The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Wulfgar woke in the morning at first light and lay still lest he wake his wife who slumbered peacefully against him with her head resting on his shoulder. His thoughts were clear and keen this early morning hour, and he knew that never before had he experienced pleasure so rich and fulfilling. He was still filled with amazement at her abandon. He had known ladies of the court who responded as if offering him a high favor, passively waiting to be aroused. He had known the common women of the street who pantomimed their passion by predictable rote and were eager only when it meant an extra coin. But here was one who met him—nay, more than halfway, who met his advances and aided them with an eagerness to match his own and who built their passion to a blinding, consuming, overwhelming height that in a brilliant flash of ecstasy collapsed upon itself and left the smoldering foundation ready for a new experience.

  She lay warm against him now, her leg casually across his, her breath softly caressing his chest. It was difficult to believe this soft and tender fluff beside him was the bold and brazen hussy of the night just past.

  Another happening of the night before crossed his mind and his brow furrowed in thought. Maida was an element he could not deal with, but if Aislinn had spoken truth, he could leave the matter to her. Well aware of her strength of purpose, he could be sure she would deal with her mother. And if she lied—he made a mental note to be more wary in the future.

  Aislinn stirred and he pulled the pelts more snuggly about her shoulder. He smiled to himself as his thoughts came to rest once more on her. He pondered at the words spoken yesterday and upon their effect on her. In simple terms he had vowed complete responsibility for her welfare and safety, and she, it seemed, had promised herself as his wife to honor and obey. He almost chuckled at the thought, and in his own innocence he did not begin to realize what being the master of this woman would mean.

  Aislinn sighed and snuggled against him, opening her eyes to glance across the broad expanse of his chest toward the cold hearth. She lifted her gaze and found him watching her quietly then lay across his chest to press a soft kiss on his lips.

  “We let the fire go out,” she sighed.

  Wulfgar smiled with a twinkle in his eye. “Shall we kindle it?”

  Aislinn laughed gaily and bounced naked from the bed.

  “ ’Twas the fire on the hearth I spoke of, my love.”

  Wulfgar bounded out of bed and caught her as she was rounding the end. Pulling her to him, he sat on the pelts and nuzzled her throat as he slipped his arms about her waist.

  “Ah, wench, what enchantment have you cast on me. I scarce can mind my duties when you are near.”

  Aislinn’s eyes sparkled as she looped her hands behind his neck. “Do I please you, milord?”

  “Oh-ho,” he sighed. “You leave me atremble with the merest touch of your fingers.”

  With a little laugh, she nibbled at the lobe of his ear. “Then I admit it is thus with me.”

  Their lips met and it was some time later that they descended the stairs to break the fast. Though the hour was late when they finally appeared, only Miderd and Hlynn were about. The hall had been carefully cleaned and new rushes scattered with a sprinkling of dampened herbs to clear the stench that was wont to linger after a night of heavy celebration. A tasty porridge garnished with pork and eggs simmered on the hearth and as they seated themselves, Miderd came bringing bowls of the stuff to place before them while Hlynn fetched tankards of fresh cool milk.

  The meal was begun in silence. The entire village seemed to lay strangely quiet outside the open doors. There was no sign of the gaiety expressed the day before until a few moments later when Kerwick entered. He walked with studied care and his hair still dripped with water from the stream. Hesitantly he sat at the table with them and gave Aislinn a weak smile, his pallor accentuating the redness of his eyes. The smile faded as he caught the scent of the porridge and stared into the steaming bowls bobbing with chunks of pork and coddled eggs. He clasped his hands over his stomach and with a strangely muffled apology fled again in the direction of the brook.

  Aislinn smiled in wonder as Miderd sent a peal of laughter after the distressed young man.

  “The poor lad took the best of a keg of ale,” the woman chuckled. “And got the worst of it, I fear.”

  Wulfgar nodded and swallowed, smiling. “I shall be more gentle with my gifts to him hereafter,” he murmured. “He seems to take them too much to heart.”

