The Wolf and the Dove (41 page)

“Ah, these young swains, they will have their way.”

It was early in the second month of the year and the snows of winter had gone, but the cold wet rains still came with regularity and clouds hung low on the hills. Often heavy fogs rolled in from the marsh and laid over the small town all day. The damp cold bit to the bone and made the warmth of a roaring fire welcome to drive the chills away.

Maida’s hut grew cold as Aislinn carefully banked the remaining embers in the corner of the fireplace that she might sweep away the accumulated ashes and clean the hearth. Aislinn knew Wulfgar would be in the barn with his horses, tending them himself as was his habit on his leisure days. Aislinn had taken this opportunity to see to her mother’s comfort and bring food so that Maida would not have to venture out in the cold rain after it. The old woman sat on her crude bed with a half-mad smile twisting her lips and her eyes gleaming in the endless twilight of the cottage as she watched her daughter work.

An ache grew in the small of Aislinn’s back and she stood erect to ease it. The sudden movement made the room swim briefly and she put a hand upon the stone chimney to steady herself. As she brushed a droplet of moisture from her brow, her mother’s words echoed in the stillness of the room.

“Has the child moved yet?”

Aislinn started and turned to face the other, her brows arched in surprise and her lips parted in a quick denial. She stepped down from the hearthstone and sat down. Her hands tightly gripped the small twig broom in her lap and she raised her eyes in mute appeal.

“Did you think you could hide it from me forever, child?” Maida asked, the old eyes glowing with protracted glee.

“Nay,” Aislinn murmured, feeling half smothered in the close air of the cottage. “I’ve hidden it too long from myself.”

She realized she had known for some time that she bore a child. There was a thickening in her breasts and her time had not come since that night with Ragnor. A sadness grew with a dull pain in her chest and the weight of her mother’s words seemed to settle in a cold lump in her belly as she acknowledged to herself for the first time the growing seed that formed there.

“Aye.” Her mother’s words crackled in her ears. “I know you are with babe, but, my little Aislinn, whose?”

A wild laugh rang in the room as Maida rocked back, throwing up her hands to slap them on her knees. She leaned forward and held up a crooked finger in a beckoning gesture. Wheezing laughter broke her words as she whispered hoarsely:

“Behold, my daughter, be not sad. Behold.” She rocked back in her mirth. “What sweet revenge we’ve brought from these prancing Norman lords. A bastard for the bastard.”

Aislinn raised her gaze half in horror at the thought that she would bear a bastard child. She could take no solace in her mother’s chortling glee and suddenly felt a need to be alone. She sought out her cloak and retreated hastily from the stifling odor of the place.

The coolness of the mist on her face refreshed her and she strolled slowly, taking the long way back toward the hall, down among the willows that marked the edge of the marsh. She stood for a while on the bank of a chuckling rivulet and thought she sensed it laughing at her. Once proud Aislinn brought down so low. Whose bastard do you bear? Whose? Whose?

She wanted to cry out her anguish, her torment, yet she only stared dumbly at the dark swirling waters and the gray hulking shapes of trees half hidden in the fog, wondering how she would broach this matter to Wulfgar. He would not be happy, for he took much pleasure from his evening frolic and would be sorely afflicted by this state of affairs. A thought came to her, but she quickly shook it from her mind; she would not consider that he would turn both her and the babe away. Her task was clear. She must approach him the first time they were in private.

That occasion presented itself more quickly than Aislinn had dared to hope, for she realized as she stood outside the stable in the gathering darkness and looked in that Wulfgar was quite alone. She had thought to wait until evening when they retired, but she knew this would be better, when he had some other chore to occupy his hands and mind.

A tallow lantern hung from a rafter and Wulfgar worked in its smoky light. He stood with one of the Hun’s hooves clamped between his knees. With a small, short knife he was paring the edge of it to shape. Aislinn grew fearful as she imagined him flying into a rage when she told him of her condition. Indecision flooded her, but the great horse turned his head in her direction and snorted, warning Wulfgar of another’s presence. Taking a deep breath, Aislinn entered as Wulfgar looked up. He straightened as he saw her, letting go of the hoof, and moved to wipe his hands. She came near and Wulfgar noted the hesitancy in her manner. As he waited for her to speak, he began to groom the chestnut flanks of the animal.

