The Wolf and the Dove (44 page)

There was silence all around the table and the cups were quickly emptied to be refilled by Hlynn and Kerwick as they made their rounds. Aislinn saw that Wulfgar’s eyes wandered to where Haylan labored, and her temper flared no small bit as she took note that in the warmth felt near the hearth, the widow had opened the simple dress she wore until her bosom swelled well into view.

The meal was done but still the men lingered on. Their manners grew lively and Gowain brought out his cithern to pluck loud chords from it as bawdy songs were roared by Sweyn and Milbourne. The knights called for more wine and ale and Kerwick set out skins of the red stuff and tankards of the amber brew before them.

Haylan had finished her duties and stood watching as the men warmed to the spirit of revelry, making contests of the drinking. It was Beaufonte who offered her a horn of ale. Without hesitation she took it in a hearty manner and raising it high, held it for a moment before bending a smile to the men who waited for her to taste it. She set the cup to her lips and, amid cheers, drained it. She slammed the empty horn on the table and her eyes challenged them all. Gowain filled his own and matched the feat, then Milbourne did the same. Beaufonte would have passed the sport, having imbibed too much as it was, but Sweyn seized a skin of wine and poured until his cup ran over and the poor knight begged him to stop. Beaufonte took a deep breath and began to drink. Gowain strummed a beat on his strings and a low chant rose to mark time with the swallows. He finished and a cheer rose as with a gesture of triumph he licked a last drop that threatened to fall from the edge of the mug. Lowering the cup to the table, he took
his own seat, then, bearing a contented smile on his lips, he slid slowly beneath the planks.

Sweyn roared in mirth and Bolsgar laughed as he filled a tankard with cold water from a pail and dashed it into the knight’s face.

“Ho, Beaufonte!” he chortled. “The night is yet young and you will miss a good round of drinking if you nap like this.”

His victim struggled to his feet and tried to stand and as he lurched to and fro, Gowain began to pick out a rhythm that matched his steps. Haylan laughed and taking the drunken knight’s hands, led him in a slow dance. The men cheered them on and even Wulfgar began to chuckle at the inane play. Aislinn watched the foolery and as her mood was not light, saw them as grown men playing at childish games. They were all knights of William and seasoned warriors, yet they pranced and leered at Haylan’s opened bodice like untried lads.

Beaufonte warmed to the game but was bent toward a more romantic frame of mind and tried to take her in his arms and dance in that manner. With a laugh Haylan pushed him from her and he staggered back to come up against a bench where he sat abruptly and could not rise again. The widow whirled away and halted before Gowain, there stamping her foot until he picked up the rhythm on his instrument and began to play a tune that made her feet beat a quick tattoo on the stone floor. The others shouted their acclaim and began to clap their hands to urge her on. She paused with arms akimbo and her right foot took up the beat then her left joined and soon she was twisting and swirling in a dance that was marked with a tempting sway of her body. Wulfgar sat back in his chair to watch and turning away from the table, stretched out his long legs before him.

Haylan saw his movement and her chance. Under his full attention she moved toward him, ignoring the heated glare from Aislinn and swirling her skirts as Gowain’s fingers quickened the pace. Then she was dancing over Wulfgar’s feet, weaving an intricate pattern about them, stepping lightly between his legs and then quickly away as if to tease him. Her sultry eyes held him and her skin, wet with sweat, gleamed in the dim light of the hall. She lifted her skirts above her knees and her feet seemed to dazzle the eye as they kept the rapid rhythm, then she moved back and with a last twirl, came to her knee bowing before Wulfgar. Her bodice opened as she bent, leaving little to the imagination of the men and showing the full ripeness of her body to Wulfgar.

