The Wolf and the Dove (34 page)

Wuifgar’s reply was lost in the folds of the cloth but when she withdrew it he turned a reddened face and jaundiced eye to her. “I think ‘tis better I bear with Sanhurst.”

Her laughter rang in the room as she stepped away from him to sweep her skirts in a low curtsey before him. “As you wish, sire. I am your slave and can do naught but obey you.”

“ ’Tis well,” he replied with some humor.

Rising from the bench, he pulled on his gown and as he belted on his short sword he frowned slightly at her as his attention was brought back to her sadly worn garments.

“I would have seen the yellow piece on you, Aislinn. It seemed a bright and cheerful cloth and one well suited to your color.”

She lowered her face and ran slim hands down the threadbare gunna. “There was little time to make it into a gown after Gowain came to fetch me, Wulfgar, and before he came I hid it to keep it safe.”

“I fear you are becoming a miserly old crone, Aislinn,” he sighed in disappointment. “But when we wend abroad, have you nothing better to wear?” He lifted a fold of her cloak from the peg where it hung and grimaced at the raveled hem. “I have seen your coffer and methinks you better garbed than this.” He turned and raised a brow to her in question. “What do you seek, that I should feel some pity for your circumstance?”

Aislian’s cheeks flamed and she shook her head in quick denial yet his words stung her. “Nay, ‘tis only that there were others at Darkenwald more in need than I. I bring no complaints to you, but my means are slim and I could not replace the loss, that is all.”

Wulfgar frowned heavily but Aislinn hurriedly stepped to her small bundle and produced the yellow.

“But look, I have brought the cloth and will make of it a fine gown. ‘Twill only take a few days, Wulfgar.”

Perturbed with her shabby appearance, he grunted a sour reply then taking her arm escorted her to the hall below. As he handed Aislinn to a chair, Hlynn made haste to set a platter of meat before them, looking hesitantly at Wulfgar and blushing profusely. In a corner Sanhurst rose to briefly acknowledge their entry then returned to his chore of polishing Wulfgar’s armor, sword and helm. From the latter he struggled to rub the last vestige of a dent but through it all kept a cautious eye bent to his lord. Aislinn gazed inquiringly at the hearty-framed young man whose head and face showed signs of recent trimming.

Wulfgar smiled slowly as he saw her perusal. “Sanhurst,” he replied to her unasked question.

Aislinn mused on the harried expression the man wore. “You seem to have him well trained.”

Wulfgar grunted. “I gave him more credit than he was worth. He’s found his just due.”

She peered at Wulfgar. “Another Saxon taken under heel, my lord?”

Her words brought a spark of anger from the Norman knight. “Aislinn, would you defend this bumpkin to me? Be damned! You seek to shield all cloddish knaves and beggardly fools that sprout from English sod.”

Her eyes widened in feigned innocence. “Why, Wulfgar, where is the need of my protection, when the lords are such fine and understanding Normans?”

Wulfgar gritted his teeth in hard-won restraint. “You would test the very saints, woman. But I must take into account that you are Saxon and thus partial to them.”

Aislinn shrugged. “I seek only what is just, no more.”

“And you immediately condemn me as being unjust,” Wulfgar retorted. “Ask Sir Milbourne of my fairness when this beetle-headed dolt ran in the thick of battle rather than stand at my back. I have done naught save reduce his status from soldier to serf and that he well earned.”

Aislinn’s brows drew together in anxious worry. “Were you attacked, Wulfgar? You did not tell me. I saw no new scars—”

She stopped and her cheeks flushed as she realized that not only was Wulfgar looking at her with quizzical interest but the other occupants of the room including several of his yeomen had turned to stare at her.

“I mean”—she stammered in sudden confusion. “You made no mention—”

Wulfgar laughed heartily, his cheerfulness restored, then murmured in lower tones for her ears alone. “I do not mind your concern for me, cherie. It matches mine for you.”

Aislinn bowed her head, unable to meet his mocking eyes or to endure the shame she felt. Reaching out, Wulfgar pressed a large hand over the slim ones folded tightly in her lap.

“No need for dismay, Aislinn,” he grinned. “They are aware of your skill in healing and will assume it is for that you see to me.”

Raising her gaze, Aislinn found him smiling warmly at her.

“Only I know the truth for sure.”

“Oh?” Aislinn raised a brow then smiled. “You would be the last to know.”

Gowain joined them and seated himself beside Wulfgar. As the latter plied Aislinn with questions of Darkenwald and of Sweyn’s welfare, the young knight listened with interest while he sipped a goblet of wine. In the midst of her replies Gowain raised his chalice and sniffed at it suspiciously, then frowned in puzzlement. As he glanced around his eyes settled on Wulfgar and widened. He turned away but soon his gaze returned to his lord once more. He glanced away again and again, each time bringing his gaze back as if drawn irresistibly until his odd behavior piqued Wulfgar to the core, causing him to gruffly inquire:

“What ails you, Gowain? Have I grown horns of a sudden or have you become faint from lack of wisdom?”

“My pardon, Wulfgar,” Gowain said quickly. “I could not help but notice.” The young man seemed to grow earnest and plucked his lip thoughtfully. “Yet—I do not think the scent of lavender becomes you overmuch, my lord.”

Wulfgar’s brows raised in surprise and Aislinn’s squeal of laughter was quickly smothered beneath her hand. In a moment Wulfgar found the humor of it and chuckled at himself before turning a mock scowl to Gowain.

“When you come of age and must shave your face, lad, I will hold you accountable for those words.”

As the mirth died Sir Gowain bent close to Wulfgar’s ear.

“My lord,” he whispered. “The one you sought is in the stables below. Will you see her now?”

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 answered his.