The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Aislinn then turned abruptly, cutting off whatever Gwyneth had meant to reply and left her stuttering with open mouth as she bade Ham fetch her tray of medicines.

  “I perceive this good fellow has need of my ministrations, unless of course one of you have offered to tend him.”

  She looked first to Haylan who shook her head and grimaced and then to Gwyneth who met her gaze in anger but shrugged and returned to her needlework.

  Aislinn smiled wryly. “Very well, then I will do it since none of you seem willing.”

  She bent over Gavin’s arm and busied herself as Miderd drew closer to help bending over her husband’s arm with Aislinn as the stump was bared and cleansed.

  Gwyneth’s voice came sharp with malice. “ ’Tis well known, of course, the ways of soldiers on the field. Does not the very mention of a battle bring kind memories to your heart, dear Aislinn? The Normans, so proud and great, sampling each wench that meets their fancy. I wonder how the vanquished woman finds that brave caress.”

  The words awoke a pain deep within Aislinn and she felt the anguish rise and seize her bosom until she fought to breathe. The cruelty it took to stir those memories was stunning to her mind. She inhaled deeply and found Miderd’s eyes locked to her own. She saw compassion for her own distress mirrored there and knew a flow of kindness from the woman’s kindred heart.

  “I would to God that even you, good Gwyneth,” she sighed slowly, “should never feel that moment.”

  Gwyneth sat back in her chair, not feeling particularly victorious and Haylan turned her back to warm her hands before the fire and reflect upon the words that had passed her ears.

  Aislinn let the torment of Gwyneth’s words ebb and finally rose, finished with her task, and moved to stand by Bolsgar’s chair.

  “My lord, you have just heard it said of men that they are fickle. How think you on this matter? Are you so, sire? And is Wulfgar, do you think?”

  Bolsgar grunted. “ ’Tis apparent my daughter knows little of men, never having had one herself.” He took Aislinn’s slim fingers into his grasp in consolation. “Even as a lad Wulfgar was true to the things he knew, his horse, his hawk—me.” The old eyes grew moist before he averted his gaze. “Yea, he was steadfast.”

  “But you know nothing of his women,” Gwyneth hastily pointed out.

  Bolsgar shrugged. “ ’Tis true he has sworn in the past he holds no great love for them, but Wulfgar is much like the iron wolf who haunts the fields of war and needs no softness of this world, but in his heart there burns a need for love so strong he can do naught else but deny it.”

  “Beasts of darkness!” Gwyneth snapped. “My own father who has of yesterday lost his home and land now approves of this match between my bastard brother and this Saxon—”

  “Gwyneth!” Bolsgar bellowed. “Shut thy mouth or I will see it shut for you.”

  “Well, ‘tis true!” Gwyneth cried angrily. “You would mate this Saxon whore to him with a solemn oath of marriage.”

  Haylan’s mouth dropped open and she stared agog at Aislinn. “You are not his lady?” she asked before a frown from Miderd made her bite her tongue.

  “Indeed she is not!” Gwyneth replied indignantly. “She has bedded one Norman and now seeks to bind my brother to her.”

  Bolsgar shot up from his chair and for the first time in her life Gwyneth cringed from him in fear. Aislinn stood with set jaw and clenched hands, not willing to ease her fury for fear that trembling would possess her. Bolsgar pushed his face close to his daughter’s and sneered:

  “You mindless nag! How many times must you cut with your blade of jealousy?”

  Haylan cleared her throat and tried to set aside the wrath of the old man by honing his mind to some other matter. “My Lord Wulfgar wars much. Is he oft injured? The scar—”

  Aislinn’s head snapped up and she stared at Haylan with wide eyes, for her only thought was of Wulfgar’s most recent wound that only she and Sweyn knew of and now perhaps this young widow.

  “I have only been curious—,” Haylan said weakly as she felt the heated faces turned to her. Even Gwyneth’s jaw had slackened and Bolsgar’s brow had darkened considerably as he turned away from his daughter to face her.

  “Curious?” Gwyneth saw Aislinn’s surprise and wondered what had drawn it. “What plagues your thoughts to such extent, Mistress Haylan?”

  “The scar upon your brother’s cheek, that is all,” Haylan replied gingerly, shrugging her shoulders. “I desired only to know how it came there.”

