The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “My lord, is it that you find the sport of drinking more to your liking than of old? I vow the cock crowed before you saw our bed.”

  He grinned. “Forsooth, cherie, it did crow twice before that pillow felt my weary head, but ‘twas not to my liking. My knights ever feted me with tales of yore and I could do naught but stand and bear the pain.”

  The sight of her made Wulfgar’s blood run searing through his veins, but there were loud sounds coming from the hall below and he knew that his men would soon be coming to fetch him if he did not shortly present himself. With a sigh he brushed a kiss upon Aislinn’s brow and, shrugging into his leather jerkin, left the room to join the group below.

  When Aislinn came downstairs it seemed that she had entered a madhouse. Laughter and shouting came from every corner. The uproar stunned her ears at first and she could make no sense of it all. Bryce clung to her, somewhat afraid of all the noise. She spread a pelt in a corner of the hearth where he could be warm and yet could view the rushings of those about him. She was careful to place him near where Wulfgar stood with his knights and merchants of the towns so that they could watch him and keep him safe from the hounds that were given to wandering about the hall. The dogs barked as they ran underfoot, and the odors of cooking filled the room. Bets were made on horses, first boar, largest boar and who would be the first to drop his spear. Gowain, the youngest of the knights, suffered much ribbing over his fair face, especially as Hylnn was caught with fits of giggles whenever she came near him. Crude jests were tossed across the room and bandied back and forth. Men laughed and women shrieked as their nether parts were fondled in passing. Aislinn might have suffered the same had she been wife to any other besides Wulfgar. Though there were many tempted, the men kept a respectful distance, not wanting to test the point of his blade.

  Near the hearth loud curses rose from the group of men as a great hound fled from beneath their feet with yelps of pain from well-laid boots. Wulfgar’s voice came loud and clear.

  “Who sees to these hounds? They roam the hall unfettered and would nip the ankles of our guests. Who sees to these hounds?”

  No one answered and then his voice came louder.

  “Kerwick? Where is Kerwick, sheriff of the hall? Come here, sir.”

  Kerwick blushed and made his way to where Wulfgar stood. “Yea, my lord?”

  Wulfgar took him by the shoulder and lifting a horn to the group of men who stood beside him, spoke with humor heavy in his voice. “Good Kerwick, your friendship with the hounds is known by all, and knowing them so well, you must be made master of the hounds. Think you able for this job?”

  “Aye, milord,” Kerwick readily replied. “Indeed, I have a score to settle. Where is the whip?”

  A great lash was handed to him and he hefted it to crack its end loudly.

  “Methinks that reddish mongrel was the one who set his teeth upon my thigh.” He rubbed the place, remembering the nips on a cold night. “I vow, my lord, he will hunt well today or bear the bite of this good weapon.”

  Wulfgar chortled “ ’Tis settled then, good master of the hounds.” He clapped the younger man heartily on the back. “Get them from underfoot. Put them to their leashes and see that they hunger for the hunt. We’ll have no fat-bellied hounds crawling in among the trees.”

  The men laughed and a toast was drunk. Indeed, it was amazing to see how much ale was needed to keep these voices rich and full.

  Bryce whimpered near the hearth and Aislinn pushed aside great shoulders and heavy chests to make a way to him. Wulfgar stepped out of her path with a stiff decorous bow, sweeping his arm before him, but as she bent to lift the mewling babe and comfort him, his hand descended upon her behind with a lusty familiarity that made Aislinn straighten much faster than she had planned.

  “My lord!” she gasped and whirled, clutching the babe to her.

  Wulfgar drew back and flung up a hand in feigned fear, adding to the guffaws of his companions. Though chafed at his public caress, she could not hold back her laughter at his manner.

  “My lord,” she chided gently, the corners of her mouth lifting in a winsome smile. “Haylan is across the hall. Did you perhaps mistake my gangling frame for her fairer form?”

  At the mention of the widow’s name, Wulfgar lost some of his cheerfulness and raised a brow at his wife. It was only at the sparkle in her eyes that he eased and grew again more careless in his cups.

