The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  A movement from the corner of his eye caught Gowain’s attention and he glanced there to find Aislinn staring at them with a bemused frown troubling her fine brow. Her eyes questioned Wulfgar who hurried to allay her fears.

  “ ’Tis naught to concern yourself, Aislinn. ’Tis merely a bargain I’ve been seeking to settle. I shall return shortly.”

  He pressed her hand before he rose but Aislinn’s worry was little abated as the two of them left the hall. The men entered the stables and there a merchant held a mare the color and stature of which Wulfgar admired greatly. He approached and ran his hand over the horse’s flanks, feeling the strength and depth of her muscle, the straightness of her legs and the soundness of her hooves. She was a dapple-gray, almost blue where the coat was dark and a pale gray where it was light. Her brow was gray and blended smoothly into a dark muzzle on a finely tapered head. The eastern blood was well apparent yet she had the shortness of stature that marked the English mounts. She would add strength and wind to his line but better yet she would serve him other ways.

  Wulfgar nodded to Gowain and then drew aside. The merchant watched greedily as he counted out the necessary coin, then exchanged it for a paper on which was painstakingly drawn the lineage of the fine creature. As the merchant went his way the two knights paused further to admire the steed.

  “She is a worthy mount. The lady should be well pleased,” Gowain said.

  “Aye,” Wulfgar returned. “But do not give word of this to her. I would save the news for a later time.”

  When they re-entered the hall Aislinn turned and seeing Wulfgar’s pleased smile could not find it in her to make mention of the matter. Still she went and laying a hand upon his arm, looked into his gaze.

  “I have never been to this fair London, Wulfgar, and I yearn to see the sights. May I stroll about this afternoon and”—here she hesitated and her cheeks reddened but to make a proper gown she had need of thread and trim and she had nothing to procure them with but what he might spare her—“and perhaps purchase a trinket or two.”

  A scowl deepened on Wulfgar’s brow as he regarded her for a long moment and she blushed crimson when his eyes swept her tattered gown, but that was the least of her embarrassment. His words started a dull ache in her chest and brought a tightness to her throat.

  “Nay,” he returned somewhat gruffly. “ ’Tis not a time for women to be wandering about unkept. I have no time myself and cannot send my men, for they are pressed with duties. You will do better to spend your day here behind stout doors and await my leisure.”

  She could only nod lamely in her disappointment, casting her eyes away as Gowain made to offer his services but was quickly frowned down. Soon Wulfgar swept his cloak about his shoulders and went to the stable, leaving Aislinn to watch after him dismally. She set Hlynn and Sanhurst to cleaning the hall and slowly made her way to the great bedchamber to set it to order. She was putting her meager belongings away when she heard the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones as Wulfgar left. She sat numbly on a bench before the window staring out over the rooftops wondering how he could use her so against her will and then dismiss her cruelly from his life.

  The sun mounted the sky until it rode high overhead, but a heavy haze marked the city as the peat fires were stirred for the midday repast. Aislinn laid the bright yellow cloth carefully on the bed and stood working her shears as she planned a gown from it. Without trim it would be rather stark but a needle served her well and she was sure she could fashion a fetching gown if only some thread could be found.

  The sound of voices came from the hall below and she guessed the men had returned to dine, then Hlynn’s footsteps sounded outside the door and her rap rattled its hinges. Aislinn bade her enter and stood back in amazement as a whole troop of people pushed into the chamber behind her. Hlynn giggled and shrugged her innocence, spreading her hands wide to deny any knowledge of this invasion.

  There were servants bearing cloth; velvets and silks, linen and wool; women with scissors, thread, trimmings and furs. Following the others came a lean tailor who swept low in a bow to her. He bade her mount a bench that he could measure. His cord was drawn and knots made and the tailor gave detailed instructions for the seamstresses to follow. Aislinn found she could halt the group only when it came to the yellow velvet she had spread on the bed. There she sat with the tailor and described while he drew, a special gown, one with full flowing sleeves and a tight bodice made low to show the best of a kirtle sewn from a pale yellow silk he had. She chose a gold braid for the trim and assured herself that more than usual care would be taken in the making.

