The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Are you feeling better?” he inquired.

  “I feel fine, my lord. What of you?” she replied sweetly.

  Wulfgar grunted a noncommittal response and began to disrobe, setting his clothes, as always, neatly aside and in their place.

  Aislinn put away her sewing and rose from the blanket, drawing Wulfgar’s eyes as she crossed naked to the bed. She shivered as a cold draft caressed her and hurriedly climbed into the bed, drawing the pelts up high under her chin. She lifted her eyes to Wulfgar as he continued to gaze at her, but he turned away abruptly. She watched his movements as he banked the fire, and it was a long time before he finally moved to the bed. He unsheathed his sword to place on the floor. Though he no longer barred the door each night, this simple act he had not relaxed.

  He stood for a moment staring down at her, his hands low on his hips and an ominous frown upon his brow. Aislinn rolled on her side, presenting her back to him, not giving him a chance to say whatever he had on his mind. After a time he blew out the candle and Aislinn felt his weight on the bed. He slid beneath the pelts but made no move to draw closer. Indeed, he seemed to lay tense and unyielding beside her. Aislinn shivered again, huddling beneath the covers. Usually he shared his warmth with her, but by his manner she knew he was of a different mood. Time passed slowly. When finally she turned she was startled to find his eyes fastened upon her in the glow of the fire, staring at her intently as if he would read her mind.

  “Are you troubled, monseigneur?” she asked.

  “Only by you, my love,” he replied. “What else there is would not delay an ant.”

  Aislinn rolled back to her former position and lay quietly, feeling his unrelenting gaze upon her. The moments slipped by, seeming to lag on each new borning of time, and still he made no move to draw closer.

  “I’m cold,” she complained softly.

  He came a small measure closer yet not enough to share the heat of his body. Aislinn could not hold back another shivery spasm and after a long pause he finally came near enough to do some good, but he lay with only his chest against her and his whole body rigid.

  A thousand thoughts in Wulfgar’s mind fell away under the onslaught of just one. The soft press of Aislinn’s skin against his chest drove his imaginings to other parts of her body, the full ripe breasts, pink and creamy ivory, velvet smooth beneath his hands; the long legs, slim and lovely, straight and perfect; those narrow hips—

  Aislinn almost started as she suddenly felt Wulfgar’s body fall against her own. His arm settled tight about her and her eyes opened wide as his hands went on with things that had nothing to do with warming. He turned her and she stared for a moment into the gray eyes, hard and shining with his desire.

  “You know what I want,” he murmured huskily before his mouth lowered and moved over hers.

  Wulfgar first tasted the coolness of her mood while his hand enjoyed full freedom of her body. But he persisted. His lips stayed and nibbled and played, parting hers in fierce, hungry kisses that left her breathless. Aislinn felt the chill no longer. Indeed, the coals of her ardor were fanned aflame until they all but consumed her. A soft, rather forlorn moan escaped her as she slid her arms about his neck and her lips yielded to the intensity of his. Wulfgar knew once more he had broken through the ice that encased her. Her month now clung to his and she answered his deep thrusts with all the vigor in her trembling body. In this moment they took and gave until they were fused as one in the heat of their passion. Wulfgar’s lips brushed against her brow, her ear, and the soft scent of lavender rose to fill his head. He pressed his face against her throat and his lips seered her with their warmth. Aislinn quivered beneath him, turning her face to meet his and as his name escaped her with a quick, sighing urgency his mouth took hers again and they were caught in a whirlwind that swept them on its twisting currents to unfathomable heights, thrusting them ever upward until it released them and they seemed to float, entwined in their mutual bliss.

  Wulfgar rose and gazed down at Aislinn, now still and sleeping soundly. A light frown troubled her brow and her lips were parted as she breathed. The red gold hair was spread among the furs and her shoulders were white and soft. He shook his head, befuddled with her moods, and his thoughts drove away sleep. He slipped on his chausses and tunic and made his way quietly from the room down into the hall. Bolsgar was there relaxed in his chair before the hearth, sipping from a chalice of choice vintage. Wulfgar dragged another chair beside the older man’s and after pouring himself a cup from the same skin settled himself into it. The two of them watched the hissing logs for many moments in silence before the old man spoke.

