The Wolf and the Dove (33 page)

Aislinn turned to the choosing of soap and scents as Hlynn held the jars for her perusal, testing each until her favorite, a lavender was selected, a soft, beguiling scent that instilled itself with the gentle freshness of a spring-born breeze. It was well timed for here Wulfgar’s feet struck the floor, heavy with his ire at this endless dallying over perfumes.

Both women started and stared at him as he rose, glowering at poor Hlynn. With a half smile leering from beneath his frowning brow, he caught the younger girl’s eyes and held them in the steel of his own. Unclasping his belt he set it with his sword on the bench. He lifted the short gown from his shoulders and swept it over his head, laying it carefully upon the belt. His eyes never broke their hold and now he began to undo the fastenings of his chainse and as he folded that garment away, Hlynn’s eyes widened at the sight of him in naught but chausses. When his hands went to his cross garters and began unwrapping them, Hlynn found his intent and fled the room.

Aislinn could not suppress a laugh as he came to sit upon the stool beside the tub. “Oh, you rogue, Wulfgar. You frighten the lass.”

He smiled leisurely. “ ’Twas my intention, cherie.”

She widened her eyes in feigned horror. “In my youth my mother warned me that crude and loathsome knaves might take advantage of my tender person, but I scarce believed they existed.”

“And now?” Wulfgar grinned.

Aislinn flashed him an impishly wicked look. “Why, my lord, now I have no doubts.”

Wulfgar chuckled and his eyes shone as he viewed her. She lathered her shoulders and arms lavishly with the scented soap, an item he had purchased especially for her though the rare bar had cost him a goodly sum. But watching her, he decided the coins were well spent. His gaze turned to where the water gently swirled about her rosy breasts, hiding them, yet ever promising to part and bring their ripeness to full view.

Reaching out, he drew a finger along the delicate line of her collarbone, setting her nerves atingle with the pleasure of his touch. He bent forward to press a kiss upon her lips, but Aislinn, feeling nervous and unduly excited at his attention, began to scrub her face.

“Aaah, wench, the fires in the hearth this winter have failed to warm your heart,” Wulfgar breathed.

Aislinn smiled behind the cloth, feeling for the moment victorious. Her will, she had come to realize, was quite weak where he was concerned. When she lowered the cloth, her eyes widened and with a squeal she half rose to flee as Wulfgar stepped into the tub, unclad and unabashed. With a devilish laugh he sank into the water, pulling her down atop of him. His arms locked about her holding her close.

“My day and night have been wasted in endless trifles,” he grinned. “And I would now set my teeth to more fleshy matters.”

He moved upward slightly and his long-starved lips pressed hers with a fiery warmth that sent her senses reeling. Aislinn relaxed against him, feeling a mellow warmth within her as she slipped a hand behind his neck and yielded to his kiss. Then suddenly her whole manner changed. With an angry shriek she pulled away, her eyes flashing with her rage. Before Wulfgar could move, the soapy cloth smothered his face and with a vengeance Aislinn pushed his head beneath the water. A splash and a foot against his chest and she was gone and free. Wulfgar sat up, spitting lather from his mouth and struggling to wipe the stinging soap from his eyes. When he could look at her again she was wrapped in her robe staring at him with brows arched and eyes blazing.

“Duties! Hah!” Her lips trembled in rage. “Why, the stench of the whore still clings to you. In truth, you smell more like a woman of the street than any Norman.”

Wulfgar stared in surprise at her sudden fury, then a quick vision of heavy breasts crushed to his face and an odor of choking sweet musk flashed in his mind and he knew the cause.

With furious motions Aislinn began to dry herself, not realizing the dampened cloth clung to her and revealed more than it covered. Wulfgar leaned back, enjoying the view, and took the opportunity to scrub well lest any further offense remained. He rinsed himself and watched amused as she struggled to hold the cloth in place while trying to raise her kirtle over her head. When she would have succeeded his voice came soft but sternly.

“Nay, my love.”

Aislinn turned in exasperation and he met her gaze calmly then inclined his head to the bed. She stamped her foot and groaned.

“But ‘tis morn and I have had my sleep.”

He laughed softly. “ ’Tis naught of sleep I think.”

