“You left Cleome at Cregan?” she asked softly, almost knowing better.
He sighed heavily. “Nay. The mare broke her forelegs and I had to ease her pain. She is dead, Aislinn.”
“Cleome?!” Aislinn half laughed, half sobbed. “But how? She knew the paths well.”
A sharp cutting voice came from behind her. “Hah! That stupid nag could not find her way through the simplest of paths, yet she did find her way into a hole and threw me in the course of it. Why, she could have killed me! You did not warn me of her meanness, Aislinn.”
“Meanness?” Aislinn repeated in confusion. “Cleome was not mean. She was a fine beast. There was no horse swifter than she.”
“Hah! You can ask my escorts of her temper. They saw her themselves and can vow to my truth. What would you gain with my death?”
Aislinn shook her head, completely baffled. She felt Wulfgar’s steadfast gaze upon her. It was as if he, by his silence, questioned her, too. She attempted to laugh.
“You jest with cruelty, Gwyneth. It was my horse you killed.”
“Your horse!” Gwyneth scoffed. “You claim a horse? A mere slave?” She smiled into Aislinn’s wide-eyed gaze. “You mean my brother’s horse, don’t you?”
“Nay!” Aislinn cried. “Cleome was mine! My father gave her to me!” She glared at sister and brother and choked. “She was all I—”
The rest was torn in sobs. Wulfgar rose and laid a hand upon her arm as if he would comfort her, but she jerked angrily away and fled from them to seek what little comfort privacy could afford her. She had mounted the stairs when Gwyneth’s voice rang out.
“Hold! You do not leave before you’re bidden!”
Even Wulfgar was taken aback and he peered questioningly at his sister. She turned to him.
“I am your sister while that simpering bitch is but a slave! A captured slave!” she stormed. “I thump about in bare feet and rags while you take this English whore to bed and dress her in the finest gowns! Does it seem fair that kin should suffer so while slaves enjoy the privileges of your hospitality? You hold her up before my father and myself as if she were some badge of courage that you’ve won, and we must eat the scraps from your table while you place the bitch by your side where you can fondle her at your leisure!”
Gwyneth missed the lowering of Wulfgar’s brows. Aislinn had frozen at her command and had turned and even with the rage burning inside of her noticed the gathering storm on his face.
Bolsgar struggled up on an elbow. “Gwyneth! Gwyneth, listen to me!” he commanded. “You will not speak to Wulfgar in this manner. He is a knight of William and they have conquered this land. Though I have not been defeated in battle, I am stripped of my lands. We did come here begging and are here on his mercy. If I am your father, you will not abuse his kindness.”
“My father indeed!” Gwyneth poised herself before him and gestured to his blank shield with her whip. “Were you my father when you sent my brother to his death? Were you my father when my mother died? Were you my father when you took me from my home and led me across half of England to this filthy hovel because we heard the Normans speak of this bastard, Wulfgar, here? ‘Twas I who was injured today, my life almost forfeited. Do you take a slave’s side against that of your daughter or will you for once be my father?”
She opened her mouth to continue her attack, but Wulfgar’s voice preceded hers and in thundering tones silenced her.
“Cease your prattle, woman!”
Gwyneth whirled to face him and met his hard, piercing eyes.
“Mind your manners here!” he commanded in a low angry tone, taking a step forward. “Mind them well, my sister. You have called me bastard. So I am. But ‘twas not of my choosing. And you complain that your fair mother died. ’Tis true, but of what? ’Tis my thought she died much of her own will. My brother, gallant knight for Harold, died upon a battlefield. No man sent him. ‘Twas his oath, his honor, that took him there. He died a man for the cause he chose. But what of my cause, sister? Where was my choice? You! Your brother! My mother! Your father! You all cast me to these ends. You sent me far across the seas so that I would not blemish your good name and bring embarrassment to you. I was young and knew no fault of blood, a mere lad and knew no other father but one.”
He turned to Bolsgar.
