The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Aislinn whirled to face him. “Ragnor wants me only because I belong to you.”

  Wulfgar chuckled as he drew her to him. He raised her chin until he could gaze into her eyes. “Somehow I cannot imagine his wrath if I had taken Hlynn from him.”

  His arms swept under her, lifting her up against his chest.

  “M’lord,” Aislinn protested, struggling in his embrace. “ ’Tis morn. You must be about your duties.”

  “Later,” he said huskily and silenced further argument by a fiery kiss that left Aislinn weak and tingling and unable to find any logic in resistance. He was stronger and she would only prolong the misery by fighting him.

  Gwyneth swept down the stone stairs, feeling gay and thoroughly in love with the world this early morning hour. She had watched Ragnor ride off only a moment before and knew that her heart went with him. In the hall the men sat at the trestle tables, taking bread and meats. They paid her little heed, for they bantered among themselves and their laughter rose heartily at their own quips. Before the hearth Bolsgar still slept and glancing about for a familiar face, Gwyneth found only Ham and the young man Aislinn had spoken and laughed with the night before. They served Wulfgar’s men and did not seem to take notice of her yet when she strode to the lord’s table and took her place Ham shortly approached with food.

  “Where is my brother?” she demanded. “These men here seem to be at their leisure. Does he not give them tasks to perform?”

  “Aye, m’lady. They only wait for him. He has not come from his chambers yet.”

  “His laziness spreads like a plague,” she said in derisive tones.

  “ ’Tis his usual custom to rise early. I would not know what keeps him.”

  Gwyneth leaned back in her chair. “The Saxon wench, no doubt.”

  Ham’s face reddened with anger and he opened his mouth to make a reply then snapped it shut again before uttering one. Spinning on his heels, he strode to the cooking chamber without a backward glance.

  Gwyneth picked at her food absently, half listening to the men, half musing on the night before. When Sir Gowain entered with the knight, Beaufonte, the Normans called a greeting and beckoned them over.

  “Were you not to ride to Cregan this morn?” Gowain inquired, turning to Milbourne, the eldest knight.

  “Yea, lad, but Wulfgar seems wont to stay in his chamber instead,” Milbourne replied with a chortle. He rolled his eyes and smacked his fingers in a gesture that was not lost upon his comrades who guffawed their delight at his silent wit.

  Gowain grinned. “Mayhaps we should see to his welfare to be sure he does not lie abed with his throat slit. The way Ragnor slammed about and cursed him before he took to road, ‘tis most likely they had another row.”

  The elder knight shrugged. “ ’Tis over that girl again no doubt. Ragnor has had his blood up ever since he bedded her.”

  Gwyneth started in surprise, all senses stunned and reeling in confusion. Her breath came hard as if someone had struck a blow against her chest, and she thought she could not bear the pain.

  “Aye,” Gowain smiled. “And ‘tis no small matter taking the wench from Wulfgar either, if he is bound to keep her. But she is a prize I’d gladly fight for, were I Ragnor.”

  “Aah, lad, she’s a hot blooded one,” the elder laughed. “ ’Tis best you leave her for a man with experience.”

  Their conversation ceased abruptly as a door banged closed on the upper level. Wulfgar came into view and strode down the stairs, buckling on his sword. He saluted his sister, who eyed him coldly.

  “I trust you rested well, Gwyneth.”

  He turned without waiting for a reply and went to his men.

  “So, you think you can dally because I do. Well, we shall see what better men you are for it.” He broke off a piece of bread, picked up a piece of meat and went to the door, where he turned again and considered them. He smiled leisurely.

  “Why do you delay? I am for Cregan. What of you?”

  They scrambled after him as he strode out, knowing they were bound for a rigorous day, and they stumbled over themselves as they hastened to catch up. Wulfgar was already in his saddle, chewing on the bread and meat, as they scrambled to mount. When they regained some order about them, he swung his large steed about, tossing the remaining bread to Sweyn who stood watching with amusement, and set the spurs to the Hun’s flanks to send him thundering off in the direction of Cregan.

