The Wolf and the Dove (53 page)

“What are you thinking?” he breathed.

Aislinn shrugged and pulled his arm across her bosom, hugging it close. “Oh, just that you have cause to hate women.”

He laughed softly and nibbled at her ear. “Some women I cannot abide and then there are others”—he folded his arms about her above the rounded belly—“I cannot do without.”

Her parted kirtle stood away from her bosom and her full, rounded breasts were pressed together until the plunging valley between them seemed to beg for his exploration. His hand slipped within her garment and he knew a hunger in his loins as he roamed those soft, warm slopes. He was sorely strained to pull away and leave her be and now an ache grew in him as he yearned for the day he could satisfy his longings.

Bolsgar had taken his usual chair before the hearth and Sweyn joined him there as the old man gazed thoughtfully into the low fire. Kerwick and the others made their way from the hall, ill at ease at what had passed and eager to be away. There were no words between the Viking and his old lord, nor were they needed. As Sweyn knew Wulfgar, he also knew the elder and could guess his moods. Gwyneth’s irascible disposition sorely nettled her father and he was at a loss as to how to deal with her.

From above came the sound of a chamber door opening and closing. Bolsgar raised his gaze and meeting it, the Norseman laughed aloud as they exchanged a wordless thought. Wulfgar had spread his bed with a bachelor’s eager lust and now well-fed, found the same pallet lumpy and hard and not at all to his liking. They held their amusement and glanced up as Wulfgar appeared at the head of the stairs, a scowl blackening his brow and his manner short and coltish. With little concern Wulfgar made his way to the barrel and drew a full cup of ale, emptied it and drew another. He came to sit beside Bolsgar and the three of them stared at the fire for a long time before Wulfgar mumbled in his cup and Sweyn turned a quizzical glance to him.

“Did you speak, Wulfgar?”

Wulfgar lowered the cup and slammed it on the arm of the chair. “Yea, I said this marriage is a hellish affair. Would that I had married some narrow-flanked primp like Gwyneth, then I would have no worries or other urgings when I could not see them out.”

Bolsgar grinned over his shoulder. “What say you, Sweyn? Think the buck will fly to seek another doe?”

“Mayhaps, my lord,” the Norseman chuckled. “The hunting lure is ever louder than true love’s call.”

“I am no rutting stag,” Wulfgar snapped. “I made my vows with my own mouth and of my own will. Yet I feel the trap of wedlock sorely and with a comely maid ‘tis more the rub. My loins ache with the sight of her and yet I find no ease. I would seek another but my vows bid otherwise and I am left to lie beside her yearning yet cursing the very thought.”

Bolsgar grew serious and sought to ease the young man’s chafing. “Have patience, Wulfgar,” he gently chided. “ ’Tis the way of life, and you will find the prize well worth the wait.”

“You prattle of things that stir me not,” Wulfgar sneered. “ ’Tis in my mind that one so fair brings naught but pain. I must ever bare my sword to see her honor cleared. Every mewling lad with fuzz upon his cheeks grows addled at her smile. Why, even Gowain grins like a dolt at her merest favor and still I wonder about Kerwick and what fond memories he might bear.”

Bolsgar was pricked that Wulfgar should question Aislinn’s honor and lay the blame at her feet. “Why say you, Wulfgar,” he scolded. “You do the lady wrong I fear. She bade no Norman knight come pounding on her door or take her upon her mother’s bed nor asked a simple lord to chain her there.” He smiled ruefully. “I did hear her say you chained her, did I not?”

Wulfgar stared in amazement at the other’s rising anger and even Sweyn felt disappointment that he had failed to teach the young man an easier acceptance of responsibilities.

“Do not berate me so,” Wulfgar flared. “At least she has the ease of knowing who the mother is, while I will never be assured and may well raise a brat that’s not my own.”

“Then do not set your mind against the Lady Aislinn,” Bolsgar returned sharply.

“Yea,” Sweyn muttered, nodding his head in agreement. “My lady had no say in all of this and has come through more true than any. Would this be done again, I would hold you from her till my death.”

Wulfgar laughed derisively. “Look to yourselves,” he scoffed. “The two of you come so late to her colors. Even old fools are not free of her wiles. She can charm the—”

Wulfgar found the front of his tunic seized tightly by the ham-sized fist of Bolsgar and he was lifted from his chair with a speed few other men could muster. He saw the other fist draw back and there it held. Slowly Bolsgar’s rage left him. His face sagged and he dropped his arm from Wulfgar’s front.

