The third knight, Beaufonte, approached her, having just risen, and waited patiently before she finally noticed him and dished up some of the brewis. She looked at him and gingerly queried:
“Sir knight, we do go to Darkenwald, don’t we?”
“Aye, madam, to Darkenwald.”
Haylan swallowed hard and wondered how she could face Wulfgar’s lady and what her chastisement would be if the Lady Aislinn caught wind of her and her husband’s escapade in the woods.
For the rest of the time until they decamped Haylan stayed well away from Wulfgar, not knowing if she feared him or his lady more. If he were her own husband, she would be mightily angry if she learned he had rolled in the grass with some wench, no matter what the outcome.
Before they left, Wulfgar sought out Miderd and rather stolidly handed her a bundle carefully wrapped in a tanned skin.
“Give this to my lady—” He cleared his throat sharply. “Give this to Aislinn of Darkenwald when you find a private moment with her. Tell her?tell her it was honestly purchased.”
“Aye, milord,” Miderd replied. “I shall see that no harm comes to it.”
He nodded yet made no move to leave. Instead he seemed quite at a loss.
“Is there something more you wish, milord?” she ventured, bemused at this tall Norman’s hesitation.
“Aye,” he sighed. “Say also—” He paused, finding the words difficult. “Say also that I bid her well and that I hope she is trusting Sweyn to see to her needs.”
“I will guard the words well, milord,” she said.
He whirled and with a quick command to his men, swung into the saddle and guided his horse from the glade trailing out his band behind him. Sitting on the seat of the cart, Haylan watched Miderd as she tucked the bundle away in the back.
“What have you there?” she asked. “Did he give you some reward?”
“Nay. I only carry this to Darkenwald for him.”
“Did?did he say ought of me?”
Miderd shook her head slowly as she considered the younger woman. “Nay. Why should he?”
“I—I thought he might. He seemed ill-disposed when I left him.”
“He was not so now.” Miderd stared up at her sister-in-law and her brows drew together. “Why are you beset about him?”
“Beset?” Haylan laughed weakly. “There is no cause.”
“What happened last eventide when all of us were abed and you were not? Did he make love to you?”
Haylan jumped and cried indignantly, “Indeed he did not. ’Tis truth. Nothing happened.”
Miderd studied her flushed face suspiciously, then shrugged. “ ’Tis your life. Lead it as you must. You have never heeded my advice, nor do I foresee you doing so. But I would guess by my lord’s manner that his interest lies elsewhere.”
“As you said, Miderd, ‘tis my life,” Haylan replied testily and turned to help the children into the cart.
The approach of Normans on horseback was heralded from the uppermost perch of Darkenwald’s tower as the last cock’s crow died. Aislinn hurried to dress, hoping that a messenger had finally come from Wulfgar. Her hopes vanished quickly when she descended the stairs and found Ragnor de Marte warming himself before then hearth. Vachel and two other Normans stood with him but at a word from Ragnor made haste to remove themselves from the hall. Ragnor had flung aside his red woolen mantle and the heavy mail and stood now in a soft leather tunic and woolen chausses, but he had strapped the broadsword again to his side.
He turned to gaze at Aislinn and a slow smile widened his lips, making her aware of her loose flowing hair, forgotten in the rush, and her bare feet, now shrinking from the cold stone of the stair. She crossed to the hearth, driven there by the aching chill that possessed the place. The dogs strained at their leashes and whined and yelped to be free. She came closer and before she glanced Ragnor’s way, released each one and let them out of the hall. Finally she took a seat before the fire and faced the Norman, more than alive to the fact that they were alone in the hall. Sweyn and Bolsgar had gone hunting and Gwyneth had not risen as yet. Even the serfs had found duties more pressing elsewhere, remembering too well the slaughter of their families and friends by this Norman’s hand.
Aislinn spoke softly. “Are there no wars to fight, Sir Ragnor, or is that why you return? I suppose this place is a safer haven than William’s camp. I assume the Duke is well recovered from the malady that beset him?”
