Amid shouts of encouragement from his men there rose a troubled voice.
“Ahem! My lord—Sir Wulfgar. We have not met before but I am Friar Dunley. And you have asked me here.” As Wulfgar turned to him he continued in a rush of words. “I have come to bless the graves, but ‘tis obvious to me that other needs are sorely wanting. The affairs of God in this good town are not well met. ‘Twould seem that many of the maids were sorely set upon and even some were married. So ‘tis wholely grievous, my lord, the church can not afford to view these matters lightly, nor yield without atonement made to those unfairly taken. I deem it wise to offer coins in goodly sum to the husbands and betrothed to those where wedlock vows were promised or accomplished.”
Wulfgar cocked an eyebrow and half smiled at the man as he pressed the issue further.
“And then, my lord, to those yet unbetrothed I bid those men who did the deed should carry the maid to wedlock—”
“Hold, father,” Wulfgar admonished, holding up his hand to stem the flow of words. “It seems to me that a tidy sum of money offered to the swains of those whose unwilling favors were roughly taken would reduce the fair and tender ones to the level of whore, and what man would sell the virtue of his lady fair? A tidy sum, indeed, when all of England lies with aching thighs. ‘Twould beggar the richest crown to pay the due. And I am none of those but only a poor knight and cannot meet the tally were I to deem it a worthy notion. As to the course of wedlock for the rest, I see them soldiers one and all.” He gestured to his men. “They are a goodly sort to fight a war but not the kind a maid would seek to share a hearth. All would go with the next call to arms and some would stay upon the field of battle to leave the wench with brats aplenty hanging to her skirts with no way to feed them but to ply her wares upon the street and thusly set aside a good intent to end no better than before. Nay, good priest, I say let them ply their plight as it falls today. What good, will in time surely come. What evil, most has been already done, and from my hand can hardly be undone.”
“But, my lord.” The friar would not be gainsaid. “What of yourself? You are landed now and privy to the Duke. Surely you will not leave this poor wretched girl to suffer for unkindly acts which were no fault of hers. You are bound by your very oath of knighthood to protect the fairer gender. Do I stand assured that you will take her at the least to wife?”
Wulfgar scowled as Ragnor threw back his head and guffawed his delight.
“Nay, father, neither that,” he said. “My knighthood binds me not to that extent. And then of course I am a bastard and I cannot ask tender ears to share the brunt of slurs and oafish jests from those of brutish wit.” He looked pointedly to Ragnor. “It has been my lot in life to see the cruelest stabs and deepest wounds are given by the shrewish tongues of that same sex that prides itself on tender hearts and gentle manners and mother’s love. I bare no special spot for women’s weepings nor do I seek to yield them more than they deserve. Nay, chide me not, for I am hard in this concern.”
With that he turned his back but the friar halted him with further speech.
“Lord Wulfgar, if you will not wed her, then at least set her free. Her betrothed will yet accept her as she is.”
He turned to indicate Kerwick who stood quietly nearby and found the younger man’s eyes resting dolefully upon the girl.
“Nay! I will leave none of that!” Wulfgar roared and whirled again upon the friar. Openly struggling, he regained his composure. He spoke with a lower voice but with a hardness that could not be denied.
“I am lord and master here. Everything you see is mine. Do not trespass needlessly upon my good will. Go tend your graves as I have bid you come but leave the other matters to me.”
The good friar knew when to stop. With a sigh he mumbled a prayer, made a sign and left, with the men following. Aislinn did not dare aggravate Wulfgar and even Ragnor was strangely subdued. Sweyn stood as always, silent.
The graves were blessed and Aislinn returned to the bedchamber to seek some privacy. Instead she found Wulfgar staring moodily out the window upon the far horizons. In his hand he held the contents of the packet Ragnor had given him as the priest spoke his prayers over the graves. Sweyn stood before the hearth with an arm braced above it and with the toe of his shoe idly nudged loose embers back into the fire. They glanced around as she entered and mumbling an awkward apology, Aislinn made to withdraw again, but Wulfgar shook his head.
“Nay, there is no need. Come in. We are finished.”
