The Wolf and the Dove

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “I struck you once in anger,” the old man sighed. “And I will never again.”

  Wulfgar threw back his head to laugh at the pathos of Bolsgar’s remark but suddenly the entire hall seemed to burst inside his skull. Dust settled slowly around his long form as it stretched out on the rushes of the floor. Sweyn rubbed the knuckles of his hand then lifted his gaze to find Bolsgar staring in surprise.

  “I felt no such restraint,” Sweyn explained then nodded his head to the slumbering one. “ ’Twill do him good.”

  Bolsgar bent and grasped Wulfgar’s ankles while Sweyn lifted his shoulders and together they carried him to his chamber. Bolsgar rapped lightly on the door and at Aislinn’s sleepy answer, pushed the door wide. As they entered she sat up in surprise, rubbing her eyes.

  “What happened?” she stammered, her eyes wide and staring.

  “He drank too much,” Sweyn grunted as they dumped Wulfgar unceremoniously on the bed.

  Aislinn looked at the Norseman with a puzzled frown. “Wine? Ale? Why, it would take a full skin and half the night to—”

  “Not when lapped by a foolish tongue,” Bolsgar interrupted.

  She bent over her husband and as her hand touched his face, her quick fingers felt the growing lump on the side of his chin. Her brows knitted in confusion.

  “Who struck him?” she demanded, her hackles rising.

  Sweyn rubbed his knuckles again and smiled. “ ’Twas me,” he said smugly.

  Aislinn’s frown turned to one of bemusement but before she could question more, Bolsgar leaned forward and gently spoke.

  “He was acting like a babe and we couldn’t find a switch.”

  With that the old man beckoned to the Viking and they left Aislinn staring at Wulfgar in bewildered consternation. Finally she rose and pulled his clothes from his limp form, leaving him undraped upon the bed with the warmth of the summer’s night.

  A peal of thunder seemed to fill the chamber and Wulfgar sat up with a start half ready to do battle as he stared wildly about. Then he realized it was but a summer squall rolling off the sea and marching inland. He lay back and closed his eyes, listening to the gentler sounds that followed, the first splash of huge droplets on the stone outside, the quicker rattle of rain as it beat upon the shutters and the sudden gust of wind that set them jerking. The cool breath of the summer’s breeze that stirred against his naked form was a welcome respite from the hot and muggy days which had passed before.

  He felt a weight settle upon the bed and he opened his eyes again to find Aislinn’s concerned face close above his. Her hair fell in a giddy torrent from her head and seemed to frame that milky visage. Deep violet pools caught him in their depths and gently wrung a smile from his aching skull. Reaching up a hand, he slipped it beneath the shining tresses to draw her down and quietly taste the wild freshness of her lips as her hair made a coppery curtain about their embrace.

  Aislinn sat up smiling. “I was fearful of your health, but I see that you are well.”

  Wulfgar reached his arms above his head and stretched like a great, lean beast, arching his back against the bed, then drawing back he winced as his fingers brushed his jaw and tenderly felt the longer line of it. He frowned and sat up, propping an arm against a knee.

  “Sweyn must be getting old,” he mumbled and at her puzzled frown, hastened to explain. “The last face he so caressed was more than a little broken.”

  She laughed softly for a moment, returning with a platter of meats, warm bread and fresh honey in the comb. Resting her burdened body against his, she drew a morsel from the trencher and laid it to his lips, and Wulfgar knew the tenderness of her care. Her eyes were warm and liquid as she gazed at him and he could not resist their plea. Once more his mouth moved upon hers, this time with the softness of a bee resting upon the petals of a blossom to taste the nectar deep within. She lay in the shelter of his arm against his upraised knee and felt the tendons of his strength surround her. Yet there was a tautness in her womb that robbed her of serenity and made her wonder if her time was at hand.

  Wulfgar saw the dimming of her eyes and the thoughtful bend of her mood. “Does Satan prick you with some unkind memory, Aislinn?” he inquired softly. He laid his hand upon her belly. “It has worn me ill that even if the babe be mine, he was made not of love but of my brutish taking of you in my own lust. I would have you know that in my thoughts I am prepared to take him as my own whoever be his maker. He shall bear my name and arms and shall never be cast from my house. ‘Twould be unkind if having that he finds a fault in mother’s love.”

