The Wolf and the Dove (14 page)

Aislinn stared down in mute horror at her own nakedness while Wulfgar’s eyes feasted greedily upon this glowing bounty. Her skin gleamed like pale gold in the warm light of the fire and her breasts, full and ripe, rose tauntingly between the remnants of her garment. His outraged hunger, long stemmed, flamed to its most fervent height.

His arms closed about her and in the next moment she found herself wrapped in her hair and torn kirtle and sprawled on her back upon the pelts of the bed. Wulfgar’s eyes met hers and Aislinn read in them that his time of waiting had come to an end.

“Nay!” she cried, flinging up an arm to ward him off, but he caught her hands and dragged them beneath her as his knee thrust between her thighs. Her weight lay on their arms and she gasped in pain at his brutal grasp. She began to curse him but her words were smothered as his mouth crushed down upon hers. Her head was forced back, arching her spine until her breasts were pressed full against his chest. His lips burned and beneath his deep, penetrating kiss she felt suffocated. He kissed her eyelids, her cheek, her ear passionately, murmuring soft, unintelligible words, and Aislinn dimly realized the raging ardor she awoke in him. Her panic rising, she lunged against him and met the hardness of his thigh between her loins. It only served to impassion him further. He pressed forward as she shrank away and released her wrists. Still she could not move in the tangle woven by her hair, kirtle and bedclothes. He cast his garments away and Aislinn gasped as he pressed boldly against her. He lowered her shoulders
to the bed, freeing her hands from beneath her, yet holding them against her sides. It seemed that every inch of their bodies touched. Aislinn writhed and fought beneath him but the movement of her body only sharpened his desire. His mouth traced downward to her breasts and the blistering heat of his lips seared her flesh until she felt as if she were on fire. A strange warmth began to grow in the depths of her body and her pulse quickened. His mouth returned to take hers and she found herself clasping him to her and yielding to his flaming kisses, allowing herself to be swept away by his consuming passion. She gasped, half in surprise, half in pain as a burning ache spread between her thighs. She struggled furiously and sought to push him away, crying out. But he paid no heed to her protests as his lips moved against her throat. His hands easily caught hers as she tried to scratch him and he held them secure in an iron grasp, leaving her no defense as he had his way with her. Finally the towering passion was spent
and Aislinn could only sob in anguish until he withdrew from her and moved away. Angrily she flung herself into a corner of the bed, tearing off the irrepairable kirtle and snatched covers over herself. Between her sobs of rage she laid every curse she could think of upon his head.

Wulfgar chuckled at her fury. “I would not have guessed it, but I must allow you’re one of the liveliest bits I’ve had in a long time.”

Smothered shrieks bore testimony to the rankling of his words.

Wulfgar laughed again, running his fingers along the four furrows across his chest. “Four strips of flesh for a romp with a vixen! Hah, but ‘twas worth it and I’ll gladly pay the price again.”

“You crawling vermin!” Aislinn choked. “Try it and I’ll take yon blade and extend your navel to your chin!”

He threw his tawny head back and his guffaws filled the room. Aislinn’s eyes narrowed and she fumed silently in rage. He crawled beneath the furs with her and smiled as he looked her way.

“Mayhaps there is one consolation for you, Aislinn. This bed yields more comfort than the floor.”

He chuckled and turning from her, presently went to sleep. Aislinn lay awake by his side, listening to the sound of his deep breathing until it seemed to vibrate within her own head and his words wore heavily upon her mind.

Forgotten already? Yea, he said he could do it, but could she him? Could she forget the only man who even now in her anger tortured her thoughts? She could hate him, loathe him, but forget him? There was great doubt in her mind that she would ever be able to. He was in her blood and she would not stop until he too was plagued by thoughts of her night and day. Play the witch or play the angel, she would have her way! After all, was she not proud Erland’s daughter?

Aislinn slept then with the ease of a child and woke drowsily in the middle of the night to feel Wulfgar’s warm body molded against her back and his hand lightly caressing her. Feigning sleep she submitted to his questing hand, but where his fingers touched her flesh seemed to burn and waves of delight tingled through her every nerve. He brushed his lips against the nape of her neck and his warm breath touched her skin. Aislinn quivered, closing her eyes with a sense of ecstasy. His hand slid down over her belly and with a gasp Aislinn rolled over on her stomach but found her hair caught beneath him, forbidding escape. She rose on an elbow and looked at him. His eyes glittered in the low light of the fire.

