The Wolf and the Dove (31 page)

Aislinn rose early in the morning before any in the household stirred. Taking the treasured yellow piece, she sat beside the coffer Wulfgar had claimed for his own and carefully removed each garment that belonged to him, smoothing the pieces absently as she unpacked and set them aside. When she had emptied the chest she then put the yellow neatly to the side where it would not be unduly crushed and returned Wulfgar’s clothes to their place. Here Gwyneth would not dream of looking and the cloth would be safe. When she heard some word of Wulfgar’s return she would take it and make a gown for herself and meet him more properly than in her old gunna and kirtle. Her heart grew light as she thought of him coming back and her head swam dizzily with excitement in the renewed confidence that he would be returning to her.

When she descended the stairs to the hall she found Haylan and Gwyneth before the hearth. The widow had been excused from any toiling by Gwyneth and now sat beside that woman trying to learn the more refined art of needlecraft. She did poorly with the tapestry given her and Gwyneth’s patience was sorely tasked. Aislinn hid a smile of amusement as Haylan humbly begged Gwyneth’s pardon for being so inept, not knowing that Aislinn had came into the hall and stood apart from them watching.

Gwyneth sighed in exasperation. “You must take smaller stitches as I have shown you.”

“I pray for your forgiveness, milady, but I was never talented at mending,” Haylan returned apologetically. Then she added brightly, “But I can roast a boar and my breads are acclaimed by all.”

“That is serf’s work,” Gwyneth replied shortly. “A lady is known by her stitchery. If you ever hope to become one, you must learn the value of a needle. Wulfgar will expect you to make and mend his garments.”

Aislinn strode forward, surprising them with her presence and went to warm her hands before the fire.

“You are helpful, dear Gwyneth, but I need no assistance to mend my lord’s clothes.” She turned a smile to them, raising her skirts a trifle to let the heat rise beneath them. “Wulfgar seemed pleased enough with my talents.”

Gwyneth snorted derisively. “ ’Tis a wonder you found any leisure for needlework as much time as you spent in bed with him.”

“Why, Gwyneth, how could you know when we were abed or when we were not?” Aislinn grinned “Unless, of course, you make it as much of a habit snooping around doors as you seem to do in my coffer.” She looked pointedly at the gowns the two women were wearing, for Haylan was donned in a third-hand gunna no doubt given to her by the generous Gwyneth.

“Your coffer?” Gwyneth repeated in mockery. “Slaves have no possessions.”

A slow smile touched Aislinn’s lips. “But, Gwyneth, if I am a slave, all that I have belongs to Wulfgar.” She raised her brows in mock question. “Do you steal from your brother?”

Gwyneth’s jaw grew tense and she spoke in heated fury. “My brother assured us that everything here was to be considered ours and that we were to abide as suited our tastes.”

“Oh?” Aislinn chuckled. “Those words were spoken to Bolsgar, not to you, and that dear fellow is careful to take nothing more than his share. Indeed, he more than earns his keep with the game he brings in. You know Wulfgar needs many hands to prosper here. What do you, good Gwyneth, to aid his cause?”

The woman rose and snapped in irate temper, “I keep this house when he is gone and see that his larder is not robbed by those greedy drunkards who—”

She stopped abruptly, seeming to choke on her words, and Aislinn followed her gaze to find that Sweyn had entered and was approaching the hearth. He smiled at Gwyneth and with deliberate slowness tore a large chunk from the meat that roasted over the coals then washed it down with a hearty swig of ale. He smacked his lips and licked the grease from his fingers then wiped them on the shirt of his tunic. He turned to Aislinn and rumbled:

“Who doles the food that I and Bolsgar provide?”

Aislinn laughed. “No one, Sweyn. No one at all. We all eat well from your labors.”

The Norseman stared at Gwyneth for a long moment, then mumbled, “Good. Good.”

Belching loudly he left them.

Aislinn stepped back and spread her skirt in a half curtsey. “Your pardon, ladies. I must be about my work.” She turned to leave and spoke over her shoulder. “Haylan, tend to the meat that it does not char.”

She made her exit almost skipping in glee, and flinging open the doors, viewed the world and thought it marvelous.

