The Norman knight shrugged his shoulders, unperturbed. “I am known as Wulfgar.”
Having hoped to vex him, Aislinn now felt only discontent. The name, however, was not unknown to her, for she remembered clearly Sir Ragnor and his cousin speaking of him the previous evening with hatred. Perhaps she was taking her life into her hands by seeking to stir this man’s anger.
“Perhaps your duke will give these lands to some other after you’ve won them for him,” she returned flippantly. “You are not lord of them yet and may never be.”
Wulfgar smiled slowly. “You will learn William is a man of his word. The lands are as good as mine now, for England will soon be his. Do not place your hopes upon false desires, damoiselle, for they will lead you nowhere.”
“What have you left me to hope for?” Aislinn asked bitterly. “What have you left England to hope for?”
His brow lifted mockingly. “Do you give up so easily, cherie? I thought I had detected a small bit of hell-fire and determination in the swing of your skirts. Was I wrong?”
Aislinn’s temper flared at this taunt. “You laugh at me heedlessly, Norman.”
He chuckled at her anger. “I can see no daring swain has ever ruffled your pretty feathers before. No doubt they were all too besotted with you to put you in your place.”
“Do you think you are more capable of doing so?” she jeered. She tossed her head toward Ragnor who watched them from afar. “How will you go about it? He has used pain and violated my body. Will you do the same?”
She glared at him through rising tears, but Wulfgar shook his head. Reaching out, he lifted her chin.
“Nay, I have more thorough methods to tame a wench such as yourself. When pain brings nothing, pleasure can be the weapon.”
Aislinn thrust his hand away. “You are over confident, Sir Wulfgar, if you think to master me by kindness.”
“I have never been kind to women,” he returned casually, making a shiver of fright pass through her body.
Aislinn searched his eyes for a moment but found nothing to indicate his meaning. Without a further word she picked up the shovel and began to dig. Wulfgar watched her awkward movements and smiled.
“You should have obeyed Ragnor. I doubt that being in his bed should cause you this bother.”
Aislinn’s eyes were cold with hatred as they turned on him. “Do you think we are all whores to find the easiest way out?” she demanded. “Would it surprise you to know that I find this infinitely more pleasurable than having to submit to vermin.” She looked meaningfully into his gray eyes. “Normans—vermin. There is no difference I think.”
Wulfgar spoke slowly, as if to let his words fall with effect. “Until I have bedded you, damoiselle, reserve your judgment of Normans. You may prefer to be ridden by a man, instead of a braying braggart.”
Aislinn stared at him aghast, unable to make a reply. He seemed to state a fact rather than issue a threat, and she knew with certainty it would be just a matter of time before she would share a bed with this Norman. She considered his tall, broad-shouldered frame and wondered frantically if she would be crushed beneath his weight when he decided to take her. Despite his words he would probably bruise her like Ragnor and take delight in the pain he caused.
She thought of the many men whose offers of marriage she had rejected and scorned until her father, losing patience, had chosen Kerwick for her. No regal wench now, she mused, but a lowly maid to be used and then thrown to the next one down the line who favored her. She shuddered inwardly at the thought.
“You may have conquered England, Norman, but I warn you, you will not master me so easily,” she hissed.
“I warrant it will be a contest more enjoyable to me, wench. I will take great enjoyment in the fruits of my victory.”
Aislinn sneered at him. “You conceited lout! You think me one of your weak-willed Norman whores to spread myself at your beck and call. You will soon learn better.”
He laughed. “A lesson will be taught, but to which of us remains to be seen. I am inclined however to favor myself the winner.”
With that he turned and strode away, leaving her staring after him with her temper sorely raging. But for the first time Aislmn noticed that he limped. Was it some wound gotten in battle or an affliction of birth? Vehemently she hoped that whatever it was it caused him much pain.
Becoming aware of Ragnor’s eyes upon her, Aislinn spun about and struck at the earth with the shovel, damning both men. Furiously she stabbed at the ground as if it were one of them she beat at. As she continued, she noticed the two men had begun to speak heatedly. Wulfgar’s tone was low but anger rumbled in his words. Trying to salvage some of his pride Ragnor spoke with constrained ire.