  Gwyneth sat back in her chair, quickly glancing toward her father who had fallen back in his. A frown grew upon his brows like a gathering storm, and his hands tightened on the arms of his chair until the muscles of his forearms stood out like ropes beneath the flesh.

  “And you were distressed by that unsightly scar?” Gwyneth ventured.

  “Distressed? Oh nay!” Haylan replied. “He has a most handsome face.”

  She looked at Aislinn now as an equal, thinking that if she had not been too hasty leaving Wulfgar that night she might have had him in her will. At least she would have had as much claim upon him as this vixen.

  “It came by way of an accident when we were children,” Gwyneth began somewhat cautiously.

  “Accident?” Bolsgar bellowed again. “Do you lie, daughter? Nay, ‘twas no accident. ‘Twas done with malice.”

  “Father,” Gwyneth cajoled, now striving to set aside his rage. “ ’Tis past and best forgot.”

  “Forgot? Nay, never. I remember clearly.”

  Gwyneth tightened her lips in vexation. “Then tell them quickly how it came about if you must. Tell them how in a temper at learning he was bastard you struck the boy with a falconing glove, laying open his cheek.”

  With difficulty Bolsgar rose to his feet and stood trembling with wrath as he stared down at his daughter. His eyes swept Haylan briefly before returning to Gwyneth. Aislinn’s own surprise had subsided. Bolsgar seemed so furious now that she had no doubt he was deeply ashamed yet in his own stubborn way could not cede his actions wrong.

  “There is no need for me to speak, daughter,” he bit out, “as you have told them enough yourself.”

  “Do sit and be a civil host, father,” Gwyneth pleaded.

  “Host!” Bolsgar sneered derisively. “I am no host here.” He raised a horn of ale. “ ’Tis Wulfgar’s manor we abide in. I do not seek what is his and you presume too much.” His morose mood did not lessen as he glanced about the hall. “Where is Sweyn?” he demanded. “I’ve a thirst for more ale and needs have a companion to ease my mind upon.”

  “He’s with his horses, Father,” Gwyneth replied, trying to hide her growing impatience with him.

  “Then Kerwick?” he thundered. “Where is he? That lad is a worthy one to drink with.”

  “Not now, Father,” Gwyneth hissed. Her annoyance grew at the thought of him tippling ale with a common serf. “I’ve sent him to ready cottages for these new families.”

  “At this late hour?” Bolsgar snapped. “Cannot the lad have some ease from toiling?”

  Gwyneth gritted her teeth and spoke with measured care. She was reluctant to aggravate her father’s sullen humor. “I thought only of these poor and weary people and what discomforts they might have suffered. This stone floor yields little ease and warmth to exhausted travelers and there is more privacy in the huts.”

  Bolsgar rose. “Then if there be no one to exchange a civil word with, I shall retire to my pallet and seek my rest. Good eventide, daughter.”

  Gwyneth nodded her head in return and the man showed his back to them as he faced Aislinn. He offered his hand to her.

  “I am an old man, child, but still I favor escorting a beautiful damsel to her chamber. Would you honor me in such small manner?”

  “Surely, sire,” she murmured and smiled at him. While his daughter proved insensitive, Bolsgar was not, and often lessened the hurt by saying some kind word or doing some thoughtful deed. Laying her hand upon the brawny one
he stretched out to her, she allowed him to draw her away from the group before the hearth and up to the chamber that was hers and Wulfgar’s.

  Bolsgar paused at the door of the bedchamber, seeming unsettled with his thoughts. Finally he sighed.

  “I should speak to Wulfgar. He must deal with you more honorably. Yet I have no right to enter into matters that are his. I lost that when I sent him from my home. He is a man alone now.”

  Aislinn shook her head and smiled softly. “He must not feel trapped into showing me more kindness than he would give of his own accord. It must be freely rendered or it means naught.”

  Bolsgar pressed her hand gently. “You are wise beyond your years, child. Yet one more word of wisdom would I give you. Let the wolf howl at the moon. It will not come to him. Let him range the forests dark. He will not find what he seeks there. Only when that time comes when he admits to himself that he has need for love shall he find true happiness. Until then, be his in truth and kindness. If you hold any softness for him in your heart, Aislinn, give to him what his mother and I denied him. Cradle him in your love when he drops his aching heart at your feet. Place a tether of faithfulness about his neck and he will become tame and docile.”