Aislinn stiffened and eyed Wulfgar who seemed not in the least upset by this wanton display but clapped his hands and roared his approval with his men. Aislinn’s violet eyes burned and she could find no relief, for Gowain started another song which prompted Haylan to start another dance. Aislinn turned in her chair in disgust and refused to watch this new taunt. Drawing in his feet, Wulfgar moved around to raise his horn and take a leisurely draught. His eyes roamed slowly over the full curve of Aislinn’s breasts as his fingers lightly drummed on the table in time to the music. None could guess his thoughts, but Gwyneth found cause to smile as she watched Aislinn’s unsmiling face and listened to the beat of Wulfgar’s fingers. The lord and his mistress did not appear the loving couple at all this night and at the thought Gwyneth laughed aloud, a rare sound that drew the attention of everyone. Wulfgar peered questioningly at his sister while Aislinn withdrew further into her morose mood, knowing
well the spur to Gwyneth’s gaiety. As Haylan continued her prancing, Aislinn sat quietly in her chair, her doubts marching like devastating tides across her resolve. Wulfgar would have little use for her when she grew round with child, she mused in dismal dejection. He was already casting about for game more lively. And the most lively game about seemed to be Haylan.

When Wulfgar bent toward Sweyn and laughed over some exchange of wit about the well-endowed widow, Aislinn silently rose from her seat and made her way from the hall, unnoticed by all but Gwyneth. She stepped into the courtyard and took a ragged breath, shivering under the impact of the cold night. She felt her way down the dark path to Maida’s cottage. It was in her mind to spend the night there and make her home with her mother, freeing Wulfgar for a more compatible arrangement if he found someone else to sate his desire. She was tired of seeing her hopes dashed by a negative word from him. Where did her dreams lead but to more heartache and misery? She felt beaten, unable to go on. Her fear was that he would send her away and it rode paramount in her mind. He had never denied it and had of late begun to speak more and more of Normandy in her presence as if preparing her for the change, assuring her that it was a fair country where a lad could grow and flourish. Oh, yes! It was his intent to be rid of them.

She hastened through the dark along the narrow path much as she had the night they returned from London when Wulfgar had questioned her about Kerwick. She smiled ruefully at the thought that he could so easily question her faithfulness and she could not his. A slave! Nothing more to him. A slave to do his bidding and to bear his weight in bed without the right to say him yea or nay.

She eased open the cottage door and found her mother sitting before the hearth near the remains of her supper. The old woman looked up with some semblance of sanity in her eyes. She beckoned Aislinn in.

“Come, my pretty. The fire is warm enough for two.”

Aislinn moved slowly forward and it was Maida who hurried to fetch a pelt and wrap it around her daughter’s shivering shoulders.

“Ah, love, why come ye in the cold? Do you have no care for yourself or the babe? What ill bodes in the lord’s chamber that you must seek my poor hut at this late hour?”

“Mother, I fear ‘twill be the way of things henceforth,” Aislinn sighed and choked on her tears.

“What? Has the bastard cast you out? That rutting Norman ass sets you aside?” Maida’s eyes gleamed as she considered this for a moment, then smiled. “A bastard for the bastard you shall give him true. ‘Twill bite him sorely to see the babe with his own pale locks.”

Aislinn sniffed and shook her head. “ ’Tis his plan I fear to send me away where he will not be pricked by the sight of his bastard kin.”

“Away?” Maida gasped and stared hard at her daughter. “You will not let him send you away from me.” It was half a fearful question.

Aislinn shrugged and smothered a deep pain.

“He is lord here and I am but his slave. There is naught else I can say.”

“Then flee, daughter. Before he can do the deed,” Maida pleaded. “For once think of yourself. What good will you do those here if you are in Normandy or another far off country? Fly with me to the North where we may seek out our kin and bid them give us shelter. We can stay there until the babe is sprung.”

Aislinn sat quietly before the hearth, thoughtfully gazing into the flickering tongues of flame that curled about the logs and licked at the hard wood until it grew black and charred. Her mind would not ease and turned ever on the road that would lead her to escape. Would he care? Or would he feel relief and be glad to be rid of them? She did not relish leaving the place of her birth and this hall that had been the only home she had ever known. Still, Wulfgar’s manner of late left her little choice, for she could not imagine herself faring well in Normandy. She rested her forehead in her hand and knew that the decision was already forced upon her.

