Gwyneth made a sneering reply with a toss of her head and then went to where Ham and Kerwick were turning a boar, venison, and an abundance of smaller game and fowl on spits above the fire. She gestured derisively toward the meats.
“This would feed us all for a month. You are careless with food, Wulfgar.”
“The grains in the meal,” Wulfgar sighed under his breath and turned to meet Bolsgar as he came down the stairs, a handsome man still when in fine garments. Wulfgar had shared with him from his own coffer, presenting to the older man some of his best. Though the belt had proven too narrow for Bolsgar’s waist the shoulders and length of his robe fit well enough. The elder man chuckled as he turned before them.
“I’ve regained my youth, I swear.”
Gwyneth scoffed. “In borrowed clothes yet.”
The old eyes measured Gwyneth, taking in Aislinn’s tawny gold gown that she wore.
“What ho! The pot calls the kettle black. It seems to me you have borrowed some yourself,” he said.
Gwyneth spun around, turning her back to him, and Bolsgar dismissed her as Wulfgar handed him a horn of ale. They sat enjoying the mellow taste of the drink until the great door swung open admitting one of Wulfgar’s men who hurried to his lord carrying a rather large bundle wrapped in skins. The man bent over Wulfgar’s ear as he set the package before him and spoke softly of some matter. Wulfgar nodded and as the man turned to go Wulfgar began to cut the cords binding the bundle. He drew it apart and pulled several men’s garments from it and threw them over his arm. He crossed to Kerwick who paid no heed to his approach so intent was he with the task he had been set to.
“Kerwick.”
Wulfgar spoke and the younger man immediately rose to his feet, turning. His eyes flew to the garments and widened slightly in surprise before he quickly straightened.
“My lord?”
Wulfgar held the clothes up. “Am I right to name these garments yours?” he questioned a bit gruffly so that he added confusion to the Saxon’s countenance.
“Aye, milord,” Kerwick returned uncertainly. “But I have no idea how they came here. ‘Twas not I who carried them from Cregan.”
“If you had noticed, Kerwick, they have only just arrived. I sent a man for them.”
“Sir?” Kerwick looked doubtfully at Wulfgar’s taller frame and knew no alteration could make the garments fit the Norman.
“They are not for me, Kerwick, but for you,” Wulfgar returned, reading his eyes. “Take them and rise from this chore and dress yourself as one who is gently born.”
Kerwick stretched his hands out to take the clothes then drew them back hurriedly to wipe them upon his rough tunic. With care he accepted the apparel yet still wore much bemusement on his face.
Gwyneth whirled sharply in disgust at her brother and strode to the other end of the hall to sulk in silence by herself.
Wulfgar turned and spoke to the hall in general. “My man tells me our guest is on his way and will arrive anon.”
Aislinn’s descent of the stairs caused a stir and many admiring stares fell upon her, for by the time she joined the group in the hall many of Wulfgar’s men had also entered, dressed in their best garments. Sir Milbourne and Sir Gowain stood near the bottom of the stairs, and the younger man gaped so hard at her, the older reached up to wave a hand before his face drawing chuckles from those near. Gowain offered up his hand to her and smiled happily as she let him assist her.
“My lady, your radiance bedazzles me overmuch. I find my tongue grown lame and I cannot think of words to express the full measure of your beauty.”
Casting a glance awry to Wulfgar in time to see Bolsgar nudge him, Aislinn smiled beguilingly up at the young knight.
“Your tongue is smooth, sir knight, and no doubt many a young maiden has fallen to its charm.”
Pleased at her compliment, the knight glanced around at the other faces near him then swallowed convulsively as Wulfgar joined them. He stuttered and grew deeply flushed as Wulfgar raised a questioningly brow at him.
“What is this, Sir Gowain? Have you so much leisure upon your hands that you must dally with my slave?”
Gowain nearly choked on his tongue and was thoroughly confused by what had transpired in the days prior to this one, when Wulfgar had ignored the Saxon beauty, giving him to wonder if there was some hope.
“Nay, my liege. Nay,” he denied profusely. “I was but attesting to her exquisite beauty, that is all. I meant no harm.”
Wulfgar took Aislinn’s slender hand in his, pulling her slightly to him and bestowed a grin upon the flustered knight.