“Monsiegneur,” she murmured softly. “I fear that what I have to say will anger you.”

He laughed lightheartedly. “Let me be the judge of that, Aislinn. You’ll find me more willing to hear the truth than to deal in lies.”

She looked up into the gray eyes smiling at her and blurted out, “Even if I told you I am with child?”

He stared at her for a moment, ceasing his labor, then shrugged. “ ’Twas to be expected. ’Tis known to happen on occasion.” He chuckled as his gaze drew the length of her. “ ’Twill be a few months yet before your size impairs our pleasure.”

Aislinn gave a snarl that made the pigeons stir in the loft. The Hun threw a wide eye over his shoulder and pranced away from her, but Wulfgar displayed less wisdom than the beast and stood his ground, grinning at her anger.

“I suppose I can stand the drought, cherie.”

He turned, chuckling at his own humor, and before he could take a step, Aislinn was at his back, pommeling its broad expanse with her fists. Wulfgar turned in stunned surprise and without a pause she continued thumping his chest until she glanced up into his face, saw his amazement and realized that she had not dented him in the least. Aislinn’s lips drew back from gnashing teeth as she sped back slightly and chose a second line of attack, swinging a hard-soled shoe against his shin. Wulfgar stumbled back under her assault and stepped behind the Hun, rubbing the injured member while he berated her.

“What madness has seized you, wench?” he groaned. “What have I done to warrant this abuse?”

“You blackhearted boor!” she railed. “You have the meager wit of a squawking chicken.”

“What would you have me do?” he questioned. “Act as if it were a great disaster or miracle when I’ve been expecting it all along? You were bound to get caught.”

“Ohhh!” Aislinn shrieked in undying wrath. “You insufferable, pig-headed, addled-pated Norman!”

She whirled on her heels, sending her mantle billowing wide and stalked passed the Hun, kicking angrily at a bundle of straw near him. The loose stuff filled the air with chaff and the horse shied away again. Wulfgar’s breath left him in a loud “whoof” as he was caught between the animal and the wall.

As Aislinn stamped out, it lightened her mood to hear Wulfgar’s muffled curse.

“You stumbling nag! Move!”

Aislinn pushed open the heavy door to the hall and flung it closed behind her as she strode angrily into the room. The group of men standing near the hearth turned to stare at this interruption. Through their midst Aislinn could see Bolsgar and Sir Melbourne seated at a game of chess, musing over the board and so engrossed with it that they did not glance up. The others turned back to watch seeing that there was no matter for alarm, and Aislinn hurried across the room and ascended the stairs in restrained fury. Meetinng Kerwick on his way to Gwyneth’s chamber with an armload of firewood, she remembered that she had not made a fire on Maida’s hearth. She paused beside her former betrothed.

“Kerwick, would you mind fetching wood for my mother if you are not sorely pressed? I fear I left her poorly fit for the night.”

He peered at her closely, noticing the flushed cheeks and the set of jaw that often bespoke of agitation in her. “Is there some matter troubling you, Aislinn?”

She returned his stare with aloofness. “There is no matter worthwhile.”

“You storm in here like a wind from the sea,” he returned. “Do you tell me ‘tis naught that makes you fly with such temper.”

“Do not pry, Kerwick,” she retorted.

He laughed and nodding with his head indicated the men downstairs. “They leave but one who could have caused your wrath. A lover’s quarrel?”

“ ’Tis none of your concern, Kerwick,” Aislinn said brittlely.

He set aside the wood. “Did you tell him of the child?” he asked slowly.

Aislinn started and stared at him aghast, but he smiled kindly.

“Did he take the news poorly? Does he not enjoy facing the rewards of pleasure?”

“ ’Tis like the lot of you to determine my circumstance on your own,” Aislinn muttered peevishly, recovering from the blow of his question.

“So, the great Norman did not know,” Kerwick surmised. “He wars too much to know aught of women.”

