The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Wulfgar made his way to the stables and as he shaped a bed in the sweet-smelling hay, the Hun snorted his displeasure at this intrusion. The Norman warrior looked over his shoulder at the mighty steed and commanded him to silence.

  “ ’Twill only be for the night,” he assured him and went to sleep.

  The babe was named Bryce and Aislinn knew joy, for he was bright and cheerful. One loud cry when hunger stirred his belly and that quickly turned to gurgles of delight as he nuzzled at her breast. Wulfgar in his doubt could find no solace in the locks that faded fast to a reddish gold or in the baby’s eyes, deep and blue. Maida had seen the birth and for the first weeks had not come near, but now whenever the babe was about Aislinn knew her mother would be somewhere in sight. She would not enter the hall unless so bade by Wulfgar or Aislinn, but if the day was warm she squatted beside the door and watched him as he lay on a pelt before the hearth. At these times Maida was in a distant mood and seemed to ponder on older memories. She knew the child of her blood and could not say him other than kin. Years before she had watched her own fiery haired young daughter playing on her blankets in this same hall. Now she remembered the gay times, the love, and the happy moments and with the passage of time Aislinn hoped the evil things her mother’s eyes had viewed would dim and fade.

  The long warm days of summer shortened and September brought the first chill of winter to the night air. The townfolk watched as the fields ripened. Under Wulfgar’s guidance the crops had been tended regularly and young boys set with slings to scare away the birds and beasts. The harvest promised to be rich as never before. Kerwick, in his rounds, kept a full account in his book, and the sight of the young man coming on horseback with his ledgers lashed behind him became a common sight. The people even sought him out to measure their wealth before putting it in the larders or graineries.

  Oxen plodded in a circle honing the millstones of Darkenwald. Here to this town the people came and bartered and bought from Gavin’s smithy the tools that would see them through the winter’s cold or set the fields ready for next spring’s seed. The end of the first harvest neared and the late crops still ripened in the sun. Already the graineries bulged with stores and the larders grew crowded as slabs of various dried and smoked meats and great loops of sausage hung from the rafters. Wulfgar claimed a lord’s share of all and the great bins beneath the hall began to fill and the cellars hung with plenty. Young maids gathered grapes and other fruits for wines and sweetmeats which likewise were added to the rest. Huge combs of honey were melted in earthern jars and as the wax rose it was skimmed and made into candles. When a jar was full the last thin layer of the stuff was left to harden and seal it and the container was placed deep in the cool cellar. The hall was a constant rush of activity and as the herds were culled with only the best stock kept for the next year’s breeding, the reeking odors of slaughter and tanning hides added to the smell of the place. The smoking shed was always full and salt was laborously carted across the marsh and meat preserved in the brine made with the stuff.

  Haylan’s hand was ever present and her skills in flavoring and curing were much in demand and so she was content that her son, Miles, had found a friend in Sweyn. This good fellow could teach many of the things a boy needed to know. In the days they spent together, Sweyn taught the lad the habits of geese and other fowl and where to loose an arrow to bag them; of stags and does and where they wandered through the woods; of fox and of wolves and how to set a snare, skin the animals and turn the bloody stiff pelt into a soft warm fur. They became the two most seen together and where the Norseman went, the lad was wont to follow.

  The trees were beginning to show red when a hard and early freeze gripped the south of England. This day the youth had missed his friend, for the big Viking had gone to Cregan on an errand. Thus young Miles ventured on his own to empty the traps they set and reset them. Sir Gowain saw him go and watched him out of sight into the swamp. Haylan did not miss him until the midday meal was set. She went to the stables and there was told Sweyn was gone. She went to the hall and Gowain, dining there, heard her questions and spoke of seeing the lad go into the swamp. Kerwick ceased his labors and with the Norman knight set out to follow the trail of footsteps in the heavy frost. They found him where a heavy log was set to snatch the unwary fox or wolf and drag him into a nearby brook and hold him there. The lad lay up to his armpits in the stream and was shivering and blue about the lips. For several hours he had lain and held a bush against the current and dragging log. He had shouted till his throat was raw and was not heard. When they dragged him from the freezing water he hoarsely croaked:

  “I’m sorry, Gowain. I slipped.”

