The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  As Bolsgar stirred Aislinn went to kneel beside him and pressed her hand against his furrowed brow. He was warm to the touch, yet not overly much she decided. She gave him water and then with a satisfied sigh, he lay back upon the pelts again. He glanced around him, first seeing his daughter who had come forward and then Wulfgar who stood silently watching them all. The younger man presented his back to them and touched the toe of his shoe to a slow burning log in the hearth. He drew in a slow breath and looked up to some distant spot.

  “You have not told me of my mother, sire. What of her? Is she well?”

  The old man seemed to take his time in answering. “A year ago this December she died.”

  “I had not heard,” Wulfgar murmured. He remembered her as she appeared when last he saw her, looking much like Gwyneth. He had no trouble recognizing his sister for that memory was etched upon his mind as if he had just seen her hours before staring silently after him as he rode away with Sweyn.

  “We sent word of her death to Robert in Normandy,” Bolsgar said.

  “I have not seen her brother these past ten years,” Wulfgar returned quietly, thrusting those haunting memories of his mother aside. “Robert always considered me an unwanted burden.”

  “He was paid well to care for you. He should have welcomed that.”

  Wulfgar snorted derisively. “Yea, it bought him plenty of ale so he could spread the news wide that his sister had cockolded a Saxon and that his nephew was in truth nothing more than a bastard. It seemed to amuse him that no man claimed me as son.”

  “You were brought up as a proper-born son. You gained your knighthood,” the old man pointed out.

  Wulfgar sighed. “Yea, Robert made me his page and saw me schooled, but only after Sweyn reminded him of his obligations with no less than a threat.”

  The old man nodded slowly. “Robert was a frivolous man. I could not have hoped for more, I suppose. ’Tis good I sent Sweyn with you.”

  Wulfgar’s features were strained and drawn. “Did you so hate me that you could not bear the sight of me?”

  Aislinn lifted her gaze and her heart went out to Wulfgar, for she had never seen him look so miserable. As she glanced at Bolsgar she saw his eyes were brightened with tears but none came and the noble face was unreadable as he stared into the fire.

  “For a time I hated you after learning the truth,” Bolsgar sought to explain. “It was a great soreness not to have sired a son like you. I thought you my first born and I had a father’s pride in you. For you I neglected my other son. You rode swifter and raced harder than anyone ever and seemed to have the very secret of life in your veins. I could not take much comfort in the weak, frail boy who came after you. You were my very life’s blood and I loved you more than myself.”

  “Until my mother told you I belonged not to you but some Norman she refused to name,” Wulfgar murmured bitterly.

  “She thought to set right a wrong. I took more delight in some man’s bastard son than my own children and she could not bear to see them slighted. She was willing to take the shame upon herself to set things aright for them. I could not condemn her for that. Nay, ‘twas my own gall that rose and made me set you from me. You who were the wind at my side, my shadow, my joy—but no son of my loins. I turned my heart to my own son and he grew strong and quick, then in his prime died. Would that I could have died in his place. But I am left to care for a railing maid whose tongue rivals her mother’s.” The old Saxon grew silent and pensive once more, and returned his stare to the flickering flames that warmed them.

  Aislinn saw the injustice of it all and felt sympathy for the boy who had been rejected first by the mother and then by the father he had known too well. She wanted to reach out and touch the man now and soothe his hurt. He seemed the more vulnerable, for she had known him only otherwise, always strong, like the unscalable fortress, and she wondered if his heart could ever be reached.

  Thoughtfully she rose and went to sit in the great chair before the fire to better consider him.

  “We sent you away to your mother’s country, little knowing you would return in this manner.” Bolsgar’s voice was husky as if he struggled for control. “Did you know your brother died upon the hill of Senlac?”

  Wulfgar’s head snapped up and he looked hard into the old face. Gwyneth whirled and stepped to them, her eyes flashing.

  “Yea, the Norman thieves killed him. They killed my brother!”

  Wulfgar turned his attention to her, raising a brow. “Norman thieves? You mean me, of course.”

  She lifted her chin. “The thought does seem to fit you, Wulfgar.”