“I was told to secure this place for you. The Duke’s English advisors said that naught but ancient and unskilled hands could raise sword against us here. How were we to know that the old lord would attack us and that his serfs would seek to slay us? What would you have had us do, Wulfgar? Stand and die and not lift up our weapons in defense?”
“Did you not read the offers of peace I sent with you?” Wulfgar demanded. “The old man was proud and had to be approached tactfully if blood was not to be let. Why didn’t you take more care instead of riding in here like conquerors to demand his home? My God, are you so inept that I must be with you every step of the way showing you how to deal with men of such stature? What did you say to him?”
Ragnor sneered. “Why are you so sure ‘twas not your words that angered him? The old man attacked us despite the cleverness of your plea. I did naught save let the herald read the parchment you gave me.”
“You lie,” Wulfgar growled. “I offered him and his household terms of treaty and safety for the laying down of his arms. He was not a complete fool. He would have accepted surrender to save his family.”
“Obviously you were wrong, Wulfgar,” Ragnor smirked. “But who is there to prove otherwise? My men know nothing of this heathen tongue, and the herald was most prolific in it. Only I and the herald saw the document. How are you to prove your charges against me?”
“There is no need for proof,” Wulfgar snarled. “I know that you murdered those men.”
Ragnor laughed contemptuously. “What is the price for putting a few Saxons out of their misery? You killed more at Hastings than these few churlish clods here.”
Wulfgar’s face was stoney. “ ’Twas because Cregan’s strength was rumored as greater that I went to take it, thinking you had the good sense to persuade an old man to give up a futile fight. In that I see I erred and I regret my decision in sending you here. The old man’s death means nothing. But the peasants will be difficult to replace.”
These words cut Aislinn deeply and she missed the ground she hacked at and fell over the shovel. She hit the turf hard, almost knocking the breath from her. Gasping in pain, she lay quietly in her misery, wanting to cry out her anger and torment. To these men a single life was unimportant, but to a girl who had loved and respected her father, his had been a most dear life.
The heated conversation ceased and the men’s attention turned to her once more. Wulfgar bellowed for one of the serfs from the hall. It was Ham, a sturdy youth of three and ten, who stumbled out with the help of a Norman boot.
“Bury your lord,” Wulfgar commanded but found little understanding in the lad’s eyes. The Norman gestured for Aislinn to tell him his meaning, and in resignation she handed the shovel to the boy. She watched solemnly as he dug the grave, aware of the Norman bastard rousing the invaders from the hall to drag away the dead.
Together Aislinn and Ham tied her father in a wolf pelt and dragged him into the grave, placing his mighty sword upon his breast. When the last shovelful fell atop him, Maida came forward timorously to lay across the mound of dirt and sob out her sorrows.
“A priest!” she wept. “The grave must be blessed.”
“Yea, mother,” Aislinn murmured. “One will be fetched.”
This small bit of reassurance Aislinn
would dare offer Maida, though she had no clue as to how she might send for a priest. Darkenwald’s chapel, deserted after the death of its priest several months back, had been reduced to rubble by a fire shortly after. The friar at Cregan had served the people of Darkenwald in the absence of another clergyman. But to go for him would be taking her life in her hands even if she could manage to leave without being seen, which was highly unlikely. Her horse was tied in the barn where some of the Normans made their pallets. She knew the full weight of her helplessness and was strongly aware of her inability to give Maida much comfort. Yet her mother was treading dangerously close to madness and Aislinn feared that disappointment would push her over the brink.
Aislinn lifted her gaze to where Wulfgar stood. He was taking the armor from his horse, and by this action she knew he intended staying at Darkenwald rather than at Cregan. Darkenwald was the likely choice, for though the town had fewer people, the hall was larger and more suitable to the needs of an army. Erland had planned it so with forethought for the future. Built mostly of stone, it was less susceptible to fires and attacks than the hall at Cregan which was built entirely of wood. Yea, Wulfgar would be staying and by his word Aislinn knew she would be serving his pleasures. With her own fear of being claimed anew by this fearsome invader, she found it difficult to offer encouragement to anyone.