At the crossroads near Kevonshire Wulfgar and his men camped for several days. The snows ceased and soon melted into the ground. They halted travelers and English messengers spreading word of William’s march. These latter they simply held and released when they marched, as the information they carried had grown useless with the passage of time.

Now William’s armies moved beyond them and no threat could come from this quarter. Breaking camp, they moved on to repeat their task time and again. They swung north and the Duke’s hordes crossed the Thames west of London from the landward side. The city lay bare and alone, isolated, her would-be allies sealed from her. Hampshire, Berkshire, Wallingford, then at Berkhamstead Archbishop Aldred and an entourage including the Atheling Edgar, the pretender, met William and surrendered London. Hostages were left with William and oaths were pledged to him. He would be crowned on Christmas Day as King of England.

Wulfgar and his men were called into camp with the rest of the army. The cart was loaded heavily with gold and silver and precious items taken as tribute or plunder. This was sent to William who had his treasurers account it, remove a double tythe and return the rest to Wulfgar.

The monotony of camp life set in. Wulfgar paid his knights their shares and brought his other accounts up to date but he held his men close to their camp and did not release them to go a-wenching or a-wining as was the general trend.

Several days had passed yet nearly a week remained before Christmas when Wulfgar received a messenger from William informing him that as the army moved into London he was to occupy a manor near the abbey. There with his men he would await the day of the coronation.

As the day was but a youth, Wulfgar saddled the Hun and rode into London to find a place where he would lodge with his men. The city was tense and as he rode through the streets the English eyed him with open hatred. The houses and shops were stone walled and heavy timbered, crowded close or even overhanging the cobbled streets. The frequent open gutters ran with dark murky water afloat with the offal of the city. He neared Westminster and the press of bodies grew heavy as every free man journeyed to see where England would fall to the Norman Duke. Many times Wulfgar pushed his steed through throngs that filled the way. As he urged the Hun into the square his eyes were immediately drawn by a large stone house that stood a way off the square itself but whose roof opened on a commanding view of the place. With difficulty he made his way across to it and as it had not been claimed by another Norman commandeered its use in William’s name. The somewhat overstuffed merchant who owned the place decried Wulfgar’s
manner and made loud complaint of this use of his property. His rantings turned to shrieks of rage when he was informed that no compensation would be made and trembled in anger when Wulfgar continued.

“Why, good merchant, ‘tis naught but your just due to William and his crown.” He spoke with heavy satire in his voice. “Be happy that your house still stands and is not reduced to rubble as I have left many others before this day.”

It was a final blow and tears ran down the plump cheeks when the Norman knight further bade him take himself, his many in-laws and cousins to some other place of lodging for a fortnight—or two.

Wulfgar roamed the place for a while seeing to its appointments as the man scurried about informing his family of the move. Wulfgar listened for a moment and chuckled to himself as he heard a loud, strident feminine voice berating the merchant for not having resisted the Normans or at least demanded payment. Soon the man joined him again and now stayed close to him as if he found it safer there. There were stables for the horses and a fine kitchen on the street floor. In that room a stairway led to a cellar where a rich array of wines and sweetmeats lay. Wulfgar hastily eased the trembling merchant’s worry by a promise that what was used of these would be paid for.

The second floor held small rooms and a large hall where his men could rest and game. From here Wulfgar climbed the narrow stairs to the loft. There the merchant’s own apartments lay dressed in a rich comfort which would have graced the finest Norman castle. At one end of the entryway a small stair led to a cupola on the roof and from that height the view was unrestricted. Passing down, Wulfgar paused at the large bedchamber, its great bed draped with heavy velvet. As he reached out to test the down filled mattress he could not suppress a vision of soft creamy skin and curving hips, laughing violet eyes and lips that moved in sweet caress upon his.

Wulfgar drew back sharply. Lord, what spells that vixen wove in his mind. He could almost see her standing, arms outstretched, wreathed in green and crimson smokes, chanting ancient runes as errant breezes lifted those tumbling brazen locks to send them curling around her brow and breasts.

As if willed by some greater force, Wulfgar returned his gaze to the bed and again saw the violet eyes twinkling with laughter. He grew angry with these imaginings and with a curse tore himself away. But as he descended to the street an ache grew in his belly and spread to his loins. He could not help but dream of Aislinn on that great velvet coverlet.

