The Wolf and the Dove (52 page)

Seeking to share the hospitality of Darkenwald, Aislinn bade Ham, Miderd, Hlynn and Haylan to help her serve the waiting men some ale that had been cooled in the depth of the well. It was a pleasant day, for the warm winds of the south swept away the chill and Aislinn stepped from the hall without fetching a mantle, having little need of it in this fair weather. The men gratefully accepted the brew and as they remarked in French of the beauty of this Saxon maid, Aislinn smiled and accepted the compliment quietly, not letting on that she now spoke the tongue fluently. She paused beside a man in noble dress who sat with others similarly arrayed. Here there were no smiles to greet her but from some sneers that drew up the corner of their lips. Feeling much bemused by their manner, Aislinn frowned and was about to draw away when the one jumped to his feet and made his apology in a voice which held no hint of a foreign accent.

“Do you know who we are?” the man inquired.

“Nay,” Aislinn replied and shrugged. “How can I when I’ve never seen you before?”

“We are English captives of the King. We are being taken to Normandy.”

Aislinn’s mouth formed a silent “oh” as her eyes moved to the others.

“I am sorry,” she murmured.

“Sorry,” one of the elder men snorted. He looked derisively to her belly. “You did not waste precious moments bedding the enemy it seems.”

Aislinn drew herself upwith dignity. “You judge me without hearing the circumstance. But ‘tis of little matter to me. I do not beg for an ear. My husband is Norman and I give him my loyalty, yet my father was Saxon and died upon the Norman sword. If I have accepted William as my king it is because I can see no use in a hopeless struggle that would only mean more death and defeat for the English. Perhaps it is because I’m a woman that I see no future in further efforts to place an Englishman on the throne. I say let us bide our time and give William his due. Mayhap he will bring some good to England. I vow you can do naught else with only dead men to raise their bones behind you. Would you have us all dead before you realize the truth? I would say William does right to keep you under his thumb to ensure peace for England.”

She turned without further word and strode across the greensward past her father’s grave to where she saw a lone Norman knight sitting beneath a tree with his back to them. He had removed his helm and had propped an arm upon a knee as he gazed toward the forest in quiet repose. Aislinn was upon him before she recognized him and drew back in surprise. Ragnor turned at her gasp and stared up into wide violet eyes as a slow grin grew upon his lips.

“Ah, dove, I missed you,” he murmured and rose to his feet, sweeping a bow before her. As he straightened his gaze took her in and his amazement showed clearly upon his face. He smiled down at her and chided, “You did not tell me, Aislinn.”

She raised her chin and met his warm gaze with coolness, “I saw no need,” she replied haughtily. “The child is Wulfgar’s.”

He leaned a shoulder against the tree and his dark eyes danced. “Indeed?”

Aislinn could almost see him mentally counting the months, and her temper flared. “I bear no child of yours, Ragnor.”

He laughed with ease, dismissing her words. “ ’Twould be a just reward were it mine. Yea, I could not have planned as well myself. ’Tis not likely the bastard will claim my cub, but then he may never know who the sire is.” He stepped before her and gazed down into her snapping eyes, growing serious. “He will not marry you, Aislinn,” he murmured. “He never was one to dally long with a woman. Mayhap you’ve already seen his interest wane a bit. I’m willing to take you from here! Come away with me now to Normandy, Aislinn. You’ll not regret it.”

“On the contrary, I would,” she returned. “I have all that I want here.”

“I can give you more. Much, much more. Come away with me. Vachel shares my tent but he will gladly find some other resting place. I have only to ask and he will obey. Say you’ll come.” His voice took on a gay note as he was encouraged by her silence. “We must hide you from the king, but I know of ways to disguise your fair looks and he will be none the wiser. He will think I’ve come across a small lad to be my lackey.”

She laughed distainfully and played the game a moment longer. “Wulfgar would come after you.”

