The Wolf and the Dove (54 page)

Wulfgar led Aislinn to a chair beside his and at his anxious question assured him all was well. Yet before long the dull pressure in her belly became a wrenching surge that caught her by surprise and left her gasping for breath. This time when Wulfgar’s concerned face turned to her, she nodded and held out her hand to him.

“Will you help me upstairs? I fear I cannot make it alone.”

He came to his feet and brushing aside her hand, lifted her in his arms. As he bore her to the stairs he threw a brusque command over his shoulder that stirred some action among the staring men.

“Fetch Miderd to my chamber: The lady’s time has come.”

There was a mad scramble among the knights and Kerwick, and seeing their confusion, Bolsgar rose from his chair and went immediately to the task. Wulfgar took the stairs two at a time, unhampered by the burden he carefully held in his arms. Kicking open the door, he carried Aislinn to the bed that had seen her brought to life. His arms were slow to draw away and Aislinn wondered at the strain she saw in his face, if it was concern of her or some deeper thought of the child and its sire. She took his hand comfortingly, drawing it to her cheek, and Wulfgar carefully eased his weight onto the bed beside her to sit and gaze down at her, worry etching his brow. Here was a thing his training and experience had not prepared him for, and he knew the full weight of his helplessness.

The painful pang returned and Aislinn clutched his hand tightly. Wulfgar was well acquainted with the sufferings of war, having many scars to prove his stamina and his casual acceptance of pain. But this slim girl gave him an almost fearful dread of the agony she suffered.

“Gently, my lady,” Miderd advised from the door and came to Aislinn’s side. “Save your strength for later. You’ll have need of it then. From the signs you will labor long with this one. The child will have his way, so rest and save yourself.”

The woman smiled as Aislinn breathed easier, but Wulfgar’s face seemed suddenly drawn and haggard. Miderd spoke to him gently, seeing his distress.

“My lord, will you see that Hlynn is summoned? There is much to be done and I would stay with my lady.” She glanced to the hearth and seeing it cold, called after him as he left. “And tell Ham and Sanhurst to bring wood and water here. The kettle should be filled.”

Thus Wulfgar was moved away from Aislinn’s side and he found no chance to venture near again. He stood quietly at the door, watching the women attend his wife. Cool damp cloths were ever at hand to cleanse Aislinn’s face as the heat of July built in the room with the added warmth of the fire. He watched and waited and caught an occasional smile from Aislinn as she rested. When the pains came he dripped with sweat as she labored and as the hours fled he began to wonder if all was right. His questions often went unanswered as Miderd and Hlynn made preparations. Then a line of worry snared him and he began to fear the babe would be dark-skinned and ebon-haired. The vision haunted him until he could not bear it. That the fair and lovely Aislinn should give birth to a child obviously of Ragnors kin made his mind ache. And then a new thought dawned, He remembered hearing often of women dying in their labors. It would be Ragnor’s triumph if the child were his and took Aislinn from this world forever. But what if it were his own that took her life? Was that any kinder? He tried to imagine his life without her after these many months of contentment by her side and his mind grew blank. Dark clouds seemed to shut all reason from him and the room became stilling. In roiling fear, he fled.

The Hun was startled as Wulfgar threw the saddle onto his back. The beast snorted and drew back as the bit was forced into his mouth and Wulfgar vaulted onto his back. Astride the great charger Wulfgar rode long and hard across the countryside, never easing his pace until the winds blew the shreds of confusion from his head. At last man and beast paused on a lower hilltop beneath the mound bearing the castle. As the Hun panted for breath Wulfgar gazed at the framework which rose taller with each day’s passing. Even now in the late evening, men strove to set a few more stones before darkness overtook them. He was amazed at the people’s ambition to see it finished. They worked without grumbling and often upon finishing other chores they would bring some stone to be hewn and set. But it was for their defense as well as for his, and he could well understand their reasoning after the slaughter Ragnor had brought. They were as determined as he that it should not happen again. He looked to the keep where he
and Aislinn would some day reside. Its construction progressed slower than the wall but when finished would be an unscalable fortress where no foe could enter. Except death—

He turned away, knowing it would not be so fine without Aislinn to share it with him. Black thoughts invaded his skull and he was no longer content to sit and muse. Whirling the Hun away, he shook out the reins and rode the boundaries of his lands.