In a single movement he rose and stepped from the tub, taking a linen towel to dry himself. Aislinn half shrieked, half moaned and bent to gather the cloth up that she might flee. With a gasp she found herself snatched up and held in those steel-thewed arms. Wulfgar’s gaze plunged deep into hers, and far a long moment they were held motionless, caught in the mounting excitement that hurtled recklessly through them. He carried her to the waiting bed and tossed her upon it. Her cover fell away and Aislinn earnestly sought to drag the blankets close about her, but Wulfgar would have none of it. He swept her body in one long caress as he lay beside her, and he held her still while his hands roamed where they would and his kisses fell where he would place them. His fingers freed her hair from the ribbons and he pressed his face against the soft mass, breathing in the fresh scent that clung to it.

There was a light persistent rapping at the door and Hlynn’s voice penetrated the moment.

“Milady? Are you well? I have brought food to break the fast.”

Hlynn caught her breath as the door jerked open before her to present Wulfgar in all of his naked splendor. Her mouth formed a silent “oh” as the tray was snatched from her hands and the oaken door slammed in her face before she could move. Wulfgar stood with the tray in his hands, listening to the rapid beat of running feet fleeing down to the hall ending in the distant thud of a door and the rattle of a bar being hasty thrown. He sighed and turning, moved forward to place the tray on a table beside the bed Aislinn had slid beneath the covers at the intrusion pulling them tightly beneath her chin. Now as Wulfgar leaned down to her, she smiled hesitantly and placed a hand on his chest, holding him off.

“Wulfgar, wait,” she pleaded. “I beg a morsel. Let us eat.”

He shook his head slowly and slipping in beside her enfolded her in his arms.

“In good time, cherie,” he breathed against her ear. “In good time.”

He smothered further protests in a manner which brooked no resistance and soon the thought of food had flown from Aislinn’s mind. Her head spun dizzily with the fervor of his caresses and she felt herself weakening, yielding. She struggled against him, wanting to hold him off but her resolve waned more, then fled completely when he pulled her beneath him. His fierce ardor awoke yearnings she had little known existed. The cold nights, the lonely dreams, now added fuel to the fire in her brain. His kisses seared her and left her panting and breathless. She heard his voice in her ear, hoarse and indistinct yet with an urgency that betrayed his need and his longing. Her heart trembled under his demanding passion. It touched a quickness deep within her, a glowing spark that grew and grew until it seemed to shower her with burning embers. A thousand suns burst within her and spread their surging heat in ever flooding tides to the very limits of her senses. With a gasp she rose against him, her eyes widening and
staring in amazement into the gray ones bent upon her. Then slowly she sank to the pillows as he lowered his mouth to hers and she dissolved in a flood of pleasure, knowing for the first time the full wide reach of love.

Aislinn slowly roused from ecstasy and flamed, aghast at her own abandon. Where did the difference lie between her and the women he had taken before? She was soft clay in his hands, unable to retain her dignity and pride, without the courage to withstand his merest advance. Wulfgar held her within his arms and stroked her hair, drawing his fingers through the soft, curling tresses that tumbled over and around them, but as she flung herself from him with a sob he stared at her in surprise.

“Aislinn?”

He sat up, reaching out a hand to bring her back but she shook her head vigorously. His hand dropped away, but he sat pondering her with a puzzled frown. She lay curled on her side with the covers clutched over her bosom and her slender body quaked with her tears.

“Did I hurt you?” he questioned softly.

“ ’Tis naught of pain,” she muttered miserably.

“You did not weep so before I left. What is it?” He bent over her, brushing the strands of hair from her cheek. “Tell me.”

He was answered by another shaking of her head and no amount of inquiry would bring more than renewed sobbing. Wulfgar lay back and sighed, completely at odds with the ways of women. He knew she had experienced the full measure of her womanhood but now she wailed as if some vile thing had been done to her. After a time she quieted and with blissful mercy his night’s revelry overtook him and wiped the troubles from his mind with sleep.

