“Ah, Wulfgar, what a tempting pose you make,” Aislinn quipped, considering him. “Would that it had been a moon ago that a Norman throat be laid bare before me—”
She rose and stood over him fingering the blade. Wulfgar removed the towel and their eyes met as he lifted a brow. Her mouth curved and she grinned devilishly, tossing her long hair with a shake of her head. Her tone became quite casual.
“Ah, but were I not so afraid of my next master the temptation might be far greater.”
The benefit of her humor was the solid whack of his large hand upon her buttock, bringing from her a small shriek and a more eager manner. She slowly plied the well honed blade along his cheeks until the same had lost their bristles and were again smooth. When she was done he rubbed a hand across his face, marveling at the fact she had not cut him once.
“A better manservant a knight could never have.” He reached beneath the pelt and pulled her down onto his lap. His gaze burned deeply into hers as he murmured hoarsely, “Remember that you are mine, Aislinn, and I will not share you.”
“Do you treasure me after all, m’lord?” she murmured softly, tracing her finger lightly over the scar on his cheek.
He did not answer her inquiry but said, “Remember.”
It was with a definite hunger he pulled her against him and kissed her, this time tasting the warmth and passion he knew her capable of.
The morning was cold and wet with a brisk wind sweeping the rain across the hills and in through every crack that plagued the manor. Small wisps of the chill breeze crept beneath the outer doors, bringing with them trickles of water and stirring the frosty air within the hall. Aislinn huddled deeper into the woolen shawl and with cold-numbed fingers picked a small crust of bread to nibble as she crossed to the hearth where Sweyn and Bolsgar sat. The newly kindled fire was just beginning to drive the chill from the hall, and she took a seat on a small stool beside Bolsgar’s chair. In the days following Wulfgar’s departure, her fondness for the old knight had grown, for he reminded her much of her own father. He was a cushion that softened Gwyneth’s harsh railery and made life bearable when that woman was about. He was kind and understanding when his daughter was not.
Aislinn often sought his counsel over matters concerning the hall or serfs and knew the wisdom of his advice had come by his own experience through the years. Sweyn often came seeking his opinion as well and more than not stayed to enjoy a horn of ale and reminisce upon the days when Wulfgar was still looked upon as a true son. When these moods struck the men, Aislinn sat quietly and listened in rapt attention as they spoke of the young lad with fondness and praised his feats. Their manner was proud, enough to make a person wonder if each had not had a part in siring the boy.
There were times when Sweyn would spin tales of his adventures with Wulfgar and their life as mercenaries. Bolsgar listened with an eagerness easily discernible. At an early age Wulfgar left the house of de Sward, and he and Sweyn found their sustenance by hiring out as soldiers of war. Their reputation grew until their services commanded the highest prices and the demand for them was constant. It was in this time the Duke heard of Wulfgar’s prowess with a sword and lance and called the pair out of France to join him. The friendship between knight and nobleman began at the first moment of their meeting, when Wulfgar declared without ado that he was bastard and that only coin brought his allegiance. Taken with the other’s frankness, William pressed him to join forces and swear fealty to him. It was a matter quickly done, for the Duke was a persuasive man and Wulfgar found in William a man he could respect. At his present age of three and thirty, Wulfgar had been with the Duke for several years and was well set in his loyalty.
Aislinn now looked at the Norseman and the old knight where they sat and knew that if Gwyneth had been present, she would have berated them severely for wasting time. As she chewed her crust, Aislinn mused on Wulfgar’s sister. How different she was from either her brother or her father. Wulfgar had no more than ridden over the hill when Gwyneth began to reign as mistress of the hall. She treated the serfs as low, contemptuous beings there to serve only her. She gave no pause to interrupting their labors and setting them about on some petty errand. It seemed to completely infuriate the woman for the peasants to go to Aislinn or Sweyn for approval before doing much of what she bade them do. The woman had taken charge of the larder as well and doled out food as if it were she who had paid dearly for each grain of wheat. She measured the meat in portions and scolded loudly if some was left on the bone. She made no accounting of the poor serfs who came and waited hungrily for scraps to be cast from the table. It became a game for Bolsgar and Sweyn to cheat her meager ration and fling large meaty joints to the watchful peasants. When she noted this, Gwyneth seemed to take their treachery to heart and ranted long on their wasteful ways.