“Aye,” she breathed softly, and her mother had to strain to hear the words. “ ’Twould be the best. If he cannot find me, then surely he cannot send me from England.”

Maida clapped her hands in glee and danced a jig about the small, littered room. “Bastard! Bastard! Norman foe! We will be gone before you know.”

Her mirth was not shared by Aislinn who numbly rose and went to the door.

“Gather your belongings at the morning’s break, Mother mine. He rides to Cregan on the morrow and we will part for the northern climes soon after. Make ready. I must return to his bed this one last time or we mayhap will find our plans gone awry.”

Aislinn left without another word and returned to the hall, leaving Maida to cackle long and hard before the hearth. Aislinn paused at the great oaken panel, gently closing the door behind her. Wulfgar stood leaning against the stone wall of the fireplace as Gowain plucked a softer tune, and Haylan swayed before them as if she were some temptress of the Nile. Her dress fell loose over her shoulder and her bosom swelled wantonly but the cloth held at the peaks of her breasts. Aislinn wondered if it was held there by a spell that eluded the men who seemed to await its fall with fascinated attention.

Aislinn saw Wulfgar’s gaze wander about the room, then settle and hold upon her. She crossed the room under his regard, but before she reached the stairs Haylan whirled, seeing Wulfgar’s interest elsewhere, and came to dance before Aislinn as if flaunting her talents before her. Aislinn looked at her coolly; then suddenly the music stopped and Gowain laid aside his instrument in some embarrassment. Haylan turned on him in a huff, allowing Aislinn to mount the stairs in quiet dignity. Wulfgar swept past the irate widow in his haste to follow after Aislinn and slowed when he caught up with her at the head of the stairs.

“Where did you go?” he inquired softly. “You left so suddenly I thought you might be ill.”

“I am quite well, my lord,” she replied. “I’m sorry to have distressed you. I only went to see to my mother’s needs.”

He pushed open the chamber door for her and allowed her to precede him then closed it quietly behind them. Leaning back against it, he watched her move away into a darkened corner of the room and there disrobe with her back to him. His eyes slowly drank their fill, moving along her long, slender legs over her hips to the waist that was still fairly narrow. When she turned, her bosom came into view before she hastily slipped into bed pulling the pelts up high under her chin. Wulfgar crossed to the bed and laying across it, pulled her in his arms and began to kiss her. Pressing his lips against her fragrant hair, he muttered against it.

“Ah, wench, you are the gentlest delight. What would I do to fill my leisure if you were taken from me?”

Aislinn turned her face away and sighed. “My lord, I do not know. Pray tell me.”

He chuckled as he nuzzled her shoulder. “I would find some wench as beautiful and as lusty, and then mayhap I would be content,” he teased.

Aislinn did not take kindly to his humor, but replied in measured tones. “ ’Twould be to your advantage to find one as talented as Haylan also. You never know when there is cause to be entertained.”

Wulfgar laughed at her sarcasm and rolled from the bed to shun his clothes, returning a moment later when he had laid them away. Her back was now presented to him, but Wulfgar was little daunted since many of their most pleasurable evenings began in this manner. Moving close against her, he brushed the curling tresses from the nape of her neck, for his lips were hungry for the taste of her.

Aislinn could not find the will to deny him even with her mind set and the plans for escape formed. Only by leaving would she regain some portion of her self-respect. Still, he would plague her mind and the memory of his bold caresses that could send the full depth of her being reeling in giddy delight, would forever bring a longing to her breast. She sighed again as she surrendered to his arms and gave him kiss for kiss, parting her lips beneath his and clutching him to her as if she could not hold him close enough. Their ardor drove them on and the roaring furnace of their passions consumed them. Aislinn trembled in his arms and as they lay in the aftermath of the storm, she wept softly in her pillow.

