The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Aislinn sat alone in the bedchamber, carefully sewing small gowns and other garments for the child to come. It had been a month since she had told Wulfgar of her state, and her mood was near the depths of despair. Wulfgar had been gone from the hall since early morning and in his absence, Gwyneth’s sharp tongue came into play. Aislinn recalled the snide remarks that had driven her almost in tears from the noon meal to seek the privacy of her chamber. Wulfgar’s sister had casually asked if Aislinn had her things packed and was ready to leave Darkenwald then had viciously carried the subject further to imply that Wulfgar would soon be sending her away, probably to Normandy as soon as Aislinn’s belly began to hinder his lovemaking or when it could no longer be hidden. Aislinn sniffed loudly and shook her head as the tears threatened to spill again. At least here was a place Gwyneth dared not roam and where Aislinn could find a moment of peace.

  Even Maida had unwittingly done her part to ruin Aislinn’s day. It was not too long after she had sought the shelter of the room that her mother had come scratching at the door. Her plea was that she came to see to her daughter’s welfare, but in reality she did little to enhance it. She had begged Aislinn to leave with her, hinting that the time was short and it was far better to flee to a haven of their own choosing than to wait Wulfgar’s pleasure. The visit had ended in an argument, as this subject always did, and only when Maida faced Aislinn’s flaring temper had she wisely retreated.

  So it was that Aislinn worked on the tiny clothes and arranged them on the bed, smoothing them pensively as she thought of the wee form that would fill them. Still she found no solace, for even as she dreamed of her child her thoughts came full circle and she remembered her mother. She felt the pain of seeing Maida’s fragile grasp on sanity weaken and slip and knew she could do nothing to save her.

  “ ’Tis naught to be done now,” she sighed. “Best I put away the past and look to the future.” She straightened a tiny robe. “Poor wee child. I wonder if you are lad or lass.” Aislinn felt a movement as if the babe would have answered her. She chuckled lightly to herself. “ ’Tis the least of my worries. I would be satisfied if you were born of a marriage true and not a bastard.”

  She lifted a small blanket and tucked it tenderly into the crook of her arm, feeling its softness. A lullaby came to her lips and she rose and strolling idly to the window, hummed the refrain and dreamed of how it would be to hold her own baby and know its helpless trust as it slept against her breast. She might well be the only one who would love it and give the warmth and kindness that would nourish it more than milk.

  A light rain pattered on the sill before her and an early southern breeze played in her hair, bringing a smell of wet sod from the outdoors, of growing things, of spring not too far off. A shout came from the stable, followed by a rush of voices and she knew that Wulfgar and Sweyn had returned. Thinking he would come and seek her out as was his custom, Aislinn rushed to put away all the clothes in a chest and set the room to order. She ran her hands over her gunna to chase the wrinkles and sat down before the hearth to wait.

  Time passed and no one came.

  Aislinn could hear Wulfgar’s voice in the hall, laughing and making jokes with the men who gathered there.

  He cannot come to bid me the time of day, she mused petulantly. Already he finds his ease with his men and that hussy, Haylan. He readies himself for the day he will send me away to bear his brat in some far off hovel where his tender eyes will never see the truth. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Twill not be so.

  Tears were near flowing again, but with an angry shake of her head, she sought a cool cloth to press upon her face and drive the redness away. There was no need for weeping. Wulfgar was gentle with her and of late more than considerate, especially after learning she was with child. He did not press her to play his game as often.

  Indeed, she thought sadly, one might even call his manner cool. ’Tis sure he sees my ripening shape and finds that hefty widow more to his liking.

  There was a light rap at the door and Miderd’s voice came.

  “My lady, the table is set and my lord bade me come and ask if you will sup with him or take a platter here?”

  No solace there, Aislinn mused derisively. He sends others to fetch me instead of troubling himself.

  “Give me a short time, Miderd,” she replied, “and I will take my meal in the hall. My thanks.”

  Wulfgar and the others were in their seats at the table when Aislinn entered and joined them. He rose to greet her with a smile, but she would neither meet his eyes nor answer him and brushed past him to take her chair. He frowned slightly, wondering what had set her to brooding, and finding no answer for his thoughts, took his place beside her.