He reached up and took her face between his hands, sliding his fingers through her hair. “Nay, dove. He’ll find someone else. Why should he come when you carry a bastard?”

He bent to press his lips against hers, but she murmured quietly:

“Because I am his wife.”

Ragnor jerked back from her in surprise and her pleased laughter filled his ears.

“You bitch,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Do you not love me, Ragnor?” she mocked him. “Poor maid I, discarded from fellow to foe.” Then she ceased her laughter as she sneered. “You murdered my father and robbed my mother of her wits! Do you think I will ever forgive you? Heaven help me if I do! I’ll see you in hell first.”

Ragnor glared back at her. “I’lI have you, bitch, and I’ll take you at my leisure. Wulfgar or no, you will be mine. The marriage means naught to me. Wulfgar’s life even less. Bide the time well, dove.”

He scooped up his helmet and whirling from her, strode angrily down the path to the hall, there to fling the door wide and enter with bold strides. Trembling, Aislinn leaned against the tree for support and silently wept, knowing the fear that often nagged at her that her child would show the dark skin and hair of Ragnor.

The hall was empty and Ragnor mounted the stairs unchallenged. Without a knock he flung open the door to Gwyneth’s small chamber and slammed it closed behind him, meeting her startled gaze as she sat up in bed with reddened eyes.

“Ragnor!”

She stared agape at the sight of him then made to run to him, but he crossed to the bed, removing his hauberk and throwing it aside. She gasped as he fell upon her and his savage kisses bruised her mouth, but she clutched him to her, delighting in his fierce ardor. It mattered little that he hurt her; she even gained pleasure from the pain. Her spirits soared that he should desire her enough to cast caution to the wind and seek her out when there was so much risk of being discovered. The thrill of danger added to the excitement of their violent passion and she crooned in his ear her love for him. Ragnor took her with no such tenderness in his heart. His lust and rage combined without compassion for his prey. But in his mind he could not cease comparing this lean and eager form to Aislinn’s more pleasingly apportioned, though much less willing, frame and with thoughts of her perfection riding his mind he found ease with this one.

With his desires sated Ragnor could once more feign some fondness for Gwyneth and pretend some gentle care for her. She lay in his arms, stroking the hard, lean muscles of his chest and he bent and pressed a soft kiss upon her lips.

“Take me with you to Normandy, Ragnor,” she whispered against his mouth. “Please, love, do not leave me here.”

“I cannot,” he breathed. “I travel with the king and have no tent of my own. But do not fear. There is time enough and I shall return to you perhaps in ways more to your liking. Wait for me and be ever wary of lies told of me. Listen to naught but from my lips alone.”

Again they kissed, long and passionately, but with his hunger appeased Ragnor was eager to be away and made his excuse as he rose from her side reaching for his clothes. He left her chamber with more care than he entered, and seeing no soul about, he hastened down the stairs and out the hall.

Wulfgar reined in the Hun behind the King’s mighty charger and dismounted, glancing around at the men who lounged beneath the trees. Seeing Ragnor taking his rest in the shade of a spreading oak, he relaxed somewhat yet his gaze swept on until he found Aislinn refilling a cup a young archer held out to her. So doing, she crossed to them with a warm greeting and from where he sat, Ragnor watched the couple from beneath lowered lids, feigning sleep. Vachel had rode in their party to view the castle and now made his way to his cousin, but Ragnor gave him little heed as he considered Wulfgar’s casual embrace of Aislinn.

“The dove has tamed the wolf it seems,” Ragnor muttered to the younger man. “Wulfgar has married the lass.”

Vachel dropped down beside him. “He may have wed the wench, but he is no less the Norman. He builds that castle as if he expects to hold off all of England behind its walls.”

Ragnor sneered. “The bastard thinks to keep the lady for sure, but there will come a time.”

“Do not judge his ability too lightly as with the tourney,” Vachel warned. “He is clever and has great strength to support his ventures.”

Ragnor smiled. “I will take care.”

