The Wolf and the Dove (50 page)

A dark shadow stood over them and there was a glint of metal over his back. Aislinn screamed in terror and tried to thrust him away. Wulfgar half turned in surprise at her cry and the blade struck a glancing blow on his shoulder. Pure rage clouded Wulfgar’s mind. With an oath he swung a fist then clasped the throat of the unlucky assailant, wrenching a strangled cry from it. With a surging roar he bore the intruder from the bed to the hearth. There the fire lit the attacker’s face and Aislinn screamed again, seeing her mother’s face twisted in soundless agony. Flinging herself from the bed, she flew to pull at her husband’s arm.

“Nay! Nay! Do not slay her, Wulfgar!”

Frantically she tugged at the arm again, but it was like iron, and she was unable to break the hold. Maida’s eyes bulged and her face seemed blackened. With a sob, Aislinn reached up to turn Wulfgar’s face to hers.

“She is mad, Wulfgar. Let her be.”

Her words broke his fury and he released his hold, letting Maida slip to the door. The woman lay writhing and twisting upon the hearth, struggling for breath through her bruised throat. Wulfgar bent and picked up the seax from the floor beside her and turned it over in his hand examining it closely. Some memory pricked the depth of his conscious mind then surfaced with full realization. This weapon had been Kerwick’s, the one used once before in an effort to slay him. A slow dawning lit his face as he looked down at the crone. He whirled to stare at Aislinn and she read his thoughts and gasped.

“Nay! Not so, Wulfgar!” Her voice grew strident. “I had no part in this. She is my mother true, but I swear I was not forewarned of this.”

She caught his hand with the blade and turned the dagger against her own heart.

“If you would doubt me, Wulfgar, end your doubts here and now. ’Tis a simple matter to end a life.” She pulled his hand closer until the point pressed against her breast. Tears blurred her vision and trickled down her cheeks, falling softly on her trembling bosom as she gazed up at him. She whispered low, “So simple.”

Maida found her breath and her feet and fled unseen by the two who stared into each other’s eyes, trying to read what truth was to be found. The slamming of the door marked her going but still they did not move.

Seeing Wulfgar’s uncertainty, Aislinn urged his hand once more, but he resisted her and she could not bring the blade nearer. She leaned against it until it pricked her skin and a tiny drop of her blood mingled with his upon the point.

“My lord,” she murmured softly. “Today I spoke my vows before God and as He is my witness I hold them sacred. As our blood joins on this blade so are we one. A child grows in me and I pray earnestly that he is thine and we be one in him, for he will need a father such as you.”

Her lips trembled as he stared down into her eyes. Wulfgar felt the heavy weight of her words upon him and he could deny her no longer. With an oath he flung the seax at the offending portal where it clattered on the wood and then on the floor. He bent and, snatching Aislinn up in his arms, whirled her about in complete abandon until she begged him to cease. Impatient once more, he turned to the bed, but she touched the wound on his shoulder and silently shook her head. Expertly she applied salve and bindings as he sat on the edge of the bed. When at last she tied the knot and set her healing notions aside, she turned to him, leaning forward until her breasts lightly pressed against his chest and she met his mouth eagerly with her own. His arms went around her trying to urge her down beneath him, but she placed both hands against his chest and pushed him firmly back upon the pillows. He stared up into her eyes in the firelight, wondering at her game, then she gave an answering smile and laid full length upon him. The hot blood surged through Wulfgar’s body, and the wound hindered him not then—nor later—nor later.

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 enough 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.”