Regretfully he reached out for her hand, making her recoil and look at him with suspicion.
“You are right, Aislinn. This jealousy gnaws at me. Forgive me, my dearest love.”
“I will see if Wulfgar will set you free,” she said quietly and left him, clutching her mantle closed over the shreds of clothing and her small bundle of food. She had not time to change her garments now when she feared Wulfgar would return to the hall.
Hilda was waiting at the door of the cottage and quickly let her in.
“Is he well?” Aislinn asked softly, glancing toward Thomas who sat before the hearth in a dismal mood, hanging his head.
“Yea, only his heart needs healing, lady, as mine does,” Hilda returned. “I will care for him here.”
Aislinn gave her the food, taking care the mantle did not slip away from her torn bodice. “If anyone should see these meats, tell them ‘twas I who stole. I would not have you chastened for my deeds.”
“It does not matter if they should kill me,” the old woman returned. “My life is nearly over and yours is just beginning.”
“Wulfgar will not kill me,” Aislinn said with a small measure of confidence. “Now, is there place for Thomas to hide if they come searching? They must not find him here.”
“Never fear, my lady. We will find a secret place.”
“Then I must go.” Aislinn turned toward the door. “I will bring more food when I can.”
She had opened the door and was about to step through when she heard Hilda cry out in alarm.
“The Normans!”
Aislinn glanced up, fear chilling every nerve. Wulfgar stood before the door, flanked by two of his men. Aislinn froze as his steely gray eyes pierced her. He stepped forward to enter the cottage, but she blocked his path, seeking to make a barrier of her slender form. With a grunt of contempt for her effort, he stretched out a hand and moved her easily aside.
“Nay! He has done nothing!” she cried, clinging to Wulfgar’s arm in desperation. “Leave him be!”
Wulfgar glanced down at the slim hands clutching his sleeve, and his voice held a warning note when he spoke. “You go beyond yourself, Aislinn of Darkenwald. This matter does not concern you.”
Aislinn glanced fearfully toward Thomas who stood braced for battle. Need yet another Saxon fall beneath a Norman sword? The thought brought a coldness to her belly and she knew she must do what she could to forestall further violence.
Her eyes held a plea for mercy as she lifted them to Wulfgar. “My lord, Thomas is a valiant warrior. Must his blood be spilled now after the battle is done because he fought honestly for the king to whom he and my father owed their loyalty? Oh, seigneur, show wisdom and mercy here. I will pick up the gauntlets and be your slave.”
Wulfgar’s face was stony. “You bargain with what is already mine. Do you try again to influence me? Loose me and set your mind on other matters.”
“Please, my lord,” she whispered, tears welling forth.
Without word, Wulfgar disengaged her fingers and set her from him then turned and approached Thomas as his men brushed past Aislinn and took their places behind him.
“You are called Thomas?” Wulfgar questioned.
Thomas looked toward Aislinn in bewilderment.
“My lord, he does not speak your language,” she explained.
“Tell him to lay down his sword and come with us,” Wulfgar directed.
As she repeated the words for Thomas, the vassal eyed the three men warily.
“My lady, are they bound to kill me?”
She glanced uncertainly at Wulfgar’s back, the broad shoulders covered with mail, the hand casually resting upon his sword. If he could kill four armed thieves who set upon him, one weary and hungry Saxon would offer him little difficulty if he chose to slay him. She could only rely upon Wulfgar’s mercy.
“Nay,” she replied, with some assurance mounting. “I think not. The new lord of Darkenwald deals fairly with men.”
Thomas, with some hesitation, reversed his sword and laying it across his palms, presented it to Wulfgar. Accepting it, the Norman lord turned and walked toward the door, catching Aislinn’s arm and steering her out ahead of him as his men fell in behind Thomas and followed them out. In the sunlight Aislinn glanced up at Wulfgar in confusion as he continued to draw her with him. His face held no emotion and he gave her no heed. She dared not question his intent. His strides were long and swift. She had to step quickly to keep pace and many times stumbled over ruts. She felt his hand tighten upon her arm lending her support. Then she tripped in front of him, letting go the mantle in an effort to check her fall. He drew her up by the arm he held, and his gaze dropped to the torn garments baring her bosom. His eyes widened in surprise as her white breasts boldly thrust through the rent cloth, then they narrowed as they dropped to her sheathed dagger and finally lifted to her face. There the cold steel held her gaze and seemed to burn into her brain and seize upon her very thoughts until she was certain he knew the full truth. She stood breathless until he gathered the mantle about her shoulders so she might hold it better and took her elbow again.