  The room began to buzz as the women snipped and stitched and the servants hurried to lay out the materials and gather up the scraps that fell from the scissors. Aislinn was hustled from hand to hand as progress was made and her approval sought. There were slippers half formed and sewn to fit her feet. There were strips of fur, fox, mink and sable, to warm the neck and cuffs. One garment in particular caught her eye, a rich cloak of fur-lined velvet. The tailor warmed to his task and smiled as the afternoon wore on. It was rare indeed that he plied his trade on a form so trim and fair or for a lord so generous.

  The afternoon was half gone when Wulfgar found a small inn that was not crowded, where he could pass the time inconspicuously. He sat before a roaring fire and watched as the keeper set before him a jug of fine heady brew and a chalice for his pleasure. His duties were done and he would have returned to the townhouse but he knew the tailor would still be occupied there. He suppressed a shudder as he thought of the cost and poured another cup of the rich red wine. But damn, he would not have Aislinn seen in those rags she came in. He pondered the circumstance of her low estate and a mounting anger nettled him until he filled the cup again. Gwyneth, no doubt, he thought. She would take advantage of his absence and seek to better her own lot. But what of the coins he had left her? Spent on some trifling matter? Ah, women! Were they ever to be understood? Gwyneth, with a mother who had loved her and with a proper parentage, but endowed with the temperament of an asp. Why, when everything she had ever asked for had been handed her? What plagued her that she should be so vicious?

  The more Wulfgar imbibed, the less his mind dwelt on his half sister and turned with eagerness toward Aislinn. What woman would not be pleased with such an elaborate gift of clothes? The coins spent might well be of immediate benefit to him. Surely, if anything, this would prompt her to end her resistance and come willingly into his arms and not act as if sorely set upon. Visualizing her before him, his mind lingered on the softness and grace of her supple body and flawless face. A more winsome lass none could name. But her beauty he had never questioned. She was one of many and the best of all. She made no demands upon him and yet seemed eager in all ways but this one to please him.

  Damn, he thought and drained the cup. I’ve given her more than any other woman. He frowned at the empty chalice and cured the oversight. Why does she continue to be cool? What is her game? She seems to care and yet I touch her only through her passion and afterwards she cries as if I have cut her deeply. Others much more highly born have come to me eagerly. Yet she lies passive with indifference until I waken her and push beyond her guard. Then she finds a rapture of her own, but still she curls away and will not ask me more.

  He slammed the empty cup down in disgust and filled it to the brim.

  “But this will end the game,” he sighed, his confidence boldly soaring. “What ere the cost I will find its worth and more in her compliance.”

  He sat silent for a long while imagining her in the raiment he had purchased. The thought warmed him and he drained the mug to its dregs. He found the jug but filled the shallow bottom of his cup and called for a full skin of that wondrous nectar. He felt light of heart and gay and was pleased with his own generosity, dreaming of its end and bringing to his mind a vision of red-gold locks spilled in splendid disarray across the silken pillows, of soft breasts pressed against him and of pale arms curved about him while her lips ans
wered his.

  Many hours had passed since he first entered the inn and as a shadow fell across the table, Wulfgar raised his eyes to find the keeper standing near him.

  “My lord, the hour is late,” the man reminded him. “And I would bar the door. Do you lodge here for the night?”

  “Nay, nay, good fellow. This night of all will I seek my own bed.”

  Wulfgar rose unsteadily to his feet and tucked the wineskin beneath his arm. He counted out coins until the keeper was satisfied, then made his way with slow deliberation from the inn to where the Hun stood waiting. The horse snorted at the unusual gait of his master but held stone still while, after several tries, Wulfgar lay prone across the saddle and then eased himself upright and found the stirrups. Wulfgar urged his steed forward and bellowed loudly when the Hun made no move to obey. Finally the innkeeper opened his door again and untying the reins from the post handed them to the rider. The man returned to his inn, shaking his head and mumbling to himself as Wulfgar roared his thanks. Now the Hun moved off, and for the most part ignoring his master’s signals, made a cautious way in the direction of the townhouse and its warm stable.