  She lifted her gaze to his and smiled gently, thinking of the cruelty of his own rejection. “Have no fear, Wulfgar. He of all of us is innocent of his making and I would love him the same. I will hold him within my arms and bring him to manhood with all my finest care.” She sighed deeply. “ ’Tis only a woman’s doubt as the time grows near. So many things beyond my ken will shape his life. But, you know, if may be a daughter and not a son!” She stretched an arm to rest upon his shoulder and toyed with a lock of his tawny hair.

  Wulfgar smiled. “Whatever God wills it, my love. We shall seed a dynasty to hold these lands and if a girl, I would that she wore your witch’s locks to tempt all men as you have me.” He turned his head and kissed the inner bend of her arm. “You have torn my life’s ways and habits asunder. When I would say no vows to bind me, you made me sing them in my fairest voice lest I should lose you. When I admitted to a miser’s thrift, you never asked a thing, but I would spend my life to shoe your feet and love the last moment of it.” He chuckled ruefully. “I give up laying boundaries to build my life within and now lend my cause to faith that you will tenderly lead my errant feet and deal with my helpless soul in honor.”

  “Wulfgar,” she scoffed. “What great Norman knight kneels and lets a simple-minded Saxon slave take him by the locks and swing him to and fro? You jest and mock my haggish face.”

  In spite of her words she leaned her swelling breasts upon his chest and kissed him softly, her lips clinging warmly to his, then she lingered close and searched his eyes as if to find her answers there.

  “Is something born of love within me?” she murmured low. “I want your arms about me and yearn for every touch of you. What is this madness that sends me ever to your beck and call? I am more slave than wife and yet would have no other way. What hold have you taken on my will that even when I fought you I prayed you would ever press upon me again and never leave me lonely?”

  Wulfgar raised his head and his gray eyes seemed almost blue as he held her with them. “No matter, cherie. As long as you and I are bent upon one purpose, let us revel in the pleasure of it.” He scowled at her. “Now let me rise, err you be forced again against your will.”

  Aislinn giggled happily and withdrew. “Against my will? Nay, nevermore. But should you pass a babe on the way, treat him gently lest he should take offense.”

  Wulfgar rose with a hearty laugh and donning his clothes, left the chamber with the sound of her gay, lilting voice drifting after him in a merry tune. He smiled to himself, looking forward to the day when she would croon to the babe, for she had a pleasant voice and one that gave him ease. He left the hall and crossed the puddle-laden courtyard and looking to the sky, saw that it was clearing already.

  The sun rode high overhead, marking the noon hour, as Wulfgar returned to the hall. Bolsgar and Sweyn were seated at the table and as he joined them they sat back and regarded him, a bit uncertain of his mood. Seating himself at his usual place, he returned their gazes as he fingered his jaw and then waggled it as if testing its working.

  “Methinks a young lass kissed me overhand last night,” he remarked dryly. “Or perhaps an old man or child smote me.”

  Bolsgar chuckled. “Some gentle kiss indeed. You would not rouse to bid a fair good night. Forsooth! You took repose so suddenly poor Sanhurst labored out the morn to fill the hole in the floor.”

  He and Sweyn guffawed at the jest, but Wulfgar gave little to th
eir mirth but sighed pensively.

  “ ’Tis much burdened I find myself with two aging knights who in their long-fled youth do dwell and smite me sharply if my words should turn naught but their tempers. Not only do their heads grow soft, I fear the strength has also fled their arms.”

  Wulfgar looked squarely at Sweyn who slapped his thigh at the slur.

  “Would you brace an elbow with me I could yet in my dottering age break your arm,” the Viking returned. “ ’Twas only that I thought to spare the beauty of your face, you stripling lad.”

  Wulfgar laughed at having piqued the Norseman. “ ’Tis more your tongue I fear than strength. The blow was well struck and I had no cause to so decry my lady.” He grew serious and murmured, “As in my youth I would that words in anger loosed could be taken back to silence, but ‘tis never such. I beg the pardon of you both and would forget the folly done.”

