The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  The room was lit by a cheery fire prepared no doubt by some thoughtful soul who never doubted Wulfgar’s success in anything he did—undoubtedly Sweyn, ever loyal and ever seeing to his lord’s comfort.

  With a sigh Aislinn dropped her soiled gunna onto the coffer as she stood near the warmth of the hearth. Drawing off her kirtle, she reached for a pelt to wrap around her naked body but as the door creaked open behind her she clutched her kirtle to her breast again and faced the intruder.

  “So, you’re back,” Gwyneth murmured, leaning against the frame.

  Aislinn swept her hand before her. “As you see, still alive and breathing.”

  “ ’Tis a shame,” Gwyneth sighed. “I was in hopes you’d meet some hungry wolf.”

  “I did, if you are anxious to know. He should be along any moment now.”

  “Ah, the brave bastard,” Gwyneth returned derisively. “Ever flaunting his valor.”

  Aislinn shook her head. “You know so little of your brother, Gwyneth.”

  The woman straightened and strode forward brazenly, raking Aislinn’s slim body contemptuously with her gaze. “I admit I do not understand him nor why he should go flying off in the night to search for you when he will in time send you to Normandy or some other land far from here. Foolishness to be sure and naught of wisdom.”

  “Why do you hate him so?” Aislinn inquired earnestly. “Has he ever sought to hurt you? You bear such venom for him I find it hard to understand your reason.”

  Gwyneth sneered. “Nor would you, you Saxon slut. You are content to spread yourself upon his bed and play his games. What will you get from him but more bastards?”

  Aislinn’s chin raised a notch as she choked back angry words. Then a movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and looking there, she found Wulfgar standing in the doorway, listening with quiet interest to their words. His arms were folded across his chest and his hauberk rested casually across his shoulder. At Aislinn’s silence Gwyneth turned to follow her stare and met her brother’s gaze.

  “Do you come to welcome us back, Gwyneth?” he inquired somewhat roughly.

  He closed the door behind him and crossed the room, laying his mail across the coffer beside Aislinn’s gown and regarded Gwyneth who eyed him coldly.

  “You make your contempt for us well known, Gwyneth. Are you not happy here?” he asked, placing his arms akimbo.

  “What? Here in this beggardly hall?” She snapped.

  “You are free to go,” Wulfgar said slowly. “There is no one who would stop you.”

  Gwyneth’s pale eyes stared at him coldly. “Are you casting me out, brother?”

  Wulfgar shrugged his shoulders. “I but wish to assure you I will not hold you here if you choose to go.”

  “If it weren’t for my father, you’d find a way to be rid of me,” Gwyneth accused.

  “True,” Wulfgar admitted, a slow, sardonic grin spreading his lips.

  “What? The roving knight has found that being a lord of lands has its disadvantages?” Gwyneth sneered sarcastically. “You must find it tiresome indeed to deal with the burdens of your many serfs and your household as well, when all you had to bother about before was yourself. Why do you not admit you are a failure here?”

  “It does prove tiresome on occasion.” Wulfgar looked pointedly at his sister. “But I believe myself capable of bearing the weight.”

  Gwyneth snorted derisively. “A bastard trying to prove himself worthy of his betters. ‘Twould make a wooden image laugh.”

  “Do you find it so amusing, Gwyneth?” He smiled and moved to stand close beside Aislinn. Admiringly he lifted a shiny coppery tress as she raised her eyes and he placed a gentle kiss upon it, his gaze caressing her with more than passing warmth. “You must find us all worthy of your scorn, we being human and imperfect.”

  Gwyneth watched his attentions to Aislinn and lifted her lip jeeringly. “Some must be tolerated with more patience than others.”

  “Oh?” Wulfgar faced her, raising a brow. “I was under the impression you held us all in the same contempt. Whom do you not?” His countenance seemed thoughtful for a moment then he smiled slowly, turning again to Aislinn who grew warm and weak with his nearness. “Ragnor, perhaps? That knave?”

  Gwyneth straightened her spine. “What do you know of the gentle born, being a bastard yourself?” she snapped.

