The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Do not judge his ability too lightly as with the tourney,” Vachel warned. “He is clever and has great strength to support his ventures.”

  Ragnor smiled. “I will take care.”

  Summer waxed and the child grew in Aislinn’s belly apace with the castle. The people watched both, her glowing warmth that seemed to set the air around her alive with her energy, and the castle with the sense of security that upheld Wulfgar’s promise to protect them. Yet a new threat dawned. Even the serfs and peasants found a wealth they had never known before under Wulfgar’s guidance and it was not long before a murdering band of miscreants and thieves found the richness of his flourishing lands. He set patrols to ride the roads and warn of strangers but even this proved fruitless as time and again families were forced to flee to the hall as their homes were looted and sacked.

  It was by some chance Wulfgar came about a quicker method of warning. Aislinn had retired to the cool shelter of her chamber after the midday meal to rest a time from the sluggish warmth of the late June day. She removed her gunna, leaving on the light linen kirtle beneath. Feeling a bit bedraggled by the sultry heat, she began to tidy her appearance. She splashed water on her face and the coolness of it did much to refresh her. Taking out the silver mirror Beaufonte had purchased for her at the fair in London, she began to comb her hair, but hearing Wulfgar’s voice in the courtyard below, she went to the window and leaned out.

  The three knights and Sweyn were with him and the five were dressed in battle gear, not wanting to be caught unawares if another alarm was sounded. They had returned from Cregan shortly before midday and were relaxing now in the shade of a tree before riding off again to make a wide sweep of the countryside. Aislinn called to him several times but the men’s voices overrode hers and he could not hear her. Finally frustrated, she drew back, but the sun’s rays caught the face of the mirror she held and the burst of light from it was reflected on the men below. Wulfgar sat up immediately and glancing toward the source of the brightness, raised a hand to shield the glare from his eyes and saw her at the window. As she lowered the mirror, Aislinn laughed, pleased she had finally caught his attention, and waved to him, having nothing important to say. With a smile he waved back and was relaxing once more against the tree when suddenly he sat up again, then leapt to his feet. Aislinn watched him in puzzlement as he ran toward the hall and soon she heard his feet on the stairs then in a moment he was beside her, taking the mirror from her. He went to the window where she had stood and experimented with it, soon drawing the attention of the group below. Wulfgar laughed in amazement as he turned the thing in his hands, then coming to stand beside his wife bent and placed a hearty kiss on her mouth. At her surprise he chuckled.

  “Madam, I think you have saved the day. No more riding long patrols that wear men and horse alike.” He raised the mirror as if it were a treasure. “Only a few lads on hilltops with these and we’ll have the thieves.” He laughed and kissed her again fiercely before striding out the door, leaving her bemused but happy.

  It was nearly a week later that a shout from the top of the castle tower brought the knights out in full battle dress and the village was nearly emptied as the men stood to arms. A mirror signal from one of the watchmen had marked the approach of a group of raiders. Wulfgar rode out with his small army, many doubled or even tripled on whatever mount was to be found. They took the path that led south to Cregan, which was an hour’s leisured ride or a half hour’s gallop from Darkenwald. The trap was set on a blind curve where Wulfgar’s charge would be downhill and thus the weightier. Men were carefully hidden in the brush or hillside to harass the raiders with stones and arrows, and Wulfgar’s well-trained band of archers and spearmen set to seal the retreat. Thus the ambush was met. Wulfgar, Sweyn and the knights held their horses quiet, well back from the curve. Soon laughter and shouts could be heard as the raiders neared, little suspecting that their progress was known and the way well guarded. The leaders came, talking loudly and wearing the loot of their last attack. Suddenly they halted as they saw the four knights and the hulking Norseman before them. Their laughter froze in their throats, and behind them the others pressed close to see what was amiss. Wulfgar lowered his lance and leaned forward in the saddle. The road trembled beneath the hooves of the five chargers. The thieves shouted and sought to flee and the lane became a mad tangle of bodies.