  Gwyneth slowly rose from the table, feeling sick inside, and walked carefully to the stairs and mounted them. In front of the lord’s chamber door she paused, her hand trembling violently as she reached out for the latch, then she drew back sharply clutching the clenched fist to her breast as if she had just touched fire. Her ashen face looked sharp and hardened in the shadows and her pale eyes seemed to pierce the very wood that separated her from the peacefully sleeping form on the other side. She knew a hatred now that exceeded the contempt she felt for Wulfgar, and she vowed quietly in her misery that the Saxon wench would feel her wrath.

  With measured care, as if she were afraid some slight noise would awaken the other to the malice she felt, Gwyneth backed away from the door then slowly moved on down the hall to her own small chamber.

  When Aislinn woke a short time later, she dressed and went down to the hall to learn that Wulfgar had gone to Cregan. Sweyn had been left in command of the hall and was at the moment trying to mediate a petty squabble between two young women over an ivory comb given to one of them by a Norman soldier. Aislinn strolled outside to stand on the steps and listen in amusement at Sweyn’s attempts to placate the two. One swore she had found it, the other claimed her companion stole it. Very capable of dealing with men, the Viking found himself completely at a loss to settle this argument.

  Aislinn smiled, raising a brow in mockery. “Why, Sweyn, you can always cut their hair in the Norman fashion and they would have little use for the comb.”

  The women turned to her with a start, their eyes wide, their mouths hanging open. The sudden grin upon Sweyn’s face quickly decided one to give up the comb and remove herself forthwith to some place distant from him while the other quickly retreated in the opposite direction.

  Aislinn could not keep the tide of merriment from sweeping her away into mirthful laughter.

  “Ah, Sweyn, you are human after all,” she smiled brightly. “I would not have believed it. To be confounded by mere women, Tsk. Tsk.”

  “Blasted wenches,” he grumbled and shaking his head, stalked into the hall.

  Bolsgar’s health was improved from the day before when his color had held to a waxen gray tone. Now his complexion once more glowed a leathery bronze, and at midday he did away with a hearty meal. Aislinn changed the poultice on his leg, gently cracking away the dried mud and drawing with it long gouts of the poisoned matter. She saw that the wound was already beginning to knit and that the flesh around it had taken on a healthier ruddy hue.

  It was toward late afternoon that Gwyneth came downstairs and approached Aislinn.

  “Do you have a mount? I wish to see this land Wulfgar has gained.”

  Aislinn nodded. “A swift and mighty Barbary mare, but she is uncommonly spirited. I would not advise—”

  “If you can ride her, I suspect I will have little trouble,” Gwyneth replied coldly.

  Aislinn struggled with words. “I am sure you are well acquainted with a saddle, Gwyneth, yet I fear Cleome—”

  She was silenced abruptly by the woman’s murderous look. Aislinn folded her hands and quietly stepped aside before the hatred she saw. Gwyneth turned and ordered the horse to be saddled and escorts provided for the ride. When the mare was brought forward, Aislinn tried once more to caution the woman and instruct her to hold the reins firmly but again she met that glowering look that chilled any words to silence. Aislinn winced as Gwyneth laid her whip heavily against Cleome’s flanks and sent the mare leaping ahead of her mounted escort. In dismay Aislinn watched them ride away and did not feel comforted with the directi
on they took, which would lead them to Cregan. It was not the destination that worried Aislinn but the countryside along the way. The paths were clearly laid but if one wandered from them there were many vales and gullies to snare the careless rider.

  With apprehension sitting heavily upon her shoulders, Aislinn sought to occupy her time with matters dealing with the hall. But as it turned out she spent most of the afternoon hearing complaints from Maida about Gwyneth’s manners and lack of courtesy. Aislinn listened as long as she could then retired in frustration to the bedchamber. She could not approach Wulfgar about his kinswoman, for he hated women enough without added assurance that they were worthy of his contempt. He might consider her too critical of Gwyneth and be unwilling to lend a fair ear. Still, in a morning’s time his sister had made herself felt. She had spent the morning pawing through Maida’s coffer seeking gowns for herself, then grew petulant and sharp, for all of Maida’s garments were too small. Though she was thin Gwyneth was as tall as Aislinn and not of the tiny frame of the older woman. Shortly after she had commanded her meal to be brought to her chamber, Gwyneth had slapped Hlynn and caused the girl to cry over no matter worthwhile. She excused her action by saying Hlynn was too slow to obey her orders. And now Gwyneth roamed the countryside on Aislinn’s favored steed.