His return was lost in musings and he took no note of the city he passed. Pausing on a rise he stared at the sprawling encampment and knew a loneliness that touched his very soul. Though yet unvoiced, he knew also that a decision had been made, and with the thing settled in his mind, Wulfgar, in a gaiety of spirit he had not known for many days, kicked the Hun who snorted in surprise and charged down the hill to his tents.

It was two days hence and the move was made to London. The night had fallen and a welcome feast laid. His men were ensconced below and Wulfgar could hear their voices as they laughed and talked about the unfamiliar comfort of the place. He stood behind the balustrade and gazed upon the torchlit square beyond. Gowain had left and upon the morrow should find his way to Darkenwald. An unbidden eagerness filled Wulfgar’s chest and he wondered at the quickening of his heart. Aislinn’s face was vague in his memory but he could almost see those glowing eyes that changed their hue with every flickering light. He knew the brow he had so often traced and the impudent curve of her slender nose. He knew the delicate line of her lips, from the resistance he met on them to their eagerness when she warmed to his caress.

Wulfgar turned away from the night. These coltish musings did nothing for his peace, yea, rather stirred him to a lustful wakening. He disliked the feeling of bondage and strode irritably into the bedchamber where the great bed waited. Stripping, he fell upon it to take his rest but soon found it beckoned not with sleep but of gentle stirrings and mutterings as if one lay beside him.

In exasperation Wulfgar flung himself from its comfort and went to stand by the window, unmindful of the chill that crept into the room as he threw open the shutters and stared at the sleeping street below and the huge pale moon above. Strangely his mood grew gentle the longer he stood and there was naught else that plagued his mind but Aislinn of Darkenwald.

The tender bitch, he pondered, so fine and proud. Sorely used ‘tis true, yet she dares stand before me like some Cleopatra of the heath. She pleads her plight so well my head grows soft. How can I refuse her when she bares her soul beguilingly and seeks to touch the very depth of my honor? She braves my temper for her people and bends me to her will when I might have it otherwise. He rubbed his brow as if it ached from thought, and he could draw no end from his meditation of her. Yet, somehow I find myself wishing that she—

“—he would pledge that loyalty to me,” Aislinn sighed as she stared at the bright moon above the moor. If he would say a vow and express some love for me, I would be content. He is kind and just and tender even in his lust, and here I am bound to this maiden’s shape that sets his blood afire. I did not ask that he should take me, yet I cannot damn him for the man he is. What must I do to gain his favor, when in his arms I cannot even hold myself from him? His kisses tear from me all resistance, and I am like the willow stems beneath a storm, swaying where he wills. He is content to have me at his beck and call, to use my body for his pleasure and never offer any promises in return. Yet I would have more. ’Tis true he was not the first to lay hand upon me, but his attentions have surely given me some small claim on him. I am not a woman of the streets to be used and left; he must be brought to that conclusion somehow. I am not without honor and pride. I cannot go on being his paramour
forever, having only that small and minute part of him and no more.

She took her kirtle off and laid it aside, then crept into the pelts and drew the pillow to her where the last fragrance of his being clung. She hugged it to her and could almost feel the play of his muscles beneath her hand, the heat of his lips on hers.

I want him, she concluded. Whether I love him or not, I want him more than anything ever in my life. Yet I must seek him with wisdom. I shall resist him to the limits of my senses but try not to anger him. And if he will relent to me this much, I will give to him whatever love I have or can steal or can borrow. He will not regret doing so.

The day dawned bright and Darkenwald grew clamorous in its labors. Aislinn rose, and having broke the fast, set about her duties to the town, seeking out the sick and lame. She passed the hours avoiding Gwyneth and thus her aspish wit. Late afternoon the lookout shouted from the tower and soon Kerwick sought her out to bear the news that riders came with Wulfgar’s colors.

Fleeing to her chamber, Aislinn quickly combed her hair and bound it with ribbons. She pressed a cool cloth upon her face to ease her blush. Her spirits fell when she went below and saw that it was only Gowain who strode into the room. He crossed the hall toward her smiling, but Gwyneth, sitting at her tapestry before the hearth, called to him and directed him to come near. Gowain looked hesitantly at Aislinn, wishing to speak with her first, but in good manner went to the other.