  Aislinn felt the heartache the old man bore, for he had lost both wife and sons and spoke from experience.

  “I am but one of his many women, gentle Bolsgar,” she pointed out. “You see how fetching the young widow is. ’Tis the same with the others no doubt. How can I be assured of some place in his heart when there are so many who yearn for that spot?”

  Bolsgar glanced down and away, finding no suitable answer. He could tell her she was beautiful and graced with charm, yet what Wulfgar thought no man knew. It was better not to build her hopes upon his own assumptions, for there was no guarantee he was right.

  Gavin nodded toward the stairs, hearing the old man’s feet trudge away from the door and the soft click of the latch as it was closed.

  “She is the old lord’s daughter?” he asked.

  “Yea,” Gwyneth sighed. “And a festering wound in the heart of this town.”

  Miderd and Gavin exchanged quick glances but remained silent. Haylan perked and her attention grew as Gwyneth continued.

  “Yea, ‘tis true, and she has weedled her way into my brother’s bed and seeks to be lady of this hall.” Gwyneth felt Haylan’s attention and lifted her eyes to the young woman. “My brother only amuses himself for a time, but I fear she will cast some spell upon him.”

  Gwyneth clasped the arms of her chair as the torturing thought of Ragnor holding Aislinn close against his heart once again pricked her. Her eyelids lowered until they shielded the spark of malice that shone in their depths.

  “That one called Kerwick is her lover in Wulfgar’s absence,” she said slowly. “She is a harlot, yet even my father thinks her fine and good. He is smitten by her beauty as is any man.”

  “Does my lord think her beautiful?” Haylan inquired, jealousy riding her hard. She could remember still Wulfgar muttering the name of that one.

  Miderd frowned and warned. “Haylan, ‘tis unwise to delve into Lord Wulfgar’s affairs.”

  “Forsooth, I do not know what my brother thinks,” Gwyneth interrupted, spreading her thin hands wide, palms upward. “She has the mark of evil in that red hair. Could any one of us doubt it? Who knows what soul she might steal with her potions and her ways. Beware of her. Do not let the sweet words she mouths warm you to her. She practices them with great deception.”

  “Nay,” Haylan murmured. “I will take care.”

  Miderd looked sharply toward her sister-in-law but the widow missed her frown. Gwyneth rose to her feet, putting aside her needlework.

  “My eyes grow weary from the smoke in the hall and I must seek some ease from the irritation. Good eventide to you.”

  The Saxon family watched quietly until Gwyneth was out of sight and then Miderd faced Haylan in exasperation.

  “You will respect your betters for the sake of all of us, Haylan, or we might find ourselves cast upon the road again.”

  Haylan shrugged and danced lightly away. “Betters? I have great respect for Lady Gwyneth. Whom do you mean? Lord Bolsgar was bad tempered but I was polite to him.”

  “I know when you set your mind to some matter you will not rest until it’s to your liking,” Miderd returned. “And I see you have set your eyes toward the Norman. Let him be, Haylan. He belongs to Lady Aislinn.”

  “Ha!” Haylan scoffed. “In a moment I could have him.”

  “You boast overmuch, Haylan. We were sent here to work, no more.”

  “No more?!” Haylan laughed shortly. “What do you know of it?”

  Miderd glanced at her husband in silent appeal but he only shrugged and turned away.

  “I will not argue with you, Haylan,” Miderd said quietly. “Yet I would warn you that if the Lady Aislinn becomes mistress of this hall, she night be so disposed to send us on our way if you go after the Norman. And where would we go, with naught but famine and misery for our kind? Think of your son, pray.”

  “I do think of him,” stormed Haylan. She glanced down at the nodding boy and stopped to smooth his hair. “Miles would be of benefit to any lord.”

  Miderd threw up her hands in disgust and shook her head, turning her back to the willful widow.

  Upon Kerwick’s return they woke the now sleeping Miles and wrapping him against the cold, led him out with the other children. After seeing to the needs of Miderd and Gavin and their family, Kerwick led Haylan and her son to a smaller hut. Here the hearth was warm and inviting with a blazing fire lighting the dreary cubicle of the interior. Haylan watched Kerwick closely as he laid more wood by the hearth, then ventured:

  “Your Lady Gwyneth is a fine damsel. You must be pleased to serve her.”