  The meal was good but not unusual as winter had considerably narrowed the available fare. There was fresh venison and mutton and what vegetables that could be stored, all cooked in a rich stew that lined the belly well. The talk was scant and forced, and the knights were wont to fill their cups more often, Wulfgar not the least of them. He sipped his wine and considered Aislinn as she dainty nibbled at her food. Her aloofness was unmistakable, but more than not these days she was somber and serious, her manner cool and withdrawn, as if she had lost all gaiety in life. He could find no cause but the babe and wondered after the child was born if she would detest it as his mother had him. It would be better that the child was sent away where he could find the love and attention he would need. Wulfgar knew well by experience the heartbreak a boy could suffer if left with an unloving mother. No matter what Kerwick’s words, he must consider the advantage for the babe. There was a kindly couple he knew of, who had long hoped for a child of their own but had been unable to have one. They would make good and doting parents.

  With Aislinn’s moods, Wulfgar admitted to being at a loss. It took only some small, misplaced gesture to anger her and he would feel the bite of sharp words from her tongue. Still, in bed she was as she had always been, reluctant at first, then yielding, then passionate. And he thought he knew women—he smiled to himself.

  Gwyneth had taken note of Aislinn’s manner and once the meal was well joined, leaned toward her brother and ventured:

  “You seem to be gone overmuch of late, Wulfgar. Has something here lost its flavor? Or perhaps this hall displeases you?”

  Aislinn glanced up to meet Gwyneth’s smug smile and knew the last was meant for her. She realized immediately that it had been a mistake to join the meal, but there was nothing to do now except face it out or admit defeat. Bolagar snorted and sought to change the subject.

  “The game comes out of the deep forest, Wulfgar,” he tried in a conversational tone. “ ’Tis a sure sign of spring as are these light mists we’ve been having.”

  Gwyneth sneered at her father. “Light mists! Indeed! ’Tis the sorry whim of the south of England to see us cold and wet. It seems either that snow is blowing in my face or the fog is heavy and wets my hair. And who cares if spring comes or naught. This dastardly weather is foul all year long.”

  “You should care, Gwyneth,” berated her father, “for ‘tis on this year and its success or failure, we’ll see the truth of Wulfgar’s ways or even William’s. The land is much wasted as are the poor English lads, and if this summer’s harvest is slim, then so will your belly be come the next cold.”

  There was silence all around the table and the cups were quickly emptied to be refilled by Hlynn and Kerwick as they made their rounds. Aislinn saw that Wulfgar’s eyes wandered to where Haylan labored, and her temper flared no small bit as she took note that in the warmth felt near the hearth, the widow had opened the simple dress she wore until her bosom swelled well into view.

  The meal was done but still the men lingered on. Their manners grew lively and Gowain brought out his cithern to pluck loud chords from it as bawdy songs were roared by Sweyn and Milbourne. The knights called for more wine and ale and Kerwick set out skins of the red stuff and tankards of the amber brew before them.

  Haylan had finished her duties and stood
watching as the men warmed to the spirit of revelry, making contests of the drinking. It was Beaufonte who offered her a horn of ale. Without hesitation she took it in a hearty manner and raising it high, held it for a moment before bending a smile to the men who waited for her to taste it. She set the cup to her lips and, amid cheers, drained it. She slammed the empty horn on the table and her eyes challenged them all. Gowain filled his own and matched the feat, then Milbourne did the same. Beaufonte would have passed the sport, having imbibed too much as it was, but Sweyn seized a skin of wine and poured until his cup ran over and the poor knight begged him to stop. Beaufonte took a deep breath and began to drink. Gowain strummed a beat on his strings and a low chant rose to mark time with the swallows. He finished and a cheer rose as with a gesture of triumph he licked a last drop that threatened to fall from the edge of the mug. Lowering the cup to the table, he took his own seat, then, bearing a contented smile on his lips, he slid slowly beneath the planks.