Ragnor’s dark eyes swept her boldly before coming to rest on the small, slender bare feet almost concealed by the edge of her gunna. He smiled and knelt before her, taking one icy foot in his hands and rubbed it briskly. In distress Aislinn sought to pull away from him, but he was most intent on performing this service for her.
“Your tongue grows sharp, my dove. Has Wulfgar made you hate all men?”
“Aaah, you shrinking knave,” she retorted. “What do you know of men?”
His fingers encircled her ankle and tightened a small degree, and Aislinn remembered the pain she had suffered at his hands.
“ ’Tis plain to see, my lady, that you know nothing of them. To choose the bastard over me; ‘twas folly most rare for any damsel.”
She kicked his hand away, unable to bear his touch for a moment longer and jumped to her feet.
“I have not seen the folly of it yet, Sir Ragnor. Nor do I trust I ever will. Wulfgar is lord of this hall and I am his. It seems that I chose rightly, for what do you have but the horse that bears you away from battle?”
He rose to his full height and reached out to run his fingers through her bright hair. “Would that I could stay and show you how you erred, Aislinn.” He shrugged. and stepped away. “But I stop only for a few hours to rest I’m on my way to William’s ship with letters bound for the home country.”
“It must be urgent for you to dally so,” Aislinn sniped.
“ ’Tis urgent enough that I must hurry once ahorse, but I was wont to see this fair hall again.” He grinned at her. “And you, my dove.”
“And now you have. Do I delay you? Some food mayhap to eat along the way. What would hasten you upon your way?”
“Nothing, my dove.” He laid his hand over his heart. “For I would court death itself to tarry at your side.”
A door slammed and Ragnor moved away from Aislinn as the sound of Gwyneth’s footfalls came from above. It was as if he played a game and dared Aislinn to betray him, but as long as it took his attention away from herself she was more than happy to allow his infidelity.
Gwyneth came to the top of the stairs and Aislinn bit her bottom lip. The gown the other wore was the tawny gold one, Aislinn’s favorite and the last of any worth that remained in her coffer. Gwyneth made free with her clothes and only returned them when they were singed, torn or stained. Then Aislinn would find them on her bed, discarded. But as the woman came down the stairs, Aislinn had to suppress a smile. Gwyneth’s small bosom seemed almost childishly flat in the garment and the bones of her narrow hips stuck out unflatteringly beneath the soft fabric. She eyed them suspiciously before turning her gaze upon Ragnor.
“I had begun to despair of seeing you again, sir knight,” she said.
“Ah, damoiselle, your slim grace is ever poised at the edge of my thoughts,” Ragnor assured her. “I would have you know I cannot pass a day without some memory of your fairness marking it.”
“Your words melt in my heart like snowflakes upon the hearth, but I fear you lead me on,” Gwyneth answered. “Is it not the way with men?”
“Nay, nay, sweet Gwyneth. I would not do so, though to say truth, ‘tis more the bend of a soldier to forget the beauty at home for the one in his arms.”
“How fickle men are!” A shallow smile curved her lips as she rested her eyes upon the young girl. “They forget their mistresses with such ease as to leave the damsel breathless. ’Tis ever found that the loyal wait is fruitless and ‘tis far better to fly and save the pain fo being cast aside for another.”
Aislinn straigh
tened. “Your measure of men is by the shortest rod, Gwyneth. I prefer to use a longer one that I may know their fullest worth. Thus I pay little heed to the braggart’s boast and more to what the true knight lays in deed.”
Without further word or backward glance, Aislinn strode from them and mounted the stairs. Gwyneth watched her go and sneered at her back.
“If she thinks my brother will mend his ways and come flying back to her arms, she is a fool. Why should he sample only the first fallen fruit when the whole tree of England lies at his feet?”
Ragnor hid a smile and shrugged. “ ’Tis not my way to understand women, only to love them.” He caught Gwyneth’s arm and spun her about into his embrace. “Come, wench, and let me feel your softness against me.”
Angrily she pummeled his chest with her fists. “Let me go!”
Immediately he did as she commanded and so abrupt was his release of her that she stumbled back in surprise and almost fell.
“You didn’t tell me you bedded that Saxon whore!” she cried, nearly choking on the tears that threatened to come. “You laid with that trollop and played me false!”