The serenity of the morning was suddenly shattered as a piercing shriek rent the quiet of the hall. Aislinn rose to her feet with a start as her mother came flying down the stairs waving her arms in outraged passion, calling for all the demons of hell to come forth and plague this daughter of Satan. Aislinn stared at Maida in astonishment, half convinced that she had passed the border of reason and fled into the depths of madness. Gwyneth strode to the head of the stairs and with a smug smile on her lips gazed down upon them as Maida scuttled behind her daughter’s skirts. Aislinn faced Gwyneth as she leisurely descended and came to them.
“I caught your mother stealing from me,” Gwyneth charged. “Not only must we abide in the same hall with serfs, but with thieves as well. Wulfgar will hear of this. Mark my words well.”
“Lies! ’Tis lies!” Maida shrilled. She held up her hands in appeal to Aislinn. “My spider eggs! My leeches! They were mine! I bought them from the Jews. Now they are all gone.” She cast an evil look at Gwyneth. “I but ventured into her chamber to find them.”
“Lies?” Gwyneth gasped indignantly. “I find her rummaging in my room and I am named the thief? She is mad!”
“My mother suffered greatly at the hands of Ragnor and his men,” Aislinn explained. “The things were of use in ministering to the hurts of all. She valued them highly.”
“I threw them out.” Gwyneth drew herself up in righteous pride. “Yea, I threw them out. Let her keep her playthings from this hall. I will have none of them crawling about my chamber.”
“Gwyneth!” Bolsgar snapped, sorely vexed. “You have no right to act thus. You are a guest here and must abide in Wulfgar’s way.”
“No right!” Gwyneth railed in a fit of temper. “I am the only one here of kin to the lord of this hall. Who denies my rights?” Her pale blue eyes flashed and dared them all to answer. “I will see to the welfare of Wulfgar’s possessions while he is gone.”
Bolsgar gave a derisive snort. “As you see to mine? You lay out food as if it were yours to give. Wulfgar leaves us monies and you toss out a few coppers and horde the rest. You have never seen to anyone else’s welfare that I know of.”
“I only keep it safe from your free hand,” his daughter retorted sharply. “You would squander it as you threw away our gold. Arms! Men! Horses! What good did it do you? Had you held a few coins back, we would not have had to beg for a crust and lodgings.”
The old man grumbled into the fire. “Had I not been bestowed with two nagging females who demanded the best of everything, I might have been able to send more men with your brother and we would not be here now.”
“Aye, blame poor mother and myself. We had to beg you for even a few coppers to buy a gown. Look at my gunna and see how well you kept us,” Gwyneth berated him harshly. “But I am here now and the only kinsman of Wulfgar. I claim the rights of blood, and I shall see these Saxons do not abuse his generous nature.”
“There are no rights of blood.” Sweyn was so bold as to enter the fray. “When he was cast out, your mother did not claim him as her son either. Then she denied his kinship also.”
“Keep your tongue still, you lickspittle lackey!” Gwyneth snarled at the Viking. “Y
ou polish Wulfgar’s armor and guard his door when he sleeps. You have no say here. My words will stand. That woman will keep her vermin from this hall!”
“Aaaiee!” Maida wailed. “I can not have my chamber safe from thieves even here in my own hall.”
“Your hall!” Gwyneth scoffed. She laughed jeeringly. “By William’s hand you are set away from these walls.”
Aislinn’s temper flared. “By Wulfgar’s command we are held here and given these abodes.”
Gwyneth’s wrath would not be stayed. “You are serf here! The lowest kind! You can hold no possessions!” She thrust a finger toward Maida. “You, you sniveling old crone, prance about this hall as if you were still the lady of it, when in truth you are no more than slave. I will not have it.”
“Nay! She is here at Wulfgar’s will.” Aislinn cried, her ire raised at this senseless attack upon her mother. “Your brother even stayed Ragnor’s hand when that knave would have set her out.”