  They lifted mugs and drank again until Bolsgar paused and held his jaw agape. They turned, following his stare and found Gwyneth mincing down the stairs in full regalia for the forthcoming hunt. She joined the group near the hearth. Casting a disparaging eye at Aislinn holding the babe, she turned to Kerwick.

  “Is it overmuch to presume that you would make a horse ready for me today?”

  He bobbed his head and looking to Wulfgar for excuse he left the group, then Bolsgar came forward and dipped a sweeping bow before his daughter.

  “Does my lady mean to join the peasants today?” he mocked.

  “Indeed, dear father, I would not miss this gay party for all the treasures in England. I’ve been too much the maiden here of late and would be out and seek some genteel exercise. ’Tis the first I’ve noticed in this place.”

  And thus having chastened them all for their crudity, she turned and made her way to the table and sampled the foods being prepared there.

  The rest of the morning was mostly lost in the mad hustle to make preparations for both the hunt and the feast. Before the noon hour Aislinn took the babe and went to her chamber where she filled his belly and laid him down to sleep, leaving Hlynn to watch over him. When she again joined the group, she was dressed in a long full skirted gown of yellow and brown, sturdily made for the sport of the hunt. The diners mostly took their meat and bread standing, for there was little room to sit. A band of wandering minstrels entered the yard, there to entertain the folk with gay music. The horses were led out and Gwyneth found little cause for joy, for the one that Kerwick had chosen for her was the small roan that had borne Aislinn to London. It was a sturdy horse and one quite well-mannered but it lacked the long-legged grace of Aislinn’s dapple-gray.

  The hunting party rode off. Kerwick held as many leashes in his hands as there were hounds following him, and the young man had much to do to keep them straight. The dogs sensed the excitement of the chase and bayed and snarled at one another as they were led along behind the hunting party.

  The day was gay and all but Gwyneth made merry and joked. Aislinn rode beside Wulfgar and laughed at his ready wit, covering her ears at his ribald songs. Gwyneth’s hand was heavy on the reins, and the poor punch bridled and pranced and worried at the bit. The hunters left the road and soon topped a hill and there before them in the glade at the edge of the forest could be seen a herd of swine with several large boars present. Kerwirk leapt from his horse and made haste to set the dogs free. The hounds were off with baying voices marking their progress. It was their duty to see the boars brought to bay, those great shaggy beasts of the woods, bold, black, and vicious with long tusks sprouting from their jaws. Once at a stand, the hounds would hold them until the riders came. This was mean duty and it took courage to face a charging hog. The spears were short, for much of the hunting was done in heavy brush and some arm’s length behind the point a crossbar was heavily bound, this to keep the swine, so hard to kill, from charging up the spear and tearing at the hands that held it.

  As they entered the woods, Aislinn and Gwyneth were left far behind, Aislinn holding back, well aware she was unused to this harsh activity. She reined her mare in and found herself apace with Gwyneth, who had found a stout switch and was beating her horse mercilessly trying to make it heed her signals on the reins. As the small mare sensed Aislinn beside her she quieted and Gwyneth held her hand, realizing she betrayed a vicious mood. They rode along apace and Aislinn shrugged away Gwyneth’s abuse of the horse and finally sought to make some light comment. There was a crispness of autumn in the air and the sm
ell of leaves heavy on the ground beneath the bright-colored trees.

  “ ’Tis a marvelous day,” she sighed.

  Gwyneth’s reply was short. “ ’Twould be if I had a proper mount.”

  Aislinn laughed. “I would offer you mine, but I’ve come to treasure her.”

  Gwyneth sneered at the gentle chiding. “You always manage to better yourself, especially where men are concerned. Yea, you gain twofold what you lose.”

  Aislinn smiled. “Nay, ten or a hundred fold, you can say, since I lost Ragnor, too.”

  It was too much. Gwyneth, already sorely pricked, flew into a rage. “Saxon slut,” she snarled. “Have care whose name you degrade.”