Aislinn’s head snapped up. “I did not say he knew nothing of it,” she protested, then pouted, folding her arms before her. “Indeed, he was expecting it.”

“Will he claim the deed or let Ragnor have the credit?” he asked derisively.

A feral gleam shone in Aislinn’s violet eyes at his inquiry. “ ’Tis Wulfgar’s babe, of course.”

“Oh?” Kerwick raised a questioning brow. “Your mother said—”

“My mother!” Aislinn snarled, stepping close to him. “So, that is how you knew!”

Kerwick took a step backwards at her outburst.

“She babbles overmuch, I fear,” Aislinn gritted. “No matter what she spills from her tongue the babe is Wulfgar’s.”

“If you wish it so, Aislinn,” Kerwick said carefully.

“It is what I wish because ‘tis truth!” she bit out.

Kerwick shrugged. “At least he is more honorable than that knave.”

“Indeed he is!” Aislinn said huffily. “And pray, good fellow, do not forget!”

She strode into the bedchamber, slamming the door behind her and leaving Kerwick quite bemused by her loyalty to Wulfgar when to all his knowledge the Norman had crudely rejected marriage to her.

Aislinn crossed the chamber in irate strides, fuming at Kerwick’s impertinence. How dare he even insinuate that it might be Ragnor’s seed growing within her when she loathed the very thought of him.

She scuffed her foot across the floor. Even if Ragnor were in truth the sire, Wulfgar would be the father, and she was determined toward that end, whatever came.

Kerwick crossed the courtyard on his way toward Maida’s hut when he paused outside the stable and watched his lord at work, though by Wulfgar’s movements and his tone of voice one could tell he was greatly vexed.

“You surly beast, afraid of a little twit like that. I’ve a mind to see you gelded.”

The Hun snorted and nudged his master’s arm.

“Leave off,” Wulfgar flung. “Or I’ll set her on you again. That might indeed be worse punishment.”

“Trouble, my lord?” Kerwick asked, entering the stables. He was determined to know where the Norman stood with Aislinn and if he would do the right thing by her.

Wulfgar’s head snapped up sharply. “Can I find no peace in toiling?” he growled.

“Beg pardon, my lord,” Kerwick returned. “I thought something amiss. I heard you speaking—”

“There is naught amiss,” Wulfgar replied sourly. “At least nothing I cannot set aright with my own hand.”

“I saw Aislinn in the hall,” Kerwick said carefully, fighting down the prickling fear that tugged at his throat. He remembered too well the stripes on his back not to be a little anxious for himself when he even mentioned her name to this man.

Wulfgar straightened and looked at the younger man, raising a brow. “Oh?”

Kerwick swallowed hard. “She seemed greatly disturbed, sir.”

“She seemed greatly disturbed!” Wulfgar snorted, then muttered, “Not half as much as I.”

“Does the child displease you, my lord?”

Wulfgar started as Aislinn had and his eyes narrowed as he stared at the Saxon. “So, she told you, did she?”

Kerwick paled considerably. “Her mother did some time ago.”

Wulfgar threw the rag he was holding against a small, rough hewn table nearby. “That fool Maida has a loose tongue.”

“What are your intentions, my lord?” Kerwick choked out before apprehension could make him swallow the words.

Wulfgar’s gray eyes pierced the man. “Do you forget your place, Saxon? Have you taken leave of your wits? Have you forgotten that I am lord here?”

“Nay, sire,” Kerwick replied hurriedly.

“Then remember also I will not be questioned by a slave.” Wulfgar stated clearly, emphasizing each word.

“My lord,” Kerwick returned slowly. “Aislinn is gently born and raised. She could not endure the humiliation of bearing her child outside the bonds of wedlock.”

Wulfgar snorted, turning away. “I believe, Saxon, you sorely underestimate the maid.”

“If you claim it as Ragnor’s, then—”

“Ragnor’s?” Wulfgar whirled on Kerwick and his eyes held him like cold steel. “You go too far, Saxon, to raise the question of the sire. ’Tis naught of your affair.”

Kerwick sighed. “It seems that Aislinn is of like mind. In fact, her words were much the same.”