Aislinn woke at the bright twinklings of light escaping through the shutters and drowsily searched the bed with her hand. The pillow beside hers was empty and glancing about the room, she found that Wulfgar had gone. She sat up sleepily and in deep dejection dropped her chin wearily in her hands, thinking of the day’s chore. It all seemed like some horrible nightmare, but Maida’s scratching at the door a moment later reminded her it was not. The woman entered and began in haste to pack her daughter’s gowns into a bundle until Aislinn stopped her.

“Nay. I take only the rag Gwyneth left me with. The others are his—” And she added with a choked sob, “For Haylan if he so chooses.”

It did not matter that he had given them to her. She’d have little peace taking them with her, for every time she wore one she’d be reminded of all that had passed between them, and she wanted no more unwelcome memories than she had already.

She called Miderd and swearing her to silence, enlisted her aid in the hurried leavetaking. The woman gave her argument until she saw Aislinn’s determination, then could do nothing other than assist her. Sanhurst was instructed to saddle an ancient nag, little knowing it was for Aislinn he did so. At the sight of the ragged mount, Maida quelled, then ranted furiously at Aislinn’s choice.

“Take the gray. We’ll need her strength to see us through.”

Aislinn shook her head and murmured firmly, “Nay. ’Tis this or naught. No fine steed will mark my passage through these climes.”

“The Norman gave her to you and the clothes you set aside. They are yours and ‘twould do him good to see them gone.”

“I will not go bearing his gifts,” Aislinn said stubbornly.

The choice of food yielded Maida no more assurance of her daughter’s good sense, but gave her cause to wail.

“We shall starve. You beggar us upon this stumbling nag, then expect us to survive on that meager fare.”

“We will find more,” Aislinn assured her and turned away further argument. As they rode from view, Miderd slowly turned and made her way into the hall, wiping a tear that traced down her cheek.

Darkness had approached and Miderd could not shake away the sadness that burdened her heart. She watched Haylan as the young woman tested a side of vension roasting for the evening meal. She knew Haylan would accept the news with gladness and wondered at her continued flirtation, for she herself saw Wulfgar as a man of honor and could read the signs of his true concern for Aislinn.

Miderd turned away in disgust as she remembered the night before. “Why do you seek to tempt the Lord Wulfgar?” she asked, more than a trifle piqued with her sister-in-law. “Will you still play the strumpet if Lady Aislinn is the mistress of the hall?”

“There is slim chance of Aislinn becoming mistress here,” Haylan snapped. “Wulfgar admits he hates women.”

Miderd swung round. “Does a man hate a woman who bears his child in her belly?”

Haylan shrugged. “That is not love, but lust.”

“And you would have him lust after you until you’re as round as she?” Miderd questioned increduously. “Last night you danced before him like Salome before that king. Would you ask for Aislinn’s head to satisfy you?”

Haylan smiled. “Were she gone,” she sighed, “Wulfgar would be mine.”

“And she goes,” Miderd said bitterly. “Are you so happy?”

Haylan’s dark eyes widened in surprise and at her stunned silence Miderd nodded.

“Yea, even now she hastens from him. She takes nothing but herself, her mother and his child and the old nag she leads her mother on.”

“Does he know?” Haylan questioned slowly.

“Upon his return from Cregan he will know, for I will tell him. She bade me hold silent but I fear for her safety. The wolves range wide in the forests where she goes. I cannot keep my tongue and let her fall prey to those savage beasts nor the human ones who would take her with no regard for her soft condition.”

“Who is to say whether Wulfgar will go after her or not?” Haylan shrugged. “She grows fat with child and he will tire of her soon anyway.”

“Your heart is sheathed in ice, Haylan. I would not have thought you so pitiless nor so bent upon your own desires.”

Haylan let out an enraged howl. “I am wearied with your fault-finding, and your sympathy for that wench grows tedious. She has done naught for me. I feel no obligation toward her.”

“If you ever have need of her,” Miderd returned softly, “I hope before Heaven that she has more compassion for you.”

“ ’Tis not likely I’ll ever require her help,” Haylan retorted and then she shrugged her shoulders flippantly. “Besides, she is already gone.”

