The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Ragnor grunted. “You plan well, Wulfgar, as if you always deemed it your due to be made lord of lands.”

  Wulfgar arched a brow at him but said nothing and the conversation stiffly turned to other things. Aislinn noted the two men as they talked, wondering at the difference in them, for where Ragnor was arrogant and superior and demanded the allegiance of his men, Wulfgar was calm and reserved. He led by example rather than by orders and simply assumed that his men would follow. He did not question their loyalty but seemed to know that each would lay down his life rather than disappoint him.

  Aislinn was still considering these points when she raised her eyes and with a gasp half rose in reflex, for there at the head of the stairs stood her mother as Aislinn had known her for many years, small of stature, yet proud beyond her size. Maida stood now poised in her own clothes, clean and with a head rail covering her hair and draped to hide much of the swollen face. She strode down toward them with the grace and bearing that seemed natural to her and Aislinn’s heart swelled with gladness and relief. Here was her mother indeed.

  By his silence Wulfgar gave his approval, but Ragnor came to his feet with a roar and before any could stop him, leapt forward and snatched at Maida’s hair. The veil came loose in his hands and with a screech Maida fell to the floor, the idiot’s grin again twisting her face. It was doubly cruel for Aislinn to watch her beloved mother fade and the hag return, for now with her shoulders hunched and whimpering for mercy at Ragnor’s feet she seemed no more than some wretched crone in stolen finery. Aislinn caught her breath in a sob and fell back into her chair again as her mother whined louder.

  Ragnor raised his fist in rage at the old woman. “You dare dress yourself in rich clothes and strut before your lords like some regal wench at court. You Saxon sow. ‘Twill bring you naught, for I will have wolves chewing at your stringy bones!”

  He bent to seize her, but Wulfgar’s fist came down hard on the table.

  “Hold!” he commanded. “Do the old one no harm, for she is here and thusly gowned at my request.”

  Ragnor drew himself back and faced the other. “Wulfgar, now you reach beyond yourself! You set this hag above us! ’Tis William’s way to set aside the lords who resisted and all their kin and place instead our own, our heroes who took the field and won the day. You take from me my reward, yet you set this one before the Saxon oafs and—”

  “Do not let rage cloud your vision, Ragnor,” Wulfgar retorted. “For surely even you can see that these poor wretches could not long bear to see their former mistress abused and reduced to feed among the dogs. On her behalf they’d seize up arms and come again to take us. There would be naught to do but slay them until there were but aged men and swaddled babes to serve us. Now would you have it so that we, soldiers of the Duke, should tend the fields and milk the goats? Or leave these Saxons some small touch of pride to assuage their fears and have them meet our bidding until we own the land in truth and ‘tis too late for them to blow the horn and rise up against us? I yield them nothing, but they will say ‘tis much more. In the end they will pay my taxes, and I will be the one who gains. No martyr ever suffered in comfort. No saint ever died in gold and silk. ’Tis no more than a gesture from me to them. She is their lady still. They will not know that she but serves my will.”

  Ragnor shook his head. “Wulfgar, I have no doubt that should William ever fall, you might prove his long lost brother and might weedle your way to the very crown. But mark me well.” He smiled with a touch of venom. “Should you ever err, in truth I pray, that I should be the one to see it and be the one to swing the axe that separates your bastard heart from those winsome lips that sing songs of righteousness and bait the worthy to a cruel end.”

  With a bow of mockery he left the hall, and as the door banged shut behind the dark knight, Aislinn flew to her mother’s side. She sought to calm her, for the old woman still groveled on the floor and whimpered in confusion, not knowing her tormentor had left. Aislinn placed an arm about her shoulders and holding Maida’s head to her breast, rocked to and fro and whispered softly against her hair.

  With a start Aislinn realized that Wulfgar had come to stand beside them. She raised her eyes to his and saw him regard Maida with something akin to pity.

  “Take her to her chamber and tend her.”