Hesitantly Aislinn entered and closed the door behind her, feeling the weight of both men’s eyes upon her. She blushed lightly as they continued to stare and turned her back to them when Wulfgar spoke to Sweyn.
“I will leave it in your hands.”
“Yea, sire,” came the reply. “I will watch and guard.”
“Then I can rest assured, knowing so.”
“It will seem strange, Wulfgar, after these many years—We have always fought well together.”
“Aye, but there is duty and I must be certain the matter is in safe hands. Hopefully it will not be for long.”
“They are stubborn people, these English.”
Wulfgar sighed. “Yea, but the Duke is more so.”
Sweyn nodded in agreement and then took his leave. Aislinn continued picking up the pieces of the drinking horn she had shattered against the door the night before and set them aside, avoiding Wulfgar’s gaze. She glanced around for her torn kirtle, in hopes she could with some skill mend it to a useful state, for she did not have many gowns left. But her efforts proved fruitless, for it could not be found.
“My lord,” she said, her lovely brow knitted in her confusion. “Have you set eyes upon my kirtle this morn? I know it was here.”
“I laid it on the bed,” he replied.
Aislinn turned, knowing it was futile to look again. She shrugged, throwing aside the pillows.
“It is nowhere, seigneur.”
“Perhaps Hlynn removed it,” he offered without much interest in the matter.
“Nay, she would not enter here without your permission. She is frightened of you.”
“The garment will turn up somewhere,” he said, rather irritably. “Put it from your mind.”
“I have not many,” Aislinn complained. “And no money to buy more linen. The wool is rough against the skin without the softness of a kirtle. And you have already said you will spare no coins for my clothing.”
“Cease your prattle, wench. You sound as the other nags who beg for a fat purse to tide them over.”
For a brief moment Aislinn’s chin trembled, and she turned her back to him to hide this weakness that was utterly strange and foreign to her. Crying for a torn kirtle when all England was laid waste. But was it for her kirtle she wept or for herself? She, strong, willful and determined, now weakened and brought low by a man who loathed women and just this very moment compared her to the unsavory trollops who trudged the camps of the armies.
Aislinn swallowed back the tears and lifted her chin. “My lord, I beg naught from you. I only seek to keep what is mine as you are wont to do.”
She busied herself tidying the room without further speech, willing herself to shrug away the low humor she had fallen into. When finally she glanced at Wulfgar, she was halted by the brooding gray eyes that held her. She looked questioningly at him.
“Monseigneur?” she murmured. “Am I to stand unjustly condemned of some monstrous deed that I have no recognition of doing? Truly, I did not ask you to purchase me clothing. Yet you stare at me as if you wished to see me flogged. Do you hate me so much, my lord?”
“Hate you?” Wulfgar snorted. “And why should I hate you, damoiselle, when you are the very measure of any man’s desire?”
Her mind flew, skimming over the details of their conversation spoken a few moments before and could find no cause for his dark and grim countenance. Then the memory of Ragnor’s words hit her with an impact that nearly knocked the breath from her.
“Do you
fear that I may carry another man’s child, m’lord?” she asked boldly and watched his eyes grow stormy gray. “You must find it difficult to bear the thought that I might be carrying your child already and that you will never be certain it is yours.”
In annoyance he growled. “Be silent.”
“Nay, sire.” She stubbornly shook her head and the tousled, unkempt curls danced about her shoulders. “I would know the truth now. What if I am with child? Will you speak the vows with me to save an innocent from the fate you have suffered?”
“Nay. You heard my answer to the priest,” Wulfgar replied.
She swallowed hard. “I would know one thing more, if you will be generous,” she managed. “What assurance have you that you have not already gotten some wee bastard from your loins? Were your women barren as you perhaps hoped I would be?” She saw his scowl deepen and knew her answer. She wanted to laugh and at the same time cry. “You would enjoy me better if I were like your other women, wouldn’t you?” She came to stand close in front of him and gazed up into his stony face. The lines of her jaw were tense with the effort she made to appear calm. “I desperately hope that I am barren, for I do not think your child would please me.”
He winced at her words and stood obstinately silent until a thought stung him. He pulled her roughly before him and his scowl grew ominous as he searched. her face.