The sound of his breath fell heavy and regular when Aislinn carefully sat up on the bed, wiping the last traces of tears from her face. She hugged her knees close against her bare bosom as she stared down at him, letting her eyes roam his length as if she sought to memorize each small thing about him. Her failure to curb her own passion when he gave no hint of love or regard for her upset her greatly. Her body was more in his will than her own and it was only at times like these when he lay in exhausted slumber that she had some slight advantage. She laughed ruefully at the thought. Why, if she chose she could even press a kiss upon that handsome mouth without having the corners turn up in a mocking smile.

Her eyes traced his features in fascination. His tawny hair was sorely in want of a trimming but she saw him no less than magnificent. There were men like Gowain whose features were so fine and fair that they could almost be called beautiful. Not so with Wulfgar. The strength and rugged character of his face added to its appeal and was far more intriguing than those which seemed to be without flaw.

In relief she noted that no new injuries marred his frame and that the wound she had tended had healed completely and only a reddened scar remained from the searing. Gently she drew the blanket over him against the light chill in the room then moving from his side, climbed from the bed. She donned her clothes, frowning in displeasure at the frayed gunna she must meet him in when he woke. She had hastily wrapped the yellow velvet he had sent her and brought it along but time had not permitted making it into a proper gown. But there was no help for it now and it did little good to curse Gwyneth for her thievery. She would have to make the best of what she had. With that conclusion drawn she began to groom her hair. It was one thing Gwyneth could not take from her, and many times at Darkenwald Wulfgar had sat silent and watched her comb the willful mass into shining beauty.

She remembered his warm, amorous gaze upon her and grew flushed, wakening to that strong memory as surely as if she were in his arms again. With a wistful sigh she went again to the bed and stood quietly at its edge as she gazed down at him. It seemed impossible for her to remain cool under his advances. If she could still the sweeping pleasure that possessed her then perhaps she could remain true to her own determination not to yield. But now, aware of what further heights she could reach, she feared it would be even more difficult to remain passive to him. Her mind would not slow but continued to grind with of what could be if only—

Annoyed with her ceaseless dreaming, Aislinn turned abruptly away and strolled about the room, admiring the rich trappings of the place. Then as she came upon his neatly folded garments she paused and smiled to herself. He had no great variety of clothes, yet what he had was carefully chosen for endurance and richness of cloth. Even the lowliest piece showed signs of constant attention. His apparel was never mussed nor strewn about but was either upon his frame or placed neatly aside. Even with himself he was neither indulgent nor extravagant. Perhaps raising himself up from naught had taught him frugality. Whatever the reason by his words he was not one to be overly generous and had yielded considerably to send the yellow velvet to her. Perhaps he felt some fondness for her after all. Ah, would she ever know the truth of his feeling for her?

Wulfgar slept for only a brief time and the morning was still young when he stirred and roused himself. He splashed cold water over his face to wash away drowsiness and as he donned his shirt and hose he gave Aislinn a long slow scrutiny that did not miss a detail. She blushed lightly and could not take a proper stitch in the chainse she repaired for him, finding her fingers too clumsy to deal with the shirt. When he was clothed she grew calm again and rising, directed him to a bench. There with a well-honed blade, warm water, and some of the precious soap, she scraped the whiskers from his cheeks and chin and put a neater edge to his cap of sun streaked hair. He sighed beneath her hands and opened his eyes to gaze into hers.

“Your talents have been sorely missed, Aislinn,” he smiled. “Sanhurst replaces the beard with more scars than is my desire.”

She laughed low and set his hand away as it was wont to wander. “Why, my lord, if nothing else you might keep me as your lackey.”

He grunted. “I despair to see a lackey with so tempting a form.” Then he sighed and smiled. “But indeed, it bears mark of a worthy notion.”

“Ha!” she returned flippantly and rested the point of the knife against his chin. “I vow Sanhurst would protest at being so used as I and for the meager fare might well split your gullet.” She lopped off an errant lock of his hair and threw it into the hearth.

Wulfgar cocked an eye to her. “Mind you well that blade, wench, ere I be like the barbarians of the south with but a knot of hair atop my pate to break its shining baldness.”

“ ’Twould serve you right if I shaved that fair mane,” Aislinn retorted. She dipped a cloth in a steaming bowl then clapped it to his face and held it there against his struggles. “Mayhap I would have fewer widows bleating at my chamber door.”