“Lady?” Ham began.
She turned to see that the lad was looking at her. He, too, had become aware of her mother’s state and now looked to Aislinn for authority. His eyes questioned. Guidance was what he sought in dealing with these men whose very language confused him. Wearily Aislinn shrugged, unable to give him an answer, and turning from him, she slowly walked toward Wulfgar. The Norman glanced around as she approached and ceased his labors. With great hesitancy Aislinn moved closer to man and beast, surveying the huge horse in some awe. She felt more than a little apprehensive coming near him.
Wulfgar stroked the silky mane, holding the bit in his hand as he looked at her. Aislinn took a deep breath.
“My lord,” she said stiffly. The title came hard, but for the sake of her mother’s sanity and that these men of Darkenwald might have a Christian burial, she would swallow her pride for a time. Her voice grew stronger with her determination. “A small request I might ask—”
He nodded, saying nothing, but she was aware of his eyes, keen, yet dispassionate upon her. She sensed his distrust and she wanted to curse him for a foreigner, an intruder in their lives. She had never found it easy to appear docile. Even the times her father raged at her over some disputed point, such as her reluctance to choose a suitor, she would stand stubborn and willful, unafraid of his thundering anger while other people would cower before him in what seemed mortal fear for their lives. Yet Aislinn knew when she wanted her way that gentleness and pliancy would soften his ageing heart and turn it toward her will. Now she would turn that same guile upon this Norman, and she spoke in measured tone.
“My lord, a priest I pray. A small thing to ask—but for these men who died—”
Wulfgar nodded his consent. “It shall be attended to.”
Aislinn sank to her knees before him, humbling herself for this brief moment. It was the least she could do to insure a proper burial.
With a growl Wulfgar reached down and yanked her to her feet. Aislinn stared up at him in surprise, her eyes wide and searching his.
“Stand upright, wench. I respect your hatred more,” he said and turning, strode into the hall without another word.
Serfs from Cregan, well guarded by a handful of Wulfgar’s men, came to bury the men of Darkenwald. To her amazement Aislinn recognized Kerwick among them as they trudged closer, following behind a huge, mounted Viking. Overcome with her relief at seeing him alive, Aislinn would have run to him, but Maida caught her gunna and clung to it.
“They will slay him—those two who fight over you.”
Aislinn saw the wisdom of this and was thankful to her mother for this small bit of sense. She relaxed and watched him furtively as he neared. There was some difficulty with language as the guards tried to show the serfs what they were to do. Equally confused, Aislinn wondered at Kerwick’s game for she had taught him the French tongue herself and he had been an apt student. Finally the peasants understood and began to sort and prepare the bodies for burial, all except Kerwick who stood as if dazed, gaping with horror at the terrible sight of the slaughtered men. Suddenly he turned away and was sick. There was laughter from Wulfgar’s men, and Aislinn silently cursed them. Her heart went out to Kerwick; he had seen so much war of late. Yet she wanted him to rise and show these Normans dignity and strength. Instead he was letting himself be the object of their ridicule. The mirth gnawed at her and she whirled away and fled into the hall. She felt shame for him and for those who abased themselves so before the enemy. With her head lowered, oblivious to the men who leered at her, she walked straight into the arms of Wulfgar. He had removed his hauberk, leaving the leather tunic in place and now stood with Ragnor, Vachel and the Norseman who had arrived with Kerwick. Wulfgar’s hands swept her back as he lightly held her.
“Fair damsel, do I dare hope that you are impatient for my bed?” he mocked, lifting a tawny brow.
It was only the Viking who guffawed his delight, for Ragnor’s face darkened, and he glared at Wulfgar with jealousy and loathing. But it was enough to spur Aislinn’s temper, already seething beyond caution. Her humiliation was past bearing. Her pride burned like a flame, engulfing her, goading her to unreasonable action. With a flare of white rage burning within her, she drew back her arm and struck a stinging blow across Wulfgar’s scarred cheek.