  She raised the switch and would have struck Aislinn with it but she reined aside and the blow fell instead against the dappled mare’s flanks. Unused to this crude use, the gray started and hurtled into the heavier brush beneath the trees. She had gone but a few yards when she struck a small thorn tree and twisted away from the sudden pain of the barbs, causing the reins to jerk from Aislinn’s hands. The steed slipped, half fell, and then reared, throwing her rider from her back. Aislinn struck the ground and lay stunned, trying to shake the fog from her head. A dark shape, outlined by the sun, came to stand above her and vaguely she recognized Gwyneth on her horse. The woman laughed and then spurred her horse away. Long moments passed before Aislinn struggled upright, but she winced at the pain in her thigh. She rubbed it and decided that she had only bruised herself in the fall. She steadied herself and dragged free of the heavy brush.

  Her mare stood some distance away, the reins hanging beneath her head. She made to approach the horse, but it shied, frightened by the pain where the cruel thorns had raked her chest. Aislinn crooned and tried to quiet her. Just as she would have succeeded there was a crashing in the brush behind her. The mare snorted and fled as if the very devil dogged her heels.

  Aislinn turned and saw a great boar thrusting its way through the shrubs toward her, snorting and squealing as it found the scent of those who had of late forced it to run. And here it smelled the helplessness and fear of one afoot. He seemed to sense her pain and turned its beady eyes to stare at her, its white tusks gleaming. Aislinn backed away and flung her gaze about for some haven from the beast. She saw an oak with a branch that she could reach and made her way to it. The boar followed her with a vengeful gleam in its eyes. But Aislinn found that she could not raise on her injured leg high enough to grasp the limb. She tried to jump but her fingers would not hold and she fell against the huge trunk and there lay still as the beast halted, no longer seeing a movement before him. He snorted and tore the ground with his tusks, hurling great chunks of moss and grass into the air. Suddenly, on shaking his head from side to side, he saw the bright color of her cloak. He squealed in anger and began to move forward, thrusting his tusks against the branches that brushed near him, tearing the leaves asunder.

  Aislinn felt her panic rise. She had no weapon, no way to defend herself. She had seen before long gashes in dogs and in the legs of men made by those ravening tusks. She drew back against the tree, seeking what shelter it could offer and as the boar came forth in the glade she could not suppress a scream. Her voice rang in the trees and seemed to anger the swine more. She pressed her hands against her lips to still another that would follow.

  There was a sound in the forest behind her and the boar swung its head to see what new thing menaced it. Wulfgar’s voice came low and soft.

  “Aislinn, do not move. As you value your life, do not move. Hold still.”

  He swung down from the Hun, bringing the spear with him. He crouched low and eased forward, his every movement closely watched by the boar that now stood silent, waiting. He eased forward until he was beside Aislinn but several yards away. She made a movement and the boar swung his head toward her.

  “Be still, Aislinn,” Wulfgar’s voice warned her again. “Make no move.”

  He crept forward until the spear was some two lengths away from the boar. Then he braced the butt against the sod and put a knee upon it, keeping the point carefully aimed. The boar squealed in anger and thrust back upon its hind legs. It tore again at the turf with his tusks and it began throwing up clumps of dirt with its forelegs, then lunged back upon its haunches and charged. Wulfgar, with his great shout ringing in the forest, held the point of the spear full against the snout. The beast screamed in pain as the long, slim iron head pierced its chest and it was impaled on the lance. It nearly broke the barb and almost jerked the haft of the weapon from Wulfgar’s hands, but he held on, bearing his weight upon it and the two fought, thrashing across the glade until the life blood of the great pig had run out. He quieted, gave one last jerk and died. On his hands and knees, Wulfgar dropped the spear and knelt there for a moment, panting with the strain of the fight. Finally he turned his head toward Aislinn and she, with a tearful gasp, struggled to stand but fell full length upon the ground. He rose and hurried to her.

  “Did he strike you? Where?” He bent to her anxiously.

  “Nay, Wulfgar,” she assured him and smiled. “But I fell from my horse. It ran into some brush and was frightened and I fell. I bruised my leg.”

  His hands lifted her skirt away from the injured thigh and his fingers gently traced the growing bruise. His eyes raised slowly to meet the deep violet ones holding him softly, and her parted lips gave breath short and fast. She stretched her arm to him and slid her hand behind his head, drawing him close until their lips could meet. Her arms went around him and his around her and they lost themselves in the fierceness of their embrace.

  He drew her up, the bruise forgotten, and bore her to a leafy copse where he spread her mantle and lay beside her.