“And you say, my lord, that my mother sought to set a wrong aright?” He laughed coldly. “I say she sought the vengeance of a shrewish wife, for who was harmed by her words? She? But little. My sister?” He bowed, gesturing to that one. “None at all, for she was the fairest in my mother’s sight. My brother? Never, for he became the favored one. You? Deeply, I wouldst think, for you and I were truly father and son. But you in honor to her cast me out, sent me far away to that foppish sot who took the coins you sent and gave me for my care but the meanest share.”
The steel gray eyes settled coldly upon Gwyneth again.
“Do not lecture me on what I owe my family again. You take what is willingly given without complaints, for I feel no deep obligation here. You criticize my pleasures freely.” He swept his arm toward Aislinn. “That, too, is my affair and none of yours, for I will have her whether you say yea or nay. Be careful when you speak of whore and bastard, for I am not opposed to striking a woman. Many times have I been tempted and may one day yield that urge. So be warned.
“Now the mare you took without my word is dead and I am one to feel a fondness for a good steed and she was a fine piece of horse. As to your claim that she was ill tempered, I say she was but a trifle shy since Aislinn has not been allowed to ride her these weeks since my coming. I would rather think it was this reason that caused her loss and nearly yours. We will leave it at that, and I will hear no more accusations without proof. Further I would suggest you try to console yourself with a lesser wardrobe than you may have been accustomed to. I have neither the patience nor the inclination to hear your nagging about such things. If you feel yourself abused, speak with the women of England and learn of their losses and what they’ve suffered.”
He ignored Gwyneth’s furious expression and strode away to the center of the hall where he faced her again.
“I must leave to do the Duke’s bidding on the morrow,” he said, drawing Aislinn’s startled gaze upon him. “The journey is of a length I cannot know but when I return I hope you have been reconciled to the fact that I am master here and will run this manor and my life as I see fit. Sweyn will be here in my absence and you will give him due respect. I will leave coins to see to your needs, not because you demand them, but by reason that it was my intention. Now I tire easily of women’s prattle and I bid you to test my patience no further. You are dismissed, dear sister, and if you question that, it means you are free to retire to your chamber.”
He waited until she whirled in silence and fled up the stairs, passing Aislinn without meeting her gaze and slammed the door of her chamber behind her. Aislinn lifted tearful eyes to his and in their violet depths Wulfgar recognized the anguish there. For a long moment their eyes held and then he watched her turn, observing the square set of her shoulders and the gentle swing of her hips. While holding herself proudly erect, she slowly mounted the stairs.
Wulfgar became aware of his stepfather’s gaze and turned to face the older knight, half expecting some reproof. Instead there was the slightest trace of a smile on Bolsgar’s lips. He nodded his head ever so slightly and then leaned back, rolling his head upon the pelts to stare into the fire. Wulfgar’s gaze swept on to Sweyn who stood just inside the door. The Norseman’s face was void of expression, yet the two old friends knew each other’s thoughts. After a moment Sweyn turned and left the hall
Picking up his helmet and shield, Wulfgar mounted the stairs. His tread was heavy as if he almost forced his feet to take the steps. He knew Aislinn sorely felt the loss of her horse. He thought himself capable of dealing with her rages, but what of her sorrows? Superior strength and force would not alleviate the pain of this needless waste of the Barb. He blamed himself m
ostly for what had happened. He could have prevented it all by a simple word, yet his mind had been on other matters, his duties and these estates that would need guarding in his absence.
He entered his chamber and closed the door softly behind him. Aislinn stood near the window with her head resting against the inside shutter. Tears made wet paths down her cheeks and fell unheeded to her bosom. He watched for a time and then with his usual care removed and put away the trappings of his profession, his hauberk, his helm, his sword, his shield, each to its place.