Summer waxed and the child grew in Aislinn’s belly apace with the castle. The people watched both, her glowing warmth that seemed to set the air around her alive with her energy, and the castle with the sense of security that upheld Wulfgar’s promise to protect them. Yet a new threat dawned. Even the serfs and peasants found a wealth they had never known before under Wulfgar’s guidance and it was not long before a murdering band of miscreants and thieves found the richness of his flourishing lands. He set patrols to ride the roads and warn of strangers but even this proved fruitless as time and again families were forced to flee to the hall as their homes were looted and sacked.

It was by some chance Wulfgar came about a quicker method of warning. Aislinn had retired to the cool shelter of her chamber after the midday meal to rest a time from the sluggish warmth of the late June day. She removed her gunna, leaving on the light linen kirtle beneath. Feeling a bit bedraggled by the sultry heat, she began to tidy her appearance. She splashed water on her face and the coolness of it did much to refresh her. Taking out the silver mirror Beaufonte had purchased for her at the fair in London, she began to comb her hair, but hearing Wulfgar’s voice in the courtyard below, she went to the window and leaned out.

The three knights and Sweyn were with him and the five were dressed in battle gear, not wanting to be caught unawares if another alarm was sounded. They had returned from Cregan shortly before midday and were relaxing now in the shade of a tree before riding off again to make a wide sweep of the countryside. Aislinn called to him several times but the men’s voices overrode hers and he could not hear her. Finally frustrated, she drew back, but the sun’s rays caught the face of the mirror she held and the burst of light from it was reflected on the men below. Wulfgar sat up immediately and glancing toward the source of the brightness, raised a hand to shield the glare from his eyes and saw her at the window. As she lowered the mirror, Aislinn laughed, pleased she had finally caught his attention, and waved to him, having nothing important to say. With a smile he waved back and was relaxing once more against the tree when suddenly he sat up again, then leapt to his feet. Aislinn watched him in puzzlement
as he ran toward the hall and soon she heard his feet on the stairs then in a moment he was beside her, taking the mirror from her. He went to the window where she had stood and experimented with it, soon drawing the attention of the group below. Wulfgar laughed in amazement as he turned the thing in his hands, then coming to stand beside his wife bent and placed a hearty kiss on her mouth. At her surprise he chuckled.

“Madam, I think you have saved the day. No more riding long patrols that wear men and horse alike.” He raised the mirror as if it were a treasure. “Only a few lads on hilltops with these and we’ll have the thieves.” He laughed and kissed her again fiercely before striding out the door, leaving her bemused but happy.

It was nearly a week later that a shout from the top of the castle tower brought the knights out in full battle dress and the village was nearly emptied as the men stood to arms. A mirror signal from one of the watchmen had marked the approach of a group of raiders. Wulfgar rode out with his small army, many doubled or even tripled on whatever mount was to be found. They took the path that led south to Cregan, which was an hour’s leisured ride or a half hour’s gallop from Darkenwald. The trap was set on a blind curve where Wulfgar’s charge would be downhill and thus the weightier. Men were carefully hidden in the brush or hillside to harass the raiders with stones and arrows, and Wulfgar’s well-trained band of archers and spearmen set to seal the retreat. Thus the ambush was met. Wulfgar, Sweyn and the knights held their horses quiet, well back from the curve. Soon laughter and shouts could be heard as the raiders neared, little suspecting that their progress was known and the way well guarded. The leaders came, talking loudly and wearing the loot of their last attack. Suddenly they halted as they saw the four knights and the hulking Norseman before them. Their laughter froze in their throats, and behind them the others pressed close to see what was amiss. Wulfgar lowered his lance and leaned forward in the saddle. The road trembled beneath the hooves of the five chargers. The thieves shouted and sought to flee and the lane became a mad tangle of bodies.