“You are forgiven. Only give good heed to this matter hence and venture but with care. I have not been one to split hairs over a wench or two, but this one, Sir Gowain, I might fairly split your skull over.”
With that warning to the young knight and all those that heard, Wulfgar drew Aislinn away from the men and returned to Bolsgar’s side. The old man’s eyes twinkled merrily as he viewed her.
“Ah, what a comely maid you are, Aislinn. You do these ancient eyes of mine good to behold you. Nearly three score years have I lived and in that time I cannot remember viewing such perfect beauty before.”
“You are kind, my lord.” She curtsied to him and glanced up at Wulfgar, feeling his eyes upon her. “And do I please you also, milord? ’Tis my duty whatever you command, but ‘twould seem difficult to change my appearance if it were not worth enough to draw your approval.”
He smiled into her eyes, his own burning and intense, yet his lips spoke without committal.
“As I’ve said, a slave should not be made vain.”
He squeezed her hand as he held it down against her side. His mouth widened into a grin as she looked at him icily, but her fingers trembled in his hand, giving the lie to her gaze.
“You are lovely,” he murmured. “Now what else would you have me admit?” She opened her mouth to retort, but he put up a hand before she could speak. “Cease your demands. I am wearied of being hounded. Give me rest.”
Miffed at his words, Aislinn whirled, snatching her hand free and crossed to the hearth where Ham labored.
“A feast?” she surmised, gazing at the roasting meats. “His guests must indeed be important.”
“Yea, milady,” the lad agreed. “He has not spared a thing to make this day to be remembered. Even now they labor in the cooking chamber to please him.”
Aislinn turned and considered Wulfgar from a distance. He made a splendid figure in a tunic of deep green velvet, edged with gold braid. A short mantle of deep crimson was clasped at his neck and flowed over one shoulder down to his knees. Beneath his gown he wore a soft linen chainse and Aislinn thought of the care with which she had sewn that simple garment for him. It fit his broad shoulders well and she admitted only to herself the garment never looked so fine as now that he wore it. His long, lean legs showed straight and well muscled beneath the tawny chausses and cross garters, and his appearance was such that a deep painful pride began to grow in Aislinn’s chest as she stared at him.
“Aislinn?”
Her name came from a familiar voice behind her and she whirled and stared in surprise at Kerwick now dressed in rich attire. Her eyes went over him in astonishment, then a radiant smile broke upon her lips.
“Why, Kerwick, you are beautiful,” she cried in pleasure.
“Beautiful?”He shook his head. “Nay, ‘tis a word describing you.”
“Oh, but you are,” she insisted.
Kerwick smiled. “It feels good to wear fine clothes again. He sent for them—especially for me,” he said in amazement.
“Who?” Aislinn questioned and her eyes followed Kerwick’s to where Wulfgar stood. “You mean Wulfgar sent to Cregan for them? For you?” she asked in astonishment.
Kerwick nodded, bringing a warm, jubilant smile to her face. With a happy catch in her throat, Aislinn begged the pardon of her former betrothed and made her way to Wulfgar’s side again, though she did so slowly, eyeing hi
m as she went and puzzling at his motive. He turned as she touched his hand and welcomed her with a smile.
“Cherie,” he murmured warmly, gently squeezing her fingers. “Have you decided you can stand my humor?”
“On occasion, milord, but not overmuch,” she returned and the corners of her lips turned upward winsomely. Wulfgar found himself mesmerized by her eyes shining into his. For a long moment they stood thus, enjoying the nearness of one another and experiencing once again the exciting attraction that always seemed to draw them together. Gwyneth’s voice broke them rudely apart.
“A bastard and his trollop,” she hissed. “I see you’ve found each other again. What more can one expect from the common born.”
Bolsgar snapped at Gwyneth sharply, commanding her to silence, but the insolent daughter ignored him and slid her eyes down Aislinn.
“Fit enough for royalty I suppose, but your belly spoils the costume.”
Before she could think to hide her reaction, Aislinn lifted her hand to that slight roundness and looked a bit worried.
Wulfgar scowled heavily at his sister and bit back a sharper reply. “Do not be cruel, Gwyneth. Today I will have none of it. Either show respect to Aislinn or you will be dismissed to your chamber.”
“I am no child,” Gwyneth gasped. “And I will not show respect to a slut.”
“Nay, you are no child,” Wulfgar agreed. “But I am lord of this hall and you will not challenge me. Will you obey?”