  It had grown dark at the house and thick fogs crept in from the river. Alone now, Aislinn clasped her arms about her in happiness. The eight new gowns lay carefully arranged on the bed before her, finished and well sewn, a delight for any woman. But what spoke more to her was Wulfgar’s generosity. She felt overwhelmed by it. Never in a thousand years had she expected anything like this from him. They were luxurious gowns, like any grand dame would wear. And he had bought them for her, with the coins he guarded so well.

  She took the yellow gunna first and folded it gently away. The others followed but for one of a soft peach hue which she donned. Hlynn combed her hair long and tiringly, then twined ribbons through the lustrous braids she formed as a crown about her mistress’ head. Aislinn descended to the hall to await Wulfgar’s return and as she came into view the room fell silent. Her changed appearance was such that the men were struck dumb. It was Milbourne, the eldest of the knights, grizzled and scarred, who rose to give her his arm and guide her to a seat at the table. Aislinn smiled and nodded her thanks while Sir Gowain gulped and began to compose poems of praise in his ale. None seemed to be worthy of her, but his eyes glowed warmly whenever her smile turned his way.

  The men were enchanted and Hlynn grinned with pleasure to see these Normans stumble over words to praise her mistress. Even Sanhurst in his corner ceased the rubbing of tallow into Wulfgar’s boots to prop his chin in his hand and bend a wistful gaze upon Aislinn.

  The meal was taken leisurely and was almost done when Beaufonte raised his hand for silence. Through the open shutters at the end of the hall drifted the sound of slow hooves accompanied by a loud voice bawling a song of love and devotion. The curse of an irate townsman was heard before the door slammed in the stable below. Raised brows ran about the hall and Aislinn giggled as Gowain rolled his eyes in mock anguish. The voice was muffled but grew louder as unsteady feet mounted the stairs. Without ceremony Wulfgar burst into the room with a half empty wineskin in his hand. He bellowed and swung his arm wide to greet them all, then his feet did a quaint step as he regained his balance.

  “Ho, good fellows and most lovely damoiselle,” he roared as his clever gait carried him into the room. His words were slurred in an odd mixture of English and French.

  In Wulfgar’s mind, he came forward and made a graceful bow before Aislinn as she rose to greet him and taking her hand, kissed it gently. In reality his feet tangled as he stepped before her and many caught their breaths, fearful he would crash upon her. His hand seized hers as he swayed and his kiss found a place half way to her elbow. He straightened and his eyes wandered independently about the room unto they focused upon her. Aislinn had never seen Wulfgar in this state. Indeed she had always known him to be abstemious.

  “My lord,” she murmured softly. “Are you ill?”

  “Nay, cherie. I am drank upon this beauty that bursts upon my eyes and leaves me gasping in its tumbled wake. Forsooth I raise a salute to you.” He gestured to the room at large. “To the Lady Aislinn,” he shouted. “The fairest wench in any man’s bed.”

  He raised the skin high and managed skillfully to collect some of the brew in his mouth as Aislinn glared at his crudity. Wulfgar set the wineskin aside and took her hand in both of his, pressing it to his lips and murmured in his most romantic fashion:

  “Come, cherie, let us retire for the night. To bed!”

  He smiled a drunken leer of goodnight to his men and, turning, put his foot in a woven basket. It was several moments before he could shake the vicious beast from him, but only Sanhurst had the gall to laugh aloud though there were choking coughs aplenty.

  Wulfgar straightened, casting a glare to the guffawing Saxon and rearranged his gown. With the majestic dignity of his kind he missed the second step of the stairs and measured his length back into the hall. With a sigh Aislinn grasped his arm and beckoned to Gowain who struggling with laughter took the other. Between them, and after many false starts, they guided him up the stairs and into the chamber where he was set upon the edge of the bed. Dismissing the young knight and closing the door behind him, Aislinn turned to Wulfgar. He lurched forward as if he would sweep her into his arms, but the cloaks hung behind the door filled them instead as she easily sidestepped his lunge. One fell over his head as he flailed about to free himself and Aislinn seized his hands.