  He smiled almost gently. “Be careful, sister. The manners of the defeated must always please the victor. You would do well, woman, to take some hints from my Aislinn.” He came to stand beside the latter’s chair and gazed down at her as she in turn watched him passively. “She plays the vanquished one so well”—his fingers toyed with a heavy coppery braid—“that I sometimes wonder if I’ve really won at all.”

  With his words, laughter tugged at the corner of Aislinn’s lips and played around the edges of her eyes, but she gave no other sign and only Wulfgar took note. Idly he brushed a finger across her cheek.

  “Yea, sister, you would do well to let the maid give you tutoring.”

  Gwyneth trembled with rage as she took a step toward him. Wulfgar turned to face her, lifting a tawny brow in mockery as he watched her lips tighten and her eyes narrow.

  “You wish to say something more, Gwyneth?” he inquired.

  Her bosom heaved with the wrath she felt. “Yea,” she hissed. “And I say, brother, I wish it had been you who died instead of Falsworth.” She spat the words at him, ignoring Bolsgar’s plea for silence. “How I loathe you and despise the fact we must seek your charity to survive these wretched times.” Gwyneth turned upon Aislinn who sat amazed by the hatred she saw in the woman’s face. “You see fit to hold this wench before us as an example. But look how grand she clothes herself. Not exactly what the tragic women of England are wearing, is it?”

  “Be thankful that I still live, sister,” Wulfgar said tersely. “For indeed you would be cast out to make your bed upon the cold earth without me here to give you these few comforts.”

  “What is this?” a voice interrupted, and Ragnor approached from the door as men drifted in behind him to settle themselves at the tables. “A family quarrel so soon? Tsk. Tsk.” Ragnor feasted his eyes momentarily upon Aislinn, admiring the sleekness of her figure in the yellow gold of her gown, before he quickly took Gwyneth’s hands in his and drew them to his breast. “Aaah, sweet Gwyneth, has the fierce Wulfgar shown his fangs? Pray pardon his manners, my lady. Or give me leave and I will take him to task for you, for I cannot bear any insult to your grace and beauty.”

  Gwyneth smiled stiffly. “ ’Tis natural that a brother finds quicker fault with his sister than would a stranger scarce known.”

  “Even if I were a lover full known,” Ragnor murmured huskily with warmth, bending over her hand. “I could never find fault with you.”

  Gwyneth pulled away with heightened color. “You take too much upon yourself, sir knight, to imagine that we could ever be lovers.”

  Straightening, Ragnor smiled slowly. “Dare I to hope, damoiselle?”

  Nervously Gwyneth looked to Wulfgar, who watched them quietly. Taking Aislinn’s hand and pulling her to her feet, he indicated the head table to his sister.

  “Let us sup on friendlier terms, Gwyneth. We might as well, since we will be seeing much of one another henceforward.”

  Gwyneth whirled abruptly away and allowed Ragnor to take her hand once more and lead her to her chair. As she settled into it he bent toward her, his eyes lightly caressed her.

  “You stir my heart and set me aflame. What must I do to gain your kindness? I will be forever your slave.”

  “Sir de Marte, you speak boldly,” Gwyneth stammered, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue. “You forget that my true brother was killed by Normans and I
have little love for them myself.”

  Ragnor slid into the chair beside hers. “But, damoiselle, surely you do not blame all Normans for your brother’s death. We were bound by oath to do as William commanded. If you must hate anyone, then hate the Duke but not me, damoiselle, I pray.”

  “My mother was Norman,” Gwyneth murmured softly. “I did not hate her.”

  “And you must not hate me,” Ragnor pleaded.

  “I do not,” she breathed.

  A grin spread across Ragnor’s face, showing flashing white teeth, as he caught her hand. “My lady, you have made me very happy.”

  In her confusion Gwyneth turned her attention away and watched Wulfgar assist Aislinn into the chair beside his own. Her eyes grew cold once more and she stared hard at the younger woman, feeling the web of hate twine about her. A bland smile curved her lips.

  “You did not tell us you married, brother.”

  Wulfgar shook his head. “Married? Nay. Why so?”