  Sweyn roared in mirth and Bolsgar laughed as he filled a tankard with cold water from a pail and dashed it into the knight’s face.

  “Ho, Beaufonte!” he chortled. “The night is yet young and you will miss a good round of drinking if you nap like this.”

  His victim struggled to his feet and tried to stand and as he lurched to and fro, Gowain began to pick out a rhythm that matched his steps. Haylan laughed and taking the drunken knight’s hands, led him in a slow dance. The men cheered them on and even Wulfgar began to chuckle at the inane play. Aislinn watched the foolery and as her mood was not light, saw them as grown men playing at childish games. They were all knights of William and seasoned warriors, yet they pranced and leered at Haylan’s opened bodice like untried lads.

  Beaufonte warmed to the game but was bent toward a more romantic frame of mind and tried to take her in his arms and dance in that manner. With a laugh Haylan pushed him from her and he staggered back to come up against a bench where he sat abruptly and could not rise again. The widow whirled away and halted before Gowain, there stamping her foot until he picked up the rhythm on his instrument and began to play a tune that made her feet beat a quick tattoo on the stone floor. The others shouted their acclaim and began to clap their hands to urge her on. She paused with arms akimbo and her right foot took up the beat then her left joined and soon she was twisting and swirling in a dance that was marked with a tempting sway of her body. Wulfgar sat back in his chair to watch and turning away from the table, stretched out his long legs before him.

  Haylan saw his movement and her chance. Under his full attention she moved toward him, ignoring the heated glare from Aislinn and swirling her skirts as Gowain’s fingers quickened the pace. Then she was dancing over Wulfgar’s feet, weaving an intricate pattern about them, stepping lightly between his legs and then quickly away as if to tease him. Her sultry eyes held him and her skin, wet with sweat, gleamed in the dim light of the hall. She lifted her skirts above her knees and her feet seemed to dazzle the eye as they kept the rapid rhythm, then she moved back and with a last twirl, came to her knee bowing before Wulfgar. Her bodice opened as she bent, leaving little to the imagination of the men and showing the full ripeness of her body to Wulfgar.

  Aislinn stiffened and eyed Wulfgar who seemed not in the least upset by this wanton display but clapped his hands and roared his approval with his men. Aislinn’s violet eyes burned and she could find no relief, for Gowain started another song which prompted Haylan to start another dance. Aislinn turned in her chair in disgust and refused to watch this new taunt. Drawing in his feet, Wulfgar moved around to raise his horn and take a leisurely draught. His eyes roamed slowly over the full curve of Aislinn’s breasts as his fingers lightly drummed on the table in time to the music. None could guess his thoughts, but Gwyneth found cause to smile as she watched Aislinn’s unsmiling face and listened to the beat of Wulfgar’s fingers. The lord and his mistress did not appear the loving couple at all this night and at the thought Gwyneth laughed aloud, a rare sound that drew the attention of everyone. Wulfgar peered questioningly at his sister while Aislinn withdrew further into her morose mood, knowing well the spur to Gwyneth’s gaiety. As Haylan continued her prancing, Aislinn sat quietly in her chair, her doubts marching like devastating tides across her resolve. Wulfgar would have little use for her when she grew round with child, she mused in dismal dejection. He was already casting about for game more lively. And the most lively game about seemed to be Haylan.

  When Wulfgar bent toward Sweyn and laughed over some exchange of wit about the well-endowed widow, Aislinn silently rose from her seat and made her way from the hall, unnoticed by all but Gwyneth. She stepped into the courtyard and took a ragged breath, shivering under the impact of the cold night. She felt her way down the dark path to Maida’s cottage. It was in her mind to spend the night there and make her home with her mother, freeing Wulfgar for a more compatible arrangement if he found someone else to sate his desire. She was tired of seeing her hopes dashed by a negative word from him. Where did her dreams lead but to more heartache and misery? She felt beaten, unable to go on. Her fear was that he would send her away and it rode paramount in her mind. He had never denied it and had of late begun to speak more and more of Normandy in her presence as if preparing her for the change, assuring her that it was a fair country where a lad could grow and flourish. Oh, yes! It was his intent to be rid of them.

