly straightened.

“My lord?”

Wulfgar held the clothes up. “Am I right to name these garments yours?” he questioned a bit gruffly so that he added confusion to the Saxon’s countenance.

“Aye, milord,” Kerwick returned uncertainly. “But I have no idea how they came here. ‘Twas not I who carried them from Cregan.”

“If you had noticed, Kerwick, they have only just arrived. I sent a man for them.”

“Sir?” Kerwick looked doubtfully at Wulfgar’s taller frame and knew no alteration could make the garments fit the Norman.

“They are not for me, Kerwick, but for you,” Wulfgar returned, reading his eyes. “Take them and rise from this chore and dress yourself as one who is gently born.”

Kerwick stretched his hands out to take the clothes then drew them back hurriedly to wipe them upon his rough tunic. With care he accepted the apparel yet still wore much bemusement on his face.

Gwyneth whirled sharply in disgust at her brother and strode to the other end of the hall to sulk in silence by herself.

Wulfgar turned and spoke to the hall in general. “My man tells me our guest is on his way and will arrive anon.”

Aislinn’s descent of the stairs caused a stir and many admiring stares fell upon her, for by the time she joined the group in the hall many of Wulfgar’s men had also entered, dressed in their best garments. Sir Milbourne and Sir Gowain stood near the bottom of the stairs, and the younger man gaped so hard at her, the older reached up to wave a hand before his face drawing chuckles from those near. Gowain offered up his hand to her and smiled happily as she let him assist her.

“My lady, your radiance bedazzles me overmuch. I find my tongue grown lame and I cannot think of words to express the full measure of your beauty.”

Casting a glance awry to Wulfgar in time to see Bolsgar nudge him, Aislinn smiled beguilingly up at the young knight.

“Your tongue is smooth, sir knight, and no doubt many a young maiden has fallen to its charm.”