  One raider, braver than the rest, dug the butt of his spear into the ground and held its point to meet the charge, but Sweyn’s great ax whistled to shear the man’s arm and the shaft before it could do harm. The thief screamed and grasped the stump in his other hand and died as the short, Viking spear took him full in the chest. Wulfgar’s lance spitted another and pinned him to the ground. Then the long sword rang free and left a trail of gore where the Hun’s flailing hooves passed. It was over in a moment. Some had sought to flee and now lay in the dust studded with arrows. A dying man told where their camp was located deep in the marsh and there Wulfgar took his men when the bodies had been stripped of loot and arms and pushed from the road.

  Wulfgar found the wretched place in the midst of the peat bogs. The inhabitants of the camp had been warned and fled deeper into the marsh, leaving their possessions behind. Four naked slaves, chained in the open, had been abused for the entertainment of the thieves. Their ribs stood out from hunger. When struck free and given food, they knelt and humbly wept their thanks. One of the freed slaves was a young girl who had not fled fast enough from the raiders. Another was a Norman knight who had fallen wounded far afield, the other two were serfs and had been seized from a small village west of London.

  Wulfgar and his men dallied only long enough to search the hovels, bringing out what little of value they could find. They mounted the four on captured steeds then set the torch to the entire place, setting a warning to other thieves who would tarry here.

  The girl was returned to her family amid cries of joy and the others remained at the hall until they regained their strength before going their own ways, and Darkenwald returned to peace and its labors. Yet there were those who seemed out of pace with the life there. Gwyneth was sorely chafed by the awareness she was little more than a guest and had to abide within the charity of the lord and lady of the manor. Even Haylan had ceased to heed her and began to draw away. Finding no more charity from Gwyneth, the young widow had her own and her son’s welfare to look after and found little time to converse and conspire with the other woman. Gwyneth knew a loneliness deep within her, but soon found that without facing Aislinn directly, she could extract some vengeance from carrying to Maida greatly embroidered tales of Wulfgar’s cruelty to his wife and at every opportunity weakened the woman’s already strained sanity. To see Maida scampering hastily out of Wulfgar’s path amused his sister and her pale eyes glowed as she baited the poor woman time and again to stir her fears for her only child. A good lie was worth a year’s wear and tear upon the woman’s confidence and to this end Gwyneth would go well out of her way to seek the woman out.

  Maida watched her daughter closely when Aislinn came to the cottage to tend her or when she saw her about, looking for the telltale signs that would mark her abuse. Instead, Aislinn’s glowing happiness further confused her and she sank lower in dejection.

  The hot days of July simmered by with grinding slowness and Aislinn lost the last hint of grace. Her passage was slow and made with studied care, for quick movements were well beyond her capabilities. At night she curled close against Wulfgar’s back and many times they were abruptly wakened by the strong stirrings of the babe. She could never see her husband’s face in the darkness of the room. In the warmth of July there was no need for a fire in the hearth, therefore she was unable to determine his moods and worried that she disturbed him overmuch, but his kisses silenced her fears and apologies. He was gentle with her and many times his helping arm assisted her on her way.

  In the few days past, her burden had lowered and now even sitting became a chore. When taking meals, she continually sh
ifted her weight to ease the ache in the small of her back, and only nibbled at her food while listening with half an ear to the conversations that floated around her, not taking any verbal part, only nodding or smiling when a question or statement was directed to her.

  Now as she sat beside Wulfgar, she suddenly gasped and pressed a hand to her taut and rounded belly, amazed at the vigor with which the child moved. Wulfgar’s hand took her arm and she met his worried frown with a reassuring smile.

  “ ’Tis nothing, my love,” she murmured comfortingly. “ ’Tis only the stirring of the child.” She laughed “He moves with all the strength of his father.”

  She had begun more and more to think of Wulfgar as the child’s sire, unable to bear the thought of Ragnor fathering it, but she knew that she had used the wrong words as Gwyneth sneered.

  “Unless you know something we do not, Aislinn, it seems the blood of your offspring is well in doubt. In truth it could be fully Saxon.”

  She turned a derisive eye to Kerwick who stared at her in surprise, then reddened as he realized her meaning and in his haste to reassure Wulfgar, stammered a poor denial.

  “Nay, my lord, ‘twas not the way. I mean—,” he looked at Aislinn in his helplessness then turned again to Gwyneth, his anger flaring. “A lie you say! A lie!”

