The Wolf and the Dove Read online

  “My bridle!” Wulfgar snorted. “Sweyn, take it back and see they do not bring the Hun to my chambers.”

  When the Norseman had closed the door behind him, Aislinn again took up her tray to leave.

  “One moment, damoiselle,” Wulfgar bade her.

  Aislinn turned to wait his leisure and watched with detached interest as he pulled himself from the seat and gingerly tested the leg. When he was assured of its strength, he pulled a shirt over his head and went to throw open the shutters. He turned then and gazed about the room in the new light.

  “This will be my chamber.” His tone of voice was distant. “See your mother’s things are moved and the room well cleaned.”

  “Pray tell, my lord,” Aislinn sneered at him. “Where shall I put them? In the sty with the other English swine?”

  “Where do you sleep?” he asked, giving no heed to her temper.

  “In my own chamber, unless I find it taken.”

  “Then place them there, Aislinn.” He looked directly into her flaring eyes. “You will have little need of it henceforth.”

  Aislinn blushed hotly and swung away, loathing him for his bold reminder. She waited for him to dismiss her and the room grew silent. She could hear him moving about, poking at the fire and slamming the lid of a chest. Suddenly his voice rang loud and harsh.

  “What is that man to you?”

  Aislinn whirled and stared at him confused for a moment.

  “Kerwick. What is he to you?” he repeated.

  “Nothing.” She managed to gasp.

  “But you know him and he knows you!”

  Aislinn regained some of her poise. “Of course. He is the Lord of Cregan and we bartered much with his family.”

  “He has nothing left to barter. He is lord no more.” Wulfgar watched her closely. “He came late, after the village surrendered. When I bade him yield he cast down his sword and made himself my slave.” He almost sneered the words as if demeaning Kerwick.

  Aislinn replied in a softer tone, more sure of herself now. “Kerwick is more of a scholar than a warrior. His father trained him as a knight, and he fought bravely with Harold.”

  “He left his spleen on the sod over a few slain. No Norman respects him.”

  Aislinn lowered her eyes and hid her own pity for Kerwick. “He is a gentle person and those out yonder were his friends. He talked with them and set down verses of their toils. He has seen too much of death since the Normans came to our land.”

  Wulfgar clasped his hands behind his back and stood huge and imposing before her. His face was shadowed by the light from the window, and Aislinn could see only those gray eyes calmly gazing at her.

  “And what of those who did not die?” he questioned. “How many have fled and hid in the forest?”

  “I know of none,” she replied and it was only half a lie. She had seen some reach the edge of the swamp when her father fell but could not name them or say whether they were still free.

  Wulfgar reached out and lifted a tress of her hair and felt its rich, silken texture. Those eyes would not free her from their intensity. Aislinn could feel her will weaken, and the slow smile that spread across his face told her she had played no deep game with him. He nodded.

  “You know of none?” His voice was heavy with satire. “No matter. They will soon come to serve their master as will you.”

  Wulfgar’s hand fell to her shoulder and he pulled her near him. The tray rattled in her hands.

  “Please—,” Aislinn whispered hoarsely, afraid of the lips that stirred her so. “Please.” The word came in a half sob.

  His hand slid down her arm in a gentle caress then dropped from her.

  “See to the rooms,” he commanded softly, still holding her with his gaze. “And if the people come to you, treat them as well as you have me. They are mine, too, and precious few.”

  Outside the chamber Aislinn nearly collided with Kerwick in her haste to leave. He bore in his arms more baggage for the lord, but she hurried by him, knowing her flushed face would betray her. She flew to her own room and as she gathered her belongings fought to control the trembling that beset her fingers. She was in a rage that the Norman could so upset her. What strange power burned in those cold gray eyes that sneered at her.