  The repeated rattle of a door from the chambers above punctuated his words, and they raised their eyes to see Bolsgar at the head of the stairs, one arm braced against the wall while the other hand raked his tousled hair. He cleared his throat and steadying himself, hitched up his braccos and began a slow descent, carefully watching his feet as they seemed to wander a bit from where he would place them. As he neared they could see the blood-shot eyes and the stubble of a beard that gritted as he rubbed his hand across his chin. He, too, gave Aislinn a smile of greeting that came through as a lopsided leer. He seemed in high spirits that spoke of some lingering essence of ale or wine. He approached the table until he caught the odor of the porridge then sobering, swerved and half fell into his chair near the fireplace.

  “I don’t think I’ll eat just yet,” he rumbled, and covered his mouth with his hand for a moment while his eyes clenched tight. He shuddered and then settled back in his chair with a trembling sigh.

  Miderd brought a sympathy offering of a horn of ale, and he took it nodding and sipped it gratefully. Wulfgar spoke and at the sound of his voice, Bolsgar flinched.

  “Sir, have you seen aught of Sweyn this morn? I wished to talk to him of some matters dealing with the castle.”

  Bolsgar cleared his throat and weakly replied. “Not since we split that last keg of ale.”

  “Ho!” Miderd guffawed. “No doubt that fair swain is groaning with pain and trying to bury his head in the straw of his pallet.” She chuckled and gestured with a large ladle toward Hlynn. “The poor lass will do good never to come within an arm’s reach of him again.”

  Aislinn looked up in surprise, wondering at the woman’s words. As far as she knew Sweyn had always handled himself quite properly with the women of the village.

  “Hlynn still bears the bruise of his embrace,” Miderd continued jovially. “But no doubt his cheek will smart for days to come.”

  Hlynn blushed and turned to her task, hiding her face in embarrassed silence.

  “Aye,” Wulfgar chuckled. “Sweyn looses a winter from his years with each empty horn, then fancies himself a prancing buck again to rut after any free bosom.”

  Aislinn smothered a giggle as another shadow darkened the door. Sir Gowain entered, shading his ravaged brow from an overly bright sun. The cool shade of the hall drew a sigh of relief from him, and he almost walked a straight path to the table. He paused for a moment then sat as far as possible from the porridge and braced his arms on the table as if to hold it steady. He nodded a greeting to Aislinn but could not venture a smile and fought to keep his eyes from the steaming bowl.

  “Your pardon, my lord,” he said with strain in his voice. “Sir Milbourne is ailing and has not risen as yet.”

  Wulfgar suppressed his mirth and frowned a bit as Aislinn fought with hers.

  “No matter, Sir Gowain,” Wulfgar replied. He sat back and took a bite of meat as the one addressed hastily averted his eyes. “ ’Twill be a day of rest as I find my loyal folk are good for little else this morn. Can you bear it, have a cup of ale to clear your head and see to your own welfare.” He leaned forward and spoke with mock concern. “You seem a bit at odds with the day yourself.”

  Gowain took the proffered cup from Hlynn’s hand and raising his eyes but once, gulped the cool draught and left.

  A gale of laughter set Aislinn back in her chair and Wulfgar heartily joined the gaiety while Bolsgar cringed at the unwarranted attack on his ears, until Gwyneth’s voice crackled with anger from the top of the stairs.

  “Well, I see the sun is high enoug
h for my lord and my lady to rise.”

  Bolsgar took the bait and hurling his cup across the room, half rose. “Ye gods,” he roared. “It must be noon. My fairest daughter rises to break the fast.”

  Gwyneth descended the steps and in a whining voice answered his jibe. “I could not sleep until the early dawn broke. There were strange noises in the chambers all night.” She frowned pointedly at Aislinn. “As if a cat were tangled in the briar.” She raised her brow sardonically. “My Lord Wulfgar, did you hear the sounds?”

  Aislinn’s cheeks flushed with color, but Wulfgar laughed aloud, unabashed.

  “Nay, my sister, but whatever they were, I vow you would not know their like or kin.”

  Gwyneth sniffed and dabbled in the pot. “What would you know of gentle folk?” she sneered and plopped a morsel of meat in her mouth.

  Both Miderd and Hlynn found themselves busy with urgent chores so Gwyneth dipped herself a cup of milk and sipping it went to stand before her father. Her voice rang sharp within the hall.