  “A great deal,” Wulfgar replied. “I had to take the abuse of those like Ragnor and you since I was a young lad. I know much of their high born ways and ‘tis not worth a pauper’s purse to me. If you really want to choose a man, Gwyneth, and I give you this advice freely, look to his heart and you will see the true measure of a man, not by what his ancestors before him have done or not done. Beware of Ragnor, sister. His kind is treacherous and should never be trusted overmuch.”

  “You speak from envy, Wulfgar,” she charged.

  He chuckled and ran a finger around Aislinn’s ear, making a delightful shiver run through her body. “If you must believe so, Gwyneth, but be it known I warned you.”

  Gwyneth walked proudly to the door where she paused for a moment, glowering at them coldly, then left without another word, slamming it behind her.

  Wulfgar laughed softly, dismissing her, then pulled Aislinn into his arms, slipping a hand to the small of her back while the other hand raised her chin. She did not resist but neither was there the response to him he desired. As his lips pressed lightly against hers, Aislinn willed her mind to think of other matters that greatly disturbed her and thus met his kiss with a coolness he was not accustomed to in her. After a moment he raised his head to gaze down into violet eyes lifted innocently to his.

  “What plagues you?” he demanded in low voice.

  “Do I displease you, milord? What is thy desire? Tell me and I will obey. I am your slave.”

  Wulfgar scowled heavily. “You are not my slave. I have told you once this day.”

  “But, milord, I am here to please you. What is a slave but one who must do her master’s bidding? Do you wish my arms about your neck?” Stiltedly she turned, raising a silky limb while still holding her kirtle with the other and slipped her hand behind his neck. “Do you wish my kiss?” Rising on tiptoes, she lightly brushed her lips against his, then dropping her arm again to her side, she resumed her former position. “There, I have pleased you, have I not?”

  With a disgusted movement, Wulfgar tore his tunic over his head and folded it angrily away. With long strides he crossed to the bed and sat down on its edge, pulling off his chainse. When he stood up to remove the chausses, Aislinn went to the end of the bed where the chain still lay and sat down upon the stone floor, catching her breath at the coldness of it against her bare buttocks. As he stared at her in some amazement she slipped her slender ankle in the circlet of iron and snapped it closed.

  “What the devil?” he cried and stepped to her. He yanked her to her feet, making Aislinn lose her grip on the kirtle. She stood naked as he stared down at her, his face black with ire. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Her eyes widened in feigned innocence. “Are slaves not chained, milord? You see I am not aware of their treatment because I’ve only been a slave these past few months. Since the Normans’ coming, milord.”

  Wulfgar swore and bending, impatiently removed the iron from her ankle. He lifted her in his arms and tossed her onto the bed.

  “You are no slave,” he bellowed, glaring at her.

  “Aye, milord,” she replied, barely able to keep her mouth in sober lines. “As you wish, milord.”

  “For mercy’s sake! What do you want of me, woman?” he demanded, throwing his arms up in frustration. “I have said you are no slave. What more do you want?”

  She batted her eyelids coyly. “I wish only to please you, milord. Why do you show such anger? I am here to do thy will.”

  “What will make you listen?” he raged. “Must I cry it to the world?”

  “Aye, milord,” she said simply and smiled as he
looked at her more closely.

  For a short moment Wulfgar stared at her as if trying to find her meaning, then as it dawned on him he straightened and began snatching up his clothes again. He strode to the door and there paused as her voice halted him.

  “Where do you go, milord? Am I not pleasing?”

  “I go to join Sweyn,” he growled in return. “He does not badger me so much.”

  With that he left the room, slamming the door behind him in a fit of temper. Smiling to herself Aislinn drew the pelts up around her and, wrapping her arms about his pillow, breathed in his scent that lingered upon it and presently went to sleep.

  “What saucy wench, that?” Wulfgar swore as he strode angrily across the courtyard to the stables. “She would have me wed to her, declaring to the world she was my lady proper. I am not the one to be led about by a ring in my nose. She’ll have to be content.”