  Aislinn came from the hall to watch with dismay as some dozen serfs were led into the yard. With their ankles tethered they could only hobble along together beside the mounted horsemen. On his great war horse Wulfgar looked all the more fearsome to these simple folk who trembled for their lives. Aislinn bit her lip as one lad, seeking to escape, broke from the rest and hopped away as fast as his bonds would allow, but he was no great test for Wulfgar’s stallion. Riding up behind the boy, Wulfgar caught him by the scruff of his shirt and hauled him across the front of the saddle. The youth, yelping for all he was worth, received a silencing blow across his buttocks and rode back grimacing in pain but silent. Wulfgar discarded his load in the midst of the peasants who scrambled frantically to get out of the way of his mount.

  They were herded into the square like trussed swine, and Aislinn released a sigh of relief when she saw that none were wounded. She stepped back as Wulfgar rode up before her and dismounted.

  “You did not kill any in the forest?” she questioned anxiously.

  “Nay, they fled like any good-blooded Saxon would,” he threw at her.

  Aislinn glared at him as he raised a mocking gaze to her and turning on her heels, stalked into the hall.

  A semblance of order fell on Darkenwald and compared to the previous night they supped in what was almost a tranquil atmosphere. The Normans were established and there was no bickering, for each man knew Wulfgar was lord here. Those that envied him dared not challenge him. Those that respected him thought him worthy.

  Aislinn found herself occupying her mothers’ rightful place as lady of the hall and was conscious of Wulfgar’s dominating presence beside her. He conversed with Sweyn who sat on the opposite side of him and generally seemed to ignore her which she found most bewildering since he had insisted that she feast with him, indicating that particular place beside him. She had been reluctant to do so. Her mother had been reduced to scrambling for scraps with the other serfs, and Aislinn thought it only proper that she share the same fate of Maida.

  “A serf’s place to dine is not beside the lord,” she reminded him caustically when he bade her take the chair.

  Wulfgar’s cold, penetrating gaze bore into her. “It is, when the lord commands.”

  During the feast Kerwick remained close by Wulfgar’s table, offering them food and wine as a common servant. Aislinn found herself wishing him someplace else. She hated the miserable guise of defeated resignation he wore. Ragnor, too, did not relent in his careful perusal of them but with his dark eyes, watched their every move. Aislinn felt his hatred of Wulfgar as if it were a solid substance and grew somewhat amused that he should be so annoyed by the bastard’s possession of her.

  The possessor of a blackened eye and a swollen jaw, Hlynn timorously brought ale to the Normans, flinching when they barked at her or reached to fondle a breast or buttock. Her clothing had been repaired by a piece of twine, and the men’s regalement became enlivened by a wager among them over which would be the first to break it. The fearful girl, not understanding their language or wager, walked into many a trap set by the conniving Normans.

  Maida appeared unconcerned by the girl’s distress but seemed more interested in the scraps of food flung to the hounds laying underfoot. At times Aislinn would see her cramming a stolen morsel into her mouth, and her own waning appetite was little improved by the knowledge her mother was going hungry.

  Hlynn’s repairs held until the meal was nearly complete, but in his frustration, Ragnor vented his anger upon the unfortunate girl. Catching her into his brutal grasp, he cut the cords with his dagger, pricking the tender breasts and pressed his cruel mouth to the youthful flesh, ignoring her tearful and terrified struggles.

  Aislinn’s stomach h
eaved and she looked away, remembering those same burning lips against her own breasts. She did not glance up when he strode out the door carrying the girl, but shuddered uncontrollably. After some moments she lifted her head, having regained some small bit of her composure, and found Wulfgar’s eyes upon her. Weakly she reached for her wine and drank it down numbly.

  “Time has swift wings, Aislinn,” he commented, watching her. “It is your foe?”

  She would not meet his gaze. She knew his meaning. Like Ragnor he had become bored with the feasting and was thinking of other entertainment.

  “I repeat, damoiselle, is time your foe?”

  She turned to him and was surprised to find that he was leaning toward her, so close that his warm breath touched her cheek. His eyes, almost blue now as he gazed at her, delved deeply into her own.

  “Nay,” she breathed. “I think not.”

  “You are not afraid of me?” Wulfgar inquired.

  Aislinn shook her head bravely, setting the brilliant tresses astir. “I fear no man, only God.”

  “Is He your foe?” the Norman pressed.

  She swallowed and glanced away. What manner God would let these men of Normandy invade their homes? But it was not for her to question a reasoning so great as His.