Gwyneth’s lips drew tightly together and her pale eyes narrowed but no words spilled from her mouth. Instead, as she saw Haylan approach, her gaze grew cunning and she smiled up at Wulfgar.
“Here is dear Haylan. You will of course notice I’ve taken the liberty of sharing my meager garments with her.”
They turned their gazes upon the young widow, and Aislinn recognized her own mauve gunna adorning her frame. Haylan was a bit shorter and plumper than Aislinn but nevertheless the clothes accentuated her dark beauty. Encouraged by the events of the days past, Haylan came to stand beside Wulfgar, managing deftly to slip between him and Aislinn and smiled boldly into his eyes. With a finger she traced a path down his chest where the edge of his mantle lay.
“You look fit, milord,” she breathed.
Aislinn stiffened and beneath lowered lids she glared at the woman’s back. She was possessed of a great urge to tear the long black curling hair from the woman’s head and give her round buttocks a firm kick. Absently she toyed with the hilt of her dagger while her eyes fixed in distant concentration on the back of Haylan’s dark head.
Haylan leaned against Wulfgar, her round bosom pressing lightly against his chest, and rubbed the soft velvet of his tunic with her hand while her eyes raised coyly to his.
“Is it your will that I leave, milord?” Aislinn’s voice cut in with knife’s edge sharpness. “ ’Tis not my intent to interrupt thy—pleasure.” The last word dripped with sweetness but her voice rose slightly as if in question.
Wulfgar hastened to disengage himself from Haylan and led his mistress away, leaving both Gwyneth and Haylan frowning at his back.
“And they call me wanton,” Aislinn muttered to herself.
Wulfgar laughed low. “The widow sees more than there is, no doubt. Yet truly, I feared for her welfare when I saw the blood lust in your eyes.”
Aislinn snatched her arm free. “Do not turn your day with worry, master.” She bowed in humbleness though her eyes belied the gesture. “I am but a slave and would bear the cruel whim of others calmly and if attacked in rage would only seek to defend myself unless you spake it other.”
Wulfgar grinned and rubbed his chest where he still bore the marks of her temper. “Aye, I’ve tasted your tender, helpless manner and know well that should the widow test you, she would goodly fare to rise with but one small lock of hair still attached.”
Aislinn opened her mouth to retort, but her expression changed to one of surprise as the door of the great hall slammed open and a strong gust of cold March air swirled in. When the dust settled Sweyn stood in the portal arrayed in all his Nordic finery. His arms were akimbo and as he saw the faces before him, he laughed heartily, setting the hall atremble with his mirth.
“The man approaches, Wulfgar,” he thundered. “He will arrive forthwith.”
Wulfgar took Aislinn’s hand without a word and led her to Bolsgar, there placing that hand carefully upon the old man’s arm and bade the old man to keep her there. Ignoring her sudden pout, Wulfgar left her to stand beside Sweyn to greet the arriving guest.
Soon there was a clatter of small hooves accompanied by much huffing and puffing, then a slip-slap of sandals and Friar Dunley hove into view smiling broadly in obvious joy. Wide eyes and puzzlement marked the faces of all present and a low murmur of confusion filled the hall. The holy man joined Wulfgar and Sweyn and for a time the three of them talked with heads close together and in low tones. A moment passed and the bemusement of the others grew deeper, then Wulfgar led the friar to the table where he poured a chalice of wine for the monk.
The priest took the offering and with a quick genuflection, drained the cup to the last drop and nodded his thanks. Clearing his throat and assuming a serious manner, the man turned and mounted to the fourth step of the stairs where he faced them all, holding a small, golden cross before him and waited expectantly. The hall grew hushed as the people breathlessly waited for what the moment would bring. Bewilderment still dwelled on the gaping faces.
Wulfgar went to stand before the priest and, turning, raised a brow to Bolsgar who now grasped the meaning of it all. He raised Aislinn’s hand high before him on his arm and led the stunned maid forward until she stood beside Wulfgar. Friar Dunley nodded his head, and taking Aislinn’s hand, the Lord of Darkenwald knelt in the rushes on the floor, pulling her gently down beside him.