Ragnor smiled confidently and took a seat before her. “I had no cause to think it any concern of yours.”
Gwyneth flew to him and knelt before his chair, catching his brown hand between both of hers. She searched his eyes, her own showing despair.
“No concern of mine? You surely jest. We are lovers, thereby we must share each other and what we do.” Her nails dug into his arm in her desperation. “I will not follow second to that slut.”
Ragnor thrust her hand away unkindly. “Unfortunately, my dearest, you already have.”
Fear cut like a sword through her heart and she clung to his knees as she felt her panic rise. “Oh, my love, you wound me deeply.”
“I will not be dictated to,” he stated coldly. “I will not be led about like an ox with a yoke upon my neck. If you love me you will not try to harness me in such a manner. I cannot breathe with you stifling me.”
In her misery, Gwyneth began to weep. “I hate her,” she moaned, rocking back and forth. “I hate her almost as much as I love you.”
A smile twisted Ragnor’s lips and he cupped her chin in his palm, lifting her face to his as he bent to kiss her. “ ’Twas merely a thing born from the heat of battle,” he murmured huskily against her lips. “It was not an act of love as ours was.”
His mouth pressed upon hers, gently at first, then as he felt her response he became more demanding, pulling her up against him until she lay across his lap. His free hand moved to cup her breast and as he touched the smoothness of her gunna he remembered where he had first seen it. Aislinn had worn it the night before he left, when she had entertained Wulfgar with such zealous attention and he her.
“Come to my chamber,” Gwyneth pleaded. “I will be waiting for you.”
She slid from his lap and hastened across the hall to the stairs, glancing back at him with a beckoning smile. When she moved out of sight, Ragnor finally rose and leisurely poured himself a horn of ale. Thoughtfully he gazed upward toward the lord’s chamber and began to mount the stairs slowly. For a long moment he stood before the heavy door to that room, the only barrier between him and the woman he truly desired. Without even testing it he knew it was barred against him. She was careful that way, careful that she would not lose her precarious perch as Wulfgar’s favorite, and it was precarious because no one ever knew what Wulfgar thought or felt in his bastard heart. She was enticing and beguiling yet distant as the very moon. He remembered too well the sight of her in Wulfgar’s bed, soft, warm, free in her manner with the bastard. But Wulfgar had Darkenwald or soon would have it, and she had told him herself that was all she wanted. Whatever man possessed this hall and town would possess her.
He bowed before the door. “Soon, my dove. Be patient.”
His tread fell noiselessly against the floor as he made his way to Gwyneth’s chamber. When he pushed open the door, he found her reclining on the bed, her pale body looking sleek and graceful without the hindrance of clothing. Her small bosom was pushed upward by her arms as she hugged herself tightly, making her breasts appear fuller and more tempting. Ragnor smiled and closed the door carefully behind him. He discarded his garments and crossed to her, taking her in his arms as he laid down beside her. Her hands upon him were insistent and low moans crept from her throat as he caressed her. Her mouth closed hungrily upon his as her passion mounted and her arms tightened with a quick urgency that drew him down to her.
The wind whistled through the barren trees and rattled the shutters, setting them astir. Gwyneth huddled deeper beneath the pelts, silently watching Ragnor as he once again donned his clothes. She raised on an arm as he reached to open the door.
“My love?”
He paused at the sound of her voice and turned to gaze at her.
“The hour is still early,” she murmured. “Stay a while and take your rest with me.”
“Rest?” he questioned in mockery and he laughed softly. “Another time, Gwyneth. Now I must be about the Duke’s business.”
Without another word he left her, pulling the door closed softly behind him. He glanced toward the lord’s chamber door and found it open. When he drew closer he saw the room empty and going to the top of the stairs he found the hall likewise. Mild disappointment stirred that he would not have an opportunity to see Aislinn again before he left. He descended the stairs and crossed to the great door, swinging it wide. The day was bright and sunny with a cool, crisp, breeze blowing. As he stepped from the portal into the sunlight he stretched, spreading his arms wide, basking in the warmth. A movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned to see a quick flash of reddish gold hair as a ray of light penetrated the forest. Vachel and his other men dozed beside the horses, so his departure could easily bear a slight delay. He smiled ruefully as he remembered another day before this portal and the night that followed. He had, of course, imbibed to no small degree and could easily understand that he had done nothing to impress Aislinn favorably. He had been rough with her. Yet shown tenderness, she might now come to him willingly.