  They wrapped him well and hurried to his mother’s cottage, but even swaddled in heavy pelts and placed before a roaring fire, he shivered and would not stop. Kerwick would have sent for Aislinn but Haylan grasped his arm and bade him nay.

  “That one is a witch,” she shrieked. “She’ll cast a spell on him. Nay, I’ll care for him myself.”

  The day wore on and the young boy’s brow grew hot and his breath became a rattle in his chest and he fought to draw each one anew. Still Haylan would not see the lady of the hall and snarled her defiance in their faces.

  The hour was dark when Sweyn returned and hearing the news, ran his horse to Haylan’s cottage, throwing himself from the saddle to slam open the rough-hewn door and crouch beside the lad. He took the boy’s hand in both of his and felt the heat it bore. He paused but a moment before he turned to Gowain who had followed him there.

  “Fetch Aislinn,” he commanded.

  “Nay, I will not have it!” cried Haylan, distraught and torn but with a vengeance heavy on her breast. “She is a witch!” More earnestly she continued. “She cast a spell upon your own Wulfgar to bind him to her, to see that no other could find his eye. She is a witch, I say. I will not have her here.”

  Sweyn turned half crouched and his voice came low with a growl in it. “Haylan, you decry a saint for your own lost end, but I forgive you that. I know this lad and I have seen the likes before and he will die unless well tended. There is one who has the skill and I will have her here. So be it that I care little for you, but this lad I would save and cannot stand to see him waste away while you condemn another. If you would stop me, I will see you mounted on my ax to ride it into hell. Now step aside.”

  He rose and looking into his eyes, Haylan let him pass.

  Aislinn played with Bryce on the hearth of their bedchamber while Wulfgar watched from his chair as the boy was bounced astride his mother’s slim waist. Her hair spilled to the fur pelt beneath them in brilliant display and with an ache in him Wulfgar longed to touch it.

  A thundering at the door drew wide eyes from Bryce and a trembling lip. Hs mother cuddled him and at Wulfgar’s answering call, the door was thrown aside and Sweyn charged in.

  “Lady Aislinn, your pardon,” he thundered. “The boy, Miles, fell in the water and is taken with a fever and chills. His breath comes hard and I fear for his life. Will you help?”

  “Of course, Sweyn.”

  She turned about and stopped in confusion, Bryce still in her arms. She spun to Wulfgar, who had risen from his chair, and thrust her son into his arms.

  “Wulfgar, take him, please. I cannot with me. Tend him well and if he cries, call Miderd.”

  She gave no choice and her voice held a stronger command than William’s. She threw her mantle over her shoulders, caught up her tray of potions and a sachel of herbs and in a twinkling had gone with Sweyn.

  Wulfgar stood staring after them, holding the son he could neither accept nor fully reject. He gazed down at the child who returned his perusal with a seriousness and intensity that brought a smile to Wulfgar’s lips. He tried bouncing him on his chest as Aislinn had done but the wideness of his chest and his hard, flat stomach were not as comfortable and drew nothing but a whimper from the lad. With a sigh Wulfgar sat in his chair and propped the chubby cherub on his lap. There the boy seemed happy
. He pulled at the sleeves of the chainse and soon was sprawled upon Wulfgar’s chest, showing little fear of the savage Norman knight as he tugged in glee at the ribbons that tied the chainse at the throat.

  Aislinn threw aside the door of the cottage and found her way barred by Haylan, who was waving a sprig of mistletoe as if she would drive away a witch. Without a pause Aislinn brushed her aside and hurried to the boy. Haylan had just gathered her balance and stepped forward to protest when Sweyn entered the room and pushed her aside once more. This time she sat where she fell to stare dumbly as Aislinn began to rush about the room. Snatching a shallow kettle, Aislinn scooped it through the hearth, half filling it with glowing coals then placed it near the bed with a smaller kettle inside full of water. As the first steam rose she took several herbs from her pocket, crushing them between her hands before scattering them in the bowl and then from a large vial she poured a thick, white substance into the water. Immediately the room was filled with a heavy tangy odor that made one’s eyes and nose smart. She stirred a mixture of honey and several good pinches of a yellow powder with a bit of the brew from the simmering pot then lifting the boy’s head against her arm, Aislinn poured it into his mouth and rubbed his throat until he swallowed. She laid him gently back and dipping the rag in cool water, wiped his fevered brow.