  Aislinn bridled at this uncalled-for command, but his broad back had swung and he was already striding to the door. She stared after him a moment, enraged that he could so easily use their pride for his own end, but she turned her attention to her mother again and helping her to her feet, she guided Maida slowly up the stairs and into her own former room with tenderness born of love. There she calmed her mother’s fears as best she could, putting her to bed and smoothing the gray-streaked hair as the woman’s mewlings turned to sobs and the sobs to the uneven breaths of troubled sleep. The room was silent as Maida rested her weary mind, and Aislinn quietly put the place to some order, for the search after booty had left it in sore disarray.

  Aislinn went to the shutters and set them ajar to catch the warming morning breeze. As she did so, she heard a voice droning on and recognized the words calling for twenty lashes. Leaning out the window, she gasped at the panorama before her. Kerwick, stripped to the waist, was lashed to the frame of timbers set in the town square, and Wulfgar stood beside him, helm, gauntlets and mail removed and hanging from his sword which was thrust into the ground to support them. So weaponless, but as a lord he stood ready to mete out punishment. He held an arm’s length of heavy rope which had been unbraided for two thirds its length and small knots tied in the end of each strand. As the words ended, the very breeze died, and the scene froze for a moment, then Wulfgar’s arm rose and fell with an eager swishing sound, and Kerwick jumped against his bonds. A low moan rose briefly from the gathered townspeople, and again Wulfgar’s arm rose and fell. This time the moan came from Kerwick’s lips. On the third stroke he was again silent, but on the fourth a short scream was torn from his lips as his back turned to fire beneath the lash. By the tenth the screams turned to gurgles and the fifteenth he only jerked against the straps as the lash fell. As the twentieth stroke was laid the townspeople sighed in one breath, and Aislinn broke from the window, sobbing and breathless, flushed and dizzy as if she had held her breath throughout his punishment. Her sobs turned to choked curses as she ran from the chamber with tears streaming down her face and struggled with the weight of the great door. Feeling herself a part of his torment, she came to Kerwick’s side, but he hung senseless against the timbers, and she whirled to face Wulfgar with the fury born of frustration.

  “So, you must seize this poor man from the hounds to vent your whimsy upon his helpless back!” she raged. “Was it not enough that you stole his lands and made him a slave?”

  Wulfgar had dropped the cat with the last stroke and had turned and was wiping Kerwick’s blood from his hand. Now he spoke from rigid self-control.

  “Woman, this fool sought to slay me in the midst of my own men. I told you then his fate was sealed and not yours to dally with.”

  “Are you so high, my lord,” she sneered, “that you take to your own hands vengeance upon this man whose own betrothed he saw mauled before his very eyes?!”

  Wulfgar was not pleased and his frown darkened. He stepped closer and spoke with a harder tone. “ ’Twas my heart he sought to pierce. Thus my arm should strip his back bare and lay thereon the strokes of justice.”

  Aislinn lifted her chin and opened her mouth to speak, but Wulfgar continued.

  “See you them!” He swung his area to the townspeople. “They now know that any foolery will be met by that same justice and that the lash may well shred their hides as his. So taunt me not with your tongue of innocence, Aislinn of Darkenwald, for ‘twas your game, too. And you who hid the truth should endure some of his pain.” His gray eyes pierced her. “Be grateful your tender back will bear no share. But you may learn from this my hand is not forever stayed.”

  With this Wulfgar turned
to his men.

  “Now shear this fool,” he bade there. “Then let his fellows salt his wounds and give him ease. Yea, shear them all! Let them wear the Norman mode this season.”

  Aislinn stared at him with some confusion and knew what his words meant only when Kerwick’s hair was clipped and his beard shaved from his face with a well-honed blade. A new murmur rose from the townspeople, and men turned to flee only to find their way blocked by the Normans, and they were seized one by one and dragged back to the square where they met a part of Kerwick’s fate. Some rose embarrassed and fingering their nude and pinkish chins and shortened locks, fled the public eye in mortal shame, for now they bore the Norman brand and had lost their Saxon glory.

  Aislinn’s fury regained its throne, and she left the courtyard to return with purposeful gait to the lord’s chamber where she sought out her mother’s scissors. She had unbound her hair and with unreasoning anger raised the blades to her tresses when the door flung wide. A blow stunned her wrist, and the tool fell from her numbed fingers. She gave a startled gasp as a great hand gripped her shoulder and spun her about. Steel-cold eyes quenched her anger.

