The Wolf and the Dove (22 page)

Aislinn felt the same anxiety she knew her mother harbored. Wearily she moved to stand by the door and leaned her shoulder against the frame as she stared out into the dreary day. She knew what a battle it would be to confront Gwyneth and demand that her mother be reinstated in the chamber Wulfgar had allowed her. It was as if Gwyneth were possessed by some demon that spurred her on with sharp rowels of vanity and jealousy and would not let her rest or find pleasure in simple kindness.

Aislinn heaved a sigh and shaking her head, pushed back her long sleeves, seeing that she must do the work of making this filthy hovel a fit place to dwell. She found a flint and steel on a narrow shelf above the fireplace and soon had flickering flames to chase the gloom and chill from the room. She snatched filthy linens from wooden pegs where they had last been thrown by the unfortunate men and fed rotting shreds of old wool and leather garments to the greedily dancing fire where they were rapidly consumed along no doubt with a multitude of vermin. She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the foul odor of the mattress as she tore it from the wood framed cot. In the span of weeks food had dried to a rock hard consistency in the bottom of wooden bowls where it had been left when the warning of the Norman’s approach was sounded from the tower. As Aislinn scraped the leavings she thought of Gerford and his son. When most families ate their meat from boats of stale bread, those two had been talented enough to fashion
themselves utensils from hard wood. The absence of their handiwork would be sorely felt at Darkenwald, for they had lent their ingenuity to making tools, tableware and other useful objects. Now her mother would enjoy this small luxury, even if she didn’t have the other comforts she was accustomed to.

All the while Aislinn labored Maida sat crooning her wordless song and rocking gently to and fro. She seemed oblivious to everything around her. Even when the door swung open, giving Aislinn a start, she did not move from her chair. Kerwick and Ham filled the portal, their arms burdened with blankets and furs.

“We thought she might find use for these,” Kerwick said. “We took them from her chamber when Gwyneth bade us clean the place for her own use. If your mother is to be called thief, so must we.”

Aislinn beckoned them in and closed the door. “Aye, we will all be called thieves, for I will not see her cold and hungry.”

Kerwick glanced around at the humble interior. “Thomas makes tents and pallets for the Normans now. I’ll see if he has some mats to spare.”

“Would you ask him to come and put new hinges upon this door, too?” Aislinn asked. “I fear that panel would not keep out the humblest of beast.”

Kerwick peered at her. “Would you make your bed here with your mother?” Worry set upon his mind. “ ’Twould not be wise, Aislinn. There is more to fear from lowly characters like Ragnor and those other Normans than any dumb beast. The men would do no harm to your mother, for they fear her mad, but you—”

Aislinn turned to watch Ham spread fresh rushes upon the dirt floor. “Doubtless you do not know Sweyn makes his pallet before my door at night. Like his lord he has little trust for women. He would not let me come here.”

Kerwick sighed in relief. “ ’Tis well. I could not rest knowing you here, and Wulfgar would hang me from the highest tree as a warning to other men if I tried to give you protection, for he would surely think the worst.”

“Yea,” Aislinn murmured. “He expects betrayal from women.”

Kerwick’s blue eyes held her for a moment then he gave a wretched sigh. “I must go before word spreads to the Viking that I am here. I would not have Wulfgar unduly distressed at this simple meeting.”

The two left again and Aislinn once more labored to create some homeliness in the hut that might dispell her mother’s fears. It was midafternoon when Thomas came laughing into the cottage to deposit before her a neat mattress of heavy linen. She took it up to place it where the old one had lain and raised her eyebrows at the first scent of dried clover and meadow grass.

“Aye, milady,” the former vassal chuckled. “I stopped by the barn for the filling and some Norman nag will go hungry tonight.”

Aislinn giggled in delight and together they placed the pallet on the bed where she covered it with furs and blankets until a snug warm bed was made for her mother. Thomas stayed long enough to repair the door, replacing the large patches of oiled leather that served as hinges and taking care that it closed snugly on its frame and could be well barred from within.

Darkness was swiftly closing on the land when Aislinn gave her approval to the now comfortable appointments of the cottage. Her mother had eaten and was asleep on the bed when Aislinn left her and returned to the hall to seek food for herself. Her hunger was great, for her only nourishment that day had been the bread she had nibbled at morning.