The silence continued between them until they reached the hall and he freed her, then as he seemed to turn his attention to Thomas, she ascended the first stone steps to the sleeping chambers in hopes of changing her gunna. With a voice that boomed within the hall, he halted her.
“Nay!” he bellowed and thrust his finger toward her.
Aislinn’s heart quailed in her bosom, and she glanced toward Kerwick in dismay. His startled face etched her own apprehension of Wulfgar’s penetrating gaze. Near her, Maida whined fearfully, wringing her hands. Slowly and with a quiet dignity, Aislinn turned and descended the stairs and went to him.
“My lord?” she questioned softly. “What is thy will?”
His voice was gruff, cold. “My will is that you honor me with your presence until I bid you go. Now find a perch to rest thyself.”
She nodded and sat on a bench by the table. Swinging round, Wulfgar pointed to Kerwick.
“Loose him and bring him here!”
Kerwick’s color waned and he struggled back against the Normans who sought to take hold of him. He was outnumbered and soon faced Wulfgar. As he appeared to shrink beneath Wulfgar’s hard gaze, Sweyn chuckled.
“The little Saxon quakes in fright. What has he done now to make him tremble thus?”
“Nothing!” Kerwick cried. “Unhand me!”
He bit his lips as Sweyn laughed.
“Ah, so you do speak our tongue. Wulfgar was right.”
“What do you want of me?!” Kerwick demanded, glancing toward Aislinn.
Wulfgar smiled slowly. “Thomas here does not know our language. You will give me assist.”
Aislinn almost breathed a sigh of relief, yet with Wulfgar there was nothing done without purpose. Why was she not asked to translate since they knew her learned in this way? Her brow grew troubled and she puzzled as she studied Wulfgar closely. He spoke easily, watching Kerwick rather than Thomas, not even glancing toward the disconcerted vassal.
“Speak with this man and tell him thusly: He may be a slave and chained with the thieves or he can retain much of his former place but for three things. He must lay down his arms and not raise them again unless so bid by me. He must crop his hair and shave his face as is our manner and he must swear fealty to the Duke William on this very day.”
While these things were repeated to Thomas, Wulfgar came to Aislinn’s side and placed his thigh upon the table leaning forward and half sitting. Aislinn gave him little notice, for her attention was centered upon Kerwick and Thomas and their discussion. Thomas’s main concern seemed to be the loss of the larger part of his glorious blond hair, but he acquiesced and nodded his agreement vigorously when Kerwick bared his own back and showed him the stripes thereon.
With a start Aislinn became aware that her mantle had fallen open and glancing downward, confirmed that her breasts lay open to Wulfgar’s chance gaze. Looking to
him, she saw her fears realized, for his gaze was not chance but rested hungrily upon the display. She blushed profusely and clutched the front of the cloak to her as his hand moved to rest upon her bare shoulder. She felt warm and flushed as his long fingers slowly traced her collarbone, the line of her chin and down the curve of her neck, returning to lay upon the first gentle swell of her breast. Shaken and addled, Aislinn became conscious of the fact that the conversation had ceased and glanced up to find Kerwick glaring at them with reddened face and clenched fists, obviously fighting for what little self-control he could muster. Suddenly she knew Wulfgar’s game and started to speak, but the hand tightened upon her shoulder, and when she looked around those gray eyes caught hers and though his lips smiled and were silent she was warned not to interfere.
“Methinks you dally, Kerwick.” He spoke without raising his attention from her. “Get the business done.”
Kerwick choked and struggled with words. His voice started haltingly then as he continued deminished in volume.
“Speak up, Saxon. Your speech grows slurred. I would hear the sound of my words in your English tongue.”