  “You test me sorely, maid,” Wulfgar growled. “And I warn you now. For each bright lock you shear the lash will fall once upon your back!”

  Aislinn’s knees trembled and she shook with fear, for she had not known the towering black heights his rage could reach. It dwarfed her own, and within his iron grasp she felt the idiocy of her notion and could only whisper hoarsely:

  “Yea, lord. I yield. Please, you hurt me.”

  There was a softening in Wulfgar’s gaze, and his arms slipped around her, crushing her to him. His voice was hoarse as he whispered:

  “Then yield me all, damoiselle. Yield me all.”

  For a long moment her lips were smothered beneath his passionate kiss, but even in his rough embrace she could feel herself softening and a warm glow beginning deep inside as his mouth moved upon hers, brutally snatching her will from her.

  His lips withdrew and he looked at her strangely, his eyes clouded and unreadable. Then she was flung backwards across the bed. In long strides he went to the door then turned and stared at her, this time in disapproval.

  “Women!” he snorted and slammed the door closed behind him.

  Aislinn stared at the door and knew more confusion than she had seen in his face. She was aghast at her own reaction. Her mind tumbled over itself in bewilderment. What manner of man was he that she could hate him so intensely yet at the same time find pleasure in his embrace? Her lips responded to his against her will, and her body yielded almost gladly to his greater strength.

  Wulfgar strode out of the hall and barked an order to his men as Sweyn came to him, carrying his hauberk and helm.

  “The maid is spirited,” the Viking remarked.

  “Yea, but she will learn,” Wulfgar said curtly.

  “The men wager upon which will be tamed,” Sweyn returned slowly. “Some say ‘twill be the wolf who finds his fangs drawn.”

  Wulfgar looked at him sharply. “Do they now?”

  Sweyn nodded, helping him fasten the hauberk. “They do not understand your hatred of women as I do.”

  Wulfgar laughed as he stretched out a hand to place it upon his friend’s sturdy shoulder. “Let them wager if it so amuses them. You and I know a mere maid is oft swallowed for a morsel before she can thrust her hand into the wolf’s mouth.”

  Lifting his head, Wulfgar surveyed the horizon beyond the town. “Let us be off. I have a desire to view this promised land of mine.”

  The hall was quieter with only a token of Wulfgar’s men set to guard it. Aislinn felt almost at ease with fewer stares directed her way. Quietly she went about treating wounds. Wulfgar had directed his men to seek her out that she might tend their injuries, and she had spent most of the day at this task. Toward evening she had purged and cauterized the last of these, much to her relief, for the sickening smell of burnt flesh and the sight of gaping wounds had set her stomach aquiver. Yet for all of this she was thinking of another who needed her attention and wondering where they had taken him. It was a short time later when that question was settled in her mind. Two serfs carried Kerwick into the hall and gently laid him among the hounds. The dogs swarmed around him, yelping and straining at their leashes, and Aislinn frantically drove them away.

  “Why do you leave him here?” she demanded of the peasants, whirling to face them. With their shortened locks and naked faces, she hardly recognized the two men who had been born in the town and were of an age a full score older than herself.

  “ ’Twas the Lord Wulfgar’s directions, my lady. As soon as his wounds were salted and he came around we were to bring him here to the dogs.”

  “Your eyes deceive you mayhap,” she said with a bit of ire as she swept her hand toward Kerwick who still lay unconscious.

  “My lady, he fainted on the way here.”

  Dismissing them with an impatient gesture, Aislinn knelt beside her betrothed and tears sprang anew.

  “Oh, Kerwick, what must you suffer because of me?”

  Remembering with frightening clarity Wulfgar’s warning of the whip’s ability to tear her own flesh, Aislinn surveyed the Norman’s handiwork, feeling a new dread rise up to shake her senses.