  This way the night wore on. When Miles’s brow grew hot, Aislinn cooled it with a damp cloth. When his breathing grew troubled and rough, she took the milky stuff and rubbed it on his chest and throat. From time to time she would take a spoon and dribble some of the simmering brew down his throat. She dozed at times but with each movement or gasp she came awake.

  The dawn was breaking when Miles began to shake and tremble. Aislinn threw every pelt and blanket in the house upon him and bade Sweyn build the fire higher until they all glistened with sweat. The boy grew red and flushed but still shook so hard he could barely breathe.

  Haylan had not stirred from her place and from time to time she mumbled a prayer. Aislinn’s own voice whispered for assistance from a greater force than her own. An hour passed. The dawn was bright now. Each kept their own vigil in their own way.

  Then Aislinn stopped and stared. There was a trace of moisture on Miles’s upper lip and a bead of sweat on his brow. Beneath her hand his chest grew damp and soon he was dripping wet with sweat. The trembling ceased. His breathing was still ragged but grew steadier by the moment. His color faded to a normal hue and for the first time since Aislinn had entered the cottage, the boy slept peacefully.

  Aislinn rose with a sigh, rubbing her aching back. She gathered her potions and herbs and stood before Haylan, who stared up at her with red rimmed eyes and sobs trembling on her lips.

  “You have your Miles back now,” Aislinn murmured. “I will go back to my own, for it is long past his feeding time.”

  Aislinn went to the door and wearily shaded her eyes and squinted against the glare of the bright sun. Sweyn took her arm and walked her back to the hall. He did not speak nor did she, but in this great hulking Norseman she was assured of a friend. She entered the bedchamber to find Wulfgar and Bryce sprawled on the bed still asleep. The baby’s hand was tangled in Wulfgar’s hair and his tiny legs were propped across his sturdy arm. Aislinn stepped out of her clothes and left them where they lay. Then, dragging herself across Wulfgar, she drew her son against her. She smiled at her waking husband and before he could speak, closed her eyes and was soon asleep.

  It was nearly a week later when Haylan approached Aislinn in the hall as she sat quietly nursing the babe. It was a peaceful moment, for the men were about their affairs, leaving the hall to the women.

  “My lady,” Haylan ventured timidly.

  Aislinn lifted her gaze from her son.

  “My lady,” Haylan began again. She paused and took a deep breath to rush on. “It has come to me that I have greatly wronged you. I believed the vicious words that another spoke to such an extent that I thought you were a witch and sought to take your lord from you.” She paused, wringing her hands as tears trembled in the corners of her eyes. “Can I beg your pardon? Will you see my folly and forgive my trespass? I owe you much that I cannot repay.”

  Aislinn reached out a hand and pulled the young widow into a chair beside her own, smiling gently. “Nay, Haylan, there is naught to forgive,” she consoled. “You did nothing to me nor harmed my cause.” She shrugged and laughed softly. “So take heart and never fear. I can well understand your plight and I know ‘twas little of your making. So let us be friends and never rue what yesterday has laid away.”

  The widow smiled in agreement, admiring the chubby babe who greedily nuzzled his mother’s breast. She would have spoken of her own boy in his wee age, but Wulfgar strode through the open door, breathless from a vigorous ride. Haylan rose and took her leave. Wulfgar crossed to his wife, casting a doubtful eye after the widow then peered questioningly at Aislinn.

  “Is all well with you, my love?”

  Aislinn looked into his face and saw his concern. She laughed lightly. “Of course, Wulfgar. What think you amiss? All is quite well.”

  He took the chair beside her, stretching out his long legs before him and setting them on a low bench. “There are often hard words in this hall it seems,” he said musingly, stroking his cheek. “Gwyneth ever shuns what kindness we would show her and seeks to prick our tempers. ’Tis a mystery to me why she casts herself from our companionship and sulks endlessly in her chambers. Why does she act so, when if she would soften her ways, we would be gentle, too?”