  Gwyneth’s attention shifted to Aislinn, and her pale eyes glittered.

  “Then this Aislinn is no actual kin. I had thought her some prized and valued bride the way you honor her.”

  Ragnor snickered and appeared thoroughly amused. He toasted Aislinn casually when she bent a frigid glance upon him, then he leaned close to whisper some amusing anecdote to Gwyneth which prompted her to burst gaily into laughter.

  Aislinn folded her hands tightly in her lap, bristling at the sound of their amusement. She lost all appetite and longed to be any place but where she was. The meat Wulfgar placed upon her plate went untouched and her wine remained untasted.

  Wulfgar considered her for some time, then casually remarked, “The roast boar tastes pleasantly well, Aislinn. Will you not even try it?”

  “I do not yearn for food,” she murmured.

  “You will grow thin if you do not eat,” he scolded lightly, sampling his own meat. “And I find bony women lack much of the comfort of rounded ones. You are pleasantly soft though you are not as sturdy as you need be. Eat, it will do you good.”

  “I am strong enough,” Aislinn replied, not making any effort to obey him.

  A tawny brow arched. “Indeed? I would not have guessed it by that weak play you gave me some hours ago.” He rubbed his chest and grinned roguishly. “By damned, I think I would have the vixen back rather than that limp-kneed twit I had beneath me then. Tell me, cherie, is there not another woman that resides in your comely frame who would come betwixt the two, with not so much the shrew but certainly more lively than the other?”

  Aislinn’s cheeks flamed. “My lord, your sister! She will hear, and already she wonders at us. Would it not be best to treat me with less familiarity?”

  “What, and have you slip into my chambers when darkness is dense and no one can see?” He laughed and his look consumed her. “I could not be that patient for you to come.”

  “You jest when I am serious,” she rebuked him sternly. “Your kin suspect we are lovers. Would you have them know I am your mistress?”

  He grinned slowly. “Shall I announce it now or mayhap later?”

  “Oh! You are impossible!” Aislinn said in a huff and in a somewhat louder tone that drew Gwyneth’s attention from Ragnor. When the woman turned back again to speak with the knight, Aislinn leaned closer to Wulfgar.

  “Do you not care what they think?” she questioned. “They are your family.”

  Wulfgar grunted. “Family? In truth I have none. You have heard my sister speak of her hatred for me. I did not expect more, nor do I owe her an explanation for the way I live my life. I will not be bound by her frowns or thoughts. You are mine and I will not put you aside because kin have arrived.”

  “And neither will you marry me,” Aislinn added softly.

  Wulfgar shrugged. “ ’Tis my way. I own you. That is enough.”

  He glanced away, but half braced himself for her reaction. After a long moment of silence when none came, he turned again to face her and found himself staring into wide violet pools which hid the thoughts behind them. The hint of a smile rested lightly upon her lips then deepened. Her beauty held his attention like strong cords upon his mind until she laughed lightly, breaking the leashes with the musical sound.

  “Yea, Wulfgar, I am your slave,” she half whispered. “And if that is enough for you, then it is enough for me.”

  Wulfgar sat back puzzling at her reply but Gwyneth interrupted his thoughts.

  “Wulfgar, surely you do not intend feeding all these Normans through the winter.” She swept her hand to indicate the hall. “We will certainly end that season by starving if you try.”

  Wulfgar glanced around at the twenty odd men who feasted hungrily upon Darkenwald’s precious store of food before considering his sister.

  “There are more, but they ride guard. They keep the hall safe from raiders and thieves. They protect my people—and you. Do not question their food again.”

  Gwyneth drew up in a huff, eyeing him distastefully. Another stubborn man to deal with like her father. Was there not one with wits enough to look after their own?

  A short time later Aislinn rose, begging pardon from Wulfgar, and went to see to the comfort of Bolsgar. She dampened down the cloths upon his leg once more then instructed Kerwick to keep the fire stirred up during the cold hours that the old man would not suffer a chill and to watch him during the night. If he turned for the worse, she was to be called without delay.

  Kerwick studied her. “Shall I awaken Maida to fetch you?”