  Wulfgar smiled though his tone betrayed little humor as he answered his sister. “You have with your usual charm brought another tasty conjecture forth for our entertainment, Gwyneth. I seem to remember Ragnor the villain instead of this poor lad.”

  Gwyneth’s anger showed itself as she snarled. “I bid you consider well, Wulfgar. We have only your wife’s word and the ramblings of some drunken fools to back her say that Ragnor ever laid a hand on her. Indeed, I doubt that Sir Ragnor ever touched her or could act in the manner she lays to him.”

  While Aislinn gasped at the twisted reasoning, Kerwick choked and flung himself to his feet.

  “Maida herself saw her daughter carried up those stairs. Would you say he done her naught?”

  Wulfgar’s face had hardened and as Gwyneth snorted he scowled blackly at her.

  “Maida, ha!” Gwyneth jeered, and flung up a hand in disgust. “That addled fool cannot be trusted.”

  Aislinn forced herself to remain calm and murmured softly, “In all good time, Gwyneth, the truth will out. As for Kerwick, either he was chained or I was chained well beyond the time that he could be the sire. That leaves two and I deny the first along with the gentle manner some lay upon him.”

  Gwyneth turned in rage and glared at her, but Aislinn continued on gently.

  “And I pray, God willing, that time will prove I give life to Wulfgar’s seed. As to your bid that a gracious Ragnor could not have used a lady so, I pray you recall, good Gwyneth.” She leaned forward and spoke each word carefully. “Ragnor himself gave truth to the fact that he was the first.”

  Gwyneth’s rage knew no relief at this defeat. Without thought, she seized a bowl and raised it as if to hurl it at Aislinn, but Wulfgar came to his feet with a loud roar and clapped both hands down upon the table. His angry glare held his sister.

  “Take heed, Gwyneth,” he rumbled. “This is my table you set your feet beneath, and I will not have you question the father of the babe again. ’Tis mine because I make it so. I bid you go with care that you may continue to abide here.”

  Gwyneth’s anger fled and left a bitter frustration. Tears came to her eyes and she shook with sobs but she lowered the bowl again.

  “You will rue the day, Wulfgar, that you placed this Saxon slut above me and denied me what little honor I have left.”

  With a last look of loathing contempt flung at Aislinn, she turned and made her way up the stairs to her chamber. Her reserve fled as she closed the door behind her and she flung herself upon the bed to sob out her misery there. Her mind was a confusion of tumbling thoughts but it settled on one burning theme. It was cruel fate that her brother, bastard Norman that he was, should be the one to cast her from her rightful place and take a weak-faced Saxon bitch to wife. But Ragnor—she trembled at the memory of his touch. Ragnor had promised her much more. Yet was he in truth the father of Aislinn’s babe? The thought seared her brain that Aislinn would bear first fruit of that gentle-born knight and that her child might grow thin and dark with the look of a hawk in his brows or have the black and moody eyes of her lover. She silently vowed that when Ragnor returned, as he must to raise her from this sty, she would see that Wulfgar knew the full weight of her displeasure.

  In the hall the meal was ended with strained silence and as Haylan cleared away the food before them, Aislinn struggled to her feet, reddening slightly under the woman’s amused stare that seemed centered on her oversized belly. Self-consciously she turned and begged Wulfgar’s leave to go to their chamber.

  “It seems I tire easily of late,” she murmured.

  He rose and took her arm. “I’ll help you, cherie.”

  He guided her slow progress up the stairs and to their chamber where she began to undress for bed. As she unfastened her kirtle, he paused behind her and reached up to stroke her bright hair. With a sigh, Aislinn leaned back against him and he bent to press a kiss beneath her ear where the flesh was soft and white and fragrant.

  “What are you thinking?” he breathed.

  Aislinn shrugged and pulled his arm across her bosom, hugging it close. “Oh, just that you have cause to hate women.”

  He laughed softly and nibbled at her ear. “Some women I cannot abide and then there are others”—he folded his arms about her above the rounded belly—“I cannot do without.”