  It was much later when the sun had lowered in the sky that there were voices from afar and much crashing in the woods, then into the glade thrust Sweyn and Gowain. They glanced about and found Wulfgar and Aislinn lying together beneath the great oak tree, resting as if the day was meant for lovers. Wulfgar raised on an elbow.

  “Where go you? Sweyn? Gowain? What hies you through the wood in such a rush?”

  “My liege, your pardon,” Gowain swallowed. “We thought the Lady Aislinn had come to harm. We found her mare—”

  Another thud of hooves and Gwyneth came on the scene. She took one look and fought with a frown then tightened her lips and whirled away.

  “Naught is amiss,” Aislinn smiled. “I but fell from my steed. Wulfgar found me and we—rested for a bit.”

  The last harvests were under way and October’s frosty nights had sapped the brilliant hues of autumn and drawn a darker cloak of brown upon the forest. Since the boar hunt Gwyneth had given up her constant baiting of Aislinn and to the amazement of all, carefully held her tongue and at times was almost charming. She made it her habit to come to the hall for her meals and would sit sewing at her tapestry while listening to the light flow of conversation about her.

  Kerwick and Haylan were familiar figures in the village, but whenever they came together harsh words were exchanged. It seemed as if neither could pass the other without making some biting comment. They bickered endlessly over trifles and their battle became so renowned the children came running whenever their angry voices sounded to dance about them and mime their rage. With her skill in cookery, Haylan was given authority over the food and its preparation. She gathered wool and flax in her private moments and labored hard to learn the finer points of weaving and sewing. She even sought to learn French and did very well in the language.

  It was of considerable happiness to Aislinn that Maida now bathed regularly and garbed herself in neat, well-cleaned gunnas. When she thought others were not about, she would venture forth from her cottage to play with Bryce and always brought him toys she fashioned from discarded remnants of cloth or wood. Once she even came to Aislinn’s side and sat quietly watching the babe as he nursed at his mother’s breast. She would not speak but kept her silence, yet every day she became more the old Maida of Darkenwald.

&nbs
p; The boy had Aislinn’s fairness of skin and his hair faded to a light reddish gold. The only mark upon the days was that Wulfgar held himself aloof from the child and seemed to regard the lad as a necessary demand on Aislinn’s company. Still the babe thrived on his mother’s love, and Miderd, Hlynn, even Bolsgar saw that he was little wanting for attention.

  The days wore on, the nights grew colder, the bounty of the land swelled the graineries, and the castle wall neared its last stone. Only the central keep was not complete and here the work was slow. The huge blocks of granite were hauled from the quarry and careful measurements laid upon them. They were shaped on the ground and hoisted into place by teams of horses straining at heavy cables.

  Then late one morning in early November, a messenger came with news that brought a frown to Wulfgar’s face. Rebellious lords of Flanders had made a pact with the deposed English lords of Dover and Kent. They had landed troops between the great white cliffs and marched to take the town of Dover from William’s men, but the castle the King had ordered built on the heights had held them at bay. William led a force from Normandy north to Flanders to set the rebellion aside at its source, but the Atheling Edgar had escaped and joined the Scottish kings in the North to stir up trouble there.

  The worst of the news was that broken bands of men from the invading Flemish force were fleeing inland and might soon come to lay waste to the country in anger at their defeat. William could send no help now but bade Wulfgar to stand ready to defend himself and if possible to close the roads to retreat.

  Wulfgar surveyed his resources and with little delay set all hands to work. The castle would serve as it was for the time being, for there were other matters to be tended now. The land was to be stripped so that any band would find no provender here. Herds of goats, swine, sheep and oxen must be brought near the fortress. Graineries and storehouses must be emptied and all brought to the castle to fill the huge bins and cellars that lined the inner wall and lay beneath the keep. Cregan first would yield its larders, for it was more distant and thus hardest to defend, then Darkenwald if time permitted. While Wulfgar with his knights and men patroled the reaches against attack until all was done, the men of the village had to form the castle’s garrison. Beaufonte and Bolsgar were given the task of seeing to these preparations in Wulfgar’s absence. When all of Cregan was withdrawn to the castle, two bridges near the town would be felled to block the roads.