The other woman’s lips curled in contempt. “Do not call a true-blooded Norman knight by your Saxon names!” She whirled on Maida again. “By what right do you claim a place in this hall? Because your daughter beds the lord?” She chuckled scornfully. “You think that gives you Norman rights, old hag? What say you when the lord returns with wife and throws your precious kin to his men? What rights then will you sport? A mother of a whore?! ‘Twould do you ill to even stay upon these lands. Yea! Begone from here, out of my sight. Find some hovel where you can take your bony frame, but get thee gone. Clear your chamber of those vile pests and get out of this hall! Get out!”
“Nay!” Aislinn cried. “ ’Twill not be so! Wulfgar, himself set her in that room. Do you challenge his command?”
“I challenge naught.” Gwyneth spat. “I see only to his good.”
“Aislinn?” The whisper came softly and the girl looked down as her mother tugged at her gunna. “I will go. I will get my things. They are few enough now.”
There were tears in Maida’s eyes as she spoke and a chaotic flow of emotions flickered across her face. As Aislinn opened her mouth to speak, the old woman shook her head negatively and crossed to the stairs and slowly mounted them, her thin shoulders sagging with defeat. Aislinn glared her voiceless rage at Gwyneth, standing with clenched fist as the other smiled tauntingly.
“There are times, Gwyneth,” Bolsgar slowly ground out, “when you sicken my gut.”
His daughter glowed in her triumph. “I cannot see why you bemoan her leaving, father. The crone has marred this hall long enough with her rags and twisted face.”
He turned his great shoulders away to stare stonily into the roaring blaze on the hearth. Sweyn did likewise for a space then heaved his bulk up and left the hall. Aislinn glowered on until Gwyneth strode away and seating herself in Wulfgar’s chair, began to daintily pick at a trencher of mutton Hlynn had placed there.
Maida descended the stairs with a ragged pelt covering her back and a small bundle in her arms. She paused in the doorway, turning a pleading glance to her daughter. Aislinn gathered the shawl tightly against the cold and wet outside and followed her mother. They shivered together as the north wind caressed their meagerly clad bodies and a frosty mist dampened their hair.
“Where am I to go now, Aislinn?” Maida wept, wringing her hands as they crossed the courtyard. “Should we not go before Wulfgar returns and seek a place far from here?”
“Nay.” Aislinn shook her head. It was difficult to speak calmly when she wanted to tear at Gwyneth’s hair and vent her rage upon the other. “Nay, mother mine. If we leave the people will suffer and would have no one to ease their hurts. I cannot betray them to Gwyneth’s shallow mercy. In any cause, there is war upon the land. ’Tis no time for two women to wander about.”
“Wulfgar will cast us out if he returns with a bride,” Maida insisted. “And we will be no better off than if we were to go now.”
Aislinn lifted her gaze to the distant horizon as she thought of the last night spent in Wulfgar’s arms. She could almost feel his hands upon her again, caressing, touching, arousing until it seemed each single nerve cried out for him. Her eyes grew soft and dreamy. The mere memory of their play now set her breasts and thighs aflame and a hunger grew within her. But what of him? Had he truly been hers then or was she to find herself put aside for another woman upon his return? A brief vision of Wulfgar holding some wench within his passionate embrace loomed upward before her and the delicious excitement that had swept her youthful body was crushed in a wave of anger. Of all the men who had desired her hand and begged her father to consider them worthy of her, she must now be the paramour of one who loathed women and did not trust them. She almost laughed aloud. What irony to have been so proud to those who pined for her and to find herself a slave to that strange Norman who declared that he could forget her as easily as some glove. Yet there had been a proven need for the gauntlet. Aislinn calmed now, thinking of that. A small smile touched her lips and a new confidence took root. Even if he did return with some trollop to fill his bed, would he forget her so easily? Did she haunt his memory as he did hers? He had enjoyed her well that last night together. Even in her inexperience, she knew this, so she must lay upon his visions of her as a woman to bring him back unfettered.
She turned down the lane that led to an empty cottage, made vacant by the deaths of a father and son who had fought with Erland against Ragnor and lost life in that battle. But Maida cringed away as Aislinn took her arm to lead her into the hut.