  “Hold, Wulfgar.” Her voice took on an edge of command. “Hold still, I say.”

  She disentangled him and seated him again on the bed before returning the garments. That accomplished, she stood before him, arms akimbo, shaking her head. She began to remove his gown and lifted it over his head, but with delicate timing Wulfgar rose to fling his arms about her. Aislinn squealed in exasperation, pushing against his chest and Wulfgar found himself sitting again. This time he waited as the wench was obviously eager to lay with him.

  Avoiding his persistent hand, Aislinn slipped off his shoes and his chausses, pressed him back and laid the covers over him. His eyes followed her with avid warmth as she went to stand by the glowing hearth and remove her gunna, carefully folding it and placing it with the others. She loosened her hair, shaking the long length free then slipped the kirtle off placing it too, neatly aside. She kicked the slippers off as she crept beneath the covers and waited for his hand to come searching, but heard only a soft, gentle snore. She giggled and curled safely against his warm side and resting her head against his shoulder, drifted contentedly off to sleep.

  Aislinn’s eyes opened at the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows. They had slept unusually late she surmised but even then something had awakened her, a strange moaning sound, oddly muted and coming from the corner where the chamber pot stood. She chuckled to herself and snuggled deeper in the covers. There was a splashing of water and then the bed creaked as Wulfgar’s weight settled upon it. She turned toward him with a cheerful morning greeting upon her tongue, but it died unspoken as she found herself staring at the broad expanse of back. She rose to an elbow and pulled at his shoulder until he rolled face up. His eyes and lips were tightly clenched and a rather greenish pallor extended well down his chest. Drawing a blanket over his nakedness, she tucked it in about him then raised her eyes and found his steel gray ones regarding her from pools of livid red beneath swollen bluish lids.

  “The shutters, Aislinn,” he sighed, gesturing toward them lamely. “Close them. That light pierces me with a thousand blades.”

  She scampered up, dragging a heavy blanket with her to wrap about her shoulders and darkened the room, easing his pain. She paused to throw more fuel on the fire then coquettishly leapt back into the bed and snuggled against him for warmth. Wulfgar gritted his teeth as her movements bounced his head.

  “Gently, my sweet, gently,” he groaned. “My head feels the size of a wineskin and I swear the fur still clings to my tongue.”

  “Poor Wulfga
r,” she murmured consolingly. “The wine makes you ill when taken in such great amounts and its joys of the night are well bought with the morning’s misery.”

  Wulfgar heaved a sigh and rolled his head. “And I am couched with a philosopher,” he muttered softly as if to himself. “Perhaps your talents include some remedy for an aching pate.”

  Aislinn chewed on the tip of her finger as she thought for a moment. “Aye, but the cure is near bad as the ailment.”

  He took her hand and laid it on his fevered brow. “If I live to survive the day,” he promised. “I will reward you handsomely.”

  She nodded and rose from the bed, snatching the blanket about her. She thrust a fireplace iron deep in the glowing coals. While it heated she mixed herbs and potion in a cup, then filled it from a jug of wine. When the iron glowed red, she plunged the heated tool into the brew until the liquid steamed. Bringing it to Wulfgar she met him with a hesitant smile.

  “You must drink it all and quickly,” she directed.

  Wulfgar struggled upright to accept her offering. The noisome mixture wrinkled his nose when he would draw it near and his greenish color seemed to heighten. He raised his eyes in mute appeal but she placed a finger beneath the cup and pushed it firmly toward his lips.

  “All and quickly,” she repeated.

  He drew a deep breath and held it as he tipped the chalice and drained it in a single gulp. He lowered his hand and sat hanging his head, shuddering as the bitter draught tore its way into his belly. Aislinn drew back, clearing a path. There was a small rumble which drew him upright and then another as his eyes widened. He flew from the bed, not caring of the chill and made straight way for the chamber pot.

  Aislinn climbed into the bed and settled deep beneath the blankets while he was held racked with spasms over the receiving bowl. She clasped her hands and turned an innocent gaze to him when some time later he returned to her side. He dragged himself beneath the covers and flopped back too weak to move.