  “What troubles you, Wulfgar?”

  Another long moment passed before the younger man answered with the question that tormented him.

  “Where lies the bend of a woman’s mind, Bolsgar?” he sighed. He turned his face to the other’s and the gray eyes frowned in painful thought. “Does she torment me thus, caring naught for me or seeking vengeance?”

  “Poor fool,” Bolsgar chuckled. “A woman is the softest yet the sharpest steel this earth can bear. She must be coddled and tended ceaselessly. She is a weapon to be hurled into the fiercest fray but to serve you well must be whetted and honed and protected and above all kept close beside you.” He smiled. “And ‘tis even said that the best of blades must be bound by an oath of loyalty.”

  “Bah!” Wulfgar snarled. “I have always purchased my blades with a handful of coin and then carefully set down how they would be shaped.”

  “Yea,” Bolsgar answered. “But with my words remember this: the blade is tempered well to pare life from a simple husk. Woman’s lot is to start life anew within her, to bring it to its borning and nurture it from that day forth.”

  Wulfgar raised his brows and stared at the old man again before he rejoined. In his mind he discarded Bolsgar’s statement. He turned to the fire in anger.

  “I know naught of these wiles and have little need for further oaths and bonds. I am sworn to William and his crown and to Sweyn as a good companion. I have no urge to venture further. I see it that I must live this life as well I may.” His voice grew harsh and sneering. “Women are but softlings which I use. They pleasure me and if I give them pleasure in return, what more? Should this be bound about with fancy trappings and entered into a moldy tome in some dark abbey?” He paused in his tirade then continued more gently. “Or better set in a moment’s splendor and then called fair and just and remembered with tenderness.”

  Bolsgar leaned forward in some ire. “We speak not of women, Wufgar, but of one. There comes a time in each man’s life when he must face the full image of all that he has done and know how well he’s gone or if he’s failed.” He shrugged his shoulders and settled back in his chair. “I failed.” He stared into the fire. “I take no pleasure from what I see. All that I have done has led to pain or naught. I have no lands. I have no arms. I have no sons. The very best I claim is a daughter soured with this world. In anger I rejected that which I would have held.” He turned to Wulfgar with an earnest plea. “You have a chance, a beautiful woman, wise, worthy to walk at your side to Heaven’s gate itself. Why do you blunder about and play the fool? Do you detest her? Do you seek vengeance for some imagined wrong?”

  He seized Wulfgar’s shoulder and turned him so they faced each other.

  “Do you torture her because she has injured you? Would you see her kneeling on the floor to beg for mercy? You’ve used her, first with force and now with candor. You take her openly each night and make her whore on the lips of all and give no promise for tomorrow. If you seek revenge, cast me out. I did you wrong. Or Gwyneth. She cuts you every moment with her tongue. But this one, what has she done that is not your bidding? You are a fool indeed if you cast her from you, or if you stumble on your pride and turn her thus away. If this be your way, you are the same in my eyes as a dim-witted warrior who roars in his cups of what a hero he might have been—if only.”

  Had this been another man he would hav
e long been seeking in the rushes for his teeth, yet Wulfgar looked into the furrowed face and could raise no hand. He shrugged the restraint away and rose.

  “I can stand no more,” he said between clenched teeth. “First her, then Kerwick, now you. I vow that simple Hlynn will set upon me in a rage before this night is out.” He squared his shoulders and glared at Bolsgar. “She will bear the child where she will, and mine or nay, I will send it where I will.”

  He stopped at the surprise in the old man’s face.

  “Do you say that Aislinn is already with child?” Bolsgar asked.

  “You did not know?” It was Wulfgar’s turn at surprise. “It seemed that everyone knew but me.”

  Bolsgar’s manner became insistent. “What will you do now? Will you wed the maid as well you should?”

  Wulfgar’s anger returned and he gritted his teeth again as he half shouted, “I will do what I will!”