  “I pray not,” Aislinn replied. “For He is my only hope. All others fail me.” She raised her chin haughtily. “ ’Tis said your duke is a devout man. Having the same God as we, why has he killed so many of us to achieve the throne?”

  “Edward and Harold both gave their vows ‘twould belong to him. ‘Twas only when Harold closeted himself with the dying king that he saw a chance for his own and proclaimed Edward’s last word was that he should have the crown. There was no proof he lied, but—” Wulfgar shrugged. “By right of birth, ‘tis William’s crown.”

  Aislinn turned sharply to stare at him. “The grandson of a common tanner? A—”

  She stopped aghast, realizing what she had almost said.

  “Bastard, damoiselle?” Wulfgar finished for her, peering at her questioningly. He smiled wryly. “A misfortune that befalls many of us, I am sorry to say.”

  Her cheeks flushed with color, Aislinn wisely lowered her gaze from his all too perceiving eyes. He straightened back in his chair.

  “Even bastards are human, Aislinn. Their needs and desires are like those of other men. A throne is as appealing to an illegimate son as one that’s proper born, perhaps more so.”

  He rose from his seat and taking her arm, drew her up to him. He raised a taunting brow and there was an odd gleam of amusement in his eyes as his hands slipped about her narrow waist, pulling her supple body against his much harder, much larger one.

  “We even yearn for our comforts to be eased some small whit. Come, lover, I’ve a need to tame a shrew. I am weary of men and fighting. I seek gentler sport this night.”

  Her glaring eyes gave venomous retort to his jibe and before her lips could follow up the assault, an enraged, bellowing cry rent the hall. Aislinn started around to see Kerwick charging toward them with a dagger in his hand. Her heart leaped and she could only stand frozen, waiting for his attack. Whether it was herself Kerwick sought to slay or Wulfgar she could not say. She cried out as Wulfgar thrust her behind him, and prepared to meet Kerwick’s attack barehanded. But Sweyn, never trusting anyone too fully, had been watching the young Saxon closely and thought his regard of the maid more than a bit harrowed, and now acted swiftly. With a backward motion he flung a mighty arm against Kerwick that sent him sprawling to the floor. With a heavy foot the Viking ground the younger man’s face into the rushes as he easily wrested the dagger from him and threw it clattering against the wall. The Norseman raised his battle axe to sever his head, and Aislinn screamed in horror.

  “No! God’s mercy, no!”

  Sweyn looked at her and every eye in the hall was turned to them. Aislinn struggled up, sobbing in hysteria as she clung to Wulfgar. She clutched his leather jerkin.

  “No! No! You must not do him harm! Spare him, I beg you!”

  Maida crept forward and stroked her daughter’s back, whining her fear. “ ’Tis sire first slain, then betrothed. They leave you no one.”

  Wulfgar whirled on the woman and Maida screeched, falling back under his fierce gaze.

  “What say you, hag? Is he her betrothed?” he demanded.

  Maida nodded, terrified. “Yea. Soon they were to wed.”

  Wulfgar glanced from Aislinn to the young Saxon and settled an accusing glare upon the girl. Finally he turned to Sweyn who waited.

  “Take him to the dogs and chain him there,” he barked. “I will deal with him on the morrow.”

  The Viking nodded and jerked Kerwick to his feet by the back of his tunic, lifting him for a moment completely off the floor.

  “Be assured, little Saxon,” the Norseman chuckled. “This night you have been saved by a wench. You have a good star protecting you.”

  Aislinn still shook uncontrollably from terrible fright, but she watched solemnly as Kerwick was dragged to the end of the hall where the hounds lay. There he was thrown among them, sending the pack yelping and snapping at each other. In the confusion no one saw Maida hurriedly conceal Kerwick’s dagger within her garments.

  Aislinn turned to Wulfgar. “I am indebted to you,” she murmured softly, her voice quavering but growing stronger with her relief.