Maida sat down suddenly on a bench near her and stared in numb surprise. Kerwick for a moment felt a choking in his chest, but this eased and he grew strangely happy for Aislinn, seeing what she wanted most take place. Gwyneth gaped in sinking despair as her hopes to gain power and a place of honor at Darkenwald faded with the friar’s words. Finally grasping the meaning of the ceremony, Haylan sniffled and began to sob as her aspirations dwindled rapidly with the soft drone of the priest’s voice laying the blessing of the faith on the union.
Wulfgar’s voice came strong and clear as he repeated his vows, and strangely it was Aislinn who stumbled and faltered as she repeated the words in a daze. Wulfgar drew her to her feet and she stood dumbly as the monk spoke the final binding statement. She realized that he had repeated a question for the third time to her.
“What?” she murmured, still dazed. “I didn’t—”
The friar leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “Will you kiss the man and seal the vows?”
She turned to Wulfgar, hardly able to believe what had passed and half thinking herself dreaming, stared at him in wonder. A loud thump broke the silence as Sweyn slammed a tankard of ale on the table, sending foam flying and raised it high.
“Hail Wulfgar, Lord of Darkenwald!” he roared.
A fair thunder of cheers came from his men and even the townfolk present joined in. Again the heavy tankard slammed down on the table.
“Hail Aislinn, Lady of Darkenwald!”
And if the shouts had been loud before, this time the rafters shook and threatened to fall.
Aislinn finally accepted the truth and with a shriek threw her arms around Wulfgar’s neck and between shouts of laughter and tears of joy, covered his face with kisses. Wulfgar finally held her at arm’s length to calm her and laughed at the throbbing gaiety that filled her. She was snatched from his hands by Sweyn who crushed her in his arms for a moment then planted a resounding kiss upon her cheek and spun her away to Gowain thence to Milbourne, Bolsgar, Kerwick and on to the whole host of them. Finally she was once more placed before Wulfgar, rosy with excitement and breathless with laughter. He took her in his arms and kissed her long and hard, and
she held nothing from him but answered him in the fullness of the joy she knew in her heart. They turned slowly full circle locked in their embrace amid the hearty shouts and cries of encouragement from the folk.
The hall dissolved in a heavy crush of merriment, but unnoticed were the grim faces of three of the women. Maida broke from her stupor and with a low moan of despair, fled from the hall clawing at her hair. Gwyneth slowly mounted the stairs to her chamber where she sat in lonely silence before the hearth, and Haylan fled sobbing on Maida’s heels.
Around Aislinn there were good wishes from all and thumps on the back that left her gasping. She danced through it all with a single thought branding itself into her mind.
Wulfgar! My Wulfgar! My Wulfgar! The words rang in her deepest being and obscured all else.
More barrels of ale were broken and skins of wine emptied. The meats were cut, bread broken and words grew slurred as toast after toast followed. Wulfgar leaned back in his chair enjoying the festivities and entertainment. Jugglers, acrobats and musicians had been hurriedly summoned and performed for the amusement of the revelers. But it was Gowain who spoke the words, Aislinn remembered above all else as he postured in front of the newly wedded couple.
“No fairer rose has my heart seen
Nor knight errant ever won.
Her beauty reigns on the highest peak
Where no other maid can touch or seek.
No blacker night nor darker day
Than when this rose was snatched away,
And bound in wedlock, how forlorn!”
He raised his ale high and ended:
“To my one last pleasure, the drinking horn.”
Aislinn laughed in obvious glee and the merrymaking continued until Wulfgar rose, clearing his throat for attention. He gazed around him at the joyful faces, serf and warrior, archer and vintner. They turned to him expectantly, and as he began to speak in French for the benefit of his men, the serfs gathered around Kerwick that he could put the words to English for them.
“In our towns, this day is to be remembered as the joining of Norman and Saxon,” Wulfgar began carefully. “Henceforth this will be a place of peace and it will be a shire that profits. Soon we will begin building a castle as the king has bade, to protect the towns of Cregan and Darkenwald together. Around it there will be a moat and it will have walls as strong as we can make them. In times of danger both Norman and English will take shelter there. Those of my men who wish, may take up professions and raise shops of trade or skill that will support them. We shall make these towns safe and comfortable that visitors will seek them out. Masons will be needed and carpenters, tailors, venders of all types. Sir Gowain, Sir Beaufonte and Sir Milbourne have consented to stay on as my vassals and we shall continue to give our protection to all the people.”
The Wolf and the Dove Page 44