In his own mind he was unattached and needed no woman to clutter his thoughts. He had lived his life hard and vigorously. There was no place in it for a spouse, nor had any wench ever made him yearn for a mate. Now, he felt hampered by the lack of gentleness in his life. He didn’t know in what manner to approach a grieving maid and express his regret. There had never been an occasion when he had to or even wanted to. His affairs with women had been brief and without depth, rarely going beyond a night or two with the same one. He took women to appease a basic desire. When he became bored with them, he simply left them without explanation. Their affections or feelings mattered naught. Yet he sympathized with Aislinn’s loss and felt compassion, for he had experienced some sadness himself at losing a favored steed.
As if some inner knowledge guided him, he went to her and took her in his arms, hushing her tearful sobs against his strong and hardened chest. Tenderly he brushed dampened hair from her cheek and kissed each tear from her face until she lifted her mouth to his. Her response surprised him pleasantly yet a fleeting moment of confusion at her moods swept him. Since first taking her she had tolerated his advances as any slave would her master, seeming anxious to place the moment behind her. But his kisses she fought, turning her face away when she could, straining against him as if she were afraid of yielding some victory to him. Now in her woe, she met his kiss almost eagerly, her soft lips parting warm and moist beneath his mounting ardor. Hot blood surged through his veins, beating fierce and turbulent like a storm at sea. He dismissed the wonder of her reaction as he raised her in his arms and bore her now soft and willing to his bed.
A thin silvery beam of moonlight crept effortlessly between the closed shutters, invading the chamber where Aislinn lay asleep curled warm and secure, protected in the arms of her knight. Yet in wakeful repose, Wulfgar stared at the shaft of light, reflecting upon the moments passed, unable to pick any logic from his own confused mind.
Aislinn woke as the first gray hues of dawn were seeking their way through the shutters and lighting the room. She lay savoring the warmth of Wulfgar’s body and the feel of his muscled shoulder beneath her head.
Ah, my fine lord, she thought, running the tip of her finger along his lean ribs. You are mine and ‘tis only a matter of time, I think, before you know it also.
She smiled, half dreaming of the night passed yet basking in the soft, still moments of the present. She rose up on an elbow to further study her lord, marveling at the handsomeness of his features, and found suddenly his arms locked around her pulling her to him. Surprised by his feigned slumber, she gave a gasp and struggled in his embrace. His eyes came open and smiled into hers.
“Ma cherie, are you so eager for me that you must wake me from a sound sleep?”
Her face flaming, Aislinn sought to pull away but his grip was firm and unbreakable.
“You are conceited,” she accused.
“Am I, Aislinn?” he questioned, the corner of his mouth lifting as his gray eyes sparkled. “Or is it your greed for me? I think you must carry some warmth in your heart for me, my little vixen.”
His mockery burned her. “ ’Tis a lie,” she returned sharply. “Would a Saxon seek out a Norman?”
“Aaah,” he sighed, ignoring her protests. “I will be hard pressed to find a wench so entertaining upon the road, and one that bears some affection for me, never.”
“Oh, you swollen-headed buffoon,” she cried, straining against him. His arms tightened about her, crushing her naked breasts to his chest, and his smile deepened at that pleasure.
“Would that I could take you with me, Aislinn, I would not find boredom. But alas, I fear so soft a one could not bear the battle march and I would not risk so fine a treasure in a foolish game.”
His hand moved behind her head, forcing her lips down to meet his. He kissed her long and passionately, his mouth searing and bruising with its insistence. Again Aislinn felt her will to resist weaken. Wulfgar rolled over with her until his weight held her down, but there was now no need for force. Her hand slipping behind his neck attested to her frailty. The building fires that ran like molten lead through her veins and throbbed with pulsating agony in the depth of her belly only made her seek more heartily his appeasement. That same intense yearning began to sweep her as it had only a few hours ago when her young body had responded eagerly to his almost with a will of its own, meeting his with each deep thrust. Yet when he had moved away she had still ached for his caresses and known a strange hungering frustration she could not explain.