  Aislinn returned his gaze and sighed. “It seems that I am without secrets. Even the crudest harlot can have some hidden sin. But I?” She laughed low. “I must have my deeds announced from the highest hill. What does it matter if you come yourself?”

  “Did you expect privacy when your lover rules men?” he asked sharply. His eyes dropped to the floor and the muscles in his cheeks flexed with the tension he felt. “Must I honor this thing between you two as a marriage? What is expected of me?”

  Aislinn shook her head and spread her hands wide. “Kerwick, you and I can never go back to where we were before the Normans came. The door has closed between us. Forget that I was once your betrothed.”

  “There is no door that stands between us, Aislinn,” he said bitterly. “Only a man.”

  She shrugged. “Then a man, but still he will not let me go.”

  “ ’Tis your charm that holds him,” Kerwick charged. He lifted a hand to indicate her gown. “And now you dress to entice him. If you do not wash your face or rub sweet scents upon your body, then he will turn some other’s way. But you are too vain to let it happen.”

  Despite her efforts not to, Aislinn burst into amused laughter. Kerwick’s lean face reddened as she continued unceasingly. He glanced nervously toward Wulfgar and found the Norman scowling blackly at them over his horn of ale.

  “Aislinn,” Kerwick gritted between his teeth. “Cease this madness! Would you have me flogged again?”

  She tried to choke back her laughter but fell to giggling. “I am sorry, Kerwick,” she gasped. “I am bedeviled.”

  “You laugh at me,” he growled, folding his arms across his chest. “ ’Tis my wretched garments you abhor and ridicule. You would have me like him, your Norman lover. So proud of his frame he must strut about like a cock at dawn. My clothes have been stripped from me. What would you have me wear in their stead?”

  Aislinn sobered and laid her hand upon his arm. “ ’Tis not these simple clothes that do you ill, dear Kerwick, but lack of washing.”

  Kerwick set her hand from him with some regret. “Your lover watches and I have no desire to feel the sharp teeth of the hounds upon me this night nor the sting of the whip. You’d best join him to ease his mind.”

  She nodded and went to kneel beside Bolsgar, drawing a fur rug over him. The old man closely watched her as she bent over him and when she drew back, he gave her a tired smile.

  “You are overkind to me in my ageing years, Lady Aislinn. Your fair
ness and gentle touch have brightened my day.”

  “Your fever weakens your mind, I fear, sir knight.” Still, she smiled at his words.

  He lightly brushed the back of her hand with his lips and lay back with a sigh, closing his eyes. Aislinn rose and without another glance to Kerwick crossed the hall to where Wulfgar sat. The Norman’s gaze followed her as she approached, never wavering until she moved behind him to stand at his chair. There Aislinn could consider him without being observed in return. He was relaxed now after the meal and paid his half sister the barest courtesy as she plied him with questions about his holdings and his status with William. She complained that his manner of dealing with his serfs was much too lenient, for they were a crude lot and needed a firm hand to keep them in check. As she offered this last advice Wulfgar slowly shifted his glance to Ragnor who lounged back in his chair, seemingly content with himself and Gwyneth’s conversation.

  “I’m glad you have the ability to make judgments so swiftly, Gwyneth,” Wulfgar returned and his sarcasm passed her by.

  “You will soon learn that I am very perceptive, brother,” she said, a knowing smile curving her lips as she raised her eyes to Aislinn.

  Wulfgar shrugged, reaching behind him to take the girl’s hand and draw her closer. “I have nothing to hide. ’Tis common knowledge the way I live and manage my holdings.”

  To Gwyneth’s irritation he began to toy absently with Alslinn’s slender fingers and caress her arm. At his continued fondling Aislinn grew uncomfortably warm and flushed. The smile of contentment stiffened upon Ragnor’s face and he turned to fill his drinking horn to the brim. Gwyneth’s own words slowed to a halting, stumbling speech as anger weighted down her tongue, and Aislinn could not help wonder if this was another game he played with them all. Wulfgar rose with a half smile, and dropping an arm over Aislinn’s shoulder, spoke in jest to the young knight, Gowain, who had boasted quite heavily of his own swordplay that afternoon.