The Wolf and the Dove Read online

  “ ’Tis not your talent that keeps you astride, lad,” Wulfgar grinned. “But your winsome face. At its sight every man thinks he has found himself some sweet wench and dares do no harm to the fair damsel.”

  Laughter shook the hall as Gowain reddened but smiled in good humor. Wulfgar rubbed his knuckles softly against Aislinn’s arm as he continued to banter jovially with his men, and in her confusion she failed to see Gwyneth glaring at her. Had her look been of steel it would have severed Aislinn’s heart in twain.

  The look became even more piercing a few moments later when Wulfgar retired up the stairs with the girl, his hand riding upon her narrow waist.

  “What does he see in that slut?” Gwyneth demanded, flinging herself back in her chair to pout like some spoiled child who had been ignored.

  Ragnor averted his gaze from the slender figure mounting the stairs and finished his ale with an angry gulp. When he bent near Gwyneth’s cheek, he quite artfully managed a charming smile.

  “I would not know, my lady, for my eyes hold only you within their sight. Aaah, would that I could feel you beside me, your body hungrily pressed to mine, I would know the joys of paradise.”

  Gwyneth laughed low. “Sir de Marte, you give me cause to fear for my virtue. I have never been courted so boldly.”

  “I’ve not much time,” Ragnor admitted roguishly. “I must leave on the morrow to join William.” At her obvious disappointment, he grinned. “But never fear, sweet damsel, I shall return, even if it is on my deathbed.”

  “Your deathbed!” Gwyneth cried in dismay. “But where do you go? Must I fear for your safety?”

  “Indeed, there is danger. We Normans are not popular with the English. They would throw aside William’s claim and choose another. We must persuade them that he is the best choice.”

  “You boldly fight for your duke while my brother amuses himself with that trollop. He is truly without honor.”

  Ragnor shrugged. “She only sends him away happily.”

  “Wulfgar goes with you?” Gwyneth questioned in surprise.

  “Nay, but soon. Alas, my fate may come more swiftly and no one cares.”

  “I care,” Gwyneth confessed.

  Ragnor caught her hand against his breast. “Oh, love, those words are sweet to my ears. Feel my heart pound against these confines of my chest and know how I yearn for you. Come into the meadow with me and let me spread my mantle upon the ground for us. I swear I will not touch you, only let me hold you for a time before I go.”

  Gwyneth blushed hotly. “You are very persuasive, sir knight.”

  His hand tightened upon hers. “Damoiselle, you are too beautiful for me to resist. Say you’ll come. Send me away with a small token of your kindness.”

  “I shouldn’t,” Gwyneth argued weakly.

  “No one will ever know. Your father sleeps. Your brother amuses himself. Say you’ll come, love.”

  She made a small consenting nod.

  “You will not regret your generosity,” Ragnor murmured huskily. “I will go first and prepare a place then come to meet you. Do not delay, I beg.”

  He pressed his lips passionately against her hand, sending wild waves of excitement flooding through her body, then rose and hurried from her.

  Wulfgar leaned in fatigue upon the door as he closed it behind him, noting with gratitude the steaming bath that awaited him.

  “You manage this household as if you were born with the talents of seeing to the comforts of many,” he commented, watching Aislinn cross the room as he began to disrobe.

  She smiled over her shoulder at him and there was a hint of mischief in her eyes. “My mother early taught that responsibility.”

  Wulfgar grunted. “ ’Tis well, you will make a good slave.”

  Aislinn’s laughter rang with a note of wry mirth. “Will I, m’lord? My father once said I had a most untamed nature. “

  “And in that matter I believe he was right,” Wulfgar replied, lowering himself into the wooden tub. He leaned back with a sigh. “Still, I like the matter as it stands.”

  “Aaah,” she returned. “Then you are content to produce bastard sons?”

  “You have not proved capable of bearing any man a bastard as yet, cherie.”

  “The test of time has not yet ripened, my lord.” She chuckled low as she removed her gunna, standing with her back to him. “Do not pin your hopes on fantasies. Most women are known to be quite fertile. You have just been fortunate in your adventures, that is all.”