  He grunted. “Are you? Well, we shall see in a moment how grateful you really are. You turned on me in rage when I granted your request for a priest. You lie to me and declare that milksop of a boy is of no importance to you.” He laughed with scorn. “Better you had told me yourself he was your betrothed than let the old hag spill the news.”

  Aislinn’s anger flared anew. “I lied lest you should kill him,” she replied heatedly. “ ’Tis your way, is it not?”

  Wulfgar’s gray eyes appeared dark and stormy. “Think me the fool, damoiselle, to slaughter valuable slaves so easily. But he would surely have met his death just now had not the crone told me he was your betrothed. At least knowing that, I can see the reason for his foolish act.”

  “You spared him now, but what of the morrow?” she asked intently.

  He shrugged. “What of the morrow? My fancy then will see my will out. A dance from a gibbit mayhap or some other entertainment.”

  Aislinn’s heart sank. Had she saved Kerwick from a quick death now to see him hung or tortured to amuse the Normans?

  “What are you willing to trade for his life? Yourself? But this is not fair. I do not know what I bargain for.” Wulfgar took her wrist. “Come, we shall see.”

  Aislinn tried to pull away from him but his fingers tightened upon her arm, and though she felt no pain under his touch she could not get free.

  “Do you fear you’re not worth enough to save a life?” He mocked. Aislinn resisted only lightly as he drew her with him up the stone stairs. He dismissed the guard who stood at the chamber door and flinging it wide, pushed her inside. He closed and barred the door behind him then turned, folding his arms across his broad chest as he leaned against the wall. A smile crept across his lips.

  “I await, damoiselle.” His gaze measured each rounded curve of her body. “Anxiously so.”

  Aislinn held herself with dignity. “You have a long wait, messire,” she said distainfully. “I do not play the harlot.”

  Wulfgar smiled slowly. “Not even for poor Kerwick? Pity. On the morrow he will surely wish you had.”

  Aislinn glared at him, hating him with all her being. “What do you want of me?”

  He shrugged his great shoulders leisurely. “ ’Twould be a fit beginning to see the worth of what I bargain for.” He smiled. “We are quite alone. Do not be timid.”

  Aislinn’s eyes flashed. “You are loathsome!”

  His grin deepened. “Few women have said as much, but you are not the first.”

  Aislinn glanced around in desperation for some object to hurl at him.

  “Come now, Aislinn,” he cajoled. �
��I grow impatient. Let us see your worth.”

  She stamped a slender foot. “No! No! No! I will not play the whore!!”

  “Poor Kerwick,” he sighed.

  “I hate you,” she screamed.

  He did not appear concerned. “I have no great love for you either. I detest lying women.”

  “Then if you detest me, why this?!” she demanded.

  Wulfgar chuckled. “I don’t have to love you to bed you. I desire you. That is enough.”

  “Not for me!” she cried, shaking her head furiously.

  Wulfgar’s shoulders shook with his laughter. “You are no virgin. What difference is one more man?”

  Aislinn stuttered in rage. “I have been taken once against my will,” she stormed. “That does not mean I’m a slut.”

  He looked at her from under his brows. “Not even for Kerwick?” he taunted.

  Aislinn choked back a sob and whirled in helpless frustration. She stood quivering in anger and loathing fear, unable to bear his mockery. Slowly she unfastened her gunna and let it fall to the floor. A tear slid down her cheek. The kirtle followed the gown and lay in a heap around her slender ankles.

  She heard Wulfgar approach and he came to stand before her. His eyes burned and seemed to brand her where they touched as his gaze traveled slowly down her body and then slowly upward again, measuring every soft, splendid curve with a thoroughness that seemed to draw her very breath from her. Aislinn stood proud and tall, hating him, yet knowing a strange excitement stirring in her youthful body as this man stared at her.

  “Yea, you are lovely,” Wulfgar breathed, reaching out to fondle a well-rounded breast. Aislinn steeled her body, yet to her shamed surprise felt a sweeping pleasure beneath the warmth and gentleness of his hand. He traced a finger between her breasts downward to her narrow waist. Indeed, she was beautiful, long of limb, slender bodied, yet with swelling breasts, ripe and delicately hued. They loomed eager for a man’s caress.