Ham was cleaning partridges Sweyn had killed that afternoon and as she entered, the boy jumped up from his chore. Gwyneth sat leisurely before the hearth with her needlework and Bolsgar idly whittled on a short branch.

“Milady,” the boy smiled. “I saved you food. I’ll get it.”

Gwyneth glanced up from her tapestry. “Latecomers must bide their hunger to the next meal.” Her imperious voice rang clear as she set another stitch. “Promptness is a rewarding virtue, Aislinn. You would do well to learn it.”

Aislinn turned her back and spoke directly to Ham, disregarding Gwyneth. “My hunger bites me deep, Ham, and I would dine. Bring the food.”

With a nod and a smile Ham scurried to do her will, and Aislinn strode to her usual place at the lord’s table and met Gwyneth’s eyes with calm repose.

Gwyneth’s mouth curled into a sneer. “You are not my brother’s wife. Though you may have gained some confidence in being his whore, you are no more than slave here, so give yourself no airs that you are anything more.”

Ham nudged Aislinn’s arm before she could make a reply and she turned her attention to him. He placed before her food enough to satisfy two appetites. Aislinn did not question his loyalty to her, knowing his act might well bring Gwyneth’s malicious attention upon him. She smiled her gratitude and accepted the food.

“Strange that so many Saxon women fell prey to the Normans while you did not, Gwyneth,” Aislinn said as if half musing, and her eyes slowly swept the other’s thin frame from top to toe and then back again. “But then again perhaps not so strange.”

Aislinn turned her full attention to the food, dismissing offhandedly the now enraged woman. A chuckle rose from Bolsgar’s chair, and Gwyneth flew to her feet. Seething with rage she spat the words at her father’s back.

“Of course, you’d side with these Saxon swine against your own kin. The Duke William should throw you all in the gutters where you belong.”

In frustrated fury she fled up the stairs and loudly slammed the door to her newly acquired quarters, the comfortable chamber that Maida had vacated that morning.

The nights grew long and what day remained dawned cold and wintery. Naked trees thrust aching branches into the cold air and sighed in painful agony when the north wind swept the moor. When the winds died fog climbed from the marsh to engulf the town while thin ice ringed the pools. Misty rains turned more and more to tiny wet flakes of snow, which settled on the ground and changed the village paths into ankle deep mires of freezing mud. Furs of bear, wolf, and fox covered the unchanging woolen garments of the people. The hall reeked of freshly slain game and the tannery cast its stench to the winds as more pelts were demanded. Aislinn assured herself that Maida was comfortable in the small hut. She had sent extra furs and Kerwick fetched wood daily for the hearth. It became part of the everyday ritual for Aislinn to visit her mother and see to her welfare, and on her return through the town tend the ills of her people. In spite of her daughter’s attention, Maida became more withdrawn and remote and her appearance
degenerated into that of a crone. Aislinn began to hear stories of how Maida’s singsong voice could be heard late at night chanting to the spirits, sometimes talking as if long-dead companions of her youth answered her or even as if her husband were with her and shared the cottage. Gwyneth abetted every story she heard and when she saw Maida and thought Aislinn out of hearing dropped sly hints about the haunting of the place. She passed every tale to Maida but twisted the words to make it seem as if the townspeople were malicious and hated the old woman. Maida sank even deeper into depression and Aislinn found her mother less and less capable of coping with reality. The old woman turned her confused interests to making mysterious potions she declared would drive the Normans from English soil. Aislinn found it useless to argue with her or try to make her see the futility of her efforts.

It was a cold blustery day with churning gray clouds spitting alternate sheets of freezing rain and soggy snow into a fitful wind that set it rattling against the shutters or with stinging force against the face. Ham covered his reddened cheeks and turned his back to the blinding gusts, thankful for the good hunting season and the warm pelts it brought. These same were nova wrapped snuggly about his arms and legs with pliant thongs of deerhide, and a large wolfskin sewn to a rough tunic held the meager warmth close to his body. Under the pelt Ham clutched the medicinal herb for which Aislinn had sent him to her mother’s. Having made his way in haste, he paused now to catch his breath in the shelter of a cottage.

“Ho! You there! Ham!”