“I struck you once in anger,” the old man sighed. “And I will never again.”

Wulfgar threw back his head to laugh at the pathos of Bolsgar’s remark but suddenly the entire hall seemed to burst inside his skull. Dust settled slowly around his long form as it stretched out on the rushes of the floor. Sweyn rubbed the knuckles of his hand then lifted his gaze to find Bolsgar staring in surprise.

“I felt no such restraint,” Sweyn explained then nodded his head to the slumbering one. “ ’Twill do him good.”

Bolsgar bent and grasped Wulfgar’s ankles while Sweyn lifted his shoulders and together they carried him to his chamber. Bolsgar rapped lightly on the door and at Aislinn’s sleepy answer, pushed the door wide. As they entered she sat up in surprise, rubbing her eyes.

“What happened?” she stammered, her eyes wide and staring.

“He drank too much,” Sweyn grunted as they dumped Wulfgar unceremoniously on the bed.

Aislinn looked at the Norseman with a puzzled frown. “Wine? Ale? Why, it would take a full skin and half the night to—”

“Not when lapped by a foolish tongue,” Bolsgar interrupted.

She bent over her husband and as her hand touched his face, her quick fingers felt the growing lump on the side of his chin. Her brows knitted in confusion.

“Who struck him?” she demanded, her hackles rising.

Sweyn rubbed his knuckles again and smiled. “ ’Twas me,” he said smugly.

Aislinn’s frown turned to one of bemusement but before she could question more, Bolsgar leaned forward and gently spoke.

“He was acting like a babe and we couldn’t find a switch.”

With that the old man beckoned to the Viking and they left Aislinn staring at Wulfgar in bewildered consternation. Finally she rose and pulled his clothes from his limp form, leaving him undraped upon the bed with the warmth of the summer’s night.

A peal of thunder seemed to fill the chamber and Wulfgar sat up with a start half ready to do battle as he stared wildly about. Then he realized it was but a summer squall rolling off the sea and marching inland. He lay back and closed his eyes, listening to the gentler sounds that followed, the first splash of huge droplets on the stone outside, the quicker rattle of rain as it beat upon the shutters and the sudden gust of wind that set them jerking. The cool breath of the summer’s breeze that stirred against his naked form was a welcome respite from the hot and muggy days which had passed before.

He felt a weight settle upon the bed and he opened his eyes again to find Aislinn’s concerned face close above his. Her hair fell in a giddy torrent from her head and seemed to frame that milky visage. Deep violet pools caught him in their depths and gently wrung a smile from his aching skull. Reaching up a hand, he slipped it beneath the shining tresses to draw her down and quietly taste the wild freshness of her lips as her hair made a coppery curtain about their embrace.

Aislinn sat up smiling. “I was fearful of your health, but I see that you are well.”

Wulfgar reached his arms above his head and stretched like a great, lean beast, arching his back against the bed, then drawing back he winced as his fingers brushed his jaw and tenderly felt the longer line of it. He frowned and sat up, propping an arm against a knee.

“Sweyn must be getting old,” he mumbled and at her puzzled frown, hastened to explain. “The last face he so caressed was more than a little broken.”

She laughed softly for a moment, returning with a platter of meats, warm bread and fresh honey in the comb. Resting her burdened body against his, she drew a morsel from the trencher and laid it to his lips, and Wulfgar knew the tenderness of her care. Her eyes were warm and liquid as she gazed at him and he could not resist their plea. Once more his mouth moved upon hers, this time with the softness of a bee resting upon the petals of a blossom to taste the nectar deep within. She lay in the shelter of his arm against his upraised knee and felt the tendons of his strength surround her. Yet there was a tautness in her womb that robbed her of serenity and made her wonder if her time was at hand.

Wulfgar saw the dimming of her eyes and the thoughtful bend of her mood. “Does Satan prick you with some unkind memory, Aislinn?” he inquired softly. He laid his hand upon her belly. “It has worn me ill that even if the babe be mine, he was made not of love but of my brutish taking of you in my own lust. I would have you know that in my thoughts I am prepared to take him as my own whoever be his maker. He shall bear my name and arms and shall never be cast from my house. ‘Twould be unkind if having that he finds a fault in mother’s love.”