  Aislinn smiled and gazed at him with loving eyes. “You are in a thoughtful mood today, my lord. You do not often ponder a woman’s mind.”

  He turned to her, his gaze warming at the soft beauty of her. “Of late I find there is more to a wench than rosy breasts and thrusting hips.” He grinned slowly, his eyes sweeping her with passion’s fire and leaned close to her, resting a bold hand alongside her thigh. “But of the two, mind and body, I vow there’s more pleasure for a man in the latter.”

  Aislinn giggled her delight then caught her breath as his mouth pressed warmly against her throat, sending quickening fires shooting through every nerve.

  “The babe—,” she whispered breathlessly, but his lips found hers silencing them, and she found herself too weak to resist. A noise outside the door made them bolt apart, and with cheeks glowing, Aislinn rose to put her sleeping son in the cradle beside the hearth, while Wulfgar came to his feet and faced the fire as if to warm his hands. Bolsgar entered, carrying over his shoulder a bag of quail for the feast that was planned on the morrow. He gave them a hearty greeting and as he went to give the birds to Haylan, Wulfgar watched the old man, chafed a bit with the interruption. It seemed of late there was always someone or some matter demanding his or Aislinn’s attention. He had bided his time after the baby’s birth, not wanting to press the issue too hurriedly, but now it seemed that every moment worked against him. If the babe was not squalling to be fed, some serf came seeking her care or wanting to consult the lord. Then when the moment seemed finally at hand and they were alone together in their chambers, he would see the tired droop of her shoulders and know he must bide his time a bit longer.

  Over his shoulder he watched her move about, following the gentle sway of her hips with his gaze, and his eyes took on a hungry look. She has grown slimmer than before, he mused, yet there is a fullness about her that speaks of woman and no longer a girl.

  Was this to be his lot? To find her ever close at hand yet never know again the privacy with her that had been before. Was this marriage? To have a babe more oft between them than finding a moment to share long suffering passions? He sighed and turned his stare to the fire. Winter comes, he thought. And the nights are long. He would have more leisure to seek her out. She can not sport the babe forever. He had taken her first in a quick, lusty moment. He would not quell at doing the same again.

  Aislinn raised her gaze and saw Maida standing at the door peering timidly in. She noted that her mot
her was well washed and had combed her hair and wore clean garments. She found pleasure in the thought that Maida might love her grandchild and would abandon her mad dreams of vengeance. She could name no better balm than a wee babe.

  Lifting a hand, Aislinn beckoned her mother in and with a quick nervous glance at Wulfgar’s back, the woman scurried in and went to crouch beside the cradle, drawing herself into a small knot as if to escape the Norman’s eye. Wulfgar gave her little heed. Instead, his stare followed her daughter across the hall as she went to seek out HayIan on the matter of the morrow’s fare.

  A day of feasting and rejoicing was planned to celebrate the harvest and its good yield. A boar hunt would see the knights and their ladies mounted at the noon hour to either slay or drive the beasts from the fields. It would be a gay event and one they all looked forward to.

  As Wulfgar stood before the hearth, the knights and Sweyn entered to pour themselves a horn of ale and toast the morrow. Having little else to occupy him at the moment, Wulfgar joined them, and when Bolsgar returned, it was a merry group. The afternoon dwindled into evening and the evening into morning and their voices could still be heard in the hall as Aislinn tossed upon the bed in the chamber above, fretting at Wulfgar’s delay at coming. She could not know that whenever he sought to leave the men, a hand would draw him back and another would replenish his cup.

  The gurgling sounds of Bryce rooting for his breakfast awakened Aislinn and she opened her eyes to find that Wulfgar was already up and donning his clothes against the day. She lay still a moment, admiring his long, muscular frame and his tawny good looks, but the baby’s cries became insistent and there was no help for it. She rose, slipping on a loose kirtle, and went to sit before the hearth to nurse the babe. Bryce quieted at her breast, and she lifted her eyes to meet her husband’s and smiled a bit devilishly.