His lands!

The words rang solid in his head. If the other portion of his life should turn awry at least he would have these. He remembered the gray old knight that Aislinn had buried the first time he met her. Perhaps the old man would have known his feelings now. Here was his land. Here he would die and lay beside that other grave upon the hill. Perhaps some greater lord would come and slay him, but here he would remain. No more wandering. Let Aislinn give him what she would, bastard or his own son or daughter. He would claim it as his, or if things came to worse, join them beneath the oak upon the hill. A strange peace settled over him and he could now meet his fate in whatever form it came.

The Hun slowed and his master became aware that Darkenwald lay before him. He had covered his lands and returned as the sun sank beyond the western moors. He paused beside the grave of Erland and dismounted, squatting beside it and watching the village below. As darkness spread its raven wings about him he still remained, conscious of the slackening activity of the people.

“All of them,” he sighed “will look to me in trouble. I must not fail them.” Thoughtfully he gazed down at the grave beside him. “I know your mind, old man. I know what gathered in your head when you went out to meet Ragnor. I would have done the same.”

He reached out and plucked a wild flower that grew nearby and placed it beside the ones Aislinn had left the day before.

“Rest well, old man. I will do my best for them and Aislinn, too. God willing, you will feel the feet of many grandsons cross this turf and when I come to rest up here I will take your hand as ever any friend’s.”

He waited under the shelter of the tree, not willing to descend and face the questioning stares of those below. The stars passed overhead as he watched the lighted hall below. People came and went and so he knew the event had not yet occurred. The early hours of a new morn saw him still there, then he was brought upright by a scream.

The hairs bristled on the back of his neck and a cold sweat dampened his brow. He stood immobilized by fear. Had it been Aislinn’s cry? Oh God, he had come so late to know the tenderness of a woman. Was it meet that he should lose it now? Long moments dragged by until he heard the loud and lusty cry of a babe.

He waited still longer as the word was passed from hall to cottages. He saw Maida creep through the shadows to her hut. Others left and at last the hall was darkened. Finally he rose and led the tired horse to the barn. Passing silently through the empty hall, he climbed the stairs to his chamber. He pushed the door open slowly and saw Miderd sitting before the glowing hearth holding the babe in her arms. Peering through the darkness toward the bed, he could make out Aislinn’s form. She lay still and silent but he could see the gentle rise and fall of her breasts. Asleep, he mused and smiled, thankful for the day.

Softly he strode to Miderd’s side and she uncovered the child that he could see. It was a boy, wizened, more like an old man than a babe and upon his pate a blazing thatch of red hair grew.

No help there. Wulfgar smiled to himself. But at least it was not black.

Turning, he went to the bed and stood quietly by its side trying to see Aislinn’s face. When he bent nearer, he realized her eyes were open and watched him carefully. He eased his weight down beside her and as she raised her hand took it in both of his. He sat thus for a moment thinking that he had never seen her eyes so warm and tender. Her hair spread over the pillow and curled in splendid disarray upon her shoulders. A smile played around the corners of her mouth though her face was drawn and pale. The cost of her struggle to bring the child forth had etched its passing on the gentle features, yet there shone behind them a calm strength that made pride rise in him. She was indeed a wife to stand beside a man and meet whatever life could offer.

He bent low and kissed her tenderly and it was in his mind to beg her forgiveness. He drew back bracing himself on his arms that he might watch her as he spoke, but as he raised she sighed and closed her eyes, a slow peaceful smile spreading over her face. He held his silence and Aislinn found sleep as he stared down at her. She had waited to see him and this done, exhaustion took over to bring to her the needed rest. Leaning close again he laid another light kiss upon her lips and left the room.

Wulfgar made his way to the stables and as he shaped a bed in the sweet-smelling hay, the Hun snorted his displeasure at this intrusion. The Norman warrior looked over his shoulder at the mighty steed and commanded him to silence.