He set out after her, but admitted to himself a moment of puzzlement why he should even make the effort. Although he had not matched Wulfgar’s conquest here, he had never found the companionship of a woman difficult to obtain. Aislinn’s loyalty to Wulfgar was difficult to understand. Surely she must know that he would soon leave her, as he had much higher ladies of the Norman court. All he need do himself was wait and Aislinn would be his. So why was he following her now when he had more pressing duties? But her face loomed upward in his imagination and he knew the reason and hastened his step. He entered the woods and found a narrow trail whereon could be distinguished the light print of a small foot and hence he had no difficulty in marking her passage.
Aislinn had fled the hall, feeling Ragnor’s presence and not wishing to meet him again. Pain from Gwyneth’s sharp tongue penetrated deep and Ragnor only abetted that one’s wit. Her only memories of him were associated with loss and agony. She well remembered the night with the rope around her neck and his drunken pawing. Worse yet the memory of her father lying cold and still was torn afresh each time she faced Ragnor.
Pausing by the brook, Aislinn stared pensively into its dark, chuckling waters as she leaned against an ancient oak that grew on the bank. Lost in her thoughts, she bent and picked up a small stone, turning it over and over in her hand. She tossed it at a persistent spot of light then watched the ripples spread until they touched the bank at her feet.
“Would you frighten the fish from a meager winter’s meal, my dove?”
The words brought Aislinn around with a shriek. Ragnor smiled and moved to stand a pace before her. To ease her trembling knees Aislinn leaned back against the tree and watched him cautiously.
“I was strolling in the woods enjoying the quiet and I saw you pass this way. ’Tis not wise to be alone and out of sight of the hall. There are th
ose who would—” He paused and saw her uncertainty and leaned against the tree himself, grinning down at her. “Ah, but of course, my dove. I’ve frightened you. Forgive me, fair one. I was only bent to your welfare and meant you no harm.”
Aislinn lifted her chin proudly and stilled the quivering that possessed her. “I fear no man, sir knight,” she said and wondered if she lied.
Ragnor laughed. “Ah, dove. Wulfgar has not tamed you yet. I was afraid he might cool that hot blood.”
He straightened and stepped past her to the edge of the bank, squatting down as if to ponder some great unspoken cause. He peered at her over his shoulder.
“I know that in your eyes I’ve played the knave and have done you pain and oft labored hardship to your door. But in the one, Aislinn, I was a soldier and laid my sword where duty called and in the other—” He sent a pebble to follow hers. “Call me a moonstruck lad. Say that I am caught up or enchanted with your beauty, the better of which I’ve never seen.” He rose and turned to face her. “Must I bare my very soul, Aislinn, to be the knight to win your favor? Have I not the smallest chance?”
Aislinn shook her head in confusion. “Ragnor, you bemuse me much. Have I ever given cause to you to seek my hand? And why should you desire it? Little have I to offer you, save that I am Wulfgar’s. He is my lord and master and as his mistress, I have sworn to him my loyalty. Is this what you seek truly, that I should betray him?”
His hand reached out and lifted a coppery tress from her breast. “Can I not desire you for yourself, Aislinn? Are you so distrusting that you will not believe a simple truth? You are more beautiful than words allow and I want you. I wanted you when you were mine and now that you are not, I wish you back.”
“I am Wulfgar’s,” she said low.
“You say nothing of your heart, Aislinn, where it lies. Honor is good and I applaud it, but your affection is what I seek.” His dark eyes held hers. “Aislinn, would that I could draw back the sword that slew your father and let him rejoice in life again as we. I would give my family’s fortune to bring it thus, for you.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “But alas, my fair Aislinn, ‘tis done and naught can bring it back. Yet I appeal to your kindness to forgive me. Give me your love and ease the pain in my heart.”
The Wolf and the Dove Page 25