“Whether it pleases you or no, Aislinn, do not think that honor is righted by sacrificing yourself. I’ve heard tales of women ending their lives because they could not bear their shame. But ‘tis foolishness to me.”
“Foolishness?” Aislinn smiled softly and knew that she taunted him. “I think it a worthy notion.”
Wulfgar shook her hard until her teeth rattled and her head threatened to snap from the slim throat that supported it.
“So help me, wench, I will have you chained to my side to be assured you do nothing foolish.”
Aislinn jerked from him and her stare was piercing though tears blurred her vision. “Never fear, noble lord. I hold life very precious. If I am with child, then I will surely bear the babe some months hence, whether you claim it or no.”
Relief flooded his features. “ ’Tis well, I would not have your death on my conscience.”
“Pray, who would then be your whore?” she retorted bitterly.
“Aislinn,” he said in warning tone. “Soften your words. I grow tired of being pricked by them.”
“Indeed, my lord? I would not think such a fearsome knight could be afraid of a mere girl’s tongue.”
“You let blood with yours,” he flung.
“I pray forgiveness, sire.” She feigned a humble appearance. “Does my lord suffer much from it?”
“M’lord! M’lord!” he mimicked, ignoring her gibe. “I have told you my name. Are you set against using it?”
Aislinn lifted her chin proudly. “I am your slave. Would you have a slave speak so familiarly with you?”
“I command it of you, Aislinn.” He bowed gallantly as if she were some regal queen.
She nodded briefly. “Then as you command—Wulfgar.”
He came to her and taking her by the shoulders, held her still. His hard gaze bore into her.
“You choose to be a slave at your convenience, but I will it otherwise. As long as I have spilled my seed I will make the most of it.”
His mouth crushed down upon hers, smothering angry words, and forced her lips apart in a fierce, hungry kiss. Aislinn’s mind tumbled in its own confusion as she struggled briefly to pull away, but his arms folded tightly about her in a merciless grip that would not permit her to move. His lips left hers and pressed hotly against her throat. Aislinn could feel the heavy pressure of his loins against her own and saw herself surrendering to his masterful embrace. Desperately she fought for control.
“My lor—Wulfgar! You hurt me!” she gasped breathlessly. His mouth covered her face and throat with raging kisses. As his lips met hers again she moaned and tore her mouth free. “Loose me,” she demanded, now more furious with herself than with him because she could not still the wakening desires in her own body. “Loose me now, I say.”
“Nay,” he murmured thickly, bending her backwards over his arm. Her breath caught in her throat as his mouth touched her breast and his searing breath seemed to burn through her garment. His hand slipped under her knees and he lifted her up within his arms. Amid her heated protests he carried her to the bed and there, laying her down, began to undress her. He spread her hair upon the wolf pelts until it flowed like silk across them and as he stood back and removed his own garments, his devouring gaze ranged the length of her splendid beauty.
“ ’Tis not decent!” Aislinn gasped in outraged modesty. The color of her cheeks deepened, for in the revealing light of day their bodies seemed to brand their nakedness upon the very image of her mind. She saw him as she had never seen him before, a bronze-skinned warrior that could have stepped from a tale of pagan lore, a beautiful, marvelous being, to be captured and tamed if possible that one might keep it by one’s side. She exclaimed, “The sun is high up!”
Wulfgar chuckled and fell on the bed beside her. “That has little to do with it.” He met her gaze and smiled into her eyes. “At least there shall be no more secrets between us.”
Aislinn’s coloring mounted high to ride her cheeks and set them aflame. There was admiration in Wulfgar’s stare as he swept his hand over her body, making her tremble under his light caress, and he marveled at the velvety texture of her soft skin.
There was no stopping him, for Aislinn felt his determination in the pressure of his hands upon her, insistent, eager. But she was just as resolved to lay completely passive under him. In his own good time he took his pleasure, and it was only after he withdrew that he showed any sign of displeasure with her. He lay on his side for a moment with a frown creasing his brow. Aislinn dared not smile her triumph but returned his gaze with a coldness that mirrored her lack of response.
