The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  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.”

  The girl turned to face the approaching woman and waited until she halted before her. “So, Gwyneth.” Aislinn’s tone rang clear in the railing winds. “You have taken upon yourself the authority of Wulfgar. And do you seek to deprive him of one more useful serf?”

  “Useful?” Gwyneth spat. “This sluggard deliberately disobeyed me.”

  “Strange,” Aislinn returned, “I have no such problems with him. Mayhaps it be your manner that confuses him. He is unaccustomed to the chittering of a jackdaw.”

  Gwyneth choked in unrestrained fury. “Jackdaw! You bastard’s whore! You flippant Saxon slut! How dare you question my manner! In Wulfgar’s absence I am lady of this manor and no one shall question it.”

  “No one doubts what you would be, dear Gwyneth. Whether you are or not must be asked of Wulfgar.”

  “There is no need for asking!” The retort was ground out. “I am his sister and you are no kin of his.”

  Aislinn lifted her chin proudly. “Aye, no kin of his! Yet I know his reasonings beyond your ken. He brings justice swift and sure, not madness as you preach, for he knows the worth of treating his serfs kindly and with heart.”

  Gwyneth gave a derisive snort. “I find it indeed difficult to understand how in your rush to his bed you took time to know his very thoughts.” Her eyes narrowed until they were but pale slits outlined with tawny lashes. “Or is it more that you feel you can bend his mind to your will?”

  “If I could,” Aislinn retorted, “then that man would deserve no better than to be so bent. But I doubt Wulfgar’s mind so easily won.”

  “Bah! A harlot’s sport to castrate a man to any but her own way and tie his gaze to her swinging hips that he should never know he is being led.” Gwyneth fairly trembled with ire as her gaze swept Aislimn in rude appraisal. Her mind could not press down the memory of Wulfgar fondling this Saxon wench outside his bedchamber the morning he left or the tortured thought that Ragnor might have done the same. “Men! They will forever chase that plump harlot form that jiggles with each movement and ignore the trim and proper lady who feels it ill to display her sex so bluntly.”

  “Ho! What trim form do you boast?” Aislinn chuckled, raising a winsome brow. “Why, a budding willow switch has that which you could envy.”

  “Harlot!” the other woman croaked. “ ’Tis said that a woman’s shape grows full and plump under a man’s touch, and I see that you must have known many.”

  Aislinn shrugged. “If that were so, then you, dear Gwyneth, have known no other’s touch since your mother’s.”

  Gwyneth reddened profusely and could make no reply. “Enough! I grow tired of your endless bickering and I care not to dally in the cold.” She turned to the two Normans who dared show no humor. “Take the serf hence and strip his back a while. We’ll see if he doesn’t mind a lady’s words more meekly in the future.”

  “Nay!” Aislinn cried. She whirled to the Normans and in a cajoling manner pleaded. “A young child lies yonder seized in ague, and herbs are needed to ease her suffering.” She turned a hand to Ham. “He bears no mark for sin, for he carries there the very leaves I bade him seek. Let the two of us see to this sick child first and when Wulfgar returns I shall place the matter before him and seek his justice whatever he will name.”

  Gwyneth saw the uncertainty in the men’s faces and felt her issue failing. “Nay! ‘Twould serve no end! Let his punishment be done now that he remembers and will serve the better for it.”

  Aislinn turned in frustration to the woman and flung her hands wide. “Would you place this matter above the life of a child? Will you see the child dead that this punishment be carried out.”

  “I care no whit for a Saxon brat,” Gwyneth sneered. “Let the serfs insolent tongue be served its due and stay my will no further, slut. Yea, I bid you stay and watch his hiding that you would no more challenge my commands.”

  “You have no right to command here,” Aislinn cried.

  Gwyneth turned livid with unshackled fury. “You deny my rights, harlot, but as Wulfgar’s only kin I am the one who must speak in his absence. And you are naught but serf here, his slave who has no choice but must bear his weight in bed at his whim. You say I have no say here? Well, ‘tis you who are without rights and should taste the way of one who disobeys her betters.” Her pale eyes glimmered with the thought of Aislinn’s soft flesh stripped by scars from the whip. “Aye, you should also learn obedience.” She thrust her arm toward the younger girl. “Seize her! Put her beside the stubborn chit!”

  The French words were not lost upon the boy who had learned much of the Normans’ ways since their coming. Ham struggled with the men violently.

  “Nay! Leave her be!”

  The men could only gape in mute astonishment at the infuriated woman. The whipping of a Saxon wench was nothing in itself, but when that wench belonged to Wulfgar, that made all the difference in the world. There would be severe repercussions over this deed and they themselves would not suffer lightly. Perhaps Wulfgar’s sister was foolhardy, but they were of a different mood.

  “Take her!” Gwyneth shrieked, unable to further tolerate their dela
y.

  Ham broke from the men and fled as one Norman stepped forward, intending more to escort the girl from danger than to do her harm. The men laid a hand upon her shoulder, but Aislinn, mistaking his move, whirled from him in outrage, leaving her mantle in his grasp.

  “Be careful of the garments, you dolt!” Gwyneth snapped, showing her greed. “And take the gunna from her. I have need of it.”

  “So, you have need of it?” Aislinn choked. With trembling fingers she snatched the gown from her body and before Gwyneth could stop her she flung it down in the mud at her feet and trampled upon it. She faced the woman, wearing nothing more than a thin kirtle in the biting wind yet she hardly noticed its icy chill with the furious storm raging within her. “Then, Gwyneth, you must take it as it is.”

  The woman’s strident voice cut like a blade through the cold wind. “Begin the whipping and do not cease until fifty lashes have fallen upon her back.” Then she sneered at Aislinn. “My brother will find precious little to entice him when he views your frame again.”

  But Gwyneth’s bidding was not to be carried out by the men. The one dropped the whip and backed away, shaking his head, as his companion followed him.

  “Nay, we will not do it. The Lady Aislinn has nursed our wounds and ills and we are not wont to repay that kindness in this manner.”

  “You spineless curs!” Gwyneth railed. She snatched up the whip herself. “I’ll show you how to mete out well earned discipline.”

  With all the fury bent of hatred burning deep within her, Gwyneth raised her arm, and the whip hissed like a serpent’s tongue to bite through Aislinn’s simple garment and taste the tender flesh of her hip. Aislinn writhed in silent agony and pulled away, tears of pain sparkling in her eyes.

  “Cease!”

  They turned abruptly and men and woman faced a raging Sweyn. Ham stood beside him and there was no doubt in any mind that he had fetched the huge Viking. But the heady knowledge of her power drove Gwyneth beyond caution and she whirled to Aislinn again, drawing the whip back for another blow, but as she brought it forward the butt was snatched from her hand. Gwyneth spun about in frustrated fury to find Sweyn’s foot planted firmly upon the end of the whip and his brawny arms set akimbo to his large frame.