  Roamed the countryside indeed, for Gwyneth knew not where she went. It was simply a race. Her temper was high and her spirits were low. The very sight of that young Saxon wench enjoying the hospitality of her brother was enough to set her nerves on edge. But the crude revelation that her lover first had the woman ended any small chance of friendship they might have had between them. And if that was not enough, Wulfgar openly flaunted the slut as if she were some worthy maiden when in fact she was Wulfgar’s whore, at his beck and call, a captured slave. The bitch had the nerve to claim this mare as hers. What right did a serf have to own a horse, least of all a slave? She had nothing herself, not even a suitable gown to wear upon Ragnor’s return; all her possessions had been taken by the Normans. But Aislinn had fine clothes which Wulfgar allowed her to keep. That jeweled dagger she wore was worth a goodly sum.

  Gwyneth laid the whip again across Cleome’s side and whipped her into a frenzied gallop. The two escorts followed at a distance, sparing their animals the headlong pace. Accustomed to the firm and knowledgeable grip of her mistress, the mare could find no authority in the loose reins. She chose her own way over the solid path and gave her rider’s commands only the briefest attention. The effect was simply to send Gwyneth’s rage to a higher level and in absolute fury she jerked the reins and the horse fled from the path into the dense woods. Now Gwyneth whipped the steed soundly until finally it threw out its head and began to run with long, swift strides, crashing through the brush. Some fear rose as Gwyneth realized what she had begun, for branches whipped and vines tore at her, yet the mare plunged heedlessly onward, up the hills and through the dales. Gwyneth could hear voices calling from behind bidding her halt, but the mare had the bit in her teeth and gave no mind when the reins were tugged. The maddened beast pressed onward, harder, faster. Gwyneth felt panic bite deep now. A narrow gorge lay ahead yet the horse thrashed on in agony as if some raging monster tagged close behind her heels. She gave no pause but leaped into the gorge. Gwyneth screamed and threw herself from the saddle as the mare hurled downward through branches and brush to fall with a sickening crash to the rocky bed of the ravine. The two escorts came crashing through the woods and drew their horses to a stop. Gwyneth rose, her rage far from satisfied; she forgot her fear and her own foolishness and spit words out with venom.

  “You brainless beast!” she railed. “You low-born nag! On open path you prance along but take to the woods and you flee like the hunted stag!”

  She brushed leaves and the matted forest turf from her gunna and sought to rake some from her tangled hair. She glared at the horse wheezing in pain at the bottom of the gulley and made no effort to ease its agony. One of the escorts dismounted and went to stand close to the edge. He turned with a sickly smile upon his face.

  “My lady, I fear your mount is broken badly.”

  But Gwyneth flung her head and spun about. “Aaah, that stupid nag, couldn’t see a hole as big as that! Good riddance that she should be broken!”

  A new sound came and heavy thundering and a crashing in the brush drew near. From the dark shadows of the wood, Wulfgar rode into view followed by his men. He pulled his great red warhorse to a halt beside Gwyneth and her escorts and his scowl raked them.

  “What goes here?” he demanded. “Why are you here? We heard a scream.”

  The mounted escort gestured to the gorge and Wulfgar approached closer. He scowled heavily as he recognized Aislinn’s mare lying at the bottom. Many times he had stopped to stroke the fine beast and feed her a handful of oats. He whirled to face Gwyneth.

  “You, dear sister, riding a horse and one I gave you no word for?”

  Gwyneth flicked a dried leaf from her skirt and shrugged. “A slave’s horse, what would it matter? Aislinn will have little use for it now; her duties lie in your chamber.”

  Wulfgar’s face grew rigid and it was with a great effort of will that he spoke below a shout. “ ’Twas a good nag you slaughtered by your wretched carelessness! Your utter disregard for another’s property, Gwyneth, has wasted a valuable steed.”

  “The mare was ill tempered,” Gwyneth replied evenly. “I could have been killed.”

  Wulfgar bit off a sharp reply. “Who gave you permission to take the horse?”

  “I need not have permission from a slave,” she retorted haughtily. “ ’Twas Aislinn’s horse, thereby it was available for my use at my discretion.”

  Wulfgar’s hands clenched into tight fists. “If Aislinn is a slave, then what she owns is mine,” he rumbled low. “For I am lord of all this and everything here is mine. You will not abuse my horses nor my slaves.”