One raider, braver than the rest, dug the butt of his spear into the ground and held its point to meet the charge, but Sweyn’s great ax whistled to shear the man’s arm and the shaft before it could do harm. The thief screamed and grasped the stump in his other hand and died as the short, Viking spear took him full in the chest. Wulfgar’s lance spitted another and pinned him to the ground. Then the long sword rang free and left a trail of gore where the Hun’s flailing hooves passed. It was over in a moment. Some had sought to flee and now lay in the dust studded with arrows. A dying man told where their camp was located deep in the marsh and there Wulfgar took his men when the bodies had been stripped of loot and arms and pushed from the road.

Wulfgar found the wretched place in the midst of the peat bogs. The inhabitants of the camp had been warned and fled deeper into the marsh, leaving their possessions behind. Four naked slaves, chained in the open, had been abused for the entertainment of the thieves. Their ribs stood out from hunger. When struck free and given food, they knelt and humbly wept their thanks. One of the freed slaves was a young girl who had not fled fast enough from the raiders. Another was a Norman knight who had fallen wounded far afield, the other two were serfs and had been seized from a small village west of London.

Wulfgar and his men dallied only long enough to search the hovels, bringing out what little of value they could find. They mounted the four on captured steeds then set the torch to the entire place, setting a warning to other thieves who would tarry here.

The girl was returned to her family amid cries of joy and the others remained at the hall until they regained their strength before going their own ways, and Darkenwald returned to peace and its labors. Yet there were those who seemed out of pace with the life there. Gwyneth was sorely chafed by the awareness she was little more than a guest and had to abide within the charity of the lord and lady of the manor. Even Haylan had ceased to heed her and began to draw away. Finding no more charity from Gwyneth, the young widow had her own and her son’s welfare to look after and found little time to converse and conspire with the other woman. Gwyneth knew a loneliness deep within her, but soon found that without facing Aislinn directly, she could extract some vengeance from carrying to Maida greatly embroidered tales of Wulfgar’s cruelty to his wife and at every opportunity weakened the woman’s already strained sanity. To see Maida scampering hastily out of Wulfgar’s path amused his sister and
her pale eyes glowed as she baited the poor woman time and again to stir her fears for her only child. A good lie was worth a year’s wear and tear upon the woman’s confidence and to this end Gwyneth would go well out of her way to seek the woman out.

Maida watched her daughter closely when Aislinn came to the cottage to tend her or when she saw her about, looking for the telltale signs that would mark her abuse. Instead, Aislinn’s glowing happiness further confused her and she sank lower in dejection.

The hot days of July simmered by with grinding slowness and Aislinn lost the last hint of grace. Her passage was slow and made with studied care, for quick movements were well beyond her capabilities. At night she curled close against Wulfgar’s back and many times they were abruptly wakened by the strong stirrings of the babe. She could never see her husband’s face in the darkness of the room. In the warmth of July there was no need for a fire in the hearth, therefore she was unable to determine his moods and worried that she disturbed him overmuch, but his kisses silenced her fears and apologies. He was gentle with her and many times his helping arm assisted her on her way.

In the few days past, her burden had lowered and now even sitting became a chore. When taking meals, she continually shifted her weight to ease the ache in the small of her back, and only nibbled at her food while listening with half an ear to the conversations that floated around her, not taking any verbal part, only nodding or smiling when a question or statement was directed to her.

Now as she sat beside Wulfgar, she suddenly gasped and pressed a hand to her taut and rounded belly, amazed at the vigor with which the child moved. Wulfgar’s hand took her arm and she met his worried frown with a reassuring smile.

“ ’Tis nothing, my love,” she murmured comfortingly. “ ’Tis only the stirring of the child.” She laughed “He moves with all the strength of his father.”

She had begun more and more to think of Wulfgar as the child’s sire, unable to bear the thought of Ragnor fathering it, but she knew that she had used the wrong words as Gwyneth sneered.

“Unless you know something we do not, Aislinn, it seems the blood of your offspring is well in doubt. In truth it could be fully Saxon.”