“The townspeople will miss her. They can turn to no other for what milady gave them.”

“Milady! Milady!” Haylan mimicked sourly. “She is not my lady nor will she ever be. I will be more crafty than she. I will make Wulfgar love me and want me as his own.”

“
Lord
Wulfgar,” Miderd corrected testily.

Haylan smiled and licked her lips as if anticipating some great feast. “Soon he will be only Wulfgar to me.”

The sound of heavy hooves thundered near and passed in the direction of the stables. Miderd rose and faced Haylan.

“He returns and I go to tell him. If he does not go after her, be assured I will blame you for the death of Lady Aislinn, for it is very likely she will die in the wilds.”

“Me?!” Haylan cried. “I did naught but wish her gone. She left of her own free will.”

“Yea,” Miderd agreed. “But it was as if you placed your hands upon her back and pushed her out.”

Haylan flounced back to the hearth in a fit of temper. “I care naught. Away with you. I’m glad she’s gone.”

Without further reply, Miderd sighed and left the hall and made her way to the stables where Wulfgar and his men unsaddled their horses. Hesitantly she approached the big Hun and glanced at Wulfgar a bit nervously. He was speaking with Sweyn and failed to notice her until she stretched out a hand and pulled at his sleeve. With a hand resting on the Hun’s backside, he turned to her, still smiling at some jest, and raised a questioning brow.

“Milord,” Miderd said softly. “I fear your lady is gone.”

The grin faded from Wulfgar’s face and his eyes grew cold.

“What is this?” he demanded.

Miderd swallowed hard, fear almost washing her resolve away. She held on grimly and repeated her statement.

“The Lady Aislinn has gone, milord,” she said. No longer sure of herself, she wrung her hands. “Shortly after you left this morn, milord.”

In a single motion Wulfgar snatched his saddle from the ground and flung it to the back of the Hun, startling a snort from the steed with his unexpected action and drawing the immediate attention of his men. He braced his knee against the horse, pulling the girth tight as he spoke aside to Miderd.

“She went north, of course. To London?” He turned a questioning to her.

“North, yea, but not to London. I think more westerly to ride around the city and seek some haven with the northern clans,” she replied and then added softly, bowing her head, “where no Normans abide, my lord.”

Wulfgar swore a hearty oath and swung into the saddle. He saw Sweyn readying a mount to accompany him and halted him.

“Nay, Sweyn. I go alone. Again I bid you stay and see the lands secure until I return.”

He turned and his eyes swept the stables seeing everything in its place and her mare in its stall.

“She took no horse nor wagon? How does she fly? Afoot?” Again his glowering gaze turned toward Miderd.

She shook her head. “Milady took no mount save the old nag and for some provender a few blankets and other meager trappings. They will seem like homeless Saxons fleeing the wars.” She remembered sadly her own long journey then continued in worried haste. “I fear for her, milord. The times are bad and scavengers range wide. Wolves—” She stopped, unable to go on, and raised her eyes half in fear.

“Allay your thoughts, Miderd,” Wulfgar said, leaning forward in his saddle. “Be assured you have earned a place this night for ten score years to come.”

Wulfgar’s hand moved the reins and the Hun whirled away and was soon on the north road, swinging easily into a mile-eating gait that took them rapidly on their hunt.

Miderd stood long and listened to the sounds of hooves dying in the night. She shook her head and smiled to herself. In spite of this man’s fierce manner and his liking for battle, he had a heart which she knew had borne much pain. So he spoke gruffly and blasphemed his own feelings for others and bragged that he needed no one else. So he lent himself to war, perhaps half hoping that his gnawing ache might end on another’s blade. Yet here he rode the night to halt a fleeing love as if it were a hunting bird once tamed and brought to hand, but having thrown the jess, now refused to come to glove.

Wulfgar rode easily in the saddle, still fully garbed in mail with his mantle billowing out behind him. He snatched the helmet off and let the cold March wind drive sleep from his head. He felt the thrust of the Hun beneath him and knew the pace would cover in a matter of hours what had taken Aislinn most of the day.