  With a final glare he turned away and strode angrily up the stairs to his chamber. As he entered the room Aislinn was sitting up in bed with a frightened look about her, but when she saw him returning she smiled her relief and laid down again, curling on her side. His anger could not last and soon he lay curled around her and they went to sleep.

  Wulfgar strode down the stairs the next morning somewhat later than usual. Sweyn and Bolsgar were already into their meal as were the other men in the hall. At his appearance the two men ceased their conversation. While Bolsgar bent to his food, Sweyn leaned back in his chair and boldly stared at his lord with amusement sparkling in his pale blue eyes. A chuckle shook his broad shoulders as he continued to gaze at him and there was no need for Wulfgar to be told that the news that Aislinn was with child had spread a bit further. As Wulfgar took a seat the Viking passed him meat and boiled eggs. His voice fairly boomed in the hall as he spoke, making the serfs and those Normans who understood the tongue of England turn and listen with acute interest.

  “So the wench is with child, eh?” He chuckled again. “What does she have to say on the matter? Is she effectively chastened and ready to call you master now?”

  Wulfgar glanced up toward his men and knew by their gaping faces that they had heard Sweyn clearly. Miderd and Haylan had stopped in their serving and Hylnn straightened from over the kettle to turn and stare at him with mouth slack in surprise as Kerwick continued to pay close attention to his chore.

  “Sweyn,” Wulfgar muttered. “There are times when your mouth far outpaces your mind.”

  The Norseman threw back his head and guffawed his delight then choking down his amusement, clapped Wulfgar heartily on the back.

  “ ’Tis a secret that’s bound to be known sooner or later, my lord. It would be different if the maid were stout, but being lean she has no chance of holding the matter hushed for long.”

  His voice gentled somewhat as he leaned near, yet everyone now was most attentive to his conversation and sat eagerly awaiting his next words. There was no strain placed upon their ears, for Sweyn’s voice seemed to echo in the hall.

  “ ’Tis the best way to keep that shrewish vixen at your beck and call, keep a babe in her belly and the clothes off her back.”

  Wulfgar looked at him in pained silence wondering if there was a fox hole nearby that he could stuff the Viking in. In sour humor he cracked an egg and began to peel it as the Norseman continued.

  “You’re right to keep these Saxons at heel. Show them who is master. Keep their women abed and little bastards running at their heels.”

  Bolsgar’s brows raised questioningly as he turned to stare at Sweyn. Wulfgar choked on the yoke of the egg he had just bitten into and Bolsgar gave him assist by pounding him heavily on the back. The younger man turned a silent scowl upon his friend when he had regained his breath and took an ample draught of milk to wash the egg down.

  Sweyn nodded agreeably. “Aye, there should be some celebration for the wench’s comeuppance. Ah, she was a haughty one, but no matter. When she’s gone, there will be more to conquer. Never fear.”

  Finding the last straw that broke his calm, Wulfgar slammed his palms down on the table in silent rage. Without a word he strode past Sweyn and crossed to the door, snatching it open, and making his escape from the stares of all.

  Sweyn leaned back in her chair, and tipping his head back, loudly vented his amusement. Bolsgar had shifted his gaze from Wulfgar’s back to stare at the Norseman. Slowly the dawning came and he could see the lay of the Viking’s words and he, too, joined in Sweyn’s high humor.

  Aislinn descended the stairs shortly after Gwyneth. Haylan had wasted little time informing Wulfgar’s sister of the expected addition to the fancy. Gwyneth turned a mocking gaze upon Aislinn as she spoke on the side to Haylan yet loud enough that Aislinn might hear too.

  “ ’Tis best that an unwed slave take advantage of her master’s tenderness while she can, for the lord will soon grow tired of her ripening shape and pack her off to some hovel or some distant country to have the babe in shame.”

  Aislinn’s brows drew together at the woman’s words but she replied with dignity. “At least I’m capable of bearing children,” she sighed. “There are those who are unable though they would try hard. ’Tis sad, isn’t it?”