  Kerwick rose and stared at the young woman without a flicker of emotion on his lean face. Haylan’s dark eyes snapped with growing anger at his continued silence and she glared back at him.

  “What do you know of your betters? You are but serf here. ’Tis easy to see you have cast your lot with that red-haired vixen.”

  Kerwick spoke with measured care, his lips curling in distaste as he spat out the words. “That red-haired vixen was once my betrothed before that warring Norman claimed her as his. I was once lord of my own hall and he took even that, but mostly I regret her loss. Do not speak with contempt when you say her name to me. If you have any wits about you, you will not listen to Gwyneth and the lies she spills.”

  “You may rest assured I have sense enough to see what’s before me,” Haylan retorted. “And that you are still smitten with Aislinn!”

  “Aye,” Kerwick admitted. “More than you can understand.”

  “Oh, indeed, I can well understand,” Haylan replied heatedly. “Do you forget that I am just widowed and know what interests a man?”

  Kerwick’s brows raised. “What is this? Are you spreading false rumors about us already? You are a haughty wench for a serf.”

  “Serf?” Haylan laughed distainfuIly. “Mayhap and then mayhap not. Who knows until Lord Wulfgar returns.” She raised her chin. “I can have him if I choose.”

  Kerwick chuckled in disbelief. “You? What claims do you have upon him? Are you saying he has made you his mistress also?”

  Haylan’s voice rose in unbridled fury. “I am not that kind of woman! But if I were, I could have had him. He desired me and who knows what will follow on his return.”

  Kerwick snorted his contempt. “Let me give you warning, fair widow,” he said, bending his head until his nose almost met hers. “Wulfgar has striped my flesh when I dared defend Aislinn from him and his rage soared when I briefly touched her, yet he is quick to declare his hatred of women. Do not be fooled that he is a soft master without a will, for he is strong, and he would easily see through your simple motives to have him for your own. He might take you as he did my Aislinn, but I warrant he’d offer you far less than he has her.”

  “Are you
telling me that I have no chance of being lady of this hall?” Haylan demanded. “Why, you bubbling cur, you are too addled by your lust for her to see why he has sent me here.”

  “To work like the rest of us, I vow. He needs more serfs,” Kerwick replied easily.

  Haylan squealed in irate temper. “Look at me! Do you find it so hard to believe that a man could fall in love with me?”

  “You enlarge your importance, madam, and you are a pompous, conceited wench. You are comely, true, but there are many of the same value. Aislinn has no match. She is unsurpassed.”

  Haylan choked. “I will be the mistress of Darkenwald! You will see.”

  “Will you?” Kerwick raised a dubious brow. “ ’Tis more likely you’ll be a serf here, no more.”

  “Lady Gwyneth says that Wulfgar plays with Aislinn only for a time,” Haylan bit out. “Mayhap I can hasten her descent.”

  “Bah! Lady Gwyneth!” Kerwick spat. “Do not listen to her. Listen to me instead. Wulfgar will not let the Lady Aislinn go nor would any man of good sense.”

  “Your opinion is not his and therefore of no value,” Haylan flung, arrogantly tossing her head.

  “You will be hurt,” Kerwick warned. “For you see I forgot to mention another asset of Aislinn’s.” He smiled slowly. “She is wiser than most women.”

  “Ohhh, I loathe you with all my being!” Haylan cried.

  Kerwick shrugged his shoulders, unperturbed. “Madam, I really don’t give a blessed damn.”

  With that he spun on his heels and strode from the cottage, leaving Haylan standing in a flush of heated emotion.

  In the loneliness of the chamber Aislinn felt her fears well up anew. Doubts shredded her confidence as her imagination dwelled on the vision of Wulfgar clasped in the arms of the dark-haired Haylan. In roiling despair Aislinn drew the gunna and kirtle from her body, remembering in pain Wulfgar’s warm caresses on their last night together and his gentleness with her. Had he found more pleasure in another’s bed? Did he consider her after all but a passing fancy? Did he even now lie in some other wench’s furs and play them all for fools?