  He looked at them, waiting for some sign. Bolsgar exchanged glances with Sweyn then they nodded and, sliding him a mug of ale, lifted their own and the three drank an unspoken toast.

  A moment later Wulfgar turned his gaze to find Aislinn making her way cautiously down the stairs. He rose quickly and rushed to assist her, drawing smiles from his men as they watched and remembered Wulfgar’s earlier days at Darkenwald when it seemed naught could pass between the couple but with a quarrel.

  Wulfgar led Aislinn to a chair beside his and at his anxious question assured him all was well. Yet before long the dull pressure in her belly became a wrenching surge that caught her by surprise and left her gasping for breath. This time when Wulfgar’s concerned face turned to her, she nodded and held out her hand to him.

  “Will you help me upstairs? I fear I cannot make it alone.”

  He came to his feet and brushing aside her hand, lifted her in his arms. As he bore her to the stairs he threw a brusque command over his shoulder that stirred some action among the staring men.

  “Fetch Miderd to my chamber: The lady’s time has come.”

  There was a mad scramble among the knights and Kerwick, and seeing their confusion, Bolsgar rose from his chair and went immediately to the task. Wulfgar took the stairs two at a time, unhampered by the burden he carefully held in his arms. Kicking open the door, he carried Aislinn to the bed that had seen her brought to life. His arms were slow to draw away and Aislinn wondered at the strain she saw in his face, if it was concern of her or some deeper thought of the child and its sire. She took his hand comfortingly, drawing it to her cheek, and Wulfgar carefully eased his weight onto the bed beside her to sit and gaze down at her, worry etching his brow. Here was a thing his training and experience had not prepared him for, and he knew the full weight of his helplessness.

  The painful pang returned and Aislinn clutched his hand tightly. Wulfgar was well acquainted with the sufferings of war, having many scars to prove his stamina and his casual acceptance of pain. But this slim girl gave him an almost fearful dread of the agony she suffered.

  “Gently, my lady,” Miderd advised from the door and came to Aislinn’s side. “Save your strength for later. You’ll have need of it then. From the signs you will labor long with this one. The child will have his way, so rest and save yourself.”

  The woman smiled as Aislinn breathed easier, but Wulfgar’s face seemed suddenly drawn and haggard. Miderd spoke to him gently, seeing his distress.

  “My lord, will you see that Hlynn is summoned? There is much to be done and I would stay with my lady.” She glanced to the hearth and seeing it cold, called after him as he left. “And tell Ham and Sanhurst to bring wood and water here. The kettle should be filled.”

  Thus Wulfgar was moved away from Aislinn’s side and he found no chance to venture near again. He stood quietly at the door, watching the women attend his wife. Cool damp cloths were ever at hand to cleanse Aislinn’s face as the heat of July built in the room with the added warmth of the fire. He watched and waited and caught an occasional smile from Aislinn as she rested. When the pains came he dripped with sweat as she labored and as the hours fled he began to wonder if all was right. His questions often went unanswered as Miderd and Hlynn made preparations. Then a line of worry snared him and he began to fear the babe would be dark-skinned and ebon-haired. The vision haunted him until he could not bear it. That the fair and lovely Aislinn should give birth to a child obviously of Ragnors kin made his mind ache. And then a new thought dawned, He remembered hearing often of women dying in their labors. It would be Ragnor’s triumph if the child were his and took Aislinn from this world forever. But what if it were his own that took her life? Was that any kinder? He tried to imagine his life without her after these many months of contentment by her side and his mind grew blank. Dark clouds seemed to shut all reason from him and the room became stilling. In roiling fear, he fled.

  The Hun was startled as Wulfgar threw the saddle onto his back. The beast snorted and drew back as the bit was forced into his mouth and Wulfgar vaulted onto his back. Astride the great charger Wulfgar rode long and hard across the countryside, never easing his pace until the winds blew the shreds of confusion from his head. At last man and beast paused on a lower hilltop beneath the mound bearing the castle. As the Hun panted for breath Wulfgar gazed at the framework which rose taller with each day’s passing. Even now in the late evening, men strove to set a few more stones before darkness overtook them. He was amazed at the people’s ambition to see it finished. They worked without grumbling and often upon finishing other chores they would bring some stone to be hewn and set. But it was for their defense as well as for his, and he could well understand their reasoning after the slaughter Ragnor had brought. They were as determined as he that it should not happen again. He looked to the keep where he and Aislinn would some day reside. Its construction progressed slower than the wall but when finished would be an unscalable fortress where no foe could enter. Except death—

  He turned away, knowing it would not be so fine without Aislinn to share it with him. Black thoughts invaded his skull and he was no longer content to sit and muse. Whirling the Hun away, he shook out the reins and rode the boundaries of his lands.