A bright three-quarter moon rose high in a cold, black sky and seemed to draw low mists from the fens and bogs. He measured its passing for the time he would slow and search for the starved glow of a waning fire. He frowned and looked northward, his mind trying to sort out the reasons that had brought her to this action. He couldn’t remember anything different that had happened in the past few days to cause her to be dissatisfied with their life. But what did he know of women, except that they were not to be trusted.

Aislinn rechecked the reins tied about a small tree and ran a comforting hand along the trembling sides of the ancient mare.

“Sorry lot, we,” she thought. “Feast for wolves and naught else.”

Aislinn put her hand to the small of her back where a dull ache was beginning to bloom and crossed to the fire near where her mother slept peacefully upon the damp earth, wrapped in a shoddy blanket against the chill. Aislinn shivered as a cold breeze rattled the winter-cleaned branches above them and trembled even more as a far-off howl warned of wolves roaming the countryside. Sitting beside the small fire, she poked at it aimlessly, thinking of the warm bed she could be sharing with Wulfgar now. She had not wanted to stop here in the woods, hoping instead to reach the town some two hours away before fatigue grew too apparent in her mother. But it was the mare who had held them back, going lame in one of her forelegs.

Aislinn wrapped her arms about her knees, gazing thoughtfully into the flickering flames. At her continued stillness, the child within her belly stirred and moved with faint featherlike motions. The baby was content, lulled to sleep in the warm, safe haven of his mother’s womb. Aislinn smiled softly as tears came to her eyes, blinking them away when they threatened to overflow.

A babe, she thought in wonder. A treasure, a miracle, a sweet joy when two beings came together in love and made a child.

Lord, if she were only able to reassure herself and Wulfgar that it was truly his, but always that doubt hung above them, setting Ragnor’s face between them as if he were more than their imagination. But even if the babe were Ragnor’s, she could not abandon it and send it away from her sight nor could she bear the thought of being isolated from her home. Now at least with her leaving, Wulfgar would not have to look at her anymore and wonder.

The tears began again and flowed unchecked down her cheeks.

“Oh, Wulfgar,” she sighed miserably. “Had I been properly betrothed to you and unspoiled by Ragnor’s hand, perhaps I could have won your heart, but I see that your eyes wander already from this melon shape of mine to the trimmer one of the widow Haylan. I could not bear the way you looked at her—or was it my imagination that placed the lust within your eyes?”

Aislinn dropped her cheek against her knees in despair and gazed thoughtfully into the darkness of the woods, her vision blurred by the tears that came much more freely now. Everything was still about her. It was as if time had ceased and she was forever caught in the limbo of the present. Even the stars appeared to have strayed from the blackened sky overhead, for two bright lights glistened from the darkness beyond.

Something prickled along Aislinn’s spine and set her nerves on edge. Slowly she raised her head, blinking away the moisture in her eyes, and fixed her gaze on those shining points. Fear etched deep in the shadows of her mind, for she knew now it was not stars at all but two eyes that stared back at her. They were joined by others and more until the dark across the fire seemed scattered with glowing coals. One by one the wolves crept nearer, jaws opened, tongues lolling as if they laughed at her helplessness. The poor old mare snorted and trembled but could muster strength for nothing more. Aislinn added another log to the fire then seized a small stick in one hand and drew the slim dagger in her other. She could count some dozen furry bodies now as the wolves drew closer, snapping and snarling, seeming to bargain among themselves for the best position. Suddenly a stronger voice rent the night with a snarl and the wolves tucked their tails and drew aside as a beast easily twice as large as any of the others
trotted forward into the light. As he came he glanced casually about, appraising the scene, then placing himself in front of the pack, turned his back on Aislinn and raised again a threatening snarl unto they withdrew to the edge of the glade. He turned to face her and the slanting yellow eyes met hers with an intelligence that was amazing. Her lips moved and formed the word before she knew their intent.