  “Not fortunate—careful,” he corrected. “I have made it a habit of inquiring upon the lady’s status before indulging.”

  “You did not ask me,” she pointed out.

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I assumed you did not know, which you don’t. ’Tis the disadvantage of young virgins.”

  Aislinn blushed hotly. “Then you have never had a virtuous maid, monseigneur?”

  “ ’Twas by choice.”

  “Do you boast that should you have desired one, you could have had such a maid?” Aislinn questioned with care.

  “Women are not very discriminating. I could have had many.”

  “Oh,” Aislinn choked. “How confident you are! And I am only one among many of your harlots!”

  He peered at her obliquely as he idly rubbed a sponge across his chest. “Let us say, cherie, that you have proved the most interesting thus far.”

  “Perhaps it is because I am not so old as your other women,” she snapped. Whirling she angrily strode to the tub where she postured saucily for him, touching her breasts, her waist and hips as she pointed out her assets. “Perhaps my bosom does not hang so low or my legs bow so wide. I have a slim waist yet and my chin does not disappear into folds. Surely something must have tempted you to take me without first your usual precautions.”

  Gray eyes bright with amusement, Wulfgar reached out an arm and with a quick movement pulled her into his bath. Aislinn shrieked and fought to remove herself from his lap.

  “My kirtle!” she sobbed, tears coming quickly as she held the dampened cloth from her skin. “ ’Twas my finest and you’ve ruined it.”

  Wulfgar only laughed the more. He pressed his face near to hers and smiled into her flashing eyes.

  “Your head would be swollen with conceit if I yielded that you are by far the fairest or that you would bedevil any man into forgetting his convictions. Indeed, you would grow cocky and vain if I hinted that you are more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen.” He tightened his grip as she strangled with unreasoning fury and struggled against him. “You might even become overconfident and think that I would never turn to another woman because I thought you more desirable than any other. Therefore, I do none of this, and I do you a kindness. Your heart might soften toward me and you would cry and cling to me when I choose another to replace you. I want no strings that are difficult to break.” And he added as if giving her warning. “Do not fall in love with me, Aislinn, or you will be hurt.”

  Aislinn’s eyes brightened with turbulent tears as she glared at him. “Do not distress yourself. You are the last person in all of Christendom that I would fall in love with.”

  Wulfgar smiled. “ ’Tis well.”

  “If you despise women as you claim, why do you warn me? Do you caution all the women you have affairs with?”

  Wulfgar loosed his grip and settled back against the tub. “Nay, you are the first, but you are younger than the rest and more tender.”

  Aislinn smiled thoughtfully as she propped her arms upon his chest, laying her chin on her hands, and gazed into his eyes.

  “But still, I am a woman, monseigneur. Why are you kind to me when you have not been with others? You must feel something more for me than you did for them.” Her grin deepened wickedly as she traced a slim finger along the scar marking his cheek. “Beware, m’lord, do not fall in love with me.”

  He caught her under the knees and behind the shoulders and set her dripping wet from the tub. “I love no woman nor shall I ever,�
�� he stated flatly. “For the moment I find you entertaining. That is all.”

  “And after me, m’lord, who then?”

  Wulfgar shrugged. “Whoever meets my fancy.”

  Aislinn fled across the room to a darkened corner behind him where she crushed her hands over her ears. She trembled with frustrated anger and was sure he would never intentionally allow her to gain advantage. It was a game he played with her because of his contempt for women, never allowing her the smallest measure of confidence in her relationship with him, never allowing her to draw close to the man inside the shell. He ridiculed and taunted womankind while he watched their reactions in calm amusement, teasing with deliberate patience until the time when they would break or flee from his abuse. But he had not fully found her depth, Aislinn thought, nor drawn the bounds of her mettle. It was truly a battle that raged between them. While he casually cautioned her not to fall in love with him, she sought out every softness in his professed armor of hatred.