  She hastened through the dark along the narrow path much as she had the night they returned from London when Wulfgar had questioned her about Kerwick. She smiled ruefully at the thought that he could so easily question her faithfulness and she could not his. A slave! Nothing more to him. A slave to do his bidding and to bear his weight in bed without the right to say him yea or nay.

  She eased open the cottage door and found her mother sitting before the hearth near the remains of her supper. The old woman looked up with some semblance of sanity in her eyes. She beckoned Aislinn in.

  “Come, my pretty. The fire is warm enough for two.”

  Aislinn moved slowly forward and it was Maida who hurried to fetch a pelt and wrap it around her daughter’s shivering shoulders.

  “Ah, love, why come ye in the cold? Do you have no care for yourself or the babe? What ill bodes in the lord’s chamber that you must seek my poor hut at this late hour?”

  “Mother, I fear ‘twill be the way of things henceforth,” Aislinn sighed and choked on her tears.

  “What? Has the bastard cast you out? That rutting Norman ass sets you aside?” Maida’s eyes gleamed as she considered this for a moment, then smiled. “A bastard for the bastard you shall give him true. ‘Twill bite him sorely to see the babe with his own pale locks.”

  Aislinn sniffed and shook her head. “ ’Tis his plan I fear to send me away where he will not be pricked by the sight of his bastard kin.”

  “Away?” Maida gasped and stared hard at her daughter. “You will not let him send you away from me.” It was half a fearful question.

  Aislinn shrugged and smothered a deep pain.

  “He is lord here and I am but his slave. There is naught else I can say.”

  “Then flee, daughter. Before he can do the deed,” Maida pleaded. “For once think of yourself. What good will you do those here if you are in Normandy or another far off country? Fly with me to the North where we may seek out our kin and bid them give us shelter. We can stay there until the babe is sprung.”

  Aislinn sat quietly before the hearth, thoughtfully gazing into the flickering tongues of flame that curled about the logs and licked at the hard wood until it grew black and charred. Her mind would not ease and turned ever on the road that would lead her to escape. Would he care? Or would he feel relief and be glad to be rid of them? She did not relish leaving the place of her birth and this hall that had been the only home she had ever known. Still, Wulfgar’s manner of late left her little choice, for she could not imagine herself faring well in Normandy. She rested her forehead in her hand and knew that the decision was already forced
upon her.

  “Aye,” she breathed softly, and her mother had to strain to hear the words. “ ’Twould be the best. If he cannot find me, then surely he cannot send me from England.”

  Maida clapped her hands in glee and danced a jig about the small, littered room. “Bastard! Bastard! Norman foe! We will be gone before you know.”

  Her mirth was not shared by Aislinn who numbly rose and went to the door.

  “Gather your belongings at the morning’s break, Mother mine. He rides to Cregan on the morrow and we will part for the northern climes soon after. Make ready. I must return to his bed this one last time or we mayhap will find our plans gone awry.”

  Aislinn left without another word and returned to the hall, leaving Maida to cackle long and hard before the hearth. Aislinn paused at the great oaken panel, gently closing the door behind her. Wulfgar stood leaning against the stone wall of the fireplace as Gowain plucked a softer tune, and Haylan swayed before them as if she were some temptress of the Nile. Her dress fell loose over her shoulder and her bosom swelled wantonly but the cloth held at the peaks of her breasts. Aislinn wondered if it was held there by a spell that eluded the men who seemed to await its fall with fascinated attention.

  Aislinn saw Wulfgar’s gaze wander about the room, then settle and hold upon her. She crossed the room under his regard, but before she reached the stairs Haylan whirled, seeing Wulfgar’s interest elsewhere, and came to dance before Aislinn as if flaunting her talents before her. Aislinn looked at her coolly; then suddenly the music stopped and Gowain laid aside his instrument in some embarrassment. Haylan turned on him in a huff, allowing Aislinn to mount the stairs in quiet dignity. Wulfgar swept past the irate widow in his haste to follow after Aislinn and slowed when he caught up with her at the head of the stairs.