“Ghosts! I am afraid of ghosts!” she cried. “What will they do to me, alone and with no one to stand fast for me? They will take me away and harm me! I know it!”
“Nay.” Aislinn soothed her mother’s fears. “There were none but friends who lived here. They would not return to do Erland’s widow ill.”
“You think not?” Maida whined. With a sudden childlike trust she followed Aislinn nearer the cottage. The dismal dwelling stood separate from the rest of the town near a small scraggly copse of which in turn bordered on the marsh. Aislinn pushed the rickety door ajar and half choked on the dusty, fetid smell of the place.
“See, mother.” She gestured within. “ ’Tis of sturdy frame and needs only a clever hand to set it aright and make it a good home.”
The interior was gloomy and Aislinn sought hard to quell her own doubts and keep her manner light and cheerful. The two small windows had thin oiled skins stretched over them which let in much less light than cold wintery wind and every footfall brought dust from the dry dirt door thinly scattered with rushes. A crude hearth commanded one wall and a sturdy oaken bedframe covered with a limp rotting mattress was against the other. A single rough hewn chair stood beside a slab table near the fireplace and here Maida sank in dejected despair and began a low moaning song as she rocked back and forth on that simple seat.
Aislinn felt the same anxiety she knew her mother harbored. Wearily she moved to stand by the door and leaned her shoulder against the frame as she stared out into the dreary day. She knew what a battle it would be to confront Gwyneth and demand that her mother be reinstated in the chamber Wulfgar had allowed her. It was as if Gwyneth were possessed by some demon that spurred her on with sharp rowels of vanity and jealousy and would not let her rest or find pleasure in simple kindness.
Aislinn heaved a sigh and shaking her head, pushed back her long sleeves, seeing that she must do the work of making this filthy hovel a fit place to dwell. She found a flint and steel on a narrow shelf above the fireplace and soon had flickering flames to chase the gloom and chill from the room. She snatched filthy linens from wooden pegs where they had last been thrown by the unfortunate men and fed rotting shreds of old wool and leather garments to the greedily dancing fire where they were rapidly consumed along no doubt with a multitude of vermin. She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the foul odor of the mattress as she tore it from the wood framed cot. In the span of weeks food had dried to a rock hard consistency in the bottom of wooden bowls where it had been left when the w
arning of the Norman’s approach was sounded from the tower. As Aislinn scraped the leavings she thought of Gerford and his son. When most families ate their meat from boats of stale bread, those two had been talented enough to fashion themselves utensils from hard wood. The absence of their handiwork would be sorely felt at Darkenwald, for they had lent their ingenuity to making tools, tableware and other useful objects. Now her mother would enjoy this small luxury, even if she didn’t have the other comforts she was accustomed to.
All the while Aislinn labored Maida sat crooning her wordless song and rocking gently to and fro. She seemed oblivious to everything around her. Even when the door swung open, giving Aislinn a start, she did not move from her chair. Kerwick and Ham filled the portal, their arms burdened with blankets and furs.
“We thought she might find use for these,” Kerwick said. “We took them from her chamber when Gwyneth bade us clean the place for her own use. If your mother is to be called thief, so must we.”
Aislinn beckoned them in and closed the door. “Aye, we will all be called thieves, for I will not see her cold and hungry.”
Kerwick glanced around at the humble interior. “Thomas makes tents and pallets for the Normans now. I’ll see if he has some mats to spare.”
“Would you ask him to come and put new hinges upon this door, too?” Aislinn asked. “I fear that panel would not keep out the humblest of beast.”
Kerwick peered at her. “Would you make your bed here with your mother?” Worry set upon his mind. “ ’Twould not be wise, Aislinn. There is more to fear from lowly characters like Ragnor and those other Normans than any dumb beast. The men would do no harm to your mother, for they fear her mad, but you—”
Aislinn turned to watch Ham spread fresh rushes upon the dirt floor. “Doubtless you do not know Sweyn makes his pallet before my door at night. Like his lord he has little trust for women. He would not let me come here.”
The Wolf and the Dove Page 21