  He found some fresh hay beside the Hun and thumped about until he had prepared an adequate bed for himself. The noise he made stirred the animals and then drew aggravated grumbles from his men. At a sharp word from a lowly archer, he flung himself down on the straw at the Hun’s head, drawing his mantle about him and tried in vain to get the rest he sorely needed.

  He rode hard and fast the next day, tiring his mind and body in hopes he might drift into a well deserved sleep that night, yet as dawn painted the horizon with soft magenta hues he still lay fitfully tossing and turning upon his bed of straw. He had avoided the hall since leaving it that other night but now and again he caught a glimpse of Aislinn as she crossed to her mother’s hut or went upon some other chore. At these times he would stop and watch her go, admiring the gentle swing of her skirts and the brilliance of her coppery tresses as her hair shone in the sunlight. She cast furtive glances his way but generally stayed out of his reach. His men looked at them questioningly, glancing from one to the other, and scratched their heads at his bed in the straw. They were careful to remain silent if some sudden oath or snarl woke them in the night, recognizing his voice, and huddled upon their own pallets, hoping greatly that he would soon find sleep.

  The third morning he rose and took his breakfast in the hall, casting glances toward the stairway until Aislinn finally descended. For a moment she seemed surprised to see him but then quickly recovered her composure and went to help Ham serve the meal. She brought a platter around to the men and finally came to him with it, offering the quail to him without a word. He selected a plump bird and then peered at her.

  “Fill my cup,” he commanded. Complying Aislinn reached across him, her breast brushing his shoulder, and took up the mug. She returned a moment later with it filled with milk and set it before him.

  Wulfgar frowned. “Did you find it thusly? Move it to where it was, slave.”

  “As you wish, milord,” she murmured.

  Again she reached across him, her breast brushing his shoulder and placed the horn as it had been.

  “Does that please you, milord?” she questioned.

  “Aye,” he replied and bent his attention to his meal.

  Gwyneth seemed delighted with this arrangement and took her meal beside Wulfgar that evening sitting in Aislinn’s chair. She bestowed a bit more kindness upon her brother and tried to draw him into conversation but was met with noncommittal grunts and silent stares. His attention seemed mainly centered upon Aislinn as she labored with Ham and Kerwick to set the food before him and his men. She struggled with the large platters, and Kerwick often came to her aid when it seemed she was about to drop the heavy load. His solicitude aggravated Wulfgar sorely and brooding stares followed them about the hall. Wulfgar’s hand tightened upon his cup as he watched Aislinn at one point laughing with the young Saxon.

  “You see how she plays with him?” Gwyneth murmured near her brother’s ear. “Is she worth your concern? Look to Haylan instead.” Her thin hand swept the hall toward the young widow who eyed Wulfgar longingly. “ ’Twould seem she has more love to offer. Have you tried her in bed yet? She might prove a healing potion.”

  Yet with all Gwyneth’s efforts, Wulfgar’s gaze returned to Aislinn. Bolsgar watched him silently for a while, then leaned near.

  “The wolf roams the countryside but always returns to his one mate. Have you found that one yet?”

  Wulfgar turned to him sharply. “What price have you taken to make this match?”

  “ ’Twould seem it was low, whatever.” Bolsgar laughed softly, then grew serious. “Make your choice, Wulfgar. Free the maid Aislinn or take her for your own.”

  Wulfgar gritted his teeth. “You conspire with Maida!” he accused.

  “Why do you keep such a mean and vengeful maid in your household?” Bolsgar inquired, gesturing to Aislinn. “I see how she tortures you with her presence. She knows you are watching and plays with other men. Kerwick is no fool. He will take the girl to wife and be father to her babe. Why not give her to him? He would be happy. But you, milord fool—,” the old knight chuckled. “What of you? Can you bear the thought of her sharing his bed?”

  Wulfgar’s fist banged down on the table. “Cease!” he roared.

  “If you do not take her, Wulfgar,” Bolsgar continued imperturbed. “Then in good faith you cannot keep the young Saxon from marrying her to give a name to her babe.”

  “What difference would it make to the child? My mother was married to you and I still am called bastard,” Wulfgar returned bitterly.