She turned a derisive eye to Kerwick who stared at her in surprise, then reddened as he realized her meaning and in his haste to reassure Wulfgar, stammered a poor denial.

“Nay, my lord, ‘twas not the way. I mean—,” he looked at Aislinn in his helplessness then turned again to Gwyneth, his anger flaring. “A lie you say! A lie!”

Wulfgar smiled though his tone betrayed little humor as he answered his sister. “You have with your usual charm brought another tasty conjecture forth for our entertainment, Gwyneth. I seem to remember Ragnor the villain instead of this poor lad.”

Gwyneth’s anger showed itself as she snarled. “I bid you consider well, Wulfgar. We have only your wife’s word and the ramblings of some drunken fools to back her say that Ragnor ever laid a hand on her. Indeed, I doubt that Sir Ragnor ever touched her or could act in the manner she lays to him.”

While Aislinn gasped at the twisted reasoning, Kerwick choked and flung himself to his feet.

“Maida herself saw her daughter carried up those stairs. Would you say he done her naught?”

Wulfgar’s face had hardened and as Gwyneth snorted he scowled blackly at her.

“Maida, ha!” Gwyneth jeered, and flung up a hand in disgust. “That addled fool cannot be trusted.”

Aislinn forced herself to remain calm and murmured softly, “In all good time, Gwyneth, the truth will out. As for Kerwick, either he was chained or I was chained well beyond the time that he could be the sire. That leaves two and I deny the first along with the gentle manner some lay upon him.”

Gwyneth turned in rage and glared at her, but Aislinn continued on gently.

“And I pray, God willing, that time will prove I give life to Wulfgar’s seed. As to your bid that a gracious Ragnor could not have used a lady so, I pray you recall, good Gwyneth.” She leaned forward and spoke each word carefully. “Ragnor himself gave truth to the fact that he was the first.”

Gwyneth’s rage knew no relief at this defeat. Without thought, she seized a bowl and raised it as if to hurl it at Aislinn, but Wulfgar came to his feet with a loud roar and clapped both hands down upon the table. His angry glare held his sister.

“Take heed, Gwyneth,” he rumbled. “This is my table you set your feet beneath, and I will not have you question the father of the babe again. ’Tis mine because I make it so. I bid you go with care that you may continue to abide here.”

Gwyneth’s anger fled and left a bitter frustration. Tears came to her eyes and she shook with sobs but she lowered the bowl again.

“You will rue the day, Wulfgar, that you placed this Saxon slut above me and denied me what little honor I have left.”

With a last look of loathing contempt flung at Aislinn, she turned and made her way up the stairs to her chamber. Her reserve fled as she closed the door behind her and she flung herself upon the bed to sob out her misery there. Her mind was a confusion of tumbling thoughts but it settled on one burning theme. It was cruel fate that her brother, bastard Norman that he was, should be the one to cast her from her rightful place and take a weak-faced Saxon bitch to wife. But Ragnor—she trembled at the memory of his touch. Ragnor had promised her much more. Yet was he in truth the father of Aislinn’s babe? The thought seared her brain that Aislinn would bear first fruit of that gentle-born knight and that her child might grow thin and dark with the look of a hawk in his brows or have the black and moody eyes of her lover. She silently vowed that when Ragnor returned, as he must to raise her from this sty, she would see that Wulfgar knew the full weight of her displeasure.

In the hall the meal was ended with strained silence and as Haylan cleared away the food before them, Aislinn struggled to her feet, reddening slightly under the woman’s amused stare that seemed centered on her oversized belly. Self-consciously she turned and begged Wulfgar’s leave to go to their chamber.

“It seems I tire easily of late,” she murmured.

He rose and took her arm. “I’ll help you, cherie.”

He guided her slow progress up the stairs and to their chamber where she began to undress for bed. As she unfastened her kirtle, he paused behind her and reached up to stroke her bright hair. With a sigh, Aislinn leaned back against him and he bent to press a kiss beneath her ear where the flesh was soft and white and fragrant.