The men in the room held their breaths in stunned surprise. They full expected Wulfgar to lay this saucy wench on her back with his fist. They all knew his manner with women. Generally he had little use for them and at times showed his complete contempt by turning and striding away when one had attempted to draw him into conversation. No woman had ever dared strike him before. Damsels feared his dark moods. When he bent his cold, ruthless gaze upon them, they fled out of his way to safety. Yet this damsel, with so much to lose, had braved far more than any other.
In the brief moment Wulfgar stared at her, Aislinn regained her senses and knew a sudden prickling of fear. Violet eyes met gray. She was as horrified by her action as he was astonished. Ragnor appeared pleased, not knowing his man. Without word or warning Wulfgar’s hands were upon her like slaves’ armlets, jerking her to him and crushing her against him in a powerful embrace. Ragnor had been lean and hard, well muscled, but this was like being thrust against an iron statue. Aislinn’s lips half parted in surprise and her startled gasp was abruptly silenced when his mouth swooped down upon hers. The men hooted and howled encouragement, and Ragnor was the only one who found cause for dissatisfaction. With reddened face contorted by violent rage, he watched and his hands clenched at his sides to keep from tearing them apart.
The Viking crowed. “Ho! The wench has met her match!”
Wulfgar’s hand moved behind Aislinn’s head, forcing her face to slant against his, and his lips twisted across her mouth, hurting, searching, demanding. Aislinn felt the heavy hammerlike thud of his heart against her breast, and she was aware of his body, hard and threatening, pressed tightly to her slender form. His arm was clasped around her waist in a merciless grip and behind her head she felt his hand, large and capable of crushing her skull without effort. But somewhere in the deepest, darkest, unknown recesses of her being, a small spark was ignited and flared upward, awaking mind and body from their coldly held reserve, and singeing, scalding, fusing them in one whirling mass of sensation. Her whole consciousness was stimulated by the feel, the taste, the smell of him, all pleasurable and acutely arousing. Her nerves flooded with a warm excitement and she stopped struggling. As if with a will of their own her arms crept upward around his back and the ice melted to a fiery heat that matched his own. It mattered little that he was enemy nor that his men watched and crowed their approval. It seemed
there were only the two of them. Kerwick had never possessed the power to draw her from herself. His kisses had aroused no passion within her breast, no desire, no impatience to be his. Now, clasped in the arms of this Norman, she was yielding helplessly to a greater will than her own, returning his kiss with a passion she had never known she possessed.
Wulfgar released her abruptly and to Aislinn’s utter bewilderment he did not seem at all disturbed by what to her had been a shattering experience. No amount of force could have brought her down so low. She felt shame and realized her own weakness to this Norman’s rule, weakness based not on fear but on desire. Aghast at her own response to his kiss, she struck out at him with the only weapon left her, her tongue.
“Nameless cur of Normandy! In what gutter did your sire seek your mother?”
There were sharp intakes of breath in the hall but reaction to her insults flickered only momentarily across Wulfgar’s brow. Was it anger she saw? Perhaps even pain? Oh, that was doubtful. She could not hope to wound him, this iron-hearted knight.
Wulfgar raised an eyebrow at her. “Strange is your display of gratitude, damoiselle,” he said. “Do you forget your request for a priest?”
Violence drained from her, and Aislinn was appalled at her own stupidity. She had sworn the graves would be blessed, yet by her own idiocy the dead men of Darkenwald would lay dishonored. She gaped at him, unable to utter a plea or apology.
Wulfgar laughed shortly. “Fear not, damoiselle. My word is my oath. You shall have your valued priest as surely as you will share my bed.”
Laughter swept the hall at his words, but Aislinn’s heart gave a sickening lurch.
“Nay, Wulfgar!” Ragnor cried in a burst of rage. “By all that’s holy, you shall not trespass here. Have you forgotten your oath to me, that I should choose as my reward anything that pleasures me? Give heed, for I choose this maid as payment for capture of this hall.”
Wulfgar turned slowly and deliberately to face the furious knight. He spoke with wrath rumbling low in his voice. “Seek your reward in the fields yonder where it is being buried, for that is what your payment shall be. Had I known what price I was to pay, I would have sent a knight less foolhardy.”
The Wolf and the Dove Page 4