  Shivering in the wet kirtle, she doffed it and quickly slid into his bed, drawing the pelts up high under her chin. When he joined her there a few moments later she feigned sleep, resting on her side with her back to him. Though she could not see him, she felt his attention on her, and smiled secretly to herself, wondering his next move. It was not long before she learned. His hand upon her shoulder pressed her down upon her back and she found herself staring into warm gray eyes as he bent over her.

  “Damoiselle, you are not asleep,” he mocked her.

  “Would it matter?” she inquired with a hint of sarcasm.

  He shook his head as he lowered his mouth to hers. “Nay.”

  Gwyneth stepped into the moonlit clearing and caught her breath sharply as a hand closed upon her shoulder. She swung round with a start, remembering the large, rugged men who had crammed the hall at the feasting hour, and knew an instant prickle of fear. At sight of Ragnor’s smiling face, however, she laughed softly in relief.

  “You came,” he grinned.

  “Indeed, sir knight I am here.”

  Ragnor bent, sweeping her into his arms, and quickly carried her a short distance into the woods. Gwyneth’s heart beat fiercely at the swiftness of his actions. She giggled nervously, looping her arms about his neck, feeling herself small and helpless in his strong embrace.

  “You make me forget my sanity,” she whispered against his ear. “It is hard to realize we met only this morn.”

  Ragnor halted in his stride and pulled his hand from under her knees, letting her limbs slide against his until her toes reached the ground.

  “Was it only today we met?” he asked hoarsely, tightening his arms about her until he could feel every curve of her thin body pressed to his. “I thought centuries had passed since I left you in the hall.”

  Gwyneth’s head reeled giddy. “Oh, it was only years, my darling.”

  His mouth crushed down upon hers feverishly as they strained against each other in their passion. With great skill Ragnor loosened her gunna and kirtle, letting them fall to her feet and pushed her gently down upon his mantle spread out upon the ground. His eyes for a moment traveled the length of her body glowing silvery in the moonlight. He caressed her small breasts while his thoughts played idly upon a rounder, fuller bosom, remembering the soft creamy skin and curling coppery tresses twining wantonly about a beautiful body. In his imagination he saw Wulfgar’s hands taking possession of its perfection. Ragnor jerked sharply with his irritation, making Gwyneth cry out in fright.

  “What is it? Does someone come?” she asked, frantically grabbing for his mantle to cover herself.

  His hands stayed her movement. “Nay. There is nothing. The moon plays tricks with me, that is all. I thought there was something moving there, but I was mistaken.”

  Relaxing back into his arms, Gwyneth slipped her hand beneath his tunic and slid it over the hard muscles of his chest.

  “You have me sorely at a disadvantage, sir knight,” she breathed. “I am very inquisitive.”

  Ragnor smiled and began to remove his garments.

  “That is better,” Gwyneth murmured in approval when they lay discarded. “How handsome you are, my dearest. You are dark like the warm earth and strong like yon oaks. I had not thought men could be beautiful, but I was mistaken.”

  Her hands moved over him boldly, stirring the hot flames of passion.

  “Be gentle with me,” she whispered against his throat and lay back upon his mantle. Her pale eyes were like stars in the night, glittering and distant until Ragnor bent over her, covering her narrow frame with his, and then they slowly closed.

  A wolf howled in the distance when Ragnor finally sat up, wrapping his arms about his knees as he gazed through the darkness toward the dim light coming from the lord’s chamber window. As he watched a figure of a man shadowed the square and then moved out of sight to reappear again shortly. The dark silhouette flexed its arm, and Ragnor grinned, hoping the practice of arms that day had affected Wulfgar’s pleasure, and knew otherwise as he thought of it, for his own tired limbs had little hampered his. The black shape turned in profile toward what Ragnor knew was the bed. He could almost see the bright hair spread across the pillows and the small, oval face soft and perfect in sleep, as if he were the man at the window.

  How intensely he desired revenge. At times he could almost feel it within his grasp, yet it was allusive and much like that damsel who slept in the lord’s bed, irresistible and untouchable, ever taunting. His body stirred quickly at the memory of the wench in his arms. The thought gave him no rest, plaguing him day and night until he knew that he would not be satisfied until she belonged to him. He smiled, knowing that he would have revenge upon Wulfgar by taking her. Even if Wulfgar harbored no affection for the girl there would still be his pride to suffer.