  Her parted kirtle stood away from her bosom and her full, rounded breasts were pressed together until the plunging valley between them seemed to beg for his exploration. His hand slipped within her garment and he knew a hunger in his loins as he roamed those soft, warm slopes. He was sorely strained to pull away and leave her be and now an ache grew in him as he yearned for the day he could satisfy his longings.

  Bolsgar had taken his usual chair before the hearth and Sweyn joined him there as the old man gazed thoughtfully into the low fire. Kerwick and the others made their way from the hall, ill at ease at what had passed and eager to be away. There were no words between the Viking and his old lord, nor were they needed. As Sweyn knew Wulfgar, he also knew the elder and could guess his moods. Gwyneth’s irascible disposition sorely nettled her father and he was at a loss as to how to deal with her.

  From above came the sound of a chamber door opening and closing. Bolsgar raised his gaze and meeting it, the Norseman laughed aloud as they exchanged a wordless thought. Wulfgar had spread his bed with a bachelor’s eager lust and now well-fed, found the same pallet lumpy and hard and not at all to his liking. They held their amusement and glanced up as Wulfgar appeared at the head of the stairs, a scowl blackening his brow and his manner short and coltish. With little concern Wulfgar made his way to the barrel and drew a full cup of ale, emptied it and drew another. He came to sit beside Bolsgar and the three of them stared at the fire for a long time before Wulfgar mumbled in his cup and Sweyn turned a quizzical glance to him.

  “Did you speak, Wulfgar?”

  Wulfgar lowered the cup and slammed it on the arm of the chair. “Yea, I said this marriage is a hellish affair. Would that I had married some narrow-flanked primp like Gwyneth, then I would have no worries or other urgings when I could not see them out.”

  Bolsgar grinned over his shoulder. “What say you, Sweyn? Think the buck will fly to seek another doe?”

  “Mayhaps, my lord,” the Norseman chuckled. “The hunting lure is ever louder than true love’s call.”

  “I am no rutting stag,” Wulfgar snapped. “I made my vows with my own mouth and of my own will. Yet I feel the trap of wedlock sorely and with a comely maid ‘tis more the rub. My loins ache with the sight of her and yet I find no ease. I would seek another but my vows bid otherwise and I am left to lie beside her yearning yet cursing the very thought.”

 
; Bolsgar grew serious and sought to ease the young man’s chafing. “Have patience, Wulfgar,” he gently chided. “ ’Tis the way of life, and you will find the prize well worth the wait.”

  “You prattle of things that stir me not,” Wulfgar sneered. “ ’Tis in my mind that one so fair brings naught but pain. I must ever bare my sword to see her honor cleared. Every mewling lad with fuzz upon his cheeks grows addled at her smile. Why, even Gowain grins like a dolt at her merest favor and still I wonder about Kerwick and what fond memories he might bear.”

  Bolsgar was pricked that Wulfgar should question Aislinn’s honor and lay the blame at her feet. “Why say you, Wulfgar,” he scolded. “You do the lady wrong I fear. She bade no Norman knight come pounding on her door or take her upon her mother’s bed nor asked a simple lord to chain her there.” He smiled ruefully. “I did hear her say you chained her, did I not?”

  Wulfgar stared in amazement at the other’s rising anger and even Sweyn felt disappointment that he had failed to teach the young man an easier acceptance of responsibilities.

  “Do not berate me so,” Wulfgar flared. “At least she has the ease of knowing who the mother is, while I will never be assured and may well raise a brat that’s not my own.”

  “Then do not set your mind against the Lady Aislinn,” Bolsgar returned sharply.

  “Yea,” Sweyn muttered, nodding his head in agreement. “My lady had no say in all of this and has come through more true than any. Would this be done again, I would hold you from her till my death.”

  Wulfgar laughed derisively. “Look to yourselves,” he scoffed. “The two of you come so late to her colors. Even old fools are not free of her wiles. She can charm the—”

  Wulfgar found the front of his tunic seized tightly by the ham-sized fist of Bolsgar and he was lifted from his chair with a speed few other men could muster. He saw the other fist draw back and there it held. Slowly Bolsgar’s rage left him. His face sagged and he dropped his arm from Wulfgar’s front.