  Bolsgar’s face paled. “I disclaimed you,” he said slowly, struggling with his words. “Say that I was then the fool, for many times I’ve regreted my action and yearned to have you back. You were a truer son to me than fair Falsworth. My mind is ever tortured with the agony I caused you, but it cannot be undone. Will you be so foolish?”

  Wulfgar turned away, disturbed by the old man’s words. Finally he rose and strode from the hall, not noticing that Aislinn’s eyes followed him with worry drawing her brows together.

  The next morning Aislinn was startled rudely out of sleep when Wulfgar tore the pelts from her and gave her a hearty whack upon her bottom.

  “Rise, you wench. We will have important guests this day and I would present them with your best appearance.”

  Aislinn sulked, rubbing her abused posterior and finally rose under his all too careful regard. As she reached for her kirtle, he clapped both his hands together loudly and the door immediately opened to admit Hlynn and Miderd who carried in water for a bath. Clutching her kirtle over her nakedness Aislinn glanced from the women to Wulfgar in confusion.

  He raised a brow. “For you, milady. A scented bath will liven your spirit.” He whirled on his heels and strode to the door, there to turn again to her. “Wear the yellow gunna I bought for you. I like the color on you.”

  Aislinn flounced down angrily upon the edge of the bed.

  “Tsk! Tsk!” he scolded. “You seek to please, do you not? Or have you forgotten a slave’s duty?” He smiled. “I will be back shortly.”

  With a laugh he stepped through the portal, quickly closing the door behind him before some missile could find his head, and strode down the stairs.

  Reluctantly Aislinn let the two women assist her with the bath and finally relaxed under their massaging hands as they smoothed a scented oil upon her body. Then they combed her hair long and painstakingly until Aislinn thought they would never cease. They pulled it from her face and caught the mass high on her head, intricately coiling it with yellow ribbons. They helped her don the silk kirtle and the rich velvet gunna, then placed her gold filagree girdle about her hips, completing her toilet.

  Miderd stepped back to admire her and smiled through happy tears. “Oh, milady, you are too lovely for words. ’Tis glad we are that he brought you back.”

  Aislinn embraced her fondly. “To state the truth, Miderd, so am I, yet I wonder at his moods, if he will have me now or seek some other.”

  Timid Hlynn slipped a comforting arm about her mistress’ waist and patted her back consolingly, failing to find the right w
ords to comfort her. Aislinn hugged her close, tears brightening her eyes, and then Miderd and Hlynn hurried to tidy the room before Wulfgar returned. At his entrance several moments later they quickly scurried out, closing the door softly behind them.

  Wulfgar came across the room to stand before Aislinn, clasping his hands behind his back and setting his feet apart. His eyes slowly traveled her length and then returned as leisurely to her face. Bristling slightly under his close scrutiny, Aislinn returned his gaze coldly. He came closer and his knuckles beneath her chin raised her head. Very lightly he pressed a kiss upon her soft lips, and his look was warm and devouring.

  “You are beautiful,” he murmured huskily against her mouth, and it took all of Aislinn’s willpower not to relax against him and slip her hands around his waist. He laughed softly as he stepped away. “But a slave must not be made vain. Come down to the hall; the others wait,” he called over his shoulder as he left.

  Still feeling the brush of his lips, Aislinn scuffed a small foot disconcertedly against the stone floor.

  “A slave to do his bidding, nothing more. ‘Twould take all Heaven to convince him I would be a just mate.”

  Gwyneth had donned her finest also and stood rankling at the mystery and the delay. Wulfgar leisurely quaffed ale as he watched her pace the floor giving him a glare now and then as she passed him.

  “You drag me out of bed and do not tell me the reason, except that someone comes. Who would venture to this Godforsaken place other than the slow witted?”

  “You came, dear Gwyneth,” he said with humor and watched the flash of anger he aroused. “Do you make yourself the exception or are we all slow witted?”

  “You jest, brother, but I do not see your precious William come to view your holdings.”

  Wulfgar shrugged. “Would you have the King visit a commonplace lord with small lands? His duties as king are far greater than mine as lord. I can well understand that his time is well met, especially if his subjects continually grumble as mine are wont to do.”