Shame at her earlier behavior and the thought of his mockery now cooled her passion. He used her, then taunted her for feeling some warmth for him. Was there no softness within him? How could she feel cold and distant with him when even his kisses drove her beyond the brink of sanity? Could it be that she was indeed falling in love with him?
The thought sobered her like a pail of icy water. She jumped, making him lose his grip on her and she twisted away, half dragging him with her as she scrambled to the edge of the bed.
“What the devil?” he cried and reached out to draw her back. Another moment there would have been no need for battles. Now he was eager and ready and perturbed with her. “Come here, wench.”
“Nay!” Aislinn shrieked and threw herself from the bed. She stood braced for action, her bosom heaving, her coppery hair cascading wildly around her naked body. “You laugh at me and then seek your pleasure! Well, find it on some whoremonger’s crone.”
“Aislinn!” he barked and flung himself after her. She screeched and leapt out of his way, putting the bed between them.
“You go to fight my people and you expect me to send you off with my good tidings! Heaven help me!”
She made a very fetching sight standing in the shaft of light, her slim body glowing golden in the early rays. He paused in rounding the end of the bed and leaned against a massive post regarding her with amusement. She glared back at him defiantly, aware of his nakedness, his passion, his strength, yet determined to salvage this small bit of pride.
He smiled slowly. “Ah, cherie, you make it hard to think of leaving, but I must. I am a knight of William.” He approached her with measured tread and she eyed him with suspicion, ready to fling herself across the bed again if he made a move to take her. “Would you have me neglect my duty?”
“Your duty has taken too many English lives. When will it end?”
He shrugged and replied easily. “When England has bowed before William.”
With a quick movement he reached out and grabbed her arm, taking her off guard, and snatched her against him. She struggled furiously but to no avail, for his arms were clamped securely about her. He chuckled at her efforts, thoroughly enjoying them and with a frustrated groan Aislinn halted her movements and stood stock still against him, aware that doing otherwise only aroused his passions further.
“You see, Aislinn, it is what the lord of the manor dictates, not what his slave wishes.”
Aislinn made a strangling, enraged sound beneath his kiss and would not relent to the beckoning excitement of his searing lips. Instead she held herself cold and rigid against him. After a long moment he drew away and met the mockery in her gaze.
“For once, Wulfgar, my Norman knight,” she breathed, her violet eyes glowing with the warmth he did not find in her lips. “ ’Tis what the slave wills—”
She danced away as his hands fell from her and curtseyed pretty for him. Her eyes swept him from toe to head and knew his
desires had not cooled.
“Mind you dress, lord. These days would chill even the stoutest of men.”
Grabbing up a pelt she pulled it close about her and gave him a impishly wicked look as she grinned. Turning on her heels with a low laugh, she went to the hearth, there to lay small logs upon the still warm coals. She blew upon them but drew back in haste as the ashes flew up and sat back upon her heels rubbing her reddened eyes while Wulfgar’s amused chuckles filled the room. She made a face at his mirth and swung the kettle of water on its hook over the building heat as he crossed to the warmth of the fire beside her and began to dress.
The water steamed and she went to where his sword and belt hung and there found his scabbard knife and returning with it, began to whet it on the stone of the fireplace. He raised his brow in wonder at her actions.
“My flesh is much more tender than yours, Wulfgar,” she explained. “And if you would go about barefaced you should keep it so. The burr upon your chin does sorely chasten me and since I’ve seen this shaving done so well upon my people, I would think it not unseemly that you would allow me the single honor to return the favor.”
Wulfgar glanced at her small dagger lying atop her gunna, remembering his thoughts of the day before. Was his death warranted now when he must go and fight her people? Should he tell her he was not one to waste lives needlessly? By Heavens, he would know the truth now. He nodded.
“Perhaps your hand is gentler than most, Aislinn,” he replied. He took up a linen and dipped it into the kettle. Wringing it out, he shook the piece free to cool the steam and leaning back in a chair, laid it several folds across his face.
The Wolf and the Dove Page 20