  “So, I see the sham of youth has fled as quickly as it came.”

  “My lines have come of life well lived. What excuse of yours, daughter?”

  Gwyneth whirled in fury and stared hard at Miderd as she coughed loudly.

  “What few there are,” she sniped, “are there from bearing the cruel barbs of my father and my bastard kin.”

  Wulfgar rose, taking Aislinn’s hand and drew her up with him. “Before the day is rent beyond repair, will you take a space and ride with me?” he asked.

  Glad for this reprieve from Gwyneth’s tongue, Aislinn murmured softly, “With happiness, my lord.”

  Wulfgar led her from the hall as Gwyneth’s voice rose in new attack on the sore-beleaguered Bolsgar. As they leisurely crossed the paddock, Aislinn without reason laughed in gay abandonment and pleasure. She grasped Wulfgar’s hand and danced around him like a child around a Maypole. Shaking his head at her, he caught her in the crook of his arm to stop her and leaned against the stable wall.

  “What a tempting vixen you are, wench,” he murmured huskily against her hair and finding her arms about his neck, was inspired to kiss her. As, the night before, he found himself amazed by her willingness. He wondered at her mood and at the ardor of her answer; at this vibrant being in his arms that touched him and set his every nerve alive with pleasure.

  A rattle of hooves broke the moment and they pulled apart to see the friar’s donkey trot from the stable, his master hunched upon his back, grasping the small beast’s mane as if he fought to stay astride. The monk’s hood was pulled low over an ashen face as he rushed by them and on to Cregan.

  Aislinn giggled and snuggled once more against Wulfgar’s chest, slipping her arms behind him and holding tightly. Playfully she nipped his neck with her teeth. With a quick movement Wulfgar swung her into his arms but he almost dropped her in surprise as she struggled frantically against him.

  “You beastly Norman, would you rape me here?” she demanded in feigned anger and then chortled at his bemusement.

  Wulfgar grinned. “To pick you up was the best way I knew of getting you to move. If you are determined to gambol all day, a strong hand must be taken to you to curb you.”

  She shook her fist beneath his nose in mock threat, and as he set her to her feet, she kissed him, murmuring against his lips, “Fetch the horses, my lord. England waits.”

  The Hun felt an urge to stretch his flanks and run and show off a bit before the gray mare, but Wulfgar, in deference to Aislinn’s gentle state, plied a firm hand on the reins and held him back. The stallion gave a jump or two and raised his feet to rear, but at a warning bark from his master he set them down again and, letting out a disgusted snort, settled into an easy trot.

  Aislinn laughed and in the sunny day her heart flew with the swallows above the trees. They passed a portion of the road where ancient carved stones lay edge to edge to form the surface. The hooves of their mounts made a clicking rhythm and Wulfgar began a song in French. The song became risqué and he turned, smiling at Aislinn, to whistle the last refrain while he ogled her with lusty attention and much rolling of the eyes. Aislinn giggled in glee at his mimicry then lowering her voice to a gruff tone, sang an old Saxon ditty until he bade her stop.

  “Such words were not made for a lady’s tongue,” he sternly reproved, then grinned. “Or for Saxon harlots either.”

  “Pray tell me, milord,” she smiled sweetly. “Have you grown old womanish in your dottiness?”

  She reined her mare quickly to avoid his sweeping arm and spurred her steed to a faster pace. Waving a hand, she raised her nose in the air and spoke in mincing tones.

  “Norman dog, keep your distance. I am a lady of my master’s court and will not brook this ceaseless fondling.”

  This time she turned her mare hard away to avoid the charge of the Hun and seeing Wulfgar’s determined gaze, she kicked the mare across a low hedge and sent her fleeing across the greensward. Wulfgar and his mount came crashing after.

  “Aislinn, stop!” Wulfgar bellowed. As this had no effect, he urged the Hun to a faster pace and roared again, “You witless vixen, you’ll kill yourself.”

  He finally caught her reins and drew the trembling mare to a halt. Leaping from the Hun, he reached up to snatch his wife from the saddle, angry at her foolery and the fear she caused him.