  “What are you thinking of?” Gwyneth murmured softly, reaching out to caress his lean and muscular ribs.

  Ragnor turned and took her in his arms again. “I was just thinking how happy you have made me. Now I may go to William with your sweet memory riding atop the highest peak of my imagination.” He pulled her chilled body closer against his. “Do you shiver with the cold, ma cherie, or the fierceness of our love?”

  Gwyneth wrapped her thin arms about his neck, pressing her body to his. “Both, my dear love’s heart. Both.”

  The first rays of the sun struck the frosted trees, making them sparkle as if spread with rare jewels, and the doves stirred in the cote. Ragnor gave a quick thump upon the door of the lord’s chamber and pushed it open on the sleeping couple. With a warrior’s instinct for danger, Wulfgar rolled from Aislinn’s side and snatched up his sword lying on the stone floor. Before the door ceased its swing he stood ready to meet a foe. For a man who but a moment before slumbered peacefully at the side of a maid, he now seemed fully alert and quite capable of meeting any attack directed toward the occupants of that room.

  “Oh, ‘tis you,” Wulfgar grunted, sitting back upon the bed.

  Aislinn roused much more slowly, raising up to stare at Wulfgar in sleepy confusion and failed to notice Ragnor standing near the door in the dimness of the room. The small pelt she clutched more revealed than covered her breasts and it was toward this view that Ragnor stared. Following his gaze, Wulfgar saw the reason for his great attention and lifted his sword toward the intruding knight.

  “We have an early morning visitor, cherie,” he said and watched calmly as she started in surprise and hurriedly covered herself.

  “Why came you here to my chamber at this hour, Ragnor?” he inquired as he rose to sheathe his sword.

  Ragnor swept his hand before him and bowed in mockery before the spectacular form of the naked man.

  “Your pardon, my lord, I did but want to take my leave of Darkenwald and desired to know if you wished anything further of me before I turn my horse upon the road. Mayhap you desire me to carry a message to the Duke.”

  “Nay, there is nothing,” Wulfgar replied.

  Ragnor nodded and turned t
o go, then paused, facing them again. A slow smile grew upon his lips.

  “You should be careful of the woods at night. Wolves range the groves wide. I heard them close in the late hours.”

  Wulfgar raised a questioning brow, wondering who might have entertained the roving knight this time. “The way you make your rounds, Ragnor, ‘tis certain you’ll shortly replenish the populace of Darkenwald.”

  Ragnor chuckled. “And who should give birth first but my fair lady Aislinn.”

  Before he sensed the wrath his words had wrought, a small vessel glazed his ear and crashed against the door behind him. Ragnor looked at Aislinn kneeling in the middle of the bed with clenched fists holding a pelt close about her. He rubbed his ear and grinned, admiring the beauty her rage stirred forth.

  “My dove, I’m overwhelmed by your passionate nature. Are you so tormented because of my love of last night? I assure you I did not think of your jealousy.”

  “Aaah!” Aislinn shrieked, glancing around for some other object to throw. Finding nothing in reach she flung herself from the bed. She crossed to where Wulfgar watched in silent amusement and snatched at his sword, only to find it too heavy for her to lift.

  “Why do you stand and laugh at his jibes?!” she demanded of Wulfgar. She stamped her foot in rage. “Make him show respect to your authority.”

  Wulfgar shrugged and returned a smile for her glare. “He plays at games like a child. When he plays in earnest I will kill him.”

  The grin faded from Ragnor’s face. “I am at your call, Wulfgar.” He smiled stiffly. “At any hour.”

  He left the chamber without further ado, and for a long moment Aislinn stared in deep thought at the closed door before finally commenting.

  “Monseigneur, I believe he sees you a threat.”

  “Do not let your fancies lead you astray, cherie,” Wulfgar bade her shortly. “He is from one of the richest families in Normandy. He hates me, true, but it is because he thinks only blooded men should bear titles.” He laughed. “And of course, he wants you.”