“ ’Twill only be for the night,” he assured him and went to sleep.

The babe was named Bryce and Aislinn knew joy, for he was bright and cheerful. One loud cry when hunger stirred his belly and that quickly turned to gurgles of delight as he nuzzled at her breast. Wulfgar in his doubt could find no solace in the locks that faded fast to a reddish gold or in the baby’s eyes, deep and blue. Maida had seen the birth and for the first weeks had not come near, but now whenever the babe was about Aislinn knew her mother would be somewhere in sight. She would not enter the hall unless so bade by Wulfgar or Aislinn, but if the day was warm she squatted beside the door and watched him as he lay on a pelt before the hearth. At these times Maida was in a distant mood and seemed to ponder on older memories. She knew the child of her blood and could not say him other than kin. Years before she had watched her own fiery haired young daughter playing on her blankets in this same hall. Now she remembered the gay times, the love, and the happy moments and with the passage of time Aislinn
hoped the evil things her mother’s eyes had viewed would dim and fade.

The long warm days of summer shortened and September brought the first chill of winter to the night air. The townfolk watched as the fields ripened. Under Wulfgar’s guidance the crops had been tended regularly and young boys set with slings to scare away the birds and beasts. The harvest promised to be rich as never before. Kerwick, in his rounds, kept a full account in his book, and the sight of the young man coming on horseback with his ledgers lashed behind him became a common sight. The people even sought him out to measure their wealth before putting it in the larders or graineries.

Oxen plodded in a circle honing the millstones of Darkenwald. Here to this town the people came and bartered and bought from Gavin’s smithy the tools that would see them through the winter’s cold or set the fields ready for next spring’s seed. The end of the first harvest neared and the late crops still ripened in the sun. Already the graineries bulged with stores and the larders grew crowded as slabs of various dried and smoked meats and great loops of sausage hung from the rafters. Wulfgar claimed a lord’s share of all and the great bins beneath the hall began to fill and the cellars hung with plenty. Young maids gathered grapes and other fruits for wines and sweetmeats which likewise were added to the rest. Huge combs of honey were melted in earthern jars and as the wax rose it was skimmed and made into candles. When a jar was full the last thin layer of the stuff was left to harden and seal it and the container was placed deep in the cool cellar. The hall was a constant rush of activity
and as the herds were culled with only the best stock kept for the next year’s breeding, the reeking odors of slaughter and tanning hides added to the smell of the place. The smoking shed was always full and salt was laborously carted across the marsh and meat preserved in the brine made with the stuff.

Haylan’s hand was ever present and her skills in flavoring and curing were much in demand and so she was content that her son, Miles, had found a friend in Sweyn. This good fellow could teach many of the things a boy needed to know. In the days they spent together, Sweyn taught the lad the habits of geese and other fowl and where to loose an arrow to bag them; of stags and does and where they wandered through the woods; of fox and of wolves and how to set a snare, skin the animals and turn the bloody stiff pelt into a soft warm fur. They became the two most seen together and where the Norseman went, the lad was wont to follow.

The trees were beginning to show red when a hard and early freeze gripped the south of England. This day the youth had missed his friend, for the big Viking had gone to Cregan on an errand. Thus young Miles ventured on his own to empty the traps they set and reset them. Sir Gowain saw him go and watched him out of sight into the swamp. Haylan did not miss him until the midday meal was set. She went to the stables and there was told Sweyn was gone. She went to the hall and Gowain, dining there, heard her questions and spoke of seeing the lad go into the swamp. Kerwick ceased his labors and with the Norman knight set out to follow the trail of footsteps in the heavy frost. They found him where a heavy log was set to snatch the unwary fox or wolf and drag him into a nearby brook and hold him there. The lad lay up to his armpits in the stream and was shivering and blue about the lips. For several hours he had lain and held a bush against the current and dragging log. He had shouted till his throat was raw and was not
heard. When they dragged him from the freezing water he hoarsely croaked:

“I’m sorry, Gowain. I slipped.”