She lifted her gaze to his and smiled gently, thinking of the cruelty of his own rejection. “Have no fear, Wulfgar. He of all of us is innocent of his making and I would love him the same. I will hold him within my arms and bring him to manhood with all my finest care.” She sighed deeply. “ ’Tis only a woman’s doubt as the time grows near. So many things beyond my ken will shape his life. But, you know, if may be a daughter and not a son!” She stretched an arm to rest upon his shoulder and toyed with a lock of his tawny hair.

Wulfgar smiled. “Whatever God wills it, my love. We shall seed a dynasty to hold these lands and if a girl, I would that she wore your witch’s locks to tempt all men as you have me.” He turned his head and kissed the inner bend of her arm. “You have torn my life’s ways and habits asunder. When I would say no vows to bind me, you made me sing them in my fairest voice lest I should lose you. When I admitted to a miser’s thrift, you never asked a thing, but I would spend my life to shoe your feet and love the last moment of it.” He chuckled ruefully. “I give up laying boundaries to build my life within and now lend my cause to faith that you will tenderly lead my errant feet and deal with my helpless soul in honor.”

“Wulfgar,” she scoffed. “What great Norman knight kneels and lets a simple-minded Saxon slave take him by the locks and swing him to and fro? You jest and mock my haggish face.”

In spite of her words she leaned her swelling breasts upon his chest and kissed him softly, her lips clinging warmly to his, then she lingered close and searched his eyes as if to find her answers there.

“Is something born of love within me?” she murmured low. “I want your arms about me and yearn for every touch of you. What is this madness that sends me ever to your beck and call? I am more slave than wife and yet would have no other way. What hold have you taken on my will that even when I fought you I prayed you would ever press upon me again and never leave me lonely?”

Wulfgar raised his head and his gray eyes seemed almost blue as he held her with them. “No matter, cherie. As long as you and I are bent upon one purpose, let us revel in the pleasure of it.” He scowled at her. “Now let me rise, err you be forced again against your will.”

Aislinn giggled happily and withdrew. “Against my will? Nay, nevermore. But should you pass a babe on the way, treat him gently lest he should take offense.”

Wulfgar rose with a hearty laugh and donning his clothes, left the chamber with the sound of her gay, lilting voice drifting after him in a merry tune. He smiled to himself, looking forward to the day when she would croon to the babe, for she had a pleasant voice and one that gave him ease. He left the hall and crossed the puddle-laden courtyard and looking to the sky, saw that it was clearing already.

The sun rode high overhead, marking the noon hour, as Wulfgar returned to the hall. Bolsgar and Sweyn were seated at the table and as he joined them they sat back and regarded him, a bit uncertain of his mood. Seating himself at his usual place, he returned their gazes as he fingered his jaw and then waggled it as if testing its working.

“Methinks a young lass kissed me overhand last night,” he remarked dryly. “Or perhaps an old man or child smote me.”

Bolsgar chuckled. “Some gentle kiss indeed. You would not rouse to bid a fair good night. Forsooth! You took repose so suddenly poor Sanhurst labored out the morn to fill the hole in the floor.”

He and Sweyn guffawed at the jest, but Wulfgar gave little to their mirth but sighed pensively.

“ ’Tis much burdened I find myself with two aging knights who in their long-fled youth do dwell and smite me sharply if my words should turn naught but their tempers. Not only do their heads grow soft, I fear the strength has also fled their arms.”

Wulfgar looked squarely at Sweyn who slapped his thigh at the slur.

“Would you brace an elbow with me I could yet in my dottering age break your arm,” the Viking returned. “ ’Twas only that I thought to spare the beauty of your face, you stripling lad.”

Wulfgar laughed at having piqued the Norseman. “ ’Tis more your tongue I fear than strength. The blow was well struck and I had no cause to so decry my lady.” He grew serious and murmured, “As in my youth I would that words in anger loosed could be taken back to silence, but ‘tis never such. I beg the pardon of you both and would forget the folly done.”

He looked at them, waiting for some sign. Bolsgar exchanged glances with Sweyn then they nodded and, sliding him a mug of ale, lifted their own and the three drank an unspoken toast.

A moment later Wulfgar turned his gaze to find Aislinn making her way cautiously down the stairs. He rose quickly and rushed to assist her, drawing smiles from his men as they watched and remembered Wulfgar’s earlier days at Darkenwald when it seemed naught could pass between the couple but with a quarrel.