  “ ’Twas I who was abused!” Gwyneth flung back in high rage. “Look at me! I could have been killed riding that beast and no one warned me that I would be taking my life in my hands. Aislinn could have stopped me, yet I think she would have me dead. Not a word of warning did she utter.”

  Wulfgar’s frown became ominous.

  “Really, Wulfgar, what do you see in that driveling wench,” Gwyneth inquired. “I would think you spoiled for lesser creatures after being accustomed to the ladies of William’s court. She’s a scheming, conniving little bitch and she will have your head as well as mine in the end.”

  Wulfgar whirled abruptly, jerking the great steed about to face his men. Lifting an arm, he gestured for them to set off.

  “Wulfgar!” Gwyneth cried, stamping her foot. “The least you can do is dismount one of your knights and give me a horse for the return.”

  He turned his head to stare at her stonily for a long moment, then glancing about him spoke to her mounted escort.

  “Take her up behind you, Gard. Let her ride the rump of your horse back to Darkenwald. Perhaps she will learn the value of a worthy steed on the return.”

  He moved his gaze back to Gwyneth who eyed him coldly.

  “Nay, dear sister, the least I can do is to finish the work that was so carelessly begun.”

  He bit the words off as if they were distasteful to him and swung down from the Hun. He tied the reins to a nearby bush and made his way down the steep side of the gully until he stood near Cleome’s head. Reaching down he took the mare in a firm grip by the lower jaw, stretched her head upward until he looked into her great soft eyes. Cleome struggled gallantly to rise but with two quick thrusts of his dagger Wulfgar cut the pulsing veins in each side of her throat and then gently lowered the head again. In great vexation he returned to his own mount. Slowly the sounds from the gulley quieted until only silence hung heavily in the forest.

  Wulfgar whirled the Hun about with a jerk at the reins and urged the huge steed forward until he had rejoined the party. It was in a sharp tone of voice that he bade Gwyneth’s other escort to
return and collect the trappings from Cleome. The group continued on in silence against the darkening day until they reached Darkenwald where a shout from the lookout heralded their approach.

  Wulfgar saw the blue of Aislinn’s gunna as she left the door to wait upon them, and Gwyneth’s words fell heavily upon his thoughts. What web of contentment had the Saxon wench woven about him that he could feel at ease with his back turned to her? Was he someday to have that small dagger he had let her keep thrust between his ribs? She had stated herself that she was safer with him alive and this was true, but what of later? Would circumstances in the future warrant his death and would she be the one to carry out the execution? Lord, he could not trust any woman! His jaw tightened as he considered how greatly he enjoyed her company. She would be difficult to replace, for she pleasured him well. He’d be a fool if he let his sister’s accusation goad him into putting her aside. A more winsome bedmate a man could not find. As long as he held his trust from her, he could gratify himself with her and suffer no consequences. He almost smiled again, yet he remembered the mare and knew he would have to be the one to tell Aislinn of her loss. Sourly his thoughts turned back to Gwyneth. Another woman whose idiocy he must contend with, but this one gave him no pleasure.

  Aislinn stood silent as they neared. Sweyn had come from the hall and waited beside her. She blushed lightly as Wulfgar met her gaze, unable to forget his passionate caresses of that morning, but he scowled and glanced away, barking an order over his shoulder at his men. In mean temper he drew the Hun to a halt and dismounted, throwing the reins to Gowain. Ignoring Aislinn, he brushed past her into the hall, flinging the door wide with a bang.

  Aislinn knew only confusion and she looked from one to another of the men as they led their horses away, but each avoided her gaze and no one spoke. Aislinn turned, wondering at their manner and spied Gwyneth mounted on behind one of her former escorts. Aislinn glanced around in further bewilderment, seeking some sight of the small mare among the huge Norman steeds, but try as she might she could not see Cleome. She faced Gwyneth again and watched her dismount and brush at her skirts. In sudden apprehension Aislinn stared at the streaks of dirt marring the other’s gown. Gwyneth raised cold eyes to hers, seeming to dare her to ask. Swallowing a cry of dismay Aislinn whirled and followed Wulfgar with a rush. She found him seated at a table, staring at its top with a horn of ale in his hand. He lifted his gaze to hers as she came to stand before him.