They wrapped him well and hurried to his mother’s cottage, but even swaddled in heavy pelts and placed before a roaring fire, he shivered and would not stop. Kerwick would have sent for Aislinn but Haylan grasped his arm and bade him nay.

“That one is a witch,” she shrieked. “She’ll cast a spell on him. Nay, I’ll care for him myself.”

The day wore on and the young boy’s brow grew hot and his breath became a rattle in his chest and he fought to draw each one anew. Still Haylan would not see the lady of the hall and snarled her defiance in their faces.

The hour was dark when Sweyn returned and hearing the news, ran his horse to Haylan’s cottage, throwing himself from the saddle to slam open the rough-hewn door and crouch beside the lad. He took the boy’s hand in both of his and felt the heat it bore. He paused but a moment before he turned to Gowain who had followed him there.

“Fetch Aislinn,” he commanded.

“Nay, I will not have it!” cried Haylan, distraught and torn but with a vengeance heavy on her breast. “She is a witch!” More earnestly she continued. “She cast a spell upon your own Wulfgar to bind him to her, to see that no other could find his eye. She is a witch, I say. I will not have her here.”

Sweyn turned half crouched and his voice came low with a growl in it. “Haylan, you decry a saint for your own lost end, but I forgive you that. I know this lad and I have seen the likes before and he will die unless well tended. There is one who has the skill and I will have her here. So be it that I care little for you, but this lad I would save and cannot stand to see him waste away while you condemn another. If you would stop me, I will see you mounted on my ax to ride it into hell. Now step aside.”

He rose and looking into his eyes, Haylan let him pass.

Aislinn played with Bryce on the hearth of their bedchamber while Wulfgar watched from his chair as the boy was bounced astride his mother’s slim waist. Her hair spilled to the fur pelt beneath them in brilliant display and with an ache in him Wulfgar longed to touch it.

A thundering at the door drew wide eyes from Bryce and a trembling lip. Hs mother cuddled him and at Wulfgar’s answering call, the door was thrown aside and Sweyn charged in.

“Lady Aislinn, your pardon,” he thundered. “The boy, Miles, fell in the water and is taken with a fever and chills. His breath comes hard and I fear for his life. Will you help?”

“Of course, Sweyn.”

She turned about and stopped in confusion, Bryce still in her arms. She spun to Wulfgar, who had risen from his chair, and thrust her son into his arms.

“Wulfgar, take him, please. I cannot with me. Tend him well and if he cries, call Miderd.”

She gave no choice and her voice held a stronger command than William’s. She threw her mantle over her shoulders, caught up her tray of potions and a sachel of herbs and in a twinkling had gone with Sweyn.

Wulfgar stood staring after them, holding the son he could neither accept nor fully reject. He gazed down at the child who returned his perusal with a seriousness and intensity that brought a smile to Wulfgar’s lips. He tried bouncing him on his chest as Aislinn had done but the wideness of his chest and his hard, flat stomach were not as comfortable and drew nothing but a whimper from the lad. With a sigh Wulfgar sat in his chair and propped the chubby cherub on his lap. There the boy seemed happy. He pulled at the sleeves of the chainse and soon was sprawled upon Wulfgar’s chest, showing little fear of the savage Norman knight as he tugged in glee at the ribbons that tied the chainse at the throat.

Aislinn threw aside the door of the cottage and found her way barred by Haylan, who was waving a sprig of mistletoe as if she would drive away a witch. Without a pause Aislinn brushed her aside and hurried to the boy. Haylan had just gathered her balance and stepped forward to protest when Sweyn entered the room and pushed her aside once more. This time she sat where she fell to stare dumbly as Aislinn began to rush about the room. Snatching a shallow kettle, Aislinn scooped it through the hearth, half filling it with glowing coals then placed it near the bed with a smaller kettle inside full of water. As the first steam rose she took several herbs from her pocket, crushing them between her hands before scattering them in the bowl and then from a large vial she poured a thick, white substance into the water. Immediately the room was filled with a heavy tangy odor that made one’s eyes and nose smart. She stirred a mixture of honey and several good pinches of a yellow powder with a bit of the brew from the
simmering pot then lifting the boy’s head against her arm, Aislinn poured it into his mouth and rubbed his throat until he swallowed. She laid him gently back and dipping the rag in cool water, wiped his fevered brow.