“It occcurs to me, cherie,” he murmured softly, tracing a finger between her breasts. “That you resist not me but yourself, and I would wager the time will come when I will but touch you and you will beg my favors.”
Aislinn gave no sign that she heard but continued to stare at him. He sighed somewhat pensively and rose and picked up his garments. As he turned to gaze at her, letting his eyes move admiringly along the path of her slender legs, Aislinn sat up, snatching a pelt over her nakedness. She threw him a sullen look and he shrugged and laughed and under her watchful eye began to dress. When he stood clothed, he bent and swept her garments from the floor and handed them to her. As she took them she glanced toward the door as if in invitation for him to leave, but he shook his head and a corner of his mouth slowly lifted into a smile.
“Nay, I’m not going—yet. You’ll have to get used to me, my lovely Aislinn, for I will not be denied my pleasures by your modesty.”
Aislinn glared at him and rising defiantly, dropped the pelt to the floor. With natural grace she moved past him to stand before the hearth and was unaware of the glint of passion that returned rapidly to his gray eyes as she walked before him in the glory of her unadorned beauty. Before the fire she faced him and met his stare and for a second glimpsed some of the bewilderment at his own emotions in his face.
Suddenly from without there came a shout that strangers approached Darkenwald, and Wulfgar turned as if relieved by the interruption. Belting on his sword, he hurried from the room. Thinking that perhaps more of Erland’s men were returning from battle, Aislinn now hastened to dress. Slipping into her kirtle and gunna, she left the chamber, throwing her hair absently over her shoulder. She fled down the stairs and met Ragnor as he was crossing the hall. He blocked her path and as she tried to step around him, he moved again to halt her flight. She gave him a withering look.
“Shall I call for aid or will you let me pass?” she demanded in brittle tones. She could see Wulfgar standing just outside the hall waiting for the strangers’ approach. “Did not Wu
lfgar warn you before to leave me be and did you not suffer some embarrassment for your last handling of me?”
“Some day I will kill him for that,” he murmured, but he shrugged and smiled, reaching out to pull a coppery tress from over her shoulder. “I brave death and shame to be near you, my little Saxon wench, as you can see.”
Aislinn tugged at her hair, but he would not release it.
“And if you had your way, no doubt you’d string me up on a gibbet when you tired of me,” she retorted sarcastically.
He chuckled at her anger. “Never you, dove, Never would I treat you so harshly.”
“I am a Saxon,” she pointed out. “Why not?”
“Because you happen to be a very beautiful one.” He laid the bright curl against her breast, his fingers lingering as they brushed against her. “I see he entertains himself well. Your cheeks are still flushed.”
Her coloring deepening, Aislinn tried again to brush past him but he caught her arm.
“Do not hurry,” he murmured.
“Let me go!” Aislinn demanded in low, raging tones.
“Will you not send me away with a kind word?”
Aislinn raised her brows in question. “Do you go again? How soon?”
“Do not appear so anxious, my little dove. You injure me sorely.”
“In your absence the chance of ravishment is greatly reduced,” she replied tartly. “But tell me, why do you bother with me? Are there no women where you go?”
He bent closer and whispered as if he told a secret. “Thorns, all. I wager for the rose.”
He placed a quick, warm kiss upon her lips before she could draw away then laughed at her flaring temper. Stepping out of her way, he swept his hand before his breast.
“I shall treasure that kiss always, my sweet.”
Haughtily Aislinn swept past him and went to the door, turning her attention upon the covered cart and accompanying knight which approached the hall. The cart paused beside one of Wulfgar’s men standing beyond the hall and at a word from the occupant, the man’s arm lifted toward Wulfgar. The odd train continued and as it drew near Aislinn could see that a rather thin young woman with flaxen hair drove the cart. The horse before her was old and limped, and though he bore the scars of many battles he would have been a noble beast with better care. The knight’s mail was well worn and of an outmoded cast. The man himself was robust of frame and long of limb, almost equaling Wulfgar. His destrier also had seen better days and the dust of the road covered his dapple coat thickly. The woman drew the cart to a stop before Wulfgar and surveyed the hall.
The Wolf and the Dove Page 15