  Ham came with herbs and water, tears still streaming down his face. With short-cropped hair his youth was all the more apparent. He dropped to his knees beside her and handed her the stuff, gazing sadly upon Kerwick’s raw back. As Aislinn stirred a mixture into a smelly unguent, she paused to brush aside a stray curl with the back of her hand and caught Ham’s doleful countenance. The lad felt her attention and hung his head.

  “Lord Kerwick was always kind to me, my lady,” he murmured. “And they made me watch this. I could do nothing to help him.”

  Leaning forward, Aislinn began to spread the thick salve over Kerwick’s mutilated flesh. “There was naught that any man of English blood could do. This was their warning to all of us. Their justice will come swift and hard. They will surely slay the next person who assaults them.”

  The young man’s face was twisted in a moment of hatred. “Then two will pay with their lives. The one who murdered your father and this Wulfgar who has dishonored you and done this deed upon Lord Kerwick.”

  “Do not yield to madness,” Aislinn advised.

  “Revenge will taste sweet, my lady.”

  “Nay! You must not seek to do such a thing!” Aislinn cried, distraught. “My father died a hero’s death, in battle and with his sword in his hand. He took no few of them with him. Yea, his songs will be sung long after this invader leaves our land. And as for this lashing, ‘twas the gentler thing, for Kerwick’s head was surely forfeit with his foolish act. Wulfgar did not take my honor but the other, Ragnor. Now there’s a cause for vengeance if ever there was. But hear me well, Ham. ’Tis mine to seek, and by all that’s holy my honor shall prove worth that Norman’s blood.” Then she shrugged and once more spoke with logic. “But we were beaten fairly and for a time must yield the day. You should not dwell upon yesterday’s loss, but rather seek the morrow’s gain. Now go, Ham, and do not bring upon your back this striped pelt of foolishness.”

  The lad made as if to speak, then bowed to her wisdom and retreated from the room. Aislinn turned again to her labors and found Kerwick’s blue eyes upon her.

  “Foolishness?! Stripes of foolishness?! ‘Twas your honor I sought to save.” He made as if to move but winced in pain and ceased the effort.

  Aislinn was shocked by his bitterness and could venture no defense.

  “You seek your vengeance in an odd manner. You enter almost gladly to his chamber and no doubt pursue his death by spreading yourself beneath him. Damn! Damn!” he groaned. “Does your oath mean nothing? You are mine! My own betrothed!” He tried again to move but cried aloud and sank back to the floor.

  “Oh, Kerwick,” Aislinn started gently. “Hear me out. Be still, I say.” She pressed him down against his eff
orts. “The potion will soon draw the pain and soften the hurt, yet I fear no like remedy will sooth the injury I feel from your tongue. I was taken much against my will. Listen to my words and do not rage so. These are knights well mailed, and you are naught but servant now, without a blade to do your will. Lest your head roll loose upon the village sod, I beseech you do not seek what must now be done by a coward’s tool. You know their judgment will be harsh, and I would not have you spread upon the block for the sake of what little honor I have left. Our people need a voice that will effect some justice, and I would not leave them without an intercessor so they must find their judgment from the Norman lash. Heed me now. Do not make me hew another grave beside my father’s. I cannot honor vows broken against my will nor would I hold you now to take a soiled bride. I execute my duty where I see it. ’Tis owed to those poor fellows who held my father lord and did his bidding to the end. If I can but ease their hardship some small whit, I will do well. So do not judge me too harshly, Kerwick, I pray.”

  Kerwick sobbed miserably. “I loved you! How can you let another man hold you? You know I wanted you as any man desires to have the woman he loves, yet I was only permitted to dream of you in my arms. You begged me not to dishonor you before our marriage and like a fool I complied. Now you have chosen that one as your lover as easily as if he were some long-known swain. How I wish I would have taken you as was my desire. Perhaps, then, having had you, I could drive you from my mind. But now, I can only wonder at what pleasure you give my enemy.”

  “I pray forgiveness,” Aislinn murmured softly. “I did not know how I would hurt you.”

  He could not bear her kindness and buried his face in the straw and sobbed hoarsely. Miserably Aislinn rose and stepped away, realizing she could soften the pain no more, neither of his back nor of his mind. In God’s will, time perhaps could do what she could not.