This way the night wore on. When Miles’s brow grew hot, Aislinn cooled it with a damp cloth. When his breathing grew troubled and rough, she took the milky stuff and rubbed it on his chest and throat. From time to time she would take a spoon and dribble some of the simmering brew down his throat. She dozed at times but with each movement or gasp she came awake.

The dawn was breaking when Miles began to shake and tremble. Aislinn threw every pelt and blanket in the house upon him and bade Sweyn build the fire higher until they all glistened with sweat. The boy grew red and flushed but still shook so hard he could barely breathe.

Haylan had not stirred from her place and from time to time she mumbled a prayer. Aislinn’s own voice whispered for assistance from a greater force than her own. An hour passed. The dawn was bright now. Each kept their own vigil in their own way.

Then Aislinn stopped and stared. There was a trace of moisture on Miles’s upper lip and a bead of sweat on his brow. Beneath her hand his chest grew damp and soon he was dripping wet with sweat. The trembling ceased. His breathing was still ragged but grew steadier by the moment. His color faded to a normal hue and for the first time since Aislinn had entered the cottage, the boy slept peacefully.

Aislinn rose with a sigh, rubbing her aching back. She gathered her potions and herbs and stood before Haylan, who stared up at her with red rimmed eyes and sobs trembling on her lips.

“You have your Miles back now,” Aislinn murmured. “I will go back to my own, for it is long past his feeding time.”

Aislinn went to the door and wearily shaded her eyes and squinted against the glare of the bright sun. Sweyn took her arm and walked her back to the hall. He did not speak nor did she, but in this great hulking Norseman she was assured of a friend. She entered the bedchamber to find Wulfgar and Bryce sprawled on the bed still asleep. The baby’s hand was tangled in Wulfgar’s hair and his tiny legs were propped across his sturdy arm. Aislinn stepped out of her clothes and left them where they lay. Then, dragging herself across Wulfgar, she drew her son against her. She smiled at her waking husband and before he could speak, closed her eyes and was soon asleep.

It was nearly a week later when Haylan approached Aislinn in the hall as she sat quietly nursing the babe. It was a peaceful moment, for the men were about their affairs, leaving the hall to the women.

“My lady,” Haylan ventured timidly.

Aislinn lifted her gaze from her son.

“My lady,” Haylan began again. She paused and took a deep breath to rush on. “It has come to me that I have greatly wronged you. I believed the vicious words that another spoke to such an extent that I thought you were a witch and sought to take your lord from you.” She paused, wringing her hands as tears trembled in the corners of her eyes. “Can I beg your pardon? Will you see my folly and forgive my trespass? I owe you much that I cannot repay.”

Aislinn reached out a hand and pulled the young widow into a chair beside her own, smiling gently. “Nay, Haylan, there is naught to forgive,” she consoled. “You did nothing to me nor harmed my cause.” She shrugged and laughed softly. “So take heart and never fear. I can well understand your plight and I know ‘twas little of your making. So let us be friends and never rue what yesterday has laid away.”

The widow smiled in agreement, admiring the chubby babe who greedily nuzzled his mother’s breast. She would have spoken of her own boy in his wee age, but Wulfgar strode through the open door, breathless from a vigorous ride. Haylan rose and took her leave. Wulfgar crossed to his wife, casting a doubtful eye after the widow then peered questioningly at Aislinn.

“Is all well with you, my love?”

Aislinn looked into his face and saw his concern. She laughed lightly. “Of course, Wulfgar. What think you amiss? All is quite well.”

He took the chair beside her, stretching out his long legs before him and setting them on a low bench. “There are often hard words in this hall it seems,” he said musingly, stroking his cheek. “Gwyneth ever shuns what kindness we would show her and seeks to prick our tempers. ’Tis a mystery to me why she casts herself from our companionship and sulks endlessly in her chambers. Why does she act so, when if she would soften her ways, we would be gentle, too?”