“I lay between you and the sword, cherie. You’ll have to cross me to get it.”

Reaching out, he took her by the arms and drew her against his chest, forcing her head down until her mouth met his. Her lips trembled beneath his flaming kiss and she sought to turn away but he rolled over with her, pressing her down into the pillows.

Aislinn’s eyes came slowly open to view the bright ray from the waning autumn sun which had found its way between the shutters to trace a long path upon the stone floor. Tiny motes of dust glittered as they drifted across the beam of light. Lazily Aislinn remembered when as a child she had sought to trap those motes in her hand while her parents laughed from the bed. Suddenly she came full awake remembering the hours passed and who now shared her parents’ bed with her. Though they lay untouching she felt Wulfgar’s warmth beside her and by his heavy breathing she knew him to be asleep. Carefully she sat up and tried to ease herself from the bed, only to find escape impeded by his hand resting in the curling tresses of her hair. Biting her lip Aislinn gingerly pulled the coppery lengths from beneath him. Her heart gave a sudden lurch when he stirred, thrusting out a knee toward her, but relief flooded through her when she saw that he did not wake.

Aislinn gazed down at him, letting her eyes measure him slowly. His face in repose possessed a boyish charm that disarmed her. She wondered at the mother who had turned him out without feeling remorse and knew such a woman had no heart to soften. Aislinn smiled wryly to herself. How bravely she had once decided to use this Norman to turn enemy against enemy. Yet he had made her waver from her purpose. Instead she was the one caught in a trap between her people and this man. This Wulfgar had played her game better than she. Had he not used her to rouse Kerwick’s anger on more than one occasion, baiting the Saxon by fondling her in his presence?

Oh Lord, that she should fall victim to a man who at every turn of the hand could outwit her. She, Aislinn, who could ride a horse as well as a man and think as fast. Her father had claimed her better than any boy her age. She was bright witted, stubborn to a fault, Erland had bragged with a fond gleam in his eye, and more cunning than any young whelp who sought knighthood from any king. She was half boy, he had laughingly declared. She possessed the face and body of a beautiful temptress while her thoughts were sound and logical.

Aislinn almost laughed aloud and the impulse was strong, for she did not think herself especially clever at the moment. She had wanted to hate Wulfgar and show him that he was just another lowly Norman to her, to be loathed and despised. But the days had passed and his company had become more tolerable and her manner more congenial. Now to her further degradation, she had become his mistress.

The word stung her with its irony. Proud, aloof Aislinn at the beck and call of a Norman.

It took an effort to keep from flinging herself from Wulfgar’s side, for an overwhelming desire to flee from him welled up within her. Instead she eased her body from the bed, shivering as a draft caressed her with icy fingers, and she clenched her teeth tightly to keep them from chattering. The kirtle she had worn lay on the floor in shreds and she dared not risk opening the coffer for a fresh one. The woolen gunna lay draped over the chair by the hearth and going to stand close to the burnt-out fire she yanked the garment on, shuddering slightly as the rough cloth rubbed against her skin.

She donned a pair of soft hide boots and grabbed a wolf skin to wrap about her shoulders then made her way silently from the room. As she crossed the hall Aislinn saw that the dogs were astir but Maida and Kerwick were still huddled on the straw in the corner. If they were awake they gave no sign.

With a low creak of hinges Aislinn pulled open the door and slid outside. There was a chill in the air but the low sun had begun to warm the land. The morning was clear and seemed to have a brittle quality about it as if a sharp sound might shatter the very air. As she crossed the yard Aislmn saw Sweyn with a small group of men on a distant hill riding horses about, working the cold from the great destriers. She desired no companionship and turned in the opposite direction toward the swamp, for she knew of a private place.

In the warm bed Wulfgar stirred half awake, half feeling the thrusts of Aislinn’s soft hips against his loins as she fought with him. In search of that warmth and softness he reached out a hand but found only the empty pillow. With a curse on his lips he shot up from the bed and surveyed the room.