“I cannot,” Kerwick suddenly cried, shaking his head.
“And why not?” Wulfgar demanded almost pleasantly. “I am your lord. Is it not meet that you should obey me?”
Kerwick jerked his arm toward Aislinn. “Then leave her be! You have no right to caress her thus! She is mine!”
Abruptly Wulfgar’s manner changed. His great sword sang from its sheath and with a long stride he reached the fireplace. There, with both hands on the hilt, he brought the blade whining downward to split in twain a large log lying there. Then reversing his grip, he thrust the point through the heavy seat of a wooden bench nearby. He strode to Kerwick who though still angry was pale and struggled to present a defiant mien. Wulfgar stood before the younger man, legs spraddled and arms akimbo. When he spoke, his voice fair trembled the heavy timbers that arched the hall.
“By God’s own word, Saxon,” he thundered. “You try my temper sorely! You are no longer lord or landed but a simple serf! Now you maul with outraged passion what is mine!” His voice lowered to a mere growl and gesturing to where Aislinn sat in dire fear, he continued. “You both speak the French tongue well, but she gives me pleasure too, and you most certainly do not! Though I would not pursue my business with a woman hanging to my tails, your life is by far the cheaper. Do not quest this issue again if you would live another day.” Almost quietly, he added, “Do you see the truth of my words?”
Kerwick lowered his gaze and bowed his head. “Yea, lord.” Then he raised himself to full height and squarely faced Wulfgar, though a tear slowly traced its way down his face. “But ‘twill be difficult, for you see, I loved her.”
Wulfgar felt a first inkling of respect rise up within him for this lean Saxon and some stir of compassion for him. He could feel sorry for any man tormented and bedeviled by a woman, though he could not see their foolishness in letting themselves be drawn to such ends by a simple wench.
“Then I count the matter done,” Wulfgar stated flatly. “You will not be chained again unless you bring it on yourself. Now take this man and see that he is sheared then bring him to make his vow before a cross.”
As his men followed Thomas and Kerwick from the hall, Wulfgar turned and crossed to the stairs. He had mounted the first few steps when he glanced toward Aislinn, who sat quietly in dumb confusion, and paused to wait for her. She turned and raised her eyes to him.
“You seem at a loss, damoiselle,” he mocked and then grew serious. “The men of this town are welcome to return to their homes. Winter draws hither and ‘twill be the labor of every sound body to keep hunger from the door. So if you find more, do not hide them but bring them to me in no fear of their lives. Now I bid you come and seek some replacement for those poorly used garments that we may dine and ease our hunger. I do hope your gowns have not been reduced to the point you have no change for that rag. It is simple to see that if you are put upon again by some lusty male that I will have to draw from my purse a sum to clothe you. You may in a short time, damoiselle, come to cost me more than you’re worth. I hope I shall not have to share my coins with some lowly dressmaker since my monies are hard earned and I have better use for them.”
With a haughty air, Aislinn rose. With all the dignity she could muster she mounted the stairs, passing him and leading the way to the chamber, all under his amused stare. He closed the door behind them and moved about the room, shedding the heavy mail and setting it to its place. Aislinn stood watching him in indecision, well aware of her lack of privacy and of his offhand manner with her. When he turned to the hearth to warm himself, she knew it was the most she could expect and that she would have to make the best of it. Turning her back to the room, she hastily dropped the mantle to the floor and stripped the ruined garments from her. Perhaps it was some small sound from Wulfgar that made her clutch the kirtle to her breast. She looked his way and her breath caught in her throat for he stood now staring at her with eyes hot and burning with the passion he made no effort to disguise. His gaze slowly traveled the length of her flawless back, touching the long, slender legs and the rounded hips with eyes that seemed to scorch her with their searing heat. Aislinn felt no embarrassment. Indeed, a slow pleasant warmth tingled through her. With an effort she lifted her chin and questioned him coolly.
“Does my lord pleasure himself or does he wish me to pleasure him? Please allow me an answer before I clothe this simple frame that you may not have to part with a precious coin for my garments.”