  She turned away from their gaping faces with small sense of victory. Gwyneth’s words had destroyed her slight spirit and she could not bear the sight of the food-laden table. She wondered what fate her child would suffer if Wulfgar could not be convinced to marry her. She could not nag him on the matter, for he would surely turn from her in disgust and find some other wench to amuse himself with. She must deal with her state with all the honor and honesty heaven allowed her. In that way she might win him and nothing else would satisfy her.

  It was toward dusk when Wulfgar returned from Cregan and mounted the stairs to his chamber, removing his helm and coif and tucking them beneath his arm. Aislinn was bent over her needlework before the hearth when he flung open the door, but seeing that his mood was morose and untalkative, she quietly rose and assisted him in removing the hauberk.

  “I’ve heated water for your bath,” she murmured and took his leather tunic as he handed it to her to fold it in the manner she had seen him so often do.

  Wulfgar grunted in reply but when she went to lift the heavy kettle of water from the hearth, he paused in taking off his chainse and asked sharply:

  “What are you about, woman?”

  Aislinn stopped and stared at him in surprise. “Why, I’m readying your bath as I have done these many months past.”

  “Sit down, wench,” he commanded then strode to the door and throwing it open, bellowed: “Miderd!”

  It was but a moment before the woman showed a worried face in the portal. She looked hesitantly at Wulfgar, a rather awesome sight garbed only in chausses. She swallowed convulsively as she measured the broad expanse of his chest with her eyes, wondering what she had done to rouse his wrath.

  “My lord?” she said weakly.

  “You will keep these chambers clean and prepare baths as the Lady Aislinn desires. You may have Hlynn to help you,” he directed. He pointed to Aislinn and startled both women as he shouted, “And you will see that she lifts nothing heavier than a chalice.”

  Miderd almost breathed a sigh of relief, but his scowl did not allow for ease of spirit. She hurried to ready the bath, glancing at Aislinn as the girl stared somewhat amazed at her lord. Miderd withdrew, closing the door behind her, as Wulfgar began to take off his chausses. He stepped into the steaming water and relaxed back against the rim of the wooden tub, letting the heat soften the ache that a hard ride drew forth. He had driven the Hun almost to the limits as he tried to sort out in his own mind the thoughts that plagued him.

  Aislinn took up her sewing again, settling back in her chair, and glanced up at Wulfgar between the stitches she set.

  “My lord,” she murmured, after a while. “If I am a slave, why do you command others serve me?”

  Wulfgar scowled. “Because you are slave only to
me, for my enjoyment, none other’s.”

  Aislinn drew her needle through the linen. “ ’Twas not my intention to let my state be known to any other than yourself, my lord, but I fear there is no help for it now. It seems my position of child-bearing slave has spread to all corners of Darkenwald.”

  “I know,” Wulfgar replied brusquely. “There are many here at Darkenwald cursed with loose tongues.”

  “And will you send the babe and me off to Normandy or some other place distant from here?” She would not bite her tongue to keep the question unsaid. She must know, for it tortured her every moment.

  Wulfgar looked at her sharply, remembering his words to Kerwick. “Why do you ask?”

  “I would know, monseigneur. I do not wish to be away from my own kind.”

  Wulfgar frowned heavily. “What is there different between a Norman and a Saxon that you must say this is your kind and yonder is mine? We are all flesh and blood. The child you carry is between, half Norman, half Saxon. Where will he place his loyalty?”

  Aislinn laid her sewing in her lap and stared at him as he continued speaking in anger, realizing he had not answered her. Had he avoided the question deliberately because he did intend to send her away?

  “Can you not place your trust in someone other than a Saxon?” Wulfgar demanded. “Must you forever spur me for their cause? I am no different from any Englishman.”

  “Indeed, my lord,” she said softly. “You remind me much of one.”

  Wulfgar scowled at her but he was silenced and could find no further words with which to berate her. He rose from the tub and, toweling off, donned his clothes and escorted her down the stairs where they took their meal in silence under the stares of serf and Norman.