“By damned, she’s gone! That vixen has flown!” His thoughts flew. “Kerwick! Maida! Blast those two and their plans! I’ll wring their skinny necks!”

He leapt from the bed and ran to the stairs stark naked. Looking down toward the corner of the hall, he found them still chained. But where could the wench have gone?

Maida stirred and he retreated hastily to the bedchamber. He hugged himself against the chill of the place and hastened to toss small splinters on the glowing coals and blow up a flame. Upon these he threw sticks and a small log, then stamped around looking for his clothes. In his search he tossed her torn kirtle on the bed without regard for the damage he had done.

A sudden thought rushed across his brain. My lord, she’s gone alone. That little wench has set out by herself.

He hurried now to dress, pulling on woolen chausses, chainse, boots, and a soft leather jerkin. Worry began to gnaw at his mind, for she was slight and helpless enough and if she should come across the path of some maurauding band—The memory of Hilda’s daughter lying dead in the shreds of her clothing flashed to mind, and the thought would not finish itself. He now snatched up his sword and mantle and ran through the hall and out to the stables. He slipped a bridle over the head of that huge roan who had bore him through many battles and throwing the reins over his neck, seized a handful of mane and vaulted to his broad back. He spun the animal out into the brisk air and encountered Sweyn and some of the men returning from working their steeds. A short question determined that none of them had seen the maid that morning. With a touch of his heels, Wulfgar sent the destrier on a wide sweep around the hall seeking some trace of Aislinn’s direction.

“Aaah, there it is,” he sighed with satisfaction. A faint path where her feet had swept the dew from the grass. “But where does it lead?” He glanced up. “Mon Dieu! Directly into the marshes!” The only way he could not follow swiftly on horseback.

The steed daintily picked its way as he guided it along the trail on the ground. Other thoughts crossed his mind as apprehension and doubt began to nibble again around the edges of his consciousness. She might have mistaken her step and even now might be struggling in some bubbling black bog. And then, in a distraught temper she might not be above seeking some deep hole and throwing herself into it. A nagging sense of urgency made him touch his heels to his mount’s flanks and press it into a faster pace.

Aislinn had walked some distance along the winding path which she and the local folk knew well, for she had often trod these ways in search of herbs and roots for her mother to make her potions. With sure memory she found the clear stream with sloping banks and sparkling water. Light shades of mist still hung in the shadows where the sun could not reach. She felt a need to cleanse herself. Wulfgar’s sweat still clung to her and she could smell his scent upon her which brought too many memories to bear of the night gone by.

She threw her garments over a bush and waded shivering into the cold depths of the pool. She caught her breath and gasped but splashed and swam about until the first hard chill had passed. The icy currents cleansed her and sent the blood rushing through her veins. Above her the sky shimmered in the brilliance of after-dawn and the last tradings of fog began to lift from the forest. Water rippled over rocks near the shore, the sound soothing to her troubled spirit, and she reveled in these calming moments. The nightmare of her father’s death, her mother’s beating, and Darkenwald’s fall into Norman hands seemed far away, belonging to another time, another place. Everything here seemed untouched, unspoiled by the wars of man. She could almost imagine herself an innocent again but for Wulfgar. Wulfgar! She could remember well the smallest details about him, his handsome profile, the long, lean fingers which had strength to kill, yet could be gentle and pleasure giving. She quivered at the memory of
his encircling arms and her peace was gone. With a sigh she waded out. The water swirled around her slender hips before she glanced up to see Wulfgar astride his stallion, calmly watching her from the bank. But in his eyes some strange emotion dwelt. Was it relief? Or more likely passion at her nudity? A chill breeze swept her wet body and she could not suppress a shudder nor the urge to cross her arms over her breasts.

“Mon seigneur,” she implored. “The air is cold and I left my clothes there on the bank. If you would—”

He seemed not to hear her. His eyes lowered from her gaze and she felt their bold caress against her body like a physical fondling. He urged his destry forward into the water until he stood beside her. For a moment he stared at her and then he reached an arm down to lift her dripping wet to a place in front of him. He doffed the heavy mantle and swung it about her shoulders, carefully covering her and tucking the edges beneath his knees. Shivering Aislinn snuggled close against his warmth. She felt the heat of the beast beneath her and the chill began to leave.