His eyes rose to her face, and she saw the passion die. His brow darkened and without a word he stumbled from the room.
Dark clouds of wintery gray smothered the dawn as a first splattering of rain turned into a roaring downpour that soaked the earth and sent sheets of water cascading from the roof. Aislinn stretched contentedly upon her furry bed and turning, snuggled deeper into the warmth of the pelts, half opening an eye and seeking the source of light that roused her, wondering if Wulfgar had risen in the early morning hours to open the shutters. She gazed out for a moment at the falling rain, enjoying the restful sound, then a shadow moved across the window, and she came to her feet realizing Wulfgar was already up and dressed. He wore a tunic and leather braccos and did not seem to mind the chill which prompted her to seize a fur and wrap it close about her.
“My lord, forgive me. I did not know you wished to rise early. I’ll get food.”
“Nay.” He shook his head “I have no business pressing. The rain woke me.”
She walked to the window to stand beside him, brushing a glossy tress from her face. Her hair fell about her in loose curls that many times defied a sober braid. He reached out and lifted a heavy lock from her breast as she peered up at him.
“You came quite late to bed, my lord. Was there some trouble?”
He looked into her eyes. “I crawled between no wenches’ thighs if that is what you mean.”
With a flush of color she leaned forward out from the window to catch the rain within her cupped hands. She scooped it to her mouth, giggling gayly as some dribbled down her chin and plummeted to her bosom, wetting her light kirtle. She held the dampened cloth from her breast, shivering at the crisp chill of the water. As she reached out for more she felt Wulfgar’s eyes upon her as she played.
For a moment she stared out the window at the countryside, very much aware of his manly presence beside her. His nearness stirred some strange, pleasurable spark that flickered along the ends of her nerves.
“My lord,” she began slowly without glancing his way. “You have said you do not wish my gratitude, yet I feel dearly thankful for your mercy to Kerwick. He is not so shallow-witted as he has seemed. I cannot think why he has acted so foolishly. In truth, my lord, he is clever with his mind.”
“Until it is dulled by a wench’s treachery,” he murmured thoughtfully.
Aislinn turned to him sharply, taken aback by his harsh words. An ang
ry flush rose to her cheeks as she stared up into those gray eyes. “I had always been true to Kerwick. Until that choice was taken from me by your man.”
“I wonder, damoiselle, if your loyalty would have stayed fast if Ragnor had not bedded you.”
She drew herself up, looking at him squarely. “Kerwick was the choice of my father, and I would have honored that choice to my dying day. I am not a fickle maid who falls in any bed to be wooed thereon by every passing stag.”
He considered her quietly and she raised a questioning gaze.
“But tell me, sir, why do you fear women and their infidelity so?” She saw his scowl blacken. “What makes you hate women and loathe the one who gave you birth? What did she do?”
The scar across Wulfgar’s cheek went livid, and he struggled with himself to keep from striking her, but in her eyes he saw no fear, only a calm, deliberate look that quietly questioned. He whirled and in irate strides crossed to the bed, grinding his fist in his hand. He stood silent for a long time as violent rage gripped him in its power. Finally he spoke over his shoulder with a voice sharp and brittle.
“Yea, she gave me birth but little else. First she loathed me, not I her. For a small boy who begged for love she had none and when that lad turned to a father who would be one, she destroyed that too. They cast me away like something begotten in the gutter!”
Aislinn’s heart wrenched at the thought of a small lad having to plead for affection. She did not know why she suddenly wanted to go to Wulfgar and hold his head close to her breast and smooth the troubled frown from his brow. Never in her life had she felt such tenderness for a man, and she was at a loss as to how to cope with her emotions now. This man was enemy and she wanted to soothe his hurts. What madness was this?
She went to Wulfgar and gently laid her hand upon his arm, gazing up into his eyes in humble apology. “My tongue is sharp and quick to wound. ’Tis a fault I’m oft reminded of. I beg your pardon. Memories so sad should be left buried.”
Wulfgar reached up a hand and caressed her cheek. “I do not trust women, fair to say.” He smiled stiffly. “ ’Tis a fault I’m oft reminded of.”
The Wolf and the Dove Page 12