  With a laugh, Aislinn threw her arms about his sturdy neck and as he would have set her to the ground, she slid full against him, her face flushed with excitement. It seemed more natural to kiss her than to speak and as he swept her into his embrace she did not protest but tightened her arms about his neck.

  Some time later they rested in the warm sun at the top of a small knoll. Aislinn half sat, half lay, and plucked early spring flowers, weaving them in a garland. Much pacified, the Norman knight rested his head upon her lap while he considered the fairness of his mate and leisurely traced a finger across her bosom. Aislinn giggled and pressed a light kiss upon his lips.

  “My lord, it seems you are never sated.”

  “Ah, wench, how can I be when you are ever tempting me?”

  She feigned sympathy as she sighed. “ ’Tis true. You are sorely beset by women. I must speak with Haylan—”

  Wulfgar sprang up and snatching her to her feet, enfolded her within his arms. “What is this of Haylan?” he queried with a grin. “ ’Tis you I lay the blame to, you jealous vixen, none other.”

  Pushing from him, she danced away with a flippant manner and setting the garland upon her head, bowed before him. “Do you say that you were not tempted by the lusty Haylan when she danced for you and showed her bosom? You must have been blind not to see.”

  Wulfgar slowly advanced as she retreated, backing away from him with a delighted giggle. She held out a hand warily.

  “Now, my lord, I’ve given you no cause to beat me.”

  He swooped upon her and she shrieked in playful glee as he caught her up in his arms and whirled about with her.

  “Oh Wulfgar. Wulfgar.” Her voice rang with a joyful note. “You are mine at last.”

  He raised a dubious brow but smiled into her eyes. “I vow you planned this marriage from the first moment of our meeting.”

  She nuzzled her face against his throat and sighed. “Oh nay, Wulfgar, ‘twas our first kiss that set my mind on the matter.”

  They dallied through the day, giving no thought to others. The sun was low and had lost much of its warmth when they guided their mounts into the huge barn. As Wulfgar tended the horses, Aislinn watched him with glowing eyes, then they walked in blissful silence hand in hand like young lovers barely met. Just before they passed into the hall, Wulfgar laughed and swept the garland from her head then placed a kiss upon it before he sent it sailing through the door. Wrapping his arm about her, they entered to the cheers of his men and warm greetings from the others.

  Sweyn sat at the foot of the table and seemed still more inclined to slip under it than meet their gaze. From him Aislinn’s
eyes went to Hlynn. The Viking’s followed, then he buried his face in a mug of ale and strangely seemed to choke upon its tartness. At a whispered comment from Aislinn, Wulfgar threw back his head and roared heartily while Sweyn squirmed and flushed a deeper shade.

  “I vow you’re right, Aislinn,” Wulfgar grinned. “For his waning years he must find a gentler maid to fondle.”

  Still chuckling at her wit, Wulfgar swept Aislinn along with him to their table and met Gwyneth’s cold stare as he handed his wife into her chair.

  “The way you coddle these Saxons, Wulfgar, I would believe you are one,” she said derisively, then gestured toward Kerwick, who now ate with Gowain and the other knights. “You’ll have cause to regret trusting him with your affairs. Mark my word.”

  Wulfgar smiled, undisturbed. “I do not trust him, Gwyneth. ’Tis only that he knows what reward I hold in store if he should fail me.”

  Gwyneth sneered in contempt. “Next you will be giving Sanhurst some title of importance.”

  “Why not?” Wulfgar shrugged and mocked. “He has come to know his duties well.”

  Gwyneth looked at him in distaste then continued with her meal in silence as Wulfgar turned to Aislinn, dismissing his sister as he would any burdensome matter.

  Haylan brought trenchers for them to fill though she kept her reddened eyes and glum face downcast. The meal was passed in good grace with jovial banter tossed back and forth. After a few more draughts of ale, Sweyn joined in and mirthfully raised his horn to Wulfgar.

  “Ho, lord, if I am wont to choose a gentle maid like Hlynn to fondle and I know of none more tame, ‘tis cause you’ve shown me the folly of rutting after a more determined wench.” The hall filled with roars of laughter at his quip. The Viking lifted his horn of ale and saluted his lord with a grin. “Good marriage, Wulfgar. Long life.”