  His lands!

  The words rang solid in his head. If the other portion of his life should turn awry at least he would have these. He remembered the gray old knight that Aislinn had buried the first time he met her. Perhaps the old man would have known his feelings now. Here was his land. Here he would die and lay beside that other grave upon the hill. Perhaps some greater lord would come and slay him, but here he would remain. No more wandering. Let Aislinn give him what she would, bastard or his own son or daughter. He would claim it as his, or if things came to worse, join them beneath the oak upon the hill. A strange peace settled over him and he could now meet his fate in whatever form it came.

  The Hun slowed and his master became aware that Darkenwald lay before him. He had covered his lands and returned as the sun sank beyond the western moors. He paused beside the grave of Erland and dismounted, squatting beside it and watching the village below. As darkness spread its raven wings about him he still remained, conscious of the slackening activity of the people.

  “All of them,” he sighed “will look to me in trouble. I must not fail them.” Thoughtfully he gazed down at the grave beside him. “I know your mind, old man. I know what gathered in your head when you went out to meet Ragnor. I would have done the same.”

  He reached out and plucked a wild flower that grew nearby and placed it beside the ones Aislinn had left the day before.

  “Rest well, old man. I will do my best for them and Aislinn, too. God willing, you will feel the feet of many grandsons cross this turf and when I come to rest up here I will take your hand as ever any friend’s.”

  He waited under the shelter of the tree, not willing to descend and face the questioning stares of those below. The stars passed overhead as he watched the lighted hall below. People came and went and so he knew the event had not yet occurred. The early hours of a new morn saw him still there
, then he was brought upright by a scream.

  The hairs bristled on the back of his neck and a cold sweat dampened his brow. He stood immobilized by fear. Had it been Aislinn’s cry? Oh God, he had come so late to know the tenderness of a woman. Was it meet that he should lose it now? Long moments dragged by until he heard the loud and lusty cry of a babe.

  He waited still longer as the word was passed from hall to cottages. He saw Maida creep through the shadows to her hut. Others left and at last the hall was darkened. Finally he rose and led the tired horse to the barn. Passing silently through the empty hall, he climbed the stairs to his chamber. He pushed the door open slowly and saw Miderd sitting before the glowing hearth holding the babe in her arms. Peering through the darkness toward the bed, he could make out Aislinn’s form. She lay still and silent but he could see the gentle rise and fall of her breasts. Asleep, he mused and smiled, thankful for the day.

  Softly he strode to Miderd’s side and she uncovered the child that he could see. It was a boy, wizened, more like an old man than a babe and upon his pate a blazing thatch of red hair grew.

  No help there. Wulfgar smiled to himself. But at least it was not black.

  Turning, he went to the bed and stood quietly by its side trying to see Aislinn’s face. When he bent nearer, he realized her eyes were open and watched him carefully. He eased his weight down beside her and as she raised her hand took it in both of his. He sat thus for a moment thinking that he had never seen her eyes so warm and tender. Her hair spread over the pillow and curled in splendid disarray upon her shoulders. A smile played around the corners of her mouth though her face was drawn and pale. The cost of her struggle to bring the child forth had etched its passing on the gentle features, yet there shone behind them a calm strength that made pride rise in him. She was indeed a wife to stand beside a man and meet whatever life could offer.

  He bent low and kissed her tenderly and it was in his mind to beg her forgiveness. He drew back bracing himself on his arms that he might watch her as he spoke, but as he raised she sighed and closed her eyes, a slow peaceful smile spreading over her face. He held his silence and Aislinn found sleep as he stared down at her. She had waited to see him and this done, exhaustion took over to bring to her the needed rest. Leaning close again he laid another light kiss upon her lips and left the room.