He turned at the sound of his name and saw Gwyneth wrapped in a long mantle, standing in the door of the hall.

“Come here! Quickly!” She gestured imperiously to him and immediately he made his way to her.

“Fetch me more wood for my chamber,” she commanded when he stood at the foot of the steps before her. “The fire grows low and this hellish rockpile has an unearthy chill about it.”

“I beg pardon, my lady.” Ham bobbed politely. “But I am set upon a task of some urgency by my mistress and must see it through. When it is done, I will fetch wood for the night for you.”

Gwyneth’s eyes grew cold, for she could see only insolence in his manner. “You surly clod,” she sneered. “You prattle of some brainless errand while I am freezing! You will go now for it.”

“But my lady Aislinn has bade me—”

“But your lady Aislinn,” Gwyneth snapped in growing anger, “is nothing more than Lord Wulfgar’s whore. As his sister I am mistress of this hall, and I command you fetch wood now!”

Ham’s brow drew into a worried frown, but he still had no doubt as to where his duty lay. “My lady Aislinn waits,” he returned stubbornly. “I will fetch you wood shortly.”

“You sorry beggar.” Gwyneth’s voice came low and sneering with hate twisting each word. “I’ll see your hide stripped from you inch by inch.”

Two of Wulfgar’s men had drawn near and Gwyneth sought to turn them to her purpose.

“Seize this whining oaf and strap him to the rack. I want him whipped till the bones show in his back.”

Ham paled considerably at her words and the men seemed doubtful whether they should obey or not. They knew this woman as Wulfgar’s sister, yet they were highly skeptical their lord would approve of such savage punishment for such a minor offense. They had served Wulfgar loyally, never denying his authority. They knew him a sensible and just man. Were they now expected to respect his sister’s demands and do her bidding without question as they did his?

Their hesitation lent fury to Gwyneth’s already soaring rage. Her thin arm and forefinger stabbed out to point at the distressed servant.

“In Wulfgar’s name and as I am his only kin, you will obey me! Seize this one and fetch the heaviest whip.”

The men were both well aware that Wulfgar usually reserved judgment for himself in matters involving the Saxons. He had no real title to the lands as yet and was in fact a caretaker, a war lord, thus the military route of accession would apply leaving Sweyn in authority in his absence, but as the Viking was not present neither of them could find the courage to gainsay Gwyneth or refuse her commands. Thus it was with great reluctance they came forward to obey her and took the lad in their grasp.

Aislinn lifted the small girl onto her lap and held the child upright against her own warmth. The tiny one’s labored breath wheezed in and out in a deep rattling rail as she rested between fits of coughing. The camphor leaves Ham sought would brew into a thick pungent steam and placed beside the bed would ease the child’s distress and bring her comfort. But where was Ham? Time had passed slowly and Aislinn could not help but wonder at his delay. She retraced the path in her mind and knew he had more than ample time to have gone the way and back. He had always been a good lad and quick to obey and now she grew worried at his continued absence. If he were dawdling needlessly somewhere when this babe struggled for every breath she took, Aislinn vowed silently she would personally drag him back by his ears.

The child’s breathing eased somewhat, and Aislinn gave the frail form to the infant’s mother and wrapped herself warmly for the journey without to see where Ham dallied. She closed the door behind her and braced herself against the chilling gusts, then raised her eyes to see the two Normans dragging a protesting Ham towards the whipping rack. It was only a moment later when the men found their way blocked by a small form with legs braced wide and arms akimbo. Long tresses were freed by the wind and flew like a fiery pennant from her head. Violet eyes blazed as the French words tumbled from her lips.

“What is the meaning of this?” Aislinn demanded. “What foolery have you Normans wrought that you must take this lad, bent upon my errand, and seek to scourge him upon yonder posts in the heart of this winter’s gale?”

The foremost one made a weak answer. “The Lady Gwyneth gave the command as he would not do her bidding.”

Aislinn’s slim, booted foot stamped the freezing mud as she fought her rage. “Set him free, you nitwit!” she cried. “Set him free this moment or by Lord Wulfgar’s steel I’ll see you all in graves before this moon is out!”

“Hold!” Gwyneth’s screech cut through the air. “You have no voice here, Aislinn.”